Imagine that you are struggling to finish a project, with the deadline fast approaching. Nearly done, you are about to print out what you have finished when a dialog box appears on your computer screen telling you that you must download and install an update for some piece of software. Frustrated, you try to make it go away, but it keeps reappearing. So you relent and click on ‘Install’, and your screen is filled with small print listing ‘Terms and Conditions’. You do not have time to scroll through the whole thing. So you click ‘Agree’. The installation begins, and you are relieved that it takes only a few minutes. Soon you are back at work and have finished your project.

When I purchased Verdict on Jesus: A New Statement of Evidence, published by SPCK in 2010, I hoped it would confront me with the very latest attempt to vindicate Christian doctrines. In fact the book turns out to be fundamentally a reissue of a very conservative apologetic work of that title, first published sixty years earlier by an Anglican – Leslie Badham, who later became Vicar of Windsor and chaplain to the Queen. Admittedly, he updated the book in 1971, and in 1983 his son, the Revd. Professor Paul Badham, further revised it after the author's death, and later reissued it as a fourth edition, with further revision, in 1995. The present edition is thus the fifth, and includes a new introduction by Paul Badham and three new chapters (one of which he has written himself) presented with his conviction that the book is ‘a religious classic’ and ‘its central argument of permanent validity’.

Locke's analysis of the origins of meaning is clear, coherent, cogent and devastating to our commonsense beliefs. His analysis establishes that in the last resort the meaning, he would say ‘Signification’, of words is ineluctably private, subjective, personal. Where meanings are concerned we are, Locke judged, irremediably solipsistic. ‘Words’, he notes, ‘in their primary or immediate Signification stand for nothing but Ideas in the Mind of him that uses them.’

Some logic textbooks say, as if it were the received wisdom, that inductive arguments are partly defined by the thinker's intentions. The claim is that an inductive argument is one where the premises are intended to make the conclusion likely. This contrasts with a deductive argument, where the premises are intended to entail the conclusion. However, since entailing is one way of making more likely, a further way to distinguish induction is needed. The addition offered is that the premises are not intended to entail the conclusion. Taken together, the result is:

The central question of ethics is ‘How should I live?’. It covers not only actions (‘what should I do?’), but more broadly, our reactions and our characters, questions of what we should feel and how we should be as people. This has been the central concern of theories of virtue. Aristotle claimed that a virtue is a character trait that enables us to ‘stand well’ in relation to our desires and emotions. To be virtuous with regard to a type of emotion – anger, sadness, joy, fear, etc. – is to feel that type of emotion ‘at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way’ (Nicomachean Ethics, Book 2, Ch. 6, 1106b).

Let us begin with the familiar view that life has a meaning only insofar as we make it meaningful in the way that we live. This is to focus on the value of each individual life, in which respect it may be contrasted with human destiny as being part of a greater scheme of things, as when we look to religion to give significance to our lives beyond our earthly pursuits. What is implied, then, is that human life is devoid of any transcendent meaning, so that we are not the protagonists in a cosmic drama starring Christian or other deities, the final act being that in which we depart this life and set sail for another. On the contrary, when we die we sink into oblivion, and that is all there is to it.

A few years ago, I, an American, was giving a talk at a political philosophy conference in the United Kingdom. My topic was religion in democratic politics, and I delivered what I thought was a splendid line of argument supporting the idea that religion has at most a highly constrained role to play in democratic politics. The audience was appreciative enough, but during the question and answer session, there emerged the charge that my paper had addressed a uniquely ‘American’ problem, a problem that was not of general significance to political philosophers outside of the United States. I replied that although the political scene in the contemporary United States provides many high-profile examples of the problem I had been addressing, the general problem of religion in politics confronts democracy as such. I then provided some cases from outside America in which the problem shows itself: the public slaying of Theo Van Gough, the controversy surrounding the publication of cartoon representations of Muhammad in Denmark, the reemergence of religiously-affiliated and reactionary political parties throughout Europe, and so on. Yet for the most part my audience remained unmoved.

In a democracy people are free to express their opinions and question those of others. This is an important personal freedom, and also essential to the very idea of government by discussion. But it has also been held to be instrumentally important because in open public debate true ideas will conquer false ones by their merit, and the people will see the truth for themselves. In other words, democracy has an epistemic function as a kind of truth machine. From this it follows that in a democracy there should be no dogma: no knowledge protected from public challenge and debate. Yet this whole argument is founded on embarrassing misconceptions of the nature of truth and of the working of democracy.

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716) was quite a thinker. As a philosopher, he made major contributions to epistemology, logic, the philosophy of religion and metaphysics. He was also an accomplished scientist, historian, and linguist. In mathematics, he built the first (admittedly somewhat unreliable) calculating machine able to perform all four elementary arithmetical operations, and devised the first proper formulation of binary numbers. Although Chinese and Indian scholars had developed several types of rudimentary binary notation centuries earlier, the number system at the heart of every modern computer was put together by Leibniz. As if that were not enough to guarantee his immortality, he also developed calculus independently of Isaac Newton, and it is mostly Leibniz's version that survives in our textbooks, due to his superior notation.

In this dialogue, two college students, Katie and Dennis, discuss some of the positions taken by Sam Harris in his recent work The Moral Landscape. They discover that, first, theories of ethics based on human well-being are nothing new; they also question whether Harris has truly closed the door on moral subjectivism. Next, while remaining sympathetic to Harris, they question how much he has really accomplished by equating human well-being with specific brain states, and wonder if blissful brain states based on delusion can really be associated with a life well lived.