Abstract
What is pleasure? Don't we all know? How could so many of us pursue it so eagerly otherwise? Or how could we so readily and confidently say whether this, that and the other are pleasures? Having one's back rubbed, dancing, listening to a Bach flute sonata and eating a cheese soufflé are pleasures, while having a cold, smelling rotten eggs and reading Hegel are not. We may not be able to define pleasure, but if we can readily say what is a pleasure and what is not, must we not know what it is, just as we know what a chair is if we can correctly identify chairs, distinguishing them from stools, benches and couches?
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