Roy Williams’ “In God They Trust?” includes a chapter on Gough Whitlam, who died today. Here is an extract. 

To some he was a “political messiah”. To others he was the Devil Incarnate. Opinions about Whitlam have always diverged sharply, and probably always will.

Today, I venture to guess, a dim view would be held of him by a majority of practising Christians – certainly by those of conservative Protestant bent. Whitlam has referred to “the Jensenite heresy” in Sydney and “the climate of wretched religiosity prevalent in the United States”. He is not a humble man, and his frequent self-comparisons with Jesus, though tongue-in-cheek, could verge on the blasphemous.

But Whitlam’s irreverent humour masked sober thinking and seriousness of purpose. As Opposition Leader in the late 1960s, he resolved, by sheer force of will, the decades-long rift within the ALP over State aid to religious schools. In government, on any fair-minded view, he achieved a great deal for social justice – one-vote-one-value, Medicare, the Trade Practices Act, needs-based education funding, and better sewerage for Australian cities, to name but five of his legacies. The Family Law Act of 1975 is often invoked against him, and with some justification; so too his permissive views on abortion. On balance, however, his achievements hold up well to Christian analysis.

In any case, it cannot be disputed that Whitlam was a titanic figure in the history of modern Australia. And – a little-known fact – his knowledge of Christianity exceeded by some margin that of any other Prime Minister since Alfred Deakin.

Whitlam was an expert in both history and doctrine. In his book Abiding Interests, he treated readers to the observation that, in the Balkans, “Orthodox Christians believe that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father, and Catholic Christians believe that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son (filioque)”.That is one example among hundreds.

I can also speak from personal knowledge. One morning in June 2008, when my book God, Actually was published, Whitlam rang me out of the blue to offer congratulations. For 20 minutes, in a kindly and respectful tone, he proceeded to dissect the passages about extra-Biblical sources for the life of Jesus. He knew his stuff.

Of course, knowledge is not the same thing as faith: there is no clearer message in the Gospels (see John 20:29). Whitlam was raised in a devout Baptist household, but he ceased to believe in Jesus’ divinity at the age of 11 or 12. He admitted in 1973 that this happened “probably for spurious reasons”, but, even so, his faith has never returned. Yet he has remained fascinated by all things Christian, and, over the course of a long life, some of his closest relatives and friends were believers. Margaret, his beloved wife for almost 60 years, was one of them.

According to his most recent biographer, Jenny Hocking, Whitlam’s Christian upbringing is crucial to a full understanding of his character. The “two great constants” of his childhood were politics and religion.

The religious aspect can be traced to his grandfather, Henry Hugh Gough (Harry) Whitlam. A market gardener by trade, from 1877-81 Harry served a prison term at Pentridge Gaol for the forgery of cheques. Then came redemption. Shortly after his release, he married into one of Melbourne’s most prominent Baptist families, the Steeles, and turned his life around. His religious conversion, wrote Jenny Hocking, “brought him a measure of salvation [and] … would be felt through ensuing generations.”

Both of Harry Whitlam’s sons – Fred (Gough’s father) and George (Gough’s uncle) – were raised as Baptists. Fred Whitlam was “deeply religious, diligent and dutiful”. Highly respected on both sides of politics, he served for 12 years as Commonwealth Crown Solicitor and was a legal adviser to the Australian Council of Churches.

Fred’s wife, Martha, was also devout. She met Fred when she was 16 at the Murrumbeena Baptist church in Melbourne. They were married seven years later, in 1914, at a ceremony conducted by Fred’s maternal uncle, the Baptist minister Alexander Steele. Their first child and only son, Edward Gough Whitlam, was born on July 11, 1916 at their home in Kew.[13] Gough’s sister Freda followed in 1920.

Fred and Martha Whitlam were pious church-goers[14], and raised their two children in a God-fearing, disciplined home. There was a focus on reading and conversation rather than frivolous games. One of Gough’s favourite childhood books was an annotated French translation of the New Testament! Tellingly, one of the first movies to which he and Freda were taken was the silent epic Ben Hur: Tale of the Christ (1925). Freda recalled many years later that her brother, 12 at the time, “was really quite affected by the cruelty, the treatment of the Christians”.

According to Whitlam, his father Fred was a “philosopher” who almost certainly believed in the Resurrection (that is, as an actual, historical, miraculous event). Fred also believed that “religious faith underpinned social morality as well, naturally, as personal morality”. He regarded “spiritual virtues [as] marks of a society that is great” , and had “a deep, abiding abhorrence of war”. In his personal life Fred was a modest gentleman who had “little interest in material things”, though he was neither a wowser nor sanctimonious.

