What "Clarity" is Taking Away: The Higher the Compression Rate, the More Exceptions and Contradictions Are Erased

── By the next day, nothing remains but the parable

I watched a ten-minute explanatory video. The topic, which I had thought was difficult, clicked smoothly into place. The comment section is lined with "the easiest to understand I've ever seen."

The next day, I tried to explain it to someone. I got stuck after thirty seconds. All that remained was the analogy.

Most people treat this as a memory problem. Because they didn't take notes. Because they didn't review. But that's not it. What happened during those ten minutes wasn't understanding in the first place.

To put it bluntly, the feeling of "I get it" is not the destination of understanding. It is a sign that thinking has stopped.

Do not mistake "I understand" for actual comprehension.

"I get it" also happens when you grasp the structure of something. However, it also happens simply when a snag disappears, and from the inside, it feels like the exact same sensation. The person experiencing them cannot distinguish between these two.

Moreover, in terms of frequency, the latter is overwhelmingly more common. Handed a consistent plotline, dangling questions fall into their proper places. That sense of relief is experienced as an "understanding."

The disappearance of a snag and grasping the structure are two different events. The former is accompanied by pleasure. The latter usually is not. Therefore, people mistake the one with pleasure for understanding.

Clarity is compression ratio

The act of explanation is compression. It involves selecting a portion of vast information, replacing it with common symbols, and handing it over in a form that the other person can expand on their end.

Since it is compression, something is bound to be lost. The higher the compression rate, the greater the amount that is lost. Clarity simply refers to a state where this compression rate has been increased.

In other words, when you receive an easy-to-understand explanation, what is actually in your hands is not the subject itself. It is the remainder, left behind after someone has finished choosing.

First to be cut are exceptions and contradictions

What is cut first? The order is almost predetermined.

First, the exceptions disappear. Next, the counterarguments that do not fit the flow of the conversation disappear. Finally, the fact that the matter hasn't even been settled yet disappears.

What remains is a coherent story. Because it is coherent, it goes down smoothly.

Yet, among the things that were excised was precisely that part where the field was still alive and moving. Exceptions and contradictions are not impurities that pollute the narrative. They are proof that the subject has not yet been fully articulated, and signposts pointing to where we should think next.

I am not defending obscure writing

Since this is easily misunderstood, I will clear it up beforehand. This is not about praising things written in a difficult way.

Many texts that are deliberately written to be obscure are simply unorganized. People often mistake a failure to compress for profundity. In that they fail to cut what should be cut, they are making a mistake similar in nature—though opposite in direction—to overly compressed explanations.

Good communicators remember what they cut out

People who are truly good at explaining share a common characteristic: they are aware of what they have just cut out.

That is why explanations from such people always include this phrase: "It's actually much more complicated here," or "Strictly speaking, this phrasing isn't correct, but."

At first glance, it seems to lower the precision of the conversation. But it is the exact opposite. This single phrase communicates to the other person that the image being handed over is an approximation. While handing them a map, it is stating that this is a map.

An explanation missing this single crucial detail passes off an approximation as a finished product. The recipient mistakes it for the world itself.

A state that only accepts simple talk is growing.

If individual explanations are only slightly simplified, the real harm is minor. The problem arises when you keep consuming only simplified explanations.

Eventually, a condition develops where only simple stories are accepted. When that happens, reactions to encountering something complex are narrowed down to two: waiting for someone to simplify it, or feeling that those who speak about it in its complex form are being dishonest.

Whichever route is taken, the ability to think independently while keeping things to oneself lies dormant, unused.

The ability to hold contradictions as contradictions—tolerance for ambiguity—will certainly decline if not used. Constantly exposing oneself only to logical, straightforward narratives quietly chips away at that capacity.

A clear entrance is necessary. Without an entrance, you can't even get in in the first place.

However, once inside, I want to question it at least once: What was cut from this explanation to make it this light?

That is precisely why the question we should ask is not, "Was this story easy to understand?" but rather, "Did this story make the outline of what I don't understand more precise than before?"—That is the kind of explanation we should aim for.

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