Anonymous asked: I don’t know if you caught King Charles III’s Christmas speech to the British nation but what did you think of it? I am a royalist but I always had my doubts about Charles and his championing of multi-faith harmony over his lack of Christian convictions (as opposed to the late Queen Elizabeth was a staunch Christian). Isn’t Charles just hastening the continued decline of the Christian heritage of Britain?
As it happens I did catch his Christmas broadcast as it’s very much part of the Christmas ritual in our home, like many other homes across Britain. This year it was very strange not to see the regal face of the late Queen. Her presence on television was very much part of the Christmas furniture as was the obligatory James Bond movie that often followed the broadcast. But there King Charles III was addressing the nation. It was perhaps the first time I truly realised that he was our king now - and I mean that as a compliment. Â
I’m afraid I’m not one of those who is convinced that Britain’s slide into Christian decline is perpetuated by King Charles III’s religious beliefs. When he delivered his Christmas speech to the nation, some were eager to read this into his words, just because he referenced other faiths other than Christianity. I understand the philosophical nonsense of squaring the multi-faith circle and worse how it can even dilute and undermine the distinctive and absolutist claims of non-relative religious movements so that they can be rendered increasingly irrelevant by an uncompromising secular rationalism. I understand all that. I just don’t buy it when it comes to King Charles III and his religious beliefs.
Of course before he became King, Charles’ view on religion, especially multi-faith beliefs, were always a source of alarm for some. He was accused of essentially showing sympathy for Perennialism  - a school of thought which holds that there is some degree of truth in all the world’s traditional belief systems  - and in doing so, Charles is guilty of undermining the exclusivity of Christianity and succumbing to a post-modern paradigm of cultural relativism. In holding this view he was seen by critics as heralding a world in which even the monarchy is too scared to defend its own values in the face of multiculturalism.
But listen carefully to the speech again and I struck by the reverence with which he spoke of his Christian faith. His emotive account of his visit to Bethlehem, where he “stood in silent reverence by the silver star that is inlaid on the floor and marks the place of our Lord Jesus Christ’s birth” is surely a welcome surprise in 2022, the first year in history where Christians are officially a minority in England and Wales. It is certainly not something one would expect from an apparently post-modern monarch indifferent towards the disenchantment of the country.
Still, instead of celebrating this, some remain cynical - the reason being that Charles, as well as praising the social and charitable contributions of the church, also praised those of synagogues, mosques, temples, and gurdwaras. This isn’t a slide into 21st Century relativism and simultaneously a compromise of his own Christian convictions, but a recognition of people of strong faith being good citizens in a country they love.
I think many critics underestimate King Charles’ own Christian convictions. I think he sincerely believes that there is one Light and one Truth in Christ. But it also dovetails with his soft Perennialist worldview in recognising the possibility for other faith traditions to also participate in that light and, perhaps, help to overcome the greater threat of secular modernity.
I’ve heard the argument from others that in fact Charles’ views on religion are remarkably similar to those of European Renaissance thinkers, who defended their appreciation of other faiths on traditional theological grounds. The 15th Century Italian Catholic priest Marsilio Ficino, for example, upheld the primacy of Christianity while also believing that other religions contained within them a glimmer of truth, the prisca theologia, and should be respected on this basis. For Ficino, this did not compromise his Catholicism; it simply showed that the love of God was universal, if perfected through Christ and Christ alone.
As it happens, other Renaissance thinkers saw this to be the ideal position for a monarch. For the 16th Century French political theorist Jean Bodin, the King should be the One above the Many, whose duty is to uphold the universal values shared by all people; to be the unity that transcends the multiplicity of sectarian difference. This entailed representing not only Christians of all denominations, but also Jews and Muslims. As an absolute monarchist, Bodin was deeply conservative by today’s standards, but even he saw it as perfectly acceptable for a King to honour subjects from religions other than his own.
So, as the argument goes, in living up to the ideals of Ficino and Bodin then Charles is some kind of Renaissance king. I’m not sure I completely convinced by that. But he is most certainly not a post-modern king. In many ways Charles is like his late mother in that he has a Christian faith - how strong is something I can’t determine, unlike the late Queen who was very devout and saw herself as a servant Queen serving her heavenly King. I am convinced Charles has Christian convictions and beliefs that are married to rituals of his royal identity.
In 1994, Charles triggered controversy when he said he would be defender of faith rather than Defender of the Faith, in a desire to reflect Britain’s religious diversity. There were suggestions that the coronation oath might be altered. In 2015, he clarified his position in an interview with BBC Radio 2, saying his views had been misinterpreted. He said: “As I tried to describe, I mind about the inclusion of other people’s faiths and their freedom to worship in this country. And it’s always seemed to me that, while at the same time being Defender of the Faith, you can also be protector of faiths.”
He pointed out that the Queen had said her role was “not to defend Anglicanism to the exclusion of other religions. Instead, the Church [of England] has a duty to protect the free practice of all faiths in this country. I think in that sense she was confirming what I was really trying to say - perhaps not very well - all those years ago.”
