Some arguments just aren't well-developed.
Some arguments are cluttered with unnecessary additions.
A good argument is a thing of beauty, with elegance, subtlety, and often great complexity and detail.
And for an academic work or essay, nothing is more important. Without an argument, there's no paper. Without a good argument, there's a piece begging to be ignored. With a good argument, people learn. Or at least I learn.
I see an incoherent mess, and I'm pretty much ready to dismiss it.
I see a brief, well-thought out piece and my interest is held, and I wonder about how the ideas develop.
If you have a good argument, it's not a bad plan to try to present it in as brief a form as possible. Such an attempt aids one in any ways: it's usually quicker; it's easier to avoid entanglements; and it's the best form to get feedback.
It's much easier to think of ways to fill out a sparse argument than it is to disentangle competing threads of a confusing argument. On a practical level, it's easier to give feedback on a shorter piece than a longer piece, if for no reason other than that the longer piece takes longer to read.
A good argument requires focus and consistency. It has to build on itself; it has to minimize internal contradictions; it has to recognize and acknowledge those that exist. It had best acknowledge, in particular, points that would be widely debated.
You can make an argument that the sky was yellow and the sun was blue if you want, but you need to acknowledge that there is general consensus to the contrary. An argument need not accept common knowledge. It must, however, develop the argument strongly; it must avoid mistakes. If you want to show that the sky is yellow and the sun is blue, it doesn't help your case if you insist that the whole world is in black and white.
What is really a shame, I think, is when a writer a sound argument and then ruins its strength and beauty by adding unnecessary details and arguments, especially if those unnecessary arguments tend to contradict other assertions, or are somehow grossly in error.
Of course the good argument is only one aspect of a written work. In addition to working out the logical aspects and logical relationships, it is also necessary to work out a plan of presenting that information. Logical structure is not necessarily linear. The written form is. (Even hypertexts that can have largely non-linear structure have some degree of linearity--every sentence is linear; so is our experience of time.) But that's another essay.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Managing People (2)
This may just be repetition of what I said the last time I wrote about this.
What we want is to set up situations in which we get what we want, or at least what we absolutely need, from people--I include in this our professors, but really this is all true for anyone.
I was talking with a client who was telling me about accommodations that she was getting for her disabilities. Now, I'm totally down with accommodations. But that doesn't mean that making accommodations may not require someone to do extra work. It may be right that they do the extra work, but that doesn't mean that they don't still view it as extra work. One thing we can try to do with people is make a point of recognizing their effort, and make a point of letting them know that we're trying to ask as little as possible. Beyond that, we can also seek solutions that minimize the need for accommodations that create extra work for others. It is reasonable to expect a certain amount of feedback and assistance from our professors, but it is also reasonable to recognize that our needs require effort on their part, and even if they're happy to give it, it's still effort, and if your relationship isn't particularly good, your deserving assistance does not mean that assistance will be offered with pleasure. Note that this is not about being nice to people for the sake of being nice, or about being shy about expressing your needs, or afraid to ask for help. This is about figuring out plans that will maximize that assistance that you do get.
Along those lines, I was talking with a different client about her situation. She mentioned to me that she had come to a realization about the importance of keeping her word when dealing with the people she was studying (she's an anthropologist), and later she mentioned that she was getting better responses from her chair/advisor. The link she didn't make was that she had been treating him differently--especially with respect to keeping her word as far as delivering drafts. Again, this is about making plans that lead to getting the best response that you can out of people. From one perspective, you might say that it's a purely selfish motivation (for all you cynics out there); the fact that it relies on treating others well is merely expedience. As the saying goes: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
What we want is to set up situations in which we get what we want, or at least what we absolutely need, from people--I include in this our professors, but really this is all true for anyone.
