Postcards from the Marriage Wars – Part Three

The last time I examined the issue of same-sex marriage, it was by way of a response to the (predictable) views of a Fairfax journalist. However, it is one thing to hear from commentators on this issue; quite another to listen to those directly embroiled in the matter. Perhaps they have a unique insight that mere pundits lack. Roger Munson, a Uniting Church minister who conducted a wedding ceremony between two men during the ACT’s brief interregnum on SSM, is one such individual. Here he is in his own words, explaining his reasons for supporting such a momentous shift:

“Jesus never said anything against people who are homosexual…Jesus always welcomed people, had compassion and never judged people…These people should be allowed to marry because they want to express their love for each other through a public right as anyone else does.”

Leave aside the fact that Jesus’ personal opinion of homosexual individuals hardly settles the public policy debate regarding the nature of marriage; Mr Munson’s views are nevertheless likely to appeal to those of a more liberal persuasion (by the by, it’s interesting that one Christian can be feted for holding views that the Left has already embraced, whilst another Christian can be howled down and accused of illegitimately trying to inject religion into a public debate if he so much as breathes a conservative sentiment). I have already talked about the possible pitfalls of trying to ground marriage in the subjective and transient (if intense) emotions that exist between two people, so I won’t cover old ground. Suffice it to say, it seems that Mr Munson assumes precisely this: people who wish to marry should be able to “…because they want to express their love for each other.” Note the consequential word, “because”: marriage should in effect be afforded to those who declare their love for each other, based precisely on this quality. According to Mr Munson (if his stated view is any indication), the only thing required for a marriage to be codified is the presence of such feelings. On its face, this view is compelling, generous, open and seductive. It reflects the mores and norms of a permissive, liberal age, and is likely to be celebrated with increasing enthusiasm. There’s just one, small problem: it’s wrong. And it’s wrong on several counts, not least of which is Mr Munson’s analysis and application of Jesus’ alleged views. It is upon this particular dimension of Mr Munson’s argument that I wish to focus.

Now, Mr Munson is absolutely correct that Jesus never said anything explicitly about homosexuality – or at least it’s true that the evangelists never mention Jesus saying anything about it. We simply have no record of Jesus’ utterances on the matter. But that’s the first problem; suggesting that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality as a way of legitimising SSM is an argument from silence. Arguments from silence, I should point out, are notoriously feeble. Because the gospels – the only records we have of Jesus’ putative teachings – are so brief, we simply have no way of knowing whether Jesus did have anything to say about the matter. So basing one’s support for homosexual relationships upon the apparent silence of the founder of Christianity is fraught with difficulty. The most we could say is that if Jesus said anything bearing upon homosexuality specifically, the evangelists – for reasons known only to themselves – decided to omit it from their writings. Moreover, I am sure many people can think of other instances of (purported) moral impropriety – behaviour that might well attract near-universal criticism – about which Jesus was absolutely silent. A few examples come to mind; whilst attracting widespread opprobrium today, they are things on which we have no (expressed) opinion from Jesus. Ought we tale his silence on those matters as synonymous with approval? My point is that arguments from silence trade in ignorance – in this case, ignorance about what Jesus actually thought when it came to the question of homosexual acts.

But Mr Munson’s citation of Jesus’ (apparent) silence regarding homosexuality runs into another difficulty – namely, that it seems to reflect a fairly simplistic view of theological ethics. Let me explain. To ground (at least in part) the legitimacy of an act in Jesus’ silence on a particular matter is to give credence to the idea that ethical truths – in this case, prohibitions – are to be found only in explicit commands. But this is false, both in terms of ethics generally, and biblical ethics specifically. Surely Mr Munson knows that, when it comes to a biblically-informed ethical worldview, narrative substructure and underlying perspective are just as important as any explicit endorsement or proscription. This is germane, for once one introduces Scripture’s underlying narrative or ethical worldview, things take on a decidedly different complexion (as we shall see). Ironically, Mr Munson’s view seems to represent the worst kind of “reverse” proof-texting – the obverse of the sort of superficial ethical reasoning for which fundamentalist Christians are regularly (and often rightly) castigated. But of course, when such thinking is pressed into service to shore up presently accepted norms and mores, people are willing to overlook its demonstrable woolly-headedness.

