Know Thy EnemiesÊ
Review by Samuel Gregg
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The High Price of Heaven: A Book about the Enemies of Pleasure and Freedom
by David Marr
Allen & Unwin, St Leonards, Australia, 1999, 319 pp., $24.95, ISBN 1 86508 201 5 (hbk)

One of the 20th centuryÕs giants of moral philosophy, Alasdair MacIntyre, has noted that among the worst evils befalling the use of language in advanced Western societies is Ôthe taste for pretentious nostrums described in inflated language which induces excitement rather than thought.Õ A reading of David MarrÕs latest literary offering, The High Price of Heaven: A Book about the Enemies of Pleasure and Freedom, makes it difficult to dispute the accuracy of MacIntyreÕs observation.

Two clues to the nature of this curious book by a biographer of Patrick White and Sir Garfield Barwick are to be found in its title and the short note about Marr himself on the bookÕs inside back flap-cover. These are, respectively, the word ÔenemiesÕ and the description of Barwick as Ôthe judge who plotted the coup dÕŽtat of 1975.Õ

That Australia experienced a Ôcoup dÕŽtatÕ in 1975 is at best an interesting proposition, but the idea that Barwick was the eminence grise earnestly plotting the Whitlam governmentÕs downfall strikes this reviewer as an even more ÔinterestingÕ contention. What is not questionable, however, is whom Marr regards as the ÔenemiesÕ of what he understands to constitute freedom and pleasure. They are, in a broad sense, those Christian clerics or lay persons whose faith-commitments influence their views on particular public policy issues, who use their right to free speech to articulate their churchesÕ teachings on sexual morality in an unambiguous manner, and whose religious beliefs are a strong motivation underlying their choice to lobby for particular public policy outcomes.

The underlying paradox of MarrÕs positionøand one that is never resolvedøis that there are numerous subjects such as immigration, refugees and the plight of Aborigines, where the views and consequent political activism of many committed Christians closely coincide with MarrÕs own beliefs about the appropriate direction of public policy. Indeed, as one reads this book there are times when it almost seems as if MarrÕs driving concern is to demarcate a territory of causes which he feels that he will be able to occupy without finding himself associating with devout Christians, especially if they happen to be of the Catholic or Sydney Anglican variety.

Marr begins with an introduction entitled ÔConfessionÕ in which he states that he was once a Christian. It is not long, however, before the anger that appears at least partly to have motivated Marr to denounce his former brethren begins to manifest itself. This is particularly evident in the somewhat extravagant language that Marr often uses to depict his enemies. Is it really necessary, for example, for Marr to describe one priest as having Ôa comfortable roll of fat under his chinÕ (p.223)? But name-calling and labellingøand there is much of that in this text (Ôecclesiastical showmanÕ [p.274]; Ôeconomic rationalistsÕ [pp.42, 108]; ÔfundamentalistsÕ [p.259]; Ôheadstrong bishopsÕ [p.224]; Ôcheerful reactionaryÕ [p.185]; ÔwhingersÕ [p.109]; Ôpassionately bad-tempered old manÕ [p.88]; ÔBoadicea of BirminghamÕ [p.81]; Ôengine of homophobiaÕ [p.67]; Ômoralising herd-mentalityÕ [p.33]; ÔbigotsÕ [p.286] ÔbigotryÕ [pp.53, 62, 67, 268]; Ôrenegade Tasmanian moralistÕ [p.75]; ÔmoralisingÕ [p.78]; ÔmoralistsÕ [p.181]; Ômoral vigilantesÕ [p.109]; Ôpuritan haughtinessÕ [p.87]; Ôbully churchesÕ [p.286]; Ôbullying indifferenceÕ [p.xiii])øis no substitute for scholarly research, reasoned debate and calm discussion. Unfortunately, none of these feature heavily in MarrÕs musings about the Australian churches, their teachings about sexuality, the manner in which they shape public policy, and their place in a secular, pluralist and constitutional democracy.

