Well, that was a quiet week . . . After the hysterical response to the Archbishop of Canterbury's leader in last week's New Statesman, of which he was guest editor, we gathered on the evening of Monday 13 June in the Guard Room at Lambeth Palace for summer drinks. ABC, as Rowan Williams is known to those who work closely with him, was remarkably chipper and seemed unconcerned about all the personal criticism.
The archbishop's political intervention was especially courageous because he must have known how his disparagers would mobilise against him; how they would wilfully misread and misinterpret his highly nuanced contribution, which challenged both left and right to define a new kind of communitarian politics at a time when government is attempting to cut both the demand for and supply of the state. Sure enough, his enemies mobilised. "When sorrows come, they come not single spies," says Claudius in Hamlet, "but in battalions."
Interesting word, "Lambeth". We know that Lambeth Palace is used metonymically for the Church of England and the Archbishop of Canterbury, just as Downing Street is for the Prime Minister and the British government. But what of its etymology? I could find nothing on it in various dictionaries, but Dr Williams, a renowned polyglot, tells me that Lambeth means "mudbank" in Middle English, which fits with its location on the south bank of the Thames. Is he correct?
A bomb in your pocket
After signing off the final proofs for last week's issue, I headed for Stratford-upon-Avon to watch Michael Boyd's Macbeth at the triumphantly reconstructed Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Much later that evening when I turned my phone back on, the emails and texts were accumulating as I suspected they would be. Everyone wanted to talk about Dr Williams's "sustained attack" on the policies of the coalition, which was splashed on the front page of the next day's Daily Telegraph. How? What? Where? Why? I turned off my phone and went to sleep.
Showers of arrows
There is a view inside Lambeth Palace that much of the indignation against the archbishop was driven by the English Catholic right, which supports disestablishment and for which the post-Reformation persecution of Catholics serves as a kind of folk memory of trauma and loss.
My father was an English Catholic, and I find it moving to read of the martyrdom of Edmund Campion and others. We used to speculate, too, on whether Shakespeare was a covert Catholic and enjoyed attempting to decode the plays accordingly. I'm deeply sceptical of conspiracy theories or absolutism of any kind, and yet there's little doubt that the sharpest and most pointed anti-Rowan arrows were being fired by Catholic journalists, the poison tip of which was disestablishment.
I thought of the persecution of Catholics in the 16th and 17th centuries as I watched Macbeth, which was first performed around the time of the Gunpowder Plot and the execution of Guy Fawkes. The stage sets for the opening scenes of this latest Royal Shakespeare Company production are starkly apocalyptic; you're confronted by smashed stained-glass windows, ransacked monasteries and churches, and beheaded and defaced icons, scenes of state-sponsored devastation and ruin. You are left in no doubt of how much fear and suspicion there is around, to adapt the words of the archbishop, writing in another context last week.
Meetings of equals
One of the stories circulating is that David Cameron was saved from taking part in "the archbishop's anti-coalition rant", as one newspaper absurdly described it, by the intervention of an aide, Gabby Bertin. She is reported to have intercepted a letter from Lambeth Palace requesting a "thoughtful" interview with the Prime Minister, sensed a trap and torn it in half. It's true that Dr Williams wrote to Cameron inviting him to contribute. The idea was for the two of them to have an open conversation - a meeting of equals, as it were - of the kind that eventually took place with the Foreign Secretary, William Hague (to the satisfaction of the Foreign Office, which was eager to publish our piece on its own website).
Hague emerged well from the discussion, impressing the archbishop with his "statesmanship" and wide-ranging analysis of world affairs. Foreign Office officials say much the same of the man they are calling a "natural" Foreign Secretary - high praise from the mandarins, who did not say the same of poor old Margaret Beckett.
Did Nick make him do it?
Everyone knows now that Cameron, for all his poise and verbal fluency, is an arch-equivocator: he changes his mind, flip-flops and makes U-turns depending on what the latest polling data from Andrew Cooper is telling him, or how restive the Liberal Democrats are. He likes to think of himself as a "One-Nation radical", but his radicalism is too often at odds with One-Nation pragmatism. He knows the kind of Prime Minister he wants to be, but equally doesn't know how to be what he wants, hence the equivocation.
As I understand it, he initially declined to meet Dr Williams; he then changed his mind and agreed to the interview, only to change his mind again - because, as he told one of the archbishop's aides, he did not want "to upset Nick [Clegg]". It's felt by some of those close to the Deputy Prime Minister that their man was beguiled by our previous guest editor Jemima Khan into giving an intemperately candid interview to the NS in April. You know, that interview, in which Clegg spoke of how he wept while listening to music, of how he was not a human punchbag, of how his eldest son had asked, "Why are the students angry with you, Papa?", and so on. Surely it can't be true that Dave didn't want to meet Rowan because of what Jemima made Nick say?
Coming up next . . .
Now I keep being asked who our next guest editor will be, or what other surprises we have lined up. The interest is very welcome but readers will have to wait and see.