* * *

These are just preliminary remarks, of course. But they point to intrinsic weaknesses in Mr Munson’s position. Moreover, and contrary to what Mr Munson seems to think, I believe that it’s possible to suggest – at least with some justification – what Jesus might have thought about the vexed question of homosexuality. I cannot argue that this case is “air-tight”, for the argument from silence can be a double-edged sword: that Jesus didn’t say anything about homosexuality means that we cannot be certain – at least from the biblical evidence before us – that he condemned it outright. Still, by examining what Jesus did say about sexuality generally, as well as clear-headed reflection upon the religious-ethical matrix within which he and his primary interlocutors operated, I think we can reasonably suggest that Jesus held to what would now be seen as a “conservative” position on matters sexual.

To begin, Jesus’ comments on sexuality do reveal his views fairly clearly – and, by implication, his views on homosexuality. Take, for example, his debate with a contingent of Pharisees on the question of divorce in Matthew 19. His opponents come to him in order to test his devotion to the Law of Moses (v.3). There are interesting contextual roots to this discussion, pertaining to the differing interpretations of the relevant OT material. Two schools of thought, congregating around the rabbis Hillel and Shammai, debated the meaning and scope of passages such as Deuteronomy 24:1. The former was more liberal in his interpretation of the verse, particularly its references to “displeasing” and “indecent”, whilst the latter adopted a more restricted understanding of legitimate grounds for divorce.

Jesus’ reply to his interlocutors, however, seems to bypass this internecine debate entirely. Indeed, he seems to point to the central meaning of the marriage covenant. Over and against this kind of rabbinic minutia, Jesus holds fast to the underlying ideal of marriage, as outlined in Genesis 1:27 and 2:24, by stating in vv.4-6 that marriage was always meant to be the lifelong, one-flesh union between a man and a woman. If one were to say that Jesus didn’t explicitly rule out other kinds of couplings, it would appear that, implicitly at least, he did. Note verse 4, where Jesus quotes specifically from Gen 1:27 – humanity was created male and female. NT scholar Craig Blomberg, in commenting on this passage, has said that the Genesis text set the paradigm, by which “heterosexual, monogamous marriage” was established “as the most intimate of interpersonal relationships and as the only relationship in which sexual union was appropriate” (emphasis mine). The creational ideal, it would seem, meant the distinction between male and female – or sexual complementarity, if one wants to use contemporary language – as the underlying basis for the one-flesh union. The Genesis texts, which the Matthean Jesus took to be foundational and authoritative, offer us a picture of marriage marked by two, intrinsic features: sexual distinction; and fleshy union (i.e., sexual intercourse). It encompasses these complimentary dimensions as structural elements of its own reality. To say, then, that this is the ideal (as Jesus seems to have done), is to implicitly screen out other sexual combinations and permutations, whether they occur within, or beyond, the constraints of some kind of formalised commitment. This includes SSM; however much Mr Munson might like to believe that Jesus would have no problem with two men or two women marrying each other (assuming that such an event is ontologically possible in the first place), it seems that the data contained in the gospels present a rather different picture.

Mr Munson, and those who have trod this path before, might want to argue that even if Jesus presented marriage in these terms as the divine ideal, his silence on homosexuality specifically might reflect a lack of interest in the subject. But this represents a failure to take into account the context within which Jesus and his opponents operated, and the influence it likely had on the shape and complexion of the debates that took place. Let’s take Jesus first. His reliance upon the OT’s premier text as a way of cutting through the debate over divorce suggests that, whatever else might be said, he saw the Hebrew Scriptures as authoritative. Indeed, Jesus’ reliance upon the Genesis texts to make his case functions as a window through which we may glimpse his embrace of the OT’s normativity – particularly as it pertains, in this case, to sexual relations. Take Matt 5:17-20, for example, where Jesus spoke of his relationship to the Hebrew Scriptures, and the implications his coming had for its authority. Certainly, the advent of Christ meant (to some extent) the radical redefinition of the Torah and its place in the life of the people of God. But his words in this passage do not indicate that it was thereby abolished. Quite the contrary, in fact. Jesus declared the ongoing legitimacy of the “Law and the Prophets”, even as he fulfilled them. And this would have included everything pertaining to sexuality generally, and homosexuality in particular. Far from abolishing the law, or diluting its force, Jesus actually intensified it.

