Season 6, Episode 3
Why do we know the name of Downton’s local doctor, but not its vicar? Who is in charge of that charming chapel, and who is charged with the care of Downton’s souls? Never mind the odd slang (“Can I help?”) and the weird intimacy of employer and employed: the most anachronistic thing about Downton Abbey may be the near-total absence of religion from its characters’ lives.
On Sunday night, this season’s most pleasing storyline reached its apex as Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson exchanged vows before a gathering of familiar faces. The words they exchanged are taken from the Book of Common Prayer, the standard liturgical work that emerged from the Reformation and formed the basis of worship within the Church of England. We hear Mr. Carson promise: “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship… All my worldly goods, I thee endow.” And Mrs. Hughes: “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part.”
The Book of Common Prayer, which had survived in much the same form since 1662, was at this very moment being revised in response to decades of pressure. A Royal Commission, created to undertake this work in 1906, finished its work in 1927. But the new book was rejected by the House of Commons, not once but twice, led by a group of MPs who believed that the new forms permitted undermined the church’s Reformation principles. The Church of England is an established, state church, and the monarch of Britain is its nominal head; according to a 1919 Act, any changes to the prayer book required parliamentary approval before they could receive the royal assent. Parliament’s rejection set up an awkward situation, resolved, somewhat tenuously, by the decision of the Church to assert its authority and allow bishops to use the new liturgy. In many books the old and the new forms were printed alongside one another.
Had Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes married just a few years later, then, Mrs. Hughes could have promised “to love and to cherish,” rather than “to obey,” her new partner, while Mr. Carson could have merely honored her with his body and shared his world goods. But, old-fashioned sentimentalists that they were, they probably would have stuck with the old form, just as Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane do in Dorothy L. Sayers’s novel Busman’s Honeymoon (1937). Here, in his mother’s words, is the scene:
Helen [Peter’s sister] obligingly presented us with a copy of the new form of marriage service, with all the vulgar bits left out—which was asking for trouble. Peter very funny about it—said he knew all about the ‘procreation of children,’ in theory though not in practice, but that the ‘increase of mankind’ by any other method sounded too advanced for him, and that, if he ever did indulge in such dangerous amusements, he would, with his wife’s permission, stick to the old-fashioned procedure. He also said that, as for the ‘gift of continence,’ he wouldn’t have it as a gift, and had no objection to admitting as much. At this point, Helen got up and left the house, leaving P. and Harriet to wrangle over the word ‘obey.’ P. said he would consider it a breach of manners to give orders to his wife, but H. said, Oh, no—he’d give orders fast enough if the place was on fire or a tree falling down and he wanted her to stand clear. P. said, in that case they ought both to say ‘obey,’ but it would be too much jam for the reporters. Left them to fight it out. When I came back, found Peter had consented to be obeyed on condition he might ‘endow’ and not ‘share’ his worldly goods. Shocking victory of sentiment over principle.
To what extent did these doctrinal debates matter to English people in general? Historian A. J. P. Taylor dismissed the whole episode and insisted that, by 1928, England had “ceased to be, in any real sense, a Christian nation.” But measuring religion, and its decline, is not so simple, and most historians now would agree that interwar England was still a religious place, although one whose spiritual character was in transition. Beginning in the 1870s, there was a shift from the severe personal convictions of evangelical mid-Victorians, to a more undogmatic, social Christianity that accepted multiple forms of belief even while it continued to regulate morality and behavior. By the 1880s, churchgoing had begun to decline.
This was fueled, too, by the rise of government welfare and professional philanthropies, which lifted much of the burden of caring for the sick and the poor from the churches. But Christianity in general, and the Church of England in particular, remained a kind of cultural default until after World War II. The historian Callum Brown, for example, dates the “death of Christian Britain” to the “short and sharp cultural revolution” of the 1960s. The census did not ask about religion until 2001, but other measures suggest that religion remained a pervasive presence in the interwar decades. According to the Gallup poll, for example, 78% of respondents in 1937 said that they belonged to a Christian church, dropping to 41% in 1990.
Downton Abbey has given us glimpses of the church before, most prominently in the debate over where Sybil and Tom’s baby should be baptized. But in general it is kept resolutely off-stage, against all historical evidence. No dramas play out through glances and whispers during Sunday services. The Dowager Countess spends her energies on influencing the hospital administration, not whether the new vicar will be high or low church in his style. Lady Mary and Lady Edith are haunted by lower-class women—blackmailers and distraught kidnappers—for their indiscretions, but never by a church-imposed morality or even just the gimlet eye of a clergyman. Sunday night’s episode saw both Mary and Cora realize they were acting selfishly and seek to make amends, but this, too, happened in strictly secular, almost therapized language rather than with reference to any religious ethic or spiritual advisor.
