Part 4

Thus in England, at the commencement of the twentieth century, the world of society, commerce, finance, and athletic sport is saturated with gambling, more or less veiled or entirely open. Individual and family ruin from it in all classes is frequent; and there are thousands of cases stopping short of this, but entailing, besides material loss and suffering, the lowering of the moral and mental nature, thus affecting the intellectual and religious fibre of the people. But the evil to the nation does not stop here. Until lately, at all events, the highest Courts of Law, as well as the lower ones, did not escape the indirect taint, and even now politicians and office-holders, who would be ostracised in Japan, continue to allow themselves, and very often their households, to be deeply involved in gambling transactions in their homes, their clubs, and with low practitioners of the race-course ring, their children in numberless cases copying the evil habit. A young heir to a peerage, a candidate for a seat in Parliament, whose father is considered to be a great political light and would wish it to be supposed that he is not without reforming zeal, although fencing with the question of the betting ring, boasted to a companion of his sudden acquisition of £2000, laughing at the idea of having worked for it, and explained that it came from the bookmakers at one meeting. The public services are corrupted, particularly the Police and the Post Office, the latter institution rendering many unnecessary services to the gambling system, in the profits of which it largely shares, and not making the special efforts which we see in the United States and elsewhere to hamper professional gambling. The nation as a whole is, it may be hoped, too healthy in a moral sense to allow a further continuance of this social plague without a great effort to grapple with it; but the bitter experience of the nineteenth century demonstrates how futile it would be to rely solely, or even to any great extent, upon the unaided attempts of educational persuasion to root it out. These, indeed, must not be relaxed, they must be increased and multiplied, and should be supplemented by more extensive and systematic endeavours, aiming at improved conditions of life for the poor, and further amelioration of health, and opportunities for recreation; but betting and gambling should also be made, as they can be made, by amended and better applied legal regulations, far less profitable, and more difficult, dangerous, and disgraceful, whether for the rich or the needy. There need be no real interference with the liberty of the subject; for that liberty, regarded in a true light, should not confer any licence to trade upon the ignorance, weakness, or folly of others, which is the characteristic of all gamesters, and not least of those belonging to the professional betting system.

STOCK EXCHANGE GAMBLING

By A. J. WILSON

Nothing is easier than to heap abuse upon the Stock Exchange and to place to its debit every crime of which the gambler can be guilty. And all the abuse would have a sediment of truth beneath it, for infinite are the evils that have grown up and spread their roots far and wide through all strata of modern society since the day when dealing in stocks and shares first became a passion or a habit. True as this is, and numberless as may be the demoralising consequences of indulgence in the habit of stock and share “bulling” and “bearing,” it would be none the less false and unjust to lay upon Stock Exchanges and their members all, or even half, the blame for the moral undermining of society that may ensue from subjection to the hazards of the play. In many of its functions the Stock Exchange has always done admirable service to civilised mankind, and the great majority of the members of all such institutions are men as upright, as humane and high-principled as could be found among any body of merchants in the world. It is not their fault but often their misfortune that the spirit of unbridled lust after unearned wealth should so continually strive for the mastery and so often become dominant in their business.

From the point of view, however, of the highest ideal of national morality, it is unquestionable that the trade of the stockbroker is of tainted origin. In this country the business began in an organised sense when William III. founded the National Debt and called the Bank of England into existence to furnish him easily with the means to carry on his Continental wars; and an evil day surely it was for the peace of the world, for the progress of mankind and civilisation, for the masses of those who toiled in all countries endowed with a settled form of government, when national debts were invented—debts laid upon the shoulders of the people without either the intelligent or deliberate sanction of those called upon to bear the load, or adequate estimate of the consequences in any direction.

