Max Hastings wrote an interesting article in today's Guardian about British prime ministers and how they are remembered in the history books:
Tony Blair is working overtime to reform education, commission a new generation of nuclear power stations, bring stable government to Northern Ireland, impose a new vision on Europe, create stability in Iraq, all within the span of two or three years before he quits the scene. It is amazing that such an intelligent man can still suppose, first, that his objectives are attainable and, second, that he will receive any credit for them from the electorate.
It is the fate of almost all governments to be remembered not for what they achieved, but for their failures and embarrassments. Of postwar prime ministers, only two can claim substantial and widely acknowledged legacies. Clement Attlee created the welfare state, and Margaret Thatcher restored the credibility of British capitalism.
Of the remainder, Eden is known only for Suez, Macmillan for Profumo and "you've never had it so good". Wilson left behind his "lavender list", the notorious resignation honours, together with memories of incessant economic crises. Historians of the Heath era focus upon his eviction by the striking miners, rather than his success in taking Britain into Europe. Callaghan presided over the winter of discontent; Major over six years of ridicule, culminating in a painful dispute about whether he wore his underpants inside or outside his shirt.
If all this is flippant and unjust, it represents a reasonably accurate summary of the public perception of modern British political history. If educated adults were asked what substantial acts of governance might be attributed to each of the above national leaders, most would struggle to provide answers.
About two years ago, talking to one of Blair's close associates, I expressed surprise that the prime minister wanted to carry on through a third term, given the fantastic strain of the job, and the unlikelihood of success in his cherished objectives. My friend said: "Oh, but Tony doesn't see it like that at all. He is convinced that if he serves another term, the British people will understand what he has done for them."
In order to serve as a frontline minister, to sustain oneself at the top of the greasy pole, it is essential to be that sort of optimist, whose kind are to be glimpsed nightly at the tables of our great casinos, or buying lottery tickets.
Blair will be recognised by history as a consummate politician, orator, vote-winner. It seems unlikely, however, that he will be judged to have used the power he gained to much lasting effect. To a remarkable degree, he has presided over Britain rather than ruled it.
He has articulated objectives that reasonable people can share: enterprise, compassion, better health and schooling, good deeds in Africa, economic stability. But neither he nor most of his cabinet have discovered how to get things done. They have failed to master the art of translating aspiration into achievement through effective administration.
The backgrounds of most ministers are a serious handicap in office. Few, before reaching Whitehall, had ever run anything or acquired executive skills. Their talents and experience are founded upon rhetoric and political manoeuvre. They govern by hoping that if one declares a commitment to something often enough, it will come to pass.
In a just world, Blair might gain credit for the fact that the British people have been pretty content for most of his time in office. His government has done little to make them angry, at least until the pensions issue began to get serious. He has presided over a period of prosperity, which a decade or two hence we shall look back on as fortunate.
But it is unlikely that Mrs Smith in Coventry will say in her old age: "Gosh, how grateful we were to nice Tony Blair for all that!" People are seldom, if ever, grateful to governments. The Scots and Welsh are unlikely to erect statues of Blair for giving them devolution, nor the Irish to regard him as the architect of their future and still somewhat speculative tranquillity.
By now, you will have perceived where this line of thought is heading. Galling though it must be to him, Blair's legacy will be Iraq. It is plain that, whatever the outcome, it will not be a happy one. Whether or no the coalition forces swiftly depart, the saga will drag on for years, poisoning western relations with the Islamic world. It is unlikely that Iraq can be sustained as a unitary state. Much more bloodshed is to come.
No amount of massage can alter the fact that this was a war of choice, not necessity. Blair, intoxicated by the sensation of standing shoulder to shoulder with the most powerful man on earth in doing a good deed, committed Britain on a false prospectus and in the caravan of gross incompetents in Washington. The consequences threaten to be interminable, not least in this country's increased vulnerability to terrorism.
It is hard to imagine any political historian, never mind the British public, attributing our involvement in this shambles to anything beyond the misjudgment of one man, the prime minister. Posterity will be no more impressed by Blair's professed honourable intentions than by those of Anthony Eden in Egypt, half a century ago.
The memory of Blair's government will be dominated by this disastrous foreign war, rather than, for instance, by his maintenance of a successful economy at home and brilliant speeches to successive Labour party conferences.
