One of the more amusing things about watching the recent Dáil outbreak of Church-bashing over the new National Maternity hospital has been observing our politicians stand solemnly before proceedings begin to invoke the protection of almighty God and his blessings on their work.
It is hard to shake the feeling that the whole thing is very hypocritical. Since the foundation of the state, the daily work of both houses of the Oireachtas begins with a prayer, led by the Ceann Comhairle of the Dáil, and the Cathaoirleach of the Seanad, respectively. That prayer goes like this:
Direct we beseech Thee, O Lord, our actions by Thy holy inspirations and carry them on by Thy gracious assistance; that every word and work of ours may always begin from Thee, and by Thee be happily ended; through Christ our Lord, amen.”
That “every word and work of ours may always begin from Thee”? Say this for our politicians, they’re consistent: They start every day by making a promise that they don’t intend to keep.
There are very few reasons to keep the prayer, and very many to ditch it. Obviously, this is an area where this writer and a great many atheist, progressive commentators will agree. They will point out, not unreasonably, that it’s somewhat alienating for people who do not believe in God, or who practice another faith, to have to sit through a Christian prayer every morning. They will also claim, though this second argument is patently ludicrous, that the prayer might influence legislators towards positions on policy favoured by the Catholic Church. How’s that one working out?
But from the perspective of people for whom prayers are meaningful, and for whom God is worthy of respect and reverence, the prayer should probably be even more insulting. A person who actually meant the words, as written above, could not in good conscience legislate for many of the things which our politicians write into law. The National Maternity hospital is a good example – set aside your own morality, if you are a progressive reading this, and ask yourself how somebody could sincerely invoke the blessings of God before launching into a tirade about how the Nuns might object to abortions.
The purpose of the prayer, to make some kind of case for it, is in theory to draw the attention of legislators and citizens alike to the gravity and seriousness of the work carried out in the Oireachtas. “This is substantial and important business”, it says, “and we need all the help we can get to make sure we get it right”. It is supposed to be a reminder to those present that the things they do that day will outlive them, and so on, and so forth. In theory, all well and good.
In practice, though, it just means using religious views sincerely held by some people as a performative prop. “Look, we’re praying to show how serious we are”, is the message. But that is not why people pray: They pray to ask for help, and to talk privately to the being they believe to be their creator and their salvation. People who pray in public to be seen praying are not really talking to God at all: They’re talking to an audience who they believe will think better of them for praying. The purpose is to dupe other religious people into thinking these people are good and worshipful.
Given that this is, at least in name, a secular republic, it might be better, if our politicians want solemnity and ritual and reflection to open their working day, if they were to adopt some kind of national pledge of allegiance, like the one the Americans use. Let them re-state their commitment to the Irish people, and that the work they do on a given day is for their benefit, or whatever.
The religious views of people who sincerely hold them, by contrast, deserve better than to be dragged through the sewer every day by politicians who do not mean them, and in some cases, sit through them with barely disguised contempt. The current arrangement undermines respect both for religion, and for the politicians themselves.