We must, however, in most things take the world as we find it, and in spite of my hatred of all debts, and of my belief that debt never paid off in the long run ruins the debtor, whether individual or state, it has to be admitted that good of many kinds came out of evil in this instance. Debt, by the intermediary of the banker, begat credit; and credit, based upon a security which was reliable, the fruits of a nation’s labour and enterprise, gave an irresistible impetus to that industrial and mercantile expansion which has carried the prosperity of the United Kingdom to heights never before seen on earth, and changed the course of human progress everywhere. Imagine what might have happened if the banker’s utilitarian fiction, which treated the symbols or book entries of moneys spent in wars as so much realised wealth, capable of being utilised to call still more wealth into existence, had never been allowed to have free play. The nation would have perished beneath the dead weight of its obligations. Called upon to find the interests of the debts imposed upon it, out of resources suffering continual depletion, unstimulated by any new capital beyond what the minority might or might not have been able to furnish at the moment out of its savings, it would have sunk lower and lower in poverty, until its condition might have become one of hopeless anarchy.

The banker and the stock-jobber between them saved England from that fate—unconsciously, perhaps, but they none the less saved it. Their operations often exhibited a kind of inverted, topsy-turvy communism. Gravely treating the promises to pay emitted by governments of all degrees of irresponsibility as the inviolable obligations of the people at large, they used these promises and symbols of wealth already dissipated as the bases on which to rest further credits granted to joint-stock enterprises—to South Sea bubbles no doubt, but also to East India companies, Hudson Bay companies, mining companies, canal companies, adventures of all kinds, some of which outlived the manias amid which they came into existence, and survive in one form or another to this hour. Throughout modern history, the part played by debt in engendering credit, in calling capital into existence as it were out of nothing, and providing the means to carry out great undertakings by whose completion alone could the credit-born capital become living and real, has been such as to transform the world, girdle and seam it with railways, bind it together by electric cables, and cover its oceans with ships almost as sure and safe in their comings and goings as a suburban railway train. In ways almost infinite, credit was created to represent assets not yet in being; and, by putting in pawn of previously existing debts, and through the intermediary of banks, it drew out hoards from the keeping of the thrifty. Dead capital—capital spent—came to life again as it were, and was a potent agent for the advancement of mankind in civilisation. By this means modern nations not only stimulated their manufacturing industries, awoke and encouraged inventiveness, spread their productions over the whole world, but developed cities at home and made life bearable for aggregates of population whose healthy existence would have been impossible under the conditions prevalent, say, at the close of the Napoleonic wars and for long after.

Many other forces doubtless were at work so far as England alone is concerned—wealth drawn from India, the tireless energy of the race, the backwardness of other nations—but it was in no small measure the impetus supplied by those portions of our otherwise intolerable National Debt, utilised as a means of creating credit through our banks, that the resources and energies of the nation, and such forces as it drew from the yearly accretions of its savings, the ever-increasing fruition of its accomplished enterprises, were given full scope. In this development the Stock Exchange played a leading part. Without it as intermediary, little progress could have been made. Human nature rather than the share market must therefore be blamed for the manias and delirious gambling by which every step in the triumph of man over the forces of nature, of time and space, has been accompanied. The younger generation does not remember the days of the railway mania, when men went demented over wild and hopeless-looking projects, and rushed worthless shares to fantastic premiums in the height of the disease; but amid that insanity the warp and woof of our present network of roads came into being. There were enormous losses inflicted upon the multitude by the collapse, the always inevitable collapse; but good work was none the less done, progress made. Again, I may say, had the masses of mankind been capable of obeying high ideals, all this could have been avoided. It is possible to conceive a state governed by a spirit of mutual help and wholesome brotherliness in citizenship, wherein all would have been united according to their means to build these new iron highways for the good of the whole community, not for private gain; but it is vanity to think thoughts like these, men being what they are. The one effective force that could be relied on to attract the necessary capital to any enterprise is cupidity in one degree or another, the desire for individual profit. It may be the restrained and wholesome acquisitiveness of the man who merely seeks a safe repository for the fruits of his thrift, but more often it is the greed which cherishes the desire and hope of excessive and untoiled-for profit.

