"Why can't he get it together, he's so lazy"
"You're right, its just plain laziness"
"Laziness." What is "laziness"? Does "laziness" describe an element of reality, a "real" phenomenon? Does "laziness" actually exist?
"Laziness" is, amongst other things, an explanatory principle that we use to describe a category of behaviours. From the endless profusion of reality - the continuum of events and things - we sketch out some borders, and tell ourselves that everything in between them will be referred to as "lazy." It is a handy fiction. Like all explanatory principles, laziness is a shortcut, a label we wheel out to stop us from having to dig any deeper, from spending any time. It is an adaptive invention that conserves energy, allowing us to get from A to B in the shortest possible time. If we can only cram so much information into our consciousness - concentrate on a finite amount of things - then our shortcuts allow us to get on with things, to get things done. They bypass the long route, because the long route is wasteful.
And so more often than not, we take the short one: "he is lazy." But if we use "lazy" then we should be aware that we are using a placeholder; that we are, in fact, marking something for further examination. The problem with a fiction like "lazy" is when it is literalised; when we begin to believe that the dragon really exists, and that it is embodied by this person, or that person.
When we look beneath "lazy" we begin to see a number of other things; more words rush in. We begin to see "preoccupied," "depressed," "afraid." We see these and much more. And then these words begin to crack and crumble, revealing further intricacies.
"Laziness" is not designed to hold reality, or to reflect it. Whilst pretending to describe reality, "laziness" actually works to keep us at arms length from it. The actuality that lies beneath "laziness" in an unexploded bomb: remove the lid - the label - and it detonates into a million pieces; a million fragments of reality - so many that we cannot hold them all, understand them all. They whirl around us, spinning us into a confusion. Perhaps then, it is best not to remove the lid, to look beneath "lazy."
But if we care about this person - this lazy so and so - then perhaps we owe them more than "lazy." Is "lazy" ever excusable? Maybe it just needs untethering from the reality that we hang around it, so that it can float up and take its rightful place, among all the other nebulous words.
Perhaps to use terms like "lazy" might just be plain ... lazy.
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