If the establishment of the Church is not often on display to the British public, it certainly was during the accession of King Charles III. Around the country, as public authorities proclaimed the King’s accession, God and the Church of England have been not just prominent, but very often presiding. Charles was proclaimed king “by the Grace of God”, and after much speculation, it has been confirmed that he will bear the title “Defender of the Faith”, rather than “Defender of Faith” as some (though not him) had suggested. Like almost all English monarchs in the 500 years since it was first awarded, he will bear the traditional title of the supreme governor of the Church of England.
But for the first time in recent history, the Church of which the new monarch is the supreme governor is not the Church of their subjects. Most of those subjects don’t even believe in God. Putting aside doctrine and practice (which has never been a majority activity), when Queen Elizabeth II acceded to the throne, most of her subjects in Britain probably at least identified as Anglicans and certainly looked to that Church for life events such as weddings and funerals.
In 2022, only 12 per cent of the new king’s British subjects say they are Anglicans, most funerals are non-religious, and only 10 per cent of weddings are Anglican. Being a committed Anglican no longer makes a monarch of like mind and habit with their people; it sets them apart.
Does this matter? Those from the “No God, No Master” school of the humanist tradition will give a resounding “No!” – down with the whole lot and a secular republic yesterday, please! But there is an arguable rational basis for a constitutional monarchy, and so there are others who would like a monarchy they can support with a clear conscience and which can play a unifying role.
In any case, whether you have a rational preference for continued monarchy or not, all but the most optimistic republican must admit that we are likely to live within a constitutional monarchy for the foreseeable future. So the question is relevant: can a monarch coming to the throne today plausibly be a national figurehead at the same time as being entangled by law with a religious institution which is alien to nearly 9 in 10 of their people? Is this compatible with our diverse and mostly non-religious society?
First of all, we should distinguish the personal religious commitments of the monarch from their institutional role. Obviously it is true that a man of personal religious convictions can be head of state and protect freedom of belief for all. At an international conference on global freedom of religion or belief, when still Prince of Wales, King Charles gave one of the most humanistic speeches I have heard at such an event in nearly 20 years. He said:
. . . a diversity of voices and interests is absolutely essential, if we are to achieve our shared goal of ensuring that everyone everywhere is able to follow their chosen religion or belief in peace and safety. Freedom of conscience, of thought and of belief is central to any truly flourishing society. It allows people to contribute to their communities without fear of exclusion, to exchange ideas without fear of prejudice and to build relationships without fear of rejection. A society where difference is respected, where it is accepted that all need not think alike, will benefit from the talents of all its members. Where there is discrimination, we know only too well, there is disempowerment, darkness and division.
I spoke in the same opening session of that conference and said practically the same thing. So it is clear that people of good will can speak the same language in respect of human rights and freedom of belief. We are not asking if a Christian in public life can defend and guarantee freedom of belief for all. What we are really asking is whether a monarch who must also be the supreme governor, defender and promoter of the Church of England can.
The King clearly believes these two roles are compatible. In a speech to selected religious leaders shortly after his accession, he affirmed that his oath to maintain the Church of England existed for him alongside the “duty to protect the diversity of our country”. He vowed to “respect those who follow other spiritual paths as well as those who live their lives in accordance with secular ideals”. Like his speech to the international ministerial, his words were ones to gladden any humanist:
The beliefs that flourish in, and contribute to, our richly diverse society differ. They, and our society, can only thrive through a clear collective commitment to those vital principles of freedom of conscience, generosity of spirit and care for others which are, to me, the essence of our nationhood. I am determined, as King, to preserve and promote those principles across all communities, and for all beliefs, with all my heart.
These words must be the most progressive and inclusive ever voiced by a British monarch. In contrast, at her jubilee in 2012, Queen Elizabeth II spoke of “the significant position of the Church of England in our nation’s life”:
The concept of our established Church is occasionally misunderstood and, I believe, commonly under-appreciated. Its role is not to defend Anglicanism to the exclusion of other religions. Instead, the Church has a duty to protect the free practice of all faiths in this country . . . gently and assuredly, the Church of England has created an environment for other faith communities and indeed people of no faith to live freely.
This was clearly an attempt to depict a “hospitable” establishment, and to say that a liberal state Church can mediate the diversity of contemporary society. But are such statements enough? Can freedom of religion or belief truly exist in a society with an established state religion – even if that religion purports to be a protector of all religions or beliefs? Even historians friendly to the Church have analysed its actions in past years as attempts to preserve its own power. The King’s inclusion of “secular ideals” in his remarks following his accession was welcome, but no one with these ideals was invited to hear them – only religious representatives were.
