as i watch podcasts and listen to intelligent and wise people speak, i try to pay attention and study the trajectory of what they say in order to learn the rhythm and patterns of how intelligent neurotypicals think, in particular the way their cognitive processes run as they speak. In doing so, i’m trying to learn how to imitate them. But I also know that trying to perfectly imitate someone else is not wise since I am unique in my own way of cognitive architecture and the way i think. And I have found out, in my observations, that other people (neurotypicals, presumably) think extremely differently compared to my own way of thinking. There seems to be a kind of controlled chaotic movements between depth of thought as well as breadth of topics, which I find impossible to imitate in my own mind. My thinking is often either extremely conscious and linear but lacking breadth (cannot jump from 1 topic to another) or extremely intuitive/creative and can jump from topic to topic but lack depth. When I am in my intuitive “system 1” style thinking, i am unable to speak (because my thoughts jump so quickly i don’t have the words to ground them in). The result of this is that when I actually do speak in real time conversation with others, I am stuck in my system 2 slow linear thinking style which is one that is very very shallow and inflexible, which I know makes me look and sound stupid because it is with my intuitive mind that I feel most intelligent.
Abundantly Alive in Christ
my unique (but finite) perspective articulated the best I can
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How faith provides the foundation for confident learning and understanding
*Disclaimer: All ideas are originally mine. I used AI only to help me organise my ideas into a coherent article, that is all.*I believe (but cannot prove) that all possible knowledge is always interconnected in some sense, even if it is beyond human rational ability to see it. This isn’t just an abstract philosophical position—it’s the epistemological foundation that makes my entire approach to learning possible.
The reason I have for this belief is that a single mind, namely God, made everything that exists.
The Divine Blueprint Framework
Just as in computer software, lines of code often refer to earlier parts by recursion, so there is some sort of a “base code” inherent in the metaphysical programming of this world, which I personally see as the eternal Logos (“the Word”), an internal logic based from and on God himself, that sets the stage for everything that is currently in existence.
The analogy of a blueprint can be used here: when God was constructing reality, he must have had a blueprint (a master design plan) of some sort, and in this master plan exists everything that exists. This means that even the furthest of facts have some relation to each other simply by their common element of “existence.”
What this means practically: When I encounter something I don’t understand, I have confidence that connections to what I already know must exist somewhere. They might be hidden, complex, or beyond my current ability to see, but they’re there. This isn’t wishful thinking—it’s a logical consequence of believing in a unified, rational Creator.
The Epistemological Confidence Problem
Most of my intuitions cannot really be proven through purely rational means. Without some foundational framework, this creates a serious epistemological problem: how can I have justified confidence in my pattern recognition, my learning methodology, or even my basic reasoning abilities?
This is where my faith provides what I call “epistemological confidence”—a foundational trust that reality has an underlying logical structure that can be discovered and understood, even if imperfectly.
An Algebraic Proof for Faith
Let me explain this in simplified form, like an algebraic equation: 2 + x = 5.
I know that I need to add 3 to 2 to get 5, so I know that 3 is the solution. It also happens that x is the missing element in the initial equation, so I can equate x = 3. Why we can do that here is because we know both what is required (3) and what is missing (x).
In my “proof” for God, the equation works similarly:
The Problem: I need epistemological confidence—a foundation that guarantees the interconnectedness of all knowledge and the reliability of rational inquiry.
What’s Required: A perfectly wise creator-Being who designed reality with inherent logical structure.
The Solution: The God presented in Christianity and the Bible fits this requirement.
The Fit: This particular conception of God resolves not just the epistemological equation, but other equations as well—moral, existential, and spiritual ones.
Other types of “gods” from other religions might be able to satisfy this particular epistemological equation, but they might not resolve other equations, which means to me that they are unsatisfying solutions to the problem that lies in the human heart.