A subject full of temptation to the student of human passions is provided by the history of Stock Exchange _furores_, but I cannot pursue it. I will only cite some characteristics as ground for suggestions towards the abatement of admitted evils. Their eradication, I fear, is beyond hope until the spirit of mankind changes and its ideals. Certain characteristics stand out prominently to distinguish Stock Exchange gambling of the present day from that prevalent before the first Limited Liability Act, that of 1862, came into force. Previous to that date gambling in stocks had been confined to a limited class of the wealthy, whether aristocratic or professional—to the narrow, plutocratic classes and their immediate flunkies and hangers-on; but after the Limited Liability Act of 1862 gave definite form to this kind of joint-stock enterprise and enlarged the field of operations, speculation gradually became the fashion with classes of people hitherto unfamiliar with it, and the fascinations of the play attracted wider and ever-widening circles of society. After 1870 education came to the help of the share manufacturer, and by and by the financial newspaper, the professional tipster, the “bucket-shop” agencies outside the Stock Exchange, conducted with the avowed purpose of guiding the play so as to bring wealth to the gamblers, exercised their malign influence. Then came the £1 share, fully paid up, with no further liability, as the most attractive speculative instrument of them all. When I first knew the City, more than thirty years ago, no joint-stock undertaking whose projectors wished to be thought respectable could have been launched with a capital composed of £1 shares, whereas now very few companies of any sort are constructed on any more substantial-looking foundation. Mines, even gold-mines, in the early days of limited liability were rarely launched as joint-stock undertakings with shares of merely £1 nominal value. Nowadays, shares of 5s. nominal value are not uncommon in the case of such companies, and a few months ago the shares of several prosperous Indian gold-mines were subdivided into half-crown units, really in order to facilitate market dealings, _i.e._ gambling, in them over a wider field.

By the aid of the £1 share, all manner of enterprises have during the last fifteen years, or since 1890, been converted into joint-stock companies on the basis of an excessive capitalisation that would have been impossible to the same extent under the old fashion of the £10, £20, £50, or £100 share; and the losses consequent upon the unprincipled rapacity of the promoter, gratified by means of this ensnaring instrument of speculation, have been greater and more widespread than those inflicted upon an easily deluded public by all other forms of joint-stock swindling put together. When the new fashion was just coming into favour, one of the shrewdest members of the Stock Exchange, a broker of high character, predicted to me that it would be so. Talking of railway manias, shipping manias, and the losses they have caused, he remarked that they were “trifles to what the public is going to suffer through the £1 share.” Not many years after this opinion was expressed to me, the nation plunged into the South African gold and diamond mine dementia, with results not yet by any means fully visible, but whose harvest of loss and affliction has already transcended in magnitude and in the numbers of the victims all the plagues of this sort that have preceded it.

It looks so easy for the “small man,” as the City slang would put it, to have his “little fling” with a £1 share. Even when such share rises to five, ten, or twenty times its nominal value, it still seems easy, tempts the multitude more perhaps than when it may be at a discount, and there are such facilities for indulgence in the passion to make money without effort, with “no risk at all,” as the bucket-shop puffer is ever iterating. The market gives every facility, is ready to lend its means to the player, to smooth the field for him at the start. He need not pay for the shares he buys. The dealer and broker will “carry” them for him fortnight after fortnight, as each market “settlement” comes round, lending the money at handsome rates of interest, and charging an infinitesimal commission, or, perhaps, no commission at all, for performing this necessary operation. A man possessed of £50 may in this way be induced to speculate in £500 or £1000 worth of these small shares, staking his all. If the buyer wins, as in seasons of fever he often for a time does, the heavy interest he is charged does not affect him. Each fortnight, as the Stock Exchange account comes round, he pockets his “difference,” the sum left over as product of the advance in price after all charges have been met, and thinks himself on the high road to affluence. Initial success inflames the appetite, fresh purchases are made, probably before the earlier speculations are closed, and while the profits already reaped by the earlier gambles are being spent as fast as received. By and by reaction comes, losses accrue, expressed in “differences” to be paid instead of received, and the end is usually misery for years, for a lifetime, or sudden and irretrievable ruin. Slowly, and amid infinite suffering, this harvest of the South African, the Kaffir market insanity is now being reaped, as that of more than one Australasian and American rage of speculative abandon has been again and again during the present generation.

