Hyper-specialization of the workforce has rendered renaissance men exceedingly rare. The possibility that different types of work can prepare us for later work has been explored—but what about concurrent, complimentary works? People putting their nose to the ground and grinding away on a particular project and finding great success isn’t at all uncommon—but is there some benefit to working on multiple, vastly different pursuits at once?
Consider intellectual pursuits, wherein there exists the danger of becoming divorced from the day-to-day, from life on the ground. The ivory tower’s lofty offices are far from the dirt and rocks on which the tower stands and the view from up there is very different; might the intellectuals in its offices benefit from also working on the ground, digging into the dirt?
It’s not their job in the sense that it’s not what they’re (at least primarily) paid to do—but might digging dirt make them better at their job? Presumably, intellectuals are paid for their intellectual pursuits because their pursuits are supposed to offer something to the rest of society. Inasmuch as ivory tower intellectuals are divorced from the day-to-day—the stomping grounds of most of society—it is not far-fetched to suppose that their works will be correspondingly less relevant to those on the ground. Indeed, the view from the tower is much different than the view from the ground; what appears relevant from one vantage point may not look like much—or even be visible at all—from another vantage point.
If they themselves do not have their feet planted firmly on the ground, how much do intellectuals really have in common with most of society? How could they expect to produce work of relevance and resonance to anyone outside of the other offices on their floor of the tower? Without boots on the ground, their capacity to relate to those whom they in part owe their intellectual contributions will be strained and diminished. Presumably the intellectuals did not themselves construct their towers and offices and, moreover, society’s practice of specialized labor is only sustainable and harmonious when various specialized labors make contributions that are valued enough by other members of society to not draw popular indignation or indifference; specialized labors have to have value to people outside of the specialized field itself, and that value to others has to be appreciable. Among the things most conducive to ensuring (as best as one can) the relevance of intellectual pursuits to everyday life is for the intellectuals themselves to spend time living and working outside of their tower, on solid ground.
What does it mean to live and work on the ground? How might this supposed benefit to their various scholarly, legal, political, or otherwise intellectual pursuits be cashed out?
Living in the day-to-day is more than just paying bills and taxes and following along with this or that form of popular entertainment. Day-to-day work is the groundwork that societies are built on. The groundwork of societies includes: farming and other food-related work; carpentry, masonry, heating, plumbing, electrical work, and everything else that goes into building construction, maintenance, and repair; a variety of different types of trade-work and crafts; vehicle repair and maintenance; and other similarly necessary work for societies to be built and maintained, the vast majority of it being hands-on in nature.
How can these sorts of pursuits be of benefit to those who work primarily in offices, courtrooms, and diplomatic chambers? An economist who is also an avid woodworker will know that different types of woodworkers with different focuses each need to be able to acquire specific types of wood suited to their particular projects—not just any type of lumber will do. That same economist will also understand that while outsourcing the manufacturing of tools to cheaper labor markets may seem like a good idea in terms of production costs and quantities of tools produced, the consequences of flooding a market with cheap, mass-produced tools of poor quality will have a number of negative second and third-order effects on production, goods, and economies as a whole than someone who never works with tools could possibly imagine. A politician who also runs a farm will have a much better grasp of the needs of one of society’s most important industries as well as the potential impacts of various legislative proposals on agricultural practices, traditions, productivity, and sustainability. This politician, together with the aforementioned economist, will be able to see and discern much more clearly between viable policies and public investments that make good use of in an area’s natural resources and policies and public investments that disregard or even diminish the local resources. Their work on the ground thus informs their political and economic work, imbuing it with a first-hand grasp of what is important, what is possible, and what is likely to be prosperous or devastating for an area or an industry.
It may be suggested that having lived in the day-to-day in the past might be good enough; the farmer who becomes a scholar will have some understanding of what sort of intellectual contributions will be fruitful for farmers and philosophers alike. But resting on the laurels of past labor in hope that it will sustain indefinitely the relevance of one’s intellectual endeavors is shaky ground: how easily time and distance can distort one’s memories and impressions, putting one at risk of diminishing in retrospect the reality of work and toil, allowing one to remember fondly what was previously endured with much grinning and bearing. What is more, the well may run dry: while memories may offer us a great deal, continued engagement is perpetually fruitful in that it keeps open the possibility for new insight and is, of course, the best way to avoid forgetting (or seeing through rose-colored classes) what has already been learned firsthand.
But are there yet other reasons to engage with different types of work together, in a back-and-forth manner? Beyond the importance of keeping an intellectual grounded and in-touch with the day-to-day, digging dirt, shoveling shit, and fixing fences can redirect one’s mind away from intellectual work and so serve as a reprieve in that regard, a pause that allows previous thoughts to simmer and settle and new thoughts time to make their way in. What is more: when we exhaust ourselves both physically and mentally, we go to bed most tired and happy. Thinking and writing, digging and building are tiring and satisfying in very different ways, and to exhaust and enjoy ourselves in these different ways together will make us most tired and happy when the end of the day draws near. The more tired and happy we are when we lay our heads down, the more we are refreshed and made ready for the next day’s work.
This all works both ways, of course: not only will the work of those in the tower be less relevant if they never dig into the dirt, but those with their feet firmly planted on the ground run the risk of banality if they never concern themselves with the arts, humanities, and other intellectual endeavors—that is, if they never let their minds wander about up in the clouds. Without making it a point to exercise the mind and give thought to things, without questioning, creating, and working to expand the horizons of our understanding of the world around us as well as our imaginations, we would be reducing ourselves to little more than less efficient automatons whose inability to match the sustained productivity of actual machines stems, in part, from the natural tendency of the mind to want to wonder and wander about.
The body and the mind both get stir-crazy if not exercised—it is best to give both their due, and beneficial in more ways than are immediately obvious.