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Economics
6 min read

Paying for dignity lets life flourish

The Real Living Wage is the pragmatic way to safeguard the dignity of workers. Campaigner Ryan Gilfeather explains how it takes away the barriers to flourishing lives.

Ryan Gilfeather explores social issues through the lens of philosophy, theology, and history. He is a Research Associate at the Joseph Centre for Dignified Work.

At twlight, the lit office windows of two tower blocks contrast with a darkening sky
Night in London's financial district. when many cleaners work.
CGPGrey, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Christians have been at the heart of the campaign for the Real Living Wage since the movement began in 2001.  Alongside other faith and community groups, Christian leaders in East London noticed that so many people in their communities were paid so little that they had to work two jobs just to get by. These workers had to choose between feeding their children and seeing them. They did not even have time to go to church or pray. Christians have objected to poverty wages ever since because these wages deny the inextinguishable dignity of each person; their faith drives them to campaign for wages sufficient for the means of life 

The Real Living Wage is the minimum hourly pay rate someone needs to earn to be able to afford the means of life if they work full time. That’s £11.95 in London; £10.90 everywhere else. It’s calculated by the Resolution Foundation; a policy think tank that focuses on improving outcomes for people on low and modest incomes.  

A campaign run by The Living Wage Foundation encourages employers to agree to pay all their workers this amount.  

It is not to be confused with the so-called National Living Wage, which mandates by law that all workers 23 and older be paid £10.42 an hour.

Since we are all fundamentally equal, we all deserve the same dignity. This dignity involves allowing all to flourish in the ways a human being should. 

Many Christians support the Real Living Wage because the Bible leads them to believe that every single human being shares the same fundamental dignity and value. As the story of creation says, everyone is made in ‘the image of God.’ Nothing is of greater value than God, so no thing in this world is more valuable than the image of God. Since we are all fundamentally equal, we all deserve the same dignity. This dignity involves allowing all to flourish in the ways a human being should, for example health, faith, family relationships and opportunities for children.  

As each year passes, the way to safeguard the dignity of all in relation to work changes. Wages and working conditions change over time. When positive patterns emerge Christians praise and support them, but when insidious structures emerge, they challenge them. Safeguarding the inherent dignity of all human beings requires moral pragmatism. It demands that Christians always consider which changeable means can help attain the unchanging goal of human dignity.  They see the Real Living Wage as a pragmatic way of safeguarding what the Bible teaches about human dignity, because poverty wages compromise it.  

Poverty wages undermine workers’ ability to flouring in faith, health, family relationships, and opportunity for their children. 

Voices of those on poverty wages reveal its damaging effects. In December 2022, a church in the heart of London’s financial district,, St Katherine Cree, hosted a carol service in English, Spanish and Portuguese. The intended congregation were not financiers but cleaners. Alongside singing carols and listening to bible readings, the service included testimonies from cleaners and their families, expressing their sense of life and faith. These testimonies exposed how poverty wages undermine workers’ ability to flouring in faith, health, family relationships, and opportunity for their children. 

The root of the problem is that poverty wages cause severe overwork. Maritza, a one-time cleaner earning poverty wages and now a manager at Clean for Good, a cleaning company which pays the Real Living Wage, recalls:  

"I went through a very difficult time in my life – having to bring up my children on my own, and earning so little money. I had to work such long hours."  

Whilst Toyin, a community organiser and child of a cleaner earning below the living wage, speaks of how their mother ‘worked two jobs, seven days a week’ simply because her ‘job does not pay enough.’ Low paid workers often work incredibly long hours to earn enough to feed their children. These long hours and overwork then get in the way of these workers flourishing in other aspects of their life. 

Such overwork compromises faith. Maritza explains that: “In this time of hardship, I lost my faith.” Toyin’s account expands on why Maritza and others have this experience.  

“The people that I work with are affected because having more than one job does not allow them to find the time to go to church or even pray.”  