I was talking with a client who was telling me about accommodations that she was getting for her disabilities. Now, I'm totally down with accommodations. But that doesn't mean that making accommodations may not require someone to do extra work. It may be right that they do the extra work, but that doesn't mean that they don't still view it as extra work. One thing we can try to do with people is make a point of recognizing their effort, and make a point of letting them know that we're trying to ask as little as possible. Beyond that, we can also seek solutions that minimize the need for accommodations that create extra work for others. It is reasonable to expect a certain amount of feedback and assistance from our professors, but it is also reasonable to recognize that our needs require effort on their part, and even if they're happy to give it, it's still effort, and if your relationship isn't particularly good, your deserving assistance does not mean that assistance will be offered with pleasure. Note that this is not about being nice to people for the sake of being nice, or about being shy about expressing your needs, or afraid to ask for help. This is about figuring out plans that will maximize that assistance that you do get.
Along those lines, I was talking with a different client about her situation. She mentioned to me that she had come to a realization about the importance of keeping her word when dealing with the people she was studying (she's an anthropologist), and later she mentioned that she was getting better responses from her chair/advisor. The link she didn't make was that she had been treating him differently--especially with respect to keeping her word as far as delivering drafts. Again, this is about making plans that lead to getting the best response that you can out of people. From one perspective, you might say that it's a purely selfish motivation (for all you cynics out there); the fact that it relies on treating others well is merely expedience. As the saying goes: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Clear Vision
A dissertation can be viewed from many different angles.
My experience is that most people are thinking only of the argument.
Most writers are focused on the need to get the argument and the ideas right.
Obviously I believe that this is important (see yesterday's post), but the argument is only one way to look at the dissertation.
In order to generate a clear vision of what you're trying to create, it can be helpful to think about more than only the argument itself. What sort of rhetorical and argumentative structure are you going to use? How long do you want your work to be? To whom are you addressing the work? To whom is the outcome important? These are all questions that generate different perspectives on the work, and in combination they can help you focus your efforts as a writer.
Thinking about argumentative structure and rhetorical structure is probably the aspect that we most often think of when we're not thinking about the argument itself. This is the outline that we work on; it's also related to other stylistic choices.
Thinking about the length can be frightening. If you think "I have to write a 50 page chapter" that might well be intimidating. If you think to yourself "I have to write a dissertation and it's going to be 200 pages or more," that's definitely intimidating. the numbers break down quickly as you start to outline and develop your plan for your structure. If you have to write a 50-page chapter and you recognize that the chapter has three main parts, then each main part will be 20 pages or less. And a 20-page isn't nearly as intimidating. If you think that each of those 20-page sections can also be broken down into pieces, too, then you start to have lots of pieces that are each relatively small and contained. And, of course, if you have a good overall vision of your project, and you keep in mind how those little pieces relate to the larger structure, then the individual pieces don't get written as independent little essays, but rather include the ideas that tie them into the larger fabric of the dissertation.
Thinking about the audience and who might read the work also helps make choices. It helps with making choices about tone and style. It also helps make choices with material--knowing your audience, or imagining an audience, can help in thinking about what information would interest that audience, it also helps think about how much background information you need to give to the audience.
Thinking about who is affected by the results of your study is also important--this is similar to, but not identical with, thinking about the audience. It may be that the audience serves the interests of those who are affected and impacted. It may be that those who are affected or impacted are not directly related to the audience at all, but that doesn't mean that the information revealed will not eventually come into the hands of those who could use it in favor of those impacted.
By taking different perspectives on the work, and by looking at it from different angles, a better-defined idea of your goal can arise, thus aiding you, the writer, in trying to plan your writing and focus your energies as you write.
My experience is that most people are thinking only of the argument.
Most writers are focused on the need to get the argument and the ideas right.
Obviously I believe that this is important (see yesterday's post), but the argument is only one way to look at the dissertation.
In order to generate a clear vision of what you're trying to create, it can be helpful to think about more than only the argument itself. What sort of rhetorical and argumentative structure are you going to use? How long do you want your work to be? To whom are you addressing the work? To whom is the outcome important? These are all questions that generate different perspectives on the work, and in combination they can help you focus your efforts as a writer.
