By John A. Hobson

Gambling is the determination of the ownership of property by appeal to chance. By chance is here implied the resultant of a play of natural forces that cannot be controlled or calculated by those who appeal to it. In tossing “heads or tails” for the possession of a coin, neither party has any knowledge or control of the adjustment of forces which determines upon which side the coin will fall, or if by practice the tosser acquires such knowledge or control, he cannot possibly predict or control the “call” of his opponent, which thus keeps the determination of the issue within the realm of “Chance.”

Gambling may be described as “pure” or “mixed” according as the determining power of chance is or is not blended with other powers. Few so-called games of chance are entirely destitute of skill, even if the skill consists entirely of speed or accuracy in calculating “chances.” Where such skill plays a large and a continuous part, the game ceases to be classed as “gambling,” though chance may exercise a quite considerable influence in determining the result. In betting on horse-races and in commercial gambling superior knowledge of some of the determinant causes may so qualify the chance that, from the standpoint of those who have such knowledge, the operation ceases to be gambling. If such knowledge is equally attainable by all those who “speculate,” the game becomes one of skill; if it consists in genuine “tips” or private knowledge, the operation is fraudulent. This last fact is generally recognised: all gamesters denounce betting on “certainties.” Again, both on the turf and the stock exchange chance may be reduced or even eliminated by an actual manipulation of the forces so as to yield a result favourable to the interests of some of those who pose as gamblers. But when the result supposed to rest on chance is known or controlled by any sort of skill, fraud, or force, the case is not one of pure gambling; for though it is a matter of significance that gambling commonly keeps company with cheating, the latter is not gambling.

Where the skilful draftsmanship of a lottery prospectus allures the dull or sanguine reader into staking his money, by deceiving him as to the size of his chance of winning, such trickery, though designed to appeal to the gambling instinct of investors, is not itself an act or a part of gambling: it is simply fraud, though not necessarily fraud in a legal sense.

On the other hand, when the terms of a lottery are clearly understood by those who stake their money, the mere fact that the managers arrange the speculation so as to procure for themselves a known and certain gain, offering prizes admittedly of less value than the aggregate of the stakes, need not debar us from regarding the proceeding as “pure gambling” so far as the players are concerned. So with the roulette-table at Monte Carlo: the players are aware that the chances are favourable to the bank over a prolonged piece of play, they even know the precise amount of this bias. But this knowledge does not prevent their play from ranking as pure gambling, for no skill or knowledge or trickery on their part can enter in as a determinant of the result.

Thus an honestly managed lottery, or roulette, may fairly serve as a type of pure gambling which will serve to enable us to test the psychology and ethics of the proceeding.

Before approaching the distinctively moral aspects of gambling, we must clearly realise its intellectual reactions. The rational basis of the acquisition of property is the “natural” relation of effort to satisfaction. A man who converts an unshaped piece of matter into an object of human utility may be said to have a “natural” property in it. And this in a double sense. The expenditure of human energy given out in this piece of labour requires recuperation: this recuperation is achieved by “consuming” that which he has made, or its equivalent obtained by processes of equal exchange. The effort of production requires the satisfaction of consumption. Thus it is commonly recognised that labour, or human effort, is the natural basis of the right of property. Or, regarding the same relation on its psychical side with reference to motive, we perceive that a property in that which he has made must be accorded to the maker wherever any painful effort of production is required, in order to induce his will to sanction the effort. In a society where social forces co-operate with individual effort a full property in that which a man is said to make may not be essential, but that is because no man working in society and for a market can truly be said to make the whole of anything, much less its “value” when it is made. But everywhere some proportion of property must be guaranteed to the individual who is required to exert himself in productive labour. Any form of theft, fraud, extortion, “sweating,” on the part of individuals or governments, is liable to interfere with this physical and psychical adjustment between production and consumption, output of effort and intake of satisfaction, which forms the natural or rational basis of individual property. Just in proportion as this rational character is firmly and clearly stamped upon the processes of the acquisition of property do we possess security of social order and progress. When property comes to any one in any other way, its transfer has an “unreasonable” character. So a society where force or fraud habitually or frequently displaces this sane process of acquiring property, where some persons eat bread sudore vultus alieni and others consequently sweat without eating, is not only economically enfeebled, but is irrationally constituted. And this unreason in the social organism corrupts and derationalises the individual members. But even an unjustly ordered society, where the domination of one class is accompanied by the subjection of another, where organised parasitism or plunder prevails, differs from “anarchy” as regards its reactions upon the intelligence of man. A bad system, the worst of systems, is less derationalising than no system. So the habitual exploitation of the poor by the rich, the “have-nots” by the “haves,” though substantially irrational in the modes of acquisition of property involved, is less demoralising than the abandonment of the determination of property to pure chance.

