The Value of Monotony
I was on TikTok recently when I came across a video that criticized the repetitive nature of life. We all just “wake up, eat, go to school, come home, watch TV, do your homework, go to bed, and do it all again.” This, to the TikToker, is supposed to be a bad thing. Another TikToker named Lydia responded to this video by saying:
I see videos like these a lot on TikTok, of people criticizing the repetitive nature of life, perpetuating the fallacy that if you do the same thing every day you’re not living your ‘fullest life.’ And they fail to acknowledge that growth often requires repetition. There is such a paradox on TikTok where I’ll see a video like the one I just stitched of someone saying, “We’re trapped in a cycle, we do the same thing every day,” and the next video will be a crazy talented artist making an incredible piece of art. And the reality is that that artist only became an amazing artist because they did it every day. There’s a competing narrative that we only grow from short-term, exciting experiences like going to new places and doing wild things there. And I’ve had some incredible experiences in my travels, but when I look back on my life so far, I see that I define myself not by the time I did shrooms in the Dominican Republic with a random group of middle-aged Europeans, but by the periods of my life where I was doing the same thing every day. We should romanticize repetition in our life because repetition is a huge part of how we grow, so when we romanticize repetition, we ultimately romanticize who we become.
This commentary received mix reviews in the comment section of the video. One commenter argued that “the artist is practicing repetition because they enjoy expressing themselves through art,” and that Lydia “missed the point” of the original TikTok she was critiquing. In a similar, though more congenial, vein, one commenter said, “You’re not wrong but I think this is a difference in class perception. If [you] never got to do that traveling and [you] were stuck at a low paying job, you might feel differently about the repetition.”
Here is, to my understanding, the argument made by Lydia:
Monotony (or doing the same thing every day) is valuable to the extent that it gives us tools to perfect ourselves.
A lot of the things we do that we consider monotonous give us tools to perfect ourselves.
Therefore, a lot of the things we do that we consider monotonous are valuable.
If something is valuable, then we should encourage, embrace, and promote it.
Therefore, we should encourage, embrace, and promote a lot of the things we do that we consider monotonous.
Lydia’s critics seem to be attacking Premise 2 of her argument. This is my understanding of the criticism:
A lot of the things we do that we consider monotonous are things we would rather not be doing.
If an act is something we would rather not be doing, then it cannot (or often does not?) give us tools to perfect ourselves.
Therefore, a lot of the things that we consider monotonous cannot (or often does not?) give us tools to perfect ourselves.
Monotony is valuable to the extent that it gives us tools to perfect ourselves.
Therefore, a lot of the things that we consider monotonous are not valuable.
I take it that the kind of value monotony is posited to have gives us reason to encourage, embrace, and promote it, and that in the absence of this value there are reasons to think that monotonous activity can be fittingly resented. Thus, the conclusion of the argument of Lydia’s critic gives us the resources to argue that one can fittingly feel resentment toward the monotony of daily life––that is, the monotony of waking up, working to pay your own bills and the bills of others who are dependent on you, sleeping, and doing it all over again. If social and political institutions are arranged such that people are unwillingly subjected to this kind of monotony and there is no good reason offered for this subjection, then we might think that we have reason to be critical of the way social and political institutions are arranged.
In this post, I argue that monotony––even of the kind criticized by Lydia’s critic––is valuable because it is almost always a symptom of honoring one’s personal commitments dutifully. Contra Premise 2 of the argument advanced by Lydia’s critic, I show why acts that we would rather not be doing can be and often are tools that can be used to perfect ourselves in important ways. Then, I argue that a lot of the things we consider monotonous are things that we would rather not be doing and that are tools of self-perfection, demonstrating that we have reason to think we are not being wronged by being subjected to monotony. To make this point clearer, I offer an account of why it would be impossible to live in a world where we never had to do something we would rather not do, and how this impossibility lends itself to encouraging, embracing, and promoting monotony in life.
