In the book, “The Battle-Fields of 1866,” there is an essay by Edward Dicey about Heligoland, a small German archipelago in the North Sea near Denmark. In the essay, Dicey records the oldest known version of a now-famous adage:
What the inhabitants do during the winter is a subject too awful for contemplation. Somebody once suggested that the dwellers in the Isle of Man earned a precarious livelihood by taking in each other’s washing. A similar occupation is the only one I can suggest for the Heligolanders. Robinson Crusoe upon his rock can hardly have been more cut off from the outer world.
Found via From https://quoteinvestigator.com/2018/11/05/washing/ – Emphasis mine[1]
That is to say, no one is employed, so they are all taking up odd jobs from each other… a sort of ouroboros of capitalism. I don’t remember where I first heard of “taking in washing,” but the image comes immediately to mind when thinking about the gig economy, and more specifically the current state of publishing.
I go to a lot of conventions and book events, and there I see authors at tables selling their books to other authors, who buy the books in hopes that the person behind the table will reciprocate.
In my darker moments, I wonder if there aren’t more self-published authors than there are People Who Read Books. It can feel like a losing game, especially on the dealer room floor, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books not your own, or stacks of your own unsold books, watching people pass with the same quickened pace and averted eyes usually bestowed on panhandlers.
It feels even more bleak in the arts and crafts scene. I love local fairs, but I can’t help but feel a certain desperation wafting off the booths of 3d printed dice towers and crochet animals. It’s like everyone’s hobby is a business now, but how many nicknacks does anyone need? I pass the tables and feel guilty, just like passing beggars in the street. And like then, I end up coughing up a few dollars for my conscience, rather than for the other person’s real benefit.
What does it mean? What is the end-point? Does taking in washing actually work? If you and I pass a coin back and forth between us, are we an economy?
Well, no. But let me ask:
Do we really want to be an economy?
Here’s something that Edward Dicey didn’t understand about the inhabitants of Heligoland: they survived without taking in washing, and likely never considered the absurd idea. I imagine they farmed and canned and made stores and provided for their existence over winter without coins to spend.
Short of imagining a world without capitalism, many modern people can’t imagine a world without profit, without extra comforts. We recoil from the idea of mere survival.
The bottom line of life isn’t money; it’s life.
The authors and crafters at the fairs, if you talk to them, mostly confess they are only hoping to make enough money to cover the fee for their table. They are looking to sustainably remain, not profit. They want to do their craft. They want to write their books. They want to make enough money to subsidize their artistic activity so that they may continue it.
When you look over a room full of crafters and authors at tables, you are seeing a room full of people who have succeeded. They succeeded at being there, at having something to show off. They have the quiet joy of having made something. They know the peace of flow-state, the satisfaction of completing something. They are living and pursuing happiness.
If what it takes to keep that joy spinning is taking in each other’s washing, that’s not a tragedy.
