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
The quandary presented by "No One Ever" encapsulates a pervasive paradox in the modern professional landscape. If a company functions smoothly in an employee’s absence, it can be interpreted as a sign of their dispensability. Conversely, if the organization falters, the employee may be perceived as having selfishly abandoned their colleagues. A complete disconnect from work can be construed as a lack of commitment, while remaining accessible blurs the lines of a true vacation. This scenario is less a dilemma and more a carefully constructed ethical trap, where every conceivable outcome appears to validate the decision to remain at work.
The roots of this modern work-life imbalance can be traced back to early 20th-century economic predictions. In 1930, the influential economist John Maynard Keynes famously posited that by the year 2030, advancements in technology and burgeoning prosperity would enable individuals in advanced economies to work a mere 15 hours per week. This vision of widespread leisure, fueled by unprecedented productivity, has, by 2026, proven to be remarkably aspirational rather than a reality for many. The contemporary professional, particularly in white-collar sectors, frequently finds themselves dedicating 50 hours or more to their jobs each week. Industries such as investment banking are notorious for demanding even more extreme hours, with some professionals reportedly working between 80 and 120 hours weekly. Even the widely discussed concept of a four-day workweek remains largely an aspiration for the majority.
Keynes’s economic foresight regarding the growth of wealth and productivity, however, was not entirely misplaced. The United States, for instance, has achieved a level of economic affluence and productivity that significantly outpaces many of its global counterparts, including Europe and Japan, in terms of Gross Domestic Product (GDP) growth over the past decades. The disconnect lies not in the creation of wealth, but in its distribution and its impact on working hours. The anticipated conversion of this prosperity into substantially reduced working hours has not materialized as predicted.
Despite the overall trend, there have been some subtle shifts in working patterns, albeit with a notable caveat. While aggregate data suggests that the average American now works approximately 1,200 fewer hours per year compared to workers in the late 19th century, a closer examination of household labor reveals a more complex picture. In the 1880s, a typical married American couple dedicated around 67 hours per week to paid employment. Fast forward to 2020, and this figure remains remarkably similar – still around 67 hours.
This apparent stagnation in aggregate working hours masks a profound societal transformation. The entry of women into the paid workforce, a trend accelerated by household automation and significant cultural and economic shifts, has redistributed labor. As women reduced their hours dedicated to domestic chores, their participation in the external workforce increased. Concurrently, married men, benefiting from technologies like tractors, cars, and computers that enhanced their productivity during shorter workdays, gradually began allocating more of their time to household responsibilities, errands, and childcare. Yet, even with these dynamic shifts, the underlying reasons why a wealthy and highly productive society does not translate its capabilities into significantly shorter workweeks or more extensive leisure time, as Keynes envisioned, remain multifaceted.
Several contributing factors explain this persistent pressure to work longer hours. Rising living costs are a significant driver. The expectations surrounding a comfortable modern lifestyle have escalated considerably. The financial demands of homeownership, raising children, and caring for aging family members have all increased substantially. The pervasive culture of consumerism and the relentless pursuit of social comparison, often referred to as "keeping up with the Joneses," further exacerbate this pressure. In an environment where daily life constantly highlights the advantages enjoyed by others – whether it’s accessing express lanes, preferred service kiosks, premium travel classes, or higher membership tiers – the feeling of falling behind can be a powerful motivator to work more. The desire to be in "Boarding Group 1," metaphorically speaking, fuels a continuous drive for greater financial security and perceived status.
The rise of mass consumerism, coupled with prevailing social norms, compels individuals to match or exceed the lifestyles of their peers. This creates a hedonic treadmill effect, where the pursuit of the next luxury good or enhanced experience necessitates sustained, and often increased, working hours. This cycle is further amplified by the encouragement to take on debt to finance these aspirations, a topic that intersects with broader ethical considerations regarding financial responsibility and societal pressures. The cumulative effect of these pressures can lead to widespread exhaustion, frustration, and a sense of profound dissatisfaction, even among those in upper-middle-class households, who find themselves pushing their limits simply to maintain their current standing.
