Esther Meek, drawing on Michael Polanyi, argues that we know people and things as we focus on them by integrating particular clues into a pattern. For example we know God by connecting together numerous dots into the pattern of a person who we commit to in faith.
In apologetics the clues may be personal experience, arguments, historical evidence, and even the Scriptures itself, but the focus is God himself. In discussions about assurance of salvation the clues may be good works you have done, the promise in the sacraments, the words of absolution of a brother, but the focus is the cross and resurrection for your salvation. In leading bible studies the clues may be literary structure, historical details, personal experience, but the focus again must be Jesus.
Both the clues and the focus are important to our act of knowing, as can be seen when we examine doubts in particular.
Doubts arise when we focus on the clues, or fail to focus through the clues:
I think we can distinguish two doubt-producing movements in connection with the clues of our integrations. One is reverting to focus on the clues. The other, closely related one is feeling like, in our integration, that we are not in touch with our clues.
How we respond to the doubts depends on which mistake we are making.
There are two ways to respond to doubts, and those responses, on the surface appear to contradict each other. One is to try once more to look through the clues, reintegrate to the focus. The other is to take some time to look at the clues. In the end, I think that we cope by alternating these two movements, and that they are just the movements that make up good learning.
If we are obsessing with the clues, we may need our gaze lifting. To reintegrate the focus. We can help people do this by pointing out the beauty of Jesus, and relating to him in our daily life and worship.
First, we should try once more to look through the clues. We know enough about the act of knowing to see that it ought to feel uncomfortable to look back at the clues. When we look back at the particulars, we can feel that in themselves they don't account fully for the pattern we have seen in them. Of course they don't, for it wasn't looking at them in themselves that prompted our integration; it was living in them and looking through them. To look at them is not to see the things on which our pattern was based. We access truth, and can only properly assess it, as we live in the pieces of the pattern in our bodies. If looking at the pieces makes us feel doubtful, there is good reason for it: the pieces, without our living in them, aren't the starting point of our successful effort.
[...] So, one remedy for doubt is to stop looking at the clues, striving again to look through them, to get back inside them.
If we are feeling our focus on God is lacking connection to our thinking and experience we may need to examine these clues close to hand.
We are most familiar with this effort as plain old study and analysis, examining the underpinnings of our claims and actions to understand the what and the how of the whole thing. Analysis is not all there is to knowing - identifying knowing with analysis, I believe, has been the central mistake of the modern model of knowledge. Clue scrutiny is not an end in itself, nor can it or should it be lifted out of the context of the larger picture that is knowing: humans engaging the world through patterns. But seeing analysis as a key instrument for the sake of a larger reintegration to a focus actually reinstates it, no longer as master, but more helpfully as servant.
Why is studying the clues valuable and important, if real knowing is living them, not looking at them? The clues that make up our integrations, you might say, are liable to get their feelings hurt if you forget them. They are happy being subsidiary, but you ignore them or take them for granted to your peril. We vector through them, but we never leave them behind.
We can also see how knowing happens well by thinking about playing an instrument:
It happens on the piano bench. I've watched my [daughter begin] cranking out a Scott Joplin rag with her usual confidence [and then] she must have stopped and thought what she usually never though about: How do I figure out what the note is?
[...] Piano teachers have told my daughters: Don't stop thinking about what you are doing when you are practising. Plan for what to do if autopilot fails you under pressure. Scrutinize your fingers and your fingering carefully in problem passages. Then put it back together. [Mature musicians] have a well-developed connection between the artistic and analytical sides of their brain.
Good connections and continual movement is the key to a growth as a Christian. So in knowing "we move back and forth between both directions, from the clues, and to the clues... back and forth, back and forth". I would argue that this reflects much of what the Christian life is. A continual back and forth and building of connections until they meet completely in the cross and resurrection of Jesus where everything meets. Another example would be law and Gospel, repentance and faith, death and life, OT to NT.
(Quotations from pp. 169-172, Esther Lightcap Meek, Longing to Know: The philosophy of knowledge for ordinary people)
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