MarrÕs starting point is his conviction that religious belief and the churches play a powerful role in AustraliaÕs social and political life under a variety of disguises. From this perspective, the book proceeds to study certain individuals (two chapters attempt to place John Howard and Brian Harradine in the context of their religious background), particular issues (censorship features heavily), and various civic institutions (most notably Sydney Anglican schools as well as the High Court). In each case, religious belief or activism is portrayed as playing a crucial (sometime the crucial), albeit often hidden, part in shaping individual outlooks, policy outcomes and even court cases.

Stylistically, most of the book, with the exception of the more self-revelatory sections, reads like a racy newspaper feature article. A glance at the bookÕs notes indicates that earlier versions of most of its chapters were previously published as newspaper articles (the notes also reflect an extraordinary reliance upon Sydney Morning Herald pieces published by MarrÕs colleagues). A comparison, for example, of the chapter ÔThe Spires of St MaryÕsÕ with MarrÕs SMH Spectrum article ÔThe Mandate of HeavenÕ (31/7/99) reveals few substantial differences.

On the positive side, the book does provide a certain insight into the dilemmas created by human sexuality. Few would question that the churches, like all other institutions, have not always grappled with such issues in a sensible and sensitive manner. To a certain extent, Marr does capture the frustration and pain, the sense of despair, not to mention the jungle of emotions that often surfaces when people are brought face to face with these matters.

There are nonetheless innumerable flaws marring this text, many of which suggest that Marr is simply out of his depth. Prominent among these is MarrÕs basically superficial grasp of Christian doctrine. This is betrayed in somewhat dramatic but ultimately flippant comments such as: ÔAmong the handful of beliefs common to nearly every brand of Christianity . . . are these two: that Jesus Christ rose from the dead, and that homosexuals are bound for hellÕ (p.62). But as Marr himself acknowledges, most churches carefully distinguish between homosexual orientation and homosexual acts (p.56). Moreover, few churches actually teach that either necessarily guarantees a person a swift road to hell, even though most churches certainly do regard homosexual acts as sinful and therefore state that such acts should not be chosen. Nor in this connection does Marr seem to understand the critical role played by manÕs repentance of sin as well as GodÕs mercy and forgiveness in what Christians believe to be the economy of salvation.

MarrÕs limited knowledge of Christian teaching also manifests itself when he quotes himself asking a Salvation Army officer in the context of the debate over drug injecting rooms, ÔBut isnÕt keeping people alive the fundamental obligation of Christians?Õ (p.13). As any half-competent Christian theologian knows, the fundamental obligation of Christians is to love God and love their neighbour, and that one of the fundamental Christian moral principles derived from this is that you may not do evil in order to achieve good (or, in rough Kantian terms, the ends do not justify the means). That is why the issue of injecting rooms is more complex for Christians than MarrÕs question would suggest.

A third example of doctrinal inaccuracy on MarrÕs part may be found in his claim that: ÔSex without the chance of procreation has been forbidden since Clement of Alexandria set the church and Western Society down the strange path of demonising all sex unless its purpose is breeding. ThatÕs still RomeÕs fundamental principle todayÕ (p.282). Again, Marr is mistaken. If Marr read some of the documents of Vatican II, such as Gaudium et Spes (1965), he would soon discover that ÔRomeÕ praises what it regards as the sexual acts proper to marriage because the Church believes that such acts uniquely express and perfect married love. This dimension of sexual activity is, in the ChurchÕs view, just as important an end of marriageøthough not more soøas the procreative dimension. A little more research on MarrÕs part would soon indicate that Karol Wojtyla (better known as John Paul IIøone of MarrÕs super-enemies) devoted much time to arguing in favour of precisely this position in Love and Responsibility (1960), one of his many philosophical works written before Vatican II.

A further difficulty marring The High Price of Heaven is its debatable grasp of the facts surrounding several important events examined in this book. MarrÕs discussion of the wrangle within the Catholic Church during the 1998 election over the appropriate Catholic attitude towards the GST features prominently in this regard. Marr states, for example, that ÔThe bishops backed the Catholic Social Welfare Commission in declaring it a regressive tax. No such tax could have the support of the churchÕ (p.227).