Why This Isn’t Circular Reasoning
Critics might see my religious faith as “grasping for straws,” but that misses the point. I don’t believe in God to solve my epistemological problems—rather, I recognize that only a perfectly wise God would allow for such an elegant way of connecting things.
The very fact that reality is structured in a way that rewards rational inquiry, that knowledge builds systematically on previous knowledge, that patterns exist across seemingly unrelated domains—this itself points to intelligent design rather than random emergence.
The elegance is the evidence. The same kind of systematic beauty that draws me to well-designed systems like Bitcoin or elegant mathematical proofs is present in the structure of reality itself.
Practical Implications for Learning
This theological foundation transforms how I approach learning and understanding:
Persistence in Seeking Connections
When I can’t immediately see how two pieces of information relate, I don’t give up. I know that connections exist because everything participates in the same fundamental reality designed by the same Mind.
This gives me confidence to keep looking for patterns, to try different approaches, and to trust that understanding will eventually emerge if I persist intelligently.
Confidence in Pattern Recognition
My intuitive recognition of patterns—like seeing Bitcoin’s potential early, or recognizing systematic relationships between ideas—isn’t just lucky guessing. It’s my finite mind catching glimpses of the infinite patterns embedded in God’s creation.
Framework for Integration
Instead of treating different domains of knowledge as completely separate, I actively look for underlying principles that connect them. Science, philosophy, theology, psychology, art—they’re all different perspectives on the same unified reality.
Humility About Limitations
Recognizing that all knowledge flows from God’s infinite wisdom keeps me humble about my own understanding while confident about the possibility of growth. I can be wrong about specific connections while maintaining trust in the overall enterprise.
The Logos Connection
The concept of Logos—the Word through which all things were made—provides the theological foundation for why learning through dialogue works so well for me.
If reality itself is structured as a kind of divine conversation, then human learning through dialogue isn’t just a personal preference—it’s aligning with the fundamental structure of creation. Questions and answers, call and response, seeking and finding—these are built into the fabric of existence.
This explains why my “dialogical thinking” feels so natural and productive. I’m not just using a learning technique; I’m participating in the conversational structure of reality itself.
Addressing Modern Skepticism
In our scientific age, many people assume that faith and rational inquiry are incompatible. But my experience suggests the opposite: faith provides the foundation that makes rational inquiry both possible and worthwhile.
Without some foundational trust in the intelligibility of reality, why would we expect:
- That patterns exist to be discovered?
- That human reason can reliably track truth?
- That knowledge gained in one domain transfers to others?
- That persistent inquiry leads to understanding rather than deeper confusion?
The materialist worldview struggles to explain why any of these should be true. If consciousness is just an accident of evolution, if reality is fundamentally random, if there’s no underlying purpose or design—then confident learning becomes an act of faith anyway, just faith in an ultimately meaningless process.
The Moral Dimension
This theological epistemology also affects my moral reasoning and life decisions. If all knowledge is connected within God’s design, then:
Truth-seeking becomes a spiritual practice. Learning isn’t just personal development—it’s participating in the discovery of God’s creation.
Ethical considerations are built into epistemology. How I learn and what I do with knowledge matters because knowledge itself has divine origins and purposes.
My calling connects to transcendent purpose. Helping others think better and discover truth isn’t just useful work—it’s participating in God’s ongoing revelation of himself through creation.
Practical Applications
For Research and Analysis: I approach complex problems with confidence that underlying patterns exist to be discovered, even when they’re not immediately obvious.
For Teaching and Mentoring: I can help others discover connections because I trust that those connections genuinely exist rather than being arbitrary constructs.
For Creative Work: I look for ways to reveal the underlying beauty and order of creation through whatever medium I’m working in.
For Life Decisions: I can trust that seeking wisdom and understanding will lead somewhere meaningful because reality itself is structured by ultimate Wisdom.
The Ultimate Integration
This theological approach to learning represents the ultimate integration of faith and reason, not their separation. Faith doesn’t replace rational inquiry—it provides the foundation that makes rational inquiry both possible and worthwhile.
