Likewise, it also challenges those contemporary accounts from some devotees of the Royal Martyr that his role as a political actor is to be forgotten in order to enable a focus on narrowly construed ecclesial concerns. This, of course, entirely ignores the purpose of the 30th January liturgy, a day given over to fast and lament, not celebration of a martyr's heavenly birthday. Fasting and lamentation were required precisely because chaos descended upon the common life of the realm with the execution of Charles, overturning - in the words of one of the prayers for 30th January - "our ancient Government in Church and State.
In other words, the 30th January commemoration of the Royal Martyr is a day for political theology, for reflecting on the ordering of our common life within the polity. When we turn to 18th century High Church 30th January (and related state service) sermons, we can see thoughtful, moderate, balanced accounts of the lessons of the commemoration for our common life. Below is the section of the essay which considered some of these sermons.
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It also challenges those who would reduce reverence for the Royal Martyr to a reactionary cult. The ‘hidden’ reverence contained in the collect for Saint Stephen’s Day reminds us that Charles is to be commemorated for his death, not his reign. The conclusion of Leanda de Lisle in White King, that Charles was “a flawed prince … a better exemplar of a chivalric knight than he ever was a king,” echoes a consistent theme in 18th century High Church sermons for the 30th January and related anniversaries. Daniel Waterland’s 1723 sermon for Restoration Day, for example, noted how the reign of Charles was marked by “some unusual stretches of prerogative … which gave great offence, and first paved the way to our future troubles.” This being so, “Faults there were, many and great, on all sides; and all in their turns suffered for them.” Jonathan Swift in 1725 described the attempt to rule “without consent of parliament” as “the greatest oversight of [Charles’] reign, so it proved the principal foundation of all his misfortune.” He warned against embracing “either extreme” regarding obedience to the magistrate, first critiquing those who supported an exalted view of monarchical power associated with the Stuarts:
As kings are called gods upon earth, so some would allow them an equal power with God over all laws and ordinances and that the liberty, and property, and life, and religion of the subject, depended wholly upon the breath of the prince.
Thomas Secker’s 1734 30th January sermon similarly admitted, “We all know the tragedy began with the too just occasion, unhappily given on each side, for complaints and fears.” A concern to refute exalted Stuart notions was seen as late as Samuel Horsley’s 1793 sermon for the 30th January, in which he declared that the obedience due to the magistrate was not to be confused with “that sort which it were high treason to claim for the sovereigns of this country”:
…nor do they at all involve that exploded notion, that all or any of the present sovereigns of the earth hold their sovereignty by virtue of such immediate or implied nomination on the part of God … It is quite a distinct thing from the pretended divine right to the inheritance of the crown.
Horsley did not invoke Charles as an exemplar of Christian monarchy but, rather, as a tragic warning against the undoing of the “goodly fabric” of the constitutional order which resulted from his death: “the madness and confusion which followed the shedding of that blood.”
It was the Personal Rule which led 18th century High Churchmen to exercise caution regarding the memory of Charles. In this they could invoke England’s ‘ancient constitution,’ of which parliament was an integral part, and the support for a mixed constitution seen in, for example, Thomas Aquinas and Richard Hooker. We might describe such a constitutional order itself as an expression of a politics of grace, with its recognition of the need to heed the other, to forsake the desire to dominate, to exercise moderation, and for checks on power because of human fallenness.
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For the reference to Thomas Aquinas, see Summa Theologiae I/II.105.1 on mixed constitutions: “this is the best form of polity”.
For Richard Hooker, see The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity III.10.8, in which he states with reference to “parliaments, councils, and the like assemblies”, that “laws they are not therefore which public approbation hath not made so”. See also Charles Miller Richard Hooker and the Vision of God: Exploring the Origins of Anglicanism (2013), p.256: “it seems likely that Hooker was first in his formulation of consent as the historical and legal basis of civil power in England”.
The final sentence is influenced by Christopher K. Insole, The Politics of Human Frailty: A Theological Defence of Political Liberalism (2004).
The illustration is a 1649 depiction of Cromwell uprooting the ancient constitution by felling the Royal Oak, on whose branches depend the rights and liberties of the realm.
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