Matthew B. Crawford (1965-) is an American writer, author, and mechanic. He has a doctorate in political philosophy, and currently serves as a fellow at the Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture at the University of Virginia. Alongside his work in academia, Crawford is a small business owner, operating a motorcycle repair shop called Shockoe Moto. When he is not at the institute or in his shop, he is also a contributing editor for The New Atlantis. One particular essay he wrote gave rise to this work, Shop Class as Soulcraft, wherein Crawford embarks on a philosophical reflection into the nature and value of work.

Oftentimes we hear the terms “white collar” and “blue collar” in conversations about the economy, work, and politics. The terms encapsulate a simple dichotomy by which mental work, often done in an office, is separated from manual work, often done in a factory or shop. This separation was intensified further with the advent of computer technology in the 1970s, which ushered in what is commonly referred to as the Information or Digital Age. By the 1990s computers were steadily revolutionizing the functions and values of industries, households, and social groupings. In light of this new technology, schools began to prioritize computer literacy in their curricula, with adverse effects on shop class, which was the sole bastion of manual labor in the schools.

Since that time, an overemphasis on information technology and its uses has led to the cultural inclination that our autonomy, success, and fulfillment lies in work that is done on the computer. Though this is by no means universally accepted in American society, it has served to harden the distinction between white and blue collar work, as well as significantly diminish our appreciation of the “useful arts” that make up the latter. Seeped into our values is the notion that manual labor is a form of work that is low, unfulfilling, and non-cognitive.

Such a cultural myth is pernicious and unstable, particularly if one actually attends to these kinds of labor. To call manual labor “low” usually implies some kind of economic assumption, namely that to be a plumber, electrician, or mechanic means scraping by financially and struggling to make ends meet. A couple general observations should nourish our skepticism of such a claim. First, the stability of trades provide both clarity and job security that is often overlooked. Though non-manual jobs may be higher paying, they seem more susceptible to automation. Insofar as they depend on increasingly complex computers, certain tasks in these occupations may be automated as computers increasingly carry out complex functions. Second, entering into a trade takes less time in school, and costs a fraction of traditional four-year programs for higher paying “mental” jobs. In light of these facts, a reexamination of the connection between work, success, and well-being is important.

Because of the numerous charges against our bifurcation of mental and manual work, seriously attending to the trades—often for the first time—can reintegrate our disparate concepts of work and enrich our understanding of what good work looks like. Unlike various mental jobs that can often rely solely on a person’s internal theorizing, manual jobs encompass a person’s thinking and subsequent doing. The trades anchor us in the world outside our heads. When a device breaks down—be it a car, computer, or washing machine—speculative thinking about what is wrong and how to fix it doesn’t really go far. Rather than beginning in our heads, we have to pop the hood, casing, or panel and attend to what is there, in the machine.

It is easy to imbibe the cultural myth that we are free, independent, and masters of our world, both natural and artefactual. But something as simple as a power outage breaks the illusion that we are free and always in control. Such circumstances are unpleasant because we are untethered from the objects and systems outside of us that sustain our homes. Those who have tinkered, studied, or worked through the devices and systems around us every day recognize the shared dependence that exists between us and our devices. The manual worker must engage the world with his hands and his head to provide solutions for practical issues.

Trade work involves approaching a situation as it is, and theorizing various solutions to solve the problem. Oftentimes, however, part of the job is diagnosis, figuring out where the problem is and how it came about in the first place. Assessing the object or system in question is a matter of judgment, based upon experience in the trade as well as accumulated knowledge in the materials themselves. Making these distinctions about what matters reflects the personal knowledge of a tradesman who has totally engaged with his work.

Because manual labor involves maintenance or creation in the material world outside of our heads, it often resists or challenges our control over it. Training takes time, experience must be built, and skills do not manifest after one encounter or task is completed. Entering a trade is not an overnight endeavor. Rather, it takes an earnest commitment rooted in passion and being deeply attentive to the material in question.

Because this work is both material and mental, continual challenges will crop up and there will be considerable frustration some days when what is outside of our heads doesn’t bend to what is inside. We assume that our ideas can easily map onto our reality, but the opposite is often the case. Oftentimes we need to step aside and renew our ideas by a deeper attentiveness to the object in question.

Consider mechanical work—fixing a broken down car, for instance. Having an idea of a car’s internal systems is not enough. Memorizing the blueprints and owner’s manual to have the best idea about the vehicle can only go so far. These things enable us to have some clarity on what to do, but they do not touch on the particular car in question. This car has layers of wear and customization which individuate it as its own specific object. The repair of this vehicle must take in mind the particular problems, the potential causes of those problems, and the warp and wear of the constituent materials.

