Finally, those critical of work often suggest that the distribution of the fruits of labor is unfair. Here the claim is that bosses and capitalists do little of the work and reap a disproportionate share of the benefits thanks to their asymmetric economic power. One version of this claim is the classic Marxist account of exploitation wherein capitalists use the means of production as leverage for extracting value from workers. However, one need not subscribe to the specifics of this theory to appreciate the general leftist distaste for economic relationships characterized by inequality imposed by some members of the group. G.A. Cohen, for example, writes of a hypothetical camping trip where one member attempts to impose such inequity: 

Harry loves fishing, and Harry is very good at fishing. Consequently, he brings back more fish than the others do. Harry says: “It’s unfair, how we’re running things. I should have only perch, not the mix of perch and catfish that we’ve all been having.” But his fellow campers say: “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harry, don’t be such a schmuck. You sweat and strain no more than the rest of us do. So, you’re very good at fishing. We don’t begrudge you that special endowment, which is, quite properly, a source of satisfaction to you, but why should we reward that pre-eminence?

Through this analogy, Cohen is suggesting that there is something objectionable about any social arrangement where people exploit their advantages to gain more social goods than their peers. Given the massive inequality associated with economic production under late capitalism, those who share this distaste for shmuckiness have much to be unhappy about. Low-skilled workers at the bottom of the workplace hierarchy are saddled with the most unpleasant work for the lowest wages, while the Harrys above them leverage their natural advantages into interesting work and hefty compensation.

The problem for critics of labor—and the left in general—is presenting a feasible alternative. Too often the attitude is one of nihilism, that the negative aspects of production so severe that even the mere destruction of the current system would be preferable to the status quo. Yet this “throw a wrench in the gears” approach is untenable. Ultimately, human beings both want and need the material goods produced by work, and any political program designed for their benefit must provide some effective method for addressing these wants and needs.

One proposal that has received a significant amount of attention is the automation of work. The idea is that, by developing ever-more powerful robots, we might one day replace the drudgery of human labor with the effortless production of machines. John Maynard Keynes was a vocal proponent of such a future—one that he, in fact, believed to be inevitable given the steady improvements in productivity afforded by new technologies. In a world where machines and robots supply us with goods and services, human labor would become unnecessary, freeing us to engage in the activities that fulfill us.

Unfortunately, there is reason to doubt that such a future is possible. First, despite massive gains in productivity over the past century, the amount of time people (and Americans in particular) spend working has not declined in proportion—with the amount of hours worked declining only slightly over the past three decades. Explanations for the persistence of work vary. One less-plausible theory is that the labor-savings of automation are forfeited by consumers who have been brainwashed into using their productivity to purchase more goods rather than enjoy more leisure. Another, championed by Robert Frank, posits that people feel compelled to work to fuel their consumption because judgments about what qualifies as a “high-quality” material good are contextual. The basic premise of this argument is that we only arrive at the conclusion that a thing is “good” by comparing it to what else is available. Thus, if you had a first-generation iPod in early 2002, you would likely be thrilled with the device, while today it would seem disappointingly limited. The problem with such contextual judgments is that they culminate in an arms race of consumption—one which, in turn, requires escalating production that outpaces gains in productivity. If one person works a little harder to produce an above-average good, she has raised the bar for what counts as “average,” effectively forcing everyone to work harder to afford an “average” version of that good. Thus, the more that people strive to live an “above-average” material existence, the harder it becomes to maintain that existence. 

Some thinkers have proposed that structural features of society preclude improvements in productivity from decreasing the burden of labor. For example, G.A. Cohen argues that capitalist competition necessitates that gains in productivity be translated not into leisure but increased output that can then be reinvested in the means of production. Those who opt to produce less, he argues, will fail to develop improved technology at the same rate as their competitors, and will eventually be run out of business as result.[1] And Jacobin’s Peter Frase has raised the worrying possibility that the increased output from improved productivity will simply flow to the politically and economically powerful.

