A philosophy of information consumption #1: periods of consumption vs. assimilation

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The irresistible comforts of information consumption

What can remedy the problem of information navigation in an era of overwhelming abundance? What can remedy the problem of a never-ending stream of new information and ubiquitous access to a virtually limitless body of knowledge (at least from the perspective of a single human lifetime)?

In my view, one of the great concerns is that when one desires to acquire knowledge — to enrich the landscape of one’s mind and heart by immersing oneself into stories, or by learning new concepts, new perspectives, theories, datapoints, etc.— is that it takes demands amounts of time and effort.

Additionally, deciding where to draw the line involves a difficult negotiation with one’s ego: am I ready to confront this knowledge in a way that it can fulfil its purpose of changing a reality? Do I know enough? Is this the correct knowledge? Am I missing something?

One might be tempted to invoke the “comfort zone” argument to simplify this dilemma, and I do not think one would be far off the mark. After all, information consumption is a rather comfortable activity: it is physically undemanding, requires no active real-time engagement with other people, can be done almost anywhere, and demands no commitment than what one is willing to offer in any given moment.

Of course, information consumption is much more than just a comfortable activity. It is a fundamental human pursuit: a means for acquiring wisdom, emancipating perspectives, exercising a more successful decision-making, developing autonomy, enriching our empathy, and the list goes on.

However, the fact remains that pouring the greater part of one’s efforts into acquiring information instead of confronting it with a reality through practice (which is the hardest half of this dialectic) is a comfortable yet ultimately dissatisfying compromise. And given its quick progression into becoming a passively comfortable habit, revising one’s philosophy of how and why we consume information, and then practicing it, can feel like a paralysing prospect.

The problems of information navigation

The problem of information navigation is divided into two parts: the information hose, and the bottomless waters of knowledge.

The first one involves the continuous creation of new “currently relevant” information that builds upon data that belongs to the present moment. Here, the paradigmatic example is news consumption, which consists of staying up to date on world affairs, reading editorials, social media posts, public figure opinions, etc.

The second problem concerns the pursuit of knowledge: navigating the internet aiming to consume knowledge in order to learn something. A Typical manifestation is the “rabbit-hole” effect, where we become interested in a topic and are sucked into the countless intricacies of its domain until we either snap out of this trance or decide that it is enough. The waters of knowledge are bottomless because there is no natural end to this search; there is always more knowledge to seek and learn, more ways to perfect our understanding of something, or complement it with other domains.

All this outlining of this particular problem is to propose a modest, simple shift in our philosophy that is easy to test. Then, one might implement it more permanently if one realises that this test brings a level of satisfaction and positive results that one cannot remain indifferent to.

Alternating through distinctive periods of information navigation styles

We avoid both problems by establishing two distinct periods of information navigation.

One period is that of consumption, where we plunge into the bottomless waters of knowledge and bask in the enlightening cascade that gushes from the information hose. Undoubtedly, we will consume information with some goals in mind, some horizon that we are pointing towards. For instance, we might want to better understand what the Romanticist movement was about, while we might also wish to be more up to date with current geopolitical affairs.

Then, we delve into the period of surfacing and organising knowledge (which includes application*,* otherwise known as praxis). We produce knowledge ourselves, however incomplete we may believe our “competences” to be at this point. In fact, this is not about being competent or not, this is about being a human with an absolute right to engage with the contents of one’s mind and heart and put them down into some durable form, writing being the quintessential expression of this act.

We are surfacing knowledge because, in the innermost depths of our being, we contain much more knowledge, unformulated ideas, and impressions of the world, that remain disorganised and drowned in their own formlessness. The reason is that our culture by default dwells on either the aura of responsibility and knowledgeability that endless information consumption and learning gives, or the credentialism (the intellectual completeness) required to produce knowledge.

And we organise knowledge to understand where the components of a particular *area of knowledge —*or object of knowledge— stands in our mind’s structure: are there any hierarchies, or any overarching components that unify the rest? Which ones do align with my beliefs? Which ones do we connect with which? How do they relate? What larger ideas encompass their combinations into wholes greater than their parts?

These are all questions regarding the organisation of knowledge. Like much of nature, it needs to coalesce into larger, condensed, and internally coherent bodies to thrive (as per the timeless dictum: “united we stand, divided we fall”).

On that second point, the most insidious drawback of credentialism is that uncredentialed knowledge production (again, seemingly intellectually incomplete knowledge*)* becomes construed as an unproductive endeavour. We are almost guaranteed that the knowledge we produce will not create any significant consequence; it will not be recognised as worthy of attention because it lacks credential backing or a declaration of professional aspirations such as “being a writer”, a “content creator”, an “artist”, and such.

Credentialism and professions dedicated to knowledge production are, of course, not an entirely condemnable social mechanism. They are positive in countless ways as we need ratified institutions capable of validating certain kinds of knowledge, and professions that make earning one’s livelihood —and clearly defining one’s role in our society— through the act of knowledge creation something conceivable.

The point of this detour is that the act of surfacing and organising knowledge lies beyond these other considerations that ultimately concern what we gain with knowledge production (do we advance our profession? Do we come closer to obtaining a credential?). What matters first is the integrity of the act itself.

Flipping a coin side to side to prevent diminishing returns

In fact, this second period of knowledge production shares the same goal as the first period of consumption. In both periods, we are enriching ourselves through these essential entities that are information and knowledge. That is why it doesn’t matter whether or not you publish knowledge, those are separate considerations. You are equally learning and growing through both processes; the only difference is that now you understand that surfacing and organising knowledge is as much a part of this process as consuming it. In truth, the process was always incomplete without it.