Jenny Hocking points out that Fred Whitlam was “an unusual believer”. Although raised a Baptist, he did not confine himself to Baptist churches. In Sydney in the 1920s, he attended both Anglican and Presbyterian services: “he went primarily to the nearest church and then if it was full of rubbish he would go to one where he found the services more interesting”. In Canberra, Fred preferred the Presbyterian church at Ainslie. Clearly enough he was a discerning seeker of spiritual nourishment and inspiration, not a habitual attendee of “church” for the s
ake of appearances or the rigid re-enforcement of doctrine.

Freda Whitlam was also a Christian. Unlike her older brother, she never lost her childhood faith. In later life she was a missionary in France. She also served as the Moderator of the NSW Synod of the Uniting Church in Australia, and as a lay preacher. From 1958-76 she was the headmistress of Presbyterian Ladies College in Sydney (PLC Croydon).

George Whitlam, Gough’s uncle, was another staunch believer. His was a sterner form of Baptism, and it was he who took young Gough to Sunday school each week, and first noticed his emerging scepticism. After a time George reported to Gough’s parents that their impudent son was making waves: “[Gough] could not see how the whole world could have been created in seven days”. Worse, he had the temerity to question his teacher, a Dr Waldock, on the point. Dr Waldock’s reply – “But you’ll notice the sequence is correct” – was unavailing.

At this time Fred Whitlam’s overarching decency may have been an evangelical drawback. He continued to ensure that Gough attended church on Sundays (even though Gough objected to the “windbag Presbyterian sermons”), and he consented to Gough’s request to be confirmed as an Anglican. But one gets the sense that Fred was a somewhat passive man. “He did not try to force his beliefs or way of life on others, even his children”.

For some Christian tastes, Fred Whitlam may have been too tolerant:

Fred would have been horrified if either of his children had shown any sign of racial or religious prejudice. On one occasion when [a Parsee] was dining with the Whitlams, young Gough asked his father,‘Is Mr Lalkaka’s god the same as our god?’Without hesitation his father replied, ‘Of course’.

As a boy Gough attended an unusual variety of schools, including Knox Grammar preparatory school in Sydney. His favourite by far was Telopea Park High School in Canberra. He excelled there but acquired a reputation for insolence , and, at the beginning of 1932, his concerned father moved him to Canberra Grammar. This imposing institution was “private, selective, elitist, boys only … and conservative”. It was, moreover, proudly Anglican. This may have been an attempt on Fred Whitlam’s part to revive his son’s faith.

If so, it did not work. In 1934 Whitlam attained the top mark in the Divinity exam (92 per cent), only to miss out on the Divinity prize. The headmaster, Canon William John Edwards, was an ordained priest of the Church of England. While conceding that Whitlam’s paper was “a magnificent forensic effort, splendidly written”, he decided that there was a more deserving recipient – the second place-getter in the exam, a boy named Francis James. “James actually believes it,” the Canon ruled.  Asked in 1987 by Barry Cohen to verify the story, Whitlam replied with mock indignation: “Yes, the old bastard!”

As it happened, Francis James was later expelled from Canberra Grammar. But he went on to an eminent, if eccentric, career. Among myriad pursuits and adventures he was a publisher of The Anglican. He also spent three years in a Chinese gaol for alleged espionage. In November 1973, in his capacity as a journalist, he attended a Whitlam press conference and the following remarkable exchange ensued:

JAMES: It’s not generally known, but I hope you don’t mind it being known that you are a fairly learned bloke in matters of theology, with as much knowledge of doctrine and history as any man I know who is in holy orders.

WHITLAM: Bless you.

JAMES: In this sub-Christian country in which we now live, but above all in this period when people have arrived at the idea of God which you arrived at many years ago – where we’re getting to the essence of what Christian belief is, would you agree that in China there is in fact a spirit of applied Christianity? Quite obvious throughout all Chinese life – economic, social and political – of the kind that we in this decadent, bourgeois Western democratic state…

WHITLAM: You can call me bourgeois, but not decadent…

JAMES: The point I would like to make is whether you would agree that there is an extraordinary parallel between Chairman Mao’s dictum: “We must be modest, prudent, avoid arrogance and serve the people”.

WHITLAM: I follow it myself constantly.