@Logan, how do you make space for practicing naturalism? It sounds like you rely on ways of easing yourself into curiosity, rather than forcing yourself to pay attention.
>Logan, how do you make space for practicing naturalism?
I don’t have a ready-made answer to this, so I’m going to start rambling whatever maybe-nonsense comes to mind, and see what happens. This will probably not resemble “a good answer” very closely.
I think I mostly “make space for naturalism” by having different intellectual priorities than most adults. When I want to learn something, or to solve a problem, or when I’m in some unfamiliar kind of situation, naturalism-type thoughts are way higher on my priority list than non-naturalism-type thoughts. It’s like they get a +5 to their initiative rolls.
I maybe have thoughts milling around like “What would Wikipedia say about this?”, “Who could I learn from about this?”, and “What is the relevant reference class for this thing?” (I have a feeling these are not actually good examples of the class of thoughts I have in mind, except maybe the reference class one. I’d need to, uh, do some naturalism, to give you a more accurate picture here.) But those thoughts are relatively less shiny to me (at first) than thoughts like, “How could I check it out for myself?”, “What would I need to pay attention to if I wanted some data on that?”, and “What could I do to make more contact with this thing over the next two weeks?”.
I think I __do__ a little bit “make space for naturalism” in a straightforward sense. Common tools along those lines include daily five minute check-ins, a mini notebook in my back pocket for holding information without having to keep track of it in my brain, and dedicated time blocks for designing and trying out exercises/problem-sets/toys.
But those things feel like a mostly organic consequence of prioritizing naturalism-type thoughts, the way I prioritize protein when I’m trying to get physically stronger, or perhaps the way many kids prioritize imagination when given a whole five seconds to do whatever they want. When a thought like “How could I check it out for myself?” feels shiny, I pursue that thought, rather than some other thought I could have spent my time and attention on instead; and pursuing it naturally leads me to thoughts like, “What is the natural habitat of this phenomenon and what would it take for me to go there?” which very often leads me to design an exercise or a TAP or a multifaceted research program.
I’ve got a lot of back-and-forth going on in my head as I answer this, a lot of conflict. Part of my brain seems to be saying, “No no, this is a wrong question, it’s founded on a false premise.” But another part of my brain seems to be saying, “You’ve really hit the nail on the head with ‘make space’.” And I’m going to have that second part of my brain talk now.
If I had to choose three intellectual macronutrients off the top of my head right now, they’d be scholarship, philosophy, and naturalism. Scholarship and philosophy share a sort of active, assertive property. They’re quite go go go, do do do, form goals make plans solve problems execute intentions. You have do spend a lot of time doing things on purpose. Thinking on purpose, driving toward solutions, pouring over sources and analyzing data and drawing out implications. Whatever *space* you have in your life, scholarship and philosophy will *fill up that space* if you let them.
Naturalism is different, on this axis. It is relatively receptive and passive. It requires the same amount of space, but not in the same format, and it doesn’t tend to fill up the space with anything. In fact, I think it sort of takes what space is there, and then makes more of it.
When I get a new naturalism student, one of the very first things I ask them to do is nothing. If they go for regular walks, I ask them to turn their phones to airplane mode and to not listen to podcasts or music. If they have a daily subway commute, I ask them to leave their book or laptop in their bag. I help them find places in their daily lives where they habitually fill the space, and would be sacrificing little besides their immediate comfort to leave that space empty. Direct observation only happens in spaces that are not already full.
I don’t think I’ve answered your question yet, but I think I’ve made some headway and I’m going to pause here for now.
I have lots of points of contact with the world, but it feels really effortful to be always mindful and noting down observations (downright overwhelming if I don’t narrowing my focus to a single cluster of datapoints I’m trying to understand)
yeah, a key principle is something like “start light, stay sustainable”. or maybe “start with space, make more space”.
there’s a large range of naturalism infrastructure it’s possible to lay. some people want to dive all the way in immediately: evening journal, pocket field notes, a weekly time block for focused investigation, a weekly time block for analysis, a big “catching the spark” exercise to get things started, and a full predict-observe-update loop practice. but most people are better off choosing one single TAP: “I’ll snap my fingers when I think I might be confused”, “I’ll tap my leg when I notice an opportunity to exchange money for time”, “I’ll tap my toe when I suspect my code will [whatever].”
the reason this particular kind of merely-noticing TAP is the single most important part of the practice, the one to keep when anything else might be too much, is that it makes space. it creates these tiny little bubbles where additional attention is likely to be worthwhile, and the bubbles have a way of expanding over time.
before you start doing a thing like this, it might seem like there are so many times when you’re confused, and they go by so fast, and there’s just no way you can pay enough attention all the time to extract useful data from those itty bitty moments. but if all you have to do is tap your leg, nevermind extract data or do anything else at all with your mind, that’s more manageable—and you’ll likely find that the longer you do it, the easier and less overwhelming it gets. you find yourself realizing after you’ve tapped your leg that confusion just happened, because the practice has become automatic. you’re not paying a bunch of attention all the time; you’ve learned to concentrate your attention into those tiny moments when it matters. and once you’ve concentrated your attention like that, the moments themselves seem to expand. they don’t seem to go by so quick. it’s like you’ve put them under a microscope, and over time you’ve zooming in and in with more and more powerful lenses. it’s not overwhelming at all. it’s sort of the opposite. by a gradual, sustainable process, you become an expert at observing the thing you’re interested in, and it’s easy.
then once it’s easy, and you are not at all overwhelmed by the practice, then you might want to consider something like capturing some of your observations in a pocket notebook, or keeping a list of times when you tapped your leg, or adding another thing to try noticing. start from spaciousness, and create more space.
