The belief that hard work is an inherent social good and a sign of virtue in the individual is ingrained in Western culture. Max Weber famously argued that, while the Protestant origins of vocation as a path to salvation eventually died out, the idea of finding a calling and pursuing it devotedly âhaunts our lives like the ghost of once-held religious beliefsâ (2002: 313). But do workers today continue to be haunted by the work ethic? Is it possible to devote oneself to a calling when the companies of the new capitalism demand not loyalty but flexibility from their employees? What is the fate of the work ethic in a world increasingly shaped by neoliberalism and globalization? These are the questions I set out to answer in this book.
A number of social theorists have suggested that the significance of work in peopleâs lives is decreasing. Zygmunt Bauman (1998) has argued that, for many contemporary workers, occupation has become a temporary entertainment rather than a meaningful vocation. Consumption, he suggests, is now the key source of identity and fulfilment. The work ethic has been replaced by the âaestheticâ of consumption. For Richard Sennett (1998; 2006), contemporary work is characterized by short-termism and fragmentation. Work no longer provides a clear trajectory as flexible employees âdriftâ from one job to the next. Under these conditions dedication to a calling is virtually impossible. On an initial reading these arguments are compelling, but do they accurately describe what is happening in peopleâs lives? Drawing on in-depth interviews, this book investigates whether theories of contemporary work chime with the lived experience of people.
One of the most influential studies of the meaning of work in peopleâs lives is Studs Terkelâs classic, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do (1974, hereafter referred to as Working). In the early 1970s Terkel, a disc jockey from Chicago, travelled around the United States talking to hundreds of individuals about their work. Working received much critical acclaim. As Adam Cohen puts it, the book is âa path breaking exploration of what Mr Terkel described as âthe extraordinary dreams of ordinary peopleââ (Cohen in Terkel, 1974: x). Working is, in essence, a collection of portraits. Terkel selects the most revealing parts of his interviews to create memorable characters; there is Delores Danteâa waitressâwho sees every service as a performance, and âLovinâ Al the Wizardâ who can park any car in one swing. But what is most impressive about the book is the way it reveals the depth of significance of work in the lives of the interviewees. Working is about a search âfor daily meaning as well as daily bread, for recognition as well as cash, for astonishment rather than torpor; in short, for a sort of life, rather than a Monday through Friday sort of dying (Terkel 1974: xi). Amidst considerable frustration and discontent, many of Terkelâs interviewees had been able to find meaning in their work âwell over and beyond the reward of the paycheckâ (Terkel 1974: xi).
The difficulty of making a life meaningful, in an era when many of the old certainties have faded and traditional constraints are less binding, has been a key question for sociology. We may have more freedom, but also less certainty. This book is informed by the argument that there is a crisis of meaning in the modern West and that many contemporary individuals are struggling to decide how to live (Carroll 2008). The works of Friedrich Nietzsche and Max Weber are seminal in this tradition. Weber argued that, due to increasing intellectualization and rationalization, the world had become disenchanted. Since science could now provide explanations for phenomena, there was no longer a place for âmysterious incalculable forcesâ (Weber 1991: 139) in the modern West. Without a religious framework to give direction, contemporary individuals may find it difficult to live with purpose: âit might be truly said of the âlast menâ in this cultural development: âspecialists without spirit, hedonists without a heartââŚâ (Weber 2002: 192).1 With this reference to the âlast menâ, Weber evokes Nietzscheâs description of modern individuals in Thus Spoke Zarathustra; they are people concerned only with comfort and entertainment:
The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small ⌠They have left the regions where it is hard to live, for one needs warmth ⌠One still works, for work is a form of entertainment. But one is careful lest the entertainment become too harrowing ⌠One has oneâs little pleasure for the day and oneâs little pleasure for the night: but one has a regard for health. âWe have invented happiness,â say the last men, and they blink.
(Nietzsche 2006: 5)
For Nietzsche, the truth of is existence is that it is both horrible and absurd (1993: 39). With the decline of religious meaning, modern individuals have to face up to this truth, which is a âsupreme menace to the willâ (1993: 40). After the death of God, the question, as articulated by the Madman, becomes âHow can we console ourselves, the murderers of all murderers!â (2001: 120). How is it possible to proceed with purpose in the knowledge that life is absurd?
In a lecture to a group of prospective scholars in 1918, Weber directly confronted his young audience with this problem:
Today the routines of everyday life challenge religion. Many old gods ascend from their graves; they are disenchanted and hence take the form of impersonal forces. They strive to gain power over our lives and again they resume their eternal struggle with one another. What is hard for modern man, and especially for the younger generation, is to measure up to a workaday existence. The ubiquitous chase for âexperienceâ stems from this weakness; for it is weakness not to be able to countenance the stern seriousness of our fateful times.
(Weber 1991: 149)
In facing up to these circumstances, Weber argued that individuals must make a âdecisive choiceâ (Weber 1991: 152) about what they will devote their life to and get to work: âNothing is gained by yearning and tarrying aloneâ, he suggests, âWe shall set to work and meet the âdemands of the dayâ in human relations as well as in our vocation. This, however, is plain and simple if each finds and obeys the demon who holds the fibers of his very lifeâ (Weber 1991: 156). Individuals must find their calling. For Weber, living in the service of oneâs vocation was the most viable answer to the problem of meaning in modern life. Nonetheless, he predicted that many modern individuals, particularly the young, would struggle to find answers to the key questions posed by Tolstoy: âWhat shall we do, and, how shall we arrange our lives?â (Weber 1991: 152â153).