Power and exclusion
Of course, today’s Church of England is not the wannabe theocracy of previous centuries. From the late 17th to late 19th centuries, other groups gradually acquired equality before the law with Anglicans: first all non-Anglican Protestants, then Roman Catholics, Jews and the non-religious. In the 21st century, equality laws deriving from Europe have been incorporated into UK law in a way that has reduced and in some cases outlawed discrimination on grounds of religion or belief. In 1998, the Human Rights Act gave us all the statutory right to freedom of religion or belief for the first time.
But the established status of the Church still exerts a pernicious effect in the UK. One in five schools in England and Wales is run by the Church of England, allowed to legally discriminate against children on the basis of beliefs they are too young to hold for themselves. Twenty-six unelected bishops sit in our legislature, able to vote on legislation. This globally egregious set-up has a negative influence on British politics. The Church is a fierce lobbyist for religious privilege, from laws allowing religious parents priority access to certain state-funded schools, and laws mandating Christian worship in all state schools, to laws allowing religious discrimination in the provision of public services. The UN and other human rights bodies have highlighted these features of the UK as incompatible with freedom of religion or belief.
Can a head of state uphold one while still defending the other? On a symbolic level, the idea of a “hospitable establishment” sets up unpleasant dynamics of power and exclusion. In this context, we non-Anglicans are guests, not homeowners. “Toleration” is not the same as inclusion and empowerment. This is most uncomfortable at moments of national or public ceremony, which are routinely presided over by the priests of the Church. One litmus test for the extent to which the monarchy will be serious about reflecting today’s Britain or not would of course be the coronation, which – it has already been confirmed – will be an Anglican ceremony.
In 2015, I was a member of the Commission of Religion and Belief in British Public Life, which made the recommendation that “All those responsible for national and civic events, whether in the public sphere or in Church, including the Coronation, should ensure that the pluralist character of modern society is reflected.” This was a mild recommendation from my point of view. In 2018 Bob Morris of the UCL constitution unit recommended a secular ceremony in Westminster Hall as part of the coronation. That seems to me a minimum requirement. The 2012 Olympic opening ceremony was widely seen as a successful modern ceremony that modelled the diversity of society as well as the core values that unite us. Ceremonies around the commencement of a new reign – a much more significant moment in our national life – are surely an opportunity for new symbolism, making a statement about inclusion and the importance of freedom of religion or belief for all.
An opportunity for change
The House of Windsor is the last European royal family to practise coronations. The others have either replaced them with simpler ceremonies or never practised them in the first place. Most monarchies today only require a simple oath to be taken in the presence of the country’s legislature.
In the Netherlands, which has a secular state with clear separation of religious and political authorities, King Willem-Alexander, personally a Protestant, was sworn in at a ceremony in 2013 in the Nieuwe Kerk, a decommissioned church. The ceremony took place in a joint session of the two Houses of Parliament. The King was confirmed in office and swore to be faithful to the Constitution and to discharge the duties of his office. In Belgium, King Philippe’s ceremony involved only a solemn oath to “abide by the constitution and the laws of the Belgian people, maintain the country’s independence and preserve its territory” before members of the two Houses of Parliament.
Even states with established Churches don’t involve elaborate religious rituals. Queen Margrethe II of Denmark, whose established Church is almost as entangled with the constitution as that of England, was proclaimed Queen from the balcony of Christiansborg Palace in 1972 by the Prime Minister with no formal enthronement. King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden chose not to be crowned in 1973, but simply took office during a meeting of the cabinet and, afterwards, was enthroned in a simple ceremony in the Royal Palace.
Change is possible, and has occurred in recent eras. Charles III’s great-grandfather presided over the end of the established Church in Wales; his great-great-great-grandmother was the last monarch of an established Church in Ireland; even his late mother was only “Defender of the Faith” in Australia until the 1970s when the title was abolished there. Being supreme governor of the Church has not always required committed Anglicanism. Lutherans, Catholics and monarchs whose private commitments we shall never know have all held the title. There is enough flexibility in principle for a new coronation and a new reign to herald a larger vision.
You might not think this matters much. I said earlier that there was a rational case for monarchy – but I think it is fair to say that most people’s support for the institution is emotional. Most people don’t concern themselves with academic questions of constitutional nicety or with religious questions. Why not just keep them all in a box marked “tradition”?
But this misses an opportunity to say something genuinely meaningful to the people of this country. We are undoubtedly a largely pro-monarchy country. But the British public don’t value monarchy because the monarch is Defender of the Faith. They value it because they see it as a stabiliser and unifier during difficult times. Its symbolic events provide an opportunity to come together and express national identity in the 21st century. If that role is to continue, those opportunities need to change just as much as our identity has.
This piece is from the New Humanist winter 2022 edition. Subscribe here.