Finally, the possibility of automation is threatened by the logistical problem of how exactly to mechanize many of the jobs that make up our economy. While certain repetitious factory work can be easily replicated by machines, it is difficult to envision robotic construction, maintenance, or food preparation. Humans are able to account for—and adapt to—subtle demands in a way that is extremely difficult to automate. Though we may one day have technology sophisticated enough to entirely replace the human element of labor, we cannot expect that it will come any time soon.

So if mechanically eliminating work is a distant and tenuous possibility, what else can be done? If work itself is inevitable, then the next best option is to target the harmful features of labor that make work objectionable in the first place. And the best way to do this is through the unconditional provision of mind-altering substances to workers.

Of all the complaints about labor, most rest on the premise that the practice is psychologically unpleasant. For example, the accusation that capitalists force individuals to work loses much of its force if the laborers enjoy the work. Though one might maintain that workers are still unfree—noting, for example, that workers still have no reasonable alternative to working—this state of affairs does not seem so objectionable if the worker likes what she is doing. Indeed, if the worker enjoys what she is doing to the point where she would perform the task even if her options were unconstrained, it is hard to see why requiring her to do that task is problematic. Admittedly, workers would still be subjected to bosses’ tyranny; however, removing the background of negative emotions associated with work would do much to ameliorate the cumulative feeling of oppression many experience in the workplace.

Similarly, if work could be made pleasant, the unfairness inherent to the present economic system would be significantly lessened. Note that capitalist economies tend to be unfair in two respects: some individuals take home a disproportionate share of the goods produced while others bear a disproportionate share of the burden of producing those goods. If work could be made fun and pleasurable, that would do much to rectify at least the second-half of this problem. In addition, though little would be done to remedy the uneven distribution of material goods, the political importance of the distribution of material goods would lessen in proportion to consumption’s diminishing share of life’s joys. To put the point somewhat differently: if one labors only for the sake of the goods produced, then the appropriation of those goods carries great weight. However, if one enjoys the process of labor such that it might be done for its own sake, the importance of its material byproducts becomes secondary.

So if work itself cannot be abolished, then the next best thing to do would be excising the unpleasantness from the work. One way of going about this excision is by modifying the work, perhaps through gamification or some other such measures. However, implementing such changes is impossible in many cases and could end up adding only stress to the already-unpleasant mix of affective states associated with labor. Instead, we should recognize that unpleasantness is not a property of the work itself, but of the interaction between the work and the psychological state of the laborer. The same task, which might be enjoyable on a typical day, becomes unbearable after a bad night’s sleep or the development of a low-grade fever. This fact, while not revelatory, is significant in its implications for those who object to the pains of labor: even if little can be done about the work itself, the lives of workers might still be improved through the selective modification of our mental states.

Indeed, many people already try to control their mental states to make their work more bearable. Trying to get enough sleep, eating before going to the office, and listening to enjoyable music at work—all these behaviors are attempts to put a positive psychological spin on one’s work experience. And, more relevantly, there is the widespread use of caffeine and nicotine throughout the workforce. However, such substances are relatively mild, are paid for by the worker herself, and put only a minor dent in work-related mental discomfort.

Today, we have a broad array of neuropharmacological substances at our disposal that might help to make work bearable. This is not to suggest that workers use street drugs whose primary effects are better-suited for recreation. Obviously, high doses of most recreational substances would interfere with the ability to carry out production and increase the unpleasantness of labor. However, there are countless varieties of neuroactive chemicals ranging from amphetamines to modafinil (and maybe even certain hallucinogens), which, at low, controlled doses, could potentially make currently-tedious jobs seem fun, interesting, and meaningful.

Determining which particular compounds would be best-suited for this task is a question that is better left to medical experts. What is important here is the normative point: work is a problem that can appropriately be solved by pharmacologically modifying the brain chemistry of those who labor. Until this premise is accepted, work will continue to seem both natural and inevitable—with little effort expended to redress its harms as a result.