For Christians, going to Church and praying underpin an individual’s faith. When poverty wages necessitate long and often unpredictable hours, they prevent people from exercising their religious belief and identity in these ways. Hence, one of the experiences of workers which led to the real living wage campaign was that overwork and Sunday working meant there was little time left for churchgoing or the other practices of faith. Aspects of life that having discretionary free times allows us to do. 

Severe overwork damages the mental health of cleaners. Toyin suggests that an inability to spend time with family and practice their religious beliefs “has affected their mental health and well-being.” Research shows how widespread this phenomenon is. 69 per cent of below living wage workers report that their pay negatively affects their anxiety. Thus, poverty wages force conditions which damage workers’ health. 

Under these conditions, workers find it difficult to make advance plans, even for events as important as their children’s birthday parties.

Conditions of poverty and overwork undermine family relationships. Maritza explains that,  

‘‘I had to work such long hours that my children saw very little of me."

Toyin fleshes this point out.  

"My mother was not paid a real living wage which meant I missed out on time with my mother which I resented as I didn’t understand her sacrifice at the time… The people that I work with are affected because having more than one job does not allow them to find the time to… provide the time, love and support to their families."  

Cleaners often work such long hours at inconvenient times of the day that they are simply unable to see their children enough to nurture that relationship. To make matters worse, these hours are often highly unpredictable. 50 per cent  of workers earning less than the real living wage receive less than a week’s notice for shifts, and 33 per cent have experienced unexpected cancellations. Under these conditions, workers find it difficult to make advance plans, even for events as important as their children’s birthday parties. It is no surprise, therefore, that 48 percent of workers earning less than the real living wage say that their wage has negatively affected their relationship with their children. Poverty wages force workers to choose between spending enough time with their children and having enough money to provide for them. 

Poverty wages erode educational outcomes for children. Toyin explains that some parents find it harder to support children in their education.  

"When I was younger, my mother worked two jobs, seven days a week which meant she was not able to help me with my schoolwork, come to school assemblies and other family needs."  

Since parental support increases the child’s educational attainment, these children are left vulnerable to worse educational outcomes. Furthermore, it forces children into unofficial caring roles. 

"There are also families where children have to care for their younger siblings, cook, clean and play the role of the parent due to their parent not being paid a living wage." 

The pressures of this role distract from a child’s education and compromises their ability to reach their full potential. Poorer educational outcomes for children living in poverty is well documented. According to the National Education Union, ‘Children accessing Free School Meals are 8% less likely to leave school with 5 A*-C GCSE grades than their wealthier peers.’ A lack of parental support and the burden of caring responsibilities are likely a contributing factor. 

Christians see how poverty wages compromise the inherent dignity of these workers by restricting their ability to flourish in faith, health, family relationships and opportunities for children. They also notice that these problems are widespread: the Resolution Foundation found in 2021 that about one in five jobs in the UK pay below the Real Living Wage. They believe that the Real Living Wage is the pragmatic way to safeguard the dignity of these workers, because it will take away the barriers to their flourishing. That is why Christians continue to campaign for the Real Living Wage, and why increasing numbers of Christian employers insist on paying fair wages. In this way, the belief that all are made in the image of God leads Christians pursue a world in which safeguards every person’s dignity and worth.  

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Books
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5 min read

Reading Don Quixote is making me a better person

Learning from Cervantes’ mistakes
Statues of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza point toward a windmill
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza statues, Tandil, Argentina.
Alena Grebneva, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

I love reading, but I’m not very well read. As is often the case, a curmudgeonly teacher quashed any interest I had in literature in my last few years of school; the increasing creep of technology and social media into my life means my diminishing attention span often makes reading seem a herculean task. It’s a long time to sit still and not doomscroll.  

It’s only in recent years that I’ve rediscovered a love of reading. As part of this, I’m trying to right some literary wrongs.  

