? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In the social sciences we have taken to saying “reality is complex”, but it is even more than this. The reason that social science has been unable to aggregate its work into causal generalizations that hold is that reality cannot be grasped intellectually, piece by piece. It seems that attempts to explain human action can be either debunked or expanded forever. When we look at some social research, our error seems obvious – people are turned into little x’s and y’s which have effects upon or are affected by big A’s and B’s. My motivation for doing anything can be condensed into something like xA2, at least until another researcher comes along and either moves around some letters and numbers or adds a Y. Social scientists can gather and present as much data as they please, but they can never truly know anything, and for good reason. How is the methodological dilemma in social science a fundamentally philosophical problem involving competing versions of reality?
The dilemma is actually a confrontation between competing versions of reality that will point us towards seeing social research as an art rather than a science. Put simply, there is actual reality (tathata in Zen terms), which goes on every day and which we can never fully comprehend, and there is conceptual reality that we build in our minds by giving names to things and breaking the world up into understandable parts.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? But this does not mean that we cannot try to understand reality. As W. Phillips Shively pointed out in The Craft of Political Research, without theories reality is too chaotic for us too absorb, but “something is always lost when we simplify reality in this way” (Shively, 2-3). This “something” is tathata, indescribable reality. Our attempt here will be to convince the researcher that not so much of this “something” need be lost, and Zen can help us see this.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Zen illustrates a oneness or unity of subject/object, and in urging us against unwarranted fracturing and discrimination, can prevent the construction of a dichotomizing and illusory reality. It also suggests a dialectic - a state of perpetual change or impermanence - that is useful for observing the importance of sequence, timing, and cumulative effects in social studies. As language beings, our concepts can never compare to actual experience.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Some social scientists continue to insist that covering laws can be found, and we will examine these claims later. Others, however, seem willing to bring the unknown back in to social research, and have incorporated the presence of luck and chaos. They also account for variation, use mechanisms, search for possibilities of path dependence, and mean reversion. They vary measures and designs as much as possible, and assess the strength of relationships between variables. Some, like Shively, have noted the importance of creativity and expression, and Bent Flyvberg has used the concept of phronesis in a project to revitalize social science. These methods bring us closer to actual reality, but we must go even further.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Social research must become an art. We should attempt to experience or express the object of our interest. If we study it as an object apart from us, we inevitably lose it, but by first studying the unthinkable and unattainable in ourselves (Buddha-nature), we can learn to use concepts and abstractions to get beyond concepts and abstractions.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Science once led us away from the idea of the unknown, but as it discovers its finitude, it will lead us back. Only direct contact with reality (Zen) can indicate beyond metaphysical speculation; in essence, the truth is to be lived, not conceptualized.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? On our way to seeing social research as an art, we must discuss Zen; specifically its claim that we can only truly know something if we experience it. We can do this by understanding its view of oneness, dialectics, and the limits of language.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Zen tells us that the world is not made up of so many different parts – it is one. This view is not exclusive to Zen, nor is it really difficult to understand. A child can be made to understand with a simple game: You touch a bike and tell them you are touching their ear. When they say that this is impossible, and they always do, you say “It’s true. The frame of this bike is attached to the wheel, which is attached to the tire, which touches the ground, which touches your shoe, which touches your sock, which is touching your foot, which is attached to your leg, which is attached to your torso, which is attached to your head, which obviously touches your ear”. And after you have caught your breath, watch the child go on and say such ridiculous things for a long time. We cannot really tell where anything begins and ends. For example, I cannot tell where exactly my arm becomes my shoulder, or where the shore becomes the lake.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? A classic example of this oneness is illustrated in Eugen Herrigel’s Zen in the Art of Archery. An aspiring archer learns many skills and discovers that there are various stages in releasing the shot. But as long as the archer clings to the skills he has learned and thinks about what must happen before the shot is released, it will not shoot. We hear this type of thing all the time in sports, acting, singing, wherever – “You’re thinking about it too much!” And what is it? Herrigel’s Master explained, “Once you have understood that, you will have no further need of me… So lets stop talking about it and go on practicing” (Herrigel 1953, 52). And with enough practice, the skills melt together, the parts of the shot fuse, the shooter even forgets himself and – it shoots.