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.

It is my contention that what is generally construed as the Euthyphro Dilemma as a reason to deny that moral facts are based on theological facts is one of the worst arguments proposed in philosophy of religion or ethical theory, and that Socrates, the character of the dialogue who poses the dilemma, was both morally bankrupt in his challenge to Euthyphro, but more importantly here, ought to have lost the argument hands down. But in any dialogue, the author controls what people say. Plato was able to easily give Socrates the victory by writing the ending of the story himself, where Euthyphro, believing that piety is what the gods approve of, loses the argument abysmally. The version of events presented here is different. This time, Euthyphro is permitted to offer a reasonable defence of his position, and he has the benefit of having been able to read all that has been said on the Euthyphro dilemma over the last couple of millennia, and especially the last fifty years. Under such circumstances, Socrates does not stand a chance. We arrive at our scene, the steps of the Dunedin High Court, in Dunedin, New Zealand, on a cool mid-winter July morning.

Have you ever picked up a self-help book from a bookstore and, although perhaps agreeing with its advice to take responsibility for your life and to treat other people kindly, wondered a little as to where the author's moral certaint as to how to approach the world comes from?

Thinking Tools is a regular feature that introduces tips and pointers on thinking clearly and rigorously.

Millions of Americans, as well as millions in Europe, have used or will use a library established by Andrew Carnegie. In his lifetime Carnegie gave the equivalent of several billion dollars in today's money to establish 1,689 public libraries in the United States, Hawaii and Puerto Rico. Moreover, 660 libraries in Britain and Ireland, 125 in Canada, 17 in New Zealand, 12 in South Africa and scattered others around the world exist because of this man.1 And this does not include the extensive positive influence of the foundations and grants established by Carnegie. Aristotle would likely have called him ‘magnificent’. Carnegie had the virtue beyond mere generosity available only to those with the means and position to benefit the polis on a grand scale. Unlike generosity, magnificence involves what Irwin has called ‘the judgment and tact that are needed for large benefactions.2 Whether ‘magnificent’ or ‘generous’ is a better term for Carnegie's character is not my major concern. Carnegie's recent biographer simply uses ‘generous’. So, for the remainder of this paper, I will use ‘generous’.3 But was Carnegie, in fact, generous? This paper will explore both the definition of the virtue and its application to Andrew Carnegie.

The seventeenth-century philosopher John Locke, transported to the twenty-first century, has been discussing with Terence Moore, a twenty-first century student of language, questions concerning words, meanings and understanding. In this conversation Moore tackles Locke on the role he assigns to happiness in his An Essay Concerning Human Understanding.

A familiar teaching about Socrates, based mostly on Plato's representation of the Athenian philosopher, is that he professed not to know anything. The only thing he knew, he is reported to have said, is that he knew nothing.

Most people believe that rules, orders, and directives issue forth from some agency. Granting that, then being obligated to do something is interpreted as having been put under an obligation by some agency to do something. And if an obligation has been imposed upon one by some agency, then, it is concluded, that agency has the power – therefore the authority – to enforce compliance with the obligation.

If recent reports in the media are anything to go by, we now know why some people crave chocolate, why teenagers tend to be moody and – most impressively of all, perhaps – which parties voters will opt for in elections. Findings like these, we are assured, have the backing of science. We owe them to advances in brain-scanning technology that have enabled researchers to pinpoint the brain's ‘pleasure centre’ or ‘thinking area’, and so to achieve mind-reading powers that have hitherto been the stuff of fantasy. There is even some site in the brain that might be called a ‘God spot’.

Some people believe that God made it a condition for His forgiveness even of repentant sinners that Jesus died a sacrificial death at human hands. Often, in the New Testament, this doctrine of Objective Atonement seems to be implied, as when Jesus spoke of his blood as ‘shed for many for the remission of sins’ (Matth. 26:28), or when St Paul said that ‘Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures’ (1 Cor. 3:15). And for many centuries the doctrine was indeed accepted by most if not all Christian theologians. It seems in fact to be an essential part of Christianity, which adherents of that religion cannot reject without undermining the authority both of their scriptures and of a very long tradition. It looks then as if objections to the doctrine are objections to the Christian scheme itself. Here is one of them. As the Gospels present it Jesus was murdered, by one or more of Pilate, the Sanhedrin and the Jewish mob. Given Objective Atonement, God ordained the sacrificial death of Jesus, and so, as it seems, this murder. Murder requires freedom on the killer's part. And many have doubted that an action can be both free and ordained by God. Leave that aside. A good God would in any case not make it a condition for our forgiveness that someone acquired the guilt of murder.