Okay, confession time: I’ve never read anything by Jane Austin, the Bronte sisters, George Elliot, Tolstoy, or Proust. I haven’t read The Lord of the Rings or Moby Dick nor To The Lighthouse or Heart of Darkness. I know. Bad, isn’t it? I could go on, too … 

I love reading, but I’m not very well read.  

And so I’m making an effort to read some of the Great Books of the canon. At the moment, I’m reading Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes. Crucially, I’m reading Edith Grossman’s 2003 translation of the novel. It is an absolute joy.  

I had heard that it was deeply funny, and a work of genius; neither aspect of the text has been a surprise to me. But there’s something about Grossman’s translation in particular that has caught me off guard: the mistakes.   

Not any mistakes by Grossman. I know nothing whatsoever about Spanish, let alone 17th Century Spanish (another dream crushed by another teacher), but the English text is a marvel. Eminently readable and funny without compromising the occasional complexity of Cervantes’ prose.  

No: I mean the mistakes by Cervantes himself. Early on, a footnote from Grossman points out that Sancho Panza (Don Quixote’s long-suffering squire) refers to his wife using several different names throughout the text. Without Grossman’s footnotes, I’m sure I would have overthought this. What is the author trying to say about Sancho Panza? Is it a comment on his intelligence? Or the character’s view of women, perhaps? Am I just too dense to understand what’s going on here? 

Grossman’s assessment? It’s just “an oversight”. A mistake. And quite a basic one, at that. Later on, Cervantes divides up his chapters, using those brief sentences summarising their contents that are common in this period (“Chapter III, In which …”). But they’re all wrong. Things are said to happen in Chapter X that don’t actually happen until Chapter XV; the chapter summaries are a mess, frankly.  

One of the things that made me reluctant to read Great Books for so long is that they’re intimidating. They are certified Works of Genius and therefore probably a bit much for my little brain to digest. Many of the archetypical Great Books compound this by being incredibly long, too: think Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Proust, or even more recent candidates like David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest or Olga Tokarczuk’s The Books of Jacob. Don Quixote itself runs to nearly 1,000 pages long; it carries a literal and literary heft to it. 

But there it is. Full of mistakes. 

It turns out to have been quite an opportune moment for me to read Don Quixote. I’m in the final stages of preparing for my second book to come out. (It’s an academic Christian theology book, so will probably sell slightly less than Don Quixote but will certainly cost much more to buy). This means it’s been quite a stressful season for me, as I try to catch any lingering mistakes that might have somehow slipped through the myriad rounds of copyediting, or find myself wondering if the book isn’t just so bad that I’m going to be forced to return my PhD, leave academia forever, and by sued by my publisher for besmirching their good name by association.  

This has also been a time of being deeply frustrated with my own humanity. Why aren’t I a better writer? Why can’t I spell properly? Why aren’t I more creative? Why aren’t I better at this? Why am I so … limited

As an academic, imposter syndrome never really goes away. You just learn to cope with it. And reading Don Quixote and seeing these mistakes in the text has helped me reframe who I am, and my own limitations. Here is a text that is human; completely and utterly human. And so, naturally, here is a text with mistakes; text that is imperfect and flawed. And therein lies its part of its charm. It is rough and coarse, and I love it for that. The mistakes in Don Quixote haven’t detracted from my enjoyment of the text, they’ve enhanced it. They’ve underscored the beautiful humanity that is so evident in Cervantes’ work.  

The Christian Bible is at pains to tell me that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as the Psalmist puts it. I can be so quick to forget this when I focus all my attention on my limitations, and flaws, and missteps. This is why I’m so grateful for Grossman’s translation of Don Quixote. Above all else, I’m grateful for its mistakes. Like me, it is utterly human. Like me, this means it is utterly flawed. Like me, that makes it a work of utter beauty. 

Don Quixote is helping me to recognise the inherent beauty of my limitations as a creature. In doing so, it’s helping me to recognise the inherent beauty of the One who created me. It’s helping me to fall more in love with the God who sent His Son to Earth to become human like me, to revel in and live alongside me in my humanity. Warts and all. 

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