Gambling involves the denial of all system in the apportionment of property: it plunges the mind in a world of anarchy, where things come upon one and pass from one miraculously. It does not so manifestly sin against the canons of justice as do other bad modes of transfer,—theft, fraud, sweating,—for every one is said to have an equal chance; but it inflicts a graver damage on the intellect. Based as it is on an organised rejection of all reason as a factor, it removes its devotees into a positive atmosphere of miracles, and generates an emotional excitement that inhibits those checks which reason more or less contrives to place upon emotional extravagances. The essence of gambling consists in an abandonment of reason, an inhibition of the factors of human control. In the history of mankind, civilisation of the individual has chiefly consisted in and been measured by this increased capacity of rational control—a slow, gradual, imperfect taming of the animal instincts which made for emotional anarchy of conduct.

This assertion of rational control, implying some sort of plan in life, restraints on conduct, and trust in orderly processes of phenomena, has doubtless been most imperfectly established even in the picked members of the more highly civilised races. But such as it is, it represents order in society and progress in humanity.

The practice of gambling is thus exhibited as a deliberate reversion to those passions and that mental attitude which characterise the savage or pre-human man in his conduct and his outlook. There lurk in “civilised” man the remnants of survivals of countless ages of pre-human and of savage heredity, anarchic passions associated with barbarous superstitions. The order of civilisation claims to have killed or atrophied the grosser forms of these atavistic tendencies, but many of them are not dead; social control and education of individual habits keeps them in subordination or acquiescence, but on temptation they are ready to awake. Just as war and certain forms of sport can call from the caverns of heredity brutish traits whose presence was utterly unknown to their possessors, so the interest of gambling discovers in many natures a similarly fatal inheritance.

Maeterlinck has recently sought to find a quasi-rational basis for “luck” in the occasional revival of certain primitive instincts of self-protection which, seldom needed in the higher progress of humanity, have died down and rarely assert themselves. Whether such latent powers of extra-rational warning exist or ever did exist, we need not here discuss; it is, however, quite evident that the widespread belief in “luck” among gamblers is a reversion to a form of unreason which carries no sound instinct of direction with it. It is fair to adduce this belief in luck as an important testimony to the derationalising influences of gambling.

It does not seem true that the gambling habit pervades only or chiefly the least intelligent types of men. Among habitual gamblers on the stock exchange, on the turf and in the card-room, and wherever skill tempers chance, high degrees of cunning, memory, and judgment are often found, while certain qualities of determination and of self-command are conducive to success. But while many men possessing these qualities are drawn to games or business pursuits where a strong element of chance is present, there is no real affinity between any of these personal powers and pure gambling. It is not, for instance, true that skill, judgment, or self-command is of the least assistance at the roulette-table or at rouge-et-noir. The fact that these qualities are so commonly regarded as serviceable to the player may be cited as a conspicuous evidence of the derationalising influence of gambling even in the case of those who do not gamble. For in reality they are only useful in proportion as the game is not pure gambling.

The curious cunning expended in devising “systems” and the attention to multifarious incidents of “luck” indicate a genuine inhibition of the reasoning faculty. Both modes of manipulating chance are vitiated by the same two fallacies. Belief in the efficacy of a “system” implies that a series of consecutive coups is a causally connected chain, whereas, in fact, the result of each coup is entirely unaffected by the coup which preceded or follows it. The “system” gambler also believes that he is able to forecast to some extent the drift or current of chances which makes this causal connection. Similarly with the cruder superstitions, such as the notion that a virgin player will win his opening bout of play, or that turning one’s chair or changing one’s seat will break a spell of bad luck: they also imply that a sequence of separately determined events is in some unintelligible way a mutually determined group, and that a tendency running through the series can be altered by a casual or purposed action which is interjected from outside. The amazing hold which these superstitious notions obtain over persons of education and intelligence is a striking testimony to the intellectual havoc wrought by gambling. How insidious is the illusion about runs of luck may be shown by the ease with which the minds of most persons, who are averse to gambling and would deride the notion of a “system,” fall into the snare when it is set in the following form: Enter a room where rouge-et-noir is going on and learn that red has turned up twenty times in succession, when the next card is in the act of being drawn there is an almost irresistible tendency to expect black, from a first impulsive judgment which has false reference to the general improbability of red turning up twenty-one times running. Most persons, including trained scientists to whom I have put the case, requiring an immediate reply, have admitted that they would be disposed to bet against red.

