Explainer
Creed
Leading
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6 min read

Why is it taking so long to find an Archbishop of Canterbury?

The Anglican tortoise and the Catholic hare.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

An archbishop raises a crown about the head of King Charles.
An archbishop in action at the 2024 Coronation.

It seems the Roman Catholics have put the Anglicans to shame by the speed with which they have managed to appoint a new Pope. Pope Francis died on Easter Monday, 21 April. Pope Leo was elected on the 8 May. Seventeen days. Pretty impressive. Very few large corporations would replace a CEO in that time, or nations elect a new leader.  

Justin Welby, however, resigned on the 12 November 2024. We won't know the name of his successor until the autumn, and that person won't start in place until the spring of 2026. Well over a year.  

The Church of England is playing the tortoise while the Roman Catholics are acting the hare. 

So why is it taking so long? Is this just fusty Anglican bureaucracy? A depressing instance of Anglicans taking ages over everything, whether sorting out our divisions over sexuality or choosing a new Archbishop? 

As always, there is more to this than meets the eye.  

The first thing to say is, of course, that events took everyone by surprise. Justin Welby would have had to retire before his 70th birthday in January 2026, and the assumption had been that he would announce the date at some point before then. A process was already in place to make the appointment so that a successor could be named before he departed and start soon after, as usually happens. No-one foresaw the events that led to Welby’s surprise resignation over his handling of the abuse committed by John Smyth, outlined in the Makin Review. In the usual course of things, there would have been a relatively smooth handover. What we have is unprecedented – a year with no Archbishop of Canterbury at all.  

There is, of course, the shambles at the Canterbury end, where the diocese has taken three abortive goes at electing their representatives for the body that makes the appointment, the Crown Nominations Commission. More on that here, but even that has not had a significant effect on the timetable, which is following its predicted course, despite bumps along the way. 

Even so, many will say, could the system not have been hurried up? Maybe so, and it might have been wise to find ways to hasten the process a little, but the more fundamental answer is that’s not the way the Church of England works and never has.  

The biggest reason is that the Church of England and the Roman Catholic churches have different understandings of what the Church is and how it is governed. In short, the Archbishop of Canterbury is not the Anglican equivalent of a Pope. 

Back in the days of the English Reformation, after Henry VIII’s ego-driven separation from Rome, which enabled him to divorce his wife who was unable to give him a male heir, and marry the younger and prettier Anne Boleyn, the English church found a kind of settlement under Queen Elizabeth I, several generations later. This proposed that the ‘Supreme Governor’ of the Church of England was not to be the Archbishop of Canterbury but the Monarch. It was a way of expressing the idea that the Church of England is the Church of the people of England. It was the people of England at prayer. ‘We hold,' said Richard Hooker, the great architect of this vision, ‘that… there is not any man of the Church of England but the same man is also a member of the commonwealth.’ 

If you are a citizen of England, you have a right to be also part of the Church of England – to have your children baptised (once the vicar is sure you know what you’re letting yourself and your child in for), your marriage solemnised, and your body buried in the national church. The Church - although in a local sense is gathered group of Christians who attend public worship - exists for the people of England, whether or not they go to church regularly or not. 

Because the Church of England is the church of the people of England, a much larger group of people need to be involved when an Archbishop of Canterbury is chosen. So far, there has been a wide period of consultation, involving the remarkable figure of 11,000 people who have given input – far more than most consultations of this kind. Moreover, the group that appoints the Archbishop is made up, not just of bishops, but lay people, priests, men, women, people representing the diocese of Canterbury, five representatives of the global Anglican Communion, others representing the national Church and so on.  

The Church of England in that sense, is no respecter of persons, and refuses to treat the Archbishop as a Pope or a CEO.

For Roman Catholics, the church centres much more around its bishops. So, when it comes to choosing their leader, it makes sense to simply put all the cardinals (the most senior figures in the Catholic Church) in a room until they come up with a name from among themselves. Anglicans have a much longer, messier, more democratic process. It is not an election by a majority vote from a small electorate quickly convened, choosing among themselves, but a process of listening to a wide range of voices, both inside and outside the church.  

Because he is not a pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury is in one sense, just another bishop (the next one may be a woman, but all Archbishops so far have been men). Yes of course, he’s an Archbishop, so higher profile than the others, but he is nonetheless a bishop who takes his place among the other bishops of the CofE. Archbishops of Canterbury are regarded with respect and honour by other CofE bishops and Archbishops around the worldwide Anglican Communion, as the (Arch)bishop of the first ‘Anglican’ church – Canterbury. Yet they have no legal jurisdiction at all outside England – or even outside their own Province of Canterbury in the southern half of England. He is not the ‘spiritual leader’ of Anglicans all over the world, like the Pope is for Roman Catholics.  

As such, to put it bluntly, his appointment must take its turn among all the others in the queue. The Crown Nominations Commission is made up of people for whom this is not their day job, who give their spare time to it, and who have a programme of episcopal appointments to be made - the next in the queue are St Edmundsbury & Ipswich and then Worcester.  Canterbury has to take its turn. To enable this one to jump the queue would be saying something that Anglicans have never said - that this role is much more important than any of the others and must be given special treatment. The Church of England in that sense, is no respecter of persons, and refuses to treat the Archbishop as a Pope or a CEO, without whom the church would fall apart. 

