Whatever I Learn, I Read the Manual First

How to step into an unfamiliar field, how to learn unfamiliar knowledge, how to master an unfamiliar skill: I think this shows an adult's overall ability.

Because over our years of study, school turned us into a kind of specialist, an expert in our own major. Or through years of work, we became masters in some field.

But the more of an expert you become in one field, the easier it is to fall into an awkward spot: apart from your own area, it's hard to dig deep into an unfamiliar one.

It isn't only that learning stalls with age and the ability to learn fades. It's also that expertise makes us restless. I'm already this professional in my own field, so why should I start from the very basics on things I don't know?

I think this is a problem many people face, and a trap many people are in.

Take me. I've worked at my current company for four years, and the work of my position is long since second nature. I'm almost at expert level. But because of that, it's become my comfort zone. If I left this company for another, I'd have to start learning from scratch.

In these years of work, apart from my job, I've learned a lot of new things in my spare time: photography, photo editing, cycling, working out, Marxist philosophy, Stoicism, and so on.

After reviewing, thinking it over, and talking with others, I found that there's a set of underlying logic I've been using without realizing it to step into unfamiliar fields. Every time I enter a new field, I use it.

I call this logic "manual logic."

Manuals have almost disappeared from view now. I remember that when I was little at my grandparents' house, whenever something wouldn't work, they'd say, "Check the manual."

Never mind how many people still read manuals. Even the number of manufacturers who include a detailed manual with their products has dropped, and many have switched to electronic ones.

Let me start with an example.

When I started learning photography, the first thing I got my hands on was a digital camera.

My first camera was a Canon EOS 70D, a DSLR. The first thing I did when I got it was read its manual from cover to cover.

Later on, quite a few friends asked me how to learn photography, and my first suggestion was always: first read the manual for the camera you use.

Many people think, is there something wrong with me? Why would you read a camera manual to learn photography? I know how to press the shutter, isn't that enough?

I can see that. And probably none of my friends has actually read their manual. The reason I read it is that a manual helps you truly understand your camera.

What does it mean to truly understand your camera? First, on the hardware side, you know what every port and button on it does. Second, on the software side, you know what every option on it means.

This isn't just a way to understand the gear you use. It's the starting point for building a body of knowledge. For example, if you read in the manual that there's something on the camera called white balance shift, you'll go and find out what white balance shift is.

Here someone will say, there's so much stuff I don't understand, don't I just need to use it slowly and find out? What's the use of reading it first? There is a use. Even if you don't understand something, knowing it exists is what lets you connect it with your own understanding later in practice.

In the internet age, there's never a shortage of tutorials and practical tips. But few people will start from a single button or a single screen. Most of what people post online are specific solutions to specific problems, not a way of thinking that lets you solve problems yourself.

As the saying goes, give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.

My definition of manual logic is: whatever you learn, start from its most fundamental, most basic level.

Let me give two more examples so everyone can get a full sense of this logic.

First, when I was learning the editing software Lightroom Classic, I didn't do what a lot of people do, learning to use all sorts of plugins and presets, or watching videos on specific cases like how to smooth skin in portraits or how to get a creamy tone.

The first thing I did was study every button, every option, and every interface design in Lightroom Classic thoroughly.

The benefit is that once I'd finished, I might not have had a specific approach to color grading, but I already had a fairly good understanding of the software.

After that, I also picked up some color theory along the way, like color spaces, hue, saturation, and lightness. These are the cornerstones of color grading. A colorist who doesn't understand them is just adjusting blindly.

And after that process, what did I have?

• First, I understood thoroughly what Lightroom Classic is, what it can be used for, and what it looks like.
• Second, I knew the basic principles of color.

At that point, my Lightroom Classic learning had a solid foundation. From then on, as long as I edited more photos and studied more examples, I'd be someone who could use it systematically.

The second example is learning philosophy.

With any philosophy, I hold one firm attitude: read the original works.

Take Mao Zedong Thought. Whatever interviews with Mao or autobiographies of Mao you want to tell me about, if you haven't read the Selected Works of Mao Zedong, I'll think you're talking nonsense.

I admit later research and discussion are important, but that comes afterward. If you're reading an article studying Mao Zedong Thought and you've never read the Selected Works, where does your sense of the subject come from? If you want to criticize something and don't even know what it actually is, what are you criticizing?

So reading the original works is a step you can't skip when learning any philosophy, because the original work is the manual of a philosophy, like Capital in Marxism, or The Wealth of Nations for free-market capitalism.

Let me say something a bit extreme: if you haven't read the original works, you have no right to criticize or comment.

After these two examples, I believe many readers have a concrete idea of the manual logic I mean.

But in learning, besides this logic, you need one more thing.

That's your philosophy.

I take this philosophy to mean a person's attitude toward a thing.

Take photography: what's your attitude toward photography? Take philosophy: what's your attitude toward philosophy?

Do you take photos to record your life? Or to chase excellent aesthetics? To enrich your inner world? Or to guide your daily life?

I call it manual logic because, deep down, I treat what I learn as something I'll use.

A thing needs a manual because it needs to be used.

And if something can't be put to use, what's the point of learning it? Or put another way, if you can't use it, doesn't that prove you didn't really learn anything?

Following this thought, let's consider another question: how do you see the relationship between you and what you learn?

With photography, how do you see your relationship with the camera? With philosophy, how do you see your relationship with philosophy?

With AI, which is so hot right now, how do you see your relationship with AI?

The answer to that question is the philosophy you hold.

"Philosophy" sounds intimidating, but it's actually very plain. Whatever philosophy you have, you get the results that come with it.

It's like the super-serum in Captain America. It makes a person stronger, but it also makes a bad man worse and a good man better.

To me, good and bad is a binary way of expressing that philosophy.

Finally, here's one sentence to sum up this article: hold the right attitude, and, like a child, start from the simplest place.