Why I am a Monarchist

As a fairly keen monarchist, I have sometimes found myself visiting monarchist blogs and the websites of monarchist groups. A lot of these sites, probably a majority, tend to have Roman Catholic authors. This isn't too surprising, I suppose. Monarchism and Catholicism both fit with a temper that could be described as "traditionalist" or "reactionary" (depending on who is speaking). The connection also harks back to the political philosophy of Joseph de Maistre, the philosopher of "Throne and Altar" conservatism, who wrote in the wake of the French Revolution.

Sometimes I worry that this link between monarchism and Catholicism might tempt non-Catholics to take the Faith less seriously. They might get the idea that Catholics are simply panting for ceremony and tradition, for croziers and mitres and crowns and birettas. Or that Catholicism is nothing but reaction, an allergic response to the disenchanted, utiltarian, egalitarian modern age.

I think there is some truth to the perception. Certainly, in my case, the ritual and ceremony and historical continuity of the Church appeals to me greatly. It's not that the whiff of incense lured me into the Church, but it seems fitting to me that God's presence on Earth would be heralded by such beauty and pageantry. It seems right. It makes sense.

But I'm not a monarchist because I'm a Catholic. And would I bet most Catholics aren't monarchists at all.

So why am I a monarchist?

First of all, I should clarify what kind of monarchist I am-- that is, a constitutional monarchist. I like the idea of a monarch as the ceremonial head of State. I don't care much about what powers the monarch holds, although I think it is generally a good idea to have a separation of constitutional powers, and the monarch-- being both an ordinary person and (hopefully) one brought up to feel a strong sense of duty-- might have a valid role as a brake on the legislative power. I think the powers and privileges of the English monarch are about right, although it would be better if the Queen actually used those powers more extensively-- for instance, in writing her own Christmas Speech (it has to better than the annual servings of pabulum written by her Government), and to call conferences of political leaders in times of crisis-- similar to the role King George V played in engineering the Irish Truce of 1921.

There are a fair few Catholics, at least ones I've encountered in cyberspace, who are bona fide royal absolutists. I respect their beliefs but they do rather baffle me. Would they like to live in the reigns of Henry VIII or Elizabeth I? Dictatorship opens up great possibilities, if you happen to get a Philosopher King or benevolent despot, but the risks are infinitely greater.

To me, the real importance of monarchy is the tone that it sets. A nation that styles itself The Kingdom of Such-and-Such seems to be on a much healthier footing than a nation that styles itself The Republic of Such-and-Such.The Kingdom is, from the very start (to use two evocative phrases from Edmund Burke) declaring that is not the "fly of a summer's day" but "a contract between the living, the dead and the unborn."

The Kingdom looks to the past and the future, since it has at least one old tradition-- monarchy-- which it has taken to its heart and sought to hand on to its posterity.

The Kingdom has a poetic, particular image in its very title-- it may evoke in your mind a crown, or a throne, or a man on a throne wearing a crown, or perhaps a coat of arms. A Republic is simply an abstraction, and who can love an abstraction? Even the flags of Republics tend to be ugly, like our own lacklustre and uninspired tricolour. (Yes, seeing the tricolour billowing in the breeze above the GPO makes my heart leap-- but not for the sake of the design.)

A Kingdom measures its epochs in a poetical and human way-- aren't the Elizabethan and Victorian and Edwardian eras of British history more "user-friendly" and appealing than the ante-bellum, post-bellum, Depression, inter-war and New Deal eras of American history?

The keynote of a Kingdom is reverence, while they keynote of a Republic is resentment. The guiding idea of a Kingdom is that, for all our ideological and social and philosophical differences, we express our aspiration to harmony by honouring the Queen or King, by setting one institution above the affray. I can't but believe that this simple act of graciousness ripples outwards through the national life. The guiding idea of a Republic is "nobody is better than me; nobody is to be privileged over me; nobody is to look down on me". And I know from experience where that mentality takes us-- a drive towards equality as sameness, towards stripping the public square naked of any vestige of history or heritage or the sacred.

A Kingdom is a family. A Republic is a hotel. And even the worst family is better than the most opulent hotel, after a while.

