The 'Lump of Labour' fallacy and the fear of site automation

Most blokes look at the job market like a single, finite pile of bricks. They reckon if a robot rocks up and starts laying them, there’s nothing left for the rest of us to do but kick rocks and wait for a paycheck that isn't coming.

That’s the 'Lump of Labour' fallacy. It’s the weird belief that there’s only a fixed amount of work to go around, like a slab of concrete that never grows. It assumes that if a machine takes one task, a human loses a job forever.

In reality, when automation makes things cheaper and faster, it frees up cash and time for people to want new, different things. The pile of bricks isn't shrinking; it's just changing shape and moving to a different site.

Hold on, what are these 'new things' people suddenly start wanting?

Think about it: back in the day, a house cost a fortune for just four walls. Now that power tools and pre-fab made it cheaper, houses didn't disappear—they just got way more complex.

Suddenly, everyone wants double-glazing, smart wiring, and outdoor kitchens. We didn't stop building; we just started demanding stuff that didn't even exist fifty years ago.

When the basics get easy, our standards skyrocket. We stop paying for simple brick-laying and start paying for the bloke installing the solar panels or the ducted air-con.

Surely we'll eventually run out of new things to actually want?

You’d reckon we’d hit a limit, but history shows humans are never truly 'done.' Yesterday’s luxury is tomorrow’s basic requirement. Nobody’s out there looking for a house with an 'optional' indoor toilet anymore, right?

Once the fancy stuff becomes cheap, we just move the goalposts. We stop fussing over basic solar and start demanding houses that store enough juice to power the whole street or walls that clean themselves.

The 'floor' of what we call a decent life just keeps rising. We don’t run out of jobs because we never run out of ways to make life a bit more comfortable.

But doesn't a rising floor just mean we're working harder to stay still?

It feels like a treadmill, doesn't it? But look at the trade-off. A century ago, a week's sweat might buy you a drafty shack. Today, that same effort gets you a climate-controlled house and a phone that talks to satellites.

We aren't necessarily working harder; we're just trading our hours for much higher-spec 'bricks.' The input is similar, but the output is a palace compared to what our grandads had.

We aren't running to stay still; we're just deciding that 'basic' should include a lot more comfort than it used to.

Why can't I choose the 1950s basic and work two days a week?

You technically could, but you’d be living like a hermit. If you want a 1950s lifestyle—no internet, no fridge, outdoor dunny—you could pay for it by mowing a few lawns a month.

The catch is that the rest of the world doesn't stay behind with you. When 'basic' moves up, the old cheap options disappear. You can't buy a 'new' car without airbags because they don't make 'em, and the law won't let you drive 'em.

We’re strapped in because society eventually dismantles the slow lanes. Once everyone has a car, they stop building the footpaths.