Arbeit macht frei? (1 Viewer)

[Optimus Prime]

I find a tragic irony in the fact you used "arbeit macht frei" when discussing the merits of employment.

 

[settle*precious]

Okay, one of my main hobbies for enjoyment is writing... yet, when I do writing for my internship I procrastinate all the time and find myself not enjoying it at all.

Fight doesn't really present an argument against working per say (even Tyler has a job... several jobs even). It's a satire regarding our materialistic nature and conspicuous consumption. Against believing what society has portrayed us to "need" when they are, in reality, wants. It's about being rawly human, defining yourself for who you are... not what you are/what you possess, e.g. "you are not your bank account, you are not the car you drive, you are not your fucking khakis." The fighting is a visual metaphor for emotion, getting back to our basic needs.. instincts, if you will.

Tyler Durden: Right. We are consumers. We're the bi-products of a lifestyle obsession.

Tyler Durden: Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

 

[Nousiainen]

Arbeit mach frei is ironic, because one must slug it out and slave away, usually in some overly repetitive not particularly appealing badly paying job in order to not only avoid poverty and buy the necessities like food, but it also grants us the ability to indulge in luxuries, such as travelling and entertainment purposes like going to the cinema, etc. But having said that, I find the discrepancy between the CEO world and the normal worker world kind of disturbing. The GFC only highlighted why life really is unfair. You can slug it out in some supermarket and get peanuts, while someone else can drive companies to bankruptcy and not only will the government bail said company out, but the CEO will also be rewarded with more money to last them a lifetime.

Oh how I envy those lotto winners right now. :burn:

 

[Silver Persian]

I'm reminded of this story posted by Comrade Graney a while ago

She stood before him in all her unbearable beauty, moist pouting lips, full perky breasts with hard nipples showing through her thin shirt, tight skirt barely covering her smooth creamy thighs. "Do you want me?" she crooned.

"Yes, yes," he gasped, his jutting chin hanging down, his fiery eyes straining toward her firm pulsing body. "Please, please let me touch you."

"You have to do something for me first," she teased.

"I'll do it," he moaned. "I'll do anything."

She undid a button on her shirt, exposing the roundness at the edges of her breasts. "A-ny-thing?"

"Yes, yes, anything! Whatever you ask, I'm your slave!"

She wagged her finger. "It's not my slave you have to be..."

"W-what?"

"If you want me, you have to serve my Master."

His swelling loins shrank a bit. "Master?"

She came closer, sliding her skirt up her thigh so he could just see the lace-trimmed edge of her panties. She licked her lips and whispered in his ear, "You can touch every inch of this body, but first you must obey the Master. It's the only way."


"I see your woman has sent you," the Master said, and turned around. He was a pig-like man in a business suit, with blank eyes and the blood-drenched horns of a bull.

"Yes," the young man said timidly.

"And what did you promise to do for me?"

"A-anything you ask."

"Good. But perhaps I won't let you do anything I ask."

"What do you mean?"

"Doing anything I ask is a great privilege. Do you think you are worthy?"

He was confused. "How should I know?"

The Master roared, "If you do not know, you are not worthy! Did you not come to me?"

"Yes, but I had to because--"

"Shut up! You have come to beg to be allowed to do whatever I ask. Now beg!"

He thought of the woman, her hot irresistible waiting body. "Uh, please Master, I beg you to let me be your slave..."

"Slave? We have no slaves! These are enlightened times."

He sighed with relief. Perhaps the ordeal would not be so bad.

"Then what shall I be, Master?"

"You shall be my team member!"

"Do what to your member?"

"Beg! Beg me for it!"

"Please, great Master, let me team your member."

"Abase yourself! Convince me you are qualified!"

"Sir, I feel I am uniquely qualified to apply this position on your member. I am experienced in several very similar member positions, with other teams..."

"Are you dynamic?"

"Yes, yes, I'm dymanic," he blubbered. "I'll dy-be-dy-manic for you..."

"Are you a self-starter?"

