Author: Dr. Jay Forrest

It is important to know what counts as evidence. Evidence is objective and verifiable information that supports the probability of a claim being true or false.

What is the difference between evidence and proof? Proof is that degree of evidence that warrants belief—that is, when the evidence shows that a claim is probably true. Not every degree of evidence qualifies as proof; it becomes proof only when it justifies accepting the claim.

W. K. Clifford asserts a vital principle: “Religious beliefs must be founded on evidence; if they are not so founded, it is wrong to hold them.”¹ If mistaken beliefs can be a source of unhappiness, then how do we correct them? By looking carefully at the evidence for and against them. Living this way grounds us in reality, though truth can carry a bitter edge.

Evidence consists of facts that support or refute a claim—a statement that is either true or false. After a fair evaluation of the evidence, if it shows that a claim is probably true, you should accept the claim and adjust your actions accordingly. This method clears the fog from conviction, fostering clarity over illusion.

Confirmation bias tempts us to search for, interpret, and favor information that supports what we already believe, while we unconsciously ignore information that does not.² It warps our judgment and entrenches error. To counter it, we must actively look for disconfirming evidence and give it a genuinely open hearing.

When there is little or no evidence for a claim, you should reject the claim as probably false. That means no longer believing it and no longer acting as if it were true. When there is not enough evidence either way, you should suspend judgment about the claim. This also means withholding belief until the evidence improves.³

I am happier and more grounded in reality by living an evidence-based life. This approach offers greater freedom from illusion and a firmer footing in the real. It demands courage, because truth sometimes has a bitter taste, but it also brings the quiet integrity of facing things as they are.

How do you know that what you believe is true? That question belongs to the field of epistemology—the theory of knowledge.

I don’t think we can know very much for certain, and we must give up that impossible search. Yet we can still discover how probable a truth claim is.

We can make this complex issue simple. You can tell whether a claim is probably true by applying the three C’s: correspondence, consistency, and consequences.

– Correspondence means the claim aligns with reality. If what you claim matches reality, it is true; if it doesn’t, it is false. The key question is how to tell whether your belief matches reality. The answer lies in objective and verifiable evidence for or against the belief—so correspondence is about the belief’s accord with available evidence.
– Consistency refers to the harmony of the belief with your wider worldview. Contradiction signals that something is wrong—either the belief is false or an element of your worldview needs correction.
– Consequences are the practical fruits of accepting a claim as true. If living the belief produces good results, it is likely sound; if it produces harm or distortion, it is probably false.

This is a very simple epistemology—only an outline for a larger exploration of how we determine truth, test belief, and live faithfully to what reason and evidence reveal.

Endnotes

¹ W. K. Clifford, “The Ethics of Belief,” in Lectures and Essays (London: Macmillan, 1879), 177.
² Raymond Nickerson, “Confirmation Bias: A Ubiquitous Phenomenon in Many Guises,” Review of General Psychology 2, no. 2 (1998): 175–220.
³ David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (London: A. Millar, 1748), Section X.

Philosophy is the pursuit of wisdom, and a philosopher is one in pursuit of wisdom. This is why I call myself a philosopher.

The word philosophy comes from the Greek philosophia. The first part, philo, means “friendship” or “love.” The second part, sophia, means “wisdom.” So philosophy literally means “the love of wisdom.”

Today, philosophy means something quite different. It has become an academic discipline concerned with analysis and argument, a profession detached from daily life. It has drifted far from what Pierre Hadot called “philosophy as a way of life.”¹ Epicurus expressed it perfectly: “Empty is the word of a philosopher which does not heal any suffering of humanity.”²

For the lover of wisdom, philosophy lives again when it returns to direct experience. It is not enough to think clearly; one must perceive clearly. Philosophy begins in observation—of the world, the mind, and the relationship between them. When the intellect bows to evidence and the heart to wonder, love of wisdom becomes reverence without ritual.

The Philosopher Defined

Before I offer any guidance, I must first clarify what I mean by philosopher. There are two kinds: the academic professor and the lover of wisdom.

The first teaches the ideas of others; the second tests truth through practice. Only recently has the second kind—the lovers of wisdom—been allowed again to claim the ancient name. And some academics resist, as if wisdom were their possession. But philosophy cannot be owned any more than light can be licensed. It belongs to anyone who seeks to understand reality through reason and mindful awareness.