Many who write on race consider it an ‘illusion’. Others argue that race is real, even if socially constructed, because the notion of race, and the categorizing of people in terms of race, has greatly affected their lives. This paper criticizes a reason that is often given for thinking that race is an illusion: the fact that there is no biological basis of race. I defend two primary claims. First, while there is no biological basis for membership in a socio-economic class, by which I mean one's being relatively affluent or poor in a particular society, no one takes socio-economic class to be an illusion. Second, race is arguably a more fundamental reality than is socio-economic class. For one's racial identity can causally contribute to, and account at least partly for, one's membership in a socio-economic class. But membership in a socio-economic class does not thus contribute to, or account for, people's racial identities.

In this paper, I aim to discuss not the issue of whether or not we do in fact have reasons to suppose that there is or that there is not a God, but rather an issue which looks at first glance like it might have a certain methodological priority, the issue of what is the right ‘ethics of belief’ for belief in God: should one believe in God only if one has positive reasons in favour of doing so or is it permissible to believe in Him without such reasons? In this paper, I want to see what can be done to decide which of the various options for an ethics of belief in God is right prior to deciding whether or not God exists. Let's start then by getting these options out onto the table. One of them is as follows:

1. 1) We should believe in God only if we have positive reasons to do so.

Theism is a cluster of views. The first of which is that God exists. Others are that God has all the relevant omni-attributes, that He created the world, and that He communicates with and performs miracles on behalf of humans. There is one additional view that is often overlooked. It is that humans are obligated to worship God. Importantly, this issue of worship is of central importance to traditional theism. And it extends into pagan thought that predates Christianity. Take, for example Epicurus' deployment of the argument from evil:

When one finds a philosopher inspiring, it is all too easy to adopt an uncritical reading. This would be to treat the author as an exception. The hallmark of such arguments from reverence is that they often start with ‘As so-and-so said…’ and appear as the final statement on the matter. Friedrich Nietzsche is subject to such reverential treatment at the hand of undergraduate and A-Level devotees. I hope in the course of this brief survey to suggest some worthwhile criticisms of Nietzsche while at the same time point to criticisms that are ineffective. First, popular criticisms that I deem unsuccessful.

Parents concerned with what goes on when they leave their children at home under the care of someone else might wonder whether or not they should invest in video surveillance equipment. Such technology has become readily available and is relatively inexpensive, but is it morally permissible to use this sort of technology to monitor the care of one's children?

If called upon would you fight in a war you thought unjust? This article attempts to explain why the majority of military officers and soldiers when faced with this question do fight despite moral misgivings they may have. I will explain why on one hand officers are morally obligated to refuse unjust orders in jus in bello cases, but on the other hand it can be argued that they are also obligated to follow orders they believe to be unjust concerning jus ad bellum. The war in Iraq has and continues to presents military officers and their soldiers with a particularly difficult moral dilemma. As citizens of a democratic government it is important that we understand why our military officers act in ways that may seem counter to what we believe is right.

How can people live together peacefully, especially in a multicultural, multi-religious society? We should find a minimum level of consensus which is needed to live peacefully together in an open (world) society and a moral language to communicate with each other. Dutch philosopher Paul Cliteur published his book Moral Esperanto (this book is in Dutch and has not yet been translated) in 2007 in which he argues that it is important that people can communicate with each other in a moral and political language which is in principle understandable to everybody; in contrast with religious discourse which only makes sense to believers. Cliteur makes the analogy of Esperanto, the artificial language proposed to be the lingua franca, and emphasizes the need for a universal moral language.

The following little parable about what counts as an accurate measure of time illustrates some of the complexities in the relation of language to the world.