Thoughts on the Coronation
For the second time in the last year, we on the western shore of the Atlantic were treated to the spectacle of a major royal event in the U.K. As an American, I don't think about the monarchy much, but when I do, mostly I think that the hardworking commoners of the English-speaking world lavish too much attention on a small group of not-so-special people they would be better off ignoring. I especially remember feeling that way in 1998 when Mother Teresa died, and then Princess Diana died just a week later. Mother Teresa was one of the most remarkable women in the world, and she was turned into an afterthought by the death of a celebrity princess who, to keep my judgment brief, was about 95% glamor and 5% substance. (Ok, she cared about AIDS patients. Well, guess what? In 1998 I was caring for terminal AIDS patients at my job, so let's get a grip.) This is a typical example of the harm celebrity causes. Celebrity sucks oxygen from the people and issues that are truly consequential. Sure, Prince Harry went to Africa. And how many cleft palates did he operate on when he was there? Yes, the cameras followed him. But if the cameras had any sense of morality, they could have found Africa without chasing a prince.
So, to the extent that I care, my objection to the monarchy is the same objection I have to celebrity in general. Fame doesn't solve problems. Problem-solving is for the serious-minded, and celebrity, by its nature, is not serious. It is an offshoot of the entertainment industry. Do you watch the Grammys or the Oscars expecting to learn how to remedy social injustice? I have nothing against hip-hop or rap, but I would argue that no record sale ever equipped anyone with the intellectual tools to deal with drug addiction, poverty, or racism. Awareness does not equal solutions. It's just being aware. I am aware of a lot of things that I don't intend to do squat about, today or tomorrow.
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And yet, for the second time in a year, Britain reminded me that I am something of a royalist. First, the Queen's funeral and then King Charles's coronation recalled the power of the monarchy. It brings people together. It is pomp and circumstance, pomposity and circus, and it is one of the best shows anywhere. When we get a new president in America, a group of people in nice suits show up and give a few forgettable speeches. At one time, citizens showed up for the Inauguration in tuxedos and top hats, but today we can't even manage that. Just a plain business suit, perfect for a partners' meeting at a middling law firm. America has forgotten how to turn out in its best. Soon our leaders will be inaugurated in Nikes. I mean, why not.
But the coronation is gold and silver. It is dazzling jewelry. It is bespoke tuxedos, and designer dresses. It takes place in a thousand-year-old cathedral filled with the tombs of people like Wordsworth, Keats, Tennyson, Handel, Newton, Darwin, and Maxwell. The choirs sing centuries-old hymns, and priests break out prayers written before Shakespeare was born. (The basic framework was drawn up for the coronation of King Edgar in A.D. 973.)
And best of all, there are no speeches. Since the King has no political power, no one expects him to make mealy-mouthed comments about taxes or the military, or proffer weak tea about freedom and equality. The absence of political remarks makes it timeless. It represents the ancient idea that action and example are worth more than empty words. Ceremony is often far more potent than commentary, and so often the best thing to do during a ceremony is to remain silent and reverent.
The whole event is shimmering, and in its ineffability it makes a spiritual statement: Britain has been around for a hell of a long time; it has prospered; God has blessed it; the people remain faithful to the Kingdom.
(Maybe you disagree with it. But it is still a statement, made loudly and boldly. And I like such statements, even if I disagree with them.)
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If ceremonial statements seem unnecessary in the modern age, and if unity seems too basic a goal for all that expense, perhaps we need to reconsider. I recall a discussion with an atheist who dismissed the Ten Commandments as too rudimentary a set of rules to be worthy of admiration. Everyone knows not to lie, steal, or kill, and we don't need a God or religion to tell us so, he said. To which I say, if the Ten Commandments are so simple that they are unnecessary, why do people still lie, steal, and kill? They do so because people aren't good at remembering the basics, after all.
Reminding people of what they have in common may seem basic, but how often do people genuinely pause to acknowledge this? I live in a country where people come to blows over children's books and what bathroom to use. Where what T.V. news channel you watch is a political statement. Even a can of light beer is controversial. In a country as tense as America is now, how much would you pay for something everyone can get behind and set aside their grievances for, just for one glorious day, something that isn't political but entirely cultural? I would pay a lot. I miss the days when America could be wholly behind something, like the moon landing or the Bicentennial celebration. It's been a while. The last time I can think of was 9/11, but that was a tragedy, not a celebration. We can't wish for those kinds of events. We need more symbolic moments of unity. National disasters do not suffice.
Watching millions stand on the streets of London in complete silence as the Queen's hearse rolled by was stirring. It might be basic. It is also essential. Essential because people often bond better when few words are said than when much is said. When people stand together for the same purpose, silently, agreement passes from one person to another more powerfully than words can. Words are political, and, as often as not, get in the way. Who, after all, do you bond more readily with, the person who works steadily and silently alongside you, or the boss who delivers a motivational speech?