Now, as he formally ascends the throne at his coronation almost three decades after that controversy, most people would agree that Charles should champion the right to religious belief and practice of all his subjects, not just that of the dwindling number of people in the pews of Anglican churches.
G.K. Chesterton wrote that “the opponents of ritual attack it on the ground that it becomes formal and hollow. So it does. But ritual only becomes formal and hollow where men are not sufficiently ritualistic.” I think Charles is deeply steeped into royal rituals and traditions which are strongly rooted in the Christian history of these British isles. I’m sure you will see this at his coronation which will amplify his Christian convictions.
What do I mean by that?
In 1820, The Black Book, a radical critique of the corruption and power of the English Establishment, made this comment on royal ritual: “Pageantry and show, the parade of crowns and coronets, of gold keys, sticks, white wands and black rods; of ermine and lawn, maces and wigs, are ridiculous when men become enlightened, when they have learned that the real object of government is to confer the greatest happiness on the people at the least expense.” Forty years later, Lord Robert Cecil, the future third marquess of Salisbury, having watched Queen Victoria open parliament, wrote with scarcely more approval: Some nations have a gift for ceremonial. No poverty of means or absence of splendour inhibits them from making any pageant in which they take part both real and impressive. Everybody falls naturally into his proper place, throws himself without effort into the spirit of the little drama he is enacting, and instinctively represses all appearance of constraint or distracted attention.
As Sir David Cannadine, the great British historian, suggests, the elite's desire to temper the radical consequences of democracy was a crucial reason for their invention of so many royal rituals since the later nineteenth century. Indeed, for Cannadine, it is precisely the 'invention' and performance of royal rituals and Christian traditions, perfected at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, which prevented the British monarchy from suffering the same fate as its Austrian, Prussian and German equivalents.
The Queen's coronation in 1953 was the first major international event to be broadcast on television, with an estimated 20.4 million viewers in the UK alone, 56% of the adult population. The coronation was the first media event seen by the majority of the population, and was for many their first experience of 'watching the box'. What people saw or were presented in the case of the British monarchy, were many references to its past by pointing out similarities between Elizabeth II and her famous predecessor Queen Victoria, by highlighting the longevity of rituals, or by implementing (seemingly old, but often invented) traditions in royal events like jubilees. In all of these cases, a diachronic genealogical link to the past is established in order to point to the institution's continuity, stability and anchorage in British history.
But Chesterton is onto something that has never really been talked about when we look what is behind the Christian symbology of rituals (real or invented).
Britain’s monarchy stands as the world’s only remaining state religious institution. The coronation is more than mainly a religious ceremony, as if that remaindered it for everyone not religious. It is a symbol among much else of the world’s oldest and only global narrative: God’s story. It goes all the way back to the crowning of Edgar by St. Dunstan in AD 973, drawing, it is said, an on even older Frankish ceremony. It takes place in Westminster Abbey, the national shrine. The oath is administered by the highest clergyman in the land. His office takes precedence even over the monarch himself. There is not just the formula “So help me God” repeated as does the U.S. president at the end of every secular statement; there is not simply an oath “upon my honour and integrity,” as in Turkey, or upon the honour of the nation, as in Ukraine.
The new queen in 1953 was asked, “Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God and the true profession of the gospel?” And she, and now as Charles will, pledged to do this, kneeling at the altar of the greatest temple in the land, hand upon Bible; “the most valuable thing this world affords,” the priest intones. And of which the priest then adds:
Here is wisdom. This is the royal law. These are the lively oracles of God.
Then, in the even more amazing rite of unction that stretches in one unbroken line from the anointing of Solomon by Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet in the Hebrew Bible, the king is anointed with oil under a gold awning in a ceremony of the utmost holiness. The archbishop hands him the symbols of his rule:
Receive this orb set under the cross, and remember that the whole world is subject to the power and empire of Christ our redeemer.
It is this that is the radioactive heart of Britain’s monarchy, and the secret of its strength. I think King Charles knows this. And so King Charles III will, I hope, defend faith in such a way that accounts for the universal and particular, all the while remaining committed to Christianity, the fabric of Britain’s history and heritage.
Both the monarchy and its rituals are together a protection against tyranny and a remedy for weakness. For, long forgotten by secular pundits, it models itself on the Christian belief that authority is what it is because it has been crucified; that only Christ the servant king is truly powerful, and because all are fallen, all can be restored only through him. King Charles III’s speech was a reminder of the eternal Light that will outlive the rise and fall of worldly civilisations; just what the nation needs to hear at Christmas.
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Yet another thing I want to do, being (sort of) done
I’ve been really quiet on Tumblr, even for me, because I’ve been working on a new super-in-progress, very much under construction site for my multiple-faith polytheism(s). It’s nowhere near done. Nowhere near as pretty as I’d like. But if you’re curious, it’s called Honoring the Gods and it’s clearly a labor of love because why else would I do it? :)
There is, I think, a misunderstanding among some polytheists about those who have connections with more than one group of gods–an assumption that unless you are focused on only one group, at best you are not serious about your faith, and at worst you are disrespectful or even disloyal. (I’ve noticed this tendency more in some polytheistic communities than in others, and haven’t seen it a lot recently, so it may be that it’s not a thing anymore, which would be awesome.)