"Please, Master, yes, I start myself every day in the bathroom! Let me start myself in your position, let me apply my oral communication skills to your expanding implement..."

"Give me enthusiasm!"

"Yes, yes, I am giving you enthusiasm. I will give you a huge giant enthusiasm if you'll let me, please Master, I will motivate your organization so hard with my skills that--"

"More enthusiasm! More!"

Overwhelmed by humiliation, he cried out, "Utilized, optimized, prioritized, facilitated on a daily basis! I am a determined achiever..."

"Harder! Harder!"

"La la la!" he gushed, unable to even form words, but screaming with the biggest enthusiasm he had ever had, "Na na na! Bla bla bla bla blaaaaaah!!"

"Excellent," the Master said. "You have performed well. Now you have earned the privilege to go to... the dungeon!"


In rows and rows of tiny cubical cells, men and women strained in tight cotton and polyester uniforms that clung to their aching butts and their chests straining with their appointed labors.

"Mmm," the woman said, as the young man stumbled into her cell. "A new one." She stood to her full height and he saw that under her shirt her breasts were suffocated in a constriction device, and her feet were crammed into brightly colored manacles that twisted her ankles back in their sockets and crushed her toes together. But she seemed not to notice. "I am your cellmate," she said. "Welcome to the dungeon."

"What -- what am I to do here?"

"Give me your hands."

He extended his wide strong hands and she ran her sharp cool fingers over them. "Ohh, these are so young and strong." She slid her hands up to his broad hard shoulders. "I bet you have a lot of stamina."

"Yes."

"You can go hours and hours."

"Yes!" He looked into her smoky eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to put your hands on..."

He trembled with anticipation.

"... the keyboard!" she said. "And the phone. And these files. Same as everyone else here." And she went back to her own chair.

Hours later, his hands numb, his joints aching, his eyeballs dry and bloodshot, his shoulders on fire from fingering the hard little buttons, moving them in and out, in and out, he mumbled, "No... no... I can't do it any more."

"Take a ten minute break. But you have to punch out, so you don't cheat."

"It's not enough. I can't go on like this, please..."

"That's not for me to decide. Did you not agree to do anything the Master asked?"

"Yes, but... Say," he said, "I was wondering -- I agreed to obey the Master because unless I earn a good income no woman will have sex with me. But why are you here?"

"Ahh," she said. "I will tell you my story." And she began:


It was many years ago, when I was a little girl. "Daddy," I said, "will you always love me?"

Then he smiled at me strangely. "Come sit on my knee," he said, "and I'll tell you a secret."

"OK, daddy." I sat on his firm knee and he put his warm, heavy hand on my shoulder.

"The truth is," he said, "that I won't love you, that I'll never love you as much as I love your brother."

I burst into tears. "Why, why daddy? Why won't you love me?"

"Because," he said, stroking my ear, "your brother can do something you can't do, something special."

"No, please, daddy, I want you to love me! I want to be special too. What does he have that I don't?"

"Do you want me to show you?" he whispered.

"Yes, daddy, please, show me!"

Then he reached down deep into his pants, and pulled out, clutched in his hot sweaty hand, a giant wad of money. "Your brother," he said, "will be a man, and men have always had more earning power than women. Men are the breadwinners, the ones who go out in the world and do great things, while women just stay home and cook and clean. That's why men are better than women, and more deserving of respect and admiration. That's why everyone will always love your brother and not you."

"No, noooo, daddy," I wailed. "Please, please, I want you to love me too! I'll do anything!"

He fingered his massive dirty wad of bills and put his other hand on my trembling knee. "A-ny-thing?"

"Yes, daddy, please, tell me what it is, anything, I'll do it for you daddy, I'll do it for you and mommy and all your friends and anyone you want me to. I want to be loved! Tell me what to do!"

"There's only one way," he said. "One little thing." And he bent and croaked in my ear, "You have to earn good money like your brother. You have to serve my Master."


"Both of you," the Master said over the intercom, "come to my office."

A minute later they stood shaking before him.

