As a new round of television shows begins, perhaps it’s worth looking back to the first season of a memorable series that viewers will now have to do without: The Crown, widely acclaimed for both its aesthetic quality and its moral lessons. Programs with such qualities aren’t so easy to come by nowadays.

The first episode begins with the solemn preparation for a royal wedding, as King George VI performs the ceremony of investiture of Prince Philip in the Order of the Garter. The leadup to the solemn wedding ceremony in Westminster Abbey is not lacking in realism and humor. Philip boasts that he is giving up smoking for his future wife (“I’m going to give all up … for you”), to which the future Queen Elizabeth dryly responds, “You’ve still got 24 hours to change your mind.” 

This foreshadowing of the future difficulties in their marriage doesn’t take away from the pathos of the wedding ceremony. Elizabeth pronounces, with pause and trembling, with her watery eyes fixed on Philip, the words of her marriage vows. 

At her promise “to love, to cherish and to obey,” the view cuts away to the startled reaction of Winston Churchill’s wife, Clementine, to which the prime minister responds, with regard to the vow of obedience, “She insisted. It was discussed.” As Elizabeth’s words slowly gain strength, we are left with the impression that she has fully understood the weight of the marriage commitment and has readily embraced it. 

The grandeur of the wedding soon gives way once more to the realities of married life. The series candidly portrays the young royal couple’s difficulties in connecting with each other as they try to adjust to their new roles. However, this drama is just one among many personal struggles vividly depicted in Season 1. 

Of particular note is the drama of the final years of Winston Churchill’s political career. In Episode 2 we meet him in a position of apparent weakness. He lies in a bathtub, with both a cigar and a drink, as his secretary — from behind a bathroom door — announces his official mail. He admits that, as she’s heard, he can be a “monster,” yet adds, “You need a monster to defeat Hitler.” 

Soon the scene shifts to a cabinet meeting, where in the face of the prime minister’s obvious physical weakness, senior ministers urge Anthony Eden, Churchill’s deputy, to take action: “The country needs a younger, more dynamic man.” 

However, all of these suggestions of debility only serve to manifest Churchill’s valor, manifested in his stirring radio address upon the news of King George VI’s death. After extolling the King’s courage and fear of God — “with a heart that never quavered and a spirit undaunted” — the prime minister describes the challenges of the current moment and gives voice to “the prayer and the anthem, God Save the Queen.”

Alongside such displays of courage are the undoubted portraits of human weakness. While the Queen is away on an official trip, in Episode 8, Princess Margaret assumes royal duties and captivates the press with her personality. Nonetheless, her affair with the married Peter Townsend brings scandal to the royal family. Her “individuality,” without regard to duty, “has made people panic,” as the Queen says in admonishing her sister and demanding apologies: “They don’t want individuality.” 

Here, we see how moral foibles serve as an occasion for the Queen to exercise virtue. This is an “individuality” understood in a deeper Christian sense, found not simply in the pursuit of passion or self-aggrandizement, but in service to the common good.

In the face of continued squabbles between Elizabeth and Philip, the Queen confidently proclaims, “I have nothing to hide from you. Nothing.” She further asserts that “the only person I have ever loved is you. And can you honestly look me in the eye and the same?” The Prince can only reply with silence and a blank face. While the scene doesn’t necessarily express historical truth, it displays to us how marital fidelity continues to have its beauty.

The Queen also demonstrates her fortitude in forbidding Margaret to attempt marriage with a married man, in spite of her personal inclinations and the sympathy that Margaret has in public opinion. Despite such forces, the moral truth of the matter is clear, as the Archbishop of Canterbury — surrounded by other Anglican bishops — makes abundantly clear: “Marriage is a sacrament of God. The cornerstone of our Christian family life. Its foundation and its rock.” 

In light of the indissolubility of the sacrament, the proposed marriage is not possible. In the face of the serious family difficulties such a prohibition would cause, the Archbishop pointedly reminds her: “Your Majesty, as Queen … you are Fidei Defensor … defender of the faith.” 

Before a teary-eyed Margaret, the Queen rises to the occasion of this moral duty. After the difficult conversation in which the Queen refuses her sister’s wish, Season 1 ends with various snapshots of male characters and their weaknesses: Prime Minister Anthony Eden takes painkillers to deal with the stress of the crisis in Egypt, and Prince Philip leaves on a trip to Australia to seek time “to settle, not just in the marriage, but you know, generally.” Peter Townsend dejectedly announces to the press that the marriage to Margaret will not take place out of deference to the Queen’s “religious faith,” and returns to his work in Belgium. 

We are left with the image of Queen Elizabeth, as she stands nervously for her official portrait, and she is acclaimed as “Glorious Gloriana. Forgetting Elizabeth Windsor now. Now only Elizabeth Regina.” We can’t help but admire the way she has accepted her moral duty, leaving behind the purely personal. It’s an image of human virtue that can continue to inspire us in a culture that can so easily forget this call to higher duty.