Less than a year ago, in his Easter message, prime minister declared Britain to be “a Christian country,” insisting: “The church is not just a collection of beautiful old buildings. It is a living, active force doing great works across our country.” Downton, by contrast, gives us precisely a church that is a collection of beautiful old buildings: the rugged, ancient stone behind Mr. Carson was far more evocative than the minister, who said almost nothing even in the wedding scene. It is an accurate reflection of modern England, where 25% of the population said in 2011 that they had no religion at all and a further 5% identified as Muslim, making Islam the second-largest religious group in the country. Two-thirds of marriages are now civil ceremonies rather than religious ones. In 1925, however, things were quite different. Downton’s vicar is missing, but what’s really striking is that, as modern viewers, we’ve hardly missed him at all.
Sources
Callum G. Brown. The Death of Christian Britain: Understanding Secularisation, 1800-2000 (London: Routledge, 2001)
Jeffrey Cox, The English Churches in a Secular Society: Lambeth, 1870-1930 (New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982)
Clive D. Field, Religion in Great Britain, 1939-99: A Compendium of Gallup Poll Data (BRIN Working Papers on Religious Statistics, No. 2, February 2015)
Jose Harris, Private Lives, Public Spirit: A Social History of Britain, 1870-1914 (Oxford University Press, 1993)
George Ian Thom Machin, “Parliament, the Church of England, and the Prayer Book Crisis, 1927-1928,” Parliamentary History Vol. 19 (2000): 131-47
I studied the ‘decline’ in British faith a bit for my master’s degree, including reading Callum Brown’s account of it. And one book that posited the YMCA was at fault for the religious decline. I have literally never thought of it whilst watching Downton. I think overt religiosity wouldn’t appeal to a modern British audience, so Fellowes leaves it out. He skews everything to appeal to his audience. Occasionally, I’m grateful (I couldn’t live with watching Thomas fired and ostracized and run out of town for being gay, for example). But some sort of religious figure is in almost every 19th and early 20th century novel I’ve ever read, even if they’re as often a bore or a tyrant as a helpful adviser. I can’t believe I never thought about the missing vicar in DA.
That Sayers novel sounds spectacular and jovial and I want to read it now.
Don’t read the Sayers book without reading Gaudy Night first! And don’t read Gaudy Night without reading Strong Poison and Have His Carcase first!
I mean, you can. You’ll still enjoy it; it is indeed both spectacular and jovial. But you’ll enjoy it much more if you read the others first.
Don’t worry. I’m innately incapable of reading a series in anything other than completely correct order. I was just reading the Toast piece on Gaudy Night and the whole series. They all sound great, actually! Going on the Amazon wishlist.
Oh, you are in for a treat!!
Me too! (Which is why I’ve been struggling through “Whose Body?” for the last several months).
I am a completist, a fanatic about reading in order, and a Sayers fan who counts Gaudy Night as my favorite book in the world. I hope that is enough to convince you when I say: save yourself, and stop. Start with Strong Poison and read the Wimsey/Vane quartet through from there (Strong Poison, Have His Carcase, Gaudy Night, Busman’s Honeymoon).
If you want to start with Peter without a love interest, start with either the Nine Tailors (which takes place contemporaneously to the Wimsey/Vane quartet, but doesn’t include Harriet Vane,) Murder Must Advertise (same), or the Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club (the book immediately before Strong Poison).
The early books are charming in their way but you’ll appreciate them much more if you’re already predisposed to Peter from the later ones. I’ve read most of them at least five times. I think I have made it through Whose Body twice.
Thank you!! I’m going to set aside my OCD completism for once and take this to heart. 🙂
Murder Must Advertise was my introduction to Sayers and I promptly fell in love. Stumbled across basically a full set of her books at a used book store and snatched them all up. I need to read those again!
It IS spectacular, and you should read it. The Dowager Duchess of Denver (his mother) is a delight.
I’d have to go back to the library to re-read Bill Bryson’s “At Home,” but didn’t he have a whole section about how a lot of vicars just hung around collecting money and not doing a whole lot of vicaring? And they always had secret projects like inventions or half-finished sci-fi novels?
What I’m really saying is this sounds like the perfect character to add to the Downton universe, there should definitely be a vicar somewhere.
There was a vicar back in season 2; the one who thought Daisy was conniving William into marrying her for the war pension. Quel dick.
Yep, it was the same guy.
I sang in lots of weddings in my village church as a child, and I remember a wedding where both parties promised to obey and caused my mum to get a fit of the giggles.
I know it’s not on topic, but could someone please explain Barrow’s interview where he’s accused of being a republican? All of it went over my head.
The wacky old guy is acting as though royal guests might still show up at any moment, and he wants Barrow to come and keep the house in readiness — “for King and Country,” in the patriotic phrase. When Barrow is understandably dubious, he wonders if it’s because he’s a republican. By republican, he means someone in favor of a republic: in other words, someone who thinks there shouldn’t be a monarchy. (When Kate & Will got married, the Guardian had a special link “for republicans” who wanted to avoid the wall-to-wall coverage of the royal wedding, so it’s still a current thing… any Guardian article on the monarchy will have self-described republicans pointing out that the monarchy is a waste of money, etc. etc.) Anyway, my read was that Barrow accepts the “republican” charge was a way of getting out of that house as fast as possible.
