You know those moments when you spend months developing an exciting new research idea, pour your heart and soul into a beautifully structured proposal, reread the instructions seventeen times, double-check every footnote — and then don’t get the grant?
Yeah, me too.
Earlier this year, I submitted a proposal for a PhD project called International Relations in the Near East during the Neo-Assyrian Period (c. 1000–609 BCE). The title alone was a page-turner, obviously. And while the proposal was ultimately rejected, I still think the idea is worth sharing — if only so you can see what kind of fascinating research didn’t make it through the system.
The pitch (a.k.a.: what the committee missed out on)
The Neo-Assyrian Empire — the first real superpower in world history — has been studied in great detail. But most studies focus entirely on Assyria itself, as if it were playing a solo game of Risk. It rises, conquers its neighbours, collapses. The end.
But history isn’t that simple. Empires don’t rise in a vacuum.
My idea was to shift the focus. Instead of looking only at Assyria, I wanted to explore the full geopolitical landscape: the neighbouring kingdoms, city-states, and tribal coalitions that shaped the world around it. Powers like Egypt, Babylonia, Elam, Urartu, and the smaller states of the Levant and the Zagros — places we often treat as background extras in Assyria’s story, but which had their own goals, fears, and strategies.
The key idea? That Assyria wasn’t just calling the shots — it was reacting to the moves of others, adapting to threats, striking deals, and sometimes being outplayed. In short: history as a complex game of power politics.
To make sense of all this, I proposed using a lens borrowed from political science: something called realist constructivism. (Stay with me.) It’s a way of understanding how states behave — by looking at both power and perception. In other words, not just who has the biggest army, but also how leaders see themselves, their enemies, and the world around them. I wanted to apply this approach to ancient empires — which is rare, but not unheard of — and use it to make sense of why Assyria succeeded, how it changed over time, and why it eventually fell apart.
Some fun features of the project that no one will be reading
- A clear timeline divided into five chapters, from the chaos after the Bronze Age to the dramatic fall of Nineveh
- A focus on actual relationships between Assyria and its neighbours — not just conquests, but alliances, rivalries, and uneasy compromises
- The use of thousands of ancient texts: royal inscriptions, official letters, and chronicles (most written in cuneiform, the wedge-shaped script used in Mesopotamia)
- A critical look at long-standing assumptions, like:
– “Assyria always wanted to rule the world”
– “It succeeded by scaring everyone into submission”
– “Its collapse came out of nowhere”
Also included: beautifully structured arguments, modest brilliance, and many carefully crafted sentences that may now only be read by me, my supervisors, and possibly the committee who rejected it.
So… now what?
Let me be clear: I’m not bitter. (Well. Maybe a little. Let’s call it academic flair.)
I know this happens all the time. There are always more good ideas than there is funding. Still, this one felt special — and I’m not quite ready to let it go.
Which brings me to the big question I’m now asking myself:
Should I do this research anyway?
In academic terms, that would mean becoming an external PhD candidate — doing the same research project without a salary or formal position. It’s more independent, more financially precarious, and requires a lot of discipline. But it also gives me freedom. And the idea is still buzzing in the back of my mind. I keep reading, scribbling notes, thinking through the material. It won’t quite leave me alone — and maybe that’s a sign I should keep going.
So I’m thinking about it.
If you’ve read this far and thought, “Honestly, I’d love to read a book about how the world’s first superpower played a high-stakes diplomatic chess game with its neighbours” — let me know. (If you happen to run a foundation and have a spare €200K lying around, also let me know.)
But even if this never becomes a formal PhD project, I suspect parts of it will find their way into my work. The past is too interesting — and too weird — to leave to the footnotes.
Thanks for reading.
Daan