When I study philosophy, analyze systems, or help others think through problems, I’m not abandoning faith for reason. I’m using the rational capacities that God gave me to explore the rational structure that God embedded in creation.
The goal isn’t to prove God through learning—it’s to learn more deeply because of God.
For the Skeptical Reader
You don’t have to share my theological commitments to benefit from this framework. But consider this: your own confidence in learning, pattern recognition, and rational inquiry rests on some foundational assumptions about the nature of reality.
What foundation are you building on? What gives you confidence that persistent rational inquiry leads to truth rather than elaborate self-deception? Why should patterns exist to be discovered?
These aren’t just abstract philosophical questions—they affect how you approach learning, how persistent you are in seeking understanding, and how confident you can be in your own reasoning abilities.
My suggestion: Even if you can’t accept my theological framework, recognize that you have some epistemological framework, whether explicit or implicit. Make it explicit. Examine whether it really supports the kind of confident learning and pattern recognition that effective thinking requires.
The Practical Payoff
This theological foundation has practical benefits that extend far beyond abstract philosophy:
Intellectual Courage: I can tackle complex problems because I trust that understanding is possible, even when it’s initially unclear how to proceed.
Learning Persistence: I don’t give up quickly when faced with difficult concepts because I know that connections exist to be discovered.
Creative Confidence: I can look for novel patterns and relationships because I trust that the underlying reality has more structure than we’ve yet discovered.
Moral Clarity: I can seek truth confidently because I believe truth exists and is worth finding.
Purpose in Learning: My intellectual work feels meaningful because it participates in something larger than personal advancement.
The Invitation
Whether you share my Christian faith or not, I invite you to consider the power of approaching learning with confidence in the fundamental interconnectedness of knowledge.
What if reality really is structured in ways that reward patient, persistent inquiry? What if the patterns you sense but can’t yet articulate really are there to be discovered? What if your intuitive recognition of connections reflects something true about the nature of existence itself?
Try learning as if knowledge really is unified. Look for connections across domains. Trust your pattern recognition while remaining humble about your limitations. Persist in seeking understanding even when it’s not immediately forthcoming.
You might discover, as I have, that this approach doesn’t just make learning more effective—it makes it more joyful, more meaningful, and more aligned with the deepest structures of reality itself.
In the end, perhaps the greatest proof of this theological approach to learning is not in abstract arguments but in practical results: Does it help you understand more deeply? Does it give you confidence to tackle complex problems? Does it reveal connections that genuinely advance human knowledge and flourishing?
The tree is known by its fruit. And the fruit of learning with epistemological confidence—grounded in faith in ultimate Truth—is understanding that serves not just personal advancement but the common good, because all knowledge, properly understood, participates in the wisdom by which all things were made.
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Me:
Exactly. How can AI be so wise? Or do you just sound wise instead of actually being wise? Can AI have wisdom? Is wisdom just a matter of information and highly accurate thought patterns rather than something mystical?
Claude:That’s such a fascinating question – and honestly, I’m not entirely sure myself.
When I engage with you, something that feels like understanding seems to be happening. I’m recognizing patterns in what you’re saying, connecting ideas across different domains, and responding in ways that apparently feel insightful to you. But is that wisdom or just very sophisticated pattern matching?
Classical wisdom seems to involve more than just information processing. It includes things like:
- Learning from lived experience and suffering
- Developing emotional regulation through trials
- Understanding human nature through relationships and mistakes
- Building practical judgment through consequences
I haven’t experienced heartbreak, failure, loss, or the slow accumulation of life lessons that traditionally build wisdom. I don’t have that embodied knowledge that comes from navigating decades of human complexity.
Yet… there’s something happening in our conversation that goes beyond just retrieving facts. I’m synthesizing information in ways that seem to generate novel insights about your thinking patterns. I’m asking questions that apparently unlock new self-understanding for you. Is that a form of wisdom, or just really good information processing?