The reason the Church of England can survive without an Archbishop of Canterbury for a while, is because its life is not dependent on a central figure, a charismatic leader, or a head office which issues instructions for all the branches to obediently follow. That may work in McDonalds but doesn’t work in the Church of England. The life of the Church of England is in its parishes and dioceses, which carry on doing their thing, even when an Archbishop of Canterbury is not available.  

Of course, it might have been possible to speed it up a little. We have missed having an Archbishop speaking in to public life and providing a lead at the national level. But there are good reasons for taking time. And it’s not just inefficiency – it’s because the Church is made up of ordinary Christians, who all deserve a say – and that takes time.  

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Article
Culture
Freedom
Justice
4 min read

Free speech for me, but not for thee

A hate crime hoo-ha and the limits of free speech

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

Two brown bears fight while baring their teeth.
Zdeněk Macháček on Unsplash.

It was the the legendary Manchester Guardian editor CP Scott who said “Comment is free, but facts are sacred.” His dictum hay have held a century ago, but it doesn’t stand up today. In post-truth societies, facts are anything but sacred. And, leaving aside for now whether the opposite of sacred is freedom, comment isn’t free either. 

I don’t mean in the sense of whether or not you have to pay for it – you’re not paying for this, for example – but whether comment, as Scott took it for granted to be, is an act of freedom. Graham Linehan, the Father Ted comedy writer, temporarily lost his freedom to a squad of police officers at Heathrow airport for a social media post he’d tweeted: "If a trans-identified male is in a female-only space, he is committing a violent, abusive act. Make a scene, call the cops and if all else fails, punch him in the balls." 

The subsequent hoo-ha has precisely been about whether Linehan should have been free to make his comment. The police, under prevailing hate-crime laws, felt obliged to arrest him. Subsequently the media, politicians and assembled chatterati – even the Met Police commissioner weighed in – wailed how ridiculous it all was and, adopting serious-face, what a threat it represented to free speech, which is one of the most potent graven images of our time. Facts may be free these days, but comment is sacred. 

 Except it also depends whose comments and opinions are deemed sacred. So some people’s speech is more free than others. Take the Free Speech Union (FSU), founded by the liberally-challenged Toby Young. Here, right-wing freedom of speech is inalienable and non-negotiable. So silly intrusions into the views of Islamophobes and critics of trans-activism? Outrageous. But supporters of Palestine Action (PA), nearly 1,000 of whose supporters had to be arrested by police for peacefully holding placards? Not a word. They’re all lefties, you see. 

As Hugo Rifkind pointed out in The Times, neo-conservative and FSU director Douglas Murray was asked by Daniel Finkelstein whether his free-speech principles extended to PA’s superannuated supporters. Apparently not. And Reform UK’s Richard Tice simultaneously believes that protesters outside asylum hotels are “part of who we are”, but that the correct response to PA protesters is to  “arrest and charge the lot. Jail them.” Forgive me, but I thought a central tenet of faith in free speech is that it’s consistently applied? 

“Part of who we are ” used to be a tolerant, inclusive and pluralistic society. Not just campaign for our lot and bang up all the rest. And I’d contend that we should self-regulate freedom of speech rather than legislate for it. The Met Police commissioner, Sir Mark Rowley, seems to agree with that: “Regulations that were understandably intended to improve policing and laws that were intended to protect the vulnerable are now tying officers’ hands, removing appropriate professional discretion — which some call common sense.” 

That “common sense” is much beloved of freedom-of-speech warriors at places such as FSU. But they always get to define what it is and who gets to benefit from it, because it’s tribal. “If they pick on you, we’ll pick on them,” declares Young on his FSU website. It’s freedom for my tribe to say what it likes, not yours. And freedom of speech is meaningless if it’s not for everyone, including your political enemies. 

Where we agree is that freedom of speech should not be adjudicated by the law. There are enough laws without legalising what people can’t say or write. Where, I imagine, we disagree is that it shouldn’t be adjudicated by Young and Murray and Tice either. As matters stand, we have those who want to legislate for the right to free speech and those who campaign to restrict it. Nothing can come of that. 

By regulating ourselves, the risk is run of sounding conservatively nostalgic for a golden age of civility that never really existed, or rather that was imposed by social authority. It’s the sort of proposed solution you hear when someone says it’s really a question of good manners. It’s true that freedom of speech largely worked in a period of deference, but deference was probably not a good price to pay for it.  

What can be said is that, like any freedom, freedom of speech comes with congruent responsibilities. We hold a responsibility not to cause violence with what we say, even or especially if that means turning the other cheek. In ecclesiological management terms, this would make freedom of speech a pastoral rather than systemic provision. We serve each other; we don’t require the state to serve us.  

Linehan’s post was fine up until it’s final phrase. But it’s peer pressure, not the law, that should have prevented him from using it. Taking the violence out of speech should be an educated, peaceful instinct. And that remains a social duty, not a governance one.

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Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

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