On the value of work

On our road trip earlier this autumn, H. and I read – aloud – Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry into the Value of Work by Matthew Crawford . (It was the first book in this season’s Take and Read.) We both enjoyed it.

Crawford is a philosopher and a mechanic with a Ph.D. who left a job at a think tank to open a motorcycle repair shop. In this book, he reflects on working with one’s hands, on the nature of knowledge, on human agency and self-reliance, on our relationship with material things. Essentially, he wants to rehabilitate manual work, to “give due credit to the cognitive richness of the skilled trades.” He quotes Anaxagoras: “It is by having hands that man is the most intelligent of animals.” Crawford’s not about making hand-work “precious” in some craftsy way, though, but about considering the rich ways in which we learn and know, about historical changes in work and what’s valued in work, and about ethical considerations in labouring.

H. is a drywall contractor who knows first-hand the shifts away from “shop class” Crawford is talking about, and the growing difficulty of finding workers in his trade (and the construction trades generally) who are interested in making a solid career of it. (And, says Crawford, a good career can be made of it.) H. also likes motorcycles (a lot) and I’m afraid he completely understood all those chapters about the education of a gearhead and Crawford’s involvement with a clutch road oil seal, which I floated through without comprehension, just taking his word for it!

For my part, I was intrigued by the chapter (“The Contradictions of the Cubicle”) on work shifts within corporations/institutions. The shift here, Crawford says, is one in which managers are “now encouraged to direct [their] attention to the states of minds of workers, and become a sort of therapist.” Office environments have taken up the obligations and mantras of personality — now more important than knowledge. It’s about preparing people for teamwork rather than focusing on specific competencies, and about managing “corporate culture.”

When I returned to the workplace after a couple of decades away, I certainly noticed this shift, though it’s Crawford who gives me words for it. I found emphasis on team spirit, buying into institutional mission, what kind of personality I am and how that relates to personalities around me. How, that is, I was doing as a person (or team player). Less ongoing attention was paid, in an external and formal way in the workplace structures at least, to my competencies as an editor or to the work I was producing.

These statements are not meant to cast that particular workplace (a church institution) in a negative light, but to affirm anecdotally that the shift Crawford documents is everywhere. It’s also fair to note that since reading Crawford’s critique of the ubiquitous new paradigm, I’ve found myself wondering how it’s affected, for good or bad, the ethos of the denomination in which I worked. All of which to say that this is a book worth reading and thinking about further.

Ads on this blog?

When I began this blog just over a year ago now, I thought I’d understood that since I couldn’t run ads on my site, neither would anyone else! But there it is, way down at the bottom of their features page: WordPress will “occasionally…very rarely” run ads on their “free” blogging platform. In the excitement and learning curve of blogging, I guess that sentence just didn’t sink in. These ads, of course, never show up on my own visits here, so I blithely assumed they weren’t appearing when others opened “Borrowing Bones.”

In the last while, however, I’ve been alerted, via a number of casual conversations, that ads do show up. Discreet, perhaps, but ads nevertheless. It was the one reported to be something about brides/women from the Ukraine that really got to me! So I’ve been digging into this, and that’s when I comprehended that last sentence on the features page.

Since I’d decided from the get-go that I wouldn’t blog for revenue, I want to assure you:
1. I’ve received no monies from these ads; WordPress has.
2. I have had no control over their content, and apologize to any who may have been surprised or offended at what may have appeared.
3. Since I have no idea what WordPress’ definition of “occasionally” is, and since blog authors are not given any control or notification over what ads may appear, I have opted to pay a yearly fee to entirely eliminate the use of ads at this site.
4. Which means that the free platform isn’t actually free (either there’s revenue for the company from ads, or the blog author pays), but I still like WordPress and also understand that there are costs and staff to pay to run the supports. The trade-off seems fair enough.

If any of you still see ads on my blog after today, please let me know; you can use the address at “About” or the comment feature. Thanks!

Looking at myself…

On Monday, I recalled myself as a child in reference to the limited schooling available to the Mennonite children of Bolivia, such as the girl, left, in Lisa Wiltse’s photo essay in The Walrus. It was a way of explaining what motivates my concerns for her and her siblings and peers: my gratitude for the privileges I’ve had to be educated, and my remembered longings to learn. Today I’ll be even bolder — on the personal side of things — for there’s a photo of myself I love, and at a poetry workshop about a decade ago we were to write something based on a photo, and so I wrote about that one. I make no claims for the poetry, but it does try to get at what I was saying on Monday. (Photo and poem follow below.)

Some may see it as a failure of the imagination if I feel pity for those Mennonite children. I’m forgetting, they may say, how much joy can be wrested out of life in spite of limitations and constraints, and surely limitations and constraints have been the lot of women and children, and men too of course, throughout time. Life is but a vale of sorrow, etc. etc. True enough. Still, I insist on linking my life to theirs and wishing more for them, and I insist on pity too. I think it could be allowed that this is not a failure but an act of imagination. As writer Amy Tan has said, “Imagination is the closest thing to feeling compassion.”

Looking at myself at nearly-eight

I am set down to smile
in a classroom, a place as lovely,
as familiar, as comforting,
as any green arbor Nature might arrange —
a table, a blackboard, a book
open to every possible green thing
I will discover —

The face of the girl is radiant.
I want to touch her,
frame my hands about these cheeks
to remember the young skin of
curiosity and confidence,
meet her eager blue-green eyes of
happiness.