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When you receive the information, if you think any of it is wrong or out of date, you can ask us to change or delete it for you. James Livingston. He lives in New York. Brought to you by Curio , an Aeon partner. Edited by Sam Haselby. Work means everything to us Americans. These beliefs are no longer plausible.

Already a fourth of the adults actually employed in the US are paid wages lower than would lift them above the official poverty line — and so a fifth of American children live in poverty. The market in labour has broken down, along with most others.

No one can doubt the moral significance of the movement. But at this rate of pay, you pass the official poverty line only after working 29 hours a week. What about the job market of the future? Well, yeah — until now, these times. The measurable trends of the past half-century, and the plausible projections for the next half-century, are just too empirically grounded to dismiss as dismal science or ideological hokum.

Rise of the Robots , a new book that cites these very sources, is social science, not science fiction. Certainly this crisis makes us ask: what comes after work? What would you do without your job as the external discipline that organises your waking life — as the social imperative that gets you up and on your way to the factory, the office, the store, the warehouse, the restaurant, wherever you work and, no matter how much you hate it, keeps you coming back? Would we hang out at the local Starbucks, laptops open?

Or volunteer to teach children in less-developed places, such as Mississippi? Or smoke weed and watch reality TV all day? How do you make a living without a job — can you receive income without working for it?

Is it possible, to begin with and then, the hard part, is it ethical? If you were raised to believe that work is the index of your value to society — as most of us were — would it feel like cheating to get something for nothing?

Without this income supplement, half of the adults with full-time jobs would live below the poverty line, and most working Americans would be eligible for food stamps. By continuing and enlarging them, do we subsidise sloth, or do we enrich a debate on the rudiments of the good life? The real question is not whether but how we choose to be.

But yeah, we can, very easily. These two steps solve a fake fiscal problem and create an economic surplus where we now can measure a moral deficit.

Of course, you will say — along with every economist from Dean Baker to Greg Mankiw, Left to Right — that raising taxes on corporate income is a disincentive to investment and thus job creation. Or that it will drive corporations overseas, where taxes are lower. That percentage has risen since then, but not by much.

That is why the Citizens United decision of applying freedom of speech regulations to campaign spending is hilarious. The Supreme Court has conjured a living being, a new person, from the remains of the common law, creating a real world more frightening than its cinematic equivalent: say, Frankenstein , Blade Runner or, more recently, Transformers. But the bottom line is this. You heard me right. Since the s, economic growth has happened even though net private investment has atrophied.

What does that mean? It means that profits are pointless except as a way of announcing to your stockholders and hostile takeover specialists that your company is a going concern, a thriving business. I know that building my character through work is stupid because crime pays. I might as well become a gangster.

So investment decisions by CEOs have only a marginal effect on employment. I might as well become a gangster like you. The differences between them are over means, not ends, and those ends include intangibles such as the acquisition of character. Which is to say that everybody has doubled down on the benefits of work just as it reaches a vanishing point. Sort of like securing slavery in the s or segregation in the s. Because work means everything to us inhabitants of modern market societies — regardless of whether it still produces solid character and allocates incomes rationally, and quite apart from the need to make a living.

T hink about the scope of this idea. Since the 17th century, masculinity and femininity have been defined — not necessarily achieved — by their places in a moral economy, as working men who got paid wages for their production of value on the job, or as working women who got paid nothing for their production and maintenance of families.

When work disappears, the genders produced by the labour market are blurred. No, I mean out there, in the wide, wide world. There never was a free market in labour in these united states. Like every other market, it was always hedged by lawful, systematic discrimination against black folk. You might even say that this hedged market produced the still-deployed stereotypes of African-American laziness, by excluding black workers from remunerative employment, confining them to the ghettos of the eight-hour day.

And yet, and yet. We have defined ourselves for centuries by what we do, by what we produce. By now we must also know that this principle plots a certain course to endless growth and its faithful attendant, environmental degradation. How would human nature change as the aristocratic privilege of leisure becomes the birthright of all?

Until now, the principle of productivity has functioned as the reality principle that made the American Dream seem plausible. By now they do. Adherence to the principle of productivity therefore threatens public health as well as the planet actually, these are the same thing. By committing us to what is impossible, it makes for madness.

So the impending end of work raises the most fundamental questions about what it means to be human. What evident yet unknown possibilities would then appear? How would human nature itself change as the ancient, aristocratic privilege of leisure becomes the birthright of human beings as such?

Sigmund Freud insisted that love and work were the essential ingredients of healthy human being. Of course he was right. But can love survive the end of work as the willing partner of the good life? Can we let people get something for nothing and still treat them as our brothers and sisters — as members of a beloved community? Become a Friend of Aeon to save articles and enjoy other exclusive benefits Make a donation.

Aeon for Friends Find out more. In short, it lets us say: enough already. Fuck work. I might as well become a gangster So investment decisions by CEOs have only a marginal effect on employment. Work Economics Meaning and the good life. Get Aeon straight to your inbox. Aeon is not-for-profit and free for everyone.

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Fuck work. Fuck my job. Fuck all jobs, but fuck mine in particular. That being said, if any of the participants are found using in the shelter or carrying any sort of paraphernalia even alcohol and marijuana which are both legal for use by adults in Oregon we are supposed to exclude them from the shelter for 30 to 90 days, which obviously sucks.

We do have some of those bright red sharps containers to put needles in, but because of the punitive nature of our drug use policies, participants have to just sort of leave their needles around for others to find them which, yes, is potentially very dangerous in order to actually use these boxes, particularly because, rather than being mounted, are kept behind locked doors presumably because the management has all but abandoned the shelter and has yet to mount them, because they fear that mounting sharps disposal containers around the shelter will send the wrong message and encourage drug use within the shelter, or because a lot of the participants are in recovery and seeing the refuse of hard drug usage might damage their recovery process.

