A reader is entitled to three weeks off but can’t shake the feeling that taking them would be selfish, uncommitted or proof they’re expendable. Ask an Ethicist columnist Vera Cherepanova recognizes the setup for what it is: an ethical trap where every worry doubles back into a reason to stay at your desk.
I would like to take three weeks off work, which I’m formally entitled to, but I keep hearing this is a bad idea. If the company can manage without me for three weeks, will that mean I am expendable? Will it make me look less committed than others? And will it be unfair to the rest of the team, who will have to cover my work? Would taking so much time off be selfish or irresponsible, or, in an age of “unprecedented technological progress and AI-driven productivity,” is it finally perfectly ethical to take care of yourself when you need it? — No One Ever
If the company manages without you, maybe you are expendable. If it struggles, you have selfishly abandoned your colleagues. If you disconnect, you are not committed enough. If you remain online, you have not really taken a vacation. This is not so much an ethical dilemma as an ethical trap: Every possible outcome looks like evidence that you should continue working.
Back in 1930, the economist John Maynard Keynes made a famous prediction: By 2030, technological progress and rising prosperity would allow people in advanced economies to work 15 hours a week.
We are now in 2026, and that prediction seems very far from being realized. Many white-collar professionals regularly work 50 hours or more. In some industries, such as investment banking, that number can reach 80 to 120 hours. Even the four-day workweek remains an aspiration.
Yet, Keynes was not entirely wrong about the economics in question. The US became as rich and productive as he had imagined it would, substantially outpacing primary competitors, such as Europe and Japan in GDP growth. What did not happen was the conversion of that prosperity into substantially shorter hours in the office.
Still, there has been some real progress, with an interesting caveat. The data shows that the average American now works about 1,200 fewer hours a year than the average worker did in the late 19th century. But when we zoom in on households, something curious happens. In the 1880s, the typical married American couple averaged about 67 hours of paid work a week. In 2020? Still 67 hours.
Those numbers conceal an enormous social transformation. Once confined to domestic chores, more women entered the workforce thanks to household automation and profound cultural and economic changes. They began working fewer hours in the home and more outside it.
Married men underwent an opposite shift: adopting new technologies, including tractors, cars and computers, made workers more productive in their shorter workdays. Men gradually used their extra time to take on more hours of chores, errands and childcare at home. But these dynamics don’t fully explain why a rich and productive society does not allow its people to be able to work radically less or take more time off as Keynes anticipated.
There are many reasons — far more than I can fit into one column. Rising costs play a major role, but so do rising expectations about what constitutes a comfortable life. Buying a home, raising children and caring for older family members are all more expensive than they used to be.
Keeping up with the Joneses has become more challenging, too. It is difficult to feel prosperous when every part of daily life reminds you that someone else is in the faster line, using the preferred kiosk, sitting in the premium cabin or enjoying the better membership tier. Life simply feels better if you are in Boarding Group 1, right?
The rise of mass consumerism, social norms and the desire to match or exceed the lifestyle of others necessitate higher working hours, creating a hedonic treadmill effect where people feel compelled to continue working to afford the next set of luxury goods or experiences. We are also encouraged to take on more debt to afford those, which is another expansive topic for a conversation about ethics.
The result can be exhaustion, frustration and one reason why even upper-middle-class families can feel miserable. They have to push themselves beyond their limits just to keep up.
Another thing Keynes failed to foresee was the cultural value we would attach to work itself. Among many professionals, long hours have become a status symbol. Exactly as you write, busyness is conflated with importance, constant availability is seen as commitment and being indispensable sounds like the ultimate compliment. But is indispensability really a good proxy for value?
And what about AI, you asked Will the promised gains in efficiency finally reduce working hours? Will we at last have more time off, as we ought to?
Unlikely. Recent evidence shows that AI is making some people work more, not less. In one survey, 18% of developers reported AI-related exhaustion. Turns out AI agents may not reduce work so much as multiply the amount of work humans must initiate, monitor, correct, coordinate. The human becomes an AI babysitter, switching constantly among agents, suffering cognitive overload and feeling pressure to keep machines working around the clock. Some people now set agent tasks overnight and check their output before breakfast. Instead of a shorter workweek, we may be moving toward an “infinite” one.
