Benjamin Disraeli was the first and only Jew to serve as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, a position he held first in 1868, and then again from 1874 to 1880. He was also a man of principle, and a prolific author. Indeed, his Jewish background informed his political convictions and inspired his literary works. Disraeli also made an immense impact on transforming the Conservative Party, and Parliament, as he set out a more socially inclusive and politically progressive course for both institutions in mid- to late-Victorian Britain.
Anti-Semitism was rife in nineteenth-century Britain. Hence, Disraeli was continually discriminated upon for his Jewishness. While his Jewishness was regarded as a mark of undesirability, the young Disraeli was perspicacious, recognising that what made him different was not a handicap, but a strength. While many resorted to self-loathing, as Disraeli’s grandmother did by lamenting her Jewishness, he promised himself he would not succumb to such fatalism. Instead, he embraced his Jewish heritage.
By embracing his ‘otherness’, he challenged the prejudices of the day. His maligned ethnic and religious background drove him to become a champion for the marginalized and the disenfranchised, including mistreated foreign subjects. His response to the Indian Rebellion of 1857 was to condemn the racist treatment of Indian subjects by the East India Company, calling for an end to the disastrous British policy of meeting ‘atrocities by atrocities’, advocating instead a more sensible approach to colonial rule on the sub-continent. The fundamental pillar of Disraeli’s moral convictions stem from a rejection of racially and religiously motivated forms of human denigration. As a victim of anti-Semitism himself, he was able to empathise with other discriminated groups.
Benjamin Disraeli saw it as his calling to educate the public, weeding out of Britain’s people the prejudices that held them back. In Coningsby, the first novel in his famous Young England trilogy, he writes “the Spirit of the Age is the very thing that a great man changes.” Racism and class-based discrimination was a spiritual blemish on the soul of English society. Change needed to come from the top. Disraeli’s travels to the Middle East in the early 1830s broadened his horizons, making an indelible mark on his personal philosophical perspective. He observed that despite the differences between peoples, there was much more that united them. The epiphanous experiences he had in the Middle East undoubtedly inspired his writing.
J.P. Parry, a historian, claims that Fakredeen, a character in Tancred, the final instalment of the Young England trilogy, is partly based on Disraeli himself. The brilliant and cunning Lebanese character boasts in the novel that his multi-ethnic and -spiritual background endows him with an innate ability to rule judiciously over an equally multi-ethnic and -spiritual Lebanon. In his seemingly contradictory pronouncements, Fakredeen claims to be a Muslim, a Christian, a Jew, and a Pagan all at once, albeit to different characters, in order ostensibly to gain favour in their eyes.
Critics of Disraeli point out that Fakredeen’s falsely perceived vainglory was a reflection of Disraeli’s very own arrogant lack of principle—that, like Fakredeen, there is little Disraeli would not have said or done in order to advance his aims. Parry, on the other hand, argues that this is a misreading of Fakredeen’s character, and by extension an unjust characterisation of Disraeli’s. ‘Tancred and Disraeli,’ wrote Parry, ‘have both suffered too long from the legacy of nineteenth-century Liberal jibes. The three interpretations that have been discussed and found wanting here all derived from accusations of his political opponents: that he was unprincipled, an un-English imperialist, or an alien Jew.’ Anti-Semitism laced detractors’ perceptions of Disraeli. Disraeli was an enigma, endowed by an atypically worldly predisposition, particularly for his time. Misunderstood, his foes elected to disparage and vilify him for his nature.
Indeed, Disraeli was multiple things at once: a Jew of Italian origin, an Anglican, a patriot, and a Tory democrat. Cultural roots, mental fortitude, intellectual honesty and moral clarity were matters that preoccupied Disraeli’s thoughts, and coloured his leadership style. Yet, Disraeli quite rightly considered himself more than the sum of his origins. And while Disraeli’s enemies despised him for his foreignness, it was his foreignness that made him formidable. As he wrote in his diary in 1833, before he had even turned thirty: ‘my mind is a continental mind. It is a revolutionary mind.’ Only a revolutionary mind would have the temerity to challenge the preconceived notions of his society and upend them entirely.
However, the most famous example of Disraeli’s moral, political and social convictions can be found in his novel Sybil—the second book of the Young England trilogy. In the novel, Disraeli scathingly describes what ailed Mid-Victorian English society; namely, that there existed a schism that perpetuated class-based inequalities. In Sybil Disraeli states that far from there being a united England, there was for all intents and purposes two nations, “between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are ignorant of each other’s habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets; who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws: the rich and the poor.” With this passage, the seminal idea of One Nation Toryism was born. (One Nation Toryism was among the core themes, besides Brexit, of Boris Johnson’s 2019 triumphant general election campaign, indicating the longevity and continued resonance of Disraeli’s societal vision.)
As a Member of Parliament in the 1840s, Benjamin Disraeli opposed then Conservative Prime Minister Robert Peel on two major issues of the time: The repeal of the Corn Laws, a protectionist law that put tariffs on imported grain; and the passing of the Irish Coercion Bill, which imposed English religious institutions and practices on Ireland and prevented the Irish from being able to practice their Catholic faith freely. He did so on the grounds that the former would signal a betrayal of English farmers’ interests, and the latter would prolong hostilities with Ireland, worsening an already fractious relationship between West Britain—as Ireland was then referred to—and London. The right to religious freedom, according to Disraeli, was in line with British values, and would help restore order and harmony on the Emerald Isle. Hence, Disraeli called for justice and religious equality in Ireland.