"I heard you talking when I commanded you to work."

"Please!" They cringed and groveled before him. "We're sorry. Please forgive us! We'll never do it--"

"Silence! You like to talk, do you?"

"We'll do anything you ask, Master. Have mercy!"

"I'll just have to move you to another position, a position where you get a chance to use your mouths more."

"N-no," the woman gasped. "Not that... Anything but..."

"What?" the man whispered. "What is it?"

"You don't want to know," she cried. "It's too terrible. Please," she wept, "Give us another chance."

"Too late! I am moving you," the master bellowed, "to customer service!"

"No! Noooooooooo!"


The long line of customers stretched to the horizon, drooling, snapping, hungry-eyed beasts, screaming for more, shouting demands and abuse, as the small group of workers serviced them with their mouths and hands, one after another after another.

"Service me now!" the customers screeched. "Service me again! I'm not satisfied!" And the servicers labored on and on.

After what seemed like years, a distant chime rang, and the servicers looked up with relief.

"We're free," she said to him. "Free at last. We can go home!"

"Not yet," came the Master's voice. "Today I need you to work... overtime!"

"AAAAAAGGH!" they wailed. "AAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEE!"


A long while later, the young man, now looking years older, came home to his woman. "I have done what you asked," he said. "I have obeyed the Master."

"Then I am yours," she said, and flung off her robe, revealing her magnificent body in its full naked radiance. "Take me!"

"I'm too tired," he groaned. "I need to go to sleep. But in the morning, I will be strong again, and we can make passionate love all day."

"But in the morning," she said, "you have to go obey the Master again."

"But -- but -- " he stammered, "I thought it was only for one day."

She threw her head back and laughed a long throaty laugh. "No!" she said. "Silly man! You must go back for another day, and then another after that!"

"Three days! It's too much!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha hahaha! Three days? No, it's more than just three days that you must serve the Master."

"How -- how many days is it?" he said, thinking with horror of the torture and degradation he had endured in the dungeons. "How many days must I go back?"

"You must go back," she cried, "for the rest of your life!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...."

 

[Tully B.]

Okay, one of my main hobbies for enjoyment is writing... yet, when I do writing for my internship I procrastinate all the time and find myself not enjoying it at all.

Fight doesn't really present an argument against working per say (even Tyler has a job... several jobs even). It's a satire regarding our materialistic nature and conspicuous consumption. Against believing what society has portrayed us to "need" when they are, in reality, wants. It's about being rawly human, defining yourself for who you are... not what you are/what you possess, e.g. "you are not your bank account, you are not the car you drive, you are not your fucking khakis." The fighting is a visual metaphor for emotion, getting back to our basic needs.. instincts, if you will.

Tyler Durden: Right. We are consumers. We're the bi-products of a lifestyle obsession.

Tyler Durden: Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

Well, if you had to put Fight Club on one side of this debate, it would have to be the anti. Yes, Durden has various jobs, but I think this only lends to this argument. He is quite obviously hostile to regular jobs, which is illustrated in the scene where he beats the crap out of himself in his boss's office.

When he says "an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars", I think he's really refering to the hopelessness of all jobs in releasing our full potential. Yes, the focus is consumerism, but this consumerism is fueled by our need to make that money, and the way in which we do that is *drum roll* having a job.

 

[settle*precious]

Well, if you had to put Fight Club on one side of this debate, it would have to be the anti. Yes, Durden has various jobs, but I think this only lends to this argument. He is quite obviously hostile to regular jobs, which is illustrated in the scene where he beats the crap out of himself in his boss's office.

When he says "an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars", I think he's really refering to the hopelessness of all jobs in releasing our full potential. Yes, the focus is consumerism, but this consumerism is fueled by our need to make that money, and the way in which we do that is *drum roll* having a job.

You're right. What about when he holds up Raymond K. Hessel, the Asian dude who is working in a general store instead of completing his university course in veterinary science? Tyler encourages (ha) him to go back and complete what he wanted to be - instead of working a trivial, generic, mundane job as a general shop clerk? I think, Tylerosophy encourages fulfilling what makes you happy instead of just making ends meet.

