The View From The Cave

There was a distinct chill in the air, and for some reason I felt a tinge of melancholia as I pushed open the door and walked into the lobby of the Diogenes club, on the first day of the new year. Henry popped out of nowhere, and was at my elbow as I shrugged off my overcoat and scarf.

"Happy New Year, Henry."

"Thank you Sir. And seasonal felicitations to you. Your usual drink, Sir?"

"Yes please, Henry. Are the others here?"

At that moment I was hit by a blast of icy air as the front door was pushed open again.

"Oh, Hello Travis." I said, as Henry took my hat and gloves.

"Afternoon, old man. Hello Henry. Happy New Year and all that."

"Thank you Sir."

"What do you want to drink, Travis?"

He handed his coat to Henry, and then said "Oh, a glass of Ardbeg for me, I think. Cheers."

Henry headed towards the cloakroom and we walked into the warmth of the library.

For once, Manton was sipping his drink quietly, and it was Abrahams, our resident academic, who was holding forth.

"It's getting very difficult to understand the governmental directives these days."

"In what way?" asked Treworthy.

"Well, if we take on too few students, and don't meet our targets, we will be penalised. If we take on too many students and exceed our targets, we will be fined several thousand per student. It is a most ... unsystematic approach."

This was clearly a cardinal sin, in Abrahams' well-ordered world.

"It makes perfect sense to me." replied Treworthy, somewhat unsympathetically.

"Yes, but the trouble is that we always take on a few more students than our targets, because we know that some of them will drop out."

"Well, clearly you must ensure that they don't."

"But they always do. Every year. You always lose a couple of students, whether it be for personal reasons, financial reasons or something else."

"Hang on a sec," interjected Travis, "what you are saying is that you are being fined by the government for meeting targets that were set by that same government."

"Yes, that's precisely the problem."

"Oh it just sounds like the usual rubbish." I said. "Ignore it and it will go away eventually."

"Yes, but the other problem is that we are going to get our funding cut by DIUS."

This finally roused Manton out of his reverie.

"DIUS? What in the name of insanity is that?"

"The Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills." said Treworthy, helpfully.

"As ever, Treworthy, your insider knowledge of Her Majesty's Home Civil Service has proved invaluable. What happened to the DES?"

"The Department for Education and Skills has been demerged."

"Is that even a word?"

"Some of its functions have been taken over by the Department for Children, Schools and Families, whereas the oversight of Universities became the responsiblitiy of the Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills."

"Oh God." Manton sank deeper into the black depression from which he had briefly emerged. "Anything with the word 'Innovation' in the title is doomed to failure. I don't know how you put up with it, Treworthy."

"I find it fascinating, actually. As a matter of fact, the DIUS has since merged with the Department for Business, Enterprise and Regulatory Reform, and is now called the 'Department for Business, Innovation and Skills', so Abrahams wasn't entirely accurate."

"You're starting to scare me now, Treworthy." warned Manton, as he took a huge gulp from his glass.

"It does seem ominous that the word 'Universities' does not even appear in the name anymore." said Abrahams.

I leaned over and said "Are you alright, Manton? You seem a little under the weather."

"You would be feeling under the weather if you had spent Christmas with the venomous hell-spawn that I was once married to."

"What on earth possessed you to spend Christmas with her?"

"It is a story too complex and, frankly, too embarrasing to relate here. Suffice to say that rather than repeat the episode, I would rather be stranded on a particularly small asteroid and be left to experience the heat-death of the universe totally alone."

"Never mind about all that," interrupted Treworthy, "what about Abrahams's problem?"

"I've lost track." said Travis, "what is his problem?"

"Well, in essence, the DIUS, or the DBIS or whatever it is called, is going to cut university funding by 400 million, next year." said Abrahams.

"We live in uncertain times, Abrahams," said Manton. "Don't forget, there are a lot of bankers out there who need their bonuses paid. That 90 million that we gave them has to come from somewhere. Money doesn't just grow on trees you know."

"It doesn't need to. We can just print more of it. It's called quantitive easing. Do keep up Manton." said Travis.

"Yes - how exactly does that work Travis? On the one hand, we can just print more money, but on the other, we still have to make cuts in education?"

"Well lets face it, if you are going to print more money, you aren't just going to give it the education sector are you." I had decided to stir things up a bit. "You know what they are like."

"Yes, no doubt we would start to pay each other huge bonuses." said Abrahams dryly. "Mind you, Mr Mandelson did write us a nice letter asking us to protect quality and continue widening access to higher education, during this difficult time."

"Hah," shouted Manton, "marvellous isn't it. I don't suppose he gave any pointers as to how you could go about doing that, within a framework of budgetary cuts?"

"He was slightly vague on that point."

"Not so fast, Manton." exclaimed Treworthy. "I read something about this in the paper this morning. Quite a few MP's have got an exciting new idea which might help in this regard."

"I'm all ears, old boy."

"Well, degree courses. Do they really need to be 3 years long? Couldn't we fit them into 2 years?"

"I thought that was what these Foundation degree things were for?"

"No, no, a full BSc or BA. After just 2 years. Think of the possibilities."

"Oh I am, Treworthy. A generation of youth who are even more illiterate and innumerate than the current one. A complete inability to even maintain our current technological infrastructure, let alone improve it. The removal of yet more challenging content from courses in pursuit of an easy qualification that we can label as a 'degree'. The possilities are clearly endless."

"I afraid this is the sort of attitude that restricts reform in the public sector, Manton. Thank God you are not involved in implementing these policies."

"Something that I give thanks to our Lord for on a daily basis, Treworthy. Or at least I would if I believed in Him. And if you want to start reforming something, I feel you should start with the Civil Service itself."

"That is a completely different case, Manton. Not comparable at all." blustered Treworthy, as he got up and headed to the bar.

"Yes, I rather thought it might be. Put your own house in order first, Treworthy." called out Manton, at his departing back.