A practice so corrupting to the intelligence not only of the habituÉ but even of the casual spectator stands condemned as a formidable enemy of education and of intellectual order.

In thus exposing the irrationality of gambling, both as a mode of transferring property and as a mental occupation, I have implicitly exposed its immorality also. Its repudiation of equitable order involves at once an intellectual and a moral descent to a lower plane of thought and feeling. Perhaps no other human interest, not based on purely physical craving, arouses so absorbing a passion: alcoholism itself scarcely asserts a stronger dominion over its devotees.

So widespread has been the zest for gambling among whole races as widely different in character and environment as the British, the Zulu, the Chinese, that we are almost driven to seek some physiological root for the passion. To give an added weight of interest to chance by attaching to it a transfer of property seems to imply a love of hazard as a permanent feature in humanity. Though the transfer of property by gambling not merely feeds the passion but imports grave moral injuries of its own, it cannot be said to originate gambling or to be essential to the play of the interest in chance or hazard. The folly and the social injury of gambling grow with the proportion of the stakes; but high stakes, while they concentrate and dramatise the play, do not create the interest.

Educationalists and other reformers who would exorcise the gambling habit must look deeper for its origin and early sustenance. The fevered excitement of the gambler is part of an exaggerated reaction against certain excesses of orderly routine imposed upon the life in which he lives. The dull, prolonged monotony of uninteresting drudgery which constitutes the normal workaday life of large masses of people drives them to sensational reactions which are crude and violent. The factory employee, the shop assistant, the office clerk, the most typical members of modern industrial society, find an oppressive burden of uninteresting order, of mechanism, in their working day. Their work affords no considerable scope for spontaneity, self-expression, and the interest, achievement, and surprise which are ordinary human qualities. It is easily admitted that an absolutely ordered (however well-ordered) human life would be vacant of interest and intolerable: in other words, it is a prime condition of humanity that the unexpected in the form of happening and achievement should be adequately represented in every life. Art in its widest sense, as interested effort of production, and play, as interested but unproductive effort, are essential. But where either the physical or mental exhaustion of industry, or other external conditions, prevent the due cultivation or the expression of wholesome art or play instincts, baser attractions usurp their place. It is impossible, and it would be undesirable, to deny to man the satisfaction of his instinctive zest in the unexpected, the hazardous, the disorderly: he needs not only achievement but accident to sustain his interest in life. The latter factor may yield largely to the former in highly civilised man, in a society where varied modes of art offer varied stimuli to self-expression and achievement: the artist who is a true artist is least likely to be a gambler. But a margin of disorder, or hazard and unreason, will always remain a factor in the interest of life: hence an element of unordered play as distinct from art will always survive.

Even a moral order imposed in the public interest, if too uniform and rigorous, will arouse, not merely in bad but in good natures, reactions towards lawlessness. There is much truth in what Charles Lamb wrote of his interest in the Seventeenth Century Comedy:—

So it is with all sorts and conditions of men: the incalculable, the lawless remains an ineradicable factor in life.

Where there is little or no provision of or stimulus to art, the crudest and most sensational play tends to absorb the entire margin of energy left after work is done.

In such a state of society every field of activity capable of generating such elements of hazard is pressed into the service of gambling: sports and business occupations become popular in proportion as they can by their structure be made to minister to the craving for hazard; every sort of competition where a sufficient element of the incalculable exists is pervaded by gambling.

If the monotony of toil drives large numbers of workers to seek violent sensational relief in gambling, the ennui of idleness prompts the leisured classes to the same abuse. A totally or partially parasitic life (where little or no socially directed labour is imposed), though leaving a large margin of free energy, makes more for dilettantism than for art, and depriving play of its healthy interest as a relief from work induces a “boredom” which fosters gambling among other sensational extravagances. Moreover in the rich, leisured class the disproportion between earning and spending loosens the just sense of property more than in any other class, so that large miraculous transfers of property by betting seem less discrepant with the ordinary conditions of their life.

