The eleventh commandment

SENIOR politicians of all ideological hues expressed delight at the prospect of female bishops in the Church of England after a long-awaited vote was won in the church’s ruling Synod on July 14th. Politicians of various religious hues, too: Nick Clegg and Ed Miliband, the leaders of the Liberal Democrats and Labour, are professed atheists.

Is it any of their business? Of course it is. A quirky constitutional order almost requires MPs to follow the doings of the established church. Office-holders, monarchy and the church are linked by an elaborate system of rites and procedures that supposedly bind the nation—and bind it to its past. As Nick Spencer of Theos, a religious think-tank, puts it: “Ministers govern in the name of the monarch, and the monarch in the name of God.”

Formally, the prime minister advises the queen on the appointment of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Decisions by the church have to be nodded through Parliament; and the legislature’s upper chamber includes 26 Anglican bishops known as the “lords spiritual”.

This convoluted system wobbled in November 2012 when the Synod unexpectedly rejected women bishops. Though bishops and clergy were in favour of them, a backlash by conservatives meant that the lay voters withheld approval. (It was never in doubt that women bishops would eventually be named; the question was how kind the arrangements should be for clergy or parishes who in conscience could not accept the ladies’ authority.)

The vote triggered calls from MPs, including devout ones, for the Church of England’s establishment to be reconsidered. Several argued that if the church wanted to behave like an idiosyncratic sect, ignoring public opinion, then it should lose its privileges. Religious bodies, some recalled, had won a derogation from equality legislation so they could carry on using their own criteria to hire clerics. But barring women from the senior ranks of an organisation where they occupy an ever-increasing share of the junior ranks was a step too far.

The church got the message. Although it contained only nebulous safeguards for conservatives, the latest proposal was backed by a thumping majority of lay delegates to the Synod: 152 in favour and just 45 against. Even among the church’s growing contingent of evangelicals, a survival instinct prevailed. Survival as what, though? Some clergy, like Giles Fraser, an outspoken leftist, think the church should cut loose from the state and deliver hard truths from the margins of society.

In England, as in many historically Christian countries, the national church faces a choice. Either it can use its ancient privileges to cast a pale wash of religion over a secular society, making the necessary compromises; or it can morph into one or several minority subcultures, guided by their own particular lights, whose views are no business of politicians.

Over women bishops, the church stepped in the first direction. But if, as is expected, most bishops in the Lords vote against a forthcoming bill on assisted dying, it will swing the other way. Fresh questions may be asked about why bishops of one church, which attracts 2% of the population to its services, should vote at all.