"But surely the politicians don't really believe all this rubbish they are spouting, do they?" asked Travis.

"There is a very easy way to determine that. If Oxford or Cambridge are made to reduce their degree courses to two years, I think we can take that as a sign that the politicians are sincere." said Manton.

"It's all rather depressing really, isn't it." I said, my melancholia suddenly resurfacing. "Why is it always a struggle to keep sight of what should be self-evident truths. It's like we have constructed a society which is deliberately designed to obscure the view, and distract us with trivialities."

We all sat, pondering this thought whilst watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Treworthy returned from the bar with a fresh drink.

"I think it's a rather deeper problem actually," said Manton, after a few minutes reflection. "It puts me in mind of something that I learned from an old fakir in a temple in Amritsar during my days on the hippy trail."

Travis started choking as he tried not to spray his mouthful of whiskey all over the carpet, and I glanced at Abrahams, who looked as stunned as I'm sure I did. Only Henry showed absolutely no sign of surprise.

Manton sipped meditatively on his drink in silence, allowing us time to compose ourselves. Treworthy was the first to recover the power of speech.

"Manton, you don't seriously expect us to believe...."

"I expect nothing, my dear fellow. I only offer up this piece of wisdom in the same spirit that it was imparted to me. I have not always been a merely sedentary seeker of truths."

"I didn't think that you had ever been outside of the British Isles, Manton." I said.

Manton shrugged and gestured to Henry for another drink.

"Or even outside the M25 for that matter." muttered Travis. If Manton heard him, he gave no sign.

"It may interest you all to know that in my youth, having read Hesse, Marcuse and similar tracts, I embarked on a journey to the East, an essentially spiritual search, seeking out those wise and holy men that could help me in my quest for enlightenment.
It was whilst I was in the aforementioned city that I learned of the concept of Maya. It is the name that certain philosophers give to the limited, physical and mental reality in which our consciousness has become entangled. It is held to be an illusion, a veiling of the true unitary self. Many religions and philosophies seek to 'pierce the veil' of Maya in order to glimpse the transcendent truth, from which the illusion of physical reality springs."

I ordered another drink from Henry. This new side to Manton was a somewhat alarming one, and I was going to need more than one glass of finest Malt to get used to it.

"So what you are saying," said Abrahams, "is that mankind always has trouble seeing the truth - that it is in our nature to look no further than the surface, be distracted by the superficial."

"It is an ancient idea. I think our modern industrialised society is just the latest manifestation of it. We are becoming more and more dependent on technology, because it enables us to pay less attention to the constraints of nature, and even gives us the illusion that we can ignore them all together. We think we are free, but in fact we have built incarcerated ourselves inside a prison of our own making."

"Wait a minute Manton," exclaimed Treworthy, "I distinctly remember arguing with you about this very matter some years ago. You were pouring scorn on my environmental concerns."

"No, Treworthy, I was pouring scorn on the solutions that you were offering. If people want to recycle their bottles, or buy a carrier bag with a Greenpeace logo on, then so be it. I just don't think that they will have the slightest effect on the welfare of the planet. We have locked ourselves in our prison and are currently bricking up the doorway from the inside to stop ourselves from escaping. Not only that, we are also poisoning the air, food and water supply, into the bargain. I said it then and I will say it again now. We are all doomed and it is no better than we deserve. All that technology does, is allow us to hold reality at bay for a while. Until it goes wrong. Which it always does, sooner or later."

At that moment, the lights all went out. The room was dark, save for the flickering firelight.

I don't mind admitting, I was quite rattled, and I wasn't the only one.

"What do you think about all this, Henry?" I said, in a attempt to break the silence.

"I am reminded of a passage from Plato's Republic, sir."

"Ah yes indeed," whispered Manton, staring trance-like into the flames. "We are all still stuck in the cave, watching the shadows on the wall."

"Quite so, Sir. I shall endeavour to procure a candelabra, in an attempt to dispel some of the shadows, in here at least."

"Thank you Henry. Unlike most of the people in the cave, we would be most grateful."

American Boycott

It’s astonishing the things you hear around the Diogenes Club these days. I know you will say that it is my own fault, but sometimes you can’t help eavesdropping on certain individuals who have loud voices. I just caught part of the conversation as I was perusing the library shelves. From the other side came two voices;

"You know I think I'm going to start a boycott of American goods."

"I agree with you. In my view the US is the worlds most dangerous entity."

"Absolutely right! They have disrupted more elected democracies than any regime in history. They have bombed and invaded other countries. They supported the IRA terrorists during its bombing campaign. They have run roughshod over the peoples of a dozen different countries: Nicaragua, Vietnam, Palestine, Cambodia, Iraq, Diego Garcia in the Chagos Islands, Palestine, Chile, Panama, El Salvador... They don't obey International Law. They don't observe the Geneva Conventions. They detain thousands without trial in Guantanamo and elsewhere. They have tortured many more in Abu Ghraib. They use extraordinary rendition. They use waterboading. They operate over 800 military bases worldwide. They hold the most powerful WMDs ever created... and they are the only country to have actually used them. And no one dares stand up to them because they dominate all the world financial markets and hold the U.N. hostage with their monetary and military support. "

"You're right. Nobody should apologise for being anti-American . . . wear the badge with pride."

Well of course I walked away at that point. I just can't believe what the club is coming to.

Lockerbie: The Flight from Justice

News at the moment is all about the release of the Lockerbie Bomber Abdel Baset Ali Mohmed Ali Megrahi. One of our club members who works in a rather hush hush government department has often claimed to know more about the Megrahi incident than has ever been told in newspapers. "Of course Megrahi had nothing whatsoever to do with the bombing," he has told us many times. "Our government and the US government know exactly what happened at Lockerbie. But they are not going to tell you."

After plying him with a few brandies he was happy to reveal all, provided we did not reveal his name I can give you a more complete picture.