Suppose I want to be an artist, so I make a commitment to myself to work on my preferred craft every day. For our purposes, let’s imagine that I dedicate an hour a day to painting. Over time, I learn different techniques that improve upon my existing artistic skill set. I eventually create stunning works of art that attract international audiences at renown art exhibits. Seeing as how I desired to become an artist, it is easy to see how my commitment to painting every day gives me tools I need to perfect myself along some important dimension. It is easy to see this because, well, I recognized the value of painting and committed to doing it every day in light of the value I recognized. There are, however, many circumstances in which I am not apt to see the value of my commitments until I have honored them for some time.
Now, suppose I want to have a family of my own, so I make a commitment to myself and the members of my immediate family unit to do what is necessary on my part to keep our family together. This may involve driving my children to soccer or band practice, cooking dinner for the family several times a week, making certain sacrifices regarding my career prospects, and so forth. Many of these activities are activities that it would not be unreasonable for me to rather not be doing at any given time. Every time I drive my children to soccer or band practice, I forgo other activities that are of greater value to me. Every time I make dinner for my family, I forgo other activities that are of greater value to me. Still, my doing these things help me become better––not as an artist, but as a father or a husband.
When one makes a commitment to themselves or others, they make a commitment not to do anything other than what they committed themselves to during the time that they are honoring that commitment. When I make a commitment to myself to paint every day, I am committing to painting even on those days when I am sick of painting. When I make a commitment to my family to do my part to keep our family running, I am committing to doing the things necessary to this end even on days when my family is driving me up the walls. When we make commitments to ourselves and others, we subject ourselves to the monotony that is implicit in commitment. My commitment to my family produces conditions under which I regularly act in service to the ends of others, which requires that I do the same things for others routinely. By honoring my commitment to my family, I assent to living a life of a certain kind of monotony.
Thus, there will be times when I am morally obligated to do things that I would rather not do and these activities will serve to perfect me in important ways. To the extent that we find value in monotony because it gives us tools that can be used to perfect ourselves, we have reason to regard a lot of the things we do that we consider monotonous valuable. Now, someone may try to show that there is an alternative to monotony that can be achieved by rearranging social and political institutions which will produce more value in the world than monotony would. I will do my best to show why no such alternative can plausibly exist given the kinds of beings that we, as human beings, are.
Imagine that we lived in a world where we are given unlimited leisure time. We no longer need to get up every day and work to make money that will keep a roof over our heads and food on our tables. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want. Would this mean that people would, in fact, do whatever they want, whenever they want? To put it bluntly: No. Granted, our leisure time would no longer be obfuscated by contractual obligations we have to carry out for our employers, but it would be obstructed by the repetitious obligations that will develop as a result of my commitments to those I love. I may not have to show up at a bothersome 9-5 job every weekday, but I will have to show up at a dear friend’s art exhibit when I have overriding reasons to, even if the exhibit date comes around and I wouldn’t be able to fathom getting out of bed that day. Every reason one has to resent working multiple minimum wage jobs to support themselves and those they love are likewise reasons one has to resent sacrificing time to support themselves and others in non-capitalistic ways. To the extent that it is unreasonable to resent a loved one for expecting you to sacrifice some of your time for the advancement of their interests, it is likewise unreasonable to resent the expectation that you work a less-than-glamorous job every day much to your chagrin. Whether you like it or not, that job is probably teaching you important things about being a responsible, caring, and self-sufficient person.
There does seem to be this dominant narrative which sings the praises of fleeting, exciting experiences as being the bedrock for personal development. People seem to be quick to encourage others to travel, to take risks, and to make major life changes. Shiny, new things have a lot of luster, so it makes sense for people to be excited about the prospect of these very things. But monotony and repetitious actions are beautiful in a sturdy, reliable sort of way. It is through monotony that we develop a stable sense of self over time and come to learn how to be better people. This is because monotony is a symptom of honoring one’s personal commitments dutifully, and commitment is at the heart of human flourishing. We are social creatures who discover value in our lives by integrating (through acts of commitment) the loves, hopes, and aspirations of others into the set of things we love, hope for, and aspire to. So long as we are this way, monotony is both intractable and beautiful.