One of the beautiful things about the coronation is that most of it was silent. There were prayers, invocations, oaths. But for the most part, it was pageantry —nothing more, and nothing less. No speeches given. Only ritual. What people remember about a wedding is the procession and the rings sliding on the fingers. Maybe a little of the music. The words, even if the partners write their own vows, disappear. Words, vital as they are, do not always carry the weight and depth that action and ceremony do. This is why people _celebrate_ weddings, funerals, and baptisms, rather than signing the papers and dropping the announcement in the mail.
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I know the royal family isn't perfect. But this shouldn't matter. Deference goes to the office, not to the person. (The phrase used in the Catholic church is ex opere operato, which roughly means "the act is independent of the moral state of the operator.”) I can support the President without liking the President. I can (and have) stood in complete awe at the Vietnam Memorial, knowing the Vietnam War was a mistake. These distinctions are necessary for a nation's survival, but rather than embracing them in America, we are knocking them down as fast as we can swing the axe.
That's what the monarchy is. A distinction between the sins of a person and the dignity of an office. Between the goodness of an act and the sinner who is the actor. But Americans seem so besotted by celebrity that they cannot tell the difference between the actor and the role the actor is playing. That's something a rotten royal family might teach us.
There are other objections. Many complain about the history of the British Empire and the vast harm colonialism inflicted on millions. Oppression, theft. Slavery, murder. I don't deny any of it. I don't deny that the royal family is incalculably wealthy, or that much of the wealth was stolen. The King should give the Koh-i-Nûr diamond back to India. Return the Cullinan diamond to South Africa. Return whatever else they took, the friezes from the Parthenon in Athens, the obelisks looted from Egypt — all of it — and replace them with diamonds or other objects they legitimately own. Or buy new ones — we all know a square hectare of London real estate is worth more than the Koh-i-Nûr. Britain can afford to buy another one.
Once the tainted property is returned, the remaining gold and jewelry belong to the people of Britain. Like a national park or a priceless painting, the royal accouterments might be profitably sold, but these objects are held in common. Like the treasures of the Louvre or the artifacts in the National Aerospace Museum, the crown, the throne, and the castles represent the people. Dismissing that is missing the entire point. Doing away with all of it is doing away with unity.
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Opulence has a place. Not all the time, not even most of the time, but sometimes. Everyone likes window shopping on Fifth Avenue or watching a Lamborghini roar by on the street. We appreciate the occasional demonstration of wealth. In our own lives, most people put on a tuxedo or formal dress at least twice, for prom and a wedding (or two).
There was a time when people marked their lives with great moments like coronations or royal marriages. These high times required reverence and appropriate dress and behavior. The power of tradition is that it drives you rather than you driving it. You follow tradition not because you choose it, but because generations before you did. Tradition is participation in culture, and such opportunities only come along every so often. When you can stand in a place and imagine generations of ancestors standing where you are, you begin to have a sense of it. Churches recreate this feeling with Easter services every year, or in Nativity scenes. But while these events work in religious settings, they fail across faith boundaries. And this is where a royal coronation comes in. It is just spiritual enough, just nationalistic enough, and ancient enough to bring a population together. It isn't a substitute for beliefs in common, but it is a start. It is practice.
Right now, the people on both sides of the Atlantic can use all the practice they can get.
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Yes, I know about Prince Andrew, and I know what Charles did to Diana. I didn't say they were good people. But this is often observed as if, in comparison, our elected officials are always good people. Nobility may be bad, but lately we've shown a propensity to elect even worse. Bad royals can remind us that we spend more time judging them than assessing the fools who steer the ship of state.
If I lived in a constitutional monarchy and had my druthers, the royal family would work ordinary jobs to pay the rent, show up at the office Monday through Friday like the rest of us, pay for parking, wait in line for a driver's license, get laid off when business is slow, and have to pump their own gas — uh, petrol. Then, when someone dies or gets married, the public would roll them out of their middle-class mothballs, stick crowns on them, and let them play kings and queens for a bit. Then send them down again.
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Prince Harry might be the prototype. Cut off from the royal family, he has to make his own money, even if he is nothing more than an influencer, a Kardashian with a crown. Every once in a while, he goes back to England for a big event. Minimal upkeep from the British taxpayer, not taking up room in a castle, yet available for a state wedding or funeral as needed. Really, the U.K. should thank the United States for taking him in.
Of course, I'm not impressed with the method Harry has selected to earn a living, but you have to start somewhere. It's a beginning for the New Royalty. Maybe eventually the public will lose interest in royals between big events and see fit to hire them to hold down the front desk at the health club, keep up golf greens, or make phone calls to sell extended warranties on your car. Then they will be perfect. Anointed by God and living paycheck to paycheck, all at the same time.
It's a work in progress.
