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
Art
Culture
Ethics
War & peace
5 min read

Can we stop killing each other?

How art, theology, and moral imagination confront our oldest instinct

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A 17th Century painting of Moses and the brazen cross.
Luca Giordano, The Brazen Serpent, c.1690, oil on canvas.
Compton Verney, photography by Jamie Woodley.

What more important question can there be for humanity, Jago Cooper, Executive Director of the Sainsbury Centre, asks than ‘Can we stop killing each other?’ The Sainsbury Centre’s radical exhibition programme explores the big issues in contemporary society (see my article ‘Life Is more important than art’) so has rapidly arrived at the point where it is exploring what has wrong with the world when killing occurs and how can we put it right. 

Cooper sets out the ground that this series of exhibitions seeks to cover: ‘From interpersonal violence to state level conflict, killing has spread its devastating impact throughout all human cultures across the centuries. Why does this violence occur? And can it be better prevented at a time when increased societal pressures of population growth, resource scarcity, human migration and rapid environmental change make the risk of conflict higher? Every day we read about horrifying acts playing out locally and internationally, but what is the answer to stopping them?’ 

Can we stop killing each other? includes an installation by Aotearoa/New Zealand artist Anton Forde, a series of new paintings reflecting on the refugee crisis by Ethiopian artist Tesfaye Urgessa; presentations of historical artworks such as Claude Monet’s ‘The Petit Bras of the Seine at Argenteuil’, and an exhibition spanning Shakespearean tragedy to Hitchcockian spectacle, which asks questions of violent stage and screen narratives, plus (from November) ‘Seeds of Hate and Hope’ highlighting personal artistic responses to global atrocities, such as genocides, ethnic cleansing, war crimes and crimes against humanity.  

It starts, however, with a room displaying Biblically themed explorations of this question. ‘Denunciation of Cain’ by G.F. Watts depicts the after-effects of the first murder with Watts viewing Cain as a symbol of ‘reckless, selfish humanity’. A pair of paintings by Luca Giordano then take us deeper into the ambiguities of our human responses to anger and violence. ‘The Brazen Serpent’, tells the story of the Israelites’ journey from Mount Sinai in Egypt to the Promised Land of Canaan. On this journey, a plague of poisonous serpents punishes the Israelites for their disobedience and lack of faith. Moses is instructed by God to make a bronze, or ‘brazen’, serpent that will heal those that repent. The curators ask, ‘Does this portrayal of killing as a punishment set a cultural precedent, or establish a moral code for right and wrong?’ Alongside is ‘The Judgement of Solomon’ in which two women both claim to be the mother of a living child and where the true mother is revealed by means of an order that the child to be cut in half with a sword and shared. The true mother reveals herself as the one who will give the baby away to protect the child’s life. Here, the threat of violence is used to bring about justice.  

William Hogarth’s print series The Four Stages of Cruelty, with verses by Reverend James Townley, reveals how violence escalates and shows how a lack of moral supervision can lead to a life of crime. Finally, Matt Collishaw’s series of thirteen photographic works entitled ’Last Meal on Death Row, Texas’ alludes to the number of apostles at the Last Supper while depicting the last meals chosen by condemned prisoners on death row in the state of Texas, United States. 

The curators suggest that: ‘The artworks in this gallery, and beyond, suggest that there is a choice between peace and conflict and that moral stories exist to guide us towards making ethical decisions in real life. Art provides a powerful connection through which to experience life at its most chaotic and incomprehensible, enabling us to pause and reflect on the darkest aspects of human existence. It can also create vital opportunities for society to mourn and remember victims of violence, and to come together in acts of healing and repair.’  

These images and the Bible stories on which they are based give us more than simple moral guidance, however. They also provide an explanation for the existence of conflict between human beings and reveal God’s subversion of that ingrained human tendency. 

In the story of Cain and Abel, Cain is jealous of Abel and kills him as a result. The anthropologist René Girard suggests that this story reveals the way in which we consistently act as human beings. We desire something that is possessed by someone else and become disturbed through our longing for what we don’t have. We resolve our disturbance by creating a scapegoat of the person or people who appear to have or prevent us from having what it is we desire. When the scapegoat is killed, we can gain what we desire and also release the sense of disturbance that we feel.  

This scapegoat mechanism becomes expressed in religions involving human sacrifices as scapegoats to appease their gods. In the story told within the pages of scripture, it is out of such religions that Abraham is called to form a people who do not sacrifice other human beings, but instead use animals as their scapegoats and sacrifices. Jesus is later born into this people who have subverted the existing practice of scapegoating and he further subverts this practice because, as he is crucified, God becomes the scapegoat that is killed. Once God’s Son has become the scapegoat, for those who follow him, the scapegoat mechanism is undermined and the scapegoating of others should no longer be possible. 

In ‘The Judgement of Solomon’, the threat of violence is used to reveal the desire of the woman who had taken the mother’s child and the self-sacrifice of the true mother. On the cross, the violence meted out to Jesus reveals the full horror of the scapegoating mechanism in the torture and violent death of the wholly innocent one.   

Jesus explicitly equated his crucifixion with the raising up of the bronze serpent that brought healing because in that story, when it is raised, as Jesus also was, the image of the source of the poison in the lives of human beings became the source of healing. That is also the promise that Christianity holds out to us in relation to the effect of Jesus’ crucifixion where he becomes sin for us. It heals us of our absolute need to scapegoat and harm others. 

 

Can We Stop Killing Each Other? Sainsbury Centre: 

  • Tiaki Ora ∞ Protecting Life: Anton Forde, 2 August 2025 – 19 April 2026 

  • Eyewitness, 20 September 2025 – 15 February 2026 

  • Roots of Resilience: Tesfaye Urgessa, 20 September 2025 – 15 February 2026 

  • The National Gallery Masterpiece Tour: Reflections on Peace, 20 September 2025 – 11 January 2026 

  • Seeds of Hate and Hope, 28 November 2025 – 17 May 2026 

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