We do ritual so well in this country. Case in point, the state opening of Parliament. More robes than you could shake a stick at. And on the subject of sticks, near the beginning there’s the ritual of Black Rod (or more technically the Lady or Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, currently Sarah Clarke). Black Rod is sent from the Lord’s to the Commons, only to have the chamber door slammed in her face. She then uses her stick (the eponymous “black rod” of her title) to bang on the door. Once she gains entry she requests the members of the Common to attend the King in the Lord’s chamber. It is, of course, a complete pantomime, while at the same time being symbolic of the struggle of the Commons’ to assert their practical authority over the Crown. While most of this is lost on the modern TV audience, we did once in our history fight a civil war over these issues (and one or two others). So the symbolism is not without significance. If you were starting with a blank sheet of paper and designing the mechanisms of government, no doubt there would be no place for poor old Black Rod (or a Monarch, or the flummery of the state opening of parliament or much else that we have). But of course, our system did not start with a blank sheet, and all this ritual has evolved and continues to evolve (if too slowly for some).
It is also interesting that even if you do start with a blank sheet, you don’t end up with an absence of ritual. It is still present, but is slightly less colourful and steeped (or dipped) in a shallower history. Those two beacons of republicanism, the US and France, are hardly without ritual. Of the two, the US, at least until recently, was the more stable. In a conscious bid to break with monarchical tendencies and principles, their head of state is not addressed as a “majesty” or a “highness”, but simply as “Mr”. And yet is anyone seriously going to claim that there is no ritual surrounding the US Presidency? The myth is that he (and of course so far they all been a he) is simply a common citizen raised up for a time by his fellow citizens, eventually returning to being a common citizen. And yet even if you believe that any of them begin their journey from ordinariness, they certainly don’t return to it. And as President they wield far more executive power than most of our recent monarchs. It even turns out, according to the US Supreme Court, that the republican myth that everyone is equal before the law, is a myth. The office comes with its rituals, and a number of those stick with even an ex-President. It’s not even a particularly good system for selecting the brightest and best for the top executive role in the state, as the current options in the current electoral cycle amply demonstrate. Here in the UK (or at least in England) we have undoubtedly had some dodgy monarchs in our time. But the hereditary principle has served us pretty well as a means of generating heads of state for the last 150 years, and arguably longer. This may well go some to explaining why republicanism continues to fail to gain traction in the UK. Even in Scotland, at the time of the independence referendum back in 2014 (was it really a decade ago?), the SNP were very keen to stress that they expected Scotland to remain a constitutional monarchy under Queen Elisabeth. That love of ritual runs very deep in us.
And of course ritual is present not only at the level of the State. Summer is a time of graduations. We all get dressed up in hoods and gowns, to process in strict order, to receive our degrees and certificates. It is the final validation of our hard work. I graduated for the third time last weekend. Although everyone says it’s a faff and a fuss, most of us must actually enjoy it (otherwise why would it endure?), and the (small) degree of public recognition that goes with it. So from the oldest of ancient educational establishments, to the newest of colleges, there will be a final ritual to be completed. And it is even spreading to our schools, who in the American fashion (as with that other import, the school “prom”) are increasingly organising “graduation” ceremonies for their departing senior pupils. Then there are lots of private and personal rituals. The sportsman who follows the same process and wears the same left sock as he enters the field of play. The academic who before any major international conference presentation goes through the same ritual as they take to the stage. Ritual is something basic to us personally, even if we often don't call it that.
There is something here that provides more evidence that it’s not just the stuff we can see, hear and feel that is important to us. There are other things that matter; there other levels of reality that matter. They come to us in sign and symbol. Some of these point back into history (national and personal). They point us to things that have enduring relevance even if we’re largely oblivious to their significance. That is certainly true of Christian symbols and rituals. What now is most familiar to us in the form of silver jewellery, the crosses worn by many for adornment, was actually a form of political, social and judicial humiliation. The central ritual celebrated by churches worldwide points to that same event, the death of Jesus on a Roman cross. But just as with the state opening of Parliament, much of the significance of the cross is lost on us. We can trace back symbols and signs to the things symbolised and signified. There might be some value to investigating the symbols in use this week in Parliament. There is certainly value in investigating what was going on when Jesus died on a cross.
The problem, indeed the tragedy, is that we often get stuck on the sign. And not understanding what is really going on we eventually come to undervalue them. But important signs, and important rituals, invite us to consider the things signified. Don’t get stuck on the cross as a symbol and miss the underlying reality.
