Jim Hopkins: Why politicians are much more dangerous than pastors

We've all got guilty secrets. We're all more than we seem and less than we wish. Whatever our station in life, we all have to take unwelcome guests along whenever we catch the train.

Every one of us has skeletons in our cupboard or fees in our charity or a couple of pens from the editor's office in the little plastic cup on the top of our computer - or something of the sort.

We might paint ourselves as angels but beneath the thin Vermeer of civilisation a darker picture lurks.

In the shadows, through the door, down the passage, out the back, buried in the garden, are those hidden things that would mortify us if they were ever exhumed, let's say, at a private dinner party with the lovely Cherie during her Australian visit to Auckland.

Now I've never been privileged enough to attend one of Mrs "Teddy" Blair's picnics but, should the gilded invitation ever come, rest assured the scampi would be utterly spoiled the instant some waggish Remueruvian casually asked: "So why do you listen to Parliament, Mr Hipkins?"

Gripped by shame and blushing beetroot red, I'd splutter some semi-credible explanation. "I don't," I'd choke, "well, not for my own sake. It's a public service. I do it for the readers. To spare them the ordeal."

"Reeeally?" all the guests would say, in that politely contemptuous tone people use when they don't believe a word of it. And I would slink off, crushed by the realisation that my guilty secret was exposed.

Then again, as is the case with Mrs B's fee, there is another side to this acoustical depravity. Despicable as it might seem, listening to Parliament (on your behalf) does have some benefits - especially in election year.

Occasionally a weird insight pierces the fog of platitudes and reveals the vainglorious bombasts in their true colours.

Consider if you will, the 30-hour debate the troughies have just had after the Prime Minister's State of the Nation statement thingee. Having listened (as your servant) to most of the flatulent rhetoric that ensued, the whole turgid debate can accurately be distilled to this erudite essence:

Government members: "Everything is wonderful and it's all thanks to us and you're a bunch of tossers! Nyah, nyah, nyah!"

Opposition members: "Everything is diabolical and it's all thanks to you, so you're the real tossers! Nyah, nyah, nyah!"

Most of us would expect nothing more from people who have voluntarily relinquished free will and judgment to become members of political parties which then tell them when to speak and what to say and how to vote and, best of all, ensure they all get handsomely rewarded for the privilege of behaving like automatons.

But what you don't expect is the fervour with which they make their declarations. No matter how shopworn their assertions, the poor dears really do sound as if they actually believe what they say. Particularly when they're boasting, which all governments do, of course. It's certainly not a vice exclusive to our present rulers.

Nevertheless, it still jars to hear some pre-programmed backbencher sanctimoniously declare that they are, for instance, "proud to be part of a Government that stands for happy, successful children" without apparently recognising the absurdity of the statement.

Because governments don't produce happy, successful children. They might help, but that's it. Many other things - genetics, parents, circumstances, gender - play a part. No matter. That doesn't stop our MMPs claiming credit for everything. Roads, jobs, crime rates, you name it, the old litany still applies - we've never had it so good. (Or bad, if you're the Opposition.)

Either way, just a few minutes of such nonsense and you're desperate for the merest whiff of agnosticism, the faintest skerrick of doubt, some hint they acknowledge the truth of Disraeli's declaration that there are three types of lies, "lies, damned lies and statistics".

Not on your nelly. These people truly believe they are our Destiny. Indeed, it was the much-maligned Pastor Brian who helped me to make the connection.

If you were watching on Monday night, you'll have seen him on the new Paul Holmes - and, boy, didn't the critics all take an extra dose of sour pills before reviewing that.

Anyway, there was old Brian, praising his Lord and being accused of bigotry and fundamentalism by callers who'd never dream of levelling the same charge at our elected members. Yet many of them are cut from exactly the same cloth. They also display Pastor Brian's unshakeable sense of security and confidence. They also remain unmarked by doubt. They also are fundamentalists.

But they are fundamentalists who believe in a different god - the state. And their god is powerful - just like Brian's. And their god can work miracles - just like Brian's. The difference is that Brian can only ask us to obey his God; the parliamentary fundamentalists can compel us to obey theirs.

If only they were a little less certain, we might all be a little more safe. But they're not. Their faith gives them virtue and their virtue is law. They would stare blankly if you suggested a modern paraphrasing of the old adage that "Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels".

They wouldn't begin to understand why that should now be "Virtue is the last refuge of tyrants".

And that's why they're much more dangerous than Brian Tamaki will ever be. And why it might not be quite such a guilty secret to listen to Parliament - even if you wouldn't want Cherie Blair to find out.