The story he said started in June 1988 when an Airbus civilian airliner was shot down with the loss of all 290 lives on board. This happened 6 months before Lockerbie.

The fact that the airbus was Iranian, that people on board were Iranian, and they were shot down over the Gulf by a US warship the USS Vincennes, meant that there was no court hearing, that the captain of the Vincennes and to his gunnery crew were awarded medals, and that slaughter was blamed on Iran for not accepting a UN ceasefire in the war with Iraq in which we were backing our old friend Saddam Hussein (yes, the same!).

Iran plotted a tit-for-tat revenge and hired a Palestinian terrorist group supported by Syria to execute the plan. The security services got wind of the plan and on 5 December warnings were sent to the US embassy in Helsinki that a bomb would be planted on a Pan Am flight from Frankfurt in the next two weeks. Eighty percent of the staff in American embassies who had reserved seats on Pan Am flights out of Frankfurt cancelled their bookings. There were 159 empty seats on the plane. The bereaved families are still trying to find out why they never heard about the warning. All they have been told is the warning 'was a hoax' and it was a mistake posting it.

On 21 December 1988 Pan Am flight 103 was blown out of the sky over Lockerbie. Apparently 270 people died because the UK government didn't make the same mistake. This time there would be no medals.

The bomb in the plane was fitted into a Toshiba radio-cassette player, wrapped in clothing bought in Malta and hidden in a brown Samsonite suitcase.

According to the Washington Post the intelligence services had reported that it was 'beyond doubt' that the Lockerbie bomb had been planted by a Palestinian terrorist group led by Ahmed Jibril. The group had been hired by Iran and had the protection of the Syrian government. The Sunday Times had more detail. Jibril was supported by one Nidal, the leader of the Syrian-backed terrorist outfit. A third man, Talb, was identified as travelling to Malta to buy the clothes to put in the suitcase. The whole thing was a reprisal for the shooting down of the Iran civil airline six months before.

Thatcher and Bush spoke about Lockerbie and agreed to 'low-key' the disaster because neither could do anything about it, nor could they bring the Syrian protected terrorist to trial. And all would have been quietly forgotten had not the political climate changed in 1991 with the outbreak of the Gulf war and the dramatically shifting political scene of the middle east.

It suddenly became expedient to get Syria and Iran on board as allies and to isolate any supporters of Saddam's Iraq. And this included Libya. Quite suddenly and without any previous suggestions to the contrary, the Lockerbie evidence that pointed towards Syria and Iran was quietly abandoned and the US government now claimed that that Libya was responsible for the bombing. The press were happy to switch from one to the other and a political fury was whipped up against Libya. With public backing, the US was able to engage freely in 'revenge air strikes' on Libya. This was now marketed as 'a blow for justice' in retaliation for those killed on Pam Am flight 103, and bought by the public.

Information from US security services now implicated two Libyans, one of whom was Megrahi. They had planted the bomb on a plane in Malta. The bomb had been flown to Frankfurt where it was transferred to a plane for London. The bomb was then tranfered at London to Pan Am flight 103.

What was the evidence for this wholly new story? The CIA had a 'witness'.

Abdul Majid Giaka, a garage mechanic who once claimed to be related to King Idris of Libya, had come forward and implicated Megrahi. He saw them place the bomb and was prepared to testify in court. For this evidence the CIA paid Giaka $4 million - provided there was a conviction.

Without boring you with the tedious trial details, Paul Foot who sat through the full proceedings summed it up by saying that "the entire expensive trial of the Libyans was an intelligence frame-up; and that among the most comprehensively hoodwinked were Lord Sutherland, Lord Coulsfield and Lord Maclean" the presiding judges. The verdict was a triumph for the CIA, but does nothing to satisfy justice. Megrahi was convicted on circumstantial evidence and the hearsay of discredited witnesses. According to John Pilger this is just another case that can be added to the increasing catalogue of cases of British miscarriages of justice.

Of course after the war, the sanctions were lifted against Libya and Gaddafi agreed to pay £1.7 billion out of his oil revenue in compensation. And all was sweetness and light until Megrahi was released last week, to the baying of the press and the anger of outraged Americans.

A recent ICM Research poll for BBC News said 60% of those questioned thought it was wrong to release Megrahi, and such an evil man should have been left to die in jail . Finding myself among the 40% I believe that releasing him to die at home is not about what kind of man he is, but what kind of people we are. And if you though that the UK had released a dying man on grounds of compassion alone, today's Sunday Times headline makes it clear that even that was done as part of a deal for Libyan oil.

Diogenes the Hells Angel

Diogenes was a rebel against authority who lived the simple life. He would have shunned gangs or other combinations that protect the individual at some loss of liberty. Were motorcycles around in his time he would have had nothing to do with being a gang member, he was not that type of “outlaw” but maybe he would have valued the independence and mobility achieved by a single machine, and of living life “on the edge”.

Yet even in his rebellion he would have been aware that that very quality, of outstripping the herd, is a manufactured image, a line designed to sell motorcycles as a commodity.

You may remember the VeloSolex lightweight bicycle that Frenchmen ride with a small motor above the front wheel. It was a post World War Two vehicle that young and old could ride without any formality offering both fun and freedom. But that was about the limit of its possibilities. It could hardly be seen as a fetish commodity.

If you go to YouTube and enter Mr Bean and VeloSolex you will get a sketch that embraces this stereotype with affection. Yet the advertising for the VeloSolex for those who wish to search google images is an extraordinary mismatch of sexy long legged models astride this bicycle. The reason is that sex, like rebellion, sells products like no other motif can.

The long legs give a clue, for elongating the leg of a model by artifice or unconscious selection of the longest legged candidate is a deliberate evocation of a female’s sudden spurt of growth a purbety…something that is hard wired into the perceptions of both male and female alike. The 50’s artist Vargas made a good living exaggerating the legs of the models he painted for this very good reason.

