This weekend, we here in this United Kingdom are celebrating Queen Elizabeth II’s platinum jubilee. She is our longest reigning monarch, celebrating 70 years of faithful service. While the anniversary actually fell on 6th February, this is the weekend of the holidays, pageants, parties, a thanksgiving service at St Paul’s, and so on. She is a remarkable woman, has been a remarkable head of state, and that is why many are reflecting (and remarking) on both her role and her rule. Among them was Matthew Parris in today’s Times. I’ve mentioned before my liking for Parris’ columns. But now he’s beginning to worry me.
He begins
his column discussing termites of all things, because they illustrate the power
of the collective. This leads him on to the human and national collectivism that
was demonstrated in the pandemic. But that was a moment of coming together
quite out of character with times in which division and dissension have been,
and are, to the fore. What therefore can unite us Brits? It is this that brings
him to her Majesty, and her role as not just a figurehead, but as a powerful
uniting figure. And her appeal is, well, remarkable. Even republicans find her,
if not the institution of monarchy, admirable. Interestingly Michelle O’Neil,
the First Minister Elect of the Northern Ireland Assembly, wrote to the Queen recently, expressing her
admiration and gratitude. I have no doubt that she was being sincere. But
remember, she is a republican who wants to see NI out of the UK and joined to
the Irish Republic. The paramilitary group that gave birth to her political
party murdered the Queen’s second cousin (and mentor to Prince Charles) Lord
Mountbatten during the “Troubles”. O’Neill’s letter tells us something about
both women, but certainly is an indication of the wide admiration that Her Majesty
generates. But Parris’ main point is that this admiration also tells us something
ourselves.
He asserts
in his piece the following: “Like it or not, implanted within each of us is an
inchoate craving for something…”. I find myself in agreement with him here. He
is not claiming any original insight. His point is that we are looking for a
unifying figure, we are looking for something (or someone) to “draw us together”,
to bring us together into a “something bigger” beyond our individual selves. We
identify the Queen as the figure who can do this, egged on by admiring
commentary from abroad (even from the French President). Of course, we may be
imputing to her qualities she does not in fact have. And Parris fairly points
out that those often mentioned attributes of hard work and sense of duty are
manifest by many other public servants who are unsung and unnoticed. We just
don’t know, most of us, what she’s really like. And yet, because of the way we
are apparently made, we latch on to her, and invest in her our respect, admiration
and hope. Of course there is a problem. Inevitably, she is only a temporary occupant
of the throne. Just this weekend, we have all been reminded of her frailty (she
is after all 96 years old) as well as her remarkable reign. And this raises the
question for Parris as to who comes next and whether they (or rather he) will
be able to fulfil the same role. As it happens, he’s fairly optimistic.
But there
is something very odd going on here. Why are we “made” with a desire to be
united around someone (anyone) who can only ever succeed on a temporary and imperfect
basis? He seems to be almost channelling Augustine at this point, an avowedly
Christian writer whom he has certainly read. After all, Augustine opens his
famous “Confessions” by writing: “..you have made us for yourself, and our
heart is restless until it rests in you.” (Confessions 1.1). Parris has
observed our “instinctive need to be part of something bigger than ourselves”
as manifest in our coalescing around our “dutiful monarch”. He can’t explain it;
but Augustine could. Augustine’s point was that we were made to know the God
who created us, but by nature and practice we have become estranged from Him.
And yet there are these strange echoes hinting at how we really are beneath how
we appear in day-to-day life. One of these is the desire to believe in and
belong to something bigger than ourselves. This sort of instinct that has been
derided by materialists since the dawning of the enlightenment as a myth and a frailty
just will not curl up and die. It keeps popping up in strange places and phenomena.
But none of the God-replacements we turn to are able to ultimately fill the
hole left by our denial of Him. Some are just wholly unsuitable and harmful.
Some, while good in themselves (like our Queen), and performing a legitimate
function (as she has done superbly), don’t really answer our deepest longings
and needs. These can only be met with and in the God who made us and sustains
us.
Of course
dear Matthew will have none of this. He seems to feel a need to remind us in
his column that he is a “Christian atheist” as well as “an agnostic about
royalty”. Both are easy to forget; he sounds fairly keen on royalty and appears
to be rigging on a Christian theme. But you really can’t be any kind of
Christian and an atheist without so draining and redefining the word “Christian”
(which he really does spell with a capital “C”) of its meaning that it becomes
useless. As an adjective I suppose the word might bear some weight, but then it
only rates lower-case c. The form he uses reveals a lot. Because it is clear
that its meaning rests in the one whose title it contains, and that title is highly
significant. “Christ” is the Greek form of the Hebrew “Messiah” – God’s chosen
servant. As it turned out, God Himself in the form of Jesus. So “Christian
atheist” suggests a degree of confusion that is never nice to observe in
someone of clear intelligence and insight who’s getting on. Hence my worry.
Whether recognized
or not, we are part of something bigger. At its heart is not (respectfully) the
Queen of the UK and Commonwealth, as amazing as she is, but the King of Kings
(and Queens). She apparently recognises this, and knows that she serves in a
greater kingdom for a greater King. We could all usefully learn from her example.
