Rogation was always a rather eccentric observance, but when
the Councillors abandoned their robes it made it less likely that they would
want to do anything corporate in public at all. Today I was talking to some of
the Council staff about what might happen at Christmas: last year Town Carols
was a very lacklustre affair in a municipal hall, so the churches would like to
revert to the civic occasion it was pre-Pandemic, gathering at the Market House
in the High Street and then processing down to the old parish church. The trouble
is that without their gear, the Councillors are just a bunch of people in suits,
not so much processing as ambling in a fundamentally unimpressive way. In an
increasingly secular world they might not care that much about Christmas, but
then we have events such as the Jubilee and the Accession Proclamation last
year, and rare though they are, our elected representatives certainly care
about those.
And I think it’s their role precisely as representatives which is relevant here. The councillors aren’t only technocratic managers of a local authority, elected to carry through a particular set of policies: they also, by appearing en masse at a few very formal occasions, show what a community thinks is important, and some kind of distinctive dress would seem to be an element in that. It says, This group of people aren’t just a random rattle-bag of individuals, they have a role, and a relationship with you, the electors and onlookers. You might just be able to think of other folk in fancy dress to whom similar statements might apply.
You are, of course, right to emphasise the symbolic importance of the uniform in a public display of this kind. It should be a priority for civic dignitaries to look solemn on the right occasion, just as it always has been (and evermore shall be) in academic processions in Oxford. The problem is that everything is a priority these days. New office buildings for the council, maintaining regular waste collections, putting on a good show for the Coronation, and so on. At the end of the day, some priorities are a higher priority than others, and which ones you elevate says something about your basic view of the world.
ReplyDeleteOh and another thing. This is really a general observation of no actual relevance to the content of any actual post. I've been meaning to ask for a while. Why does The Hearth of Mopsus reference the 4th century theologian Theodore of Mopsuestia, rather than the linguistically-closer mythological Greek seer Mopsus who gained the ascendancy over his rival Calchas by correctly predicting defeat rather than victory in a forthcoming military engagement. Wouldn't it be less misleading to call yourself The Hearth of Mopsuestia?
ReplyDeleteOn the subject of mis-identification, I would like to know why Shakespeare's most famous play is called Hamlet Prince of Denmark rather than Village Prince of Denmark, since the play features more deaths than you see in the average Hamlet.
Theodore of Mopsuestia always struck us at the vicar factory as being a prima facie unlikely character, the sort of person quoted by our college principal who was known for his learned allusions to the early Fathers; hence he has stuck in my mind - more than, as you mention, the ancient soothsayer who gave his name to Theodore's place of origin.
ReplyDeleteCoincidentally a friend of mine has tried to persuade me today that Shakespeare didn't write Shakespeare's plays, and that's one of the many, many subjects I don't intend to delve far into.