Now Diogenes was famous for ‘accentuating the negative’, for cynicism is nearer the end of the continuum named “hostility” than the opposite one, “friendliness”. But here we have a product and an industry, ‘accentuating the positive’ as if life itself was dependent upon this perception. And that is the clue, for the life of the product, its conception, its existence, its survival depends upon it falling upon that continuum nearer the end of ‘friendliness’. And what better proponent for “friendliness” is there than the powerful and emotive syncretism that is sex. So powerful is this motif that the alternate “handle” of rebelliousness has by and large failed to survive as well as a meme.

We all remember motorcycle rebel Marlon Brando in the film “The Wild One” which worried our mentors so much that it was banned for 15 years in the UK. Or we may have enjoyed the bad boy image of the anti-hero in Richard Thompson’s song the 1952 Vincent Black Lightning (listen to the Reina Collin’s version). More likely though we will have remembered then for their positive associations. In the case of the song it would be the combination of a red haired girl and her black leathers. You can find a version in the podcast section of http://web.mac.com/beachhutman/motorcycle


What endures here is a manufactured lack of restraint in ‘positive’ matters such as celebrating friendliness, attraction (and by association sex), rather than remembering the ‘negative’ also there in some rebellion or hostility to other social norms.

In other words, a life affirming film, song or story will usually triumph over anything that casts a shadow over our or others passing. Diogenes the cynic would have found this association with motorcycles, if such existed in his day, as problematic.

But in advertising appealing to one emotion is never enough. A tension if it can be created between opposites will get twice as much attention. So we as spectators, as consumers, have the same problem as Diogenes would have had.

What was his answer? To carry a big stick. Would he have thrown it into the spokes of any passing motorcycle that annoyed him? I do not think so. He would not have been angry at some insouisiant youth vacillating between a faux rebellion and some manufactured attraction. Diogenes would have instead lamented that the youth of his day could so easily be sold someone else’s dream instead of doing something significant.

The answer may not be to be cynical, as Diogenes was, shunning the complexities of his time. That continuum, from hostility to, shall we say, friendliness is also one from the conservation of energy to one of expending it. A doctor would recognise this is the world of the bi-polar or manic-depressive.

Nearly a couple of years ago after reading a book called The Hypomanic Edge I suggested Diogenes may have been a hypomanic. See it here (cut and paste)

http://storiesfromthediogenesclub.blogspot.com/2007/09/diogenes-with-first-aid-kit.html

Now I am beginning to wonder if he was a manic-depressive. Strangely this cynical perspective of hostility and negativity seems to be an evolutionary survival. Why is this? One would expect the likes of Diogenes to die out in evolutionary terms, never mind in terms of their ideas. Just as you might expect the motorcycle industry to ‘loose’ the negative bad boy associations of motorcycling. For the price of that is marginalisation and legislation to outlaw a threat to civilised society. Certainly the author of The Hypomanic Edge regards the manic or ‘positive’ behaviours at that end of the continuum to be the reason that condition persists in the world. Such people have energy and can succeed when others at the hostile pole conserve rather than express their anger in a barrel.

So do we need Diogenes? Well, next time some manic motorcyclist cuts you up imagining himself some angel of darkness or lusty rebel, think that there needs to be a counterbalance. And that is the legislators, the policemen and the cynics that refuse to fall for the line the motorcyclist is taking. Society is a spectacle. We cannot all go around in rose tinted glasses. A Diogenes has a duty not to retreat from the world but to point out the myths the rest of us slavishly follow. And that includes himself.

I Just Don't Believe it.

I was sitting in my favourite armchair with a warm brandy musing on the origins of cynicsm when I was interrupted from my reverie by Frith, our faithful retainer, who inquired if I would like another brandy.

"I think I'm happy with this one, Frith."

"Pardon my saying so, sir, but my young nephew mentioned he might be interested in joining the Diogenes club."

"Is he suitable Frith?"

"Oh I am sure I couldn't say sir, but he does have strong views and passionately believes in a number of causes, sir."

"Then he won't do for here Frith," I answered with some conviction. What makes a person a true Diogenarians is not strong views. The true cynic is defined, not by what they believe in, but by what they don't believe in."

"I see, sir"

"That's why young people are hardly suited to the Diogenarian cause. You see when you are young and wild you believe all sorts of things. But as you get older, one by one, those beliefs drop away until you are more defined by the things you don't believe than the things you do. That Frith is the definition of a true cynic.

"I see sir," said Frith and departed

Relaxing back in my armchair I picked up a pen and paper and started to jot down, just as a matter of interest the first things that came to mind of the many that I realised after a mature reflection I no longer believe in and I thought I would share will you for the record my own personal anti-creed for the age. (Other Diogenarians will no doubt have their own and are free to add to the list)

1. I don't believe we are over the worst of the crash
More money has been spent on bailing out the banks from this crash than all the money spent on World war II, the entire NASA space programme and the great crash of 1929 - put together. And that took ten years to get over.

2. I don't believe we live in a democracy.
Democracy has to be more than just being able to choose between two or three very similar things once every five years.

3. I don't believe there should be laws against offending people.
The right penalty for offending people is repudiation, not 3 years in prison.

4. I don't believe diversity is a good thing in and of itself.
Diversity without competence is useless.

5. I don't believe in dyslexia (or discalcula or dispraxia or dis....)
Giving something a name doesn't mean you can be excused from spelling, or adding up - or that you are not responsible for it, just like everyone else.

6. I don't believe in different learning styles.
Visual, auditory, kinesthetic - we all learn in each of these ways and it muddled thinking that focuses on just one

7. I don't believe we are responsible for the errors of our fathers
We are not responsible for the slavery of 200 year ago, and I don't believe we need to apologise or be made to feel guilty about things that others have done.

8. I don't believe freedom of speech is only for those who we agree with.
Freedom of speech must be for everyone or it is not true freedom.

