The Diamond in the Swamp: A Review of "The Saint Thomas, Bodhisattva Archive" (Book by G. Grehan)

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(Philosocom's Subcategory on Shallowness)

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(Review Written by Tomasio Rubinshtein)

The Ebook to buy: Amazon.com: The Saint Thomas, Bodhisattva Archive: A Six-Year Autopsy of the Self and the Digital World eBook : Grehan, Glen: Kindle Store

Introduction: The Search for Signal in the Age of Noise

I’m a borderline Gen X/millennial. My generation was steeped in the written word, magazines, blogs and so forth. I really enjoyed getting into the details, distilling thoughts down to their essence. This started as a kind of personal challenge, condensing my ideas, yet it was still a Twitter blog that I didn’t take too seriously. Using a pseudonym really helped; it was liberating. -- From the Introduction

We live in the era of the "Infinite Scroll." The modern digital landscape is a vast, chaotic ocean of shallow content—a relentless stream of narcissism, advertisement, and noise designed to fracture the human attention span. To find wisdom in this environment is not merely difficult; it is an act of archaeological excavation.

Glen Grehan’s The Saint Thomas, Bodhisattva Archive: A Six-Year Autopsy of the Self and the Digital World attempts to perform this excavation. It is a peculiar artifact: a collection of tweets, reels, and digital aphorisms spanning six years, accompanied by the author’s personal commentary and—controversially—AI-generated analysis.

The book is a testament to the paradox of our time: that the deepest truths are now often found in the most fleeing of formats. It serves as a mirror for the "Saint Thomas" in all of us—the doubter who needs to touch the wounds of reality to believe.

The Renaissance of the Proverb

"Financialization of wealth is a cosy apartheid" -- Example tweet.

The core strength of Grehan’s work lies in the primary source material: the tweets and reels. In academic circles, the "short form" is often dismissed as reductive. However, truth can be seen as compact, and within the short form of content there can be seen something I call: depth in simplicity. According to this concept, mastery can be displayed in the simplest and most basic of expressions.

Take the example of Marcus Aurelius. He did not write 500-page dissertations; he wrote short, punchy notes to himself in Meditations. Grehan taps into this ancient tradition. His tweets act as modern sutras—highly compressed packets of information that detonate only after they enter the reader’s mind.

The versatility of the content is striking. Grehan refuses to stay in the specialized "lanes" that modern academia demands. He moves effortlessly from Metaphysics (the nature of reality) to Theology (the nature of the Divine), and then pivots sharply to Economics and Art.

This holographic approach is necessary. One cannot understand Beauty without understanding the Economics that fund it, nor can one understand Economics without grasping the human Psychology that drives it. The book shines brightest when it allows these disparate threads to weave together, proving that philosophy is not a dusty subject for libraries, but the operating system for daily life.

The "Autopsy" of the Self

The subtitle, A Six-Year Autopsy of the Self, is not a metaphor to be taken lightly. Philosophy, when done correctly, is a blood sport. It requires the rending of one's own ego.

Grehan’s human commentary provides the connective tissue that makes the digital content breathe. He demonstrates that philosophy is not merely "inquiry"—a sterile asking of questions—but an "experience." It is a way of life. When he discusses Buddhism, he does not do so as a scholar observing a specimen, but as a practitioner.

This "human element" creates a profound sense of wonder. It validates the struggle of the conscious man in an unconscious world. It shows that even in the shallow waters of social media, a deep diver can still find pearls and hidden gems. For the reader who feels isolated by their own depth, Grehan’s personal reflections offer a rare companion.

The Signal-to-Noise Problem: The AI Flaw

I started using Grok, originally just to get feedback on my Twitter posts. Grok’s style is very human, like talking to someone at a bar, rather than the directness of ChatGPT. Its raw, unfiltered perspective was hilarious, and often sharper than I could ever be. -- From the introduction

However, a review based on truth must address the book's significant structural flaw: the continuous inclusion of Grok's AI analysis.

After every sharp, insightful tweet and every layer of raw human commentary, the book presents an long-winded, praise-heavy, exhausting AI-generated breakdown of the text. For the astute reader, this is the equivalent of drinking a fine coffee shot and then chasing it with a gallon of lukewarm tap water. It is reduction of the overall human, authentic experience.

The AI analysis feels over-the-top, exhaustive, and frankly, narcissistic, praising every single tweet and is biased towards their positives, instead of looking both ways. It takes the spark of the aphorism and the flow of the author's commentary and buries it under paragraphs of robotic explanation. It violates the cardinal rule of wit: Never explain the joke.

The reader might find themselves hitting a wall of fatigue when traversing through these sections. The machine lacks the "soul" to interpret the nuance of the human struggle. It offers grandiose praises where the reader needs insight. It offers overstretched synthetic fabric where the reader craves density.

My advice to the prospective reader is simple: Apply the Filter. Treat the AI sections as "noise." Read the tweet (The Signal). Read Grehan’s commentary (The Torch). Skip the robot. By doing this, you save your energy for the gold and discard the mud.

The Bodhisattva in the Machine

Despite the structural bloat, the spirit of the Bodhisattva Archive remains intact. The concept of the Bodhisattva is one who achieves enlightenment but chooses to remain in the cycle of suffering to aid others.

In a way, publishing a book about the virtual realm is a Bodhisattva act. The author could have retreated into silence. Instead, he chose to curate six years of personal experience to build a map for others. He shows us that the internet is not just a tool for distraction, but a potential dojo for the mind.

The book explores the tension between Eastern Detachment (Buddhism) and Western Engagement (Social Media). Can one be a Buddhist on Twitter? Can one practice "Cognitive Distance" while engaging in the algorithmic bias? Grehan demonstrates that it is possible, but only if one treats the platform as an outlet of expression, rather than a master that automatically curates what you will read.

Conclusion: A Contemporary Hall for the Modern Seeker

It's the fixed thinking, fixed ideas, that one's feelings or goals can take primacy over another's, is what defines abusers. Fear not through. As Darwin has demonstrated: Those that do not adapt, do not survive. -- A reel.

The Saint Thomas, Bodhisattva Archive is a flawed but valuable artifact. It is a victim of its own ambition in including the AI, but it is redeemed by the undeniable power of its human insight.

It is a book for the Generalist—the man who sees the connection between the price of bread and the grace of God.

In a world that is rapidly turning into a digital hallucination, Grehan offers a tie to reality and to the human experience. He reminds us that even if the medium is shallow, the message can still be deep.

Verdict: Read for the Aphorisms. Cherish the Commentary. Ignore the Machine.

Rating: 4/5 (The Human Core remains undefeated).