Beyond Charles: a radical case for the monarchy

In a culture that tends toward populism and moral relativism, what the coronation says is, ironically, radically prophetic, writes Nigel Biggar.

Nigel Biggar

Nigel Biggar is Regius Professor Emeritus of Moral Theology at the University of Oxford and Distinguished Scholar in Residence at Pusey House, Oxford.

A uniformed Prince Charles sits on a throne reading a speech, beside a crown resting on a cushion

In May 2022, the then Prince Charles delivers a speech in the House of Lords.

Judging by a recent YouGov poll, the monarchy currently remains popular among the British, with 58 per cent supporting its continuation and only 26 per cent preferring an elected head of state. But support drops dramatically with age: 38 per cent of those aged 18-24 would like to abolish the monarchy, while only 32 per cent want to keep it.

If the monarchy is to survive beyond the reign of King Charles III, therefore, a strong case in its favour needs to be articulated. It needs to be justified in terms of political well-being. Can this be done? I believe so. Monarchy as we now have it—with its executive powers entirely transferred to elected members of parliament (except in case of constitutional crisis)—makes important contributions to political health. For sure, most of these are symbolic; but symbols can represent important truths and serve important functions.

First, by embodying a reassuring continuity and stability, monarchy enables society to cope with change. Thus, far from fostering conservatism during her seventy-year reign, the late Queen Elizabeth actually presided over huge cultural, social, and political change.

Thanks to their monarchy, the British are spared the predicament of those Americans who loathed the politics of Donald Trump, while having to respect him as the symbolic representation of their nation.

Second, the distinction between the monarchical head of state and the prime ministerial head of government makes it easier to tell criticism of government policy from a lack of patriotic loyalty—easier than in an American presidential system, where the symbolic head of the nation and the head of government are one and the same. Thanks to their monarchy, the British are spared the predicament of those Americans who loathed the politics of Donald Trump, while having to respect him as the symbolic representation of their nation.

Next, it’s good to have a head of state who, being unelected, can transcend party-politics and use her patronage to support civil society, thus reminding us (and politicians) that there is far more to public life than elections, parliamentary debates, and legislation.

But there is yet a further benefit, which is more principled, more Christian, and more fundamentally important than any of the others. A good political constitution certainly needs a part where rulers are made sensitive and accountable to those they rule—that is, an elected legislature that can hold government to account and stop it in its tracks. A good constitution needs a democratic element. After all, according to a biblical and Christian view, rulers exist to serve the ruled: kings are expected to be shepherds of their people.

Nevertheless, a Christian view is not naïve about the people. It does not suppose that the popular will, as expressed in majority vote, is always right and just. After all, it was the people (the laos as in ‘laity’) who bayed for Jesus’ blood in the Gospels, and it was the people (the demos as in ‘democracy’) which, according to the Acts of the Apostles, responded to the Christian persecutor, Herod, by lauding him as a god (Acts 12.21). If kings can be sinners, then so can the people. Hitler, remember, was elected by due democratic process.

What this means is that a healthy political constitution should be more than simply democratic. In addition to an elected House of Commons, it needs other parts too, to balance it. It needs to be mixed. For example, it needs a House of Lords composed of a wide range of experts and leaders of civil society (including the Church of England). That is, it needs an aristocracy of wisdom, not of land, which can only be secured by appointment, not popular election.

The heir to the throne gets on his knees to receive the crown—the symbol of his authority—not from below but from above, not from the fickle people but from the constant God.

And it also needs a monarch, who symbolises the accountability of the whole nation, rulers and ruled, kings and people, to the given principles of justice. At base these principles are not human inventions. They are not the passing creatures of popular whim or majority vote. They are given in and with the created nature of things. And this is exactly what the coronation ritual says, when the heir to the throne gets on his knees to receive the crown—the symbol of his authority—not from below but from above, not from the fickle people but from the constant God.

Contrary to what now passes for democratic common sense, the moral legitimacy of government does not lie in popular consent. It cannot, since the will of the people can be corrupt. Rather, moral legitimacy lies in the conformity of law and policy to the given principles of justice and prudence—to which the people might or might not adhere. Popular consent is vital, if law and government policy is to have any effective social authority, but it does not establish its moral legitimacy. This is a very important and fundamental political truth, which is rarely spoken nowadays, but which the coronation ritual speaks. And in a culture that tends toward populism and moral relativism, what the coronation says is, ironically, radically prophetic.

In sum, then, I do think that there are good reasons—some of them directly Christian—to support the kind of monarchy we now have. However, on the question of how much public money should be used to support it, or how many members of the royal family should be supported, I am agnostic. And I don’t suppose that a monarchical republic is the only decent kind of republic. Nonetheless, I do think that monarchy can confer some important and distinctive political benefits; and if we are to continue to enjoy them—if Prince George is to find a throne awaiting him—then we had better bring to mind what they are.

