“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” —Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love
Welcome to the Renaissance Humans Newsletter, where I focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. The Renaissance (“rebirth,” in French) spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and marked a period of cultural, artistic, and intellectual renewal in Europe. A Renaissance Human fosters curiosity, creativity, critical thinking, and character in a journey of never-ending learning. They cultivate Mind, Body, and Spirit, in service of Community, and oriented to the Transcendentals.
I recently spent a week with a relative, doing carpentry type work. When they purchased their property, it was a “fixer-upper.” Through years of labor, the place has steadily improved, acquiring an artistic, wabi-sabi flavor of repurposed construction materials, acquired through ads on Craigslist, Estate Sales, and material given away for free.
Over margaritas one night after a hard day’s labor, I bemoaned the loss of Beauty in the world. Beauty, in the form of architecture, daily clothing wear1, and generally in the consumer objects of our lives. So of course, the next day I could not refuse my relative’s request to add some artistic flourishes to the rafters of a building. It was a challenge to my abilities, but turned out decent. Some of the cuts weren’t the exact angle, but my hope is they’re overlooked when you take in the pattern as a whole. The cuts don’t do anything to the building in an instrumental, structural sense, but they improve the aesthetics. They add a touch of Beauty.
Beauty is a topic we could spend a long time talking about, but let us define it loosely for our purposes here as something that transcends mere subjective preference. It suggests a harmony, proportion, or balance that is universally appealing. It is a melding of our bounded material reality with something divine, a manifestation of the numinous.
Creating in this way is just as artistic as anything else that humans do. Maybe it is best characterized as Craft— the sweet spot between Science and Art. Over the week, I got to finish little carpentry projects here and there— solving specific problems in the physical world. It felt good. It was satisfying to finish each day with a catalog of accomplished tasks, and to set before us a new list for the following day.
And this sense of accomplishment — of doing something concrete in the world, is what Matthew Crawford discusses in Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry into the Value of Work. He examines the concept of craftsmanship in the physical world. Crawford contrasts the tangible, satisfying nature of skilled manual labor with the abstract, often unfulfilling nature of modern white-collar work.
I’ve always been a mediocre carpenter— I can build things, but it’s fairly rough, messy, with a bit of a sloppy edge to it. I’m more a quarter-inch guy, rather than a sixteenth, if you catch my drift. I made some built-in bookshelves in my youngest daughter’s bedroom, and the imperfections are evident to a trained eye. But I’m learning. I take no joy in being mediocre, but in the act of carpentry. Making something new in the world, or taking something broken and mending it.
In the book, Crawford explores the value of manual work and its relationship to human fulfillment.2 He highlights how intellectually and cognitively demanding such labor is, and the deep satisfaction that comes with it. Crawford suggests that the white-collar, bureaucratic nature of corporate jobs alienates workers from the outcomes of their efforts. This can impact human fulfillment and worsen the Meaning Crisis. He advocates reviving shop classes and vocational training in schools. College is not the answer for all humans. These shop and vocational courses teach valuable life skills and problem-solving. They also develop different, embodied aspects of intelligence not measured by traditional academic testing.
This points towards what cognitive scientist John Vervaeke calls Propositional Tyranny- the memorization of facts emphasized over other forms of knowing, such as procedural (how to change your car engine oil), perspectival (what it’s like to be a parent) and participatory (how to play basketball or dance).
In Shop Class as Soulcraft, Crawford calls for a reassessment of how society values different types of work. It champions the dignity, satisfaction, and intellectual engagement found in skilled manual labor, advocating for a more balanced and inclusive view of human capabilities and fulfillment.
Crawford is a philosophical successor to Robert Pirsig— he wrote the foreword to the 50th anniversary edition of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance that came out this summer. In Zen, Pirsig divides human understanding into two types: classical and romantic. There’s an amazing illustration of what he’s talking about with a couple— the Sutherlands, accompanying Pirsig and his son on a cross-country road trip. The narrator uses the Sutherlands as a stand-in for the romantic perspective, while Pirsig himself exemplifies the classic:
Waiting for them [the Sutherlands] to get going one morning in their kitchen I noticed the sink faucet was dripping and remembered that it was dripping the last time I was there before and that in fact it had been dripping as long as I could remember. I commented on it and John said he had tried to fix it with a new faucet washer but it hadn’t worked. That was all he said. The presumption left was that that was the end of the matter. If you try to fix a faucet and your fixing doesn’t work then it’s just your lot to live with a dripping faucet.
The Sutherlands love the idea of riding a motorcycle, while Pirsig has more mundane concerns, such as uncovering the nuances of engine noises while shifting the transmission.
Quality is an elusive term Pirsig spends a great deal of time interrogating. One of his university professor coworkers wags a finger at him and admonishes, “you better be teaching those kids quality.” He has a nervous breakdown pursuing this concept, but ultimately concludes3 a harmonious balance between the classic and romantic perspectives leads to a fuller understanding and appreciation of life. There’s a decades-old internet following of this concept at Metaphysics of Quality (MOQ).
There is an overlooked pleasure in fixing and building things oneself. Self-reliance is a Renaissance Humans trait. It is essential that humans recapture this quality- that we rekindle an optimal grip-style interaction with reality at the individual level.4 The act of building and fixing, even if it’s wabi-sabi— especially if it’s wabi sabi, can unite Pirsig’s classic and romantic perspectives. As a mediocre carpenter, I enjoy creating something new in the world, solving engineering challenges grounded in physical constants while reaching for Beauty.
P.S. In honor of July 4th, the late, great, Robin Williams. Long may you wave, long may you wave.
Currere Certamen Tuum
And I am one of the worst offenders in the fashion department, typically assuming an appearance of a railyard vagrant when leaving my abode.
Spoilers- I guess we would say that Phaedrus concludes it, not Pirsig, but you should read the book to understand how and why!
The claim that Self-Reliance is essential is just like, my opinion, man. I am making an assertion I’m not backing up here. Fodder for later essays.
As a long time amateur carpenter (and plumber, electrician, landscaper, etc...) this resonates. Was recently spending a bit of time with Pirsig's work myself. His wife published a series of essays/excerpts on quality a few years ago and it's interesting.
Really enjoyed reading your sojourn into carpentry. Keep it up! With the proper tutelage, your will graduate to skilled carpenter then master!!!