Technology does not automatically give people leisure time, but it gives organizations and individuals the capacity to produce more. The opportunity to generate more output never stops, unless someone deliberately sets a limit.
It looks like we are trapped in a cycle, sacrificing our well-being for the next flat-screen TV, car, luxury bag or just converting every available hour into output. The bad news is that no one, not even AI, can give you permission to pause. No one, that is, except you. So, break out of the ethical trap. Take the three weeks. And do not spend the vacation checking whether everyone misses you enough.
(Speaking of taking your vacation time, Ask an Ethicist will take a summer break after this column drops to enjoy the remainder of summer. See you again in September.)
Readers respond
The previous question came from an independent director facing increasingly technical board decisions involving AI, cyber and robotics. The dilemma revolved around whether admitting that they did not fully understand a material issue was compatible with good fiduciary conduct, raising questions about humility, competence, performative confidence, board culture, the duty of care and how directors can ask for more information or expert support without losing authority.
In my response, I noted: “In Delaware-style US corporate law, directors’ duty of care requires them to make informed decisions, so the substance of the point is sound. In the UK, directors have a statutory duty to exercise reasonable care, skill and diligence.
“John Weinberg, the man who laid down the foundational philosophy on governance and director qualifications in the United States, wrote in his famous 1948 Princeton thesis: “A director must not only be willing to direct, but more important … must know enough to direct,” and “The primary step to be taken is a comprehensive educational program.
“That means to exercise the oversight duty, directors need to make sure they are learning, and when they are expected to project confidence rather than acknowledge limits, that’s a cause for a serious governance concern. To reframe, the duty of care includes knowing when you do not know enough, asking for clarification, expert input or more time and should be viewed not as a weakness but as a strength.” Read the full column here.
Indeed, this kind of vulnerability should be a foundation for building and nurturing a strong organizational culture. When leaders are willing to acknowledge what they do not know, it creates psychological safety for others to speak up, ask questions and close knowledge gaps across the organization. This honesty from the top can turn uncertainty into better governance, stronger decisions and a more resilient culture. — MMA
Have a response? Share your feedback on what I got right (or wrong). Send me your comments or questions.
A reader is entitled to three weeks off but can’t shake the feeling that taking them would be selfish, uncommitted or proof they’re expendable. Ask an Ethicist columnist Vera Cherepanova recognizes the setup for what it is: an ethical trap where every worry doubles back into a reason to stay at your desk.
I would like to take three weeks off work, which I’m formally entitled to, but I keep hearing this is a bad idea. If the company can manage without me for three weeks, will that mean I am expendable? Will it make me look less committed than others? And will it be unfair to the rest of the team, who will have to cover my work? Would taking so much time off be selfish or irresponsible, or, in an age of “unprecedented technological progress and AI-driven productivity,” is it finally perfectly ethical to take care of yourself when you need it? — No One Ever
If the company manages without you, maybe you are expendable. If it struggles, you have selfishly abandoned your colleagues. If you disconnect, you are not committed enough. If you remain online, you have not really taken a vacation. This is not so much an ethical dilemma as an ethical trap: Every possible outcome looks like evidence that you should continue working.
Back in 1930, the economist John Maynard Keynes made a famous prediction: By 2030, technological progress and rising prosperity would allow people in advanced economies to work 15 hours a week.
We are now in 2026, and that prediction seems very far from being realized. Many white-collar professionals regularly work 50 hours or more. In some industries, such as investment banking, that number can reach 80 to 120 hours. Even the four-day workweek remains an aspiration.
Yet, Keynes was not entirely wrong about the economics in question. The US became as rich and productive as he had imagined it would, substantially outpacing primary competitors, such as Europe and Japan in GDP growth. What did not happen was the conversion of that prosperity into substantially shorter hours in the office.
Still, there has been some real progress, with an interesting caveat. The data shows that the average American now works about 1,200 fewer hours a year than the average worker did in the late 19th century. But when we zoom in on households, something curious happens. In the 1880s, the typical married American couple averaged about 67 hours of paid work a week. In 2020? Still 67 hours.
Those numbers conceal an enormous social transformation. Once confined to domestic chores, more women entered the workforce thanks to household automation and profound cultural and economic changes. They began working fewer hours in the home and more outside it.