A History Lesson - Part 3 - Things Get Worse

More extracts from Professor Galbraith's classic work: The Great Crash 1929. A more accessible and witty summary of what happened in that year I have yet to read.

These extracts come from the chapter in his book entitled: 'Things Become More Serious'. I would urge anyone who is interested in such things, and who wishes to understand more of what is going on today, to invest in this modest volume.

A common feature of all these earlier troubles was that, having happened, they were over. The worst was reasonably recognizable as such. The singular feature of the great crash of 1929 was that the worst continued to worsen. What looked one day like the end proved on the next day to have been only the beginning. Nothing could have been more ingeniously designed to maximize the suffering, and also to ensure that as few as possible escaped the common misfortune. The fortunate speculator who had funds to answer the first margin call presently got another and equally urgent one, and if he met that there would still be another. In the end all the money he had was extracted from him and lost. The man with the smart money, who was safely out of the market when the first crash came, naturally went back in to pick up bargains. (Not only were a recorded 12,894,650 shares sold on 24 October; precisely the same number were bought.) The bargains then suffered a ruinous fall. Even the man who waited out all of October and all of November, who saw the volume of trading return to normal and saw Wall Street become as placid as a produce market, and who then bought common stocks would see their value drop to a third or a fourth of the purchase price in the next twenty-four months. The Coolidge bull market was a remarkable phenomenon. The ruthlessness of its liquidation was, in its own way, equally remarkable.

Tuesday, 29 October, was the most devastating day in the history of the New York stock market, and it may have been the most devastating day in the history of markets. It combined all of the bad features of all of the bad days before. Volume was immensely greater than on Black Thursday; the drop in prices was almost as great as on Monday. Uncertainty and alarm were as great as on either.

Selling began as soon as the market opened and in huge volume. Great blocks of stock were offered for what they would bring; in the first half-hour sales were at a 33,000,000-a-day rate. The air holes, which the bankers were to close, opened wide. Repeatedly and in many issues there was a plethora of selling orders and no buyers at all.

Once again, of course, the ticker lagged - at the close it was two and a half hours behind. By then, 16,410,030 sales had been recorded on the New York Stock Exchange - some certainly went unrecorded - or more than three times the number that was once considered a fabulously big day. The Times industrial averages were down 43 points, cancelling all of the gains of the twelve wonderful months preceding.

But the worst thing that happened on this terrible day was to the investment trusts. Not only did they go down, but it became apparent that they could go practically to nothing. Goldman Sachs Trading Corporation had closed at 60 the night before. During the day it dropped to 35 and closed at that level, off by not far short of half. Blue Ridge, its offspring once removed, on which the magic of leverage was now working in reverse, did much worse. Early in September it had sold at 24. By 24 October it was down to 12, but it resisted rather well the misfortunes of that day and the day following. On the morning of 29 October it opened at 10 and promptly slipped to 3, giving up more than two-thirds of its value. It recovered later but other investment trusts did less well; their stock couldn't be sold at all.

The worst day on Wall Street came eventually to an end. Once again the lights blazed all night. Members of the Exchange, their employees, and the employees of the Stock Exchange by now were reaching the breaking point from strain and fatigue. In this condition they faced the task of recording and handling the greatest volume of transactions ever. All of this was without the previous certainty that things might get better. They might go on getting worse. In one house an employee fainted from exhaustion, was revived, and put back to work again.

In the first week the slaughter had been of the innocents. During this second week there is some evidence that it was the well-to-do and the wealthy who were being subjected to a levelling process comparable in magnitude and suddenness to that presided over a decade before by Lenin. The size of the blocks of stock which were offered suggested that big speculators were selling or being sold. Another indication came from the boardrooms. A week before they were crowded, now they were nearly empty. Those now in trouble had facilities for suffering in private.

The bankers met twice on the 29th - at noon and again in the evening. There was no suggestion that they were philosophical. This was hardly remarkable because, during the day, an appalling rumour had swept the Exchange. It was that the bankers' pool, so far from stabilizing the market, was actually selling stocks! The prestige of the bankers had in truth been falling even more rapidly than the market. After the evening session, Mr Lament met the press with the disenchanting task of denying that they had been liquidating securities - or participating in a bear raid. After explaining again, somewhat redundantly in view of the day's events, that it was not the purpose of the bankers to maintain a particular level of prices, he concluded: 'The group has continued and will continue in a cooperative way to support the market and has not been a seller of stocks.' In fact, as later intelligence revealed, Albert H. Wiggin of the Chase was personally short at the time to the tune of some millions. His cooperative support, which if successful would have cost him heavily, must have had an interesting element of ambivalence.

The rumour recurred that the 'organized support' was selling stocks, and Mr Lament, on meeting the press [again], added a minor footnote to this now completed story. He said he didn't know - the organized support was really not that well organized. The most plausible explanation is that everyone was feeling cheerful but the public. As before and later, the weekend had been a time of thought, and out of thought had come pessimism and a decision to sell. So, as on other Mondays, no matter how cheerful the superficial portents, the selling orders poured in in volume.

By now it was also evident that the investment trusts, once considered a buttress of the high plateau and a built-in defence against collapse, were really a profound source of weakness. The leverage, of which people only a fortnight before had spoken so knowledgeably and even affectionately, was now fully in reverse. With remarkable celerity it removed all of the value from the common stock of a trust. As before, the case of a typical trust, a small one, is worth contemplating. Let it be supposed that it had securities in the hands of the public which had a market value of $10,000,000 in early October. Of this, half was in common stock, half in bonds and preferred stock. These securities were fully covered by the current market value of the securities owned. In other words, the trust's portfolio contained securities with a market value also of $10,000,000.

A representative portfolio of securities owned by such a trust would, in the early days of November, have declined in value by perhaps half. (Values of many of these securities by later standards would still be handsome; on 4 November, the low for Tel and Tel was still 233, for General Electric it was 234, and for Steel 183.) The new portfolio value, $5,000,000, would be only enough to cover the prior claim on assets of the bonds and preferred stock. The common stock would have nothing behind it. Apart from expectations, which were by no means bright, it was now worthless.

