Those who sink are not therefore to be condemned on that account as worse citizens than those who survive; the time at which they have been struck by calamity may account for all the difference between them. We are all liable to sickness and death, but if either comes at one time rather than another it may make a very considerable difference to our families. When a man who is in a steady situation with a fair wage dies leaving no provision for his wife and family he is condemned. It is in vain to point out that he used his pay towards their comfort and in such a way as to ensure their fitness; he ought to have been more careful; and the very people who preach faith are the first to blame him because he took no thought of tomorrow, but did the best he could in the day that was his. The fact is that every man who thinks, among those that are dependent on the wages they earn—usually under a precarious tenure of their situations—sees that his choice lies between securing the best conditions in his power for his family in order that they may be the more fit to do their work in the world, and doing something less in order to lay by some money for them; between starving them in essentials during his lifetime to secure them from starvation should he die, and giving what he has while he is there to give, in the hope that he may live to see them develop healthily.
From poverty to destitution is in many cases but a short step, and it may be taken by those who have done nothing to deserve it. Sickness, loss of employment, absence of friends who can assist, may drive a man to extremity; and then it is a hard task indeed for him to keep within the law and live. His sickness may enable him to qualify for parochial relief, but as soon as he is recovered so far as to be able to go about he may be cast adrift without means of support.
If a man does not live by working he can only support himself by the work of others; being destitute he must beg or steal. X 14 was a man of thirty-five years of age who was charged with theft. He was somewhat “soft,” and had managed to support himself during the lifetime of his relations by casual labour. He was physically in good health and mentally not bad enough to obtain care from any public body. On the death of those who had looked after him he drifted to the common lodging-houses, but he had not enough devil in him to be attracted by any of the vicious or to indulge in any vices. He began to find difficulty in obtaining employment. Under the stress of his condition his mental defect became accentuated, and, though not prominent enough to call for official recognition, it hindered him in his efforts to obtain work. Asked why he had stolen, he gave a reply that in its reasonableness was striking. He said, “What was I to do? I tried the parish, but they could do nothing for me, for I’m quite weel. I tried beggin’, but I didna get much, an’ I was catched. You’re no sae often catched when you steal.” He did not want to steal, but it was the easiest thing to do. In begging he took a risk of apprehension for everybody he approached, and from most he would get nothing in the way of help. He took the same risk when he lifted something, but at any rate he drew no blanks. He had some very orthodox views on punishment; for he believed that the proper thing to do with a man who stole—when you caught him—was to send him to prison for so many days, the time to depend on the value of the property stolen; but he thought that the man who had suffered imprisonment for theft, and so paid the penalty, ought to be allowed to enjoy the proceeds of his theft; and he complained that though he had served so many days for the theft of a pair of boots, he had not been given back the boots on his liberation. I cite his case here, in spite of the fact that he was mentally defective, because he really stated correctly the dilemma into which a person is driven when destitute; and because he appeared to be one who, had it not been for his poverty and destitution, would not have required attention either as a mentally defective or a criminal. His social condition gave no opportunity for the proper development of his mental powers, but stunted their growth. As for their quality, it is in no wise different from that of many who, thanks to better chances, are able to get themselves accepted as public leaders on the strength of an absence of showy vices, and the exposition of a logical and narrow view of things; solid men and safe, free from levity and serious-minded.
Poverty is no crime, but it is something very like a police offence if the poor person is destitute. Everybody needs food, clothing, and shelter, and they cannot be had without money or its equivalent. A man may starve and go in rags rather than beg or steal, but he must sleep somewhere. He cannot pay for a lodging, and to sleep out is to qualify for sleeping in a cell. If the police were not better than the law in this respect our prisons would always be full. There are many men out of work who are far from anxious to get it; indeed, and for that matter, most people are quite content to do no more than they need; and in spite of all that has been said of the blessedness of labour, there are few of the most earnest preachers against the idleness of others who would prefer to work longer hours for less pay rather than shorter hours for more.
