In 2013, a London School of Economics anthropologist David Graeber wrote an essay titled “On the Phenomenon of Bullshit Jobs”. The essay was an overnight sensation, raking in millions of hits, was translated into many languages and quotes from the article were graffitied across the London subway. The piece had at its heart an amusing observation: More and more people seem to be engaged in bullshit jobs.
Given the viral success of the essay, Graeber followed it up with a book in 2018 that explored the theme in greater depth. In 2020, ever since the Covid-19-induced lockdown shone a spotlight on the nature of work and what constitutes "essential services", the book finds itself at the centre of a wave of renewed interest.
A bullshit job, as Graeber defines it, is “so completely pointless that even the person who has to perform it every day cannot convince himself there’s a good reason for him to be doing it”. This is different from working in a toxic environment or disinterest in your work —it’s a job that contributes absolutely nothing of value to the world. If the job were not performed, the world would remain pretty much the same or may even become a better place to live in.
Arguing that someone’s profession or sometimes an entire sector is “bullshit” could easily be considered condescending or outrageous. Graeber, however, writes with a sense of childlike bewilderment as he unravels the theory and then draws out his analysis.
The bewilderment is justified. The huge success of the essay showcased that he had struck a chord with readers around the world. This was followed by a YouGov poll that showed 37 per cent of UK citizens think they’re employed in a bullshit job. This, Graeber argues, is exactly the kind of phenomenon that wasn’t supposed to happen under a free market economy. Planned economies like the Soviet Union — where full employment was a state policy — were notoriously bureaucratic. It took three clerks just to sell you meat at a store. The free market, geared towards efficiency, was supposed to eliminate these kind of jobs. It, however, has amplified them.
By way of example Graeber points to the explosion of managerial, clerical and administrative jobs. Many of these posts have elaborate titles that make very little sense (such as a “Creative Executive Vice President” working for a film studio). Employed under these posts with extensive descriptions, the employees soon figure out that they spend most their working hours doing, well, nothing much. From academic research associates, all kinds of assistants, medical administrators, IT engineers hired for software patchwork, researchers who write made-up reports, animators for ad agencies, PR agents, sales executives to insurance agents the book is full of testimonies from employees who think their jobs shouldn’t exist.
It isn’t just the creation of these jobs that Graeber laments, he also points at the increasing bullshitization of real work: “Where once universities, corporations, movie studios, and the like had been governed by a combination of relatively simple chains of command and informal patronage networks, we now have a world of funding proposals, strategic vision documents, and development team pitches — allowing for the endless elaborations of new and ever more pointless levels of managerial hierarchy, staffed by men and women with elaborate titles, fluent in corporate jargon, but who either have no firsthand experience of what it’s like to actually do the work they are supposed to be managing, or who have done everything in their power to forget it.”
Bullshit Jobs: A Theory; Author: David Graeber; Publisher: Simon & Schuster; Price: Rs 435 (Kindle); Pages: 368 (Hardcover)
A more radical observation that he touches upon is that real “essential” work seems to be losing value; both- in terms of pay and in social status. As he puts it: “The more your work helps and benefits others, and the more social value you create, the less you are likely to be paid for it.”
Graeber tackles an interesting question: “Shouldn’t we be really happy to be paid to do nothing?” As testimonies from the book show, the effect is exactly the opposite. Being aware that your job is pointless leads to a loss of sense of purpose that brews emptiness, loss of self-esteem and even depression. In an enlightening section, he draws on the work of psychoanalysts to arrive at an apt conclusion: “Bullshit jobs regularly induce feelings of hopelessness, depression, and self-loathing. They are forms of spiritual violence directed at the essence of what it means to be a human being.”
Graeber sees this phenomenon not just as a structural flaw in capitalism but a return to feudalism where a managerial class appropriates the fruits of labour of the working class. The historical arguments that he makes are the most dazzling sections of the book (he is an anthropologist, after all). He points out that many societies in the past did not spend most of their lives working.
As far as why we allow these jobs to proliferate or even be created in the first place, however, his analysis enters the domain of conspiracy theories. It’s the fear of the ruling class that a population with a lot of free time would ultimately lead to organised revolt, he says. That’s why it seems like “someone is out there, making up all these jobs,” he suggests.
Another issue with the concept is a very obvious one: how do you measure “value”? Although he does make an attempt to answer this question, the argument is unconvincing.
As far as a solution goes, Graeber suggests Universal Basic Income. He smartly underplays the policy recommendation noting the risk he’d run of making the book seem like a 400-page argument for UBI. Instead, the reader is left with interesting questions: How meaningful is our work? Can we rearrange society to achieve the Keynesian dream of a 15-hour working week?
This line of questioning would finally lead to an even more interesting one: Why do we work at all?