Clearly, if it is sensible to hold a referendum on independence

“Clearly, if it is sensible to hold a referendum on independence, it is crucial that we have one on marriage. It is the only way the country can move forward on this issue. Let all those who have a view on this subject place their trust in the Scottish people and let Scotland decide.” Thus spoke Keith O’Brien, the late Cardinal and Archbishop of St. Andrews and Edinburgh, a figure whose voice, though steeped in the traditions of the Church, echoed through the public life of Scotland with moral fervor. His words emerged during a time of great debate — when the nation was torn between the call for independence from the United Kingdom and the redefinition of marriage itself. And though his statement was bound to its moment, it carries a truth as old as democracy and as enduring as conscience: that when a people face division, the path forward must be found not through decree or imposition, but through trust — trust in the wisdom of the people and the dignity of their choice.

The origin of this quote lies in the early years of the twenty-first century, when Scotland stood at the crossroads of identity. The question of national independence — whether Scotland should separate from the United Kingdom — stirred the land with passionate discourse. At the same time, the question of marriage — of its definition and sanctity — awakened equally deep convictions within the hearts of the faithful and the free alike. Cardinal O’Brien, himself a man of the cloth, sought to draw a parallel between these two debates, urging that if the people were deemed worthy to decide the fate of a nation, they should also be trusted to decide the moral course of their society. His plea was not only political but spiritual — an appeal to the principle that sovereignty, whether of nations or of hearts, must rest in the collective will of a people guided by truth and conscience.

In his statement, O’Brien speaks from the belief that a referendum — a vote by the people — is more than an act of governance. It is, in essence, a ritual of trust, a sacred acknowledgment that the wisdom of the many can shape the destiny of the whole. When he says, “Let Scotland decide,” he invokes not merely the machinery of democracy, but the ancient idea that power, like faith, must flow upward from the people, not downward from the rulers. In this, he echoes the spirit of Athenian democracy, where citizens gathered in the open air to deliberate the laws that would govern their lives. He reminds his listeners that freedom is not maintained by those who speak the loudest, but by those who are heard.

There is, too, in O’Brien’s words, a deeper reflection on the nature of independence itself. For whether a people seek independence from empire or an individual seeks freedom of conscience, both struggles spring from the same well — the desire to be the author of one’s own destiny. By comparing the question of national independence to that of moral governance, O’Brien suggests that both are tests of maturity: can a society bear the weight of its own choices? Can it discern, not by passion alone but by principle, what is just? His challenge is not to the state alone, but to the soul of the nation — to prove that liberty is not license, and that decision born of democracy must also be tempered by wisdom.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln, who in the midst of a divided America declared that government must be “of the people, by the people, for the people.” Like O’Brien, Lincoln believed that true progress could not be imposed by the few upon the many; it must be chosen, debated, and owned by the people themselves. In both cases — the battle for union in America and the debates of modern Scotland — the act of trusting the people becomes the crucible of civilization. For to trust the people is to affirm faith in humanity’s capacity for reason, compassion, and truth.

Yet, O’Brien’s words also contain a note of warning. To call for the people’s decision is to call for their responsibility. Freedom without moral reflection leads to chaos; choice without understanding leads to folly. Just as a nation must deliberate carefully before breaking from its bonds, so too must it weigh the spiritual and social consequences of redefining its values. The referendum, in this sense, is not merely a vote, but a mirror — a reflection of who we are and what we believe. O’Brien’s appeal for a national decision on marriage was, at its core, a call for collective conscience — for a society to look inward and decide not only what it desires, but what it deems sacred.

Let this be the lesson carried forward: that democracy, to endure, must be rooted in both freedom and faith — freedom to decide, and faith in the goodness of human reason. The call to “let Scotland decide” is not only for Scots, nor only for one age; it is the eternal call to all peoples and all generations: to take ownership of their destiny, to engage in the labor of thought, and to bear the weight of their moral inheritance. For the health of a nation lies not in the power of its leaders, but in the integrity of its people.

So remember, O listener, as Cardinal O’Brien reminded his nation: to decide is to declare who you are. Whether in politics, in morality, or in life itself, do not shrink from the responsibility of independence, nor from the discipline that it demands. Speak with courage, choose with conscience, and trust in the wisdom that rises when a people, united in purpose, dare to decide their own fate. For the freedom to choose is not only the privilege of the strong — it is the duty of the wise.