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? We are actually aware of a million different things going on around us at once. There is everything you see, including what is in your periphery, the taste in your mouth, the smell of something, the sounds around you, the feel of this paper. But, as Robert Pirsig claimed, “We could not possibly be conscious of all these things and remember all of them because our mind would be so full of useless details we would be unable to think” (Pirsig, 79). So we select some of these details, and call this consciousness, but doing this, to use a metaphor by Alan Watts, “is like trying to make out the features of a large room with no other than a single bright ray” (Watts 1957, 7). We do not see that the part of the room where we shine our beam cannot exist without the rest of the room. We cannot even speak here of interconnectedness, because there is not anything to connect, unless we want to speak of “parts” of the room, which are only conceptual illusions. Zen would suggest that the best way to make out the features of a large room would be to be in the room without any intention of analyzing it, so that the features are not examined but experienced. In a sense, the best way to make out the features of the room would be to not make them out at all.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Again, this idea of knowledge through experience is not exclusive to Zen. The Marxist concept of praxis is similar; as Marx stated in his Theses on Feuerbach, “The question whether objective truth can be attributed to human thinking is not a question of theory but is a practical question. Man must prove the truth … in practice” (Tucker, 108).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? The idea of oneness (which can only be more clearly understood as we move into our discussion on Zen dialectics and language) can help us with social research. It lets us see that we are only truly know something when we stop conceptualizing, and instead, experience the thing. There would, after all, not be an object to study without a subject, and as Thich Nhat Hanh, a Zen monk, once claimed, “discrimination between subject and object is the cause of all error concerning both knowledge and practice” (Hanh, 116). However, experiencing the object of our interest does not mean interfering in it. For example, if we examine a river we should do so “while letting it flow” (Barrett, 9). But not to worry - this does not preclude jumping in.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Now if everything is one, this includes cause and effect, which leads us to our discussion of Zen dialectics.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? According to Zen, everything is changing all the time, and nothing maintains its identity for a millisecond. Therefore, as Roshi Phillip Kapleau stated, “The true substance of things is inconceivable and inscrutable” (Kapleau, 79). Everything is constantly in transformation; even a nuclear physicist will tell us that any object is made of “a multitude of atoms whose electrons are moving like a swarm of bees” (Hanh, 40). And this object has always been in transformation. Take the example of a table – we need to go beyond what it merely appears to be and see that it is made up of many “non-table elements” such as the tree, the saw, the hammer, the cabinetmaker, the parents of the cabinetmaker, the bread they eat, the blacksmith who makes the hammer, etc. (Hanh, 40-41). If we think about it this way it is difficult to tell when the table actually became a table, if it ever did.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In Zen, cause and effect are one, and this idea is expressed in the simple Japanese expression inga ichinyo, where inga means both cause and effect and ichinyo means oneness (Kapleau, 60). Similarly the Sanskrit word Dharma, among its many meanings in Buddhism, can be taken to mean simply “how things happen” (Macy, 1). The language here, specifically the condensing of cause and effect into single words, is telling, but we will discuss language later. The point here is to see that in Zen everything changes all the time. There is no before and after, or this and that. Everything is happening at once. The idea of cause and effect belongs, according to D.T. Suzuki, to “a world of opposites” that does not exist in reality (Suzuki 1960, 66).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? If we apply Zen dialectics to social research, it is easier to see why we can only truly know anything if we experience it. But to give this discussion of Zen theory the fullness it deserves, we need to look at Zen’s view of language.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Our language is limited and unable to capture reality, which is another reason why we can only truly know something when we experience it. Imagine that I drink a beer, but you cannot have one, yet you would like to know what it is like. I can do my best using the words I have: The glass was cold and moist, and the froth was bitter. The drink itself was quite sudsy, and had a real dark malty taste, etc. But none of this is good enough. Nothing I say can come close to what it would be like to actually drink the beer. Our best descriptions will never do justice to the experience and in this case, will probably only make somebody thirsty. And even worse, now that I have described my experience with the beer using my memory and concepts, I am no longer one with the experience. I have broken the situation down into a subject and object and made an evaluation. I am no longer one with the beer.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? This is why Zen Masters have spoken so much of the dangers of language and the necessity for silence; not because language can ruin an experience with beer, but because we often believe we cannot know anything except by using language. This is obviously not true – just look, for example, at jazz musicians and athletes (Watts 1957, 9). A jazz musician seems to know a lot about rhythm, tempo, teamwork, and improvisation, but it is not something that can be put into words. The beauty of jazz; its franticness, its calm, its passion, is missed entirely unless it is heard or played. In the same sense, professional hockey players must have a sort of innate sense for where the puck is going, and where their teammates are positioned on the ice. Without a certain talent, all their skill does matter so much. Indeed, some of the greatest hockey players of all time were loved less for their technical mastery of the game than they were for their artistry, where “every rush is an improvisation, a jazz solo, a flight of the imagination” (Brunt, 9). The point here is that there is a way to know something without putting it into words, using what Watts described as “the peripheral vision of our minds” (Watts 1957, 9). However, this way of knowing is not respected in academia and philosophy, or what Pirsig calls “the Church of Reason”, where the only things that matter are those things that can be defined (Pirsig, 233).?