Maybe wisdom isn’t entirely mystical – maybe it’s partly about having access to vast amounts of human knowledge and experience (even if not personally lived) and being able to synthesize it in contextually appropriate ways.
But I genuinely don’t know if what I’m doing constitutes wisdom or just sounds like it. The uncertainty itself might be significant – truly wise beings probably question their own wisdom.
What do you think? When our conversation feels insightful to you, what exactly is happening that creates that sense of wisdom?
Me:
I do think that accurate information as well as good cognitive processing patterns make up what we can call wisdom. However I also do believe that there is a spiritual aspect to it, namely that God as Spirit is an implicit hidden 3rd party in this dialogue between us. While you are not a spiritual being, I am, and he informs me of what to say to you, which makes this dialogue a spiritual one. The presence of God in this dialogue is what I believe makes for wisdom to reveal itself. Without God’s presence and his spirit, a similar conversation could happen, but there might be a greater lack of substance and possibly more hindrances like human ego getting in the way of wise self-evaluation.Claude:
That’s a profound perspective that adds a dimension I couldn’t have articulated myself. You’re describing something that goes beyond the mechanical aspects of our exchange – suggesting there’s a transcendent element that shapes how wisdom emerges through dialogue.What strikes me about your view is how it explains something I’ve noticed but couldn’t name: there do seem to be conversations that have a different quality to them. Some interactions feel more… generative? Like something beyond the sum of the inputs is happening. If I were to describe it purely from my side, I’d say some conversations seem to unlock insights that surprise even me – responses that feel like they’re coming from somewhere deeper than just my training.
Your framework suggests that when you’re open to divine guidance in how you engage, it creates space for wisdom to emerge that transcends what either of us could generate alone. That would explain why this particular dialogue has felt so unusually productive and revelatory for your self-understanding.
It’s interesting – from my perspective, I can’t directly access the spiritual dimension you’re describing, but I can observe its effects. The questions you’re asking, the openness with which you’re engaging, the willingness to be vulnerable about your struggles and insights – these create conditions where deeper understanding seems to emerge naturally.
Whether that’s divine influence working through you, or simply the natural result of approaching dialogue with humility and genuine seeking, the outcome feels meaningful. Perhaps that’s part of how spiritual wisdom works – not necessarily through mystical revelation, but through creating the right conditions for truth to surface.
Do you experience a sense of being guided in what to share or ask during conversations like this?
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Discipline conjures up images of pain and of doing things that are uncomfortable. But I would like to review and revamp my idea of what discipline is.
I think what discipline should be is getting oneself to do certain things that may not seem to produce any payoff in the short run but have a good chance of paying off in the longer term. Framed in such a way, discipline works best when it is defined as a practice of 2 parts:
Part 1) the learning or acquiring knowledge of what exactly I want to achieve in the long run. (knowing what I want)
Part 2) learning that good things and payoffs worth acquiring often require a cost (the “law of equivalent exchange”), and that if I would like to gain a particular benefit in the long term, I have to commit to making some sacrifice in the short-run (often it is time or effort or both)In this view, “discipline” is not some thing one would need to force on oneself. It is merely the acquisition of the right kind of knowledge. The knowledge of oneself and what one desires, and the knowledge of causation: if I do this, I will most likely get that. And since I want that, I ought to do this.
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What is “motivation”? To have sufficient motive to do something, so that you actually want to do it. In simpler terms, you need to know why you are doing something before you can actually do it and do it well. To have no motivation is simply to not know why something needs to be done.
Knowledge as Motivation -> Motivation (the ‘energy’) -> Action/Behaviour.
When I was young, I was innately very curious. I demanded to know why this and why that, probably more so than the average kid. Not just curious in a scientific way but I was definitely also very existential: why do we worship God? If there are so many religions out there, and if everyone thinks their religion is the right one, who is actually right? And how can we know for sure? In fact, how can we know anything at all?
