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Thomas More and the National Front

Updated: Jan 22

I read through some old leaflets, newsletters, and manifestos for various marginal organisations, like the Communist Party and the National Front, on the Internet Archive. I noticed one little sub-head in an NF newsletter from about 1989 that said “cashless society threat” or something like that—and spoke about some then-new and now laughable electronic transaction machine.

It made me think plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose—you know, nothing new under the sun. There were people on the radical right who feared “the cashless society” even then (it’s a right-wing issue because it’s about liberty, about state control, and also about the specie—the integrity of the currency; real money, not inflated worthless plastic—just like real race, pure breed, not some mongrel; and it intrudes on religious territory—look at Guénon, in deep archaic times each coin was engraved with a symbolic work; the currency was literal magic—not like Bitcoin).

Well, as General Patton said, “there are no new battles”—every battle that can be fought has been fought (and usually you want to outflank them). What has changed is the speed the battles unfold—from groups of men not much above rugby teams running round a field, to horses, to chariots, to tanks. And, in the same way, we are closer to a cashless society today, really on the brink, perhaps a decade or less away from it, than we were in 1989.

The problem for the NF newsletter and for men like David “Cassandra” Icke, who has long been worried about a cashless society, is that they’re often like Chicken Little, if you want to be cute. “The sky is always falling”. But it takes longer than they expect for the technology to be rolled out, so nobody listens—whether or not that is an “inevitable” process that no man could stop is a more philosophical question.

I also glanced at a Spectator from 1996. In it a writer complained about Rottweilers—and he ridiculed liberal leftists who said “if the dog is well-trained, it’s no threat”. It just made me chuckle, because this decade we’re going through the same thing with XL Bullies—the same arguments, the same battle “if they’re well-treated and well-brought up—they’re no danger to anyone...” I mean, they eat toddlers like chicken nuggets but otherwise…“lovely animals”.

The whole debate, like the existence of dog breeds itself, recapitulates the left-right divide in microcosm—nature versus nurture…another hackneyed phrase, but basically true.

This brings me, at last, to Thomas More and his Utopia (1516). In the first chapter, which I read the other day, he explains how in his eponymous “Utopia” men who steal aren’t hanged, as in England, but rather are put to useful public work paid for from the general purse—and the “community service” they put in more than recompenses for the outlay.

Again, it just never changes. “What criminals need isn’t punishment, it’s reform, it’s education, it’s useful work”—as Tony Blair once said about welfare “a hand-up, not a hand-out” (great catchphrase, but actually really hard to do in practice).

Well, anyway, here we are again with More—St. Thomas More, the original bleeding-heart liberal, the original utopian; because it’s understood, it’s implicit in Utopia, that what he talks about constitutes, in an indirect way, actual policy recommendations for contemporary England (including restrictions on all the unsightly slaughter of poultry and cattle within the walls of the city of London—all that blood and offal makes More sick; “it’s health and safety gone mad!” “he’s neurotic that Tom More, even if he is a bleeding saint and all—little bit of blood and offal never did no one no ’arm, my dad used to play in it as a young ’un!”).

More illustrates how Christianity is primitive leftism. He took on the king—he suggested social reform, he took on the king for an idea (the Catholic faith). The idea, the belief, is greater than your own flesh and blood—and that’s crucial for the left.

Henry VIII didn’t just want to sleep with lots of women when he changed wives all the time—if he wanted mistresses nobody would have minded, least of all the Catholic Church, given the proclivities of many of the popes and cardinals. No, Henry VIII wanted to change wives because he wanted an heir—and he wanted an heir for a very good reason.

The reason was The Wars of the Roses, an event that immediately preceded his reign—about 30 years of bloody civil war that wrecked the kingdom. The cause: dynastic uncertainty. So Henry VIII had a very legitimate concern, a concern as regards statecraft, that if he didn’t have a son the kingdom would fall back into black disorder.

Who opposed this practical need? Saint Thomas More—Saint Pain-In-The-Ass. The problem is that the international organisation—the Catholic Church, the Comintern, the EU—doesn’t allow the king to divorce when he needs to for raison d'état. So, in other words, your own kingdom, your own flesh and blood, has to fall into civil war because of an idea, a belief, held by people in other countries that have nothing to do with you and will never suffer the consequences.

Although More looks great in A Man for All Seasons (1966) he’s actually a total pain—he’s a real lawyer, a real Pharisee, in the way he refuses to affirm an oath to the king and comes up with all sorts of “technical” reasons why because he doesn’t say anything you can’t infer that he disagrees with Henry’s marriage or the reforms to the Church.

It’s ironic he was sainted, because he behaved not like Jesus—who would have just said from the first “I don’t agree with the marriage, with the Church reform, if that means you’ll execute me then do it”—but rather was like a Pharisee and played all these lawyerly tricks to try and avoid execution. For this unChristlike behaviour he was made a saint.

You see in More how Christianity and leftism are synonymous—the belief over your own monarch, the international organisation over your own country. Whether it’s the Roman Catholic Church, the Comintern, or the European Union it’s the same battle every time—and the same people, like More, who develop arguments like “work reform, not execution”; the people with literal “utopian” beliefs prepared to play lawyerly tricks to implement them and, ultimately, to die for these ideas.

To quote that notable philosopher, Jon Bon Jovi, “It’s all the same, only the names have changed”.


As regards execution, when England was at her height, in the mid-1700s, there were about 160 capital offences. If I were made dictator, these would be my four first acts: 1. Restore the “160 offences”; 2. Stop immigration, execute people smugglers and hang their bodies in iron cages from gibbets in Bugsby’s Marshes (i.e. by the Millennium Dome, in sight of the Thames); 3. Privatise the NHS; 4. Disenfranchise women (ban divorce*, ban abortion, return work and educational opportunities to circa 1800).

If we implemented all four points, you’d see a notable uptick in the country—and some are connected, about 1/3 of NHS staff are foreign and the real purpose of the NHS is not to “heal” people but to suck more foreigners into the country; and, further, to privatise it would help the state budget and stimulate the private sector at the same time—and, in reality, everyone hates the NHS (that’s why there’s so much sentimental propaganda about it, just like in the USSR).

While we were at it we could close all higher education institutes excepts Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh—and also close the BBC. But what would we do with the surplus population, now unemployed or unemployable? I presume the army is still vaguely capable of defeating some minor West African state with oil or gold reserves (perhaps this is optimistic)—well, capture that state and ship the excess population to the new colony to civilise the country or die in the process (we have anti-malarials now, Europeans can colonise Africa—unlike the 19th century).

Of course, it’s all very well to say—you really would need a dictatorship to undertake such a project, because as it stands, even if you reintroduced capital punishment, the judges and lawyers (the “Thomas Mores”) would conspire so that only people who had killed more than three victims were hanged (and then after a ten-year appeal process); and that would make no real difference—which is why you’d need a dictatorship, dictatorship over Hyperborea.


* Henry VIII’s divorce was different because royal marriages were instruments of state policy—the move to legalise divorce after about 1830 wasn’t about statecraft, but represented degeneration in the society.


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