Monday, April 16, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The unfuture of work
These days, Slavoj Zizek is required reading if you have any pretensions of being on the left, and this article is a cogent piece on why "middle-class" jobs are becoming less and less so. But as someone less comfortable with reality than the imagination, today's economy reminds me of one of the big predictions from science fiction's "golden era" that has not - and likely will not - come to pass.
No, not personal jetpacks; the one-day work-week.
See, the idea was that automation, robots, etc. would improve productivity, a prediction that has come to pass. Therefore, we'd all need to work fewer hours, without any reduction in the standard of living. We would enter a golden era of human flourishing. (Strangely, in these futures, people used their spare time to master playing the lute or become tenth-degree black belts rather than using it to watch television.) But that last oddity aside - we've seen the productivity, but no real reduction in work time. If a job used to take two people working a 40-hour week, and now it's twice as productive, they lay off one of the employees; they don't have two part-time employees paid for full-time work. What happened?
First, the idea of uniformly marching productivity has always been nonsense. Some jobs are easier to automate than others, such as manufacturing. Others aren't easy to automate but theoretically we could spread their hours out among the workers who used to be in now-automated fields. For example, I could easily imagine a waiter working one day a week. But other jobs can't be made more productive or reduced. Probably my favorite academic paper of all times discusses why service-intensive work becomes relatively more expensive when other sectors become more productive. Baumol and Bowen used the example of string quartets; it takes the same amount of labor to produce a concert today as 100 years ago. And you simply can't be a concert-quality violinist on eight hours of playing a week. Still, the total number of labor hours could still go down, even if not evenly.
More importantly, that's not how capitalism works. Owners of capital, in the aggregate, are trying to maximize their profits. They pay enough to get skilled workers to work for them, and that's it. Why would they pay someone for a full week when they work only one day? As long as there is a surplus of labor, wages are driven down (see Grapes of Wrath, The). Under productivity increases, jobs are conglomerated or become piece-rate freelance gigs. This isn't meant as a slur on capitalism; it's basic economics. Occasionally a Henry Ford tries paying employees more, but much more often wages are artificially increased only by government via mechanisms such as minimum wages. So, could we posit government mandates at work in these sci-fi futures?
Don't be silly! Remember, we're talking golden era sci-fi writers! These guys were bullish on American capitalism in the middle of the Cold War. They were libertarians before libertarians were cool. (Well, lukewarm, anyway.) According to them, the new work order would come about strictly via the invisible hand.
In retrospect, it all seems a little naive.
No, not personal jetpacks; the one-day work-week.
See, the idea was that automation, robots, etc. would improve productivity, a prediction that has come to pass. Therefore, we'd all need to work fewer hours, without any reduction in the standard of living. We would enter a golden era of human flourishing. (Strangely, in these futures, people used their spare time to master playing the lute or become tenth-degree black belts rather than using it to watch television.) But that last oddity aside - we've seen the productivity, but no real reduction in work time. If a job used to take two people working a 40-hour week, and now it's twice as productive, they lay off one of the employees; they don't have two part-time employees paid for full-time work. What happened?
First, the idea of uniformly marching productivity has always been nonsense. Some jobs are easier to automate than others, such as manufacturing. Others aren't easy to automate but theoretically we could spread their hours out among the workers who used to be in now-automated fields. For example, I could easily imagine a waiter working one day a week. But other jobs can't be made more productive or reduced. Probably my favorite academic paper of all times discusses why service-intensive work becomes relatively more expensive when other sectors become more productive. Baumol and Bowen used the example of string quartets; it takes the same amount of labor to produce a concert today as 100 years ago. And you simply can't be a concert-quality violinist on eight hours of playing a week. Still, the total number of labor hours could still go down, even if not evenly.
More importantly, that's not how capitalism works. Owners of capital, in the aggregate, are trying to maximize their profits. They pay enough to get skilled workers to work for them, and that's it. Why would they pay someone for a full week when they work only one day? As long as there is a surplus of labor, wages are driven down (see Grapes of Wrath, The). Under productivity increases, jobs are conglomerated or become piece-rate freelance gigs. This isn't meant as a slur on capitalism; it's basic economics. Occasionally a Henry Ford tries paying employees more, but much more often wages are artificially increased only by government via mechanisms such as minimum wages. So, could we posit government mandates at work in these sci-fi futures?
