This paper considers the ethical choices confronting European countries in relation to what has been described as border anxiety. Last year over a million migrants and asylum-seekers crossed European Union borders and the flow has shown no sign of diminishing. This unprecedented movement of people has attracted two main responses. A core issue for both is the Schengen principle of open borders and opinion is split between those who believe that the sheer weight of numbers of would-be migrants requires the reintroduction of strictly controlled frontiers, and those who demand a prompt and sympathetic response to the plight of refugees from war-torn countries. These two positions, however, do not constitute the sum of the moral debate. A broader appraisal of the issues must take account of matters of culture and identity, partiality and preference, and also of some rather more arcane questions about the ethics of ownership, the notion of belonging, and the legitimacy of preferring your ‘own’, whether at a global, national, or personal level. The complexity of this debate and its internal paradoxes throw light on some contemporary concerns about the threat the current situation may pose to Europe's own historic culture and identity.

Philosophy as well as anthropology is a discipline concerned with what it means to be human, and hence with investigating the multiple ways of making sense of human life. An important task in this process is to remain open to diverse conceptions of human beings, not least conceptions that may on the face of it appear to be morally alien. A case in point are conceptions that are bound up with cannibalism, a practice sometimes assumed to be so morally scandalous that it probably never happens, at least in a culturally sanctioned form. Questioning this assumption, along with Cora Diamond's contention that the very concept of a human being involves a prohibition against consuming human flesh, the present article explores how cannibalism can have an intelligible place in a human society – exemplified by the Wari’ of western Brazil. By coming to see this, we are enabled to enlarge our conception of the heterogeneity of possible ways of being human.

Two recent critics of Mill's qualitative hedonism, Michael Hauskeller and Kristin Schaupp, argue that Mill's distinction between higher and lower pleasures was largely unsuccessful. They allege that Mill failed to demonstrate that some pleasures are lexically preferred to others, and indeed that this can be shown false by the fact that most people would not renounce supposedly lower pleasures, such as chocolate or sex, even for greater amounts of higher pleasures, such as reading or opera. I respond that many of these criticisms rest on uncharitable assumptions or interpretations of Mill's position. We need not suppose that Mill was even trying to do the things he supposedly failed to do. However, considering these objections may lead us to a more plausible interpretation of Mill's views, according to which the quality of pleasures, along with their quantity, contributes towards happiness. There is no need to suppose that ‘higher pleasures’ must be lexically preferred to lower ones, or even to be dogmatic about which pleasures are higher.

In at least one respect, classical music is superior to popular music. Classical music (understood as common practice composition) has greater potential for expressiveness and, consequently, has more potential for psychological insight and profundity. The greater potential for expressiveness in classical music is due, in large part, to it greater harmonic resources. The harmonies in classical music are more likely to be functional, more contrary motion is employed, and modulation is more common. Although popular music employs rhythms not found in classical music, on the whole there is less rhythmic variety in popular music than there is in classical.

One strand of recent philosophical attention to Marcel Proust's novel À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, exemplified by Martha Nussbaum and Rae Langton, claims that romantic love is depicted in the text as self-regarding and solipsistic. I aim to challenge this reading. First, I demonstrate that the text contains a different view, overlooked by these recent interpreters, according to which love is directed at the partially knowable reality of another. Second, I argue that a better explanation for Proust's narrator's ultimate renunciation of romantic love appeals not to his impossible epistemic standard for knowledge of another person, but to his demanding evaluative standard for the permanence of love. This interpretation takes into account the broader scope of the novel, connecting with its larger themes of lost time and the desire for stability, and is more charitable, connecting to familiar worries about transience and constancy in loving relationships.

There has been public outcry from philosophers and others at the prospect of the closure of Heythrop College, University of London; yet the nature and history of Heythrop remain little known. It is apt and timely, therefore, as its likely dissolution approaches, to provide a brief account of its origins and development up to and including the period of its entry into London University under the leadership of the most famous modern historian of philosophy Frederick Copleston. Following on from this, the idea of a distinctive Jesuit intellectual tradition, and more specifically of the Jesuit contribution to philosophy, is explored.