In a recent article in this journal (‘Some Contrarian Reflections On Advertising’, Think, Spring 2010, 47–50.) Professor Tibor Machan defends advertising from those who find that it is ‘anything but honorable’. According to Machan advertising is not merely honorable, but also natural, a virtual paradigm of cooperative behavior, and an essential component of human well-being. ‘If human life is a value, advertising is a value. It is a positive good.’ Machan concedes that sometimes people exposed to advertising make foolish choices, but that is explained by their lack of prudence, not any fault of advertisers. He also appeals to our sense of fair play: advertisers are like us – people trying to earn a living, and even issues a veritable cri de coeur: Who among us hasn't tried to promote a book we've written?

For the first two years of my daughter's life, I was scheduled to teach an Introductory Logic course. While I had taught Critical Thinking courses in the past, having to steep myself in categorical and propositional logic left a lasting impression on my own thinking. More importantly, though, these courses influenced my speech-habits during the early years of my child's development. By no means do I intend to assert that my child somehow gained some cognitive benefit from my communication with her during these early stages of her life. Rather, it seems that she acquired the particular virtue of tolerating her father's habit of voicing strangely worded utterances. As she has passed the three and half year mark, her own communication skills and means of expression are well on their way towards developing into her own distinct styles. This I know because we talk a lot. Often times these dialogues are about day care, her friends, or princesses and lots of pink stuff. But sometimes a gem of an argument develops.

It is wonderful when you discover something which is really pleasing to hear about in an educational setting, let alone being able to investigate it for yourself – the something which you instinctively feel has something vital about it, which inspires you or ignites some cognitive flame. Blake, Shakespeare and Orwell have all done that for me, and now I can add two more to that list: Friedrich Nietzsche and Blaise Pascal.

Some claims seem so clearly right that we don't think to question them. Steven Luper-Foy's remark is like that. It borders on the ‘trivially true’ (i.e. so obviously true as to be uninteresting). If I have a reason to live, surely I likewise have a reason not to die. It may then be surprising to learn that so many philosophers disagree with this claim – either directly or by implication. I will look at some of the things people say that stand in opposition to Luper-Foy's claim. I will also consider what is needed in order to agree with it. The views canvassed cover broad issues concerning life and death, and what matters to us with respect to both.

Tim the terrorist: We have Tim the terrorist in custody, and we know that he knows where the bomb is that his group have secretly planted somewhere in central London, and we know that if we torture him hard enough he will reliably tell us where it is in time for us to defuse it, and we know that there is no other way of getting him to tell us, and we know that if we don't defuse it the bomb will kill thousands of innocent people. So: what to do?

In An Essay Concerning Human Understanding Locke makes an extravagant claim: Morality is as capable of demonstration as Mathematics. In the sixth Conversation between the seventeenth-century philosopher John Locke and the student of language Terence Moore, Moore points out that Locke's own arguments on the nature of language demonstrate that morality in a strong sense is not demonstrable. The Conversation then turns to Locke's real concern – ways in which words used in moral judgements might be made less ‘uncertain, vague, ambivalent’.

Your mother was wise to teach you that just because everybody's doing it, that doesn't make it right. She would have been wise to add that just because everybody thinks it, that doesn't make it right, either. On the other hand, she would not have been wise to add (and probably did not) that when everybody agrees, that is no evidence whatsoever. When nearly everybody believes something, that's a reason in its favor.

In his article ‘A New Euthyphro’ (Think, Summer 2010), pp. 65–83, Glenn Peoples constructs a new version of the famous Euthyphro dialogue, in which Euthyphro, rather than Socrates, prevails.

Anton Bruckner (1824–1896), the Austrian composer famous for his monumental and sophisticated symphonies, has never been among the most popular composers in the English-speaking world. However, the fact that his works became the favourites of the Nazis before and during WWII has been the subject of an ongoing scholarly debate since the 1990's. Not only did Hitler show personal approval of the symphonist (see figures 1 and 2), the National Socialist Party used the orchestral music of Bruckner to accompany a number of important party events. For example, in the 1939 video footage of Hitler's 50th birthday celebration, we hear the final climax of the Fifth Symphony accompanying images of the Führer. After the German radio announced the death of Hitler on 1st May 1945, the Adagio of the Seventh Symphony was played, perhaps as a kind of funeral music for the Nazi dictator.

Pet adoption from an animal rescue shelter would seem to be one of those indisputable things in life that only increases a person's positive karma. Kant spoke of morality residing in a good will and pure intention; saving a dog from being euthanized by providing it with a loving, secure home seems the living embodiment of that. Or so it would seem.

Many theologians accept that it is not plausible to dismiss what is called the ‘higher criticism’ altogether, but try to limit its efficacy. This article discusses a number of their ways of doing so.

In his well-known piece ‘Autonomy and Benevolent Lies’ (in Thomas Hill, Autonomy and Self-Respect [New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991]) Thomas Hill argues that out of respect for people's autonomy, we ought not to tell benevolent lies. He argues that we are obligated to tell the truth, especially when asked directly for it, even if we know it will cause a person more pain. This is because truth-telling is tied to respecting autonomy, which involves giving people a realistic picture of their situation, however rosy or bleak, and letting them decide what to do with the information given. Telling people benevolent lies, because one thinks they will be happier believing something else, is an instance of paternalism, which Hill wants to resist. In this paper I will raise a case that seems at first glance to be an objection to Hill's theory i.e. a case in which the right information to give someone is not what he has requested. In offering an explanation for how Hill can respond, I will suggest that a revision to his view would allow him to justify certain benevolent lies, while still avoiding his worry that benevolent lies are necessarily paternalistic.

Postmodernists claim that there is no truth. However, the statement ‘there isno truth’ is self-contradictory. This essay shows the following: One cannotstate the idea ‘there is no truth’ universally without creating aparadox. In contrast, the statement ‘there is truth’ does not producesuch a paradox. Therefore, it is more logical that truth exists.

Most people take it for granted that it's morally permissible to have children. They may raise questions about the number of children it's responsible to have or whether it's permissible to reproduce when there's a strong risk of serious disability. But in general, having children is considered a good thing to do, something that's morally permissible in most cases (perhaps even obligatory).