This line of diagnosis makes it quite apparent what are the real supports of gambling, and how the vice inheres in the wider “social problem,” only to be cured or abated in proportion as sounder general conditions of social order are obtained. When we regard the actual life of an ordinary worker in a factory town we can easily understand the attraction of “betting.” It is hard to refuse sympathy to the factory “hand” or clerk who occasionally puts his “shilling” on a horse, going through his weary day’s work with the zest of expectancy and hope afforded by his speculation. It gives him a topic of conversation in the intervals of his work, and is for him a sort of “politics” in leisure hours: into his dull life it introduces an element of romance.

It is, however, impossible to discuss the practical ethics of modern gambling without regarding that factor of pure gambling, which we have analysed, in its actual place as part of a vicious amalgam in a dissipated life.

We have chiefly considered the derationalising influence of the anarchic element of chance which is the nucleus of the process. But, regarded as a mode of transfer of property, gambling involves a union of several anti-social desires. The desire to take unearned gains is, as we have seen, itself immoral, for such gains of necessity imply an injury to some other known or unknown persons, nor in the case of gambling is the damage thus done to the character of a winner mitigated by the knowledge that those from whom he wins have sought similar unearned gains at his expense. In many natures the possibility of such facile gain quickens the latent instinct of avarice, one of the most insidiously disintegrating influences in human society, inviting as it does complete self-absorption and an entire loss of sympathy with the material interests of one’s fellows. The brooding infatuation of the habitual gambler chills human sympathy more certainly than any other practice, inducing not indeed enmity or active animosity so much as a callousness which views the misfortunes of others with placid indifference. It is just this absorption upon selfish ends in reference to incidents fraught with emotional strain that is prone at once to break down the whole fabric of the moral character and to dethrone the reason. For as man is only moral and rational as a being who stands in orderly relation to other similar beings in human society, so a practice based on a virtual denial of this social order is the arch-enemy of human personality: instead of a man we have a self-absorbed emotionalist. “In the making of a bet—a man resolves to repress the use of his reason, his will, his conscience, his affections; only one part of his nature is allowed free play, and that is his emotions.”[1]

The passion of gambling, once settled in a man, seems to take physical root in him and to be almost as difficult to expel as drink, opium, or any other acquired physical vice. In extreme cases, it is often held, gambling tends to absorb all other interests, even swallowing up its associate vices. This, however, is not the normal case. Gambling commonly consorts with drink: gambling-houses are commonly places for the sale of alcoholic liquors, and wherever the law permits, or can be evaded, drink-shops are betting haunts. Professional gamblers are doubtless sober when they ply their craft, for skill and cunning are requisite in most kinds of “mixed” gambling: a broker “cornering” the market, like a bookmaker handling a sudden shift in the odds, or a card-sharper with suspicious dupes, needs to have his wits about him. But it is not as gamblers but as tricksters that these men need to be sober, and as they require sobriety in themselves they desire the opposite in their dupes. Hence, the business of gambling is often done in an atmosphere of alcohol. This is not, indeed, invariably the case. The temperament of some people is so sanguine and so prone to reckless play that no physical stimulant seems necessary. But in Northern European peoples drink is usually necessary to induce that instability of judgment and disregard of the future which are conditions of gambling.

The statistics of crime prove beyond all cavil that gambling is the king’s highway to fraud and theft. This is not merely because it loosens general morality and in particular saps the rationale of property, but because cheating is inseparably associated with most actual modes of gambling. This does not imply that most persons who bet are actually cheats or thieves; but persons who continue to be cheated or robbed, half-conscious of the nature of the operations, are fitting themselves for the other and more profitable part if they are thrown in the way of acquiring a sufficient quantity of evil skill or opportunity. The “honour” of a confirmed gambler, even in high life, is known to be a very hollow commodity, and where there is less to lose in social esteem even this slender substitute for virtue is absent. What percentage of “men who bet” would refuse to utilise a secret tip of a “scratched” favourite or the contents of an illegally disclosed sporting telegram? The barrier between fraud and smartness does not exist for most of them.

Serious investigation of the gambling process discloses the fact that pure gambling does not afford any economic basis of livelihood, save in a few cases where, as at the roulette-table or in a lottery, those who gamble know and willingly accept the chances against them. And even in the case of the roulette-table the profits to the bank come largely from the advantage which a large fund possesses in play against a smaller fund: in the fluctuations of the game the smaller fund which plays against the bank is more likely at some point in the game to be absorbed so as to disable the player from continuing his play. If a man with £1000 were to play “pitch and toss” for sovereigns with a number of men, each of whom carried £10, he must, if they played long, win all their money. So, even where skill and fraud are absent, economic force is a large factor in success.

