Survival in the field: Implications of personal experience in field work

Conclusion

I have argued that insofar as sociological research seeks to elicit information from individuals directly (rather than by the use of documents, etc.), it necessarily involves the formation of a social relationship between investigator and subject(s) which may in time modify either party. I have concentrated on the effects of the research relationship on the investigator, effects which I claim are denied and systematically eliminated by being processed through a methodology which attempts to create a formal hiatus between the researcher and his facts, and to present the facts in such a way as to be readily communicable and verifiable by the professional community. One important area of investigation is thus that of how the research results are achieved or constructed, and in particular, an investigation of the variety of ways in which research situations can affect investigators. This area is beginning to be explored, but is frequently obscured by the methodological orthodoxy which denies its existence.

To see the matter in this way, however, is to continue to be dominated by this orthodoxy even whilst challenging it, for it is to continue seeing the problem in terms of a better understanding of researcher interference. The question I am trying to pose is, what can the researcher learn, not in the sense of what he can extract in his predefined terms from the research situation, but in the sense of what the subjects have to tell him. That this is a highly problematic question is indicated by the history of the methodological tradition which has attempted to answer it - the hermeneutic or verstehen tradition embodied by Dilthey and Collingwood, which influenced Max Weber heavily, and through him most of sociology to a greater or lesser extent. My account of the research methods used in “participant observation” in recent times indicates that usually only lip service is paid to verstehen. Weber's own attitude toward it is also instructive. Whilst regarding the possibility of understanding as well as explanation as an asset unique to social science, he regarded an account based solely on verstehen as only “a peculiarly plausible hypothesis” which required causal verification before it could be accepted. Verstehen, in other words, was a source of insight but such insights had to be checked against the facts. The trouble is, as we have seen, that “facts” represent a particular construction put upon certain features of social relationships. It provides an ethnocentricity based not simply on the researcher's interests, theories and problem definitions (though these are important), but on his methodology, which translates everything into a digestible (and, ideally, quantifiable) and mutually comparable language.

As has recently been realised, this poses considerable difficulties when the societies in question are not in important respects amenable to “factualisation” - for example when magic and religion play a large part in them. The recent debate on understanding other societies and the role of rationality in doing so, has exposed just that feature of verstehen that Weber's treatment buried: that is, that in order for societies to be fully understood, an acceptance of their terms is necessary; a translation of these terms into the language of social licence distorts and truncates understanding, more drastically for some social phenomena than others. On the other hand, if this is not done, it is hard to see what systematic basis of comparison there will remain.

The situation that I have described is however more complex than this, for the researchers in my illustrations have had experiences and learned things which are not always the result of total conversion, but rather the impact of a new way of thought and life upon their own. On this basis, they have gained insights which they have found it impossible to incorporate into the accepted framework of “research.” The status of these insights and their potential for future inclusion in normal research seems to me to present great difficulties. Basically there are two possibilities: either to make what counts as “research,” “data,” and so on, more flexible, and/or to develop the scrutiny of the experiences and insights in question to such a point as to be able to incorporate them into the public and verifiable research process. The dangers of the first alternative are subjectivism and loss of verifiability, and of the second vulgarisation and distortion.

But a few examples will serve to illustrate the difficulty entailed in clearly discerning the way ahead. Evans-Pritchard's attitude towards Zande magic is completely ambiguous. He admits to adopting it for periods to enable communication, but drops it as soon as communication stops. His analysis is an outstanding example of its incorporation into social science with the minimum of distortion and the maximum of sensitivity. On ideals in which he continued to believe outside Zande society - as he evidently did not believe in magic - such as God, good and evil and courage, he is extremely reserved, though he does claim to have learned from the Azande, i.e., either he was able to incorporate without change what they taught him into his own frame of reference, or they stimulated him to broaden it. Castaneda seems to have had even more difficulty. He was certainly stimulated and helped to solve personal problems both within and by expanding his own terms, but he also finally accepted that he could not see the new world Don Juan was showing him without abandoning his own terms. What hope there is in this area would seem to lie in the painstaking reanalysis of their experiences by such workers as Evans-Pritchard and Castaneda. In the meantime, I hope I shall not be taken to be arguing for the inclusion of every passing emotion of the researcher into his report. It is one thing to argue that the use of a methodology which necessarily excludes such experiences as irrelevant is systematically misleading; it is another, having admitted them, to go beyond treating them as a problem and to attempt to capitalise on them. It is notable that within the literary and artistic tradition to which I have alluded we can recognise and sometimes agree upon those writers who have made of their experiences and knowledge of the world something worthwhile, and confer on them the title of “artist;” yet the state of literary criticism is, if anything, even more anarchic than that of sociology, and is very far from providing us with criteria to decide how best to proceed. Indeed, even worse, these are hints that sociology may be expected by some to provide an answer to these questions.