Ruse's mind, like that of Terry Eagleton, has withered to the point that nearly all of what he writes consists of pedestrian affirmations of common sense, delivered in a reproving tone, like Polonius reminding Laertes of things he should already know and is a fool for not knowing, without ever asking Laertes if he actually already knows these things (he does). Like an old man who grabs our arm in the bank line and whom we indulge out of politeness as he yells at us about the relation between supply and demand (why are you yelling?). That's one element of his style that is reaaaaaally grating. He mixes this tiresome rehashing of the fabric of everyday, common sense assumptions (what, he seems to believe, philosophers get paid the big bucks for reminding us of) with an attempt (like Eagleton) at wise, old-person detachment at the unbearable lightness of it all (coming to his senses at the end of a section or a chapter and calming down a bit, still holding our arm in the bank line but now, instead of screaming about supply and demand, telling us how none of it really matters): weaving ironic bemusement, lame allusions, ironic "quoting" of neo-Victorian jokes about prudish sexual mores and even inert puns (think, the professor who is so stale that he's not even funny as self-parody anymore). All topped off with the mere superficial and formal trappings of what in other authors' hands is good philosophy--a dialectical weighing and consideration of all positions that yields substance without ever endorsing a position--but which Ruse passes off to us in the form of phrases like "Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not." (p. 292) or another gem, "Was there a switch of world views....? After nearly forty years of looking at the revolution, my answer is unequivocal--yes and no (and maybe)!" (ohhh, you're so intriguing, tell me more--anyone who was doing what he gives the appearance of doing and doing it right, wouldn't use the phrase "yes and no"), as if he's saying something, or, even more common, "Let's leave it at that." To provide as much road map as Ruse does, you have to actually take your reader somewhere. God, he's so insufferably unstimulating.