Columnists

Eschew Obfuscation

by I.J. SINGH

 

The heading of this column is deliberately provocative and loaded. 

I first saw these words on a trendy T-shirt over thirty years ago, and readily borrowed them as the tongue-in-cheek title for these musings at the urging of a dear friend.  Both she and I hope very much to live up to its meaning.

My readers know that I often write short essays connecting what is happening all around us to some events, teachings or attitudes that are inherent in Sikh belief and practice. 

This column, too, grew out of a pointed jab by a Sikh scholar.  He needed to disagree with something I had said, so he dismissed me by accusing me of "writing for the laity", whereas, he, as a scholar, "explored in a scholarly manner only matters pertaining to Gurbani and history".  On the other hand, he said I was a "pop" writer.

I have no intention of debating his judgment, but it made me wonder.

Over many years, as expected in my professional activity, I have written a fair number of peer-reviewed research articles and read perhaps many, many more.  It seems to me that researchers generally write for three types of audiences. 

First and foremost is the writing of seemingly highly abstruse papers full of complex technical details and jargon, which are instantly understandable to only a very small coterie of other researchers who are occupied in the same field and using preferably the same or similar techniques. 

In such papers, techniques, unless they are significantly modified or new, need not be completely explained; references to data and details published earlier would suffice.  However, every experiment must be so described that another equally-informed researcher anywhere in the world would be able to reproduce it.  It is not important that such esoteric research would be clearly and completely understood by only a handful  -  perhaps no more than a couple of hundred scientists  -  across the world.

The same scientist sometimes may write a review article of the research in his specific area.  Now he would still be writing for scientists, but not necessarily in his own highly limited field of specialty only.  His language will change; the evidence he cites will be presented in more general terms. 

Then there would be the same scientist talking to the educated citizen, who is not a scientist at all. That is the assumption when Nobel Prize-winning scientists write for Scientific American, for instance.  He or she must couch the presentation in words that are easily understood by the educated lay reader; techniques are not fully described, and references are few. 

And then we see shades of such writing when a scientist speaks to a newspaper reporter about the meaning of his or her findings. The reporting then will not refer to the highly complex techniques in any detail at all. And quite understandably so!  Such information would have no meaning to the educated lay reader.

It is never easy to do this with style and success  -  translate the findings from the esoteric world of the laboratory bench to the mind and vocabulary of John Q. Public.  I have always admired scientists who could do this with aplomb.  Certainly, Carl Sagan comes to mind, as does Stephen Hawking. 

I see how the fertile mind of Francis Bacon or Bertrand Russell could span remarkably different scientific and ideological disciplines and yet retain a novel but easily understood style.  In fact, there are very few scientists who can convert arcane findings into bestsellers. This is the difference between writing for Science and for Scientific American.  Science talks to other scientists; Scientific American does so to the educated laity.

But I believe that it is the mark of a well-rounded intellect, nay a duty, to carry the educational mission beyond the ivied walls of the laboratory into the outside world by communicating with humanity.  Only then would the meaning and application of research become obvious.  Ideas need to be shared; only then do they flower and transform societies.

I would think that a scholar who only talks to other scholars is full of undeserved and misplaced hubris, or is very insecure in his or her knowledge, or perhaps at the earlier stages of his or her career, yet maturing. Even the best thinkers need to connect to humanity to find meaning in what they do. 

I also believe that even the most complex and weightiest ideas need some lightness of spirit, and even the most prosaic and profane ideas demand a seriousness of purpose.

All this ran through my mind when my scholarly friend created a divide between his "scholarly" activities and my "non-scholarly" ones by his  -  not so gentle  -  mockery.

I encountered a similar response when I suggested to a Sikh scholar who holds a chair in Sikh studies that he ought to come to the gurdwara now and then and even speak there sometimes about his research.  His response suggested that he considered such visits useless and distracting.

Yet, he wanted the emotional and financial support of the community. I countered fruitlessly that if he wanted to write about Sikhs and Sikhism while seeking the community's approval and approbation, he needed to keep his finger on the pulse of the community.

Think with me for a moment. 

There is little question that Sikh theology as propounded by the Gurus is a very sophisticated blueprint of the art of living.  Even the most arcane and esoteric ideas of philosophy extant at that time are well dissected.  Eternal concepts are explored.  And unquestionably, the Gurus debated and discussed their chain of thought and ideology with the great minds of that time; just look at the Sidh Gosht as an example, and it is certainly not the only such example. 

Let's also explore how the Gurus lived and taught.  When Guru Nanak founded a vibrant Sikh community in Kartarpur, he himself lived there and farmed his own land.  All kinds of people were attracted to the community.  Yes, there were scholars like Bhai Gurdas, but there were also farmers and shopkeepers, and weavers, shoemakers and candle-stick makers. 

And Guru Nanak conversed with them all.  His message had to be for the common person as well as for the scholar; otherwise, it could never have become a way of life. 

Any of the Gurus who held the office for any length of time founded communities of common, ordinary folks.  Every Guru except the eighth, Guru Harkishan, founded a new township or contributed to the further development of an existing one.  And every township naturally comprised a mix of people  -  the whole gamut from enviable scholars to ordinary hardworking lay persons.  No Guru ever lived a life isolated from the people; in fact, in their writings they celebrated the sangat of plain people.

Are we now saying that for ten generations, from Guru Nanak to Guru Gobind Singh, ordinary men and women were able to have an ongoing, direct and open dialogue with the Guru, and understand the message of Sikhism, but now its complexities are so mind-boggling that they can only be unraveled by self-appointed scholars, who distance themselves from plain folks? 

By restricting exploration of Sikhism to only the "scholars", are we now producing a new breed of Brahmins? 

A wall between scholars and citizenry or between the clergy and laity is most unbecoming.  How can any wall aid communication? Is that not turning the egalitarian message of Sikhism on its head?

I am reminded of Rube Goldberg (the American cartoonist, Reuben Garret Lucius Goldberg) and his fictional, immeasurably imaginatively complex machines, with a profusion of levers and gears to perform simple tasks, like getting out of bed. 

Obfuscation must have its uses, but not when the goal is to understand and communicate. Obfuscation has a purpose when the goal is to shed heat rather than light, to obscure rather than to illuminate, to win rather than to enlighten or educate. This T-shirt motto deservedly aims to poke fun at these attitudes.
 
From another T-shirt, I offer you the acronym "KISS" as my two cents' worth: "Keep it simple, stupid!"

March 6, 2008

read other articles in Columnists