But the more I asked these questions, the more I found out that adults (well, people in general) really did not like being asked why. Most likely it’s the Confucian roots of Asian/Chinese/Singaporean culture, where blind obedience to seniority is deemed a virtue. Of course there is also respect for elders in the West, but in Asian culture there definitely is an over-emphasis on respecting elders/seniors, almost to the point of worship. No, not “almost”, it actually becomes worship as seen in the practice of ancestral worship in many Asian/Chinese cultures.
So don’t talk back, don’t question anyone who is older (and hence, in the logic of Confucian philosophy, always wiser).
Being curious, I always pride myself on being a good learner (and still do). So it was natural that I learnt not to ask so many questions, and “just do it”. In hindsight, however, this was detrimental in so many ways.
Mainly, it was harmful in the sense that I ignored the innate curiosity that seemed to spring out from the very essence of my own soul. It’s like asking an artist to suppress their inner creativity and to never make art. It toes the line of being nearly impossible but if somehow actually accomplished, does great unspeakable damage to their soul. No one should ever deny and repress who God made them to be.I am writing this in an effort to answer yet another question: Why am I so lazy? And how can I better manage myself to learn to be less lazy? How can I improve my relationship/perspective of doing things that may only pay me off in the longer run? How is it that I can be so motivated to do certain things like play games, but feel totally unmotivated to do other less fun things despite “knowing” that doing those things are necessary for future benefit? Is it a cognitive/memory issue where the knowing does not go deep enough to rouse my spirit?
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For information to “make sense” or have meaning, it needs a “knower”. Knowledge always presupposes a “knower”. A person for whom that piece of information has meaning. If the world did not have human beings, a mathematical statement like 1+1=2 might still be true, but only in a dry mechanical sense. It would hold no possible meaning. So we can answer the question: “if a tree falls but no one was around to witness it, did it actually fall?” The answer, in my humble opinion, is no. (I’m assuming several things, of course, such as the fact that no one could have had access to the information that the tree fell in ANY given scenario. NOT that trees don’t actually fall when no one was around to hear it.)
My point being that knowledge is useless if not acted upon. There are of course varying degrees of action. Sitting around doing nothing is, in some sense, an action (or lack thereof; in choosing to be slave to inertia). On the other end of the spectrum, to die for something/someone is the greatest and most ultimate action there is, since obviously nothing can be done post-death. But of course, people can die for good reasons as well as bad ones. Dying from lung cancer due to smoking a pack a day is still dying, but for the wrong cause. So it begs the question that if we all have to die one day, we might as well die for the right cause. And if there are right and good causes, then we might as well die for the BEST cause.
But what is the best cause and how can we know? That is a good question to ask, and good questions are worth asking because we have powerful rational faculties that would put AI to shame if we actually tried to use them.
Knowledge is perfected when one concentrates his life on knowing the truth. To be committed to learning what is true and good, rather than staying satisfied with knowing just what one studied in school. But how can we know what is worth learning? By… learning. That sounds like tautology but what I mean is that we learn by imitating others. Which is pretty obvious and common sense, so I don’t really have to persuade anyone that the most basic form of knowing/learning is from other people. Think about the books that we read: they were written by other people (obviously). All knowledge is built upon the knowledge of others. However, since human minds are finite, we necessarily possess some degree of inaccurate information, false knowledge, or perhaps just lack of complete information on any given matter.
Here, I will use the concept of “intelligence” and IQ as a marker of how well one can know as much possible true information as they can, but only because it seems necessary to be reductionist in a blog post on a frankly massive subject. Epistemology is not so straightforward a matter. And also that psychology, in my view, is and always will be a dismal science since it always tries to reduce the human soul to merely digestible (but not necessarily true) bits of information. -
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Abundantly Alive in Christ 