As noted, there are debates over what place the OT plays in the life of the church today, and how it is to be applied. Furthermore, Christological fulfilment meant, in some case, the rescinding of certain laws (think food laws). But it cannot be said that Jesus dismissed the authority of the OT as a result of his ministry, or implied that its ethical strictures – including those related to sexual relations – were thereby null and void. The Sermon on the Mount clearly illustrates the point; there, in talking about matters such as murder and adultery, Jesus deepened the righteous requirements to which disciples were beholden (Matt 5:21-30). He certainly contrasted his teachings with those found in the OT. However, he did not present a new, liberalised application of Torah, but rather something that went beyond the outward acts proscribed by the Hebrew Scriptures. The point is that on the evidence, it seems unlikely that Jesus would have held anything less than an orthodox understanding of the authority and interpretation of the OT. This has important implications for his views on sexuality. Even though the evangelists did not record anything Jesus might have said about homosexuality, his general attitude towards the OT suggests that he would not have endorsed it.

As a good Jew, Jesus would not have been unusual in this understanding; many, if not most, of his co-religionists and ethnic kin believed the same. This brings me to the other side of the historical-contextual coin: the beliefs and attitudes of Jesus’ interlocutors (whether hostile or otherwise) towards sexuality and sexual relationships. Far from being a strange omission, Jesus’ apparent silence on the matter of homosexuality is easily comprehensible – perhaps doubly so, when one takes into account his own (likely) attitudes – in light of the social, religious and cultural matrix within which the bulk of his ministry occurred. The main recipients of his mission, it would seem, were fellow Jews. To be sure, Jesus made occasional forays into Gentile territory, and spoke with non-Jews. Moreover, his ministry seemed to provide the guiding resources – and indeed, the theological legitimacy – for later missionary activity within largely Gentile areas. That said, it seems reasonably clear to me that Jesus directed most of his vocational energy towards his fellow Jews – urging them to be the Israel of God they had been called to be, and to turn with penitence towards their true sovereign. From the perspective of the evangelists, first-century Israel had many problems, but acceptance of homosexual practices was not one of them. Similarly, and despite its pluriform character, first-century Judaism was unanimous in its rejection of same-sex acts. If Jesus’ ministry took place largely within this context, it is hardly surprising that he should not mention anything on this topic. Arguing that Jesus’ silence in this regard is morally significant is like claiming that an archbishop’s silence on the question of papal authority amongst a gathering of priests has any bearing on whether the Pope is the acknowledged and infallible head of the Catholic Church. For first-century Jews, the moral propriety of homosexuality was uncontroversial, precisely because of it near-universal rejection. It was simply a given – part of the assumed “plausibility structures” of the Jewish worldview, in other words. As such, if Jesus was silent on the issue, we do not have to wander terribly far to discover why.

* * *

Mr Munson’s views are neither new nor revolutionary. Rather, they simply reflect the dominant cultural and sexual narrative in today’s West. His Christological invocation, besides being simplistic and naïve, is little more than a veneer, masking a position that has been formed on quite different grounds. The “givenness” of sexual differentiation, as reflected in the biblical narrative (and which seems especially clear at key points) has given way to an individualised conception of marital relations – one that is largely based upon the pattern of desires and attractions of the participating individuals (whoever they may be). To be sure, Mr Munson is free to disagree with a biblical theology of marriage and the underlying significance of sexual difference. But one thing he is not free to do (logically speaking, anyway) is to pretend that a view owing much to late-modern Western constructions of sexuality and individual choice is, in fact, deeply and authentically Christian. Apart from anything else, I have tried to show that any such pretensions founder on the rocks of biblical and theological reality.


