Byung-Chul Han, the South Korean-born philosopher and cultural theorist who now lives and works in Germany, has put out a spate of very short books that address topics of momentous importance: exploitation under a capitalist system that conditions everyone to be “on” all the time, our attenuated sense of self under a regime of increasing digitalization, and the degrading effects of living in a society that constantly measures a person’s worth by achievement and performance metrics.
Vita Contemplativa (Polity Books, 2024) is about a similar cluster of issues – namely, our inability to appreciate the very human (and humane) pursuit of leisure. Despite the name of the book, it has nothing to do with the distinction between the vita contemplativa and the vita activa distinction about whether one should spend their life in public service or in quiet thought and reflection that dates at least as far back as Aristotle. Instead, Han addresses a question that is much more incumbent on us as citizens of a digital age who require constant dopamine hits: in a world where nearly all our actions are goal-driven, purposeful, and caught up in a fitful logic of self-perpetuation, have we lost touch with a vital sense of what makes us human – the undirected purposelessness of leisure? For Han, the answer is a definitive yes.
“Because we look at life exclusively from the perspective of work and performance, we view inactivity as a deficiency that must be overcome as quickly as possible,” Han says. There’s something about this argument that seems intuitively attractive. The problem is that Han takes it, runs with it, and refuses to cede an inch of ground, going so far as to suggest that anything remotely work-related is alienating or dehumanizing, and that everything human belongs to the realm of leisure. Surely the goal is to achieve some sort of harmony between work and leisure, not to eschew work altogether. Work should not be the sole source of human joy, but someone would be hard-pressed to suggest that work is nothing but soulless drudgery.
In addition to taking his argument too far, Han (or his translator, Daniel Steuer) uses language in a sloppy, non-rigorous way. Throughout the book, leisure is essentially used as a stand-in for non-directed action, culture, and in the last part of the book, religion. Of these, the connection to culture is the most convincing. Han says that history is what happens when action with a goal in mind takes place, while culture is what happens when goalless action occurs. This is not only a facile distinction that doesn’t hold, but a wholly untenable position when put under a microscope. Surely some historical events take place as accident just as some matters of cultural significance are planned and purposeful. Nevertheless, the distinction speaks to a truth to which we all want to call attention: there is something deeply valuable in partaking of the ludic, the festival, and the celebratory - again, all words used as synonyms of “leisurely,” but that have slightly different English-language connotations.
Han approaches a fascinating body of questions, but for me, the best parts of the book are where he appropriates the language of Nietzsche, Hannah Arendt, Heidegger, and Walter Benjamin to make his arguments. Aside from framing his critiques around the neoliberal subject who is constantly shaped by the need for goal-directed action, much of what Han says isn’t new. Hannah Arendt thinks our humanity can be found by heroically entering the political sphere and fulfilling our role as the Aristotelian political animal (“zoon politikon”). This is clearly a goal that Han will reject on its face. On the other hand, Han adopts Heidegger’s criticism of philosophy shifting from one of being to one of doing. But you don’t need Han to realize that. Heidegger himself spent his entire life trying to describe how this trend has been playing out in the twenty-five centuries since the Presocratics.
Han doesn’t make the book one sustained argument in conversation with one thinker or from point of view. Instead, each chapter takes up the main idea from a slightly different viewpoint creating a kind of theme with variations. Some of the variations are downright perplexing. In the last chapter, he suggests that religion (by which he means something like the reverence the Romantics had for nature) is one of the ultimate embodiments of inactivity. He also suggests a politics of being is the only effective way we will be able to fight the current climate crisis. What would it even look like for a set of policy initiatives to be the result of anything other than goal-directed purposeful action?
In late capitalism where nothing can escape the Scylla and Charybdis of commodification and alienation, Han’s thesis is an enticing one, but he fails to convince his audience - or at least fails to stretch the argument as far as he would like. At about 100 pages, the book is excessively short – far too short to harness the kind of arguments that are needed to convince us that all work is dehumanizing, and all culture/ceremony/play is human. Han’s style is too episodic and wandering. Early in the book, Han juxtaposes the flaneur’s effortless wandering to the purposeful, determined walk of someone who must be somewhere at a certain time. Han’s argument is one that requires determination and purpose. But in fitting with the content of his message, Han proves to be the flaneur drawn toward the aphoristic and epigrammatic instead of our new Kant, the philosopher whose strolls around Konigsberg everyone could set their watches by. We can’t fault him for his consistency.