This evening, I am grateful for the idea of rest. It sounds so simple to rest, yet it can be so difficult. I find myself sometimes bristling a little bit when my loved one suggests that I take some time to relax.
Both common sense and spiritual wisdom from many traditions admonish us to rest, for our good and the good of those around us. We actually get more done by taking more time to rest, in intervals during the day, at night through sleep, and through some sort of weekly version of a rest day.
How strange to think that part of our restlessness may be caused by sloth, technically called "acedia" in an older tradition. The Catholic scholar Josephy Pieper explains that in the Middle ages, "it was held that sloth and restlessness, 'leisurelessness', the incapacity to enjoy leisure, were all closely connected; sloth was held to be the source of restlessness, and the ultimate cause of 'work for work’s sake'" (Leisure: The Basis of Culture 43). In this sense, restlessness is largely caused by a lazy reluctance to decide on and pursue the discipline of regular rest and the restraint of unhindered ambition.
I remember when I first came across Pieper's claim: I thought it strange and contradictory compared to what I had come to assume as a sort of inherited, unbalanced continuation of the Protestant work ethic in recent centuries. It's likely that any heritage of restlessness has little to do with the legacy of Puritan traditions or practices and much more to do with pursuing what Benjamin Storey and Jenna Silber Storey refer to as "immanent contentment": See Why We Are Restless for their exploration of this idea.
Storey and Storey provide a compelling argument that we've inherited a self-defeating tendency in our uncritical adoption of striving for immanent contentment, reaching back to Michele de Montaigne in the sixteenth century. This notion of immanent contentment is an ideal conception of having the just-right blend of engaging pursuits, relationships, attitudes, and self-development strategies. The harder we seek this just-right experience, the more it seems to elude us. It's a sort of psychological utopia that can be found nowhere.
Storey and Storey's argument is compelling because I frequently catch myself striving for this sort of perfect experience of rest. Paradoxically, this ideal of striving to have immanent contentment sets off ripple effects of restlessness, individually, societally, and historically. No doubt there are some other contributors to trends in restlessness, but the impossible search for immanent contentment deserves honest consideration as a root-cause candidate.
Another way to consider this is that rest is a good idea but a horrible ideal, at least for our mortal lives in the days that we have. Idea vs ideal is not a trivial difference in spelling but a big difference in ambitions and expectations. Modestly practicing the idea of rest, but letting go of the immediate pursuit of ideal rest is a tricky discipline. Immanent contentment seems to drive folks into lives of quiet (and not-so-quiet) desperation.
What's a better approach? For starters, the best wisdom is to, "Give it a rest," whether it's through the practice of regular sabbaths or some other variety of activity reduction. Once a week, the best sources recommend that we pause as many things as possible. This will lead to facing potential stretches of boredom, but learning to embrace and welcome that boredom can help us let go of the incessant, immediate happiness-hunts.
When I'm trying to relax, it sometimes helps me to remember the advice of a wise guest ranch owner I know. I remember something he liked to tell his guests upon arrival: "The secret to a great vacation is to lower your expectations."
Something else I'm discovering is that simple exercises of practicing gratitude on a regular basis can do much to ward off the insatiable hunger for immanent contentment. I'm also finding myself more often just enjoying sitting still, silently or doing some simple task without overthinking it.
Thinking back to a previous post in which I asked, "Why write if nobody will read it?", I find that writing, even if nobody reads it, is an effective way to practice expressing gratitude, a sort of spiritual discipline. We talk a lot about a "growth mindset,"but there's also much to be gained from developing a "gratitude mindset." So, writing can help, even if nobody reads it.
On that note, I thought I'd draft and post this on Saturday evening and "give it a rest" tomorrow.
So many ideas and people to be thankful for...