Postcards from the Marriage Wars – Part Two

It wouldn’t be long before same-sex marriage made its way to Australian shores. Slowly, inexorably, it has lumbered towards a point of mass acceptance. Of course, the issue, as something discussed and fought over, has been alight for a number of years now (providing much fodder for media outlets). What I am talking about, however, is changes to the institution of marriage itself. For a few fleeting moments, SSM was a reality in this country – gaining a foothold in that strange little enclave, the Australian Capital Territory, late last year. That it proved to be a temporary victory for proponents of SSM is, I believe, immaterial. A new threshold has been crossed, and I think the debate – at least for social conservatives, orthodox Christians, and others of their ilk – has already been lost. And although a new phase has been reached, it seems to represent the culmination of forces that have been gathering pace for some time. That, however, is an essay for another time.

News outlets carried pieces on what took place in the ACT, as well as on the issue more generally. I have read a number of reports related to these developments, but in this article, I want to concentrate on a piece written by a journalist for The Age. It is not unique, of course; others have been offering these arguments for many years. But it is representative in its approach, and so I shall use it as a touchstone, so to speak, with which to engage current attitudes and mores.

I turn, then, to a series of articles written by Sam De Brito, whose writings appear in The Age and other Fairfax newspapers. A little while ago, he wrote an open letter to Fred Nile, the staunch Christian conservative and NSW state parliamentarian. In it, he chided Rev. Nile for “picking and choosing” when it came to interpreting and applying the various commands of Scripture – in particular, that part of the Bible Christians call the Old Testament. The implication was that the leader of the Christian Democrats was not taking his own holy book seriously – happy to deny certain “rights” to homosexual couples (which De Brito seemed to imply was the result of Rev. Nile’s own prejudices), whilst conveniently setting aside Scripture when it came to thornier questions that might cause some discomfort. In a follow-up article (“The Alternative Ten Commandments,” The Age, December 6th, 2013), De Brito wrote that his main “beef” was with Christians who, according to him, inconsistently apply the Bible’s injunctions. He went on to criticise – maybe “mock” is more appropriate – that most-vaunted of religious legal codes, the Ten Commandments.

One wonders how De Brito would have reacted had he encountered a Christian who accepted the Bible’s command to care for the poor and destitute (e.g. Exodus 22:21-22; 23:2-3; Proverbs 21:13, 15), whilst rejecting its prohibitions against homosexual practices. I for one suspect he would be less concerned about theological and interpretative inconsistency. In any case, there are a number of problems with De Brito’s views – as rendered in his second article – which all evince a desperate lack of biblical understanding, and a commitment to caricature over serious analysis. I will turn to those particular calumnies in a later article.

In recounting email exchanges with angry Christians, De Brito says that he was confronted with a number of emails that:

“…predictably descended into…arguments that without God’s word to follow on issues like who we can shag in the privacy of our own homes…”.

The characterisation of sex as a private activity is, as we shall see, relevant. Elsewhere in his writings on marriage, De Brito seems to recognize the public nature of that particular bond. Indeed, it is precisely the public dimension of the institution of marriage – and the consequent recognition couples are accorded by virtue of their participation in it – that so animates supporters of SSM like Sam De Brito. Now, it is perhaps the case that De Brito’s reference to “shagging” and the like was, in fact, a crude rendition of some of the arguments made by his interlocutors. His stated views regarding marriage would, as I said, suggest some kind of acknowledgment regarding its public dimensions. But what, then, of his views on sex? According to De Brito, sexual union is reduced to the act of “shagging” in one’s home. That he emphasises its private nature is evidence that he thinks of it as nobody else’s business. Moreover, in view of the fact that he includes the exhortation to be a “good shag” in his alternative Decalogue, as well as a pointed self-reference as a never-married father, it would seem that De Brito thinks of marriage and sex as being two, distinct realities. Indeed, he appears to think that sex and marriage can be decoupled and grounded in quite separate ways, with no essential connection between them. What ought one to make of this?