Beyond economic and consumerist drivers, the cultural value placed on work itself has also evolved in ways Keynes likely did not anticipate. Among many professional circles, prolonged working hours have become a badge of honor, a status symbol. Busyness is frequently conflated with importance, constant availability is interpreted as dedication, and the notion of being indispensable is often lauded as the ultimate professional achievement. However, the question arises: is indispensability a truly reliable indicator of an individual’s value, or is it a symptom of systemic overwork and a lack of robust delegation and succession planning?
The advent of Artificial Intelligence (AI) was posed as a potential disruptor to this paradigm. The question lingers: will the promised gains in efficiency stemming from AI finally lead to reduced working hours, providing the leisure time that individuals are arguably entitled to? Current evidence suggests this outcome is unlikely. Recent studies indicate that AI is, in some instances, contributing to an increase in working hours rather than a decrease. One survey revealed that 18% of developers reported experiencing AI-related exhaustion. The reality appears to be that AI agents may not so much reduce human workload as they amplify the sheer volume of tasks that humans must initiate, monitor, correct, and coordinate. The human role can morph into that of an "AI babysitter," constantly context-switching between different agents, enduring cognitive overload, and feeling pressured to ensure these machines operate around the clock. Some individuals are now scheduling AI tasks overnight and reviewing their output before breakfast, potentially leading not to a shorter workweek, but to an "infinite" workday.
Technology, in essence, does not automatically bestow leisure time. Instead, it equips organizations and individuals with the capacity to produce more. The opportunity to generate increased output is, theoretically, limitless unless a deliberate limit is imposed. This creates a challenging cycle where individuals may find themselves sacrificing their well-being for the acquisition of material goods, aspirational experiences, or simply to maximize output in every available hour. The difficult truth is that no external force, not even advanced AI, can grant permission to pause. That power rests solely with the individual. Therefore, the imperative is to break free from this self-imposed ethical trap. Taking that three-week vacation is not an act of selfishness, but a necessary reclamation of personal time and well-being. The advice to "not spend the vacation checking whether everyone misses you enough" underscores the need for a complete mental disengagement from work.
(In acknowledgment of the prevailing need for rest and rejuvenation, the "Ask an Ethicist" column will be taking a summer hiatus following this publication. It is scheduled to resume in September, ready to address further ethical quandaries.)
Readers Respond: Navigating Fiduciary Duties in the Age of AI
The previous inquiry addressed a critical concern raised by an independent director grappling with the increasing technical complexity of board decisions, particularly those involving Artificial Intelligence, cybersecurity, and robotics. The core dilemma revolved around whether admitting a lack of complete understanding of a material issue was compatible with the fundamental principles of good fiduciary conduct. This raised pertinent questions about humility, competence, the performance of confidence, the prevailing corporate culture within boards, the director’s duty of care, and effective strategies for seeking additional information or expert support without undermining their authority.
In response to that query, it was noted that under Delaware-style U.S. corporate law, directors are obligated by their duty of care to make informed decisions, a principle that validates the substance of the concern. Similarly, in the United Kingdom, directors are bound by a statutory duty to exercise reasonable care, skill, and diligence.
John Weinberg, a seminal figure in establishing the foundational philosophy of governance and director qualifications in the United States, articulated in his renowned 1948 Princeton thesis: "A director must not only be willing to direct, but more importantly… must know enough to direct." He further emphasized that "The primary step to be taken is a comprehensive educational program." This underscores the necessity for directors to continuously educate themselves. When an environment exists where directors feel compelled to project confidence rather than acknowledge their knowledge gaps, it signals a significant governance concern. Reframing this, the duty of care inherently includes recognizing when one’s knowledge is insufficient, and proactively seeking clarification, expert input, or additional time. These actions should be viewed not as indicators of weakness, but as demonstrations of strength and commitment to responsible oversight.
The feedback received highlighted the broader implications of such vulnerability within organizational structures. MMA, a contributor, observed: "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." This perspective emphasizes how leadership transparency can foster an environment where learning and collective problem-solving are prioritized, ultimately leading to more robust decision-making and a more adaptable organizational framework.
For those wishing to share their perspectives or pose further questions on ethical matters in the professional sphere, feedback can be directed to [email protected].