Is the disease thus indicated incurable—a disease whose course is invariable, whose end is profit, wealth perhaps, to one in a quarter of a million among the players, and to all the others various gradations of loss, from a few pounds disbursed in exchange for wisdom-fraught experience to complete ruin and social degradation? Yes, I believe it to be incurable, especially in a society constructed with such all-pervading artificiality as ours. One’s first impulse is to cast unmitigated censure upon the gambler; but that also would be unjust. The motives of mankind are mixed always, and at the beginning the impulse which starts the speculator in shares on his downward course is oftener than not at least half laudable, is at the worst the product of a man’s surroundings, of the vanities of life by which he may be lured. Constituted, moreover, as the social economy of modern England is, the great bulk of our fellow-citizens have no assured foothold in the land of their birth. They toil without hope, and see only privation or absolute want at the end of the day’s work—be it long, be it short. Essentially we are a nation of nomads, uprooted from the soil, and with no assured hold on the means of existence, speaking of the mass, beyond what the weekly wage or yearly salary furnishes. What more natural, one may say inevitable, than that this divorcement should generate in a vigorous race a hunger after security, a craving for some refuge, some shield against the uncertainties of existence, a way of escape, perhaps, from the irksomeness of individual surroundings, the tyranny of a hard taskmaster, the caprices of employers, whose power over all beneath them is too often almost that of life and death. By their surroundings, by the circumscribed horizon of their life, the minds of many men are prepared for the tempter who comes to them with the promise of deliverance by means of a successful gamble on the Stock Exchange. Others, again, are moved merely by vanity, by false standards of social wellbeing, by jealous emulation of those who may seem richer than they are, for is not the possession of money our one standard of “wealth” and wellbeing? To all such, once the plunge is taken, degeneration comes. A habit is established, and may become a craze, a passion, a lust that in time will devour all that is best in the heart and intellect.

Such seems to me a fair summary of the psychology of gambling, and I do not see how its ravages are to be stayed, the disease eliminated from society, without radical changes in its structure implying loss of privilege and an abatement of class selfishness by the few who now stand apart, the nation’s drones and hive-harriers, or without the cultivation of higher ideals than those implied in mere purse-proud social emulation. And of one thing I am sure; the London Stock Exchange can do little or nothing to check the ravages of this social canker, nothing effectual can be done in any Stock Exchange of them all. To expect bodies of men, associated together for purposes of gain, in the conduct of their daily business to lay down self-denying rules for their conduct, is not merely unwise but futile. The more the organised groups of stock-jobbers and brokers doing business at particular centres called Stock Exchanges hemmed themselves in by restrictions established with a view to limit the facilities for play, for buying and selling, the more such business would be thrown into the hands of irresponsible outsiders, most, if not all, of whom are mere vultures and cormorants, devourers of the substance of all who fall into their hands. In a very real sense the saying is just that the less restricted, within well-regulated limits, the constituted market may be the greater is the safety of the public from fraud and loss. Often when the London Stock Exchange, by far the most powerful and best organised institution of the kind in the world, has attempted to bar the way to the mere speculator in certain directions it has been defeated. It refused many years ago to sanction dealings before allotment, that is to say, purchases and sales of a security before it was really in the hands of the market or the public. The dealings went on all the same, until the liberty had to be restored. Unto this hour many members of the “House,” as the Stock Exchange is affectionately called by its members, set their faces against gambling in “options”—against, that is, the system of play by which a speculator puts down so much money, parts with it for good, in exchange for the right to “call” for the delivery, or to give delivery, of a certain specified amount of a particular security—to “put,” the slang is—on a certain future day at a price fixed when the transaction is entered into. But this kind of pure betting business grows every year all the same, and is now of a magnitude an Act of Parliament could hardly do much to lessen. Against the force of human passions no Stock Exchange can hope to war with success, and I do not believe that any such body should be asked to impose self-denying ordinances upon itself, the only effect of which would be to drive the business away from it into channels more fertile still in ruin.