Importantly, the chemical solution to the problem of work also resolves the objection that plagues any work-critical ideology: who will do the unpleasant jobs that need to be done to keep civilization functioning? Practically any claim that wage labor is involuntary and coercively sustained is met with this reply—that if necessary labor were made truly voluntary, no one would do it. However, if labor could be stripped of its negative hedonic effects, then production would be rendered compatible with efforts to both emancipate and promote the well-being of the producers. Necessary work could continue without unfairly imposing affective burdens on a particular subset of the population. At the same time, a neuropharmacological approach might also serve as a necessary prerequisite for any political reforms designed to make work truly voluntary. If labor were made enjoyable through chemical means, it would be able to attract participants without the threatened denial of basic necessities that powers the gears of contemporary capitalism.

That neuropharmacology might go hand-in-hand with political reform should soothe those who might view this proposal as an imposition on workers rather than a form of emancipation. To such critics, the suggestion that workers—who are already compelled to do the worst jobs—should now have their very mental states twisted to better suit the demands of capitalism will likely seem intolerable and unjust. However, if altered states of work-consciousness might make possible redistributive policies like a Basic Income Guarantee, this worry would dissolve: those who wanted to neither work nor do chemically-enhanced work could meaningfully opt out without facing intolerable economic consequences.

One final consideration: there are likely those to whom this proposal will sound a bit more like Brave New World than Utopia—who might object that it would turn workers into anesthetized drones, docile and dead behind the eyes. Such an objection is, above all else, a failure of the imagination. To imagine workers taking supplements that blunt the consciousness rather than intensify—that muffle experience rather than rendering it beautiful and rich with meaning—is, quite simply, to imagine the wrong sort of chemical supplements. There are scores of mind-altering substances, each with its own hyper-distinctive phenomenological effect. The assumption that work could only be improved by those substances that numb the mind rather than those that positively restructure how we perceive the world seems either naïve or uncharitable.

Further, this distaste for neuropharmacological solutions to social problems also tends to rest upon the unfounded assumption that there is something either unnatural or debasing about altering our states of consciousness. In reply, first note that the natural/altered dichotomy is a false one: no person refrains from deliberately regulating their brain chemistry, as even the acts of eating food or sleeping are methods of chemically modifying our brains so as to keep our consciousness in a desirable state. Second, education or even reading a novel physically restructures our brains—and, thus, how we perceive and understand the world—in a way calculated to enhance our ability to function under present political conditions. To accept these forms of self-enhancement as natural but reject the alternative methods proposed here would seem arbitrary. Third, there is already broad acceptance of the use of chemicals to enhance recreation; why must they be ruled out when it comes to enhancing work? Finally, there is little reason to fetishize the “given” brain state over those that can be attained through additional means. Indeed, that our brains happen to interpret work as unpleasant is an arbitrary quirk of the evolutionary process—one that should not be held as sacred and inviolable.

Admittedly, this proposal might strike many as fanciful or in some way unserious. However, such a perception is grounded in nothing beyond unexamined intuition—intuition that is heavily biased by status quo discussions had by those perceived as Very Serious People. Indeed, is a regime of chemical work-enhancement any more farfetched than the possibility that workers might one day seize the means of production? If anything, the former is probably more pragmatic and politically realistic, yet many on the left continue take the latter more seriously due to its pedigree.

If we are to take this as a serious proposal, however, it must be understood in terms of society’s obligation to those who labor. If it is true that some people must do unpleasant work to satisfy collective material needs, then principles of both utility and fairness suggest that those who shoulder the burden should be aided by those who are less-so-encumbered. Scientific research into labor-ameliorating substances should be funded with high priority and a legal regime should be implemented that would accommodate for regulated distribution and use. Unions and activists should push to establish social and legal norms whereby appropriate substances are distributed by employers—or directly by the government—to workers in much the same way that these provide health insurance. The proposal would thus represent a realization of workers’ cognitive freedom, granting them the option denied by both law and their socioeconomic position to experience labor as enjoyable and meaningful. Thus, through neuropharmacology, the problem of work may have found at least a partial solution.