Anyway, Fight Club (as much as I'd love to talk about it more.. seriously not being sarcastic, I could talk about that film for hours) isn't really the focus of this thread. Carry on.

 

[loquasagacious]

There's a kind of work that is good, quality, socialising work.

But for 99% of jobs out there, would you do them if you had the choice to do something else?

How many people would pursue their current jobs and careers if money was no concern?

The will to avoid poverty acts to thrust people into the workforce, and yes without this force it is common to feel temporarily rudderless. But this artificial creation of meaning and purpose by cruel force and necessity is a hollow and unsatisfying sort of purpose. A more satisfying freedom is achieved when an individual does not have to work, but chooses to do a kind of work anyway, not for profit and necessity, but for reasons in line with their value system.

To be honest yes even freed of monetary concerns I would continue my current job. I would travel more and buy more material possessions but life on the whole would not change that much.

Overtime I would probably transition to a different job maybe working on an aid project. Crucially though even if I left my current job I would start a new one.

I find a tragic irony in the fact you used "arbeit macht frei" when discussing the merits of employment.

Intentional

 

[Iron]

There's a kind of work that is good, quality, socialising work.

But for 99% of jobs out there, would you do them if you had the choice to do something else?

How many people would pursue their current jobs and careers if money was no concern?

The will to avoid poverty acts to thrust people into the workforce, and yes without this force it is common to feel temporarily rudderless. But this artificial creation of meaning and purpose by cruel force and necessity is a hollow and unsatisfying sort of purpose. A more satisfying freedom is achieved when an individual does not have to work, but chooses to do a kind of work anyway, not for profit and necessity, but for reasons in line with their value system.

I dont care for your cynical attitude. I assume that your atheism is what breeds this draining negativity. In a way I see the logic of your view, in that if you dont believe that man has any creator or mission, then youre prone to view him as a material product that can/must be put to work in any arbitrary field like any uncaring machine... I just have a personal feeling that all work is pretty futile without faith. Like the line in Gran Torino, 'Every tool has its own place, every tool is needed'. I have a similar view, in that every human is totally unique and can accomplish something that no one else can ever do or has ever done. We all have a special purpose and mission to do good with our life, but if we never keep ourselves sensitive to faith and listen,then that purpose simply withers on the vine.

Indeed! I've always thought that the most satisfying form of work must be agricultural, just because of the honesty and rich symbolism of it - clearing the dead wood, rooting up the weeds, planting the seeds and cultivating the good growth; speaks volumes about what we are and should become in this life imo!

 

[loquasagacious]

I have found physical work to be among the most rewarding. There is something raw and honest about it.

 

[Optimus Prime]

Arbeit mach frei is ironic, because one must slug it out and slave away, usually in some overly repetitive not particularly appealing badly paying job in order to not only avoid poverty and buy the necessities like food, but it also grants us the ability to indulge in luxuries, such as travelling and entertainment purposes like going to the cinema, etc. But having said that, I find the discrepancy between the CEO world and the normal worker world kind of disturbing. The GFC only highlighted why life really is unfair. You can slug it out in some supermarket and get peanuts, while someone else can drive companies to bankruptcy and not only will the government bail said company out, but the CEO will also be rewarded with more money to last them a lifetime.

Oh how I envy those lotto winners right now. :burn:

I meant more the fact that arbeit macht frei was written on the gates of many concerntration camps and it most definitely did not lead to freedom.

 

[Tully B.]

I meant more the fact that arbeit macht frei was written on the gates of many concerntration camps and it most definitely did not lead to freedom.

Yes, but that is not where the phrase originated. It's a vile perversion of its original meaning, whether you agree with that original meaning or not.

 

[Optimus Prime]

Yes, but that is not where the phrase originated. It's a vile perversion of its original meaning, whether you agree with that original meaning or not.

Umm it has always been associated with German nationalism. "work brings freedom" on the otherhand, does not.

