Traditionally, the story that opens chapter three of Genesis is called The Fall. David Daube, who was the greatest authority on ancient law in his generation, and a biblical scholar of exceptional brilliance, said that it should be called The Rise. I shall explain why shortly, but first let me remind you of the orthodox interpretation of the story.

Around 1998, internet postings began appearing under the alias ‘Timetravel_0’. This alias was later replaced by ‘John Titor’, and it's as such I'll designate the posts' author(s). Remarkably, Titor claimed to have time-travelled from 2036 on a mission to retrieve an IBM 5100 in 1975. Titor refrained from public appearances and any evidence for his story remains web-bound but before closing shop c. March 24th 2001, he described various future events, e.g.:

It's only natural to wonder about the higher purposes in one's life. Religious people sometimes argue that because they discover and enjoy a higher purpose to life, then religious beliefs appear quite natural and reasonable. This argument can be turned around, to make humanism look unnatural and unreasonable, if humanism denies any higher purpose to life. Either way, humanism seems inhumanly cold towards the very notion of ‘higher purpose’, but is this matter really so clear-cut and simple? Religious humanists stand as counter examples to the notion that a religious life is incompatible with a humanistic philosophy. Secular humanists might be said to enjoy a spiritual aspect to their lives as well, if that aspect simply means devoted pursuit of higher purposes in this life. The confusions in these sorts of arguments probably originate in the ambiguous phrase, ‘a higher purpose to life’, which can be understood in several ways. If we discriminate between the more common meanings, and consider them separately, then any real disagreement between religion and humanism should begin to emerge. People can be heard to talk about ‘having a higher purpose in life’. Some say that they seek a ‘purpose higher than life’. Others talk about wanting a ‘higher purpose for life’. In which ways can humanism endorse such talk of a ‘higher purpose’?

A position that appears to be growing in popularity in atheist and rationalist circles is known as ‘mythicism’. According to this position we have no adequate reason to believe that the gospels refer to a historical figure called Jesus at all. This position of strong scepticism holds that the gospels are entirely mythological texts and that we are mistaken in reading them as embellished accounts of a man who lived and preached in the Middle East around 2000 years ago. I disagree with this position for a number of reasons. In particular, I contend that the apocalyptic material found on Jesus' lips and the hopes for a very real earthly historical transformation strongly suggest that there is an underlying historical basis to the claims that a man named Jesus made ‘prophetic’ statements about events that were expected to happen within his lifetime, and that this historical figure was considered by his band of followers to be the long awaited Messiah. The fact that hopes for eschatological transformation and claims of the coming of a Messiah are nothing more than religious mythological notions does not preclude there having been a historical figure to which these hopes were attached.

Peter Williams (‘The Emperor's Incoherent New Clothes: Pointing the Finger at Dawkins’ Atheism', THINK 24) complains that Richard Dawkins wraps his naturalism in ‘a fake finery of counterfeit meaning and purpose’. For his part, Williams has wrapped his complaint in an unoriginal and inapt analogy. The weavers in Hans Christian Andersen's fable announce that the Emperor's clothes are invisible to stupid people; almost the whole population pretends to see them for fear of being thought stupid. Fear of being thought stupid does not seem to trouble Richard Dawkins. Moreover, Williams offers no reason to think that such fear motivates any of Dawkins' readers. Perhaps all we are supposed to take from the fable is that Dawkins' naturalism is obviously lacking in meaning and purpose. If that is the intended reading, then by using this analogy, Williams has given himself an unnecessarily difficult task. Surely, it would be achievement enough for him to show that Dawkins' naturalism lacks meaning and purpose. There is no reason for Williams to make the extra claim that it obviously lacks meaning and purpose. After all, there is an obvious difficulty with arguing over several pages that something is obviously the case.

Achievements are clearly something that we care about. We want a life rich in achievements, and we value the achievements of others. To be appointed to the job of one's dreams as a result of one's hard work and raw talent, such that it constitutes an achievement on one's part, is far more satisfying and worthy than getting it through other means where no achievement is involved (e.g. as a result of nepotism). Similarly, the Olympic goal medal winner who gets her award by being the best in a strong field exhibits an achievement and is lauded for it, but her counterpart who attains the same result through, say, mere good luck (e.g. none of her competitors is able to compete due to injury), and who thus does not exhibit an achievement, is not gifted nearly as much praise. But what is an achievement, and what is it about achievements that makes us care about them so much?

With the publication of The God Delusion (Bantam, 2006) Richard Dawkins became enthroned as the unofficial ‘Emperor’ for a cadre of writers advancing a rhetorically robust form of anti-theism dubbed ‘The New Atheism’ by Wired Magazine contributing editor Gary Wolf. Many have cheered Dawkins and his court, seeing in their writings just what they long to see. For, after the fashion of the fairy-tale Emperor's fabled new clothes, the ‘new atheism’ has seen naturalism wrapping itself in a fake finery of counterfeit meaning and purpose.

