Author: Dr. Jay Forrest

An Evidence-Based Life

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.

What Is Philosophy?

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.

New Year, New You: Wisdom for Lasting Change

The turning of the calendar is more than just a date—it’s a sacred invitation. For Christians, it is a reminder that “if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). For Buddhists, it echoes the truth that each moment is fresh, an opportunity to awaken. And for those who walk the path of Zen, it is the recognition that the divine and the mindful are woven together in every breath.

Yet, as many of us know, resolutions are easy to make and hard to keep. Why? Because change is not simply about willpower—it’s about wisdom, awareness, and grace.

Why Change Feels So Hard

We often think failure comes from weak willpower. But habits are held in place by many forces—social influences, emotional triggers, environments, and routines. Imagine five people holding a door shut; it’s not your strength that’s lacking, it’s the resistance you’re facing.

Christianity reminds us that we are not meant to carry burdens alone: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). Buddhism teaches that craving and attachment reinforce suffering. Zen calls us to see the interconnected web of influences that shape us.

Step One: Know Thyself

Both Scripture and the Dharma emphasize self-examination. Jesus asked us to “remove the plank from our own eye” before judging others. The Buddha urged us to observe the mind with clarity. The Zentheist path encourages us to become scientists of our own soul.

Identify your unique challenges:
– Certain times of day
– Certain people or places
– Emotional states like stress or loneliness

Awareness is the first step toward freedom.

Step Two: Create an Action Plan

Once you know your challenges, design a plan. Think of it as your spiritual rule of life: a set of practices to guide you when temptation arises.

  • Willpower + Grace: Motivate yourself with a vision of renewal. Christians may visualize the health needed to serve others. Buddhists may reflect on compassion for all beings. Zentheists may see the divine spark within themselves.
  • Skill Power: Learn the “how.” If stress makes you overeat, practice meditation, or mindful breathing instead. If TV leads to mindless snacking, cultivate mindful eating.
  • Community Support: Surround yourself with encouragers. The Church, the Sangha, or a circle of spiritual friends can strengthen your resolve.
  • Environment: Engineer your surroundings. Remove temptations, add reminders of your higher calling, and replace harmful habits with life-giving ones.

Step Three: Embrace Failure as Teacher

Here’s the paradox: your plan will fail. And that’s okay. Failure is not defeat—it’s revelation. Each stumble teaches you more about yourself.

Christianity calls this sanctification: the ongoing process of being refined. Buddhism calls it practice: falling and returning to the path. Zen calls it experiment: learning through the dance of spirit and matter.

As the book Change Anything says, “When it comes to creating lasting change, failure is the rule, not the exception.”

A New Year, A New Creation

This New Year’s Day, don’t just make a resolution—make a covenant with yourself and with the divine. Pick one habit. Study it. Notice the forces that bind you. Then design a plan that combines:

  • Personal awareness
  • Spiritual strength
  • Social support
  • Environmental design

Habits are chains, but chains can be broken. With Christ’s renewal, the Buddha’s mindfulness, and the Zentheist’s harmony, you can cut the strings that bind you and step into freedom.

This is the first day of the rest of your life. Step into it with courage, wisdom, and faith.

Jesus Was Not Born Today

Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night… For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. (Luke 2:8, 11 NKJV).

Jesus is widely regarded by historians as a historical figure, though details of his life and the circumstances of his birth remain subjects of scholarly discussion. What is generally agreed upon, however, is that the Bible does not provide evidence that Jesus was born on December 25.

For example, the Gospel of Luke describes shepherds near Bethlehem “living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.” Many historians note that this practice was more common in the warmer months, making a midwinter birth less likely.

The Catholic Encyclopedia acknowledges that “Christmas was not among the earliest festivals of the Church,” indicating that the celebration of Jesus’ birth on December 25 developed later in Christian tradition.

