“within a hundred years …we shall do more things with ourselves than is usual with the rich today … we  shall endeavour to make what work there is still to be done as widely shared as possible.  Three-hour shifts or a fifteen-hour week is quite enough to satisfy the old Adam in most of us!” John Maynard Keynes, Economic Possibilities for our Grandchildren, 1930

“the ruling class has figured out that a happy and productive population with free time on their hands is a mortal danger” David Graeber, Why Capitalism Creates Pointless Jobs, 2016

[The scene is Britain. It’s 2118, one hundred years from now.] 

It is noon in late spring, and Keith has just finished his paid work for the day.  The afternoon and evening are looking pretty busy: two hours of volunteering at a local charity after lunch; a spell in the garden; an early dinner with his partner Ian; a game of 5-a-side football on the school pitch; and finally, if they still have some energy left, a bit of practice for that forthcoming summer musical he and Ian got roped into …

Right prediction, wrong century

Around 2100, a century later than he forecast in 1930, Keynes’ prediction of a 15-hour average working week in the United Kingdom became reality.  The way this came about was pretty indirect, and certainly not what he or anyone else envisaged.

In the early 21st century, the US had sparked a trade war by making a unilateral decision to impose tariffs on steel imports.  It sparked an international outcry, with the European Union branding the move “illegal”, quite apart from being an affront to the right of its citizens to enjoy “free trade” (whatever that was).  Throughout the developed world, there was a diehard attachment to a way of life that depended heavily on international trade; and strong emotions were aroused in those who perceived a threat to its continuation.

It was poignant that this diehard attachment was to a way of life that was killing the planet.  Without acknowledging the inherent irony, one of the strongest critics of the American move had only recently been bold in telling the US President that international action to protect the environment was essential because “there is no Planet B”.  Not that international trade necessarily was unsustainable of itself, but it facilitated a materialistic lifestyle that certainly was.

The US President hardly cared about the environment; his motives were mean and populist.  The trade war he precipitated might have been misguided and its consequences unforeseen; yet one of those consequences, as benign as it was unintended, saw a reduction in the ecological damage inflicted by the manufacture and transportation of consumer goods.

Less trade meant less consumption overall.  While some goods were produced less efficiently as a result – as the world, increasingly nationalistic and uncooperative, was infringing the economic principle of comparative advantage by doing things badly at home that could be done better overseas – even so, carbon emissions in aggregate declined.

Some years later on, cause and effect switched places.  Reluctantly spurred on to take meaningful action by a succession of hot summers and droughts, several governments abandoned their obsession with Gross Domestic Product, and focussed instead on environmental sustainability.  Measures were introduced to discourage goods the consumption of which was ever more obviously harming the biosphere.  A large part of the general public – especially young people – got the message, and material consumption (and GDP) declined.   This, in turn, meant less trade, free or otherwise.

Reduced economic activity led to less money in circulation and less capacity in the economy to support paid employment.  So the working week – on average – started to fall, prompting a growing trend throughout society to ask: “what is prosperity?” and “why work?”.  People in general, not just the ruling class (held in deep suspicion by LSE anthropologists), were forced to consider whether society might perhaps be able to function on the basis of a much shorter working week after all.

The psychology of work

In schools and universities, in the media, and in political circles, an observer could witness a growing emphasis on the question: why work?  After all, the essentials of growing food, building houses and tending the sick did not need a large proportion of the adult population’s combined time and energy.  Between the Industrial Revolution and the 21st century, this basic question had received short shrift.  During this time, as people rushed to enrich themselves, there was a largely unspoken set of lazy assumptions around work motives, including:

• people need to work for their self-esteem
• money might not bring happiness but it is a necessary precursor to it
• people get into trouble if they have time on their hands

With more time forced on some people by a succession of environmental disasters, the debate attracted more attention and more rigour.  It became common to address the root psychological causes, such as fear of death and personal dissatisfaction, and the restlessness they invoked.  Acknowledging these feelings directly through discussion and education helped to alleviate (though by no means eradicate) the anxiety they were causing.

Keynes turned out to be prescient in that a work week of 15 hours was enough for most people, as long as they were encouraged to participate in other activities to occupy their remaining waking hours.  Restlessness, it was appreciated, was a function of too many calories and not enough activity.  Then, as before and since, people needed to be occupied physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally; they needed to be given opportunities for collective endeavour, whether paid or unpaid.  But they did not need to spend most of their conscious time in front of a computer screen in a city office, nor did they need to travel several hours a day for the privilege.

Less trade, lower GDP; less wealth; less time in paid employment.  All prompted, as it transpired, by the changing climate.  Consuming less was one of the main ways to address the carbon problem, which indeed could not otherwise be addressed adequately.  Being poorer could not be avoided.  And what did being poorer mean? It meant richer family and community life, more time for gardening and conservation, hobbies and volunteering, amateur sport participation, music and maths, woodwork and poetry.  It meant being more active and less acquisitive; and happier as a result.