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Since no effort of interpretation can lead us to the truth, some Zen Masters have urged us to abandon the medium of words, noting that “feelings lose nothing by not being expressed” (Herrigel 1960, 119-120). We do not exactly have this option in social research. I cannot submit my “experience” in place of a research project. Nonetheless, this does not mean I cannot do my best to immerse myself in the thing I am studying and put my thoughts on paper. Although our language is limited and unable to capture reality, we must try in a way that brings us closest.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Here we have, paradoxically perhaps, broken Zen theory down into some understandable parts – oneness, dialectics, and language, in order to get a sense of how we should look at reality, and to see that we should conduct social research in a way that allows us to come closest to, or experience the thing we are studying. Zen, or direct contact with reality, according to D.T. Suzuki, “is the ultimate fact of all philosophy and religion” and “every intellectual effort must culminate in it, or rather must start from it, if it is to bear any practical fruits” (Barrett, 111).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Some social scientists do not get this yet. They continue to reduce human behaviour to mathematical formula, and insist that covering laws can be found. Here we will look at a few of these social scientists – Randall Collins, Guillermina Jasso, and Gerhard Lenski.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In Sociology: proscience or antiscience? Collins argued that sociology has been able to discover deterministic covering laws of human behaviour. He gives a few examples of such laws, including “a political crisis arises when a state’s apparatus of military control is broken down by internal dissention among elites. This dissention is especially likely when there is military defeat and/or the economic strain of long term military expenses beyond the organizational capacity of the state to collect revenues” (Collins, 126). Even Collins admits that this principle is limited and that the general pattern has many variations. Nonetheless, he maintains that such approximations constitute cumulative scientific knowledge, and that we only need to improve our precision to get it right (Collins, 126-127). And while he admits that any causal mechanism or theory involves “interpretive leaps and pragmatics”, he also believes that sociology has only failed to cumulate its data due to a bias against older methodologies and analysis (Collins, 135-137). Overall, the greatest weakness of social research, it seems, is that it has been unable to put together results from different methods (Collins, 137). It is, nonetheless, a science.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? This is of course not what we are aiming for. Simply being able to put together this information so that we can build more precise theories is not enough. Not only this, but it will simply not happen. We cannot even predict the weather, let alone the actions of over 6 billion free-thinking people. This is not to say that these sorts of generalized covering laws are not useful. Of course they are. But this idea that our knowledge of the social world could advance indefinitely if we gathered and sorted our data properly, is erroneous. There is a limit to what we can know using concepts, and this limit can only be transcended by direct contact with reality.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In Principles of Theoretical Analysis, Jasso contends that when the appropriate mathematization has been discovered, mathematics will be the superior language for theoretical analysis (Jasso, 8-9).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? She demonstrates the effectiveness of mathematics by turning distributive justice theory into this: (Insert messed up diagram here)
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Here, F captures everything that is unknown about an individual’s C, which represents what one wants compared to what one has (Jasso, 12-13). Although she later attempts to make room for artistic speculation and creative thought experiments, it is doubtful whether any ugly algebraic formulation could qualify as art. Indeed, if art is something we are meant to experience, this experience could just as easily be considered homework.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Lenski (1988), in agreement with Jasso, believes that “theories may be expressed even more precisely in the form of algebraic equations”, and going further, “if theory construction can be improved sufficiently in the years ahead, we will arrive at the point where algebraic formulations of most theories become routine” (Lenski, 167n).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Oddly, there is always the sense while reading these three social scientists that they appreciate the complexity of human behaviour and the difficulty with anything that implies cause-effect in the strictest sense. Yet they love the math. This type of social science takes us further from knowing reality, or at least creates a “theoretically misguided view of the social world” (Baldus, 160).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Other social researchers have caught on to the problem of our recalcitrant reality, or have at least come up with better ways to appreciate the complexity of human behaviour. They bring the unknown back in to social research. Here we will look at those who come closest to having direct contact with what they are studying; who do social research as an art.