Thinking about argumentative structure and rhetorical structure is probably the aspect that we most often think of when we're not thinking about the argument itself. This is the outline that we work on; it's also related to other stylistic choices.
Thinking about the length can be frightening. If you think "I have to write a 50 page chapter" that might well be intimidating. If you think to yourself "I have to write a dissertation and it's going to be 200 pages or more," that's definitely intimidating. the numbers break down quickly as you start to outline and develop your plan for your structure. If you have to write a 50-page chapter and you recognize that the chapter has three main parts, then each main part will be 20 pages or less. And a 20-page isn't nearly as intimidating. If you think that each of those 20-page sections can also be broken down into pieces, too, then you start to have lots of pieces that are each relatively small and contained. And, of course, if you have a good overall vision of your project, and you keep in mind how those little pieces relate to the larger structure, then the individual pieces don't get written as independent little essays, but rather include the ideas that tie them into the larger fabric of the dissertation.
Thinking about the audience and who might read the work also helps make choices. It helps with making choices about tone and style. It also helps make choices with material--knowing your audience, or imagining an audience, can help in thinking about what information would interest that audience, it also helps think about how much background information you need to give to the audience.
Thinking about who is affected by the results of your study is also important--this is similar to, but not identical with, thinking about the audience. It may be that the audience serves the interests of those who are affected and impacted. It may be that those who are affected or impacted are not directly related to the audience at all, but that doesn't mean that the information revealed will not eventually come into the hands of those who could use it in favor of those impacted.
By taking different perspectives on the work, and by looking at it from different angles, a better-defined idea of your goal can arise, thus aiding you, the writer, in trying to plan your writing and focus your energies as you write.
Monday, April 7, 2008
A Clear Vision and Clean Logic
The hallmarks of a quality work of scholarship are clear thinking and solid logic.
Or, at least that is one way to think of quality scholarship; I know there are those for whom complexity of thought is taken as the sine qua non of good academic work.
Anyway, I espouse the first position. If you want to write an incredibly dense and complex work, I may not offer the best advice.
But one reason I espouse clear logic is that it helps one develop an image of the work as a whole. I don't think that clear logic excludes complex thought; complex thought can be handled clearly.
I think a good argument starts with setting out the premises from which we work. This can be tricky, especially as we often take for granted many premises we use in our day to day reasoning, and when it comes time to write down our work, we see that we have been taking something for granted.
But that's how we have to start; if we don't recognize our own premises we're doomed to logic that can slide around with no certain premise. For example, if one is writing a work dealing with cultural differences, and making any recommendations for future practice, one has to recognize the logical/intellectual basis on which the recommendations are being made: are those recommendations, too, not derived from some sort of cultural image? This logical conundrum cannot be eliminated: if we want to argue that different cultures' patterns are all equally worthy of respect and preservation, we must make that argument from a place that does not agree with the opinion of many cultures (as many cultures hold their own values to be pre-eminent--e.g., Christianity, as a cultural force, necessarily holds that there is one proper way of behaving).
So there is a logical slippage zone in which a specific premise--in this case equal acceptance of all cultures--itself is derived from a set of premises. If you, as author, can lay out the specific premises on which you rely, and the intellectual foundations that form the groundwork of your study, then you can properly acknowledge the weak points in your argument, which is about the best we can ever do, anyway.
We can't prove everything, there is a logical infinite regression: to prove a point, we must assert some premises. But these premises, too, require proving. And cannot be proved, except with premises that then call for proving, and so on into the depths of infinity. Bertrand Russell, in "The Philosophy of Logical Atomism" says that we must stop this regression by relying on that which is "undeniable". In this day and age it is difficult to find anything undeniable--but if one sets out the premises from which one starts, one can simply assert that examination and testing of the foundational premises be kept outside the scope of the work at hand. This is not a cop out--it's a necessary principle that all philosophers must deal with; problems with infinite regression invade logic in many different ways (see also Borges's "Avatars of the Tortoise").
So, start by understanding the logic and reasoning of your work. Then you can build from there.
