Matthew d'Ancona: Cracks in the Coalition marriage But the Bill was neither of these things. More than any other single reform enacted by the Coalition, it symbolised Cameron's politics and the continuity of his beliefs. The PM's support for same-sex marriage reflected, of course, a belief that the lifelong commitment of two men or of two women was worthy not only of civil recognition but also of the same kind of civil recognition as the marriage of a man and a woman. Civil partnerships, as far as he was concerned, were only a transitional measure. But Cameron also saw his reform as a means of strengthening an ailing institution. Gay people who married would not only be exercising a new right; they would be recruited to, and thereby reinforce, an ancient system of social organisation. Whereas opponents of the measure saw it as the weakening of the most basic social unit, Cameron believed not only that human happiness would be enhanced, but that marriage itself would be strengthened. Those who said he had sprung this on his party - a typical stunt by the panicked metropolitan elite - had simply not been paying attention. As far back as the 2006 Tory conference, the new Tory leader had made a passionate defence of marriage, paused theatrically and added: "And by the way, it means something whether you're a man and a woman, a woman and a woman or a man and another man." It helped that the Cabinet minister steering the reform through the Commons was Maria Miller, a mainstream Conservative rather than an ultra-moderniser, who presented the measure as a sensible and modest change, rather than a generational moment in the history of civil rights (which it was). Repeatedly, Miller expressed respect for those who opposed or had anxieties about the Bill, especially MPs who felt that their religious beliefs were being disregarded. She and Cameron made much of the so called "quadruple lock" in the proposals, which protected religious institutions and faith groups from litigation over gay marriage, and ensured that, in practice, no priest, rabbi or imam would ever have to officiate unwillingly at a same-sex wedding. The Church of England and the Church in Wales were explicitly exempted from the new system: a disappointment to many Anglicans, it transpired, but an absolutely essential provision. By strategically delegating the question to the Church itself - relocating it in a separate legal silo, so to speak - Cameron had ensured that the legislative debate would not degenerate into a blazing row about religious freedom. This did not stop religious sensibilities being mentioned in the Commons debate on February 5. Declaring that she would positively abstain, Andrea Leadsom, the Tory MP for South Northamptonshire, said that, for those who saw marriage as a sacrament, such a change was bound to have consequences: "I have deep sympathy with the hundreds of my constituents who fear that legislation for same-sex marriage will profoundly encroach - although this may be unintended - on their right to live according to their faith. For many, the conviction that marriage can take place only between a man and a woman means that they feel that their own marriage is undermined by what they see as a profound change to the biblical definition. This was the crux of the opposition. The Commons voted overwhelmingly for change, by 400 to 175 - a majority of 225. As a statesman, Cameron could feel richly satisfied by a measure that would still be remembered when Leveson, "plebgate" and the turf wars in Number Ten competed for space in the footnotes. As party leader, however, he had little to celebrate. In spite of his own appeals, the emollience of Miller, and the arguments made by George Osborne, William Hague and Theresa May, no fewer than 136 Conservatives had opposed the Bill - including two Cabinet ministers (Owen Paterson and David Jones, the Welsh Secretary). Just 127 Tories had supported the measure, which was carried by a heavy margin thanks only to overwhelming backing by Labour and the Lib Dems. Behind the scenes, Cameron would later concede that his political antennae had failed him in this instance; he had lost contact with his own tribe. Months after the vote, he was still writing dozens of letters to activists and constituents seeking to allay their fears and to reassure them that what he was doing was authentically Conservative, and not a betrayal of the party's most sacred beliefs. "I want this sorted out by July," he told his advisers. But it was clear that the ill-feeling the reform had sown in the Conservative Party would endure long after that. In his bleaker private moments, Cameron became savagely self-critical about his misreading of the party on gay marriage. "This is down to me," he told one ally. If I'd known what it was going to be like, I wouldn't have done it.