First, I should point out the obvious: sex, as a discrete act, is itself a private thing. That hardly needs saying, and I am not implicitly advocating voyeurism. But its representative and symbolic overtones possess a public-social dimension, and have public-social ramifications. Take heterosexual sex, for instance. A man and a woman may come together, either for a night or for a lifetime. What they do in the bedroom is, to the extent that it involves the two of them, private. However, what if that union results in the conception and birth of a child? And what if the temporary coupling took place between people who were otherwise unknown to each other – a “one night stand”, in other words? The sex act, in itself, was indeed private, cloistered. But its consequences, if they included the birth of a child (for example), would be anything but. This, of course, is a little different to the discussion at hand, but goes some way to showing that sexual union cannot be seen as private in an absolutist sense. Not only in its possible consequences, but also in its meaning – which is often shaped by broader social and cultural forces – is sexual intercourse a more-than-private reality. It is inevitably caught up in a whole raft of relationships, networks, social constructions, etc., whilst also having the potential to create new relationships, networks and social links through its inherent generative potential (not to mention the possible physiological and psychological consequences that may flow from the sex act). Marriage, in this respect, is not aberrant. It doesn’t artificially map an institutionalised framework upon an otherwise private relationship; rather, it seeks to recognize what is already an embedded, essential reality about (hetero)sexual unions.

It is this connection between marriage and sex that forms one of the major planks in traditionalists’ efforts to uphold the idea of marriage as a union between a man and a woman. Such an understanding recognizes the complimentary nature of the heterosexual union, which is both comprehensive in itself and inherently geared towards reproduction. Of course, I realize that not all male-female couples choose to use their unions for the purposes of having children. Others, through no fault of their own, are unable to have children. However, aside from the intrinsically comprehensive nature of the heterosexual union (at a basic biological and systemic level, the bodies of males and females seem, for want of a better word, “designed” for each other), it alone amongst the various unions available to people is capable of generating children. It is an inescapably social bond, embracing the children that issue from it, as well as the social world that will one day be influenced by those children. Robert P. George, a professor of jurisprudence at Princeton University, writes:

“Moreover, marriage (again unlike ordinary friendships) is a matter of public concern and not merely of the private interests of spouses. That is because marriage brings together a man and woman as husband and wife to be father and mother to any children born of their union.”

The institution of marriage simply codifies a unique biological reality, thereby providing a safe environment within which children may be reared and raised. Conservatives have every reason to preserve this institution, given its importance as a framework within which healthy, well-adjusted individuals may be socialised.

Now, back to Sam De Brito. His argument seems to involve a contradiction: on the one hand, he upholds the idea of marriage as, in some sense, a public institution – one that (presumably) should be available to all, regardless of the sexual permutations and combinations that compose individual unions; but, on the other hand, he seems to suggest that sex – which, historically, has been seen as an inescapable component of marriage as traditionally defined – is little more than a private transaction: “shagging” in one’s bedroom, as it were (of course, De Brito would likely say that it can be more than that, by arguing that it is often an expression of the love that exists between two [or more?] people. True; but if can be other than this, to which many a drunken one-night stand testifies, then it cannot be defined by it. Thus, the only relevant commonalities between the various incarnations of legitimate sex acts he envisages are physical union, consent and privacy). It seems that, based upon these incongruous conceptions of marriage and sexual union, he has castigated Christians for worrying endlessly about what gays and lesbians do in private. Maybe some have. But the nub of the issue is the essence of marriage, as a public institution and as an entity with certain properties. In other words: what is marriage in itself (if anything), and what are the (public, social) consequences of attempts to change it? De Brito, in trying to offer a critique of Christians’ views on the matter, seems to have parsed private sex acts and a legalised form of union that is anything but.

