The Anatomy of Melancholy

This much I dare say boldly: whoever is idle, whatever their station, however rich, well connected, fortunate or happy, though they possess everything in abundance, every happiness the heart could wish and every satisfaction, as long as they remain idle they will never be content, never sound in body and mind. They will always be weary, always sickly, always troubled, always disgusted—weeping, sighing, grieving, suspecting, offended by the world and everything in it, wishing themselves gone or dead, or carried away by some foolish fancy or other.

And this is the true reason why so many great men, ladies and gentlewomen suffer from this disease in town and country. Idleness attends nobility: they think work a disgrace, spend their days in sports, recreations and pastimes, and therefore undertake no labour and follow no vocation. They eat plentifully and well, but lack exercise, activity, employment—for, as I say, they cannot bear to work—and company to their taste. Hence their bodies fill with thick humours, wind and undigested matter, and their minds become troubled, dull and heavy. Care, jealousy, fear of illnesses, sulking fits and weeping fits take hold of them all too readily.

For what will fear and imagination not do to an idle body? What disorders will they not cause? When the children of Israel murmured against Pharaoh in Egypt, he ordered his officers to double their task: they were to gather their own straw and still make their full quota of bricks. For the sole reason for their mutiny and discontent was, “They are idle.”

When everywhere you go you hear and see so many discontented people, so many grievances, needless complaints, fears and suspicions, the best remedy is to set them to work and occupy their minds; for the truth is, they are idle. They may build castles in the air for a while and soothe themselves with fanciful and pleasant imaginings, but these will prove as bitter as gall in the end. They will remain, I say, discontented, suspicious, fearful, jealous and sad, fretting and tormenting themselves.

As long as they are idle, it is impossible to please them. “He who does not know how to use leisure has more trouble than someone occupied with business”—as Aulus Gellius observed. Someone who does not know how to spend his time has more business, care, grief and anguish of mind than the busiest person in the thick of his affairs. “The idle mind does not know what it wants”: an idle person, as he goes on, does not know when he is well off, what he wants or where he would go. “Once there, he wants to leave”: he is tired of everything, pleased with nothing, weary of life. “At ease neither at home nor on campaign”—neither at home nor abroad—“he wanders, and life is lived beside itself”: he wanders and lives beside himself.

In a word, nowhere do I find the harmful effects of laziness and idleness more exactly expressed than in these verses spoken by Philolaches in the comic poet. For their elegance, I shall quote part of them.

I think a human being, when first born, Is like a newly built house. I shall explain why. When a house is finished to exact measure, Everyone praises the builder and wants to copy it, and so on. But when a worthless, careless man moves in, and so on, A storm comes and breaks the roof tiles and gutters; The weather rots the builder’s work, and so on.