But, for me, the ultimate argument is the argument of the sauce bottle label. A humble bottle of Worcester Sauce attains a sort of grandeur by having the Royal coat of arms and the words, "By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen" printed on it. The dingiest pub gains in dignity by having the name The King's Head emblazoned over its door.

I think C.S. Lewis put it extremely well, when he tried to point out the folly of judging monarchy by a utiltarian calculus: "It would be much more rational to abolish the English monarchy. But how if, by doing so, you leave out the one element in our state which matters most? How if the Monarchy is the channel through which all the vital elements of citizenship – loyalty, the consecration of secular life, the hierarchical principal, splendour, ceremony, continuity – still trickle down to irrigate the dustbowl of modern economic Statecraft?”

So, having written all of this, I must be a pretty ardent monarchist, right?

Well, not really. I don't have a portrait of King Charles the First hanging over my bed. I know less about the English Royals than does the average reader of Hello! magazine. I stood outside Buckingham Palace not so long ago and found the whole thing a little bit garish, to be honest. I doubt it would even be worth a single human life to preserve a monarchy from destruction. As a Christian, I view all worldly things as ephemeral and even trivial, against the backdrop of Eternity.

 But, for all that, I am a convinced monarchist. And if there is ever a cry to restore the line of Brian Boru to Tara, I will happily raise my voice along with it.

Do you know what Oak Apple Day is?

Neither did I, until this afternoon, but I was fascinated to find out.

Oak Apple Day (29 May) commemorates the restoration of King Charles II in 1660. Of course, it isn't celebrated so much anymore, but it actually used to be a public holiday in England until 1859. A few ceremonies are still held here and there.

The symbolism of the oak apple (which isn't an apple at all, but a "type of plant gall", whatever that is, from the oak tree) refers to the tree the future King hid in while fleeing from the Roundheads after the Battle of Worcester in 1651. (Another thing I learned today was just how romantic and dashing his escape from England really was-- six weeks of narrow escapes, disguise and safe houses. Why has nobody made a movie of it yet?)

If you didn't wear oak leaves or oak apples on that day, you were liable to be pelted with eggs-- and good enough for you, say I.

Why am I even mentioning this? Not only because I am an ardent monarchist, but also because, to me, the fading and disappearance of these traditions is almost unbearably sad. It seems to me a crying shame that Guy Fawkes night (though it might be considered a form of Catholic-bashing, if you want to be politically correct about it) appears to be dying out in England. I remember, when I was a boy, British comics used to print (on double-page spreads) Guy Fawkes masks to cut out and paste onto stiff cardboard, especially for the fifth of November. A mask of the unhappy plotter has become iconic in our own time, of course (amongst the Occupy Wall Street brigade), but it's not quite the same thing.

We in Ireland have our own political commemoration we would do well to revive-- Ivy Day (October 6) a day for honouring Charles Stewart Parnell. I know the name came from the sprigs of ivy that mourners at his mammoth funeral took upon leaving the cemetery, and placed it in their buttonholes. I know that James Joyce wrote a short story called Ivy Day in the Committee Room (I even have a vague memory of reading it). But I don't know much more about it. Still, I would be all in favour of a revival.

What on earth is all this doing in this blog? Well, I have no intention of confining my musings here to the purely religious. I do think Catholics should be, well, catholic.

If I seemed to harsh in my recent review of Beyond Consolation by John Waters, let me say I agree with the spirit of this passage:

Why does religion, which should really embrace the entirety of human possibility, seem content to wallow about in a mess of petty issues relating to perceived ethical dimensions of reality? Why, for example, do we not expect to find in our religious publications articles about (to outline a short list for the sake of example) poetry, motor cars, Mozart, football, beauty, ice-skating, mathematics, Plato, black holes, the molecular structure of water?...Is it not odd that, if religion is supposed to encompass everything, it is so easy to predict what will preoccupy religious-minded people?

I think he is a bit harsh on some religious publications here (the Sacred Heart Messenger, for instance, and to some degree the Irish Catholic) but there is a fundamental fairness to the observation. I am going to try to take it to heart!