The lover of wisdom sees no wall between reason and reverence. To observe a sunrise patiently is to study evidence of order; to feel humble before it is to accept one’s smallness within that order. Both ways lead to wisdom. The academic may study the concept of beauty, but the philosopher sees beauty itself and learns from it.

So when universities insist that one must hold a degree to be a philosopher, they confuse knowledge with realization. If that were true, Socrates, Confucius, and the Buddha would not qualify. A credential may serve employment, but not enlightenment. The only requirement to be a philosopher is the will to seek truth through reason, observation, and compassionate living.

Socrates as Example

Socrates of Athens (470–399 BCE) is remembered as the father of Western philosophy, not because of what he wrote but because of how he lived. He questioned without arrogance, taught without textbooks, and guided others not to believe but to examine. His wisdom was not theoretical—it was embodied practice.

Socrates learned his father’s trade as a stonemason, served his city in war, and spent his remaining days walking barefoot through Athens, engaging others in dialogue. By asking them to define virtue, justice, and truth, he revealed that genuine wisdom began with not-knowing. The paradox of his life remains our lesson: ignorance honestly confessed becomes insight.

In my thinking, Socrates’ method is nearly meditation, for it is the disciplined observation of thought until illusion falls away. Just as Zen masters strip away attachment to concepts, Socrates stripped away false certainty through questioning. His simple life embodied the Deist respect for natural order and the Zen humility of constant awareness.⁴

Philosophy once meant this—living inquiry. Today it too often means professional commentary. Once it sought the good life; now it seeks the next appointment. The light has not gone out, but it trembles under the noise of its own language.

Returning to the Love of Wisdom

Philosophy has lost its way, but it can still find home. The way back is not through institutions but through stillness, reason, and direct encounter with reality.

To philosophize is to live awake—to look at the stars and trace their lawful dance, to listen within and sense the quiet presence of Mind that orders all things. This insight is not supernatural—it is natural revelation, accessible through attentive reason and experience.³ The lover of wisdom calls this awareness divine because it unites the mind that questions with the cosmos that answers.

You do not need permission to think, or a title to care about truth. To test your thoughts against experience, to question without cynicism, to act justly and walk humbly—that is philosophy reborn.

When philosophy becomes once more a daily practice of mindfulness and moral clarity, it no longer serves the ego but the cosmos itself. Truth becomes light you live by, not a theory you defend. And in that quiet return—the mind alert, the heart kind—you rediscover what the earliest lovers of wisdom knew:

To love wisdom is to love the order of nature.
To live that love is to walk lighter in the world.

Endnotes

¹ Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, trans. Michael Chase (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995).
² Epicurus, fragment cited in Hermann Usener, Epicurea (Leipzig: Teubner, 1887), fragment 221. Commonly translated, “Vain is the word of a philosopher which does not heal any suffering of humanity.”
³ Antony Flew, There Is a God: How the World’s Most Notorious Atheist Changed His Mind, with Roy Abraham Varghese (New York: HarperOne, 2007).
⁴ Plato, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo; Xenophon, Memorabilia; Diogenes Laërtius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, Book 2. Sources for biographical accounts and Socratic practices.

Deism, as defined by Dr. Michael Arnheim, is the “Belief in an impersonal creator God who does not get involved in the day-to-day affairs of the world” (1).

I describe my spiritual path as spiritual Deism. For me, it’s a natural blending of contemplative practice with the Deist commitment to reason, observation, and a non-personal understanding of the divine. Instead of following a revealed deity or a fixed religious system, I orient myself toward what I call the Transpersonal Rational Ground of Being. This is not a god who speaks through scriptures or institutions.

I am not drawn to rigid dogma or religious authority. I know how much I don’t know. Spiritual Deism gives me room to breathe. It lets me explore spirituality without surrendering my intellect or my direct experience. My practice centers on personal transformation, ethical living, and a mindful connection to God—not on creeds or rituals.

