The construction of a typology is always a hazardous endeavor, given the necessary simplification and broad categorization required to impose a structure on a complex idea. Nevertheless, we can learn something by sketching the general contours of a multi-faceted subject such as vocation.
I recently found myself contemplating a “typology of vocation” while viewing an exhibition of the work of the French painter Gustave Caillebotte (1848–1894) at the Art Institute of Chicago. Many readers will recognize his best-known work, Paris Street; Rainy Day, which is usually displayed in a very prominent place at the Art Institute.
But the current exhibition, Gustave Caillebotte: Painting his World, demonstrates that his subjects extended far beyond the bourgeois couple in the foreground of this famous work. He also painted street scenes, landscapes, gardens, and boats. And he was particularly interested in what people did all day; his works provide some insight into the physical, mental, and emotional aspects of human activity, including (but not limited to) their paid employment. Some of his subjects were members of the leisure class, but he also painted people undertaking various activities: refinishing floors, studying in a library, creating signs for storefronts, gardening. Caillebotte’s careful eye and impressive technique often leave us with more than just a record of human activity; we also get some insight into how people approach their work and their lives. Three of his paintings in particular got me thinking about the types of vocation. I don’t mean the kinds of jobs people hold—manual laborers vs. managers vs. executives vs. unpaid labor in the home or the community—though as we will see, certain professions may tend to cluster within certain types. My interest is primarily in the role that a calling plays in a person’s life.
Type 1: The vocation of those who feel driven. Gustave was the eldest of three brothers; the youngest of them, Marital, became a professional pianist, seriously devoted to his work. He is the subject of Caillebotte’s Young Man at the Piano.
As the museum label for this painting at the exhibition notes, playing piano music was usually seen as an activity for bourgeois women; but Marital pursued it as a profession, and did so with drive and energy. His attitude toward his calling is nicely illustrated in this painting by his intense facial expression and his obvious concentration on the sheet music that sits on the instrument. He saw his art as serious work and made it part of his career, training in composition at a Paris conservatory.
Many successful artists and athletes tend to demonstrate this level of drive, but they are not the only ones. Professions such as law, medicine, ministry, and the professoriate typically require considerable time in graduate school and the development of mastery over the knowledge, techniques, and attitudes necessary for success. Many young people feel this kind of drive toward as they pursue a particular vocational path, but many others do not—and they sometimes thereby imagine themselves deficient. A better approach would be to recognize that they are approaching their future direction in life with a different mindset; at this point in their lives, at least, they do not have a “driven” attitude toward vocation. Perhaps they are drawn more to the perspective embodied by another of Gustave Caillebotte’s brothers.
René, the middle brother of the three—and fans of birth-order psychology can have a field day with this—did not pursue a particular vocation with the degree of drive and passion exhibited by his younger brother. René is the subject of Gustave’s Young Man at His Window.
The figure in this painting seems confident enough but also seems interested more in taking in his surroundings than in pushing out toward a goal. He might even be a little bored—but not necessarily. Perhaps, as the exhibition’s museum label notes with respect to René himself, the man pictured here has “not yet found his calling.” Art historians and commentators have observed that the subject’s position in this painting leads us to wonder what has caught his eye, and to imagine that he might be feeling a degree of uncertainty or restlessness. And because we see him from the back, we have fewer clues to his attitude toward his life and the nature of his work (if any). In some ways, his stance resembles that of the figure in Caspar David Friedrich’s famous painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, whom we also see from the back; and yet the Alpine scenery in front of Friedrich’s canvas somehow imbues his subject with a character marked by adventure and determination, whereas poor René seems to merely be browsing.
But what if one’s calling is, at least for the moment, to have not yet found one’s calling? We might be wise to help our students recognize that the work of exploration and discernment can also be a calling. Those who manifest a “Type 2” attitude toward vocation might best be described as “considering” or “attending” rather than “driven.” And when you think about it, part of what it means to be an undergraduate student—or at least what it should mean—is to be in that process of exploration and discernment. This can be a difficult space to inhabit; it’s hard to be patient and satisfied in this kind of state, particularly when surrounded by Type 1 people who seem so driven and focused.
And yet, it’s possible to be an “explorer” and still to meet with success—even among those artists and athletes whom we tend to think of as driven. David Epstein opens his book Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World by comparing the success story of Tiger Woods (who demonstrated a preternatural proclivity for golf at the ripe age of 3, and rarely did anything else) with that of Roger Federer (who didn’t even play tennis until he got to college). Federer was more of an explorer, a listener, and an observer; he tried many things and was something of a “generalist.” And yet he still had tremendous success without falling so quickly into the hyper-specialization that our culture tends to promote.
A third type of vocation is well depicted in Caillebotte’s painting The Floor Scrapers. Here we have men at work—manual labor that is no doubt difficult and strenuous, but which also requires a certain kind of knowledge and technique and attitude. One probably does not need to be driven like the Type 1 individuals in order to become a floor scraper, but neither is the exploring and discerning Type 2 ready to dive into this particular vocation. The floor scraper requires the physicality of an athlete, combined with the same kind of attention to specifics that is needed by a good doctor or nurse. But scraping floors does not require constant training or years of education. Sadly, we tend to look down on Type 3 vocations, as commentators have noted even with regard to this otherwise sympathetic painting: Caillebotte’s vantage point is that of a casual observer, standing well above the laborers down on the floor.
This third type of vocation, typically pursued in community colleges and other kinds of training programs, might best be described as a craft. For many people, this third type is actually the first type that springs to mind when the word vocation is used, since “vocational education” is often associated with crafts and trades. And while the concept of vocation certainly needs to expand beyond the trades, it’s important not to leave those trades behind when we think about our callings. A craft requires a person to place one’s entire body in the service of the work, and those who ply a craft often embody a kind of dignity and integrity that is sometimes the envy of those whose work is more alienating. We would be wise to see the resonances between the traditional trades and a wide range of undergraduate majors that can manifest a similar degree of bodily involvement integration—from engineering to archeology to library science. Indeed, the growth of generative artificial intelligence suggests that some of the most important future vocations may be those which require the use of the hands and the physical embodiment of the worker, rather than those that primarily involve the mind.
This blog is titled “Four Types of Vocation,” and yet I focused on only three of Caillebotte’s paintings. What about Type 4? Well, that one is illustrated not so much by a particular painting, but by the painter’s own life. He wasn’t as driven as some artists (though perhaps he simply didn’t need to be, having inherited some of his family’s success in the textile and real estate businesses). But he wasn’t really an explorer either, at least not for most of his life. And he wasn’t a manual laborer, though he did seem to have a certain affinity for craftspeople, recognizing that his own work also required physical presence and a connection to the tools of one’s trade. He represents “Type 4”: those who see their work as an important part of their lives, but who still leave plenty of space for other interests and pursuits.
Caillebotte was also a soldier (in the Franco-Prussian war), a gardener (particularly during the latter part of his short life), and a patron (purchasing works by the Impressionists, who were being shut out of the classical French academies). And he was also a boatsman: many of his paintings are of boats and of people rowing boats. Indeed, for one of his best self-portraits—painted not long before he died at age 45—he chose to dress as a sailor.
To me, his expression in this painting blends the seriousness of the driver with the thoughtfulness of the explorer, while his sailor’s frock ties him to the tradesman. I like to think of “Type 4” as describing those who have been lucky enough to have somehow managed to blend all of the other three types, and who have recognized the significance, the wholeness, and—perhaps most importantly—the dignity and honor of each.
David S. Cunningham is the executive director of NetVUE. For most posts by David, click here.
