Seneca, On Peace of Mind 12.2

We must limit the running to and fro which most men practice, rambling about houses, theaters, and marketplaces. They mind other men's business, and always seem as though they themselves had something to do.

If you ask one of them as he comes out of his own door, "Where are you going?" he will answer, "By Hercules, I do not know: but I shall see some people and do something."

They wander purposelessly seeking for something to do, and do, not what they have made up their minds to do, but what has casually fallen in their way.

They move uselessly and without any plan, just like ants crawling over bushes, which creep up to the top and then down to the bottom again without gaining anything. Many men spend their lives in exactly the same fashion, which one may call a state of restless indolence.

“Oh Karen, get me another cup of coffee, will you? I can’t possibly manage the rest of the day without one.”

I noticed from a very early age how “busy” all the aspiring middle-class adults said they were. They would sigh, and wave their arms about, and insist that they needed nothing more than some peace and quiet, a chance to get away from the hustle and bustle, a break from all the noise.

And even at such a very early age, I wondered why they didn’t just do precisely that, and stop being so pained by their efforts. What were they actually doing, I asked, that was so necessary to make their lives so miserable? They appeared to fill out forms, and drive from here to there, and sit in meetings.

“You’re too young, you couldn’t possibly understand!”

I indeed did not understand their worries back then, but perhaps in my innocence I saw something that they, in turn, did not understand. Is all of that something you need to do in order to be happy?

As I grew older, my concern still stayed with me. I myself was now asked, by increasing degrees, to live as I had seen them live. I must constantly be occupied with matters that should take on the highest importance in my life.

What kind of things? Appearing better, winning the battle of wills over others, making more money so that I can then spend more money, feeling important because I was never without an external task, without something to conquer.

Why should I worry about how I look? Is it required for me to defeat anyone at all? Why have more stuff? Is my value to be found in running some sort of hectic rat race?

“That’s how it’s done.”

But why?

“Oh, grow up!”

Please bear with me, because I really am trying to grow up. I’m still trying to do precisely that.

Once I started to ask myself what I truly needed to live well, I ran into an interesting problem. I observed that my entitled generation had more conveniences and luxuries than any other before it, and yet they still said they had to work harder.

I could grasp the toil of working for food, or for shelter, or for safety, and yet very few of my peers were ever without such things by default. Most of them were working for something else.

In fact, when I got to know more people of lesser means through a job in social services, I saw that the other half were certainly busy, but they were certainly not busy with that kind of busywork.

When I first came across this passage by Seneca, I had to go back a few times to make sure that I was reading it right. That phrase, “restless indolence”, wouldn’t leave my head, since I knew that this was exactly what I was being told to do.

Always be active, while acting for nothing of worth. Always run around, but have no meaningful direction. Always look to the next level of achievement, without having a clue about what is worth achieving.

Be busy with everyone else’s business; never ask what it means to be in the business of being human.

Yes, it involves being in a state of constant motion, even as it spirals in upon itself, and it finally collapses in upon itself. It is doing everything and still doing nothing. It is treading on water.

As odd as it seems, it is actually a form of laziness, of always expecting genuine rewards without expending genuine efforts.

“Oh, but I’m so busy!”

Busy with what? My ass grows fatter, and my virtues becomes smaller.

Written in 12/2011