In 1846, Peel resigned. Parry suggests that the manoeuvres bringing Peel’s tenure to an ignominious end were a “neatly vindictive assault” on the embattled Tory leader, executed by Disraeli to boost his own stock within the party. However, this assessment is misleading, and a tad censorious. Disraeli concluded as early as 1835 that the Tory Party needed to be radically transformed and repurposed to serve “the national will and character.” In other words, a rot had settled into the party, and its future lay with democracy rather than oligarchy. Disraeli was adamant to steward the Conservative Party through this seismic, but necessary, period of transformation.
Had Disraeli not been so dedicated to the two-party system, he may have established a party of his own. But this would have meant breaking from the constitutional tradition of England which he held in such high esteem for his entire political life. (His speeches as an elder statesman show a profound reverence for the British constitution. In 1872, when reiterating Conservative principles in a speech delivered in Manchester, he declared enthusiastically that ‘the programme of the Conservative Party is to maintain the Constitution of the country.’)
According to historian Paul Smith, Disraeli set out to ‘reformulate the idea of the Tory party as the national and democratic party’. To Disraeli, this meant that the party would have to change so that it would ‘represent and reflect the passions and prejudices of the nation’. Disraeli was acting out of personal moral principle when he set out to ‘labou[r] to replace the Tory Party in their natural and historical position’ in the country. To bring about a more inclusive and democratic Conservative Party were Disraeli’s ultimate ends.
The means were an aggressive social and legislative agenda, transforming the party and the country alike. Legislationpassed under his premiership included the Climbing Boys Act, which put a ban on employing underage children from cleaning chimneys; the Artisans Dwelling Act, which, among other things, provided housing relief for the poor; the Public Health Act, which sought to improve sanitary conditions in urban areas; and the Conspiracy and Protection of Property Act, which legalised peaceful picketing and decriminalised the work of trade unions.
Yet, one area where Disraeli has come into disrepute merits special attention. Because of its moral implications, I will address Disraeli’s role in the passing of the Jews Relief Act of 1858. David Cesarani’s assessment of Benjamin Disraeli’s contribution to Jewish emancipation is problematic to those, like me, who argue that he was a man of moral fortitude as opposed to an ‘unprincipled charlatan’, as Lord Salisbury once wrongly described him. According to Cesarani, Disraeli was a ‘false friend’ to the Jews. It is worth mentioning that while Disraeli was born into Judaism, his father converted the family to Christianity when Disraeli was aged 12. This has cast doubts on the true extent of Disraeli’s support for Jewish causes. Yet Cesarani’s conclusion is flawed as it is inconsistent with Disraeli’s historic support for Jewish religious and ethnic equality in England. Disraeli considered Judaism and Christianity as being complementary, intimating in Sybil that the two religions were inextricably linked by a common historical and spiritual heritage.
The Jews Relief Act enabled Jewish persons elected to parliament ‘to modify the Form of Oath taken instead of the [Christian] Oaths of Allegiance by a Person professing the Jewish Religion, to entitle him to sit and vote in such House’. When Lionel de Rothschild could at long last take his seat in parliament, without having to swear “on the true faith of a Christian” in his oath of abjuration, Disraeli’s response, Cesarani writes, was a “muted” one.
Yet, de Rothschild shook Disraeli’s hand before taking his seat for the first time—a powerful gesture of solidarity with a fellow Jew. Disraeli had always been a staunch advocate for Jewish emancipation. Indeed, so close was the cause to his heart, that he mused of the merits of a Jewish return to the homeland, as early as in 1851. ‘In a flicker of self-revelation to Lord Stanley,’ wrote Smith, ‘[Disraeli] talked of the restoration of Jews to Palestine…it was not beyond his imaginings, as it was not beyond [Theodor] Herzl’s fifty years later.’
R.W. Davis’s account of Disraeli’s role in the struggle for Jewish emancipation appears more credible. He concurs with Cesarani that Disraeli’s underwhelming response to Jewish enfranchisement warrants some scepticism. But put in perspective, however, Cesarani’s charge does not pass muster. It is likely that Disraeli’s veneration for religious institutions was based on reason rather than ideological adherence. He believed that the church was a benevolent force, helping to maintain harmony and order in the community at large. Therefore, a lack of visible enthusiasm on Disraeli’s part must not be mistaken for indifference.
Disraeli’s reputation and stature meant that he attracted more attention, and thus more scrutiny. He had many enemies, both in his own party and on the opposite benches. There seemed to be an irrepressible urge among certain members on both sides of the aisle to attack Disraeli. This does not mean that he was mendacious or manipulative. Rather, it reveals a stoic streak, indicative that Disraeli was capable of a composed demeanour, even on the occasion of a momentous personal triumph. But like so many of his triumphs, they were not his exclusive preserve. His exploits were seminal, and enabled others—the marginalised, the downtrodden, the persecuted—to have a voice and forge a path of their own. In other words, his victories were also theirs.
Nevertheless, Disraeli was not always triumphant. Lord Randolph Churchill aptly summed up his life as a series of failures followed by “sudden and inexplicable triumph.” Disraeli may not have always been successful, but even one of his fiercest posthumous critics, Cesarani, acknowledges that he ‘took momentous decisions [as Prime Minister] that would shape the destiny of England.’ Disraeli was a revolutionary, a patriot, a campaigner for religious freedom and tolerance, and an outsider who used his political power honourably and judiciously. He was, above all, a man who relentlessly pursued a sense of purpose. ‘Action may not always be happiness,’ once stated Disraeli, ‘but there is no happiness without action.’ Britain is forever richer and fairer thanks to Disraeli’s actions, vision and legacy. His was truly a revolutionary mind.
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