Chapter 6: Work, Leisure, and Skill

Chapter 6

Work, Leisure, and Skill

Skill belongs in both work and leisure. Probably these two types of skill evolved together, as they do in animals (there are also unskilled work and unskilled leisure). Both types of skill can be enjoyed and promote human flourishing. We do jobs and we play games. Our need for skilled action is satisfied in both areas. But skill opportunities are not evenly distributed: some people have more access to skills than others. If you have no access to work skills, you will not develop them and prosper accordingly; if you have no access to leisure skills, you will not derive value from them. Ideally, equal access for all should be guaranteed. This is a way of saying that educational opportunities should be equal in a perfect world. The politics of skill leaves much to be desired, as things actually are. In an ideal world people at work would benefit from a fulfilling skill life—their nature as skilled beings would be respected and catered to. Similarly, in an ideal world people would have access to leisure skills that fulfill their lusory needs. But things are far from ideal in both ways. We need to talk about this, having sung the virtues of skill competence.

Capitalism has narrowed down the range of skills that take up work time. Adam Smith recognized and celebrated the division of labor as an engine of economic prosperity; it leads to greater productivity than being a skill-generalist. In his famous example, a nail sharpener is an ideal economic cog: this worker becomes highly skilled at the job and leaves other jobs to other people. Capitalism leads to skill-confinement. This is boring and ultimately soul-destroying, as Marx pointed out. Before the industrial revolution workers could engage in a variety of skills that allowed their nature a fuller range of skilled activity. So, efficient capitalism is inimical to human nature. This point is by now old hat. You might think that skill impoverishment at work could be rectified by diversity of leisure skills, but that requires time, energy, and money. My ancestors toiled in coalmines their whole working lives, doing repetitive jobs with minimal skill required; they were in no fit state for a game of tennis after a grueling day down the pit—and anyway there were no tennis courts or the money to pay for lessons. They suffered from Skill Deficiency Disorder, otherwise known as skill death. The values accruing from skill didn’t come their way terribly much. They had hobbies that gave them some relief—gardening, bird watching, stamp collecting—but it was meagre gruel for their skill appetites. Skill starvation was the rule.

Nowadays things are appreciably better. People live richer lives, are healthier, enjoy themselves more. You might wonder how I had the time and energy necessary to develop my extensive range of skills. The answer is that I was a professor and so had greater flexibility with respect to time (and wasn’t worn out from a long shift down the pedagogical pit). But things really improved when I retired at age sixty-three and my leisure skills took off: much more time for tennis, skateboarding, knife throwing, guitar, singing, etc. I took voice lessons for over a year and had time to practice (no need to exercise my teaching skills anymore). My skill life significantly improved. I recommend this for all retirees—get out while you still have time. I have been wallowing in the life of skill for the last fourteen years. It also stopped me from drinking so much—I was better on the tennis court without a hangover (surprise, surprise). I don’t really know what retirement life would be like without skills to acquire and develop. I believe that as the population ages (and AI takes over—see chapter 8) the development of late-life skills will become ever more desirable. We need to give serious thought to what a life of leisure skills will be like when we are all skill-maxing. Watching TV and walking the dog are not going to be enough. I don’t much like vacations for the simple reason that I can’t do much on them—too much sitting around, drinking cocktails, chatting away. The only vacations I really like are tennis vacations and water sports vacations (I have never tried knife throwing vacations). The idea of a cruise leaves me cold, unless there is a tennis court on board, or at least a bowling alley. I think far too many people are unaccustomed to a life of skill, having been subjected to the division of labor during their working lives; we need to find room for a myriad of skills. They make life worth living (you can’t just eat and drink all day or travel to foreign lands). Pickleball has lately been filling this niche. It is widely felt that there is a malaise at the heart of western capitalist societies (and maybe eastern too)—lassitude, despair, feelings of pointlessness. God knows what I would feel like if I couldn’t pursue my athletic and other interests. Skill is a large part of the meaning of my life (not the only part). I look forward to each day because I know skill will be exercised and improved upon. Of course, I also write a lot, but this is a skill too—the skill of arranging words into patterns and flexing my vocabulary. I regard myself as a highly skilled punctuationist as well as percussionist. I play guitar as I watch TV in the evenings. I always play the drums for a few minutes each day. I generally sing a few songs. I do these things alone or with others and always enjoy the experience. I no longer distinguish work skills and leisure skills, because leisure is defined as freedom from work—and I no longer work. My skills are just my skills, not divided into work skills and leisure skills. I like it that way.

The human being is a skill machine, a skill organism, a skill spirit—the naked skill ape. We have been that way since deep in prehistory. Whether at work or play we like to cultivate our skills, live in them. This fact should shape politics, ethics, education, and social life. Freedom is largely the freedom to exercise one’s skills—not just loaf around. When P.G. Wodehouse was asked what he did before he started writing at five years old, he replied “I don’t know, just loafing I suppose”. I have been working on my skills for as long as I can remember, at work or outside of work. We picture James Bond as working assiduously at his special espionage skills, not just gazing vacantly into the middle distance, smoking and drinking. The meaning of life is not just pleasure and moral duty but acting skillfully. Of course, pleasure and moral duty have their place, but skill is central and vital—not that you would think so from the teachings of classical hedonism and orthodox religion. The idle rich man and the self-abnegating monk are not the ideal figures to emulate. Who is richer, the incompetent billionaire or the person rich in skills? I leave that for homework. Discuss.[1]

[1] I once knew a billionaire (name withheld) who had remarkably few skills. He played a bit of tennis but wasn’t that good (he didn’t even take lessons). He couldn’t do anything involving skill. I myself have too many skills and not enough money…