The problem of skepticism is the fundamental epistemological problem Descartes addresses. He introduces three forms of it, each embedded in a possible error-scenario. The first possibility is that, since my sense perception is sometimes misperception, my sensory experience in any given case may not reflect how things are outside my experience. The second possibility is that maybe I am dreaming when I think I am awake. And the third possibility is that maybe I am deceived in all my ideas and beliefs by a powerful demon. The third is the most radical, far-reaching, and potent of the error-scenarios Descartes discusses. Unlike the first two, it threatens knowledge of all kinds. So, if Descartes is to defeat skepticism in a fundamental and comprehensive way, he must eliminate that possible scenario.

I remember at school someone once raising the problem of what would happen when an irresistible force meets an immoveable object. It's a bit like that with my present subject. For any possibility of an afterlife for human beings has long seemed to me out of the question because of the obvious complete dependence of our minds and consciousness on the brain, and because our minds, like our brains, must be a product of evolution. So how could a mind or its consciousness possibly exist independently? But I've recently learnt of apparently undeniable evidence for the possible existence of disembodied minds or spirits. I'll give some account of one particular case – a staggering one, as far as I'm concerned. But suppose – just suppose – such do exist. All sorts of new problems then rear up. I'll give some examples of these too. So in the end I'm left baffled.

Thomas Nagel has recently discussed whether intelligent design theory (IDT) is scientific and should be taught in public schools alongside the theory of evolution (ET). Nagel writes:

Anyone taking a class in Modern Philosophy will learn that one of the most important issues in 17th and 18th Century philosophy was the debate between rationalists and empiricists. In 2005, Matthias Steup and Ernest Sosa edited a book entitled Contemporary Debates In Epistemology (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 2007), which includes a chapter entitled ‘Is There A Priori Knowledge?’ (pp. 98–122). In this chapter, Laurence BonJour defends rationalism and Michael Devitt defends empiricism. So, this philosophical debate has been going on for four centuries, and it still has not been settled. This is the kind of thing that gets philosophy a bad reputation. If a dispute can continue for four centuries without resolution, that is surely an indication that nobody knows how to tell a good answer from a bad one. In this article I want to consider why the debate is unresolved after so much time.

In the essay I argue that the routine use of contraception is morally tantamount to early-term abortion because it produces the same result: namely, it prevents the creation of a human life that would have otherwise probably taken place. Because it can be shown that contraception is ethically acceptable, it follows that early-term abortion is as well.

C.S. Lewis, the scholar of English mediaeval and Renaissance literature who died in 1963 and is still widely respected as a Christian apologist, complained that academic biblical scholars simply assume that miracles cannot have occurred in the fashion reported in the New Testament. In a lecture quoted by A.I.C. Heron1, he said: ‘The canon “If miraculous, unhistorical” is one they bring to their study of the texts, not one they have learned from it.’ In fact, as John Kent retorted, they did not rule out in advance the idea of supernatural events, but were able, without it, to give adequate and plausible accounts of how the biblical documents reached their present form, by means of a method ‘based on questions of probability in terms of evidence’, not ‘on an a priori rejection of miracle’.2 Conclusions concerning historical events of any kind are similarly based. ‘No historians’, says the historian R.J. Evans, ‘really believe in the absolute truth of what they are writing, simply in its probable truth, which they have done their utmost to establish by following the usual rules of evidence’.3 To this question of ‘absolute’ truth I shall return.

The main thesis of Kluge (Farber and Farber, paperback edition, 2009) is that the human mind is an evolutionary kluge (rhymes with huge, not sludge). As Gary Marcus informs us, the term was popularized by Jackson Granholm's 1962 article ‘How to Design a Kludge’ where it was defined as ‘an ill-assorted collection of poorly matching parts, forming a distressing whole’. A kluge may be clumsy and inelegant but, surprisingly, it works. And the mind, according to Marcus, is ‘[t]he most fantastic kluge of them all’. Unlike the view of the human mind that is advanced here, Kluge itself is not a kluge. It is clear, smooth, well-organized, well paced and well written; it can comfortably be read in a few sittings. Unlike a kluge, the parts match well, the collection is not ill-assorted, the whole is not particularly distressing – and, as I will argue, logically speaking it does not work.

Among business ethics teachers, as reflected in their books and papers, advertising is deemed anything but honorable. Quite the opposite.  This is mainly because so many business ethicists are convinced that altruism is the proper ethics for people to practice and, of course, advertising is far from altruistic. The following will be a presentation of a position that finds advertising ethical but also rejects altruism as the proper ethics by which human beings should live.

The following argument presents a refutation of the existence of God under a certain description, which, it will be maintained, is the only description that most traditional monotheists could accept. Therefore, either God, as defined by traditional monotheism, does not exist or something that might be called ‘God’ exists, but would not be acceptable to monotheism as truly being God. Either way, God does not exist.1

Here is an old philosophical puzzle. Take out a coin and look at it. It is a flat disk. Now tilt it so that you look at it on an angle. From an angle, there is some sense in which the tilted coin appears elliptical. But there is also a strong sense in which the tilted coin looks circular, like a flat disk. How can one object look both elliptical and circular at the same time? Thus, the puzzle of the tilted coin.