Worshipping real academic productivity means giving it a rest now and then.
A funny thing happened on my way to a sabbatical seminar. I seem to have ended up at a businessmanagement workshop.
My dean invited me to offer some advice to colleagues about to head off on their sabbaticals. These colleagues were recently tenured faculty members. They had spent six years publishing, performing, directing, writing grants, and being reviewed by peers inside and outside the university in order to have the board of trustees grant them tenure. They had reached that much-longed-for moment when they finally had earned a large measure of job security and a semester of paid sabbatical leave. Not bound by the tenure clock, they suddenly had the opportunity to imagine longer-term projects. Now was the time for my colleagues to imagine future directions for their scholarship, explore the boundaries of their fields, pursue speculative research projects that might not pan out, and experiment with new methods of writing or new artistic techniques, using that rare investment in intellectual life to advance human knowledge creatively. As I arrived at the seminar, I looked forward to a far-reaching discussion about what we do as creative intellectuals in the prime of our academic lives.
They wanted to talk about time-management techniques.
They wanted to know how many pages I wrote each day.
They wanted to know whether I turned off my wireless adapter so I couldn't get e-mail for the working hours of the day.
They wanted to know if I got up at 5 a.m. to work before the kids awoke, and if the new faculty center at the library would help them write more.
They wanted to know how to be "more productive."
I was depressed.
Something seemed woefully wrong here. It made me go back to that word that is at the heart of this whole endeavor- sabbatical. As in Sabbath. As in "day of rest." How did we make "productivity" the key word associated with a term that expressly forbids productivity?
I decided to go back to the source to make my case anew for an old idea of the sabbatical.
The very idea of the sabbatical year (yes, a full year), as opposed to the weekly Sabbath which is derived from the seventh day of creation, comes from the Old Testament, in Leviticus, chapter 25:
The Lord spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai: Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When you enter the land that I assign to you, the land shall observe a sabbath of the Lord. Six years you may sow your field and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather in the yield. But in the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath of complete rest, a sabbath of the Lord: you shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap the aftergrowth of your harvest or gather the grapes of your untrimmed vines; it shall be a year of complete rest for the land.
It was not understood, at the time or by later commentators, that the sabbatical year was a year for doing nothing. (And what faculty member would, even if I proved that this was the biblical decree? At my university, a joint administrationfaculty union study recently found that tenured and tenure-track professors work on average sixty-three hours a week at the various aspects of their jobs. There is no danger of faculty members working less than full-time jobs.) The Sabbath was established for religious reasons: this was to be a year of dedication to honoring God, as was the weekly Sabbath. It was also established for practical ones: fields and animals worked endlessly will become progressively less productive and eventually die. The sabbatical year was a time for shifting emphases, from production to reflection and rejuvenation. The long-term goal was to produce better fields, a better harvest, and better people.
A religious precept translated to secular institutions necessarily sheds some of its layers of meaning. …