Reality and Believing: Seeing is Believing?
Janpha Thadphoothon
First of all, I would like to take you back in time. Those were the days when everything was simple, but perhaps our minds were more restless than the world around us. The past is the past, but it has a curious way of informing our present. In 1987, I found myself in the stunning landscape of the Bay of Plenty, New Zealand, as an AFS exchange student. I am sure you would agree with me that being seventeen and halfway across the world is a transformative experience. My good friend "James" and I used to walk the rolling hills of Tauranga. As we know, New Zealand is a place of immense natural beauty, but for two young men from Thailand, it was a laboratory for the mind. James was from the deep south of Thailand, and I was from the Northeast (Isan).
We were two opposite poles of a kingdom meeting on a foreign shore. People say that travel broadens the mind, and indeed, it does. During those long walks, we often talked philosophies. I’d like to entertain you with the idea that we were not just students of language, but students of existence itself.
You may wish to picture this scenario: two teenagers, surrounded by the scent of salt air and the greenest grass you’ve ever seen, questioning if the world existed beyond the horizon. I must admit that we were playing a game of radical doubt. We knew through information, books, and media that places like the United States or the great industrial hubs of China existed. According to the media of the late 80s, the world was becoming a global village, yet I notice that we felt a certain skepticism. My conviction is that we were testing the boundaries of direct experience. We used to mention that things might not exist if we could not directly observe them. I know you would agree with me that it sounds naïve now, but at the time, it was our favorite thought experiment. I somehow think we were trying to protect ourselves from the overwhelming vastness of a world we hadn't yet touched. It was as if we were saying, "If I can't touch it, I don't have to worry about it."
Let's be a bit more scientific. In the world of research, which I inhabit today as an assistant professor, we often deal with hypotheses. I like the idea of applying this to our Tauranga walks. One may ask what a "Null Hypothesis" is. Fundamentally, I would argue that our youthful philosophy could be summarized through a very specific statistical lens. We were essentially testing a Null Hypothesis which posited that things I haven't seen do not exist—what I often call the Ostrich view. Conversely, our Alternative Hypothesis was the Tegmark view, which suggests that things exist independently of my perception. I guess it is human nature to start with the Null. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand, my gut tells me that we often believe only in what is immediately present. Wisdom from the past hints that we are the center of our own universes, but gradually, I realized that this was a limitation of the ego. Experts say that reality is objective, but some argue for the idea that we construct our own realities. I am not an expert, but I have read somewhere that even the smallest particles behave differently when observed. It has perplexed me for years—this tension between what we know and what we feel.
Gradually, I moved on from those New Zealand hills. Like it or not, the world moves on. I returned to Thailand, studied at Chulalongkorn and Thammasat, and eventually earned my doctorate in Australia. Those were the good old days for some, but for me, they were a bridge to a more complex understanding. I must admit that the "Ostrich" in me stayed quiet for a long time. I traveled, I taught, and I learned. Nevertheless, it is my long-held belief that (though I could be wrong) we never truly stop being that skeptical student at heart. What's more interesting is that today, in 2026, I find myself in a situation that directly challenges my 1987 self. I am currently a visiting professor at a college in Tianjin, China. Before I came here, Tianjin was a "Null" for me. It was a name in a book, a set of coordinates, a semiotic sign. The news has it that Tianjin is a massive metropolis, a hub of commerce and culture. According to the media, it is a city of millions. Yet, until I landed, I could still entertain the idea that it might not exist. I could be wrong, but I think many of us live this way—knowing things intellectually but not "knowing" them in our souls.
Fundamentally, it is all about the leap from information to experience. Now that I am here, walking the streets and breathing the air, I am ready to Reject the Null Hypothesis. Make no mistake, Tianjin is very real. I notice the grit of the northern wind, the smell of local street food, and the specific architecture of the Five Great Avenues. Accordingly, the alternative hypothesis—that the world is independent of my gaze—has been validated. And then ultimately, I realize that my youthful skepticism was a form of protective pride.
