Notes on Matthew
B. Crawford’s Shop Class as Soulcraft
a.
Every
few years, you will read a book that will both change your intellectual
perspective as well as drive you to action. Shop Class as Soulcraft by
Matthew B. Crawford[1]
is one such book for me. In it, Crawford honors the work of tradesmen while recounting
his own journey from academia to a motorcycle shop. All of this is done in
language suited for the knowledge-worker[2];
this leaving the reader wanting to abandon mundane knowledge-work for the
sweaty, greasy, and bloody work of a mechanic (or a machinist in my case). I’ll
try and recount several of the takeaways that I got from the book in hopes it
will entice the reader of this essay to pick it up.
b.
There
is both intellectual knowledge and a distinct physical knowledge engrained in
our body[3].
In the bones. This is muscle memory developed after great repetition. A
tool, when well used, becomes an extension of the body of the user. Think of
how you can feel parts of a car when driving. Those of us who work on vacuum
chambers will develop a sixth sense of how the chamber is running and
how it should be running. We know when a bolt is tight enough and when a
gasket should probably be replaced. This knowledge is well known by
practitioners but difficult to articulate into words. Appreciating this truth
helps banish undue pride by those of us engaged in knowledge-work who
feel superior to tradesmen who are quote on quote uneducated. If there
is in fact two ways of knowing, then to truly know something, there must be
physical engagement with the thing as well as intellectual engagement.
c.
The
actual operation of the world has become hidden to us[4].
Vehicles are too complicated to work on ourselves. Electronics are too small to
repair. Manuals are no longer written by the people who service the device[5].
A warranty is void if you open the access hatch. We are expected, as consumers,
to simply replace the product in whole as opposed to repairing the one we
already own. Software is kept behind closed doors with access given by a
regularly renewed license. In some sense, we no longer own many of our things.
What does it mean to own something that you have no clue how it works, how to
fix it, and your access to it requires a third party (often a corporation with only
an automated helpline)?
d.
Penetrating
through the artificial barrier between using what we own and how they actually
work is a matter of choice. We can choose to begin engaging with the things we
own in a technical capacity. It can start slowly and increase over time as we
grow in competence. We can change our own oil. We can program our own software.
This does require time though, but its reward is well worth it. It gives rise
to self-respect and self-reliance. Of course, we cannot do everything
ourselves. However, we can choose to engage with those that make our life
possible. Get to know your mechanic. Get to know your plumber. Ask one to teach
you something. Take a class on woodworking. Growing your appreciation for the
trades will deepen your appreciation and reverence for the tradesmen. There
isn’t an academic who wouldn’t tell a plumber how a handful of books could
change their life and give them a whole new perspective on their world. There
also isn’t an academic who wouldn’t benefit from maintaining the right angle
and speed of a welding arc as a few sparks land on top of his head.
e.
Finally,
Crawford’s book is really a meditation on the nobility of work. Work not
as toil but as craft. It gives rise to a feeling of reverence to those who build
our society and keep it running. It is a hopeful book as it sees the
possibility of brotherhood between architect and builder as opposed to conflict.