Bloody politics

We’re all fox-hunters. It’s just some of us are more honest than others. These days we sneer at past generations and their blood sports: Roman gladiatorial contests; early-modern bear-baiting; Victorian bare-knuckle boxing. And we have a point. Those sports prized the blood-spatter. Ignore your conscience briefly, though, and imagine what the spectators might have felt. An almost giddy thrill, plus deep relief: thank god it was not your blood in the sand. But even to indulge this thought experiment feels wrong. That past is foreign. 

I class fox, deer, and bird hunting in that same group. I think they're outdated, outmoded, and will soon be out of fashion. I also don’t think I’m alone in this – look at the huge reaction to the Tory manifesto commitment to repeal the fox hunting ban. Hunting is part of a bloodsport world sustained by an aspect of human nature that is disappearing.

That's why I scoffed when I read Gilbert White, an otherwise astute observer, say the following in his classic book The Natural History of Selborne: ‘most men are sportsmen by constitution: and there is such an inherent spirit for hunting in human nature, as scarce any inhibitions can restrain.’

Stick to the ornithology, Gilbert. That was proof that the book was written in 1789. He might be first rate with bird-kind, but on mankind he was second best. His description of human nature seems so out of date today.

But recent events in the UK have got me thinking. What if he’s right? 

I don’t mean we’re all suddenly about to break out the jodhpurs, whips, and hounds. But that while we may be above the slaughter of foxes, we’re not, err, out of the woods yet. The hunting instinct runs deep. 

Look at what’s happening to Theresa May. MPs mouth off on Twitter, calling her dull, or yak to the papers, saying ‘we need to get our shit together’. Jacob Rees-Mogg's rise is a gruesome product of Tory nervousness that May can’t cut it. Rumours fly about letters of no confidence reaching the threshold needed for a contest. Previously supportive magazines declare on their front pages that it is time for her to ‘lead or go’. Papers like the Telegraph and the Mail begin to hedge their bets. The edifice of Number 10 looks shaky. 

The details of her situation, though, don’t interest me here. What does is the extra factor in all this. She’s on the run: let slip the dogs of war! People are excited about her going not just because of the facts, but because of her weakness, because there’s (metaphorical) blood in the water. That adds an extra layer to criticism, whether it be to enlarge otherwise minor problems, or provide justification in itself – as part of a survival of the fittest mindset. 

We might congratulate ourselves on saving foxes from nasty deaths, but we shouldn’t think we’ve somehow got rid of the original instinct. It lingers. You can see it now. There are many good reasons to dislike Mrs May and hope that she goes. But we should be on watch for that part of the roar that comes from what Gilbert White so perceptively called that “inherent spirit for hunting in human nature.”