Close scrutiny, however, of the relevant documentøthe Position Paper on the Moral Reference Points for Tax Reform (28/7/98)øissued by the Central Commission of the Australian Catholic Bishops Conference indicates that the bishops said something rather different. While they did state that Ôindirect taxes are regressiveÕ, the bishops qualified this remark by stating that ÔTo a large extent, the regressive nature of the indirect tax system is unavoidable.Õ Having then outlined, in a very carefully balanced and detailed manner, the economic and moral dilemmas involved in broadening the consumption tax base, the bishops ended by stating that they believed that such a measure (i.e., a GST) could be introduced, provided that three conditions were met. In other words, the bishops neither explicitly supported nor opposed the introduction of a GST. Rather, their paper was primarily concerned with articulating a moral framework based on principles of Catholic social teaching, awareness of the socio-economic context, and acceptance of the need for tax reform, which individual Catholics could then apply to both the GovernmentÕs and the OppositionÕs respective proposals for tax reform. In light of these facts, MarrÕs account of this particular saga suddenly begins to look very thin indeed.

Then there is MarrÕs often-odd way of attempting to refute his enemiesÕ stance on various moral questions. This is exemplified by MarrÕs statement that ÔAt the end of the century of Freud, Lawrence, de Beauvoir, Kinsey, Proust, Cavafy, Nabokov, Masters and Johnson, Joyce, Genet, Stein, Foucault, Jung, Baldwin, Schnitzler, and Thomas Mannøthe Catholic Church still officially insists that only men and women may have sex together, and only within marriage, and only if a child may resultÕ (p.222). As far as one can tell, it would seem that Marr considers the writings of all these commentators to amount to an overwhelmingly self-evident case against Catholic teaching about questions of sexual morality. He does not, it appears, feel the need to explain how these writings undermine the Catholic position (most of which is shared by most Protestant churches) on these matters. A mere appeal to the authority of Freud, Kinsey et al. is apparently enough.

Yet Marr himself concedes that KinseyÕs scientific reputation is now very shaky (p.156). Marr is also probably aware that while Freud is certainly the father of psychoanalysis, few of his intellectual successors take his conclusions about the role of sex in human affairs seriously (Jung, for example, explicitly repudiated him). As for aligning Foucault on the side of enlightenment, more than one commentator would argue that FoucaultÕs ideas have done much to thrust much contemporary Western philosophy into an intellectual abyss in which the only truth is raw power. Is this really the type of ally that Marr wants to rally against his enemies in defending his vision of freedom?

This absence of any attempt to engage his enemiesÕ arguments in any intellectually substantial way underlies one of the two broader problems with MarrÕs book: his failure not only to explain precisely what he understands to constitute freedom and pleasure, but also to elucidate why his understanding of these concepts is superior to the views articulated by his enemies. Reading this text, for example, one gets the impression that Marr considers freedom to be a matter of being free to do whatever one wills provided that it does not involve harming others. To a certain extent, John Stuart Mill would align himself with this position. A different view, however, is taken by figures such as Aristotle, St Paul, Thomas Aquinas, John Wesley, Edmund Burke, Alexis de Tocqueville, and Karl Barth. Their view of freedom, which also happens to be the Christian position, is captured in Lord ActonÕs statement that liberty is not to be defined as Ôthe power of doing what we like, but the right of being able to do what we oughtÕ. The realisation of freedom, from the Christian perspective, is therefore intrinsically linked to the responsibility to order oneÕs freely willed actions to the knowable and objective truth about good and evil.

Here is not the place to compare the merits of MarrÕs understanding of the nature of freedom and pleasure with the views held by Christian thinkers as well as non-Christians such as Aristotle and Kant. But MarrÕs failure to enter into these debates in any meaningful way does leave a philosophical void at the heart of his book.

The second major philosophical difficulty with MarrÕs book is its implicitly majoritarian view of how pluralist democracies should work. At one point, Marr concedes that reference to opinion polls is not how we should make decisions about fundamental issues (p.102). Yet he is not slow to appeal to opinion polls as a way of bolstering his claim that certain political decisions or policies that happen to be supported by many Christians should be overturned.

