The Benefits of F*!#ing Off
“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… the road to happiness and prosperity lies in an organized diminution of work.”
Bertrand Russell, In Praise of Idleness, 1932
In his uncannily robust essay, now 90 years old, British philosopher Bertrand Russell argues for less work and more leisure time with the confident clarity usually reserved for opposing jeremiads. Never has his perspective been more relevant than in today’s relentless cycle of unceasing, crush-it, you-should-be-doing-more mentality. It begs the question: why?
“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.”
How prescient. If only Russell had been as accurate in his analysis of the first part: in the future, “work” would have little to do with “altering the earth.” Wall Street was vulnerable in 1932, so it’s understandable that a mind as brilliant as his didn’t foresee mountains upon mountains of bullshit consulting jobs and intangible financial schemes also being called “products” and passed off as “work,” even at the expense of producing nothing whatsoever—except mass heartache and devastation during every bust.
The same question lingers: why dedicate ourselves to “working” with such ferocity? We’ve reached a dubious pinnacle where everyone seems maxed out, stressed out, and borderline burned out, whether they’re selling microchips, television scripts, or specialty cocktails. Our devotion to toil has turned us into Hollow Men.
Does the Invisible Hand propagate the philosophy of “hard work” to keep us too busy and exhausted to revolt? The Arab Spring illustrated with undeniable clarity that gross inequality and socio-economic paralysis make revolution inevitable. There’s no motivation more compelling than bringing down a kleptocracy. Even if it fails.
Imagine a four-hour workday instead of eight or ten. Or a four-day work week with three days off. Would we still get everything done? What would the actual drawbacks be if the answer were no? Couldn’t we see those “drawbacks” as long-term positives? Wouldn’t that extra time away from the grind help us develop what so many of our bosses demand—a positive attitude and the ability to think outside the box? Hard to think outside the box when you spend 12 hours a day inside one.
So, some things would take longer to accomplish. But the upside? Another day off is cost-effective and psychologically healthier. Imagine us all being better off with less.
“Suppose that, at a given moment, a certain number of people are engaged in the manufacture of pins. They make as many pins as the world needs, working eight hours a day. Someone makes an invention by which the same number of men can make twice as many pins: pins are already so cheap that hardly any more will be bought at a lower price.
In a sensible world, everybody concerned in the manufacturing of pins would take to working four hours instead of eight, and everything else would go on as before. But in the actual world, this would be thought demoralizing. The men still work eight hours, there are too many pins, some employers go bankrupt, and half the men previously concerned in making pins are thrown out of work. There is, in the end, just as much leisure as on the other plan, but half the men are totally idle while half are still overworked. In this way, it is ensured that the unavoidable leisure shall cause misery all around instead of being a universal source of happiness. Can anything more insane be imagined?”
The wealthy have always preached the virtues of labor while taking every precaution to remain virtue-less themselves in this regard. Ask the laborer what he thinks, and you’ll find he’s evolved from feeling pride in his work to hoping he hits the Powerball. What he dreams of doing with the money is a telltale sign of our system’s demise. He’d trade up in a heartbeat: bigger house, better car, largest flatscreen to consume the same banal entertainment he had when he was just a worker bee. None of it would go back into the system.
It’s not his fault, per se. His imagination has atrophied so severely that he’s incapable of breaking the cycle of desire. But imagine if he could. If he had the resources to formulate a goal worthy of his efforts because he wasn’t fried sideways from an unceasing, uninspired donkey load of toil. Might he not contribute more to the society that asks so much from him? Might he not improve his life and those around him in pursuit of something loftier than zoning out in front of a demographically tailored action movie with a bag of genetically modified chips and a case of calorie-free beer? Has the cult of efficiency disqualified our capacity for play?
Everything is done in the name of something else. We work so our kids can go to good schools, so we can get away from work on vacations, so we can die wealthy enough to be buried in luxury coffins. Where has the pride in labor gone? How do we tip the scales back even slightly? We know the answer deep down, but we’re afraid to utter it in public: we need to start fucking off more.
It should be mandated that every citizen attend a three-day music festival once a year and hallucinate heavily during it. It should be required that we read fiction and poetry daily and discuss it informally under the influence of tequila. It should be enforced by penalty of law that we spend at least a month unplugged in nature, naked.
“In a world where no one is compelled to work more than four hours a day, every person possessed of scientific curiosity will be able to indulge it, and every painter will be able to paint without starving, however excellent his pictures may be. Young writers will not be obliged to draw attention to themselves by sensational pot-boilers, with a view to acquiring the economic independence needed for monumental works, for which, when the time at last comes, they will have lost the taste and capacity.
Since men will not be tired in their spare time, they will not demand only such amusements as are passive and vapid... Ordinary men and women, having the opportunity of a happy life, will become more kindly, less persecuting, and less inclined to view others with suspicion.”
It’s not asking for much. Just a return to balance. To our natural state of existing on a planet that should inspire awe every morning instead of dread at the thought of dragging ourselves through gridlock to a survival job we detest.
We need to feed ourselves, yes. We need to clothe our children, of course. But let us take a page from the great slackers who were ultimately completely unselfish. As Neil Young wisely said, “There’s a lot to learn from wasting time.”