RESEARCH SKILLS
Going deep
- Rise above punditry and superficial analysis
- Extract rich and unconventional insights from your research
HOW TO
On most subject matter, there is no shortage of information and analysis. What’s missing, by
and large, is reliability and depth. Facts must be checked, theories tested and
stories well-researched, no doubt. Beyond that, however, is a quest for greater
perceptiveness and more humanity—a profundity that is hard to define and harder
to attain, but which we must nonetheless try to intuit. Indeed, that is where
we are being asked to make a difference, not least in reaction to
increasing volumes of ambient noise.
Meeting the demand
for higher quality is a thankless undertaking. Virtually no one—from employers
to potential clients to consumers of your work—will fully appreciate just how
resource-intensive first-rate fieldwork and analysis can be, let alone foot the
bill. Don’t we all grumble about “fake news”, sensationalist journalism,
shallow punditry, redundant expertise and introverted academia, while
simultaneously complaining about paywalls and other supposedly overpriced
content? As such, seeking depth should be understood as a vocation—a private
undertaking more than a salaried job. Your success will be a function of how
much you are willing to do on top of what is typically
rewarded within the current laws of the intellectual marketplace.
The bedrock of any
quality analysis is a strong general culture, which in itself is an enormous
personal investment. Reading a significant number of fundamental books, in the
relatively short span of a lifetime, can only be done with iron discipline.
Although you could get away with it, you don’t want to be a journalist, a think
tanker or an academic who browses only what colleagues write or, worse, forms a
quick opinion via excerpts and commentaries. Given how “busy” we all seem to
become, the risk of incestuous intellectual cross-pollination is growing.
Precisely because
our professional circles and social media networks lock us into echo chambers,
our reading habits must serve as a window into the wider world—an exit that,
again, demands resolve. Our prison-break is a patient, determined effort, which
we won’t realize unless we steal a couple of hours a day and work to a plan.
The latter amounts to systematically compiling and updating a reading list,
which can be structured around three principles. First, there is no excuse for
circumventing the classics in our immediate field of activity. Second,
eclecticism is the greatest source of enrichment, providing counterintuitive
avenues for inspiration. Third, we are part of a “civilization,” which for
generations has weaved a tapestry of knowledge: tapping into that collective
depth will define our own.
How much you are willing to do of what is typically rewarded
But knowing lots
doesn’t necessarily mean much. On one hand, your culture is not something you
put on display, on spectacular bookshelves designed to impress visitors, or
through multiple scholarly citations at the forefront of your writing or public
performances. Genuine culture is a far subtler backdrop to your persona: it
gives you more and better references to draw on discerningly—not to shine, but
to shed light where need be.
On the other hand,
bookish erudition is no substitute for human experience. However smart and
cultured you are, you’re at your wisest when you write and talk about things
that you have actually engaged with or endured. And here the depth and breadth
of your practical exposure is critically important. We learn most from people we
have least in common with, who take considerable time to access and comprehend.
We learn from encounters that transform us, and that generally doesn’t happen
fast. We learn through repeated trial and error, and by overcoming our own
biases and inhibitions, which we only uncover gradually as we delve into deeper
layers of understanding. Topics that challenge us, or even seem impossible to
grasp, likely will be those that pay off the most.
In other words,
learning about things is about giving them an opportunity to change us.
That may be a straightforward statement, but for most people it is not an easy
undertaking. It is also a tricky process, which leads some to lose their own
judgment. It is hard to choose, indeed, which is preferable: a person
unremittingly projecting him or herself onto the “object” of research, or an
individual who ends up dissolving into his or her topic, by parroting the views
of the “subject.” All too often, these extremes represent the bulk of available
commentary—especially when it comes to complex and polarizing issues that beg
for nuance, such as the Syrian war in recent years.
We learn most from people we have least in common with
“Going deep”
exists in a dialectic, back-and-forth relationship with “pulling out.” Extensive
fieldwork is a must, and there is virtually no limit to how far it can go. We
often feel that we have reached a plateau and that there is little more to
learn. Almost always, however, another ridge and another dive are waiting for
us just over the horizon, simply requiring a journey on the flat before we are
ready again to plunge. A topic’s profundity will further reveal itself once our
thinking has matured; when chance encounters open fresh perspectives; as the
context shifts to create new dynamics; because our pent-up frustration at
roadblocks spurs creative solutions; or if the work of others presents us with
an unexpected tool, data-set or analytical breakthrough.
Pulling out and doing other things is just as important, though. It seems we genuinely
process experiences and information when we stop thinking too deliberately about them. And our analysis will sharpen as we engage in
diversified "cycles" of learning instead of focusing narrowly on a particular
area of expertise. The best specialized scientist may have an extraordinarily
restricted understanding of the world, if he or she failed to combine an
exhaustive grasp of a minuscule corner of it with the necessary roving of a
rich intellectual and personal life.
Within this
general approach to deepening our insight, more specific pieces of advice bear
mention. They revolve around what depth isn’t.
- To start with, objectivity is a hoax. Of course, any sound analysis must be thoroughly backed by methodology, research and evidence, but simply assembling these components requires multiple subjective decisions. Our subjectivity is an asset, if properly recognized, objectified and harnessed. It gives value to the human dimension that is integral to good work.
- Big words, fancy concepts, elaborate frameworks frequently obscure more than they illuminate. We don’t need more people saying rather simple things in esoteric ways; the real need, challenge and talent is to be found in articulating complicated ideas in accessible language. We are deep when our thoughts resonate deeply, not when they are impossible to decipher.
- This also means that being deep is not an individual attribute: it defines a certain style of interaction with others. It entails a good measure of selflessness, the aim being to highlight the depth of a topic rather than of oneself. To touch upon the universal, your ego must fade away.
- This is easier to do if you embrace the untold amount of analysis we borrow from others, through readings, fieldwork, mentors, colleagues and even unrelated casual conversations. Our contribution is often a matter of how we organize things, take them just a step further, tweak them somewhat: your value-added is what you alone can provide given your specific experience. We are part, in other words, of a humbling collective process.
- That is also why depth is both much more and much less than extensive knowledge. Certainly, you should have covered all possible bases. But sharing too much only confuses an issue. Analysis is a distilling process, in which large volumes of material are brought down to an essence, that nonetheless captures the topic’s complexity. Here your subjectivity, your intimate experience of your subject, your instincts as to what aspects are most important to your target audience, will come decisively into play. It is a tough and ad hoc determination, that typically requires much thought. A topic we know well will present numerous layers of analysis. Take war: it can be apprehended through individual itineraries, collective narratives and dynamics, day-to-day tactics, broader campaign strategies, a fluctuating geopolitical equation, historical precedents, the technological factor, the making and unmaking of social contracts, etc. An analyst would ambition to understand all these facets, but ultimately must decide which combination of discrete conclusions helps create more clarity in the melee.
All told, depth
will hinge on picking, informed by all that intense reading, rich experience
and hard work that disappears into the background, a particularly pertinent
angle. What may that be? A safe bet is to speak to the public’s desire for
making sense of something troubling. What is disconcerting about a topic? How
can such disquiet be defined, addressed and perhaps overcome? And what in our
research process gave us some keys for doing so? That is what may resonate
deeply—a lived but unconventional and otherwise unavailable wisdom.
4 Mars 2017
Illustration credit: Sigmund Freud by Max Halberstadt
on Wikipedia/ public domain; Gradient by Pixabay / licensed by Pixabay; Layers in the sand by Martyn Gorman on Geograph / licenced by Geograph; Citric acid crystals under polarised light by Jan Homan on Wikipedia / public domain.
