In last Wednesday’s post, I wrote about the idea of the permanent apprentice: that the nature of modern organisational work is that we never get to understand or be responsible for the whole of what we do. That we become permanent apprentices, forever doing a part of the work determined by others, constantly being checked, and not taking responsibility for what we do unless, of course, we make a mistake.
It used to be an acceptable trade-off: security for compliance. But when it no longer is, what do we do? If we find ourselves ejected from the organisation, or if the organisation itself just dissolves, what are we left with other than a CV that is a carbon copy of most other people’s? A thing of parts, not of a whole.
The pressure to accept this state of affairs is considerable. Our education system is designed to focus on parts from Year 1 of primary. We are tested continually, focused into specialisms, and prepared for a world of work as bit-part players. The thing is, increasingly, I’m not sure it’s necessary. The technology we have, from social media to AI, allows us, should we wish, to form the groups we want and access the knowledge we want. Being fully employed doesn’t prevent us from having a digital garage in which to tinker.
I find the most powerful part of the apprentice’s journey to master is the transition to journeyman. (The term has a long history, but I use it here for all of us.) The key part was that journeymen had to leave the place where they had learnt their skill and apply it in new places with new people. It was as much a test of character and commitment as it was of skill. There was no option to move down the road a bit or go to the company next door. That made it a formative experience. Each move was made more on their own terms. Eventually, if they chose, they set up shop on their own account and closed the circle by taking on apprentices.
And I see companies at the moment where that ethic applies. They tend to be smaller, founder-led, making things that matter. Places in which skill, rather than efficiency, takes pride of place. They are, though, the exception rather than the rule.
I think it’s time to play with alternatives: something we can do outside the organisation that prepares us for the increasingly inevitable moment when we are no longer part of it. Some way that allows us to think, experiment, and test ideas with others doing the same. If we’re lucky, we might find ourselves working with a group of people with whom we want to start something, but if not, at least we’re getting the practice.
At any one point, dependency on an organisation may be unavoidable, but that does not mean it has to be a destiny. Nor, I think, does it mean we have to have the talents of an entrepreneur. Not being part of an organisation does not necessarily mean we have to go it alone.
This is about the company we keep: people who share our interests and our values, with whom we can do good work and learn what good work means. In more than a few ways, it resembles the guilds where apprentices started.
In the guilds, the last test was the masterpiece: a whole thing, made by your own hand, judged by people who knew the craft. What would yours be, and who would you want judging it?