Married men underwent an opposite shift: adopting new technologies, including tractors, cars and computers, made workers more productive in their shorter workdays. Men gradually used their extra time to take on more hours of chores, errands and childcare at home. But these dynamics don’t fully explain why a rich and productive society does not allow its people to be able to work radically less or take more time off as Keynes anticipated.
There are many reasons — far more than I can fit into one column. Rising costs play a major role, but so do rising expectations about what constitutes a comfortable life. Buying a home, raising children and caring for older family members are all more expensive than they used to be.
Keeping up with the Joneses has become more challenging, too. It is difficult to feel prosperous when every part of daily life reminds you that someone else is in the faster line, using the preferred kiosk, sitting in the premium cabin or enjoying the better membership tier. Life simply feels better if you are in Boarding Group 1, right?
The rise of mass consumerism, social norms and the desire to match or exceed the lifestyle of others necessitate higher working hours, creating a hedonic treadmill effect where people feel compelled to continue working to afford the next set of luxury goods or experiences. We are also encouraged to take on more debt to afford those, which is another expansive topic for a conversation about ethics.
The result can be exhaustion, frustration and one reason why even upper-middle-class families can feel miserable. They have to push themselves beyond their limits just to keep up.
Another thing Keynes failed to foresee was the cultural value we would attach to work itself. Among many professionals, long hours have become a status symbol. Exactly as you write, busyness is conflated with importance, constant availability is seen as commitment and being indispensable sounds like the ultimate compliment. But is indispensability really a good proxy for value?
And what about AI, you asked Will the promised gains in efficiency finally reduce working hours? Will we at last have more time off, as we ought to?
Unlikely. Recent evidence shows that AI is making some people work more, not less. In one survey, 18% of developers reported AI-related exhaustion. Turns out AI agents may not reduce work so much as multiply the amount of work humans must initiate, monitor, correct, coordinate. The human becomes an AI babysitter, switching constantly among agents, suffering cognitive overload and feeling pressure to keep machines working around the clock. Some people now set agent tasks overnight and check their output before breakfast. Instead of a shorter workweek, we may be moving toward an “infinite” one.
Technology does not automatically give people leisure time, but it gives organizations and individuals the capacity to produce more. The opportunity to generate more output never stops, unless someone deliberately sets a limit.
It looks like we are trapped in a cycle, sacrificing our well-being for the next flat-screen TV, car, luxury bag or just converting every available hour into output. The bad news is that no one, not even AI, can give you permission to pause. No one, that is, except you. So, break out of the ethical trap. Take the three weeks. And do not spend the vacation checking whether everyone misses you enough.
(Speaking of taking your vacation time, Ask an Ethicist will take a summer break after this column drops to enjoy the remainder of summer. See you again in September.)
Readers respond
The previous question came from an independent director facing increasingly technical board decisions involving AI, cyber and robotics. The dilemma revolved around whether admitting that they did not fully understand a material issue was compatible with good fiduciary conduct, raising questions about humility, competence, performative confidence, board culture, the duty of care and how directors can ask for more information or expert support without losing authority.
In my response, I noted: “In Delaware-style US corporate law, directors’ duty of care requires them to make informed decisions, so the substance of the point is sound. In the UK, directors have a statutory duty to exercise reasonable care, skill and diligence.
“John Weinberg, the man who laid down the foundational philosophy on governance and director qualifications in the United States, wrote in his famous 1948 Princeton thesis: “A director must not only be willing to direct, but more important … must know enough to direct,” and “The primary step to be taken is a comprehensive educational program.
“That means to exercise the oversight duty, directors need to make sure they are learning, and when they are expected to project confidence rather than acknowledge limits, that’s a cause for a serious governance concern. To reframe, the duty of care includes knowing when you do not know enough, asking for clarification, expert input or more time and should be viewed not as a weakness but as a strength.” Read the full column here.
Indeed, this kind of vulnerability should be a foundation for building and nurturing a strong organizational culture. When leaders are willing to acknowledge what they do not know, it creates psychological safety for others to speak up, ask questions and close knowledge gaps across the organization. This honesty from the top can turn uncertainty into better governance, stronger decisions and a more resilient culture. — MMA
