A young darling named Abigail Gliddon, all teeth and tilted head, has published a commentary in today's 'Guardian' entitled 'Not in the name of marriage'.
Prefacing matrimonial musings with the words 'When and if I get married', does not inspire confidence. Miss Gliddon has no personal experience of the married state, yet already she knows that she will not take her husband's name. If she doesn't realise that her publication of that sentiment might just have made that 'if' a great deal bigger, Miss Gliddon also doesn't seem to know much about men.
While it is not at all uncommon for those who have no experience of things to opine on their validity - we can all hold views on the morality of warfare without having served in the military, for example, and our employment policies are formulated by a self-selected political class many of whose members have never done a proper day's work - the experience of marriage is so common that if comment upon it must be made, it would be better for the commentator to have some idea of what they're talking about; that is, if they don't wan't to be laughed at by unsophisticated provincial married men on the cusp of middle age, who have seven years' worth of scars from practicing divorce law on their back.
Marriages are properly described as being 'contracted'; perhaps Miss Gliddon thinks the same, as if marriage were a communicable disease, like scabies.
There is a banality to Miss Gliddon's musings which borders at times on the charming; and yet, and yet, and yet, she fails to see how she undermines the argument she is trying to make.
The purpose of marriage is to create a new family. That family is entitled to its own identity. One of the easiest ways for it to do so is for its members to share a name. The retention of a surname used before marriage indicates that a person identifies more strongly with the individual they were before marriage than with the new unit they have voluntarily joined (one assumes for these purposes that Miss Gliddon runs no imminent risk of being taken out of school to be married against her will to a cousin in Waziristan, a practice against which her feminist ire might be more properly directed; if she can stop thinking about herself for a minute). If you want to stay who you were before you were married, don't waste the vicar's time.
The retention of surnames is anti-marriage, and by extension anti-family. It is not surprising that the encouragement of surnames' retention should have occurred at the same time as the other monstrous assaults which materialism has made on the family and the married state. The reduction of a sacred state to a financial transaction is one of the biggest crimes that the cultural left is going to have to account for when they meet their Maker; as an aside, it never ceases to amaze me that many leftist and libertarian materialists, fixated as they are with manufactured stuff, can say with a straight face that they don't believe they were manufactured themselves. They believe that their existence is due to nothing but an entirely random set of factors which, if laid out in word form, defies all probability; including the Earth getting hit by an asteroid. The pure Darwinists therefore must be held to believe that in order for their guru to be correct, the sky had to fall in. I have never read 'De Bello Gallico' myself, but if my memory of what I was told about at school is accurate, it was at the point that the Gauls told Julius Caesar that they lived in fear of the sky falling in that he realised they could be beaten. Instead of believing that they were created, many materialists advocate attempting to manufacture other lives for their own purposes; quite forgetting that their attempts are doomed to fail, for the greater Maker has the patents on both the manufacturing process and the quality control.
Perhaps Miss Gliddon believes that marriages are manufactured, like pots and plates and doomed to obsolesence, and not created to endure like the marvellous works of art they can be; after all, nobody watches 'On Golden Pond' to marvel at the boat.
For all the rock 'n roll, should she ever decide that she wishes to get married, one really does wish Miss Gliddon well. During the course of her search, she might even fall in love, quite the most wonderful experience anyone can ever have. It is not just in the poorer type of Country and Western song that love makes fools of us all; it happens day in and day out, it ennobles women and it reforms men. Who knows? It might even keep Miss Gliddon from making references on MySpace as to how her interests include, in her words, 'The laughing duck that haunts my sleep'.
Well, at least it's a bit different from another spinster's public enthusiasm for 'moonwalking on slidey floors'.