@Logan, how do you make space for practicing naturalism? It sounds like you rely on ways of easing yourself into curiosity, rather than forcing yourself to pay attention.
>Logan, how do you make space for practicing naturalism?
I don’t have a ready-made answer to this, so I’m going to start rambling whatever maybe-nonsense comes to mind, and see what happens. This will probably not resemble “a good answer” very closely.
I think I mostly “make space for naturalism” by having different intellectual priorities than most adults. When I want to learn something, or to solve a problem, or when I’m in some unfamiliar kind of situation, naturalism-type thoughts are way higher on my priority list than non-naturalism-type thoughts. It’s like they get a +5 to their initiative rolls.
I maybe have thoughts milling around like “What would Wikipedia say about this?”, “Who could I learn from about this?”, and “What is the relevant reference class for this thing?” (I have a feeling these are not actually good examples of the class of thoughts I have in mind, except maybe the reference class one. I’d need to, uh, do some naturalism, to give you a more accurate picture here.) But those thoughts are relatively less shiny to me (at first) than thoughts like, “How could I check it out for myself?”, “What would I need to pay attention to if I wanted some data on that?”, and “What could I do to make more contact with this thing over the next two weeks?”.
I think I __do__ a little bit “make space for naturalism” in a straightforward sense. Common tools along those lines include daily five minute check-ins, a mini notebook in my back pocket for holding information without having to keep track of it in my brain, and dedicated time blocks for designing and trying out exercises/problem-sets/toys.
But those things feel like a mostly organic consequence of prioritizing naturalism-type thoughts, the way I prioritize protein when I’m trying to get physically stronger, or perhaps the way many kids prioritize imagination when given a whole five seconds to do whatever they want. When a thought like “How could I check it out for myself?” feels shiny, I pursue that thought, rather than some other thought I could have spent my time and attention on instead; and pursuing it naturally leads me to thoughts like, “What is the natural habitat of this phenomenon and what would it take for me to go there?” which very often leads me to design an exercise or a TAP or a multifaceted research program.
I’ve got a lot of back-and-forth going on in my head as I answer this, a lot of conflict. Part of my brain seems to be saying, “No no, this is a wrong question, it’s founded on a false premise.” But another part of my brain seems to be saying, “You’ve really hit the nail on the head with ‘make space’.” And I’m going to have that second part of my brain talk now.
If I had to choose three intellectual macronutrients off the top of my head right now, they’d be scholarship, philosophy, and naturalism. Scholarship and philosophy share a sort of active, assertive property. They’re quite go go go, do do do, form goals make plans solve problems execute intentions. You have do spend a lot of time doing things on purpose. Thinking on purpose, driving toward solutions, pouring over sources and analyzing data and drawing out implications. Whatever *space* you have in your life, scholarship and philosophy will *fill up that space* if you let them.
Naturalism is different, on this axis. It is relatively receptive and passive. It requires the same amount of space, but not in the same format, and it doesn’t tend to fill up the space with anything. In fact, I think it sort of takes what space is there, and then makes more of it.
When I get a new naturalism student, one of the very first things I ask them to do is nothing. If they go for regular walks, I ask them to turn their phones to airplane mode and to not listen to podcasts or music. If they have a daily subway commute, I ask them to leave their book or laptop in their bag. I help them find places in their daily lives where they habitually fill the space, and would be sacrificing little besides their immediate comfort to leave that space empty. Direct observation only happens in spaces that are not already full.
I don’t think I’ve answered your question yet, but I think I’ve made some headway and I’m going to pause here for now.
I have lots of points of contact with the world, but it feels really effortful to be always mindful and noting down observations (downright overwhelming if I don’t narrowing my focus to a single cluster of datapoints I’m trying to understand)
yeah, a key principle is something like “start light, stay sustainable”. or maybe “start with space, make more space”.
there’s a large range of naturalism infrastructure it’s possible to lay. some people want to dive all the way in immediately: evening journal, pocket field notes, a weekly time block for focused investigation, a weekly time block for analysis, a big “catching the spark” exercise to get things started, and a full predict-observe-update loop practice. but most people are better off choosing one single TAP: “I’ll snap my fingers when I think I might be confused”, “I’ll tap my leg when I notice an opportunity to exchange money for time”, “I’ll tap my toe when I suspect my code will [whatever].”
the reason this particular kind of merely-noticing TAP is the single most important part of the practice, the one to keep when anything else might be too much, is that it makes space. it creates these tiny little bubbles where additional attention is likely to be worthwhile, and the bubbles have a way of expanding over time.
before you start doing a thing like this, it might seem like there are so many times when you’re confused, and they go by so fast, and there’s just no way you can pay enough attention all the time to extract useful data from those itty bitty moments. but if all you have to do is tap your leg, nevermind extract data or do anything else at all with your mind, that’s more manageable—and you’ll likely find that the longer you do it, the easier and less overwhelming it gets. you find yourself realizing after you’ve tapped your leg that confusion just happened, because the practice has become automatic. you’re not paying a bunch of attention all the time; you’ve learned to concentrate your attention into those tiny moments when it matters. and once you’ve concentrated your attention like that, the moments themselves seem to expand. they don’t seem to go by so quick. it’s like you’ve put them under a microscope, and over time you’ve zooming in and in with more and more powerful lenses. it’s not overwhelming at all. it’s sort of the opposite. by a gradual, sustainable process, you become an expert at observing the thing you’re interested in, and it’s easy.
then once it’s easy, and you are not at all overwhelmed by the practice, then you might want to consider something like capturing some of your observations in a pocket notebook, or keeping a list of times when you tapped your leg, or adding another thing to try noticing. start from spaciousness, and create more space.
My new response to this is the TAPs section in Duncan’s essay “Concentration Of Force”.