According to Encyclopedia Britannica:

“The reason why Christmas came to be celebrated on December 25 remains uncertain, but most probably the reason is that early Christians wished the date to coincide with the pagan Roman festival marking the ‘birthday of the unconquered sun’ (natalis solis invicti); this festival celebrated the winter solstice, when the days again begin to lengthen and the sun begins to climb higher in the sky. The traditional customs connected with Christmas have accordingly developed from several sources as a result of the coincidence of the celebration of the birth of Christ with the pagan agricultural and solar observances at midwinter.

So whose birthday was it? Tradition holds that it was Mithras’ birthday. Mithra was an ancient Persian deity associated with the sun, contracts, and cosmic order. Mithraism, or the Mithraic Mysteries, became a Roman mystery religion (1st–4th century CE) centered on Mithras and was especially popular among soldiers. Some scholars suggest that elements of Mithraic ritual may have influenced aspects of early Pauline theology, including practices related to the eucharist.

From Catholic Answers Magazine:

Mithras was born on December 25. He was considered a great teacher and had twelve disciples.

Author James Rollins (summarizing scholarly parallels between Mithraism and Christianity):

Mithraism predated Christianity yet bore uncanny similarities. Mithra’s birthday was celebrated on December 25.

Antiquitatem (historical commentary on Mithraism and Christianity):

Mithra, god of the sun, was born on December 25, day of the winter solstice… That invincible sun is the god Mithra, whose worship and devotion competed with Christianity.

Interestingly, while December 25 may not mark the actual birth of Jesus, it does coincide with the birthday of Isaac Newton, the English physicist, mathematician, and astronomer, who was born in 1642 in Woolsthorpe-by-Colsterworth, England.

So today, alongside Christmas traditions, one might also reflect on Newton’s contributions to science and the Enlightenment.

The Dangers of an Infallible Guide

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.

Liar, Lunatic, Lord, or Legend

Here I want to address the false dilemma created by C.S. Lewis’s famous “Trilemma” argument—often summed up as: Jesus is either a Liar, a Lunatic, or the Lord.4.

It’s a false dilemma because there are more possibilities than just those three. One obvious option Lewis overlooks is that the New Testament may be, in large part, legendary.

Lewis challenges the popular notion that Jesus was merely a great moral teacher. He argues that, based on the radical claims Jesus made—especially about being divine (assuming the New Testament is accurate)—there are only three logical possibilities:

– Liar: If Jesus knowingly made false claims about being God, then he was deliberately deceiving people. That would make him morally corrupt, not a great teacher.
– Lunatic: If Jesus truly believed he was God but was mistaken, then he was delusional—on par with someone who thinks they’re a poached egg, as Lewis colorfully puts it.
– Lord: If Jesus’s claims were true, then he is who he said he was—the Son of God—and deserves worship.

Lewis concludes: “He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

While compelling to many, critics argue that Lewis’s trilemma is a false dilemma—it oversimplifies the possibilities. For example:

– Most scholars doubt whether the historical Jesus explicitly claimed divinity in the way Lewis assumes.
– Others suggest alternative interpretations: Jesus could have been misunderstood, mythologized, or misrepresented by later followers.

Once you’ve engaged in textual and historical criticism—and examined the contradictions within the gospels—it becomes difficult to accept a univocal account. In other words, there are competing ideas about what Jesus might have said, should have said, and actually said.

As Thomas Moore rightly points out, “As scholars have pointed out for over a century, the four Gospels are riddled with the interpretations, biases and agendas of their editors.” In other words, they should be read as propaganda, not history.

The challenge is that it’s hard to disentangle which parts are authentic and which are later additions. But if you follow the chronological development of the gospels, it appears that the portrayal of Jesus’s divinity evolved over time. Initially, he may have claimed to be no more than the Messiah. Over the decades, his status was elevated—culminating in the Council of Nicaea, where he was officially declared divine.

My view is that the Jesus of the gospels is largely legendary. That makes Lewis’s three choices a false dilemma. Jesus may have been revered as a spiritual master, but not as God incarnate. Which means the original followers of Jesus were the Ebionites, who traced their origins to the Jerusalem Church led by James, the brother of Jesus.