Embracing sloth, a self-help guide

Sloth

Wendy Wasserstein

Oxford University Press:

114 pp., $17.95

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Everyone likes to talk about sin. Not just the scandalous details of celebrity slip-ups recounted in the tabloids or on cable TV, but the very notion of sin itself.

Inspired perhaps by this indisputable fact, the New York Public Library and Oxford University Press co-sponsored a lecture series on the “Seven Deadly Sins” beginning in 2002. Scholars, critics and writers gave lectures that are being issued as neat little books. “Sloth,” by the Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Wendy Wasserstein is the sixth to appear, following the publication of “Envy,” “Lust,” “Gluttony,” “Anger” and “Greed.” (“Pride” is forthcoming.)

Sloth, Wasserstein contends, is a relatively recent addition to the list, which appeared in its first form in AD 4 and was regularly amended over the years. It wasn’t until the 1600s that religious leaders decided that sadness was too vague a condition to be a proper sin and drafted sloth, defined as the avoidance of physical or spiritual activity, as a replacement.

Though other authors in this series might question the weightiness or wickedness of their sin of choice, Wasserstein treats sloth, perhaps because of its more recent vintage, as a slippery number, particularly lacking in gravitas.

All the better.

Wasserstein, who has chronicled the foibles, if not the sins, of our times in her plays, confronts sloth head on, treating it as a virtue. She doesn’t just accept a little slothfulness but has created a self-improvement regimen devoted to the cultivation of full-time sloth.

In a work that simultaneously parodies self-help books, notions of sin and the shibboleths of contemporary society, Wasserstein offers a program for total slothfulness, with the goal of eliminating every shred of ambition, competitiveness and drive.

Sloth, if properly cultivated by following her careful instructions, has the potential to save the world. After all, she asks, “[T]hose of you who need to become CEOs of companies, isn’t it better to avoid the inevitable temptation of graft and income tax evasion? Look at our friends from Enron -- they could’ve benefited from a little sloth.”

Like the best self-help books, it’s a quick read -- lots of white space and not much more than 100 little pages. It can fit in your pocket -- almost in your palm.

Best of all, many of us may already be on the path. How hard can it be to “seize the means of production of your own life and just shut it down”? Or to “clutter your mind with so much nonsense,” like J.Lo’s off-and-on engagement, that you’ll soon decide there’s no reason to think at all?

There’s a list of overachievers -- perilous models to be sure. If Shakespeare had been a bit more slothful, Wasserstein suggests, there wouldn’t be so much questioning of his output and “there’d be a lot less chit-chat about Christopher Marlowe.” Then there are those she calls the 21st century “ubersloths.” These hyperscheduled overachievers, with their total lack of creativity, passion or vision, turn out to be doyens of slothfulness themselves, she says.

And on it goes, complete with step-by-step instructions for an elaborate procedure she calls “Lethargiosis” to rid yourself of all family and professional pressures and expectations, and an appendix offering an “activity gram” counter.

This book might be, as promised, the one self-help guide you can actually stick to. After all, the point of slothfulness is that once you achieve a certain level, you’ve cleansed yourself of all social pressures and are doing exactly what you want to do. It shouldn’t be that hard to maintain the program.

But the path toward sloth is strewn with pitfalls. Finding certain resonances in the text, I thought I might be willing to jump aboard. But to bring you, dear reader, the message of slothfulness, I have been forced to violate one of the very first principles.

After all, I did have a deadline to meet. I can only console myself that backsliding is perhaps inevitable, and wish all of you the best of luck.

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Naomi Glauberman is contributing writer to the Book Review and other publications.