Moreover, in trades where fixing, not creating, is the primary task, the challenges material objects present may not be resolved seamlessly. Mistakes, however minor, are a distinct possibility either in diagnosis or execution. Rather than getting frustrated at the continued obstacle to our success, trades of this type reinforce the virtue of humility. Consistently recognizing our own lack of control over the work we do instills a continual recognition that the world is bigger than the size of our heads.

Sometimes our attention to something can be adequate, but still insufficient and in need of improvement. The tasks we do continually bring new and unforeseen details to our focus. The more we use a particular tool, the more capable and efficient we become in doing so.  But in attending to physical objects, we see how they move, are moved, warp, wear, break, and are mended. One familiar example is a well used stove in a kitchen. Even for those of us who aren’t in the trades, we gain practical knowledge of our stove over consistent use. We learn the way different ingredients or dishes cook on each burner. We see just how hot each setting is, and we often prioritize a specific burner for certain dishes, knowing that it heats more evenly, or heats up more quickly. We may not know how to repair the stove if it breaks, but we still have a thorough knowledge of the appliance because of our consistent attention to it.

Even outside of using a particular appliance in the home, trade work can reveal the way our capacity for attention has and still needs improvement. A master woodworker will note more than the type of wood being used. He can distinguish knots, striations, and other marks of growth or decay in the lumber he uses. He will see potential problems long before they arise, and circumvent them. Both a master and a novice can receive the same sensory data from an object, but have utterly distinct ways of seeing the object in question. Eventually, through direct instruction or repeated observation, the novice will begin to perceive the same object anew, noting in greater depth the details of its makeup.

Continual involvement in a trade demands a responsibility to the objects of that trade. This responsibility is linked to a kinship that is deeper than simply getting a paycheck. The trades, because they are bound to direct care and maintenance of various material objects and systems, have the capacity to engage and enmesh tradesmen in more satisfying careers.

Passion, an intense desire and satisfaction concerning the work done, is a characteristic element of trade work. Though this is not automatic, because anyone can be burned out or dislike his or her job, the deep attentiveness to one’s work that is required in trade work nurtures this passion. When one is wholly engaged, mind and body, in a task, there’s a personal investment in getting the job done right. A deep involvement that reflects a care for the work of one’s hands is part and parcel of manual work.

Though the challenges that emerge are frustrating and stifling at times, they require the use of all our skills, mental and physical. Information jobs often distance and alienate a worker from most of their skills for the sake of repetitious, efficient performance. Working for maximum efficiency implies minimum attentiveness. Under these conditions, the time and energy a particular job requires cannot be given. It is a common experience to hear or see an employee at a business who clearly doesn’t know how the company works. Often this means they cannot figure out how to solve any real issue on their own without direct assistance. Unfortunately, these experiences reflect the breakdown in many businesses between mental and manual work. Moreover, when such businesses emphasize the bottom line over good work, the talents and capacities of their employees will suffer as a result.

One unfortunate by-product of increasingly computerized office jobs is their impact on higher education. Because of the often intangible goods of mental work that offices create, it is harder to evaluate the substance of a worker’s contribution to a company. Contemporary business culture has broadened its focus to include social metrics as well as product-or service-based efficiency metrics. This has de-emphasized the need for employee knowledge, and has instead emphasized their flexibility and compliance to the culture of the office.

The impact this has had on educational institutions and their culture has been palpable. Now, what one knows and can demonstrate is not nearly as important as attuning oneself to the social rhythms of offices. What matters is not the substance of your education, but the titles you have gained, especially in relation to other people. One wants to fit the bill and meet appearances more than have enduring knowledge of one’s field. Scoring a high GPA, going to an Ivy League school, or attaining graduate or postgraduate degrees are no longer reflections of one’s moral and intellectual formation, but rather one’s attainment of socially desirable goals.

This is often felt throughout one’s primary education, as students increasingly disengage intellectually from the material, even if they still score excellent grades. The mismatch here between appearance and reality is wrapped up in the mismatch and confusion amongst businesses. The mental work so often lauded in American culture as a necessary component of success is hard to quantify. Oftentimes, the social metrics we employ to measure workplace productivity and happiness have nothing to do with the real knowledge employees possess.

On the contrary, such delusions and at times broad confusion cannot occur in the trades. Whether one’s work is on par is not socially determined by one’s self-assessment nor a quarterly report by one’s managers. It is determined by the external world and the adequacy of one’s interaction and alteration of it. This applies to machinists, mechanics, and plumbers alike. One’s labor can be measured and verified in its functions.

Of course, this is not to say that all mental work, all office spaces, and all non-manual labor is just guesswork and fluff. As aforementioned, the dichotomy between mental and manual work is pernicious and unstable. Yet, one does have to acknowledge that the often intangible labor of office work can ring hollow compared to the tangible and readily realized merits of manual labor.