I have no opinion on hyperemesis gravidarum. Maternity couture is not my forte. I am weak on Salic law. As for the logistics of twins as heirs to the throne, I leave that to the department of angels on pinheads. Royal babies are ooh-aah journalism. They soften the brain.
Yet after so much relentless bad news, we gulp down anything heart-warming like parched travelers stumbling into an oasis. In mid-recession, Britain went ecstatic when Prince William and the then-Kate Middleton wed. It cooed with pleasure over a royal jubilee. “Olympic heroes” sent it weak at the knees. Now comes a royal pregnancy — and a thumping great smile crosses the nation’s face.
At 4pm on Monday afternoon, Dec. 3, every office, shop floor, canteen and playground was uplifted, or so the media told us. British Prime Minister David Cameron emerged from Downing Street like a mole scenting the dawn, for his Tony Blair royal moment. He said he was “absolutely delighted,” over and again.
This is the danger of media simplification. When front pages used all to carry a dozen news stories, the world’s ups and downs tended to cancel each other out. The window on the world had many openings, good and bad.
Tabloidization has turned this into a single daily head bang, one dominant story, overwritten and slammed in front of the reader’s eyes to the exclusion of all else. Whether it is bankers’ bonuses or phone hacking or the Olympics or child abuse, single-issue coverage distorts perception and encourages a gloomy cynicism toward the world. Bad news is always catastrophe, good news is hysteria.
The prospective birth of a third in line to the throne is significant, since the UK constitution requires the headship of the British state to be inherited. What is not given is that those down that line of inheritance — and their potential children — be accorded such massive fame. Britain is exceptional, even among surviving crowned heads of state, in treating its monarchy as a royal collective.
While republicanism has the rational high ground in the matter of heredity, it has failed to dent the emotional attachment of the English (I hesitate to speak for other Britons) to constitutional monarchy. However, that attachment has never been unqualified. When monarchy does not play ball with democracy, it is monarchy that is in trouble. It wobbled during the parliamentary crisis of 1910 and on the abdication of 1936. It wobbled, briefly, after the death of Princess Diana in 1997.
Wobbling opens the usual can of worms, such as why not female inheritance and why not a Catholic or an atheist. Female succession is now confirmed. However, each move to a more “relevant” monarchy leads to more ideas for reform, until it comes dangerously close to making the person of the monarch signify something specific, which it must not. Traditional institutions are always at their most vulnerable when being changed, as Alexis de Tocqueville warned and of which the Anglican Church is now an awful example.
Who is monarch must not matter. He or she is required to be no more than the anthropomorphic embodiment of statehood. Inheritance is a security against monarchical power, since its indefensibility ensures the powerlessness of the head of state. By being random in age, merit or inclination, it detaches the head of state from all claim to influence.