Yes, republican like Branson, and in favor of social and economic equality and things like that, meaning that it’s about time those grand old houses and their aristocratic owners accepted that they’re no better than people of the lower classes – wild revolutionary ideas. (Wait, houses can’t accept ideas. You know what I mean.)
Apparently he’s been in 8 episodes. I recognize the actor (Michael Cochrane) from some other things, so when he popped up at the wedding I went “Oh yeah, I forgot he was the vicar in this.” But I only have the vaguest memory of his previous appearances.
Reverend Travis, that’s his name! http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0306631/?ref_=nm_…
Dear Historian Author, did you also watch ‘Mercy Street’? I love history but I’m not sure I can endure the horrible southern accents or the preachiness and sentimental manipulating. (I could probably accept one or two of those things, but not all three.)
Nope, I fell asleep directly after Downton. It certainly looks like a very pretty show — all those historical textiles!
I liked noticing the dyes in the fabrics! The mother had a dress that looked like Perkin’s mauve. I loved seeing the dyes in The Paradise too, and I really appreciated that they looked kind of gaudy. If only these story lines and bad accents wouldn’t keep getting in the way.
I could not seriously accept Ted Mosby as a Civil War doctor.
Anything that cites Busman’s Honeymoon is an automatic winner, to me.
I am a completist, a fanatic about reading in order, and a Sayers fan who counts Gaudy Night as my favorite book in the world. I hope that is enough to convince you when I say: save yourself, and stop. Start with Strong Poison and read the Wimsey/Vane quartet through from there (Strong Poison, Have His Carcase, Gaudy Night, Busman's Honeymoon).
If you want to start with Peter without a love interest, start with either the Nine Tailors (which takes place contemporaneously to the Wimsey/Vane quartet, but doesn't include Harriet Vane,) Murder Must Advertise (same), or the Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club (the book immediately before Strong Poison).
The early books are charming in their way but you'll appreciate them much more if you're already predisposed to Peter from the later ones. I've read most of them at least five times. I think I have made it through Whose Body twice.
I think I saw an interview somewhere with Alastair Bruce where he said the reason the start of a meal is never shown is because to make it historically accurate they would have to say grace, but ITV thought viewers would find religion off-putting.
He looked very put out, but I imagine if you advise DA about historical accuracy you look pretty put out most of the time. He and whoever is advising Fifty Shades on their knots could have a great bitching session together.
I agree with you
What’s especially interesting about the lack of Christianity in _Downton Abbey_ is that there’s such a long tradition of clerical characters in British television, especially (though not exclusively) in shows with rural settings: _All Gas and Gaiters_, _The Vicar of Dibley_, _Rev_, etc. Vicars on TV are usually played for laughs (itself a tradition that stretches at least back to _Pride and Prejudice_), which doesn’t really fit with DA’s melodramatic tone.
Anglican weddings that use the older liturgy still remain common: William and Kate’s ceremony, for instance, used the language of the _Book of Common Prayer_. What’s especially interesting is how the Church of England has come to recognize that the aesthetic trappings of Anglicanism – the “beautiful old buildings” that Cameron mentions – are really useful for getting people to have their weddings in church, with the hope that they would then keep coming. This amazing video from the C of E (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiJcVz7zMKQ) has lots to say about the music, stained glass, and flowers associated with a church of wedding but not a word about God.
Gosh, I’d never noticed this (though I am not a regular Downton-watcher). It is odd, because so many novels of the Dowton period mention the clergy – Sayers has a particularly sympathetic portrait of a CoE vicar in Mr Venables in ‘The Nine Tailors’, but most of her clergy are sensible and intelligent even if minor characters, and you can hardly read an Agatha Christie without coming across a clergyman of one sort or another, even if they don’t necessarily drive the plot. In Christie it’s usually the vicar’s wife who knows most about the parish and the people in it. A house the size of Downton would have had a chapel, surely? (Highclere appears to have one.)
Fun Sayers trivia: the character of Mr. Venables was based on her own father, who had recently died.
Gosh, I'd never noticed this (though I am not a regular Downton-watcher). It is odd, because so many novels of the Dowton period mention the clergy – Sayers has a particularly sympathetic portrait of a CoE vicar in Mr Venables in 'The Nine Tailors', but most of her clergy are sensible and intelligent even if minor characters, and you can hardly read an Agatha Christie without coming across a clergyman of one sort or another, even if they don't necessarily drive the plot. In Christie it's usually the vicar's wife who knows most about the parish and the people in it. A house the size of Downton would have had a chapel, surely? (Highclere appears to have one.)
Murder Must Advertise was my introduction to Sayers and I promptly fell in love. Stumbled across basically a full set of her books at a used book store and snatched them all up. I need to read those again!
Not to nitpick, as the post is really informative and interesting, but we do know the name of the vicar: Travers.