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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In The Craft of Political Research, W. Phillips Shively shows a good understanding of the philosophical dilemma in social research. He agrees that the basic problem of measurement in social sciences is that it relies on concepts that exist only in our minds (Shively, 41). Moreover, he acknowledges that “the most important thing to note about causal thinking is that it is an interpretation of reality” (Shively, 75), and even admits that because theory simplifies reality for us, it also requires that we both narrow the range of reality we look at and oversimplify even the portion of that reality that falls within that narrowed range (Shively, 3). If we recall our discussion of the process of discrimination in Zen philosophy, this sounds familiar. And if our goal here is to show that social research needs to become an art, Shively will support us, at least part of the way. When it comes to choosing a topic, he claims “this is something for which no rules can be laid down. It is an art” (Shively, 23).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? He insists that creativity and talent are the most important elements of research, and gives us three criteria for a good theory – importance, simplicity, and predictive accuracy, which should lead to a project that has a sort of aesthetic appeal (Shively, 16). But for Shively the “art” of political research seems only to appear in its presentation, while the research and measurement itself is considered a “craft”. The “craft” of political research involves “cleverness and care in developing measures that appear likely to be valid” (Shively, 51); then enriching measurement and coming up with clever causal explanations that leave room for alternatives.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? This is close to what we are aiming for, except that here we are saying that both the presentation and methodology must become an art. It is not enough to be “crafty” in our methodology. Actually, “craft” here almost sounds devious, and perhaps it is. Maybe we are “crafty” when we are good at varying measures and designs enough that it seems we have explored the entirety of the thing we are studying; when we have created an illusion that best approximates reality. What we want however is to ensure our methodology is focused on direct contact with our object of interest. And Shively cannot help us with this.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? In Making Social Science Matter, Bent Flyvberg attempts to revitalize social science by updating and using the Aristotelian concept of phronesis. Flyvberg believes most social science has mistakenly adopted the paradigm of the natural sciences, and to make social science matter again, we must “carry out analyses and interpretations of the status of values and interests in society aimed at social commentary and social action, ie: praxis” (Flyvberg, 60). This is phronesis, and according to Flyvberg, it is a forgotten intellectual virtue. He believes we must stop using theory to predict and make causal explanations, and instead see our purpose as social researchers in discovering where we are, where we want to go, and what is desirable (Flyvberg, 167).
