After a lifetime of failed plans, unsuccessful efforts, and catastrophic mistakes, I’ve recently learned that my penchant for sticking with a problem and pushing for a solution, or an answer, is the incorrect approach. Meet my new hero: British economist John Kay. Professor Kay has developed the Theory of Obliquity, which claims that if you want to go in one direction, the best way to accomplish this may be by simply going in the opposite direction.
Most of us are taught to handle our problems directly, and if we do not find a solution, then we need to continue the direct approach and work harder, the old “never surrender” philosophy made famous by Winston Churchill. Yet all of us are aware of situations where the answer to a problem came to us during a long walk, or while we were reading a book, or talking with friends.
Kay theorized that the oblique approach works “in difficult terrain, or where outcomes depend on interactions with other people.” He wrote: “Obliquity is characteristic of systems that are complex, imperfectly understood and change their nature as we engage with them.”
As an example, Kay discusses the history of fighting forest fires in North America. For most of the 20th century, the forest services in both the U.S. and Canada had policies to fight every forest fire. And while the number of fires decreased, the ones that remained were normally larger, and far more dangerous. Eventually, forestry officials realized what was happening: most smaller forest fires, if simply left alone, will extinguish themselves, and in doing so, create fire breaks that often prevent larger fires. The forest services changed their approach: many smaller fires were left to burn out on their own, and in some cases, the forestry officials even started controlled blazes to aid the overall process. The result? Damage from forest fires dropped dramatically.
While Prof. Kay has put a name to this process, the process is likely as old as mankind itself. Beethoven was notorious for going on long afternoon walks, instead of tackling his composing problems, yet he claimed that the solutions to these problems normally came to him while he was on one of these walks. Ernest Hemingway credited his long walks, and his long drinking sessions, with providing him with countless solutions to many of the literary roadblocks he encountered in his novels.
Now, one has to engage some common sense when utilizing this theory. Not all problems can be solved with this indirect approach. If your house is burning down, it’s highly unlikely that going fishing is going to save your home. Equally, if Revenue Canada is chasing after you for unpaid taxes, you would be wise to either face the problem directly (or take a very long walk until you get to a very foreign country). But if you are trying to compose your next great symphony, or write the sequel to A Farewell to Arms, then you may want to consider obliquity as a possible option.
I know I have adopted this theory, totally and without question. Now, every time I encounter a problem, I immediately throw up my hands and engage in something else, preferably something I enjoy. The good wife has suggested that I may be taking this theory a little too far, as she commented the other day: “Obliquity is now your scientific name for what used to be called Goofing Off.” My response? “Damn the torpedoes, and full speed backwards. I have my obliquity and I’m loving it.”
Brian McLeod is a St. Albert resident.