We must discriminate; the objection to the man who will not work is that he is not content to want. When he gets like that he is so far from being an unemployed person that he has adopted the occupation of deliberately living off others; that is his profession, and I am not at all sure that it is quite as easy as it is assumed to be by those who have not tried it. Certainly the amateur beggar makes but a poor show with the professional. His is, at any rate, a dishonourable and an illegal profession; but while in some cases he has been brought up to it, in many he has drifted into it through destitution. We ought to have no professional beggars and no professional thieves; but as they are in some way made, it does not help to an understanding of the question to label them “habitual,” condemn them, and neglect to ask, if they “growed,” how it was they began their career. Many of these full-blown specimens have been offered work at remunerative rates and have scorned it, which shows—that they did so; that is all. It does not show that if in the beginning they had been taken in hand they would have refused to do their share of labour. All experiments of that kind only prove that the sturdy beggar finds it easier and pleasanter to beg than to do the kind of work offered to him; they teach nothing as to the causes which led him to begging; and poverty and destitution are the most common causes.
In our large cities there are numbers of children who are destitute because of their parents being unable to provide for them, or failing to do so. They are cast on their own resources from a very early age, and have sometimes to assist in the maintenance of others. When they can, some of them leave the homes which have been far from sweet and take to living in common lodging-houses—in Glasgow we call them “Models,” with a fine sense of humour, for they offer the best of opportunities for the formation of citizens who will not be models. If the boy grows up as he can, and in the process develops anti-social qualities, it is not he who is most to blame; and when we condemn his conduct, as we must, we might at least admit that his course has largely been shaped by the destitution which it would have paid us better to prevent than to punish, when as its result we have allowed him to develop into a pest.
At the other end of the ladder there are men who are refused work because they are or seem old, and who are driven down through destitution to become petty offenders. I remember when I was employed in the poorhouse a man was brought to be certified insane. He had attempted to sever a vessel in his arm in order that he might bleed to death, but his ignorance of anatomy—he was a pre-school-board man—had caused him to make an ugly gash at the wrong place. He was talkative, and his story was clearly told. He was about fifty years of age and was unable to follow the only trade he knew. He was an iron-worker and had done hard work in his day. He had never been a teetotaler, but he had always attended to his work. At times he made good wages, but he had suffered from periods of depression. Sometimes he had been able to save money, but it had always melted. He could get work when work was to be had, but for some year or two now he was physically unable to take a place. He had contracted a disease of the heart. His son had got married and had two children. He was a well-doing and industrious young man; sober, steady, and a good workman. He had been supported by this son, of whom he spoke in the highest terms. He also was an iron-worker. The son had never grudged him his keep, nor had his wife. Why then had he attempted to kill himself? His explanation was as clear as it was unexpected. He said, “Doctor, do I look unhappy?” He did not; indeed he was rather cheerful. “Well, I never had ony melancholy, if that’s the name for’t. My son’s a good lad. He slaves as I slaved, and at the end he’ll drap tae. I’m done. I’ve enjoyed my life on the whole, but I’m fit for naething but to be a burden on him. He disna object; but there’s the weans. Every bite that goes into my mooth comes oot o’ theirs. If they’re to be something better than their faither or me, they’ll need mair of the schule; and what wi’ broken time an’ low wages they’ll no get it. I want them to be kept frae work till they’re educated tae seek something better. He and I have had our share of hard work. I’ve had my sprees, but he’s a better man than I was—no a better tradesman; I’ll no say that—an’ I want his weans to hae a better chance than he had. No, I’m no a Socialist; I’m a Tory if I’m onything, but I never bothered wi’ political questions, though I’ve heard a heap o’ blethers on a’ sides. What? Hell? Noo, doctor, does ony sensible man believe in that nooadays? God’s no as bad as they make Him oot to be, an’ at onyrate I believe that death ends a’.” There was no shaking him. All he wanted was some lessons in anatomy—which he did not get. He insisted that he was as sane as any of us, and asserted that he could not be certified; but he was wrong there. The law takes most elaborate precautions to prevent people killing themselves, aye even when it has sentenced them to death, but so far it has not made any provision for enabling them to work for their living.
