There are some that profess Idleness in its full dignity, who call themselves the Idle, as Busiris in the play "calls himself the Proud"; who boast that they do nothing, and thank their stars that they have nothing to do; who sleep every night till they can sleep no longer, and rise only that exercise may enable them to sleep again; who prolong the reign of darkness by double curtains, and never see the sun but to "tell him how they hate his beams"; whose whole labor is to vary the postures of indulgence, and whose day differs from their night but as a couch or chair differs from a bed.
These are the true and open votaries of Idleness, for whom she weaves the garlands of poppies3, and into whose cup she pours the waters of oblivion; who exist in a state of unruffled stupidity, forgetting and forgotten; who have long ceased to live, and at whose death the survivors can only say, that they have ceased to breathe.
But Idleness predominates in many lives where it is not suspected; for being a vice which terminates in itself, it may be enjoyed without injury to others; and is therefore not watched like Fraud, which endangers property, or like Pride, which naturally seeks its gratifications in another' s inferiority. Idleness is a silent and peaceful quality, that neither raises envy by ostentation, nor hatred by opposition; and therefore nobody is busy to censure or detect it.
As Pride sometimes is hid under humility, Idleness is often covered by turbulence4 and hurry. He that neglects his known duty and real employment, naturally endeavors to crowd his mind with something that may bar out the remembrance of his own folly, and does anything but what he ought to do with eager diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favor.
Some are always in a state of preparation, occupied in previous measures, forming plans, accumulating materials, and providing for the main affair. These are certainly under the secret power of Idleness. Nothing is to be expected from the workman whose tools are forever to be sought. I was once told by a great master, that no man ever excelled in painting, who was eminently curious about pencils and colors.
There are others to whom Idleness dictates another expedient, by which life may be passed unprofitably away without the tediousness of many vacant hours. The art is, to fill the day with petty business, to have always something in hand which may raise curiosity, but not solicitude, and keep the mind in a state of action, but not of labor.
This art has for many years been practiced by my old friend Sober, with wonderful success. Sober is a man of strong desires and quick imagination, so exactly balanced by the love of ease, that they can seldom stimulate him to any difficult undertaking; they have, however, so much power, that they will not suffer him to lie quite at rest, and though they do not make him sufficiently useful to others, they make him at least weary of himself.
Mr. Sober' s chief pleasure is conversation; there is no end of his talk or his attention; to speak or to hear is equally pleasing; for he still fancies that he is teaching or learning something, and is free for the time from his own reproaches.
But there is one time at night when he must go home, that his friends may sleep; and another time in the morning, when all the world agrees to shut out interruption. These are the moments of which poor Sober trembles at the thought. But the misery of these tiresome intervals, he has many means of alleviating. He has persuaded himself that the manual arts are undeservedly overlooked; he has observed in many trades the effects of close thought, and just ratiocination. From speculation he proceeded to practice, and supplied himself with the tools of a carpenter, with which he mended his coalbox very successfully, and which he still continues to employ, as he finds occasion.
He has attempted at other times the crafts of the shoemaker, tinman, plumber, and potter; in all these arts he has failed, and resolves to qualify himself for them by better information. But his daily amusement is chemistry. He has a small furnace, which he employs in distillation, and which has long been the solace of his life. He draws oils and waters, and essences and spirits, which he knows to be of no use; sits and counts the drops as they come from his retort, and forgets that, whilst a drop is falling, a moment flies away.
Poor Sober! I have often teased him with reproof, and he has often promised reformation; for no man is so much open to conviction as the Idler, but there is none on whom it operates so little. What will be the effect of this paper I know not; perhaps he will read it and laugh, and light the fire in his furnace; but my hope is that he will quit his trifles, and betake himself to rational and useful diligence.
很多德育家指出,骄傲是人类所有恶习中影响力最为广泛的。它的表现形式繁杂多样,隐藏方式也多种多样。就如同天边月儿晶莹透明的面纱,伪装既有光彩之处又有隐晦之所。虽然遮盖，亦可一眼望穿。
诚然，我无意降低骄傲的危害程度，但不知道闲散是否会成为它的劲敌。
然而有些人高声赞叹闲散是高雅之事，以“闲散之士”自居，正如布西里斯在剧中自称为“骄傲之士”一样。他们炫耀自己无需做事,感谢命运之神没有给他们安排事情。他们每晚睡觉睡到自然醒，起床活动活动也只是为了更好地入睡。为了延长黑夜的主宰，他们拉起厚厚的双层窗帘，终日不见阳光，除了“告诉他，他们十分憎恶他的光芒”。不断地变换享受的姿势就是他们所有的劳动。对他们而言，昼夜的分别就在于长沙发、椅子和床的不同。
他们是一群真正的并且公开的闲散女神崇拜者。女神为其编织美丽的罂粟花环,把遗忘水倒入他们的杯中。他们生活在平静的愚蠢状态中，长久没有生命的气息。而死去时，生者只会说，他们停止了呼吸。
然而，不经意间，闲散主宰着多数人的生命。这种恶习仅限于散漫者自身，不会危及他人，因而就不同于欺诈和傲慢。前者危及财产安全；后者在他人的自卑中寻求满足。闲散是一种静默平和，既不会因他人之夸耀而心存妒忌,也不会因抗衡而产生敌意。正因为如此，他们不会惨遭责难。
就像傲慢时而藏于谦卑，闲散常掩于絮乱和匆忙。一个人疏于本职工作，自然就可能极力想些其他的事情，从而忘却自己曾经的蠢事；同时，他会把那些非职责范围内且需勤奋努力之事抛之脑后，这样他就能随心所欲，恣意而行了。
有些人时刻处于准备状态，致力于事前准备，拟计划，收集材料等。这些人必然受闲散女神某种神秘力量的控制。一味忙于找工具的工匠是无法有所成就的。一位绘画大师曾对我说，只对铅笔和色彩好奇之人，是不会精于绘画的。
也有另外一些人，他们把散漫看成权宜之计，认为生命会在闲散中碌碌而逝，而生活却不会在沉闷单调中了却。闲散之艺术就在于，用琐事填塞每一天，手头总有一些让人好奇但不伤脑筋的事可做。同时，大脑保持在活动状态，而非劳动状态。