De Brito, I submit, appears to be viewing sex and marriage as separate entities, in that either can be practiced without reference to the other (at least consistently; of course, people are free to have sex without marrying one another, whilst couples who have been joined together by a minister or celebrant are free not to consummate that union). However, the question is whether marriage, in particular, can be defined apart from sex. De Brito may want to say that sex need not be a part of the definition of marriage. If the latter is simply the legalised expression of love and commitment between people, and can rest on nothing more than those bonds of affection (however expressed), what else is needed? Similarly, De Brito seems to think that a person’s sexual proclivities can be enjoyed apart from the encumbrances of marriage. Indeed, most people these days would probably agree. As a simple statement of reality, this is uncontroversial. But, to then imply that sexual activity is not an essential component of marriage (which one would likely have to do in such circumstances), forces one into philosophically ambiguous territory. Once again, we are dragged back to what seems to be the centre of this debate, even if it is unacknowledged by many of its participants: what the institution of marriage actually, essentially is.

Indeed, one might legitimately ask: what is the institution of marriage for, if it does not include, as part of any such conception, the importance of sexual activity? What distinguishes marriage from other types of relationship, if not the significance of sex? And if it is connected to sex, then questions regarding the nature of those sex acts, and whether any and every form of sexual expression can provide a basis for marriage, become exceedingly relevant. I have suggested that marriage is inescapably heterosexual, precisely because of the uniqueness of the sexual bond that consummates it. It would seem that marriage, at least from De Brito’s recent writings, is a kind of public commitment, where participants enjoy the privilege of being able to seal their pledges of love and devotion in a legal, recognized fashion. Sex, apparently, is irrelevant – at least in terms of how marriage is defined. Ironically, however, it’s partly because of the sexual nature of homosexual relationships that calls for their recognition have arisen in the first place. I doubt very much whether they would be seen as anything more than particularly intense kinds of friendship if they weren’t expressed, at least in part, through sexual intercourse. Absent this factor, the grounds for recognizing such relationships as in any way different from friendship, generally conceived, would be very weak indeed. De Brito wants to keep sex away from prying eyes and moralistic busy-bodies, but seems not to notice the inescapable connection – wherever one sits – between sexual intercourse and the calls for public validation. To be sure, I do not think that marriage can be founded upon any and all kinds of sexual unions. As I have suggested, heterosexual union alone provides the basis for marriage, precisely because no other type of coupling is inherently capable of producing the next members of a community or social group. I merely point out the layers of incongruous thinking that seem to characterise De Brito’s position: yearning for homosexual couples to be given the right to marry, and yet implying that the very element which has helped generate such claims in the first place – i.e. sexual activity (generally conceived) – has only an accidental relationship to the institution.

Of course, the issues go beyond relatively recent calls for “marriage equality” (a term to which I object, for reasons I shall not go into). More specifically, they go beyond whatever Sam De Brito has written on the subject. His views simply seem to be the outgrowth of a particular cultural narrative, which, in the course of securing freedom of sexual expression, decoupled sexual activity from marriage. The current conception of marriage – which appears to screen out any reference to the creation of a suitable environment for the raising and socialisation of children – owes a great deal to the thoroughgoing romanticisation of love, as well as the deep individualism that prevails in our society. Love is seen as a profusion of emotions and romantic feelings for [an]other person[s]. Thus, on the one hand, sex (of whatever kind) is regarded as a private activity between consenting adults, completely severed from the overarching structures of the marital institution. On the other hand, marriage itself is defined as a kind of contract into which private individuals enter – now seen as a particularly intense form of (codified) companionship, one might say. It could still be argued – superficially – that marriage is public, in the sense that wedding ceremonies are performed before others, reflective of the socio-legal recognition bestowed upon such a relationship. But having severed the substantive elements from the institution, new conceptions of marriage are forced to rest upon the private intentions of those parties entering into such a relationship.