We hear of the unemployable who could not work even if he were willing, but apart from those who labour under mental or physical disabilities—and many of them can and do work—I have not met many of this class. There are many on distress works who make a very poor show; they are not fit for that kind of work, but that is a different thing altogether from saying that there is nothing they can do that is useful. Certainly in the ordinary sense it cannot be said of the man who is too old to secure employment that he is unfit for work. He is shut out by competition, the employer quite naturally preferring what he believes to be the more efficient workman. Few of the older men who are thus thrown on the scrap-heap take things in such a way that they try the open door of death, but the fact that they are condemned to forsake their occupation does prey on the minds of many and embitter their lives; and the fear of dismissal increases in intensity as their hair turns white. When the blow falls, if they have no resources what is to become of them? There are all sorts of schemes proposed for dealing on the one hand with the young and keeping them longer at school, and on the other hand with the older men and providing them with work. To an outsider it would seem that if the number of men employed is sufficient to produce what is required, and there is a large surplus of unemployed labour, those who are working are working too long. A stranger might be excused for thinking that if one man is working eight hours and another not working at all it would be better for both that each should work four hours; but if he said so he would only show his simplicity. The man who is employed would quickly point out that this would reduce his wages. Yet when a man gets promotion, whether in the public service or in private business, his salary and his responsibilities are increased—the former certainly, the latter in such a way that it becomes less easy to get rid of him—but his hours are usually reduced; for more money would be of little use to him if he did not get time to spend it. This is merely an observation, not a doctrine; but it is difficult to see how employment is to be found for those who are willing and able to work unless we cease to improve machinery and produce less economically; or increase our production enormously; or divide the work and the proceeds more evenly. In any case, and while that matter is being settled, we might recognise the dilemma into which those are thrust who cannot find work and are destitute.
They must beg or steal, and if they get into the way of doing either they are liable to become less fitted and less inclined for other occupations. X 15 was an artisan earning a fair wage and enjoying good health. He was married to a woman who was a good housewife and manager. When he was about thirty-eight he was thrown out of work by a strike in an allied trade. A commercial crisis ensued and there was general distress. He managed for a time to keep his head above water, but his resources gradually were eaten away. His employers wound up their business, and when the local difficulty had passed he found that he had to look out for another place. While idle he had formed the acquaintance of others in like case. He had been a steady, stay-at-home man, but in their company he took to amusements which were harmless in themselves and new to him. He also imbibed a taste for beer, but he did not get drunk. The company was not bad company, but it was different from any he had been accustomed to, and it was not good for him. For a time he looked for work, but he did not find it. Others got settled, but the luck was against him, and he became discouraged and despairing. By and by he looked about in a half-hearted way, and gave more time to loafing than to seeking rebuffs. He was not destitute, as his family was able to keep the wolf from the door. In two years he was only interested in getting drink from anybody who would treat him, and in discussing public affairs with others who had fallen like himself. He had given up the idea of work and had degenerated from a good citizen to a loafer and, later, to a drunkard. He was never convicted, but he had to be warned because of his conduct towards his wife; and he died as a result of exposure when drunk—to the relief of his family, who were in danger of being dragged into the mire by him. In this case his family saved him from destitution, but the loss of his work drove him almost imperceptibly into the ranks of the derelicts, in spite of the counter-influences of home. In many cases there is no family to do what his did for him, and the process is more certain and easy.
Poverty compels men to live under conditions in which their vices may easily develop into crimes or offences; and it makes those who have transgressed the law less able to recover from the effects of a conviction and more liable to become habitual offenders; but it cannot be said that the amount of convictions in Scotland is in relation to the poverty of any given district. In some parts of the highlands and islands, where poverty is pronounced, there is an entire absence of crime.