I think if you're going to be committed to doing anything, you

“I think if you’re going to be committed to doing anything, you really have to care about it, and I suppose that is a romantic idea.” So speaks Tony Benn, a man of politics and principle, yet also a poet of conviction. His words carry the weight of a life spent in service, and within them lies an ancient truth: that true commitment is born not of duty alone, but of care, and that to care deeply for one’s work, one’s cause, or one’s people is, in its essence, a profoundly romantic act.

For to care is to go beyond mere function. Many men labor without passion, many obey without heart. They fulfill tasks, but their souls remain untouched. Commitment without care is slavery; but commitment with care is devotion. Benn dares to call this a romantic idea, because it places passion at the core of action, as if to say: it is not enough to act—you must love what you act for. And in this love lies both nobility and danger, for the lover of causes suffers as much as he strives.

The ancients themselves embodied this union of commitment and care. Consider Cincinnatus, the Roman farmer called from his plow to defend the Republic. He did not seek power, yet when duty called, he served with love for his people, and when the danger passed, he returned to his fields. His commitment was not ambition but care, and it gave his deeds a purity that still echoes through time. To act so is indeed romantic, for it sees service not as burden but as offering, given with love.

History abounds with others who lived this truth. Florence Nightingale, tending the wounded in the dark of war, did not labor for pay or recognition, but because she cared. Her commitment was forged in the fire of compassion, and her legacy is not of duty fulfilled but of love embodied. Such figures remind us that without care, work becomes empty, but with care, even the smallest act becomes radiant with meaning.

Benn himself, as a politician, often stood accused of being too idealistic, too much the dreamer in a world of pragmatists. Yet he embraced this accusation, seeing in it not weakness but strength. For to hold fast to romantic ideals in a world of compromise is to keep alive the flame of vision. Without such flame, nations sink into cynicism, and individuals into despair. To be called romantic in one’s commitments is to be accused of caring too much—and is that not the highest of praises?

The lesson here is clear: if you wish to undertake any task—whether in love, in labor, or in service—let it not be hollow. Do not give your time where your heart is absent. Choose instead to pour yourself into what you do with passion. Let your care shape your commitment, so that your work is not only done but lived. For only then will your deeds carry the warmth that outlasts time.

Therefore, dear listener, take Tony Benn’s wisdom into your own life. When you commit, commit with care. When you serve, serve with love. Do not fear being called a romantic, for it means you have not surrendered your heart to cold calculation. Instead, you have chosen to live with fire, to act with meaning, to remain young in spirit though the world grows weary. And in this, you will find not only accomplishment, but fulfillment—the true reward of one who cared enough to commit.