Against the odds, The King has proved himself a true Defender of the Faiths

The thing was so subtly negotiated that few will have noticed, but Saturday’s Coronation was strongly different from its predecessors in its attitude to other faiths. 

Indeed, previous coronations had no attitude to other faiths at all. They simply did not feature. The tension, in the past, was denominational, not inter-faith. Anxiety was directed chiefly at Roman Catholics and, secondarily, at “Dissenters” (non-Anglican Protestants). 

In the 1953 Coronation, for the first time, the Church of Scotland got a small look-in by being allowed to co-present the Bible to Elizabeth II. With that small exception, everything about the service has always been, for more than 400 years until last Saturday, Anglican. And since the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the Coronation Oath – the only part of the service laid down by statute – has explicitly committed the monarch to maintain “the Protestant Reformed Religion established by law”. 

As plans were made for this Coronation, there was some official embarrassment about the oath. The very word “Protestant” is now falling into disuse. It sounds almost antagonistic. It certainly does not embrace Catholics or show the slightest interest in wider religious belief. For the Church of England hierarchy, led by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, the oath felt too assertive. For the King, who is a naturally religious Christian but not a naturally denominational one, the oath made no acknowledgment of the need for mutual respect and understanding between religions which has always been dear to his heart. 

Church and state were nervous, however, about formal change. The oath can be altered only by full parliamentary process. Such delicate matters could not be settled in the few months available. Any rush would excite suspicion. New wording might easily stir up new rows.

The eventual compromise was: keep the oath, but surround it with the church equivalent of small print tactfully hinting it is not as bad as it sounds. A preamble to the oath was therefore devised. Before the congregation and the wider world, Archbishop Welby explained to the King that the established Church is committed to the “true profession of the Gospel”, and “in so doing” that same Church (and/or the King – the grammar of the sentence is not quite clear) “will seek to foster an environment in which people of all faiths and beliefs may live freely.” This was a depressingly bureaucratic phrase which jarred with the beauty of the traditional language, but it served its purpose. With its suggestion of something wider and kinder, Charles III could duly declare, as the law insists, that “I am a faithful Protestant, and that I will…secure the Protestant succession to the throne,” and yet offer more.

This change of atmosphere, though not of law, gave the context for the ceremonies in the abbey, which involved a Hindu (the Prime Minister) reading from Scripture, and representatives of many faiths and denominations assisting with the traditional elements, chiefly the regalia. A Muslim peer brought up the Armills, which represent sincerity and wisdom. A Jewish peeress helped clothe the King in the Robe. Lord Singh of Wimbledon, a Sikh, presented the Glove. Lord Patel, a Scottish Hindu, produced the ring. The Archbishop spoke the accompanying prayers, so that no non-Christian would have to utter any words which might compromise his own beliefs and no Christian could be offended. 

The blessing was divided up between the two Anglican archbishops, the Greek Orthodox Archbishop, the Moderator of the Free Churches, the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster and the Secretary-general of Churches Together in England. (The Scottish Presbyterians had earlier had their moment with the Bible, as in 1953.) A piece of the True Cross, donated by the Pope, was incorporated in the Cross of Wales for the service. None of this could have happened between the 16^th century and last week.

At the end of the service, just before leaving, the King stopped to talk to more faith leaders, who addressed him with one voice “as neighbours in faith”. They said they were united with all faiths and beliefs “in service with you [the King] for the common good.”

All this was an adroit and inspiring achievement. Its expressions of respect for all faiths did not compromise the deep, ancient – in parts, mysterious – Christianity of the service. The chair on which the King sat faced the altar of God, not the hundreds in the body of the church. The beautiful screens that were brought out concealed from the congregation and the world the act of anointing, comparable to priestly ordination, and administered at the coronation of King David in Israel nearly 3,000 years ago. 

The anointing was no assertion of the divine right of kings, but it certainly did assert the special duty of a king to follow the example of the King of Kings. “With the anointing of the Holy Spirit”, said the Archbishop in his sermon, “the King is given freely what no ruler can ever attain through will, or politics, or war, or tyranny: the Holy Spirit draws us to love in action.” If I were an old-school Low Churchman, annoyed by this mysticism, I think I might have shouted out “Just Stop Oil!” 

All this was properly ceremonious. It was not mere “pageantry”, which is simply about putting on a show: it was the thing itself, expressible only partly in words. In no other 21^st-century nation could such alertness to the needs of the age have been combined with such medieval (and pre-medieval) symbolism. As T.S.Eliot put it, writing about a secluded chapel in which the first King Charles took refuge, “History is now, and England.” 

The idea animating these changes is to make our Christian heritage the best way of reconciling and managing a multi-faith society, with our head of state as its protector. The late Queen laid the ground for this by her concept of the “holy hospitality” which the Church of England should afford to all. Now her eldest son is giving her inheritance a new shape. One could almost describe it as a spiritual version of the Commonwealth.

Could it go wrong? Yes, perhaps, in that it might not amount to much. Yes, perhaps, if too much emphasis on faiths and their representatives puts off the modern majority – agnostics, atheists and doubters, some of whom will be hostile and many of whom will be indifferent. And yes, certainly, if it tempts faith leaders who, after all, do not necessarily speak for their followers in all matters of modern life, into fighting one another for the spoils of their growing influence, abusing state patronage and royal blessing to advance sectarian causes. I would say this is a real danger, but it is undoubtedly a risk worth taking. The King’s personal combination of good faith and faith itself will surely bring more success than failure.

There was something else, though, about the Coronation. Perhaps because the multi-faith society got so much thought and attention, the constitutional side may have been given too little. 

The Coronation is supposed to reflect, after all, not only the call of God and the demands of the Church, but also a political settlement. It is not by chance that the oath is its only statutory part. After 1688, Parliament wished to avoid a repeat of the Civil War 40 years earlier. It had deposed King James because it feared this might happen if he tried to make the nation Catholic. It wished to secure the monarchy, but to confine it within certain bounds – the doctrine of “The Crown in Parliament”, rather than the Crown floating free to claim arbitrary power.

At the time, this required the king to be a Protestant. Today that matters less, but the essential point still holds: Parliament is, rightly, in charge. It has the King at its head, but is not under his command. This is essential to the monarchy’s legitimacy.

The Coronation showed inadequate attention to this fact. Those organising it wanted to get rid of the homage paid by peers which had always featured in the past. They decided that, in an era where the hereditary peerage is only vestigial, all those coronets were things of the past. They may have been right. But what was missing from Saturday’s arrangements was the formal recognition that both Houses of Parliament should be a serious part of all this. Some organised homage by representatives of both Houses – by which I do not mean just government ministers – would have been better.  

The faith leaders have their flocks, which must be tended, but political leaders have their constituents, who must never be forgotten. The reputation of politicians is currently at such a low ebb that it is tempting to see the monarchy as a more attractive alternative. Tempting, but wrong. It is essential that each should complement the other. Ultimately, you won’t have a Coronation if you have a hostile Parliament. We certainly haven’t got there yet, but we might. We did, once.