Since professional gambling in a stockbroker, a croupier, a bookmaker, or any other species, involves some use of superior knowledge, trickery, or force, which in its effect on the “chances” amounts to “loading” the dice, the non-professional gambler necessarily finds himself a loser on any long series of events. These losses are found in fact to be a fruitful cause of crime, especially among men employed in businesses where sums of money belonging to the firm are passing through their hands. It is not difficult for a man who constantly has in his possession considerable funds which he has collected for his employer to persuade himself that a temporary use of these funds, which otherwise lie idle, to help him over a brief emergency, is not an act of real dishonesty. He is commonly right in his plea that he had no direct intention to defraud his employer. He expected to be able to replace the sum before its withdrawal was discovered. But since not only legally but morally a person must be presumed to “intend” that which is a natural or reasonable result of his action, an indirect intention to defraud must be ascribed to him. He is aware that he is acting wrongly, as well as illegally, in using the firm’s money for any private purpose of his own. But in understanding and assessing the quality of guilt involved in such action, two circumstances extenuating his act, though not the gambling habit which has induced it, must be taken into account. A poor man who frequently bets must sooner or later be cleared out and unable, out of his own resources, to meet his obligations. He is induced to yield to the temptation the more readily for two reasons. First, there is a genuine probability (not so large, however, as he thinks) that he can replace the money before any “harm is done.” So long as he does replace it, no harm appears to him to have been done: the firm has lost nothing by his action. This narrower circumstance of extenuation is supported by a broader one. The whole theory of modern commercial enterprise involves using other people’s money, getting the advantage of this use for one’s self and paying to the owner as little as one can. A bank or a finance company is entrusted with sums of money belonging to outsiders on condition that when required, or upon agreed notice, they shall be repaid. Any intelligent clerk in such a firm may be well aware that the profits of the firm are earned by a doubly speculative use of this money which belongs to other people: it is employed by the firm in speculative investments which do not essentially differ from betting on the turf, and the cash in hand or other available assets are kept at a minimum on the speculative chance that depositors will not seek to withdraw their money as they are legally entitled to do. In a firm which thus lives by speculating with other people’s money, is it surprising that a clerk should pursue what seems to him substantially the same policy on a smaller scale? It may doubtless be objected that a vital difference exists in the two cases: the investor who puts his money into the hands of a speculative company does so knowingly and for some expected profit; the clerk who speculates with the firm’s money does so secretly, and no possible gain to the firm balances the chance of loss. But even to this objection it is possible to reply that the revelation of modern finance in such cases as the Liberator and the Globe Finance Companies shows that real knowledge of the use to which money will be put cannot be imputed to the investor in such companies, and that, though some gain may possibly accrue to him, such gain is essentially subsidiary to the projects of the promoters and managers of these companies.

It is true that these are not normal types of modern business: they are commonly designated gambling companies, some of them actually criminal in their methods. But they only differ in degree, not in kind, from a very large body of modern businesses, whose operations are so highly speculative, their risks so little understood by the investing public, and their profits apportioned with so little regard to the body of shareholders, as fairly to bring them under the same category. In a word, secret gambling with other people’s money, on the general line of “heads I win, tails you lose,” is so largely prevalent in modern commerce as perceptibly to taint the whole commercial atmosphere. Most of these larger gambling operations are either not illegal or cannot easily be reached by law, whereas the minor delinquencies of fraudulent clerks and other employees are more easily detected and punished.

But, living in an atmosphere where secret speculation with other people’s money is so rife, where deceit or force plays so large a part in determining profitable coups, it is easy to understand how an employee, whose conduct in most matters is determined by imitation, falls into lax ways of regarding other people’s money, and comes in an hour of emergency to “borrow” the firm’s money. This does not excuse his crime, but it does throw light upon its natural history.

Publicity and education are, of course, the chief instruments for converting illegitimate into legitimate speculation, for changing commercial gambling into commercial foresight. This intelligent movement towards a restoration of discernible order and rationality in business processes, by eliminating “chances” and placing the transfer of property and the earning of industrial gains on a more rational foundation, must, of course, go pari passu with other movements of social and industrial reforms which aim simultaneously at the education of individual personality and the reformation of the economic environment. Every step which places the attainment of property upon a sane rational basis, associating it with proportionate personal productive effort, every step which enables men and women to find orderly interests in work and leisure by gaining opportunities to express themselves in art or play under conditions which stimulate new human wants and supply means of satisfying them, will make for the destruction of gambling.