Since the US presidential election, my British friends have been asking me for perspective on the American political scene. My politics tutor offered me his analysis and asked me if it squared with the general consensus in America. In the dining hall, Oxford undergraduates offer their thoughts to American visiting students and ask about the Americans' reactions to the election. Everyone is trying to understand the new political climate.
When I am faced with these questions, I often refer to the 1997 UK general elections—the famous Labour Party landslide. The Conservative loss has been described as cataclysmic, and for good reason: the Conservative Party was left with only 165 seats in Parliament, their lowest representation in nearly a century. In 1997, two leading British conservative thinkers published a book called Is Conservatism Dead?, seriously debating whether the Tories could ever make a comeback.
Among many British Conservatives, there was—and remains—a feeling that the party abandoned its pragmatic roots in favor of fundamentalist ideology. One British writer complained that the fundamentalism enjoyed a hegemony over the party, that it had become the determinant of true conservatism, and that anyone who didn't follow it was shoved out of the party. Americans reading this are probably thinking of religion, but for the English the question was free market economics.
I use this example when trying to convey my impression of American politics to my British friends, and I ask them to imagine religion in the place of economics. Most of them have a hard time doing that. Yet there are clear parallels; the internal debates among Republicans in the wake of their 2008 defeat mirror the arguments among Tories in the aftermath of 1997's elections, and the question of religion is front and center. The idea of religion being a fundamental part of a political party is strange even to many British conservatives. Margaret Thatcher herself emphasized religion as a part of private life: she said that religion called her to perform charitable works, but her religiosity never approached the level that has defined American conservatism for the last few decades.
This is typical of one of the long traditions of British conservatism: a basically utilitarian attitude toward religion. The great conservative thinker Edmund Burke argued that religion was the basis of civil society, but he was primarily interested in preserving the church as a hierarchical institution. His references to religion as a societal force are basically concerned with the institution of the church and its importance in upholding traditional society. Burke—like many of the conservatives who followed him—was more concerned about the church's role in upholding traditional society than he was about its particular spiritual claims. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose political writings have become major works of English conservatism, claimed that the church's role was to serve the state as a teacher of civic virtue. Coleridge was dedicated to the institution of the church, not to religion. He called Christianity "a blessed accident" and said that "a perfectly functional National Church might exist, and has existed without Christianity!" The historical foundations of British conservatism suggest a relatively casual political relationship with the Christian religion itself, and a much closer relationship with the church as a societal force. This attitude persists today: even defenders of Thatcher's appeals to personal faith often admit that those appeals are not suitable for British society as a whole, which is relatively secular.
This widespread secularism is a contrast I try to make when discussing American politics with my British friends. To make my point clearer, I sometimes refer to a complaint I've been hearing lately: that there are too many Christmas carols being played in stores and in shopping malls. When I was in a restaurant last week, a British person I was speaking to was complaining that "it's December 3, and already they're playing Christmas music!" I told them that in the United States, we're lucky if they make it to Thanksgiving.
Among many British Conservatives, there was—and remains—a feeling that the party abandoned its pragmatic roots in favor of fundamentalist ideology. One British writer complained that the fundamentalism enjoyed a hegemony over the party, that it had become the determinant of true conservatism, and that anyone who didn't follow it was shoved out of the party. Americans reading this are probably thinking of religion, but for the English the question was free market economics.
I use this example when trying to convey my impression of American politics to my British friends, and I ask them to imagine religion in the place of economics. Most of them have a hard time doing that. Yet there are clear parallels; the internal debates among Republicans in the wake of their 2008 defeat mirror the arguments among Tories in the aftermath of 1997's elections, and the question of religion is front and center. The idea of religion being a fundamental part of a political party is strange even to many British conservatives. Margaret Thatcher herself emphasized religion as a part of private life: she said that religion called her to perform charitable works, but her religiosity never approached the level that has defined American conservatism for the last few decades.
This is typical of one of the long traditions of British conservatism: a basically utilitarian attitude toward religion. The great conservative thinker Edmund Burke argued that religion was the basis of civil society, but he was primarily interested in preserving the church as a hierarchical institution. His references to religion as a societal force are basically concerned with the institution of the church and its importance in upholding traditional society. Burke—like many of the conservatives who followed him—was more concerned about the church's role in upholding traditional society than he was about its particular spiritual claims. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose political writings have become major works of English conservatism, claimed that the church's role was to serve the state as a teacher of civic virtue. Coleridge was dedicated to the institution of the church, not to religion. He called Christianity "a blessed accident" and said that "a perfectly functional National Church might exist, and has existed without Christianity!" The historical foundations of British conservatism suggest a relatively casual political relationship with the Christian religion itself, and a much closer relationship with the church as a societal force. This attitude persists today: even defenders of Thatcher's appeals to personal faith often admit that those appeals are not suitable for British society as a whole, which is relatively secular.
This widespread secularism is a contrast I try to make when discussing American politics with my British friends. To make my point clearer, I sometimes refer to a complaint I've been hearing lately: that there are too many Christmas carols being played in stores and in shopping malls. When I was in a restaurant last week, a British person I was speaking to was complaining that "it's December 3, and already they're playing Christmas music!" I told them that in the United States, we're lucky if they make it to Thanksgiving.
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