In any case, about women come in nightly to find a safer place to be than outside. Some of them are incredibly obnoxious: particularly the ones who love to snitch on everyone else. Go back to bed. Some pass through the place like little ghosts. They hardly say a word. A lot of the time, this is the working crowd. Aaaaaaand some really endear themselves to you. I work the graveyard shift which I mentioned should be renamed after staff found one lady dead in the morning a couple months ago which creates an interesting dynamic where the participants I get to know best are usually the the addicts who stay up all night or the more general trouble-makers who I find myself talking to a lot just to prevent them from waking everyone else up.

Almost none of the above are morning people. The shelter itself is basically just one big room Gucci Gucci with a bunch of newly-acquired beds in it. Before the beds, there were just old, disgusting, urine-soaked mats of a much lower quality than you would expect to find in a jailhouse. Ever clean human shit off the wall with a diaper and windex?

I have. The building itself actually seems to be coming apart at the seams. It was rented out to our agency by another nonprofit. When I first got this job, I was actually really stoked. That was rad. When I first started working here, our program was only supposed to be a temporary shelter for the winter months. Firstly, there was a regime change. At the time I remember it seeming totally crazy that one coworker of mine, whose only downfall was really giving a shit about his job, had to work five overnights a week for like a month.

Times change however, and what seemed totally insane and unhealthy back then rapidly became the norm. The length of shifts dropped from ten hours to eight and all of us were expected to work five nights a week, meaning that we had to work substantially more for really about the same amount of pay.

Originally, the new boss asked us what we wanted our schedules to be like. This major drop in working conditions was accompanied by our admission into the union which, as a cynical former leftist, I found sort of grimly amusing. When you get home from work at about , you have to sleep until at least to live anything resembling a healthy life.

In addition, the work that I do all night involves a lot of emotional work and regulation for myself and others both participants and coworkers as we experience and process some really fucked up shit together.

This makes me feel pretty bad. Going through a bout of depression like this makes it harder to sleep or go out and spend time with the people I want to spend time with. Which makes maintaining my energy levels more difficult which makes me more depressed and so on ad literal nauseum. It is important to me to have a social life. Moreover, much of said social life takes place well into the late night, when I have the energy for it at all.

Only, I have to be at work at Luckily, I work Sun-Thurs so I more or less have the weekends off. Wanna go to a dance party tonight? Of course I do! They ask what I do, and I tell them. I hate work. One of my coworkers makes a habit of assuring me at least once a week that we have it really good. I make more than minimum wage and spend a healthy part of my shift watching T.

On the other hand, it hardly surprises me that the coworker telling me how good I have it is the same one that a lot of the ladies dislike and complain about. It is precisely the sociality of this work however, that makes it challenging. For those of us who have built up what feel like real, genuine relationships with these people, it starts looking a lot more like people we know, care about, or even love are being deprived of vital resources for survival, or beaten up by their boyfriends and husbands, or being arrested, or being stolen from, or having their kids taken away, or dying out on the street with no next of kin, or….

Am I being overly-dramatic? Excuse you. You know what though? I came here to make money. There is no cause but food in the belly. This bears restating. I am obliged to care, however grudgingly, and not out of some misplaced notion of goodness or some stupid idea about making the world better place or anything, but because five nights a week, I am here, in a room with somebody and because I relate to them in some real way.

Of course, some people have to make something political before they can force themselves to give a fuck about it. Honestly, I just like a lot of these people. Maybe they remind me of someone. I get paid to show up. Suddenly, a participant sticks their head in the office door. I sigh as I pause my movie. Stupidly, childishly, my heart sinks. The towels are across the building behind a locked door. Why do I keep doing more? For fucking free? Fuck that. One of my former coworkers was telling me about how working here made it impossible for her to actually listen to people who were talking to her.

She said that she found herself tuning out in her daily life when her friends and partners or whoever would want to talk about their lives or work. I can relate. They can be trivial, banal, wandering, sprawling, spurting, funny, boring, incredibly offensive, heart-wrenching, infuriating, annoying or just plain pointless.

If I were a smarter person, I could write an essay on the many forms of narrative structure. Listening to so many stories or complaints—oh my god, so many complaints—sort of wears down my mental faculties. Eventually, all I hear is a higher-pitched, tweaked-out version of the teacher from Charlie Brown. Like I said, why work for free?

When my partner starts telling me about their day, I really want to be able to listen. This is of course a problem that working people have faced as long as work has existed. Like, super mad. Like, bruh, I read the news. Oregon and Washington and California, again are fucking on fire. The ice caps are melting, bees are disappearing???

And I have to spend my time before then sitting around at work handing out cups of noodles and listening to so many stories about gendered violence that they start sounding like madlibs where only the names, dates and places have been changed?

Current social work student here. You write very well. Good read. Hang in there. Ever try meditating? It helps me. Keeping it I freaking love this post. Everybody wants to save the world. And on top of that, I love this writing style. I think you would be an incredible writer instead. You have a knack for it. Yes oh my god. Hang in there or whatever…. Your email address will not be published. Notify me of new posts by email. For those of us who have built up what feel like real, genuine relationships with these people, it starts looking a lot more like people we know, care about, or even love are being deprived of vital resources for survival, or beaten up by their boyfriends and husbands, or being arrested, or being stolen from, or having their kids taken away, or dying out on the street with no next of kin, or… Am I being overly-dramatic?

Anyway, fuck work. Kavin October 14,

Fuck for job