Like Weber, Tolstoy was hopeful that work might imbue life with meaning. Throughout his life Tolstoy struggled with the question of how to live, and while writing Anna Karenina (1878) he experienced deep existential and spiritual crises (Wachtel 2002). In the novel, one his central characters, the semi-autobiographical2 Levin, meditates on the role of work. An intellectual aristocrat isolated on his estate, Levin spends the majority of his time before marriage studying the principles of farming. His work, Tolstoy suggests, was a âsalvation from life for him ⌠without it his life would have been too bleakâ (2000: 483). Still, there is something Levin is lacking. Watching the peasants labouring in the fields, singing and working together, he envies their âhealthy merrimentâ and community (Tolstoy 2000: 275). After joining them in the fields one day to help with the mowing he even considers renouncing his âutterly needless educationâ to find work that could provide the âsatisfaction, repose and dignityâ he painfully lacks (Tolstoy 2000: 276). The right work, he feels, would bring him purpose and respect. At this stage, the role of work for Levin is to provide meaning and dignity. After he marries his beloved Kitty everything changes. Suddenly it is love that Levin relies upon. Kitty for him now symbolizes âall the light and meaning of lifeâ (Tolstoy 2000: 277). After the honeymoon period, Levin begins to realize that his work is still important. He is not disappointed in married life. On the contrary, he finds his marriage brings him such lightness that work becomes a necessary contrast: âso that the world would not be so uniformly brightâ (Tolstoy 2000: 483). Happily married, work becomes a necessary balance, a dark contrast to his bright leisure. Later, on learning that his brother will die, and struck by his own insignificance in the face of death, Levin sees his work as a distraction from the meaninglessness of existence. âYou spend your lifeâ, he insists, âdiverted by hunting or work in order not to think about deathâ (Tolstoy 2000: 376). Work, he feels, is a necessary diversion.
So what of work in our current era of liquidity and precariousness? Can oneâs work function as an anchor, grounding individuals and thereby bringing dignity and purpose to their lives? Or is work today, at best, an absorbing distraction from a meaningless existence? Through an analysis of the experiences of a range of contemporary workers, the aim of this book is to discover what role work might play in answering Tolstoyâs questions and thereby making a meaningful life.
On âworkâ and âliquid modernityâ
Before moving forward, it is necessary to clarify two key terms. When I use the term work in this book I am referring to paid employment, and it is paid work that was the focus of the research. When the research participants speak about their work, they refer mostly to the activity that provides their income (usually referred to as their job) but there are also times when they refer to unpaid work including voluntary work, care work and domestic labour. I have made it clear when this is the case. While the more narrow definition of work as paid employment predominated in the participantsâ accounts, there was also a broader understanding of âworkâ as any productive activity.
Secondly, the reader will have noted that I have opted for âliquid modernityâ as my descriptor for the era in which the interviews took place. This book is, in large part, a response to Baumanâs conceptualization of contemporary life as fluid and Richard Sennettâs discussion of the short-termism of the new capitalism that leaves individuals open to drift. It is this condition of drifting in liquidity, and the possibility of work as an anchor within it, that I am concerned with here. The modern/postmodern debate is not a focus of the book. It is sufficient to say that my preference is for the current era not as distinct from the modern, but as a continuation. For Bauman, in contemporary culture, the modern and the postmodern exist simultaneously. As Anthony Elliott summarizes, for Bauman âContemporary men and women aspire to power, to modernist dreams of certitude, order and structure; yet they equally seek to live without guarantees, trading yesterdayâs road maps to the sudden lurches of mood generated by todayâs high-tech globalismâ (Elliott 2007a: 11). Before moving to the âliquidâ metaphor, Bauman favoured âpostmodernityâ as a descriptor for our current era, defining it as âmodernity minus its illusionsâ (Bauman and Tester 2001: 75). However, as Bauman himself notes, despite his disclaimers, postmodernity still implies that modernity is over (Bauman and Yakimova 2002). With postmodernity deemed insufficient, Bauman shifts to his famous metaphor, and with this âliquid turnâ (Elliott 2007a: 12), begins to further emphasize the fluidity and uncertainty of many aspects of contemporary life, including work and relationships.
For Larry Ray (2007) Baumanâs reliance on the liquidity metaphor is problematic for a number of reasons. Firstly, his arguments about transformations in contemporary life lack specificity as to where they are taking place. As Elliott has pointed out, Bauman does repeatedly state that the trends he writes about are âmost pronounced in the cities of the modern Westâ (2007b: 54). Similarly, Richard Sennett suggests that the culture of new capitalism he describes in his work is most developed in cutting-edge institutions. However, both Bauman and Sennett seem to convey that these cultural changes are already spreading throughout the world. Rayâs point, that Bauman has a tendency to generalize, is fair. As well as the location issue, another problem Ray identifies is that many of Baumanâs statements are too overarching and not supported with empirical evidence. The reader of Bauman is often left questioning: âhow, amid all this transitory fluidity, social life gets done at all or what bonds of sociability might bind people together for long enough to be able to get from home to workâ (2007: 67). Ray concludes that while metaphors may be an effective way of âstimulating imaginative enquiryâ they should not become a substitute âfor rigorous conceptualisation and research into the socialâ (2007: 77).
Bauman was a notably non-traditional sociologist. His work includes frequent references to literature, as he believed that understanding the problems of contemporary people was not simply the sociologistâs privilege (Tester 2007: 83). As Keith Tester (2007) has argued, while Baumanâs work is at times frustratingly ambiguous, this is intentional. Bauman is trying to be an irritant to the reader; in denying the reader certainty he is provoking them to engage. His provocation worked on me, and in the chapters that follow I take him to task. My hope for this book is that it will be a useful empirical contribution to understanding how people make sense of their lives in liquid modernity, and the role of work within this. In doing so, I am putting Bauman and Sennettâs theories to the test.