Explainer
Culture
Royalty
4 min read

The seen and the unseen of the coronation regalia

The coronation’s magnificent regalia is not just bling. Ian Bradley unlocks their visual symbolism and the deep meaning linking the objects.

Ian Bradley is Emeritus Professor of Cultural and Spiritual History at the University of St Andrews.

A crown, orb and sceptre rest on velvet cushions.
St Edward's Crown, and the sovereign's orb, sceptres and ring. The first colour photograph the regalia, taken in 1952.
United Kingdom Government, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

In the course of his coronation on May 6 Charles III will be presented (the technical term is invested) with a number of ancient objects and clothed in various special garments. Known collectively as the coronation regalia, all have deep symbolic significance and point to the Christian basis of the ceremony and of the British monarchy. 

Crowning glory

A crown of gold with purple cloth and an orb and cross.
St Edward's Crown.

The crown which will be placed on the king’s head by the Archbishop of Canterbury is, of course, the most splendid and iconic symbol of majesty. Like the other items of the coronation regalia, it was specially made for the coronation of Charles II in 1661 to replace the medieval regalia which had been broken up and melted down during the time of the Commonwealth and Protectorate when England was without a monarchy in the mid-seventeenth century. Known as St Edward’s Crown, it replaced a medieval original which is said to have been made for King Edward the Confessor, a saintly eleventh century king who built the original Westminster Abbey and was officially canonised as a saint in 1161. Weighing nearly 5 lbs and made of solid gold, its rim is set with precious gems and from it spring two arches symbolising sovereignty. Where they meet there is a gold orb surmounted by a jewelled cross, a reminder of the cross of Christ and of His sovereignty over all.  

Placing St Edward’s Crown on the monarch’s head, the Archbishop traditionally says:  

‘God crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting kingdom by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth for ever.’ 

The orb’s different empire 

An orb of gold with a cross on top of it.
The Sovereign's Orb.

The crown is not the only conspicuous symbol of Christ’s power and sovereignty that will make an appearance at the coronation. The orb, which is customarily put into the monarch’s right hand before his crowning, is the oldest emblem of Christian sovereignty, used by later Roman Emperors and Anglo-Saxon kings. A ball of gold surmounted by a large cross thickly studded with diamonds and set in an amethyst base, it acts as a reminder, in the Archbishop’s words, ‘that the whole world is subject to the Power and Empire of Christ’.  Its first appearances in Britain are on a seal of Edward the Confessor in use between 1053 and 1065 and in a depiction of the crowning of King Harold in the Bayeux Tapestry. It is significant that the complex planning of Charles III’s coronation is code-named ‘Operation Golden Orb’. 

The wedding ring 

The ring, in Latin annulus, which is next traditionally placed on the fourth finger of the right hand has often been specifically made to fit the new sovereign, although Elizabeth II used an existing one inlaid with a ruby and engraved with St George's cross. It is presented to symbolise the marriage of monarch and country and was known in medieval times as ‘the wedding ring of England’.  

The sceptre’s power 

a golden sceptre topped by a cross lies next to a golden rod with an eagle on top.
The Sovereign's Sceptre and Rod.

The final pieces of regalia with which a monarch is traditionally invested before being crowned are the rod and sceptre, known in Latin as the baculus and the sceptrus. These may originally have derived from the rod and staff mentioned in Psalm 23. The solid gold sceptre has since 1910 contained the largest clear-cut diamond in the world, part of the massive Cullinan diamond found in the Transvaal in 1905. It is surmounted by a cross, which stands for kingly power and justice. The longer rod, also made of solid gold, is surmounted by a dove, signifying equity and mercy.  

Working clothes  

There is also deep spiritual symbolism in the traditional coronation garments worn by the sovereign. Based on ecclesiastical vestments, they are designed to emphasize the priestly and episcopal character of monarchy and are put on immediately after the anointing which is carried out with the king or queen wearing a simple linen shirt to symbolise humility. The colobium sindonis, a sleeveless garment made of white linen with a lace border is to all intents and purposes a priest’s alb or surplice. Over it is put the supertunica, a close-fitting long coat fashioned in rich cloth of gold, identical to a priest’s dalmatic - a long, wide-sleeved tunic. A girdle of the same material put round the waist has a gold buckle and hangers on which to suspend the sword with which the monarch is girded.  A cloth of gold stole is placed over the shoulders. At a later stage the sovereign is traditionally vested in the imperial mantle, or pallium regale, a richly embroidered cope similar to those worn by bishops. 

These garments emphasize that, like priests and bishops at their ordinations and consecrations, monarchs are set apart and consecrated to the service of God in their coronations which are first and foremost religious services. This aspect is further emphasized by the framing of the coronation service in the context of a service of Holy Communion according to the order laid down in the Book of Common Prayer.  

The unseen 

Some will dismiss the ancient regalia with which the monarch is invested, which have also traditionally included golden spurs, bracelets and swords, as anachronistic medieval mumbo jumbo out of keeping with our modern world. Yet they symbolise in powerful visual terms the sacramental nature of our Christian monarchy which points beyond itself to the majesty and mystery of God. In the words of a former Archbishop, Cosmo Gordon Lang, writing just before he presided at the coronation of King George VI, these ancient rites and ceremonies demonstrate ‘that the ultimate source and sanction of all true civil rule and obedience is the Will and Purpose of God, that behind the things that are seen and temporal are the things that are unseen and eternal.’ 