Guiding Principles

At the heart of my path are a few guiding principles:

• Rational Spirituality: My authority is reason, science, and personal experience.
• No Bible: I don’t accept any scripture as exclusive truth. I treat them as human books by human authors, containing truth, error, and ignorance – like all other human works.
• Contemplative Practice: I daily practice mindfulness meditation, cultivating mindfulness and a direct sense of connection with God.
• The Ground of Being: I experience the divine not as a person but as the Impersonal Rational Ground of Being. I don’t worship it; I encounter it within.
• Ethical Living: Benevolence, compassion, and integrity are my ethical goals. Living mindfully is how I awaken to deeper wisdom.
• Spiritual but Not Religious: I draw inspiration from many traditions – Buddhism, Stoicism, Daoism, and certain mystics, as well as philosophy and psychology – without belonging to any institution. My spirituality is lived, not inherited.

Learn, Don’t Cling

Spiritual Deism also helps me understand what my path is not. It isn’t traditional religion; there’s no clergy, no temple, no dogma. My personal motto is: Learn from all, but cling to none.

Spiritual Deism isn’t pure Deism, because I don’t stop at intellectual belief. I also cultivate a spirituality that includes a sense of cosmic consciousness, a feeling of awe in nature, and a deep connection to the present moment. I freely acknowledge the Divine in the various religious traditions.

In the end, spiritual Deism feels like a form of rational mysticism. It’s a way for me to explore who I am, what reality is, and how I relate to God and the universe. Through disciplined awareness and mindful presence, I walk a contemplative path that feels honest, grounded, and deeply alive.

Albert Einstein Quote

“I am not an atheist. I do not know if I can define myself as a pantheist. The problem involved is too vast for our limited minds. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library whose walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written those books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. The child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books—a mysterious order, which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God. We see a universe marvelously arranged, obeying certain laws, but only dimly understand these laws. Our limited minds grasp the mysterious force that sways the constellations” (2).

Charles Darwin Quote

“There seems to me too much misery in the world. I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidae with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of Caterpillars, or that a cat should play with mice. Not believing this, I see no necessity in the belief that the eye was expressly designed. On the other hand, I cannot anyhow be contented to view this wonderful universe, and especially the state of man, and to conclude that everything is the result of brute force. I am inclined to look at everything as resulting from designed laws, with the details, whether good or bad, left to the working out of what we may call Chance. Not that this notion at all satisfies me. I feel most deeply that the whole subject is too profound for the human intellect. A dog might as well speculate on the mind of Newton” (3).

Endnotes

1. Michael Arnheim, Is Christianity True? (Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books, 1984), 20.
2. Albert Einstein, interview with George Sylvester Viereck, Glimpses of the Great (New York: Macaulay, 1930). Emphasis added.
3. Charles Darwin, letter to Asa Gray, May 22, 1860, in The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, ed. Francis Darwin (London: John Murray, 1887), 312. Emphasis added.

Alan Watts once told a story that has stayed with me.

After giving a talk on Canadian television, an announcer approached him and asked, “If the universe is governed by an intelligent and beneficent God, wouldn’t He naturally provide us with an infallible guide to behavior and to the truth about the universe?”

Watts knew he meant the Bible. He replied, “No, I think nothing of the kind, because I think a loving God would not do something to His children that would rot their brains.”

A loving God doesn’t hand us a rulebook—He gives us a mind.

Divine guidance, as I understand it in spiritual Deism, is not a rigid, infallible code meant to shut down inquiry. It is the natural, ongoing relationship between human reason and the One True God—the perfect, infinite Ground of Being that transcends all form and time.

Reality reveals itself in many ways, and our maturity as observers shapes what we can understand. The universe—what I call the world of Becoming—invites each of us, as conscious beings, to grow through experience, reason, and contemplative practice.

A loving God encourages mental development, right intention, right speech, and right action—not through inflexible dogma, but through the inner movement toward freedom, responsibility, and awakening. Spiritual growth is not obedience; it is transformation. It is the slow, steady refinement of perception and character.

To embrace this path, I live simply, as a contemplative, cultivating solitude, meditation, and mindfulness. My aim is not escape but clarity—living in harmony with nature and all life.

The true guide is not an external, unchanging rulebook. It is the God‑given reason working within us. Guidance unfolds as a continuous journey of awakening, loving others, and living in right relationship with the Earth and all beings. We are meant to wrestle with questions, to grow through effort, to discover wisdom through experience.

God does not do the work for us. God gave us the tools; we must use them.