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Economics

23 October 2024

1 min read

Budgeting for discontent

The Chancellor can't please everyone, but is contentment possible?

Paul Valler

Paul Valler is an executive coach and mentor. He is a former chair of the London Institute for Contemporary Christianity.

A woman stands behind a lectern against a blue and red backdrop.

Chancellor Rachel Reeves speaks at a recent event.

HM Treasury.

As the Chancellor Rachel Reeves seeks to raise billions in this Autumn budget, the news media are all over the downsides. Poor pensioners freezing during winter and businesses complaining of the tax burden are political headlines. Tough choices must be made, but we are rarely happy when it comes to money.

Economic discontent is ironically a cultural norm in first world countries. In the west we have become used to what psychologists call the hedonic treadmill – adjusting our expectations to any new benefits and finding ourselves wanting even more, to try to maintain the same level of happiness. It’s a mentality that dooms us to discontent. Socrates said, ‘He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.’

Contentment seems to be a forgotten virtue today, and increasingly elusive in a society striving for happiness through wealth. Yet being content in life is a more valuable form of wealth than money. There is something enormously attractive about a tranquil state of mind and heart. Contentment does not mean passive acquiescence; there is a noble side to being passionately discontented about something that is unjust – especially when we are fighting for others. William Wilberforce demonstrated that with his campaign for the repeal of laws allowing slavery.

Our personal challenge is to be content in ourselves, whatever the circumstances. Oscar Wilde said, ‘True contentment is not having everything, but being satisfied with everything you have.’ Practising paying attention to what we do have and being thankful for it. That attitude of gratitude is a recognised way to lift our mood and strengthen our resilience. But thankfulness doesn’t solve every problem. Warm words may help warm hearts, but they don’t heat cold homes. Although gratitude is proven to improve our wellbeing, it’s not enough to compensate for all the problems of life. Because here’s the deal; life is tough and then you die, and there are many worse things than economic woes.

Pain, grief and loss are all too common, and they can test our resilience beyond what feels like our ability to endure. Chronic physical or mental illness for example; or being permanently disabled. Or the life-sapping effort to parent children with special needs; or caring for a parent/partner with dementia - especially when it goes on and on. Sometimes horrible events happen like violent abuse, or the deep grief of relationship breakdown or bereavement. This level of suffering pushes us to the end of ourselves, to the place where something more than psychological self-help is needed. What is the secret of contentment then?

I don’t envy the Chancellor, and I do not trivialise the very real challenges raised by having to make tough economic choices.

This is where the secular and the Christian worldview are radically different. Secular philosophers call people to show their own self-sufficiency and superior reason when enduring suffering. This can feel principled and stoic, but it lacks empathy and hope. Christianity accepts the reality of our own weakness and insufficiency, recognising that we can’t fix everything ourselves. Instead of trusting in humanity, we choose to trust God both for this life and the life to come. And this trust and hope is linked to a deeper form of contentment, which transcends pure rationality.

Of course, sceptics say this is just psychological comfort from an imaginary friend, and it doesn’t make sense, because surely any good God would not allow us to suffer in the first place. But any realist must acknowledge that a lot of human suffering comes from the damaging exercise of our own free will. Wars and slavery are examples. If God were to override our free will, we would be robbed of the authentic capacity to love, which makes us fully human. The coexistence of free will, suffering and God is a complex issue.

The experience of millions of Christ followers is that trusting God is much more than imaginary comfort. God is real and prayer changes things; the most ordinary, natural and chance experiences can be affected by it. And prayer changes us. In our vulnerability, if we choose to trust God something changes, we begin to relax, things become a bit easier to bear. In fact, the apostle Paul claimed that Christ’s power was perfected in his own weakness.

Contentment is a strange peace that comes from trusting God in the middle of difficult circumstances. One of the great old hymns was written by a man who lost his four daughters in an accident at sea, and also lost all his money in a fire. The refrain says, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.’ This isn’t denial or delusion, it is the inner sense of quietness that God can give. Only an eternal perspective allows for that kind of contentment.

I don’t envy the Chancellor, and I do not trivialise the very real challenges raised by having to make tough economic choices. Britain is clearly in a place where some stringent fiscal discipline is needed, and that will inevitably cause some hardship and difficulties. But in the face of all the discontent that is so freely shared in the news, there is another way to respond. Instead of complaining about our flawed Government or moaning about our circumstances, we can change our perspective to put our trust in the ultimate Authority. And in doing so can find a peace that the world cannot give. Contentment is a treasure beyond the wealth of nations.