Review
Books
Culture
Podcasts
Re-enchanting
5 min read

The book, the ritual, and the reader

Season 7 of Re-Enchanting explores how books shape our habits and our search for meaning

Tom Rippon is Assistant Editor at Roots for Churches, an ecumenical charity.

  A reader sits on a sofa with a raised leg and holds a book
Jonathan Sanchez on Unsplash.

When was the last time a book elicited spontaneous reverence from you? It’s something of a cliché to say that books take you on a journey, but sometimes a book comes along which simply demands to be read with ceremony.  

This is the experience of the writer Donna Freitas, just one of the guests welcomed onto season 7 of the Re-enchanting podcast. In her conversation with Belle Tindell and Justin Brierley, she describes how her morning routine of coffee and a book has practically attained the status of a ritual for her. Freitas describes the deliberate preparations she made for the final chapter of Alice Winn’s In Memoriam, a historical novel exploring the relationship between two young soldiers in the trenches of the First World War as their idealised understanding of war shatters and their suppressed feelings for one another play out against a shifting backdrop of class, national identity and belonging. Freitas’ ceremonial approach to finishing her book - you’ll have to listen to the episode to hear more about this - may sound somewhat unusual at first for the respect and honour that it implies is due to a book, but this notion of textual reverence finds a distant echo in the Christian faith, where the Word, living and written, is central. 

Freitas’ particular experience of faith is recounted in her book, Wishful Thinking: How I Lost My Faith and Why I Want to Find It, but listening to her description of her reading experience posed its own questions for me. At what point does habit become ritual? And how do we distinguish between them? Even as people develop individual, secular rituals to give rhythm to their lives, this does not always translate into an openness towards religious ritual. Does this mean that ritual today is understood as an individual, rather than shared, activity? Despite some evidence suggesting a revival of sorts in the Christian faith, most of the growing churches in the UK tend place more emphasis on spontaneity than ritual, but perhaps our continued desire for ritual and familiarity should give mainstream churches a reason to pause in their current approaches to church planting?  

Either way, for many of us, a home-grown ritual of an enticing cup of coffee paired with the smooth, dry pages of a book first thing in the morning may simply sound like an inviting, yet sadly unattainable, prospect. Sometimes just getting everyone and everything out the door on time constitutes an epic in itself. However, since there’s no harm in fantasizing, let’s peruse the Re-enchanting back-catalogue for more reading recommendations. 

Looking back over season 7 of Re-enchanting, I’m struck by how popular biography remains amongst our guests’ reading choices. Nadim Ednan-Laperouse recommends Heidi Barr’s autobiographical account of the near-death experience which led to her conversion from Orthodox Judaism, What I Saw in Heaven. Lamorna Ash, whose work explores the softening of Gen Z’s attitude towards Christianity, appropriately lends balance to her Re-enchanting moment with her recommendation of John Stuart Mill’s autobiography, which recounts his journey away from faith. The faith landscape in the UK is certainly shifting at the present time and perhaps the only way to truly understand these shifts is to read both sides of the story. We need to read about journeys away from faith as much as journeys to faith in order to understand the society in which we work and witness. A data scientist might call these eliminating biases, a literary critic might call it awareness of an unreliable narrator.  

Telling the story of someone’s life is at the centre of Bear Grylls’ most recent work, The Greatest Story Ever Told, in which he retells the life of Jesus through the eyes of those around him. The emergence of the faith is told from the perspective of those coming to faith, a hint perhaps that faith has to be remade, reborn, resurrected even, afresh for each person. Read Bear Grylls’ own take on his book, written for Seen & Unseen earlier this year. 

Grylls’ own work seems to have an almost essay-like quality through its short, accessible chapters and essay collections seem popular amongst our other guests as well. Lamorna Ash also recommends Pulphead by the journalist John Jeremiah Sullivan, a collection of essays spanning topics from eco-anxiety and the blues to the Tea Party and Christian rock, each giving a brief insight into the concerns and ponderings of a thousand other minds. It strikes me that such collections are the literary equivalents of hitting shuffle play, the perfect fit for those reading rituals that have to be scattered in-between other moments of activity. If you’re searching for some faith-based content for these moments, then I recommend Richard Carter’s Letters from Nazareth, a collection of meditations from the contemplative tradition written for those ‘catch your breath’ moments in the day. 

Alternatively, if it’s escapism and adventure that you are after in these moments, then take up Grylls’ own suggestion, The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder, by David Grann, a true story yet wildly adventurous. For those in search of more light-hearted reading, then turn to another stalwart of Re-enchanting reading lists, C.S. Lewis, whose The Silver Chair comes recommended by NYT columnist and author, Ross Douthat. As Lewis himself said, ‘a children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.’ Perhaps it’s time to put Lewis’ own works to the test. 

Long summer days of the kind envisaged in children’s books may now be a distant memory for most of us, but with each change in season comes a new reason to pick up some reading material. I hope these autumnal days with their familiar ritual of falling leaves lead to a home-grown ritual of turning leaves for you. 

  

Some further suggestions: 

  • Letters from Nazareth by Richard Carter – Meditations on home from St Martin-in-the-Fields. 

  • Her First American by Lore Segal – An exploration of Jewish-Black trauma and solidarity in 1950s New York. 

  • seven steeples by Sara Baume – A meditative novel on the rhythmic course of life in rural Ireland. 

  • How Bad Are Bananas? by Mike Berners-Lee – Bite-sized explanations of our place in a changing climate. 

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