Or, at least that is one way to think of quality scholarship; I know there are those for whom complexity of thought is taken as the sine qua non of good academic work.
Anyway, I espouse the first position. If you want to write an incredibly dense and complex work, I may not offer the best advice.
But one reason I espouse clear logic is that it helps one develop an image of the work as a whole. I don't think that clear logic excludes complex thought; complex thought can be handled clearly.
I think a good argument starts with setting out the premises from which we work. This can be tricky, especially as we often take for granted many premises we use in our day to day reasoning, and when it comes time to write down our work, we see that we have been taking something for granted.
But that's how we have to start; if we don't recognize our own premises we're doomed to logic that can slide around with no certain premise. For example, if one is writing a work dealing with cultural differences, and making any recommendations for future practice, one has to recognize the logical/intellectual basis on which the recommendations are being made: are those recommendations, too, not derived from some sort of cultural image? This logical conundrum cannot be eliminated: if we want to argue that different cultures' patterns are all equally worthy of respect and preservation, we must make that argument from a place that does not agree with the opinion of many cultures (as many cultures hold their own values to be pre-eminent--e.g., Christianity, as a cultural force, necessarily holds that there is one proper way of behaving).
So there is a logical slippage zone in which a specific premise--in this case equal acceptance of all cultures--itself is derived from a set of premises. If you, as author, can lay out the specific premises on which you rely, and the intellectual foundations that form the groundwork of your study, then you can properly acknowledge the weak points in your argument, which is about the best we can ever do, anyway.
We can't prove everything, there is a logical infinite regression: to prove a point, we must assert some premises. But these premises, too, require proving. And cannot be proved, except with premises that then call for proving, and so on into the depths of infinity. Bertrand Russell, in "The Philosophy of Logical Atomism" says that we must stop this regression by relying on that which is "undeniable". In this day and age it is difficult to find anything undeniable--but if one sets out the premises from which one starts, one can simply assert that examination and testing of the foundational premises be kept outside the scope of the work at hand. This is not a cop out--it's a necessary principle that all philosophers must deal with; problems with infinite regression invade logic in many different ways (see also Borges's "Avatars of the Tortoise").
So, start by understanding the logic and reasoning of your work. Then you can build from there.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Conserving Energy
I wonder how many hits I'll get here from people looking for information on reducing carbon emissions.
I'm thinking of personal energy, of course, given my usual focus on writing.
And mostly what I was thinking about was much along the lines of what I wrote just a couple of days ago about focusing energy.
Conservation of energy is closely related to the appropriate use of energy: the better we focus our efforts, the less energy is wasted on fruitless tasks.
The great thing about the energy we have for our personal endeavors is that there is no strict law of conservation: by investing energy in our lives, we increase the amount of energy we can get back. In a practical sense, a regular exercise program, which obviously requires a significant expense of energy, still usually leaves us with more energy than we would have if we didn't exercise--at least over the long run. But the investment of energy can take other forms as well: working on productive endeavors, whatever they are, will leave us feeling the emotional lift of time well-spent. If we spend our time and value it, whether working or playing, we can get this lift. But if we perceive ourselves as wasting our time, then we pay an emotional cost instead.
Thus we want to conserve our energy by expending it in the most productive, useful and challenging fashions that we can devise--but always the idea that we are investing our energy in that which will make us more complete.
I'm thinking of personal energy, of course, given my usual focus on writing.
And mostly what I was thinking about was much along the lines of what I wrote just a couple of days ago about focusing energy.
Conservation of energy is closely related to the appropriate use of energy: the better we focus our efforts, the less energy is wasted on fruitless tasks.
The great thing about the energy we have for our personal endeavors is that there is no strict law of conservation: by investing energy in our lives, we increase the amount of energy we can get back. In a practical sense, a regular exercise program, which obviously requires a significant expense of energy, still usually leaves us with more energy than we would have if we didn't exercise--at least over the long run. But the investment of energy can take other forms as well: working on productive endeavors, whatever they are, will leave us feeling the emotional lift of time well-spent. If we spend our time and value it, whether working or playing, we can get this lift. But if we perceive ourselves as wasting our time, then we pay an emotional cost instead.