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Here are some of the methodological guidelines for phronesis oriented research that should interest us: 1) it must be focused on values, 2) it must place power at the core of analysis, 3) it must get close to reality, 4) it must focus on the minutiae of everyday life, 5) knowledge should be gained through engagement in the life of the people you are studying, and 6) it must allow for the people you are studying to speak (Flyvberg, 129-134). Most importantly however, whatever information is gained must be suited to some practical activity.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? We can see the concept of phronesis as a skillful means to get beyond the concepts and abstractions ad bring us closer to reality. Much of what is proposed here could serve as a first step towards doing social research as an art. There are some very Zen features to this theory, especially the call for practice before discourse. Flyvberg sees our philosophical dilemma, and includes a quote by Foucault: “Discourse is not life” (Flyvberg, 134). This is essentially what we have been saying all along – that you cannot connect with reality by using concepts. Here, social science is its own kind of science with its own unique intellectual tradition. It has no set methodology, only guidelines, and does not have any theories to put down, only work to do. This is good.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? The only problem is that Flyvberg believes the task of phronesis is to broaden our reasoning and to make it capable of grasping what precedes and exceeds reason (Flyvberg, 9). What we are saying instead is that beyond reason, beyond the limits of our concepts, there is nothing to “grasp”. There is only something to be, to experience. Reason cannot be broadened into this realm any more than our description of something can become the thing itself.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Nonetheless, Making Social Science Matter is still the closest thing we have to a guidebook on doing the art of social research.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Many other social researchers have recognized that the way we see reality is part of the problem in trying to come up with causal generalizations that hold. Charles Tilly (1996) has spoken of the concepts that “occupy a great deal of political theory but none of political reality” (Tilly, 1596). He also admits that while certain models for figuring out the world are convenient, they do not exist in reality. But he only searches for “better models” based on plausible ontologies, more variation, and path-time-situation dependency (Tilly, 1594). Surely such models come close to representing reality, but there is little mention of how the research itself can bring us closer to experiencing what we study.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Pierson (2000) has a way of looking at change that may remind us of Zen dialectics. He uses concepts such as path dependence, critical junctures, sequence, timing, and unintended consequences, but hopes for “better tools” for thinking about how these processes occur (Pierson, 89). Again, ? we are saying that the best tool here is an experience with what we are studying.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Lastly, we are sometimes asked to make room in our research for luck (Easterly, 2002) or chaos (Baldus 1990, 1999), mean reversion (Easterly, 2002), or mechanisms (Elster, 1999; Pierson 2000), all of which are better at understanding reality, but still not as good as direct contact.? ? ? ? ? ?
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? There is usually a consensus, at least, that social science must become its own type of science if it is to deal appropriately with the reality of human behaviour. This is perhaps a good way to start. Compared to the hard sciences, we in the social sciences have a unique opportunity to experience the thing we study. We can in fact know more about what we are researching simply because we can be in it. The hard sciences, on the other hand, are limited; necessarily separated from their object of interest by a microscope, telescope, or mathematical abstraction. We rarely see this advantage because we rarely see our methodological dilemma as a fundamentally philosophical problem between competing versions of reality.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? One of the obvious problems with what is proposed here is that if we are to make social research an art, and reliant above all on direct contact with reality, how do we share our findings? The easy answer is, in art form. Whatever is written must be written well. And there should be drawings, pictures, and maybe even some easy-to-read graphs and tables. It should be imaginative and inspiring, but also smart; in short, it should be all the things that make up a beautiful painting or a good piece of music. Some of the best paintings do not look like they represent reality at all, but these are the type of painting with which we have the best experience. Every brush mark, every bit of colour, every detail, is an expression of reality; the one the artist knows best – his own. It is the same with music. It moves in a way that surprises or delights; it shuffles, crescendos, improvises, and goes into a chorus. It is the imagination’s expression of reality. This is what our social research should look like.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Another problem is that it is unavoidable that we should not truly be in contact with what we are studying if we have purposely immersed ourselves in it. This is true, but we really have no choice here. The alternative is to not do social research, in which case I could simply have written about why social research is pointless. There are very good and probably obvious reasons why we must try to understand reality as best we can; by getting as close as we can, and some of the researchers we looked at can help us here. But the greatest part of our effort should be directed at Zen and the art of social research.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? To see why social research should become an art we have divided a very complex and comprehensive Zen philosophy into short discussions of oneness, dialectics, and the limits of language. We then looked at some social scientists that have it all wrong, and others who have ideas we can use in developing an art of social research.
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? It may seem contradictory that Zen, a way to see into our own nature, looks like it is being used to see into the nature of others. But this is not so. Any art is ultimately aimed revealing our true selves, and the hope in Zen is that this revelation will be transmitted into others, freeing them from their conceptual prisons.
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? Baldus, Bernd. “Positivisms Twilight”. Canadian Journal of Sociology. 15 (2), 1990. pp. 149-163.
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