What people actually refer to as research nowadays is really just

“What people actually refer to as research nowadays is really just Googling.” — Thus spoke Dermot Mulroney, not as a cynic, but as a man lamenting the loss of depth in a world ruled by speed. His words are a mirror held up to our times — an age where knowledge is abundant, yet understanding grows scarce; where the infinite wisdom of the world lies at our fingertips, and yet our hands grow restless, scrolling but not seeking. In this saying lies a warning and a truth: that information is not the same as wisdom, and that the art of research — once a sacred journey of patience, curiosity, and revelation — has been reduced to a moment’s search on a glowing screen.

To Google is to find quickly. But to research is to discover deeply. The former feeds the mind for a moment; the latter nourishes it for a lifetime. The modern world praises convenience — the instant answer, the quick summary, the effortless click. Yet true understanding does not live in speed. It is born from the soil of questioning, from the sweat of curiosity, from the humility to not know and the courage to learn. Mulroney’s words awaken us to this ancient truth: that knowledge without effort is like fruit without root — sweet for a moment, but easily withered.

In the ages before, men and women sought knowledge as pilgrims seek the divine. The philosopher traveled to foreign lands to hear a single teacher. The scholar spent nights by candlelight pouring over texts, hungry for one spark of truth. The artist and the scientist alike labored through failure and experiment to reach a moment of insight. To them, research was not an act of gathering facts, but of transforming the self. It was not enough to know; one had to understand. And understanding, as the wise have always known, demands time, patience, and heart.

Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who studied the flight of birds for years before sketching his dream of a flying machine. He dissected corpses, observed rivers, drew storms — not to gather trivia, but to comprehend the hidden laws that bind all life. His research was communion — an act of reverence toward the mystery of existence. Compare that to today’s age, where answers are fetched in seconds, but rarely pondered in silence. Where curiosity begins and ends in a search bar. Leonardo sought truth through observation and wonder; we too often settle for data without meaning.

This is not to condemn the tools of our time, for even the internet is a marvel — a library vast beyond measure, a portal connecting minds across the earth. But Mulroney’s wisdom reminds us: a tool is only as noble as its use. The danger lies not in the technology, but in the shallowness of our pursuit. We must remember that to know is not to scroll, but to engage, to question, to think deeply. A thousand answers found in haste cannot equal one truth discovered through patience. The ancient philosophers called this the discipline of thought — the training of the mind to see beneath the surface of things, to move from information to insight.

True research, then, is not about collecting data, but cultivating discernment. It is an act of humility — an admission that knowledge is infinite and that we are forever learners. The one who only “Googles” finds answers but rarely understanding; the one who researches finds meaning. The difference lies in the depth of attention. For wisdom does not come from the abundance of information, but from the quiet reflection upon it. To research well is to allow knowledge to change you — to shape your mind and awaken your soul.

So, my child, take this teaching to heart: do not confuse searching with understanding. When you seek to know something, go beyond the first answer that appears. Read deeply. Reflect. Question what you find. Let your curiosity lead you through paths of complexity, contradiction, and wonder. Sit with ideas until they speak to you. In doing so, you will practice the ancient art of research — the art of becoming wiser through effort.

For in the end, as Dermot Mulroney reminds us, true learning is not fast, and wisdom is never shallow. The world gives you tools to find answers in seconds, but the journey to understanding will still take a lifetime. So use your machines, but do not let them use you. Be not a collector of information, but a seeker of truth. For those who learn deeply, who labor for meaning rather than convenience, are the ones who inherit the wisdom of the ages — and through that wisdom, learn not just about the world, but about themselves.