Thus we want to conserve our energy by expending it in the most productive, useful and challenging fashions that we can devise--but always the idea that we are investing our energy in that which will make us more complete.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Finding Energy
One of the apparent paradoxes of life is that we often have more energy when we're busy than when we're not. Maybe it's just that we don't have time to realize that we're tired.
But maybe it's great upward spiral of mood that we mount when we begin to engage in productive behaviors.
If we work on something productive, even though it takes energy, we also gain the emotional energy that comes from a sense of accomplishment.
Humans are not machines and the emotional aspect of our makeup contributes to behaviors that do suit purely mechanistic models. It seems logical that if we feel tired, then expending energy would make us more tired, but this is not the case.
Obviously there's a point at which we need to rest, but if we're fighting lethargy, it's often the case that taking action, energetic action, will get you moving.
But maybe it's great upward spiral of mood that we mount when we begin to engage in productive behaviors.
If we work on something productive, even though it takes energy, we also gain the emotional energy that comes from a sense of accomplishment.
Humans are not machines and the emotional aspect of our makeup contributes to behaviors that do suit purely mechanistic models. It seems logical that if we feel tired, then expending energy would make us more tired, but this is not the case.
Obviously there's a point at which we need to rest, but if we're fighting lethargy, it's often the case that taking action, energetic action, will get you moving.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Unfocused energy
My energy has been unfocused the last few days. A slight touch of illness, a little gap between projects, a few days away.
It's so easy to let the momentum of a project slip away. It's easy to get bored with something that you've been working on consistently.
Taking a break to rest and to get away from your project is a good thing, as long as you remember to let go of anxiety about your project. It's a choice you can make, one which ought to be made consciously. Obviously you need to diligently work on your project to complete it, and you will complete it all the sooner for doing the diligent work sooner, but there is a place in the long process of writing a dissertation for taking a break.
The dissertation process typically takes months or years, during which the author is required to think clearly, work hard and write productively. Health, therefore, must be a primary concern. Both physical and mental health can benefit from rests and changes in patterns.
Given the value of maintaining a sense of enthusiasm and interest in the project, occasional time thinking about other things and getting away from the project (even if you do love it) may help give a little sparkle back to a project.
A little time away from a project also may help generate new ideas and new perspectives that are not so bound up in older thought patterns.
You have to be able to allow yourself that time, however, or there is little value in it. If you take some time away from the project and then spend that time anxiously worrying about the project and about your not working on it, then you're not going to get a lot of value from the time away--it will not be relaxing or restful; it will not be conducive to new imaginative perspectives.
Make it a choice: if you decide to take time, then let go for that time; if you decide to work, then work.
It's so easy to let the momentum of a project slip away. It's easy to get bored with something that you've been working on consistently.
Taking a break to rest and to get away from your project is a good thing, as long as you remember to let go of anxiety about your project. It's a choice you can make, one which ought to be made consciously. Obviously you need to diligently work on your project to complete it, and you will complete it all the sooner for doing the diligent work sooner, but there is a place in the long process of writing a dissertation for taking a break.
The dissertation process typically takes months or years, during which the author is required to think clearly, work hard and write productively. Health, therefore, must be a primary concern. Both physical and mental health can benefit from rests and changes in patterns.
Given the value of maintaining a sense of enthusiasm and interest in the project, occasional time thinking about other things and getting away from the project (even if you do love it) may help give a little sparkle back to a project.
A little time away from a project also may help generate new ideas and new perspectives that are not so bound up in older thought patterns.
You have to be able to allow yourself that time, however, or there is little value in it. If you take some time away from the project and then spend that time anxiously worrying about the project and about your not working on it, then you're not going to get a lot of value from the time away--it will not be relaxing or restful; it will not be conducive to new imaginative perspectives.
Make it a choice: if you decide to take time, then let go for that time; if you decide to work, then work.
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