This geometrical ruthlessness was not exceptional. On the contrary, it was everywhere at work on the stock of the leverage trusts. By early November, the stock of most of them had become virtually unsaleable. To make matters worse, many of them were traded on the Curb or the out-of-town exchanges where buyers were few and the markets thin.

Never was there a time when more people wanted more money more urgently than in those days. The word that a man had 'got caught' by the markets was the signal for his creditors to descend on him like locusts. Many who were having trouble meeting their margin calls wanted to sell some stocks so they could hold the rest and thus salvage something from their misfortunes. But such people now found that their investment trust securities could not be sold for any appreciable sum and perhaps not at all. They were forced, as a result, to realize on their good securities. Standard stocks like Steel, General Motors, Tel and Tel were thus dumped on the market in abnormal volume, with the effect on prices that had already been fully revealed. The great investment trust boom had ended in a unique manifestation of Gresham's Law in which the bad stocks were driving out the good. The stabilizing effects of the huge cash resources of the investment trusts had also proved a mirage. In the early autumn the cash and liquid resources of the investment trusts were large. Many trusts had been attracted by the handsome returns in the call market. (The speculative circle had been closed. People who speculated in the stock of investment trusts were in effect investing in companies which provided the funds to finance their own speculation.) But now, as reverse leverage did its work, investment trust managements were much more concerned over the collapse in the value of their own stock than over the adverse movements in the stock list as a whole. The investment trusts had invested heavily in each other. As a result the fall in Blue Ridge hit Shenandoah, and the resulting collapse in Shenandoah was even more horrible for the Goldman Sachs Trading Corporation.

Under these circumstances, many of the trusts used their available cash in a desperate effort to support their own stock. However, there was a vast difference between buying one's stock now when the public wanted to sell and buying during the previous spring - as Goldman Sachs Trading Corporation had done - when the public wanted to buy and the resulting competition had sent prices higher and higher. Now the cash went out and the stock came in, and prices were either not perceptibly affected or not for long. What six months before had been a brilliant financial manoeuvre was now a form of fiscal self-immolation. In the last analysis, the purchase by a firm of its own stock is the exact opposite of the sale of stocks. It is by the sale of stock that firms ordinarily grow.

However, none of this was immediately apparent. If one has been a financial genius, faith in one's genius does not dissolve at once. To the battered but unbowed genius, support of the stock of one's own company still seemed a bold, imaginative, and effective course. Indeed, it seemed the only alternative to slow but certain death. So to the extent that their cash resources allowed, the managements of the trusts chose faster, though equally certain death. They bought their own worthless stock.

Men have been swindled by other men on many occasions. The autumn of 1929 was, perhaps, the first occasion when men succeeded on a large scale in swindling themselves.

A Small Difference

The others were already ensconced in the library when I arrived at the Diogenes club last week. Manton was holding forth with such force that I could hear him from the lobby, as Henry took my coat and briefcase.

"I'll have a glass of Ardbeg, Henry, when you have a free moment."

"Certainly, sir."

"What's set Manton off today?"

"I believe Mr Manton is somewhat distressed by the news of Sir John Stafford's pension arrangements, sir."

"Ah, of course." Sir John Stafford had, until recently, been the managing director of the Royal Hibernian Bank, and had attracted much adverse comment in the press due to his recently publicised pension arrangements. I opened the door to the library, and flinched as the full force of Manton's invective caught me square in the face.

"....pearl-handled revolver, but I doubt if he would have the guts to use it. Are you seriously trying to defend him, Treworthy?"

"Not at all, Manton, I share your opinion of the man."

"Well what in blazes are you blathering on about?"

"Simply that, no matter what you say, the fact remains that his pension was contractually agreed. There is nothing that anyone can do about it now."

"But he led his company to destruction. He expanded the company so far beyond what it could afford, it collapsed in on itself. He has actually destroyed the entity that was paying him the pension. If it wasn't for the fact that the government - us taxpayers - bailed them out, he wouldn't have a penny."

"That's not actually true, old boy," said Travis. "The money was set aside during his tenure."

"Well it's a pity that he didn't take the same amount of care over his employee's welfare as he clearly did over his own. I mean..... dammit all, he was using a private jet for corporate travel. Since when have bank managers used private jets?"

"There speaks a man who knows little of modern finance." I said, as I joined the group and sat in my chair. The others nodded their greetings as Manton drained his glass and motioned to Henry for another.

"Sorry about that," he said, "was I audible from the lobby?"

"You were probably audible from the end of the street. I take it that you are less than impressed with the recent news."

"Don't set him off again, please." said Abrahams, who had long since given up trying to do the crossword. "We are all of the same opinion, Manton. There just doesn't seem to be much that anyone can do about it."

"I know, that's the bloody annoying thing." snarled Manton.

"Yes, it's not like you to react this way to the news, Manton." said Travis. "If anyone is going to lose their rag, it should be me, given that I lost my job last month."

"I didn't know that, Travis." I said, turning to him in surprise. I could see by the looks on their faces that this was news to the others as well.

"No one did. That's why I haven't been in for a while. With the current situation, I'm amazed that I managed to hang on at the firm as long as I did, but the axe has finally fallen."

"I'm sorry to hear that, old boy." I said. "If there is anything that I can do..."

"The same goes for all of us," said Treworthy, as the others mumbled commiserations, "how are you going to manage?"

"Oh, no need to worry about me. They gave us all a fairly hefty golden handshake, so I should be ok for a while."

He was putting a good face on it, but none of us were fooled.

"Still, I'm going to have to start tightening my belt. This will probably be my last visit to the Club for a while. The annual subscriptions are due soon, and as we all know, they aren't cheap."