Don't be silly! Remember, we're talking golden era sci-fi writers! These guys were bullish on American capitalism in the middle of the Cold War. They were libertarians before libertarians were cool. (Well, lukewarm, anyway.) According to them, the new work order would come about strictly via the invisible hand.
In retrospect, it all seems a little naive.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
UWS to NJ via GW
Since I realized I could walk over to New Jersey, I was determined to make it so. I took advantage of the college being closed Friday to do just that.
I started off from my apartment, heading north through Riverside Park. The park has paths at different heights, including one right by the water, but you have to cross over the Henry Hudson Parkway to get to it - not advisable unless you are a pro at Frogger. In any case, the park varies in width; the easiest thing to do is stay up on the highest level, even though it's not always scenic. You can see New Jersey the entire way up. At one point, the GW Bridge looks misleadingly close. In fact, at 165th St., you have to veer away from it and turn up Fort Washington. Then, at 178th St., turn west again. (I tell you this in case you want to make the trek yourself; the directions are not intuitive.)
The bridge has bike/pedestrian paths on both the north and south sides, although the north one is closed. There is no toll, incidentally, for those of us without motors.
From the bridge, unsurprisingly, there are some great views of Manhattan and the Hudson, such as the photo above. There are also a lot of signs warning about suicide. I have to say, I don't understand. Oh, sure, I understand that the rails on the bridge aren't high enough to prevent it, and a fling over the edge would be deadly. I also understand that people get very unhappy and wish to end it all. I just don't get choosing that method over the others available. While I'm not scared of heights, I don't like jumping from them. Cliff jumping, or the high board at the pool, scare the bejeebers out of me. If I'm already miserable, why would I want the last few minutes of my life to be filled with more terror?
But anyway, if you can rein in your self-destructive impulses, you eventually make it to New Jersey. If you turn left off the bridge, you end up at Fort Lee Park, at the top of the cliffs. (I haven't figured yet how one gets to the Shore Trail at their base.) There, one can have a nice sandwich, stare back at Manhattan, and wander around looking at (mostly replica) Revolutionary War fortifications and ordinance.
I started off from my apartment, heading north through Riverside Park. The park has paths at different heights, including one right by the water, but you have to cross over the Henry Hudson Parkway to get to it - not advisable unless you are a pro at Frogger. In any case, the park varies in width; the easiest thing to do is stay up on the highest level, even though it's not always scenic. You can see New Jersey the entire way up. At one point, the GW Bridge looks misleadingly close. In fact, at 165th St., you have to veer away from it and turn up Fort Washington. Then, at 178th St., turn west again. (I tell you this in case you want to make the trek yourself; the directions are not intuitive.)
The bridge has bike/pedestrian paths on both the north and south sides, although the north one is closed. There is no toll, incidentally, for those of us without motors.
From the bridge, unsurprisingly, there are some great views of Manhattan and the Hudson, such as the photo above. There are also a lot of signs warning about suicide. I have to say, I don't understand. Oh, sure, I understand that the rails on the bridge aren't high enough to prevent it, and a fling over the edge would be deadly. I also understand that people get very unhappy and wish to end it all. I just don't get choosing that method over the others available. While I'm not scared of heights, I don't like jumping from them. Cliff jumping, or the high board at the pool, scare the bejeebers out of me. If I'm already miserable, why would I want the last few minutes of my life to be filled with more terror?
But anyway, if you can rein in your self-destructive impulses, you eventually make it to New Jersey. If you turn left off the bridge, you end up at Fort Lee Park, at the top of the cliffs. (I haven't figured yet how one gets to the Shore Trail at their base.) There, one can have a nice sandwich, stare back at Manhattan, and wander around looking at (mostly replica) Revolutionary War fortifications and ordinance.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
From lower Manhattan, the Hudson River looks sort of like this. Oh, sure, the birds are kind of cute, but the river is nothing special. It's easy to forget that you don't have to go very far before you start seeing this instead. Look how pretty New Jersey can be!
Until now, I had ignored the fact that the Hudson River here is the same one that launched the Hudson River school. It's not just something that keeps New Jersey away from Manhattanites; it's the only fjord in North America. And I can walk to it from my apartment. (Yes. Under 6 miles.)
I think I may now be obsessed with the Hudson River. I am very sad that you can't take a commercial boat all the way from here to Albany. (It's legal enough, but no one has regular commercial service in place. You can sail your own, or charter one.)
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