Research beyond rankings

By Herman M. Lagon

You hear it often in faculty spaces: how many papers are required this year? Not what question matters most. It sounds routine, but it says a lot. Research, once slow and deliberate, now feels like a race. The shift is subtle—from thinking to producing—and the purpose becomes less clear.

Research was never designed as a checklist. It is a way of thinking—learning to ask, to doubt, and to sit with uncertainty. Research methodology expert Ranjit Kumar (2005) emphasizes that research is a systematic and reflective process grounded in careful judgment, rather than mere information gathering.

But the system has its own demands. Research is now linked to promotion and recognition. Metrics like citations and impact factors guide decisions. These are useful, but when they define value, it becomes easier to produce more than to think deeply. One begins to see studies that feel rushed, fragmented, or stretched thin—papers that exist because they are needed, not because they are necessary.

I have written about this before—in pieces like “The ‘Publish or Perish’ Culture” and, more recently, “When Research Loses Weight” . The concerns remain the same, but they have also become quieter, more familiar. What once felt like pressure now feels routine. And perhaps that is what makes it more difficult to notice—and more important to revisit.

This is where terms like “salami slicing” enter the conversation—dividing one meaningful study into several smaller, less substantial ones. Or the tendency to test what is already known, adding little but another line to a curriculum vitae. There is also the growing unease around how tools like artificial intelligence are used—not as aids for thinking, but as shortcuts that bypass it. None of these are always intentional acts of compromise. Often, they are responses to pressure. But taken together, they contribute to a body of work that looks full, yet feels light.

The consequences are not abstract. When research becomes thin, people begin to doubt it. Findings do not hold up. Studies cannot be repeated. Resources are spent, but little is gained. Over time, the public starts to ask if all this work still matters. In the local setting, where research funding and support are already limited, the cost is even heavier. Every weak study takes away from work that could have made a difference.

But it is not fair to place this entirely on researchers. Many, especially those in teaching, are already stretched. They handle classes, students, reports, and responsibilities—and then try to write in the margins of their day. Often, it is not about passion, but obligation. The real issue is not effort, but a system that tends to reward how much is produced rather than how well it is done.

There is another way to look at research. Not as a requirement, but as a way of seeing. It begins with simple habits—asking questions, paying attention, being willing to change one’s mind. It is the teacher trying to understand how students think. It is the school head asking what lies behind the data. These moments may not be published, but they matter.

Seen this way, research is not rigid. It needs structure, but also imagination. It asks for logic, but also for reflection. And sometimes, the best insights come not from following the path, but from stepping off it. Zina O’Leary’s book The Essential Guide to Doing Research (2004) describes research as a process that demands both disciplined analysis and creative insight.

This is where teaching becomes essential. Critical thinking does not happen overnight. It is built slowly—through practice, guidance, and example. In the classroom, this develops when students are encouraged to analyze, reflect, and question, rather than simply follow instructions (Abrami et al., 2015). But this only happens when research is treated as a way of understanding, not just something to complete.

There is also a quieter side to it—the discipline of slowing down. Of staying with uncertainty instead of rushing to finish. It is not the kind of effort that shows up in metrics, but it is what keeps research grounded. It creates space for honesty—for saying, “I am not there yet.”

Publications and rankings still have their place. They help measure progress. But they should not define the work. When research starts with numbers, it often drifts. When it starts with a real question, the rest tends to follow.

The challenge, then, is to stay steady within the system. To write not just to publish, but to contribute. To ask not just what will count, but what will matter.

Because research is not about producing more. It is about thinking better—and knowing there is always more to learn.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.