Churches can now conduct civil partnerships, but should they even be allowed to conduct weddings?

The current legal situation around marriage and civil partnership is incoherent.

The current legal situation around marriage and civil partnership is incoherent.

Since 5th December, under the Marriages and Civil Partnerships (Approved Premises) (Amendment) Regulations 2011, religious bodies in England and Wales have had the right to register same-sex civil partnerships as well as religious weddings, should they wish to do so.

This doesn't mean that same-sex couples have had the right to bang on the door of their local parish church and demand that the vicar conduct a civil union ceremony. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Church of England has made it clear that it has no plans to avail itself of the provisions. No Anglican clergy, however liberal or enthusiastic at the prospect, will be entitled to conduct civil partnerships. And I'd guess the likelihood of the Roman Catholic Bishops Conference repudiating the Pope by signing up to the scheme is vanishingly small. Some believers may have better luck. Liberal synagogues are said to be keen on the measure, the Quakers have already signed up, and the United Reformed Church has promised to consider the matter in July.

It should be clear, then, that the government has bent over backwards to ensure that religious bodies are not compelled to endorse civil partnerships, even to the extent of making life difficult for clergy who, left to their own devices, would like to do so. Yet an Evangelical Tory, Baroness O'Cathain (pronounced "Cahoin"), today forced a House of Lords debate on the issue. Her motion, if passed, would have cancelled the new regulations. In the event, she withdrew it before it reached a vote. Perhaps the tone of the debate had led her to expect a heavy defeat. More likely, in getting the subject debated she had already achieved her aim.

It's not surprising to find Lady O'Cathain's name associated with today's move. A former director of the Barbican Centre ennobled by John Major, she has long had a reputation in the Lords as a campaigner for traditional and religious values. In 2004 she attempted to have civil partnerships excluded from her native Northern Ireland (her intervention, it is rumoured, led to her departure from the board of British Airways after Stonewall threatened a boycott). The same year she opposed the legal recognition of sex changes on the grounds that "the basic proposition of the Bill is mistaken. A man cannot become a woman. A woman cannot become a man".

She also mounted a rearguard attempt in 2008 to save the ancient crime of blasphemy, on the grounds that "as long as there has been a country called England it has been a Christian country, publicly acknowledging the one true God."

Her legal worries about the impact of the new regulations are almost certainly groundless - although to be fair their drafting is sufficiently obscure to allow lawyers to have led one of Britain's most distinguished judges, Baroness Butler-Sloss, to admit during the debate that she had some difficultly understanding them. But in any case, today's debate was mostly about putting down a marker.

What really frightens campaigners of Lady O'Cathain's mindset is the government's desire to legalise full-fledged gay marriage. The current distinction between (exclusively heterosexual) marriage and (exclusively homosexual) civil partnership may be largely an artificial one but it does have significant cultural and religious implications. Many gay couples want to be allowed to call themselves married. Some heterosexual couples would prefer to live without the historical baggage of the word. To offer both types of partnership to every sort of couple seems both liberal and logical.

But not without difficulty. As long as the two are distinct, churches and other religious organisations that offer marriage can legally do so only to heterosexuals; and if they decline to offer civil partnerships to gay people they will not be available to heterosexuals, after all. There will be no discrimination involved, at least not a discrimination that would engage the 2010 Equality Act.

But as soon as marriage is open to all regardless of sexual orientation (and perhaps civil partnership too) this position becomes much harder to sustain. So too does the current distinction between civil weddings and those conducted in a church or other religious building. Something will have to give. Either marriage (and civil partnership) registration will have to become a purely civil matter, with religious bodies free to offer blessings afterwards if they so desire (that being, after all, no concern of the state). Or else, conversely, the state should remove itself from the marriage business entirely and leave it to churches and other voluntary associations to conduct ceremonies and offer pieces of paper to their members that have no more than internal or spiritual relevance. In that case the legal registration of relationships would become a purely administrative matter.

However unfounded Baroness O'Cathain's fears in this particular instance, she's right to note that the current legal situation around marriage and civil partnership is incoherent. The source of the trouble, though, is something of which she presumably approves: the role played by churches and other religious bodies in conducting and registering legally binding marriages. However normal it may seem for people to get married in church, in reality the whole process is a confusion of the proper spheres of religion and the state no less than the presence of bishops in the House of Lords.

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.