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In Praise of Idleness, by Bertrand Russell.
In this essay, Lord Bertrand Russell proposes a cut in the definition of
full time to four hours per day. As this article was written in 1932, he
has not the benefit of knowing that, as we added more wage-earners per
family (women entered the work force) and families shrunk (fewer kids),
and the means of production become more efficient (better machines) the
number of hours each wage-earner must work to support the family has
stayed constant. These facts seem to uphold Russell's point.
Like most of my generation, I was brought up on the saying: 'Satan
finds some mischief for idle hands to do.Being a highly virtuous child,
I believed all that I was told, and acquired a conscience which has kept
me working hard down to the present moment. But although my conscience has
controlled my actions, my opinions have undergone a revolution. I think
that there is far too much work done in the world, that immense harm is
caused by the belief that work is virtuous, and that what needs to be
preached in modern industrial countries is quite different from what
always has been preached. Everyone knows the story of the traveler in
Naples who saw twelve beggars lying in the sun (it was before the days of
Mussolini), and offered a lira to the laziest of them. Eleven of them
jumped up to claim it, so he gave it to the twelfth. this traveler was on
the right lines. But in countries which do not enjoy Mediterranean
sunshine idleness is more difficult, and a great public propaganda will be
required to inaugurate it. I hope that, after reading the following pages,
the leaders of the YMCA will start a campaign to induce good young men to
do nothing. If so, I shall not have lived in vain.
Before advancing my own arguments for laziness, I must dispose of one
which I cannot accept. Whenever a person who already has enough to live on
proposes to engage in some everyday kind of job, such as school-teaching
or typing, he or she is told that such conduct takes the bread out of
other people's mouths, and is therefore wicked. If this argument were
valid, it would only be necessary for us all to be idle in order that we
should all have our mouths full of bread. What people who say such things
forget is that what a man earns he usually spends, and in spending he
gives employment. As long as a man spends his income, he puts just as much
bread into people's mouths in spending as he takes out of other people's
mouths in earning. The real villain, from this point of view, is the man
who saves. If he merely puts his savings in a stocking, like the
proverbial French peasant, it is obvious that they do not give employment.
If he invests his savings, the matter is less obvious, and different cases
arise.
One of the commonest things to do with savings is to lend them to
some Government. In view of the fact that the bulk of the public
expenditure of most civilized Governments consists in payment for past
wars or preparation for future wars, the man who lends his money to a
Government is in the same position as the bad men in Shakespeare who hire
murderers. The net result of the man's economical habits is to increase
the armed forces of the State to which he lends his savings. Obviously it
would be better if he spent the money, even if he spent it in drink or
gambling.
But, I shall be told, the case is quite different when savings are
invested in industrial enterprises. When such enterprises succeed, and
produce something useful, this may be conceded. In these days, however, no
one will deny that most enterprises fail. That means that a large amount
of human labor, which might have been devoted to producing something that
could be enjoyed, was expended on producing machines which, when produced,
lay idle and did no good to anyone. The man who invests his savings in a
concern that goes bankrupt is therefore injuring others as well as
himself. If he spent his money, say, in giving parties for his friends,
they (we may hope) would get pleasure, and so would all those upon whom he
spent money, such as the butcher, the baker, and the bootlegger. But if he
spends it (let us say) upon laying down rails for surface card in some
place where surface cars turn out not to be wanted, he has diverted a mass
of labor into channels where it gives pleasure to no one. Nevertheless,
when he becomes poor through failure of his investment he will be regarded
as a victim of undeserved misfortune, whereas the gay spendthrift, who has
spent his money philanthropically, will be despised as a fool and a
frivolous person.
All this is only preliminary. I want to say, in all seriousness, that
a great deal of harm is being done in the modern world by belief in the
virtuousness of work, and that the road to happiness and prosperity lies
in an organized diminution of work.
First of all: what is work? Work is of two kinds: first, altering the
position of matter at or near the earth's surface relatively to other such
matter; second, telling other people to do so. The first kind is
unpleasant and ill paid; the second is pleasant and highly paid. The
second kind is capable of indefinite extension: there are not only those
who give orders, but those who give advice as to what orders should be
given. Usually two opposite kinds of advice are given simultaneously by
two organized bodies of men; this is called politics. The skill required
for this kind of work is not knowledge of the subjects as to which advice
is given, but knowledge of the art of persuasive speaking and writing,
i.e. of advertising.
Throughout Europe, though not in America, there is a third class of
men, more respected than either of the classes of workers. There are men
who, through ownership of land, are able to make others pay for the
privilege of being allowed to exist and to work. These landowners are
idle, and I might therefore be expected to praise them. Unfortunately,
their idleness is only rendered possible by the industry of others;
indeed their desire for comfortable idleness is historically the source of
the whole gospel of work. The last thing they have ever wished is that
others should follow their example.
From the beginning of civilization until the Industrial Revolution, a
man could, as a rule, produce by hard work little more than was required
for the subsistence of himself and his family, although his wife worked at
least as hard as he did, and his children added their labor as soon as
they were old enough to do so. The small surplus above bare necessaries
was not left to those who produced it, but was appropriated by warriors
and priests. In times of famine there was no surplus; the warriors and
priests, however, still secured as much as at other times, with the result
that many of the workers died of hunger. This system persisted in Russia
until 1917 [1], and still persists in the East; in England, in spite of
the Industrial Revolution, it remained in full force throughout the
Napoleonic wars, and until a hundred years ago, when the new class of
manufacturers acquired power. In America, the system came to an end with
the Revolution, except in the South, where it persisted until the Civil
War. A system which lasted so long and ended so recently has naturally
left a profound impress upon men's thoughts and opinions. Much that we
take for granted about the desirability of work is derived from this
system, and, being pre-industrial, is not adapted to the modern world.
Modern technique has made it possible for leisure, within limits, to be
not the prerogative of small privileged classes, but a right evenly
distributed throughout the community. The morality of work is the morality
of slaves, and the modern world has no need of slavery.
It is obvious that, in primitive communities, peasants, left to
themselves, would not have parted with the slender surplus upon which the
warriors and priests subsisted, but would have either produced less or
consumed more. At first, sheer force compelled them to produce and part
with the surplus. Gradually, however, it was found possible to induce many
of them to accept an ethic according to which it was their duty to work
hard, although part of their work went to support others in idleness. By
this means the amount of compulsion required was lessened, and the
expenses of government were diminished. To this day, 99 per cent of
British wage-earners would be genuinely shocked ...
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