One of the richest moments of sabbatical serendipity happened on the fourth day of our walk in the Cotswolds. We stayed that night in the town of Broadway. Worn out as we were, I ended up reading the book on the nightstand well into the night, fascinated by the story of a furniture designer named Gordon Russell. I told a bit of his story in my post-sabbatical forum. Russell had great respect for the Arts and Crafts movement of the 19th century in England. But, after serving alongside working-class men in the First World War, he realized that the strident anti-industrialism of William Morris and other leaders of that movement produced furniture that ordinary people could never afford. “Teaching the machine manners,” was a phrase of Russell’s that crystallized his approach to craft. Machines should never be seen as replacements for the embodied, handed-down skills of craftspeople. They should be used only insofar as they serve the practice of craft, and help give more people access to the beautiful and useful things made by craftspeople.
In 1978, at the age of 86, Sir Gordon Russell was asked to address the Royal Society of Arts. He’d spent a lifetime by then living in the tension between technological advance and craft as an ancient, even essential human endeavor. He titled the talk he delivered that day “Skill.” Here’s a snippet:
“Walking about the Cotswolds years ago, I used often to see an old man who sat at the side of the road breaking stones. A lonely job which has now ceased. He never complained and he worked in all weathers. He was an interesting talker and taught me a lot about life, as he had achieved an inner harmony which I admired. I remember him saying: ‘Many folks think this is a job any fool can do. They tell me to use a heavy hammer, but I should be tired out before dinner time. This light hammer on a long, slightly whippy ash shaft is the perfect tool—provided you know exactly where to hit each stone, and every one is different.’”
It moves me that Russell, by then an old man himself, still had such deep reverence for the skilled hands of an old man who broke stones for a living, and for his relationship with the simple tools of his trade. Gordon Russell was ostracized by the purists in the Arts and Crafts movement for his insistence that the machine could serve both craft and society if the skill of the artisan was still paramount. He was even more roundly rejected by the industrialists who made productivity and profit the only measures of success, even in trades in which knowledge had been passed down across generations, centuries, millennia even.
Why am I telling you this … in the Calvary blog … as a Christian … as a priest? I’m increasingly convinced the technologies in our lives today need to be taught manners if they’re to serve the abundant life Jesus told us to seek. AI, social media, toaster ovens, blogs, electric scooters, light hammers with long, whippy ash handles … the ethical measure of any tool or technology for a Christian is whether or not it helps or hinders the realization–the making real or the perception of–the kingdom of God.
For each person we baptize, we pray, “Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” Surely these are essential skills for realizing that good kingdom, don’t you think? Curiosity, discernment, courage, perseverance. Knowledge, love, joy, wonder. What if a persistent question Christians asked of any tool or technology was how and whether it strengthened these essential skills for human flourishing? What manners would we need to teach our machines before letting them into our lives? What might we discern is simply no help at all, or even does active damage, to such flourishing? Perhaps deciding occasionally that the simple old hammer with the long, whippy ash shaft is still the right tool for the skilled task at hand. The skilled task, that is, of living a loving and abundant human life.
It was my father, an accomplished newspaperman and blazing touch typist, who taught me how to drive a nail properly. I was dinking away with timid little strokes on some doll furniture when he adjusted my grip. “Don’t choke up on the hammer like that,” he said gently. And two bangs later, Barbie had a dining table. All of Ken Johnson’s machines, and his children, learned manners.
Love every bit of this, Jill. Thank you.
Very thought provoking and inspiring. Always use the tools of old with the new, keep that balance. Thank you, Scott.
Thank you, Bernie. I love thinking about these ideas with your craft … and your craftsmanship … in mind.
There is a picture of me as a three year-old with my grandfather, for who was teaching me to use an auger to drill a hole in an old wooden grocery box we were using on a project we were doing together. He could have used an electric tool to drill the holes, but that would not have been nearly as much fun as turning the handle of that specialty tool. Over the years, my grandfather taught me how to use many other hand, tools, and thanks to him. I can still hang a picture properly with nothing but a hammer, hook, ruler, and hook. Those old tools gave opportunity for many a teachable moment and memories.
Ah yes, Milton. I love the way people’s reflections here move between teachers and tools with such ease. There really is a sense that the teacher is still intensely present to us in the handed down skill long after they’re physically gone.
Thank you for your inspiring thoughts, Scott. How blessed we are to have you, a fine carpenter and a poetry lover, as our rector. Your passions, hobbies, and curiosity bring a richness to the way you see the world, and we are the beneficiaries!
Thank you for reading, Julie, and for the kind, thoughtful comments. The benefit is all mine!
Productivity and profit cannot replace kindness, compassion, love, and manners. Well written. Thank you.
Amen, Mary Honey. Thank you.
i think we are seeing a resurgence of interest in knitting, crocheting- even sewing – in some way in response to the crude and overwhelming and constant barrage of information and stimulation we are faced with. People frequently say, “Oh, knitting TAKES such patience.” To which I say, “Knitting GIVES me patience.”
Again, thanks for your insights that always resonate in my everyday life.
Well said, Nancy. And I agree with you, both about the interest interest of young in all sorts of craft and the way patience is a product of, not prerequisite for, practicing a craft.
Thanks for these insights.
Thanks for reading, Patty!