Slow Productivity
Slow Productivity
The Lost Art of Accomplishment Without Burnout Cal Newport (New York: Portfolio/Penguin, 2024)
In the latest of his books relating to knowledge work, Cal Newport sets forth a vision of productivity which is deeply counter-cultural and, for many, counter-intuitive.
Newport argues that much of modern knowledge work is dominated by a frenzied pseudo-productivity, in which visible activity is the primary means of measuring useful effort (22). What this means, functionally, is that if you are quick to reply to texts, emails, slack messages, and phone calls, then everyone (especially your boss) will see how busy you are, and that will translate into you being seen as a good employee. Regardless of whether you genuinely produce anything of value.
Newport rightly sees that this is a completely nonsensical way to work. All of this fractured attention makes it nearly impossible to produce genuinely valuable work. The nature of this hyperactive pseudo-productivity means we’re tempted — nay, compelled — to be plugged into this work all the time. So we’re checking emails at our kids’ baseball games, taking our laptops on vacation, and sleeping with work plugged in within arms reach.
But this doesn’t make us more productive. It doesn’t help us produce rare or lasting or valuable work. It just keeps us busy. There is a better way.
Enter Slow Productivity. After briefly examining the problem, Newport spends the bulk of the book on three long chapters, each devoted to a core tenet of his slow-productivity philosophy: Do Fewer Things, Work at a Natural Pace, and Obsess Over Quality.
Do Fewer Things
“Do Fewer Things” feels radical in an age where we are bombarded at every turn with opportunities, demands, and expectations that more and more will be added to our plates. But doing fewer things is based on the acknowledgement that most of us have a very narrow range of activities that “move the needle,” as it were. For me, this primarily means studying and people-ing. There are, of course, admin tasks that must be handled. Newport has helpful advice (that won’t be new to you if you listen to his podcast). But he also has helpful advice on those big, important tasks. Such as, work on fewer things at a time (60-74). He also suggests taming your daily goals (75-76), which may be one of the most revolutionary and freeing ideas in the book for my life. I shouldn’t try to write a sermon, a newsletter post, and a paper today. I can batch study for those things together, but when I need to do the most cognitively demanding thing — writing — I should focus on one task per day.
One more piece of advice in this section that resonated was his exhortation to hire professionals to do things you could but shouldn’t do. Spending money — on professionals, or good software that simplifies your life — can be invaluable in trying to find focus.
Embrace the Natural
In his second principle, Newport encourages the reader to work at a natural pace. The core insight here is that human beings are not machines, and mental work is fundamentally different than factory, assembly-line labor. Our brains do not produce widgets, and require rhythms of rest, seasonality, and reprieve in order to produce their best work. I was reminded of Douglas Wilson’s insight that we should desire to be fruitful like a tree (Psalm 1), not efficient like a machine.
I was also pondering this as a pastor, and thinking about the value of having time to stew on a message. One thing I’ve started doing is trying to read in preparation for sermon series 6-12 months in the future. That way, even if that isn’t fresh in my mind, I’m not staring at the passage and thinking about it as a sermon text for the first time four days before I’m standing up to say, “thus says the LORD.” By having the text in my meditative consciousness for months on end I’m able to iterate different ways of structuring, illustrating, explaining, or applying a sermon.
This principle also applies to my other writing, too. Rather than trying to dash off a paper or a newsletter post, starting early enough that I have time to stew always improves the quality of the final product.
Some of Newport’s advice here is gold. “Double Your Project Timelines” and “Simplify Your Workday” (131-135) were particularly helpful. Though I can’t yet implement everything he suggests, there are pieces that I obviously need to — like scheduling study time in a way that treats it as almost sacrosanct.
A large portion of this chapter was essentially devoted to the idea of seasonality and how to create seasons — even small ones — in your life. The practical tips were useful, but it did just make me think, over and over, how wise our ancestors were to have seasons of work, seasons of rest, and seasons of feasting and joy. Read through the Torah with an eye to rest and parties, and you’ll be surprised.
Quality is What Counts
The final element of Newport’s Slow Productivity philosophy is “obsess over quality.” And honestly, it’s the point that makes the book work. There’s a certain type of laziness that could find cover in the importance of “Do Fewer Things” (phew!) and “Work at a Natural Pace” (as little as possible!) — but would choke on this last point. Obsessing over quality doesn’t mean a perfectionism that refuses to “ship” work, but it does mean really caring about what you produce.
As he does throughout the book, Newport draws on individual stories to draw general principles or lessons — and here he focuses heavily on the recording artist Jewel, who epitomizes a “focus on quality over quick” (170). The reality of such prioritizing sometimes means you will miss opportunities (173). But if you do, in fact, produce quality work, you will likely have something more important than short-term opportunities — long-term options.
Such a pursuit will require cultivating taste (182-186), honest feedback (189-191), and real sacrifice (194-193, 205-208). It will also, at some point, require you to get clear on what you’re really trying to do. In regard to this, there was a line in this chapter that grabbed me, when Newport was discussing his own study of films, particularly Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs.
“Studying Tarantino, however, I realized that working with lower genre tropes when pursuing higher ends, if given the right formal attention, can be a powerful creative enterprise” (188, emphasis mine).
That, I thought, is what my writing life is all about. I want to put the theology of Augustine and Luther and Calvin in the vernacular of the plumber and the mailman and the farmer. I want to take the interest in philosophy and theology and ethics that I find on Substack and put it in language that would communicate on Facebook. But that project is a lot harder than it sounds. It doesn’t come in snatches of time here and there, squeezed into the frenzied pace of life given to pseudo-productivity. If I’m going to do the work I’m meant to do, it will require a willingness to go deep, and go slow. It’s time to do fewer things. It’s time to work at a natural pace. It’s time to obsess over quality.
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