To this end, the figure 70 percent is cited on several occasions: Ô70 per cent of us believe adults should be able to see and read what we chooseÕ (p.76); Ôa clear 72 per cent support for the sale of non-violent erotic videosÕ (p.76); ÔitÕs not the 70 per centøthe confident, relaxed typical Australianøthat decides who runs this country, but the anxious, at times vindictive, often militantly Christian 30 per centÕ (p.77); ÔweÕre speaking for 70 per cent of AustraliaÕ (p.91); ÔThe euthanasia debate demonstrated [the Catholic ChurchÕs] awesome capacity to achieve a result thatÕs deeply reassuring for Catholics and other Christians but opposed by something like 70 per cent of the populationÕ (p.218).

The clear implication of these comments is that there is something fundamentally wrong in a democracy if the wishes of 70 per cent of the population are denied. In such cases, Marr becomes somewhat of what Friedrich von Hayek described as a Ôdoctrinaire democratÕ: i.e., someone who believes that Ôthe fact that majority wants something is sufficient ground for regarding it as good.Õ In the works of innumerable philosophers of democracy such as Tocqueville and the 19th century French Protestant liberal Benjamin Constant are to be found systematic refutations of doctrinaire democracy, the perils of which should be obvious. If, for example, 70 per cent of Australians thought that it was permissible to stone homosexuals to death, Marr would presumably agree that this is hardly a sufficient basis for such an aspiration to receive legislative fiat.

But an even more disturbing aspect of MarrÕs vision of life in democratic systems is his apparent desire to exclude Christians from any involvement in public discussion of various issues. This is most evident in MarrÕs treatment of censorship which Marr concludes by stating: ÔWeÕre not going to emerge from this censorship mess until we get God out of the picture, leaving faith to the faithful and the screen to usÕ (p.91).

And who, one might ask, are ÔusÕ? Given the context of MarrÕs statement, ÔusÕ is presumably anyone who does not hold to any particular faith. But is the fact that someone is religiousøbe they Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Catholicøa sufficient reason to exclude them from expressing an opinion on various subjects or being involved in the formulation of policy decisions? Is this not contrary to the very essence of pluralist and tolerant societies? Surely it is characteristic of pluralist democracies that any group, be they homosexual activists or One Nation supporters, can express their views and vote, lobby and agitate for what they want, provided they are willing to do so under the auspices of the Rule of Law.

In this regard, it is revealing that Marr seems bewildered by the fact that, as he acknowledges (p.225), those Christians who lobbied for the overturning of the Northern TerritoryÕs euthanasia laws did so not by appealing to the demands of faith, but rather by presenting their case on resolutely secular human rights grounds. What Marr could have, but did not, elaborate upon in this context, is that the euthanasia debate illustrated that religiously informed contributions to public policy debates can be based on and defended by appeal to publicly accessible reasons provided by principles of natural law and natural justice. To put it another way, Christians can, as John Finnis and others have argued, participate in public policy debates without necessarily appealing to their religious beliefs, relying instead upon those Ôpublic reasonsÕøthat is, rational and therefore universal and communicable moral normsøthat are accessible to people of all faiths and none. In doing so, they circumvent the usual accusations of imposing their ÔirrationalÕ beliefs upon others.

One suspects, however, that this is not enough for Marr. It is also probable that he will not be content until the churches effectively abandon all that they have ever taught on questions of personal morality and strenuously avoid saying anything that might be contrary to what Robert George of Princeton University has called Ôsecular orthodoxyÕ. Indeed there is a distinct tone of VoltaireÕs Ecrasez lÕinf‰me!, not to mention a sense of BismarckÕs declaration of Kulturkampf, underlying this book which should disturb anyone, religious or otherwise, who believes in tolerance and religious liberty in a free, pluralist and democratic society. It follows that if people are looking for a serious and balanced discussion of the very complex questions surrounding the matter of how the churches and people of religious faith engage in public policy debates in Australia, they will not find it in The High Price of Heaven. Sadly enough, this book in the end primarily provides its reader with an insight into one manÕs twilight of Nietzschian unknowingness.

Author

Samuel Gregg is Resident Scholar at The Centre for Independent Studies and Director of its Religion and the Free Society research programme.

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