Leaving aside the matter of how one determines what constitutes such a group or pantheon (or even, in some cases, a culture), I’d like to say just a little bit about what my experience has been of being and becoming a multi-faith polytheist.
The Greek gods were my first gods. They came to me when my children were young; my younger daughter, now 17, was an infant. My polytheism was a gift; before then I had been pagan, but I didn’t understand belief before then. They were with me through my sometimes-steep learning curve, and they slowly made themselves known and waited for me to get a clue. And they have never left.
Shortly thereafter, I met the heathen gods. The Norse gods were the first gods I knew in a group. I phrase that carefully in order to point to two things: first, that I first felt a call to “the heathen gods” rather than to an individual deity (as had been the case with Aphrodite and the Greeks), and second, that I met them as part of a group of other heathens. While I certainly keep my personal devotions–in fact, the bulk of my worship and devotional work with regard to these gods is solo–my heathenry has always been tied (sometimes in more than one way) to community.
The Celtic gods…well, that one is different. In one sense, or at one time, they were not “my gods”; I was told that early on and there was always a distance, so I did not pursue a relationship there for a long time, and yet Taranis was the first deity I ever met in a visualization. They are not a constant presence, for the most part, but they let me know when they want something and I do my best for them when they do.
The Egyptian gods came to me about three years ago; they came to me at a time when I was dealing with some stuff, and I would not have chosen that time to add a new religious practice, but it happens when it happens. They have been unfailingly kind and patient, and have made it clear at all times that whatever I can do is what I can do, and is enough. They also introduced me to a way of honoring my ancestors that added a whole new dimension to my spiritual life.
So that’s been my experience as a polytheist with the gods, so far, in my life.
There are any number of ways in which people can interact with more than one group of gods, some more eclectic or sycretic than others. While I am a great fan of learning as much as possible about the history behind the gods I worship, and I think it adds a great deal to my practice and my understanding of the gods, I don’t think mine is the only way.
Personally, I tend to keep pantheons separate; I have separate altars, do separate rituals. It’s the way that works for me. YMMV and I’d love to hear about it if it does!
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30 Days of Social Justice 16: Multiplicity/Multi-identity #30daysofsocialjustice #amwriting
Multiplicity: The quality of having multiple, simultaneous social identities; e.g., being male and Buddhist and working class.
This definition is from a list of definitions compiled by some folks at Oregon State University and is a great resource to have on hand (and was one of the resources I used to complete the list of topics for this project).
When I say I am multi-faith, I know it's a mouthful, and I know it's maybe sort of vague, but I haven't yet found a better word for it and it's become pretty central to my religious identity over the years.
One thing it means is that my religious identity includes more than one pagan/polytheistic religious practice. To describe this simply I might say "I am a Hellenic polytheist and I am also a heathen, and have been both for over fifteen years." If I feel a bit more chatty about it I might add that I personally don't combine the two because it's simpler for me that way, but if you do, more power to you and I'd love to hear how you do it.
Practically speaking it isn't as complicated as it could be; my Hellenic practice is all me, and while my heathen practice is group-oriented (and thus more ritual-oriented), my group is super-chill and supportive. In my own home and for all the gods I deal with, I pray, and talk to the gods, and pour out offerings in an informal manner, and do the things it seems like a good idea for me to do.
Another thing it means is that I am, I hope, open to meeting new people and making new friends. That wasn't always the case; it was complicated enough dealing with two (and sometimes more) groups of gods--and potentially even more complicated dealing with two (and sometimes more) religious communities.
I'm not a woo person, whatever that means (as someone who is quite near-sighted I tend to think of it as knowing there is probably something across the street but at the same time having no real idea what it might be because it's all just the same blur when I look at it). My godphone generally has no bars. Sometimes I get a part of a bar and that is an exciting day, I will tell you!
But you can't base an entire spirituality on the occasional very sharp image within a generally-perceived blur.
But I digress, just a bit.
It's all right to honor more than one pantheon of gods, either separately or not (although I myself think separately is easier, it's a personal preference). There are a surprising number of polytheists who disagree, so I want to put it out there that not everyone thinks it is  a Thing One Must Never Do.
It doesn't have to be "separate but equal," either. Maybe your main practice is with one pantheon but you have some contact with another pantheon or pantheons. Maybe you identify primarily as one sort of polytheist or pagan but occasionally go off script a bit. Maybe you just have a different sort of relationship with one group of gods than with the other(s). You don't have to do the same things for or with one god (or group of gods) as you do with the other(s). You don't have to be equally close with each entity with whom you interact.
And once you've established a relationship or a practice, that doesn't mean it can't or won't change over time. Change is one of the few constants in life, and that's true of spiritual life as well.