 

[Iron]

To revise my position a little, i'd agree with graney to the extent that work is in some way a curse, in that man was supposedly once offered the fruits of the land without labour. But with the fall came the curse of toiling the earth, amongst other things like painful child bearing, shame and the sex drive. Yet confronting all these things can also bring great redemption to man. In struggling to toil for a living, for instance, we are made aware on some level of the pain and effort of a creator whose heart was broken, but also of the hope reached at the end of the day that all pain, handled correctly, is not in vain. This also ties in nicely with the story of Christ our Lord - a humble carpenter whose simplicity and honesty, truth etc ended horrifically for him in a material sense, but was then capped by the greatest sustaining hope we can imagine - redemption and reunification.

 

[SylviaB]

But with the fall came the curse of toiling the earth, amongst other things like painful child bearing, shame and the sex drive. Yet confronting all these things can also bring great redemption to man.

BLAH BLAH BLAH TALKING SNAKE BLAH MAGICAL FRUIT BLAH BLAH BLAH

In struggling to toil for a living, for instance, we are made aware on some level of the pain and effort of a creator whose heart was broken, but also of the hope reached at the end of the day that all pain,

Fuck off, god is omniscient, he knew exactly how Adam and Eve would act before he even created them.

 

[katie tully]

I hate my job but I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it and will do so until I an suitably qualified enough to pursue my real dream vocation.

It's a toss up really. I can forgo work and live in poverty, and be happy that I'm not working with people/doing things I find soul destroying, yet I'd be unhappy that financially I cannot do the things I want ... or I can come home and bitch about work, and spend every waking moment loathing going there, so that I have the freedom to live in relative financial security.

There is no happy median imo.

 

[JonathanM]

I hate my job but I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it and will do so until I an suitably qualified enough to pursue my real dream vocation.

It's a toss up really. I can forgo work and live in poverty, and be happy that I'm not working with people/doing things I find soul destroying, yet I'd be unhappy that financially I cannot do the things I want ... or I can come home and bitch about work, and spend every waking moment loathing going there, so that I have the freedom to live in relative financial security.

There is no happy median imo.

Financial security is necessary for peace of mind and therefore happiness imo.

 

[SylviaB]

There is no happy median imo.

Yeah it's called engineering :O

 

[Iron]

From our German Shepherd:

What is meant by the word "decency" in regard to work? It means work that expresses the essential dignity of every man and woman in the context of their particular society: work that is freely chosen, effectively associating workers, both men and women, with the development of their community; work that enables the worker to be respected and free from any form of dscrimination; work that makes it possible for families to meet their needs and provide schooling for their children, without the children themselves being forced into labour; work that permits the workers to organise themselves freely, and to make their voices heard; work that leaves enough room for rediscovering one's roots at a personal, familial and spiritual level; work that guarantees those who have retired a decent standard of living.

 

[katie tully]

Yeah it's called engineering :O

Engineers are freaks imo tbh

Socially inept freaks.

 

[loquasagacious]

There was a particularly good article in the July issue of The Deal by Ruth Ostrow which discusses workophiles, that is people who enjoy, even love, work. Unfortunately it hasn't been published online but some good quotes are:

Work is gaining a new respectability, and maintaining work-life balance is no longer about minimising work hours but, rather, about finding meaning and pleasure in those hours we do put in.
...
For many people work is a source of meaning and sustenance - which makes for a happy home.
...
Working can be the closest thing to God for those of us who feel a great love and commitment for what we do.

When trying to find Ruth's article I stumbled across a British study which included some statistics on the issue:

Workophiles - married to the job, but worth it

Over two million (2.4 million) people are workophiles, preferring work to home. For them work/life balance is the language of wimps. Most workophiles are in higher income brackets and probably not bringing up children.

Most long hours workers - over 50 hours a week - are well paid. 1 in 5 of those earning GBP60,000 work more than 60 hours a week. Those earning between GBP46,000 and GBP51,000 a year have nearly 70% of their number working up to 60 hours a week and 7.7% working more than that.