The evolution of kingship from thugs to divinity
In a previous post, I wrote about how certain leaders among the Romano-British and certain other leaders among the Anglo-Saxon incomers became kings in the aftermath of the collapse of Roman Rule in Britannia. Kings in those days, Celtic or Germanic, were little more than thugs – leaders of a gang (er, warband) more brutal than anyone else in the neighborhood. There was little pretense to legitimacy or consent of the people, and no real way to assure a smooth transition of power to the next king. Dynasties did emerge, though kingship often passed to brothers or uncles rather than sons, especially if the last king’s son had not yet established himself as a leader in war.
But something happened along the way to the kings of the Dark Ages. They became hedged about with divinity, at least in Britain. They became kings by divine right, rather than just armed might. And they were looked upon as more than merely mortal. Laws were defined which attempted to ensure a smooth succession from father to son or closest kin. The idea of someone’s “right” to be king was talked about seriously.
Now, William the Bastard of Normandy was as big a thug as any warlord of a half millennium previously, but his successors worked very hard to acquire the sheen of divine right. And today, that little glow of divinity is all that is really left to Queen Elizabeth II. Everything is done in her name, and she stands around blessing it by her presence, but she herself does not impose her will upon anyone.
How did this transition from thug to divinity take place? Well, largely through the Church, and its memory of the past.
When the first Christian missionaries began talking up kings like Æþelberht of Kent or Edwin of Northumbria or Oswald and his brother Oswiu, they brought with them more than merely the gospel of Jesus Christ. They also brought a connection with the Roman past. The Church in the West used Latin to communicate, and they brought literacy to kingdoms whose laws and stories were still mostly transmitted orally. They also brought a cultural package of Romanness which the Germanic kings found attractive. Written laws -- a sign that one was more than mere barbarian -- required a king to promulgate them, which eventually led to the power to modify tradition by active legislating on the king's part. Putting your head on coins demonstrated your imperium and was good public relations, too.
Meanwhile, the later emperors had been active leaders of the Church, and the emperor a sacred figure. Wearing crowns modeled on ancient diadems (a symbol of divinity, implying that to be royal was to be in some sense divine) enabled the king to display his God-given superiority. The final touch (the crowning touch, I’m tempted to say) was the creation of a royal coronation ritual that included prayer and anointing, establishing God’s election of the king to his new position. The first English coronation rite was created for Edgar the Peaceable in 973 by St. Dunstan, and it set the pattern for every English coronation since, right down to the present queen.
Now, most medieval kings, before and after the Conquest, have understood that when the fat is in the fire, crowns and holy oil aren’t enough to keep your kingdom for you. When being nastier than the other guys is the only thing that will save your skin and your power, you do what you have to do, and you don’t worry about being dainty. But overall, you are less likely to have to fight it out in the gutter if the people are in awe of you because of “such divinity [that] doth hedge a king.”
But something happened along the way to the kings of the Dark Ages. They became hedged about with divinity, at least in Britain. They became kings by divine right, rather than just armed might. And they were looked upon as more than merely mortal. Laws were defined which attempted to ensure a smooth succession from father to son or closest kin. The idea of someone’s “right” to be king was talked about seriously.
Now, William the Bastard of Normandy was as big a thug as any warlord of a half millennium previously, but his successors worked very hard to acquire the sheen of divine right. And today, that little glow of divinity is all that is really left to Queen Elizabeth II. Everything is done in her name, and she stands around blessing it by her presence, but she herself does not impose her will upon anyone.
How did this transition from thug to divinity take place? Well, largely through the Church, and its memory of the past.
When the first Christian missionaries began talking up kings like Æþelberht of Kent or Edwin of Northumbria or Oswald and his brother Oswiu, they brought with them more than merely the gospel of Jesus Christ. They also brought a connection with the Roman past. The Church in the West used Latin to communicate, and they brought literacy to kingdoms whose laws and stories were still mostly transmitted orally. They also brought a cultural package of Romanness which the Germanic kings found attractive. Written laws -- a sign that one was more than mere barbarian -- required a king to promulgate them, which eventually led to the power to modify tradition by active legislating on the king's part. Putting your head on coins demonstrated your imperium and was good public relations, too.
Meanwhile, the later emperors had been active leaders of the Church, and the emperor a sacred figure. Wearing crowns modeled on ancient diadems (a symbol of divinity, implying that to be royal was to be in some sense divine) enabled the king to display his God-given superiority. The final touch (the crowning touch, I’m tempted to say) was the creation of a royal coronation ritual that included prayer and anointing, establishing God’s election of the king to his new position. The first English coronation rite was created for Edgar the Peaceable in 973 by St. Dunstan, and it set the pattern for every English coronation since, right down to the present queen.
Now, most medieval kings, before and after the Conquest, have understood that when the fat is in the fire, crowns and holy oil aren’t enough to keep your kingdom for you. When being nastier than the other guys is the only thing that will save your skin and your power, you do what you have to do, and you don’t worry about being dainty. But overall, you are less likely to have to fight it out in the gutter if the people are in awe of you because of “such divinity [that] doth hedge a king.”