Thus, this process of responsibly consuming information has always been incomplete. The practice by which you thought you were accomplishing things like staying up to date with the latest topics, increasing your erudition, your culture, and your sensibilities by consulting books, articles, and other formats, was only half the equation. The real process of engaging with information has always been exponentially superior to this incomplete half that was mistaken for the whole.

These two periods are opposite —akin to two sides of the same coin— because an overemphasis on either will progressively distance us from the ultimate aim. Too much unprocessed information eventually bogs us down, opening too many open threads, piling up into chaotic, wobbly towers of disorganised and disconnected concepts, theories and data. There result is too much shallow understanding, and an aimlessness rooted in a lack of actual, ongoing applications of this knowledge. If we just accumulate knowledge for the sake of knowing, we are not tapping into the vast powers of human learning. In the processes of integration, condensation, and framing knowledge with overarching meaning and direction, it is essential to integrate periods of application and production.

On the other side of the coin, too much knowledge production will eventually lead us to saturation. Once we have surfaced and organised our inner landscape sufficiently, we begin to detect a collection of primary preoccupations that appear over and over again. And at some point, we will notice that we are reaching dead ends that call for refinement through a renewed information intake (e.g., repetition, circular thinking, or lack of new insight). Of course, we can keep going and produce new ideas and new applications, yet, just like with consumption, this too may inadvertently slip into a fool’s errand of diminishing returns.

How we understand when it is enough information

The underlying principle is always one: you need to decide when it is enough and it is time to shift to the other side, even if doing so is initially uncomfortable and disorienting. In fact, as you surface and organise knowledge and then go back to consuming with enhanced lucidity, something shifts. You begin to arrange your thoughts into buckets, because you now better understand what you are looking for, what you can do with knowledge, and how difficult and/or elating the integral process can be. Each bucket comes to symbolise a particular aim, a focus that through which you channel different types of knowledge.

To illustrate this bucket metaphor, I will return to a previous example. You might keep consuming information about Romanticism, but after a period of production, you learn that what particularly draws your interest is this movements aesthetic ideas of the sublime in nature. So, without fully noticing, you carry this thought bucket in your head where you collect all that you read about the sublime in nature according to Romanticists (and additional reflections that might arise from this search). At the same time, you are detecting where it can be meaningfully applied in your own experience of nature or in your interpreting others’ experiences. In this way, you become more discerning, knowing to pick out the more valuable elements in what you read. And eventually, you will sense when that particular bucket is full, so that you can say “That’s enough for now” and move on to other topics or start producing again.

Of course, we usually carry many thought buckets in the back of our minds, and they manifest themselves either by being consciously thought about (as I am doing here), or by subconsciously directing our attention while shaping the roads our thought processes take.

All in all, becoming more familiarised and deliberate with these thought buckets is an incredibly beneficial leap in our relationship with our minds. Again, the reason is primarily that, once they fulfil their purpose, they will provide cues for us to say “That’s enough” and move on to something else, not before having organised (and ideally applied) that bucket’s knowledge into something coherent and internalised.

An ever-perfecting cycle of deepening our intimacy with the transforming power of knowledge

Another recursive effect is that by producing knowledge you are perfecting your sensibility to details, nuances, and mental states a writer can go through, because you have been producing yourself, attempting to thread your own thoughts together while navigating the tricky waters of true application of acquired knowledge. This holds true across all domains: when you try to do it yourself, a world of unseen details opens up before your eyes. For instance, you being to notice reasons why people do things in this or that way; or your admiration grows shows of virtuosity you previously took for granted, because you only understand them once you experienced by yourself the immense challenges they pose.

The second benefit is that your personal framework becomes clearer and more instinctive, more natural to you. You have articulated and combined knowledge through the prism of your own sensibilities; and you have formulated and condensed it in ways that make sense to you and evoke something in you. You have become more grounded in your confidence of what you know and what you believe.

And all of this contributes to your intimacy with the nature of knowledge. Knowledge is not something static and dulling, an ornament to a complete mind, a simple tool meant for a “productive” end, or a means of becoming more similar to a “cultured”, “smart”, “sophisticated” model that we look up to. Knowledge is the very matter through which our perceiving, interpretation and appreciation of reality emerges. It reveals the hidden beauties of this world that our narrowing ignorance blinds us to. It gifts us autonomy. It creates anchors in our mind from which we can discover our individuality, and the means for pursuing its happy and empowered realisation. Knowledge emancipates us.

And knowledge constitutes the platforms from which our mind and heart may ascend to greater heights, so that they can better understand their contents, better manifest their potential, and obtain glimpses of the sublime panoramic view from above.

Thus, because the effect is recursive, once you decide to allow your spirit to renew itself in momentary rest and relaxation, switching to a period of consumption, your ability to consume information will have qualitatively improved. And you might even experience that irresistible pull, an intimation that you have something important to say, something to create, or a banner under which to rally others. You might experience the revelation that there is a particular field where you find endless thrill and you want to keep producing more of it. This is also good, because given that consumption is the default mode of information engagement in today’s culture, we are always lacking those who give greater preeminence in their lives to the other side.

So do not feel guilty if, for a while, you are not keeping up with your reading list, if you are not reading fast enough (or in large enough quantities), or if you’ve fallen out of the habit of consulting your preferred sources of information. The other period is at least as important. And in time, you will find how life-affirming it is —once you reap the fruits of the first cycle, coming full circle back to the first period and beginning a new cycle. We simply never place enough emphasis on this other side of the coin.

This exhortation, of course, is also directed at yours truly.

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