Maggie, the PM who DID do God
MArgAret tHAtcHer was a conviction politician, overflowing with certainty in all her opinions. But what were the sources and motivations for her fervour? According to her foes, they sprang from bigotry, prejudice and an unpleasantly domineering character. conversely, her fans idolised her courage, her reforming zeal and her vision to restore Britain’s greatness.
such secular explanations will continue to polarise historians for many decades. But we are offered a refreshingly original view in this new book by eliza Filby.
this is the first attempt at a serious portrayal of her religious beliefs and spiritual values, connecting them to events in the turbulent era in which she governed Britain.
Filby’s account of thatcher’s conflicted journey of soul and politics rightly starts with her strict Methodist upbringing in grantham, where the seminal influence was her father, Alderman Alfred roberts, whose 1940s sermons reveal signposts to 1980s thatcherism.
Lay preacher roberts was a champion of self- help, self- discipline and stringent scepticism about the involvement of religion in social issues he feared would turn the church into a ‘glorified discussion group’. His daughter upheld his credo in a speech to the general Assembly of the church of scotland in 1988, when she said: ‘christianity is about spiritual redemption, not social reform.’
thatcher stuck with the stern puritanism of her youth until her marriage. it was the influence of Denis that slowly severed her from her nonconformist roots. He was wealthy, worldly and determinedly non-teetotal and addressed all clergymen as ‘padre’ — not always with a straight face.
the tension between the influence of her husband and her father, says Filby, ‘is crucial to understanding the mix of roundhead and cavalier in thatcher’s personality’.
this perceptive comment gets to the heart of thatcher’s theological confusion. As Prime Minister, she fought her good fights with near-messianic passion against her numerous enemies, who came to include many Bishops in the church of england.
towards the end of her life, thatcher regularly attended the sunday morning service in the 17th- century chapel of the royal Hospital chelsea, where her ashes and those of Denis were later interred.
one sunday, the sermon explained the gospel story of Martha and Mary, emphasising how Mary had sat listening at the feet of Jesus in adoring contemplation, even though this meant leaving her sister Martha to carry the burden of household chores. Like most preachers, the chaplain came down on the side of the mystical Mary.
thatcher disagreed: ‘We shouldn’t underestimate the practical value of the Marthas who knuckle down and get the work done.’
she yearned to justify her works by her faith. the most religious Prime Minister since gladstone, she was the living embodiment of the Protestant work ethic.
she believed the creation of a prosperous free market was a moral, rather than material, crusade, which would make its individual beneficiaries more generous to the less well- off. she liked to quote John Wesley’s dictum: ‘get all you can, save all you can, give all you can.’
or as she put it: ‘economics is the method; the object is to change the soul.’
the soul changes she expected in the nation’s character never materialised. Personal debt soared; financial permissiveness replaced prudence. in vain, she sought scriptural foundations for her policies: ‘no one would remember the good samaritan if he’d only had good intentions; he had money as well,’ she pronounced. though her public words could seem harsh, her private heart was kind. i myself was a grateful recipient of many thatcher kindnesses after coming out of prison.
‘one day, i’ll be twanging a harp,’ was a figure of speech she used in later life. Her certainty of a warm welcome at t he pearly gates was characteristic and, if she’s up there now, i’ll bet she’s irritating her fellow harp twangers, still banging on with the divisive arguments that are so cleverly and colourfully chronicled in this outstanding book.