Once more, we witness the attempted fusion of incongruous ideas – the triumph of fashionable thinking over a coherent point of view. In this case, it’s the transformation of marriage into a special form of companionship that most rankles, as proponents of SSM like De Brito seek to dilute the institution. In trying to widen the scope of marriage in order to provide recognition to homosexual couples, views such as De Brito’s end up relying upon a privatised notion of contractual union. Marriage isn’t conceived of as the formation of a unique type of relationship, within which future generations of people may be created and socialised. At best, the sexual and generative features of marriage are subordinate to the (private) feelings of romantic love that exist, and only exist, between the individuals concerned. In other words, marriage has no reality external to the bonds of affection that happen to be exist between individuals; it is reduced to the presence, or actuality, of those feelings. In the absence of the objective reality of sexual complementarity and its inherently generative properties, such unions must be content to rest upon the current emotional states of their participants.

This isn’t merely a question of abstract definitions. If it were, then no more would need to be said. But ideas, as we know, have consequences – and the social consequences of views like De Brito’s, if enshrined in law, may well be disastrous. Nor is it about SSM per se. Rather, the burning issue relates to the deeper ideological and philosophical currents giving rise to calls for “marriage equality” in the first place. What I am referring to are the implications of contemporary views on marriage, particularly as they concern its privatization and underlying emotionality. SSM may be a product of such currents, but its ascendancy would, I think, codify them as the legal basis upon which marriage is founded. Gone would be the understanding of marriage as a bond that is uniquely and inherently capable of issuing in children (who will influence their communities, for good or for ill). In its place would sit a version of the institution that rests, almost entirely, on the normalisation of emotional and physical companionship. Its ongoing legitimacy would only be guaranteed by the bonds of emotion, whilst the objective dimension of marriage would be lost – devolved to the personal feelings of the individuals involved. But how robust a foundation does this provide? Emotions are, as we have all observed, notoriously unstable; they ebb and flow, emerge and recede. One minute, a person might be overwhelmed by feelings of love for another; the next, he might regard that person with relative indifference. How stable are marriages likely to be if they are based upon little more than the feelings of the coupling individuals? Once all external (philosophical) bases for marriage are removed – which seems inescapable if the conjugal conception of marriage is rejected – what else is left but the internal emotional processes that people possess? It hardly needs to be said how destructive divorce can be for all involved – especially children. Trying to root marriages in the transience of one’s private emotions, however, is surely asking for trouble in years to come. Those early feelings of infatuation can subside (sometimes quickly), to be replaced by something more dour, and less romantic. Marriage is, of course, difficult work, and defining it according to one’s emotional state is to turn it into something that is essentially, inherently unstable. If marriage is little more than the outgrowth of affection between two (or more) people – which seems to be all that’s left once traditional conceptions are rejected – what should we say about the reality of that union if such affection disappears? What should we say if and when such unions collapse, causing heartache and anguish for all involved? And what should we say if the children of such failed unions find themselves burdened in life by the fraying of those native bonds of affection?

To take just one example: the increased incidence of drug and alcohol abuse amongst young people from broken families. The conservative “Heritage Foundation” has documented the rates of alcohol, cigarette and illicit drug abuse amongst such youths. In a series of articles that draw from a wide variety of research, the think-tank found that children and adolescents from intact families all had significantly lower rates of alcohol, cigarette, marijuana and cocaine use than did their peers from families that had been fragmented through divorce (see, for example, Patrick F. Fagan and Robert Rector, “The Effects of Divorce on America,” June 5, 2000). Research, therefore, strongly suggests that children from homes sundered by divorce are more likely to engage in them. And yet, trying to corral marriage in the aforementioned way, so that it is forced to rest upon the (transient) emotional states of the participating individuals, is simply welcoming that destruction at some time in the future – perhaps not for every individual, or even for every marital union, but certainly for some. If marriage is grounded in nothing more than such states, and is normalised accordingly, it does not bode well for the survival of many such relationships. What is more, one cannot ignore the baleful ripple effects that ensue if such marriages break-down. However, the confused, contradictory view of marriage that De Brito (and others like him) propounds undermines a bond that is, in many ways, essential to human flourishing. Unfortunately, however, it appears little is able to prevent this view from now being enshrined.