That dampened the atmosphere quite a bit. Manton seemed to have suddenly become tired, as if the anger that had been sustaining him had gone. We spent a few minutes silently meditating on the brave new world that seemed to be unfolding, and then Manton spoke, his voice unusually quiet.

"This sort of thing has always bothered me really, but I've always tucked it away in the back of my head, like we all do, and tried to forget about it, so that I could get on with life. But all this has put me in mind of old Kropotkin."

"The Russian anarchist?" asked Abrahams.

"No, no, a chap I knew at University. Joe Kropotkin. That was what we called him. I can't remember his real name. He was a real class warrior. Hated the rich with a passion - he actually argued that they were a different species."

"What, on a genetic level?" I asked. "Surely he wasn't serious?"

"Oh, deadly serious. He got sent down after a particularly lively sit-in when we occupied the Vice-Chancellor's office back in the Seventies."

"Manton, you never fail to surprise me." said Treworthy. "I've never seen you as a political activist."

"It was a long time ago, Treworthy. The cynic that currently sits before you didn't spring out of the ether fully formed."

"So what happened to him? Kropotkin, I mean." I said.

"He ended up living on an commune up in the Pennines, somewhere. You know, the sort of place where all property is held in common. We stayed in touch for a while."

"What brought him to mind?"

"Well, we used to have conversations about society, and our place in it, long into the night, as one does at that age. As I say, he always had a thing about the rich. He said that they really did regard ordinary people as dirt, beneath contempt. They were simply there to be exploited, used to generate wealth that the rich could then steal, so that they could stay rich."

"That's a bit strong."

"Oh, he absolutely believed it. He was the only person I have ever met who has actually read all three volumes of Das Kapital - and that includes all the academics who really should have read it but who made do with 'Marx for dummies' when they thought no one was looking."

"What evidence did he offer to support his hypothesis, Manton?" said Abrahams, ever the scientist.

"Well, one of the distinguishing features of the rich is that they show no shame whatsoever. They are not in the slightest bit embarrassed to possess grotesquely greater amounts of money than most other people, or embarrassed about the way that they have to treat those people in order to get their money. Indeed, their great masterstroke was to remake the world into a place where they are the normal ones, and it is the ordinary people who are at fault because they are so poor."

"It all sounds a bit far-fetched."

"Well yes, but we don't really complain about this stuff, do we? Unless something goes wrong, like it has recently. Why aren't people out on the streets? These idiot money men have brought the global economy to the point of collapse and it is only in the last couple of weeks that people have started to protest. There ought to have been riots on the streets by now."

"Well, there still might be. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better." said Travis.

"One of Kropotkin's notions was that there ought to be, not only a minimum wage, but also a maximum wage."

"Don't be ridiculous, that would never work." said Treworthy.

"That's what I used to say," replied Manton, "I would point out to him that a company has to be free to pay whatever wages it wants, so that it can attract the right calibre of people."

"Yes, it must be difficult to find people who are able to bring the global economy to the point of meltdown. They don't just grow on trees, you know." I commented.

"Perhaps we could apply this idea to teachers and nurses? There are shortages in many areas. Maybe we ought to pay them the wages that the market demands." said Abrahams.

"Don't be ridiculous, old boy," said Travis, getting in the spirit of the thing, "that would cost a bloody fortune. Maybe as much as much as one percent of what the Government spent on bailing out the banks."

"And yet no one complains. They just accept it. That was what Kropotkin was getting at," said Manton. "Let's say that we set the maximum wage at £500,000 .. no, make it £1,000,000 a year. Now you can understand rich people complaining about that, because they get more, but why do any of us? None of us, in our wildest dreams, will ever be able to earn that sort of money in a year. And yet we disagree with the very idea of a maximum wage."

"Ah, but there is just the smallest chance that we might be able to earn it." said Treworthy. "That's why."

"And that's how they do it, according to Joe. That's how they make themselves the normal ones, and shape society accordingly. We are all complicit in it. Why do you think the national lottery is so lucrative?"

"Well, because people like the idea that they can get huge amounts of money by doing nothing."

"Exactly. That's also why they have tried really hard to promote the idea of everyone being able to own shares. A nation of small investors. To the extent that they turned building societies into banks and gave shares to people whether they wanted them or not. That really used to get Joe frothing at the mouth. 'Can't they see that they are just turning themselves into cannon fodder for the big investors?' It's like the lottery - it's just another way of harvesting money from the masses. He used to get really wound up about it. He always said that making money without actually contributing anything useful to society had always been the province of the rich, and you expect them to do that, but he couldn't understand why everyone else bought into that dream - especially as the rich would never allow more than a few people to ever actually achieve it."

"But hang on Manton," I interjected, "surely if someone has started up a company, and provided employment, they have a right to a decent wage."

"Yes, but he wasn't talking about entrepreneurs with a few paltry millions, he was talking about the sort of people who can spend £30,000 a night on drinks or £20,000 a night on a hotel room. Even if I was able to get Joe to agree that they should earn more than the workers, he could never agree on the proportions. Even a managing director isn't worth 1,000 times more than the workers, he'd say. There are always ambitious, up and coming managing directors out there who are willing to do the job for less. We had some great arguments about that. But we did agree on one thing - that it isn't a sustainable way of doing things."

"What, the idea that anyone can do it? - that we should all aspire to becoming rich ourselves?"

"Exactly. That scheme only works for the few at the top of the pyramid. They can get away with it as long as most people are putting in the effort at the bottom. But if everyone tries to make money by doing nothing, then nothing will get done, and the money stops being generated."

"As Bernard Madoff's investors have discovered." added Treworthy.

"It's like my place", said Abrahams, "we have hundreds of managers and employment liason officers, and equality administrators, and openness focus groups, but they don't seem to have enough money to pay us lecturers."

"Well, at least you've got a decent pension scheme." said Travis, rather morosely.

"True, but for how much longer?" replied Abrahams.

