by paimei01 » Mon 11 May 2009, 09:54:45
If I "work" for myself with nobody telling me at what time to wake up, and I do not depend on nobody to buy my "work" else I am useless - that is not what I call "work". And with the option of stopping whenever I decide. Search for "The story of the mexican fisherman".
Not : work work work then : "sorry slave, the other slaves seem to have stopped buying, I have to fire you".
And there is no need for all this, see the 2 links from above.
$this->bbcode_second_pass_quote('', '[')b]Fredy Perlman: Against His-story, Against Leviathan! (1983)
The managers of Gulag’s islands tell us that the swimmers, crawlers, walkers and fliers spent
their lives working in order to eat.
These managers are broadcasting their news too soon. The varied beings haven’t all been
exterminated yet. You, reader, have only to mingle with them, or just watch them from a
distance, to see that their waking lives are filled with dances, games and feasts. Even the
hunt, the stalking and feigning and leaping, is not what we call Work, but what we call Fun.
The only beings who work are the inmates of Gulag’s islands, the zeks.
The zeks’ ancestors did less work than a corporation owner. They didn’t know what work was.
They lived in a condition J.J. Rousseau called “the state of nature.” Rousseau’s term should
be brought back into common use. It grates on the nerves of those who, in R. Vaneigem’s
words, carry cadavers in their mouths. It makes the armor visible. Say “the state of nature”
and you’ll see the cadavers peer out.
Insist that “freedom” and “the state of nature” are synonyms, and the cadavers will try to bite
you. The tame, the domesticated, try to monopolize the word freedom; they’d like to apply it to
their own condition. They apply the word “wild” to the free. But it is another public secret that
the tame, the domesticated, occasionally become wild but are never free so long as they
remain in their pens.
Even the common dictionary keeps this secret only half hidden. It begins by saying that free
means citizen! But then it says, “Free: a) not determined by anything beyond its own nature or
being; b) determined by the choice of the actor or by his wishes.”
Modern anthropologists who carry Gulag in their brains reduce such human communities to
the motions that look most like work, and give the name Gatherers to people who pick and
sometimes store their favorite foods. A bank clerk would call such communities Savings Banks!
The zeks on a coffee plantation in Guatemala are Gatherers, and the anthropologist is a
Savings Bank. Their free ancestors had more important things to do.
The !Kung people miraculously survived as a community of free human beings into our own
exterminating age. R.E. Leakey observed them in their lush African forest homeland. They
cultivated nothing except themselves. They made themselves what they wished to be. They
were not determined by anything beyond their own being - not by alarm clocks, not by debts,
not by orders from superiors. They feasted and celebrated and played, full-time, except when
they slept. They shared everything with their communities: food, experiences, visions, songs.
Great personal satisfaction, deep inner joy, came from the sharing.
(In today’s world, wolves still experience the joys that come from sharing. Maybe that’s why
governments pay bounties to the killers of wolves.)
S. Diamond observed other free human beings who survived into our age, also in Africa. He
could see that they did no work, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it in English. Instead,
he said they made no distinction between work and play. Does Diamond mean that the
activity of the free people can be seen as work one moment, as play another, depending on
how the anthropologist feels? Does he mean they didn’t know if their activity was work or play?
Does he mean we, you and I, Diamond’s armored contemporaries, cannot distinguish their
work from their play?
If the !Kung visited our offices and factories, they might think we’re playing. Why else would
we be there?
I think Diamond meant to say something more profound. A time-and-motion engineer
watching a bear near a berry patch would not know when to punch his clock. Does the bear
start working when he walks to the berry patch, when he picks the berry, when he opens his
jaws? If the engineer has half a brain he might say the bear makes no distinction between
work and play. If the engineer has an imagination he might say that the bear experiences joy
from the moment the berries turn deep red, and that none of the bear’s motions are work.
But none of them ever worked. And everyone knows it. The armored Christians who later
“discovered” these communities knew that these people did no work, and this knowledge
grated on Christian nerves, it rankled, it caused cadavers to peep out. The Christians spoke of
women who did “lurid dances” in their fields instead of confining themselves to chores; they
said hun-ters did a lot of devilish “hocus pocus” before actually drawing the bowstring.
These Christians, early time-and-motion engineers, couldn’t tell when play ended and work
began. Long familiar with the chores of zeks, the Christians were repelled by the lurid and
devilish heathen who pretended that the Curse of Labor had not fallen on them. The
Christians put a quick end to the “hocus pocus” and the dances, and saw to it that none could
fail to distinguish work from play.
Our ancestors I’ll borrow Turner’s term and call them the Possessed had more important
things to do than to struggle to survive. They loved nature and nature reciprocated their love.
Wherever they were they found affluence, as Marshall Sahlins shows in his Stone Age
Economics. Pierre Clastres’ La société contre l’état insists that the struggle for subsistence is
not verifiable among any of the Possessed; it is verifiable among the Dispossessed in the pits
and on the margins of progressive industrialization. Leslie White, after a sweeping review of
reports from distant places and ages, a view of “Primitive culture as a whole,” concludes that
“there’s enough to eat for a richness of life rare among the ‘civilized.’” I wouldn’t use the word
Primitive to refer to people with a richness of life. I would use the word Primitive to refer to
myself and my contemporaries, with our progressive poverty of life.
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Theodor Adorno: Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life
(1947)Toy shop. Hebbel, in a surprising entry in his diary, asks what takes away ‘life’s magic in later
years.’ It is because in all the brightly-coloured contorted marionettes, we see the revolving
cylinder that sets them in motion, and because for this very reason the captivating variety of
life is reduced to wooden monotony. A child seeing the tightrope-walkers singing, the pipers
playing, the girls fetching water, the coachmen driving, thinks all this is happening for the joy of
doing so; he can’t imagine that these people also have to eat and drink, go to bed and get up
again. We however, know what is at stake.’ Namely, earning a living, which commandeers all
those activities as mere means, reduces them to interchangeable, abstract labour-time. The
quality of things ceases to be their essence and becomes the accidental appearance of their
value. The ‘equivalent form’ mars all perceptions; what is no longer irradiated by the light of its
own self-determination as ‘joy in doing,’ pales to the eye. Our organs grasp nothing sensuous
in isolation, but notice whether a colour, a sound, a movement is there for its own sake or for
something else; wearied by a false variety, they steep all in grey, disappointed by the
deceptive claim of qualities still to be there at all, while they conform to the purposes of
appropriation, indeed largely owe their existence to it alone. Disenchantment with the
contemplated world is the sensorium’s reaction to its objective role as a ‘commodity world.’
Only when purified of appropriation would things be colourful and useful at once: under
universal compulsion the two cannot be reconciled.