That's not all. My perspective has been further transformed by my recent certification in Generative AI with Large Language Models. Let me introduce you to the notion of the "Centaur Mind." I think this is the ultimate evolution of the human-AI relationship. As a language teacher, I have seen how technology can either be a barrier or a bridge. Globally, we are seeing a shift in how we process information. In Thailand, for example, we are at a crossroads of tradition and innovation.
I am sure you would agree with me that AI "knows" Tianjin differently than I do. An AI doesn't need to walk the streets to reject the Null Hypothesis. It has processed billions of tokens of data about this city. Experts say that AI lacks consciousness, but I somehow think it possesses a different kind of "omnipresence." My gut tells me that the AI is the ultimate anti-Ostrich. It never has its head in the sand because its "eyes" are everywhere data exists. Having said that, I realize that the AI's knowledge is symbolic, while mine is phenomenological. But the beautiful thing is that we are finding a way to bridge these two worlds. It’s hard to describe, but I will try: it’s like having two sets of eyes—one that sees the code of the universe and another that feels its texture. What we all know and agree upon is that the world is becoming more digital, yet our human need for "touch" remains. Critics such as those who fear AI would tell you that we are losing our humanity. Some argue against the integration of LLMs in the classroom, fearing it will make students lazy. However challenging, I determine to make it clear that AI is not a replacement for the professor, but a partner. Fundamentally, I would argue that we must become "Centaurs"—half-human experience, half-machine information.
What's more, this "Centaur" approach helps us navigate the Mathematical Universe that Max Tegmark describes. I am not sure but I suspect that the universe is made of information at its core. I'd like to entertain you with the idea that our 1987 skepticism was actually a primitive way of acknowledging the complexity of the cosmos. They say that there are infinite parallel universes. If the city of Tianjin exists in the book and we have never been here, it is a possibility. But once we arrive, it becomes a reality. As a matter of fact, this journey has taught me humility. No one knows everything, but I would like to suggest that we must always be willing to reject our own null hypotheses. I guess it is easy to stay in our bubbles—whether in the Northeast of Thailand or the South, whether in Bangkok or Tianjin. Nevertheless, it is my belief that growth only happens when we acknowledge that "X" (the unobserved) might be greater than our current perception.
I notice that my students today often fall into the same trap James and I did. They see the world through a screen and think they "know" it. I am not an expert, but I have read somewhere that the digital representation of a thing is not the thing itself. As the saying goes, "The map is not the territory." Gradually, I try to teach them to be Centaurs—to use the AI to map the world, but to use their own lives to walk it. I know you would agree with me that the black coffee I drink every morning in Tianjin is more than just a beverage. It is a sensory anchor. In my opinion, it is the "alchemy" of the cup that reminds me I am not just a data processor. My conviction is that we need these anchors. Somehow I think it is the only way to stay sane in an age of infinite information. Indeed, the more we "know" through the screen, the more we must "feel" through the world.
In conclusion, I look back at that boy in Tauranga with a smile. Those were the days. He was right to doubt, for doubt is the beginning of wisdom. But he was wrong to think he was the measure of all things. Globally, we are all exchange students now, navigating a reality that is far more complex than we can imagine. Like it or not, the world moves on. And then ultimately, we must move with it. I somehow think James, wherever he is in the deep south of Thailand, might still remember those walks. I know you would agree with me that those conversations never really end; they just change form.
Fundamentally, it is all about the journey from the "Ostrich" to the "Centaur." I am not sure but I believe this is the path toward a more "Glocal" and sustainable future for ELT and for humanity. Make no mistake, the horizon is much further than we thought, and I, for one, am ready to see what's beyond it. The past is the past, but the future is a Null Hypothesis just waiting to be rejected.
Janpha Thadphoothon is an assistant professor of ELT at the International College, Dhurakij Pundit University in Bangkok, Thailand. Janpha Thadphoothon also holds a certificate of Generative AI with Large Language Models issued by DeepLearning.
.png)