"Yes, you'll never guess what I heard on the radio the other day." I said, "A banker complaining about how unfair the public sector pensions are, and how we were all in this together and how we all ought to be sharing the pain."

"I don't seem to remember 'us all being in it all together' when they were all earning about ten times what I do." said Abrahams, somewhat sharply.

"Exactly what Kropotkin used to say. And what do we do about it? Do we make it illegal to make money by doing nothing? No, of course not. How are the rich and powerful supposed to maintain their position at the top of the heap if we do something like that? They trot out the old line about how their money-making abilities are what keeps our country at the forefront of world trade, and if we upset them too much, they will up sticks and take their expertise elsewhere."

"I think if you asked the man on the street at the moment, the message would be 'Goodbye and good riddance'," I said, "and I would be inclined to agree with them. Why should I wish to share my planet with these people? What do they contribute to society - to any of our lives?"

"Oh come now, it's easy to say that now that they have messed everything up..." started Treworthy.

"Ah but old Kropotkin went further. He said it's actually true all the time, no matter what the economy is doing. In fact it is more true when the economy is booming, but no one cares then."

"That's all well and good, Manton," said Treworthy, "but as I said before, there are no legal obstacles to this man Stafford's pension. It was all arranged perfectly properly - no matter how distasteful we find it, and even if it does throw a rather shaming light onto how these things tend to be arranged amongst the great and the good - there is little that the government or anyone else can do about it."

"Oh I agree. What makes me angry is that he feels no moral impulse to do so himself. Joe was right: they have no shame. Absolutely none. If I had been responsible for managing a company so badly that I had destroyed it, thrown thousands of my own employees out of work and been part of bringing the global economy to the point of collapse, resulting in lots of other people being thrown out of work, I'd be too embarassed to keep my state pension, let alone a private one worth half a million."

"Oh come off it, Manton. That's easy to say, but I bet you would hold onto that money if you were in his place. It's just human nature." said Treworthy.

"I'm sorry Treworthy," said Manton, a tightness in his voice that wasn't normally there, "but you clearly don't know me as well as you think you do. I would be too ashamed to show my face in public, never mind siphoning off half a million a year of what is effectively taxpayer's money."

"Well, that's why you will never be a leader of industry, Manton." I said, trying to relieve the tension.

"Stafford wasn't a leader of industry. He was in charge of a bank. Not that he had any formal banking qualifications, from what I can gather." added Travis.

Manton gulped down the last of his drink and banged his glass down.

"Well I'm sick of the idea that these people are movers and shakers, that can generate wealth from nothing, and that we are supposed to revere them, and pay them obscene amounts of money just in case they decide to take their so-called 'expertise' elsewhere. I didn't believe it before the crash and I certainly don't now. As far as I'm concerned, they can all f..."

"Steady on, Manton, remember what your doctor said about your heart." I said, genuinely worried, as his face seemed to be turning an even more worrying shade of crimson than normal. He paused and took a few deep breaths.

"In fact it's not just that. I'll tell you what makes it even worse. It's the politicians that buy in to the myth, instead of regulating the money men properly. I'm sick of them, and I'm sick of all the people who vote for the politicians, who also buy into the myth. Especially as it's the tax money of those same voters that is now being used to pay for all the greed and incompetence. We don't bloody deserve an economic recovery. Everyone trying to get something for nothing, treating their fellows with contempt. No one seems to want to do what's right. It's a shambles. It's a bloody shambles, the whole thing."

"Come now, Manton, calm down. This isn't like you." said Travis.

After a few seconds Manton got up.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry Gentlemen, I'm not fit company at the moment. My cynicism seems to have temporarily deserted me. Please forgive me." and with that he left.

The room was silent for a moment, while we recovered. None of us had seen Manton let things get the better of him before.

"Well I wasn't expecting that." said Treworthy.

"I don't think any of us were."

We carried on talking for a while, but our hearts weren't in it. As the clock struck eleven, Travis said:

"Well, I'd better go and settle up my accounts and resign my membership. I hope you'll allow me to buy you all one last round of drinks, gentlemen? Where's Henry?"

"This is a sad day, Travis." said Abrahams

"Won't be the same without you, old boy." added Treworthy.

Henry glided over. "Yes, sir?"

"I'd like to buy one more round of drinks for my friends, Henry, and then it is my sad duty to resign my membership."

"Resign, sir?"

"I'm afraid so. Financial constraints have placed me in an impossible position, and I simply cannot afford next year's subscription. I have become a victim of the recession."

"If you will forgive me, sir, I'm afraid I can't accept."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What on earth do you mean, Henry?" I asked. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"I hope not, sir. I simply mean that Mr Travis's membership subscription for next year has already been paid, in full."

"What? This isn't some sort of joke, is it Henry?" exclaimed Travis.

"I am not normally given to impromptu witticism, sir."

"Well ... explain yourself then."

"It is quite simple sir. Mr Manton paid your subscription as he was leaving."

"Manton?"

"Yes, sir. And he instructed me to give you all a message."

"What did he say?"

"Simply that he apologised once more for his outburst, and that he hoped this small gesture would be some small comfort in the difficult times ahead. He also said that even if men like Sir John Stafford did not know how to behave decently, knighthood notwithstanding, someone needed to start setting a better example."

"Good Lord." exclaimed Abrahams.

"He's not such a cynic after all." said Treworthy.

"Well I for one won't complain. I'm very grateful to him." said Travis.

"I must admit that I had always viewed Manton as the first man among us. The cynic's cynic. What about you, Henry? Have you ever seen this side to him?"

"It's not for me to say, sir. Although I do know that he does not regard himself as a cynic."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir. He once described himself to me as 'a constantly disappointed optimist', which I have always found to be a more appropriate description than 'cynic'. It is a small difference, but one which I suspect will serve him well during the financial difficulties ahead."

"Well, he's certainly cheered me up." said Travis. "Now what about that drink?"