Aquinas recognizes a number of wildly different kinds of individual happiness. What fundamentally unifies these various kinds of happiness so that they all count as varieties of happiness to begin with? This chapter gives a novel answer to this question and thereby identifies a new heart of happiness in Aquinas, which the author calls the Enjoying Good Activities Reading. On that reading, in every case, happiness is exclusively constituted by engaging in and enjoying a genuinely good activity. After giving a brief textual case in favor of reading Aquinas this way, the bulk of this chapter explains Aquinas’s understanding of enjoyment and his account of what it takes for an activity to be genuinely good. This makes clearer what this new reading amounts to and reveals something of its philosophical interest.

Temperance is a condition of a person’s physical appetites (for food, drink, and sexual contact) in which those appetites themselves conform to a rational standard. Temperance is possible for human beings because of the sophistication with which we can conceptualize the objects of our appetites and because an appetite’s object is internal to the appetite’s identity. A salmon steak construed as poisoned appeals to our appetite (and thus affects the pleasure of satisfying it) differently than one construed as healthful. Temperance differs from self-control, which doesn’t involve a conformity of the appetites themselves, but imposes rational control on unmodified appetites. The rational standard for temperance is the human good, which is the object of the virtues of caring. Thus, the temperate person’s physical appetites are such that, without being controlled, they fit the person to participate in an order of peace.

Previous chapters have examined forms of action that the standard belief-desire model ignores. This chapter starts to dig deeper into the standard model itself. It is about how decisions get made (especially decisions that are commonly described as conscious ones), and about how those decisions subsequently give rise to actions. It draws on the scientific literature on prospection and on what is often called “neuroeconomics” to argue that valence (pleasure and displeasure) is the common currency of all decision-making. It also argues that the goals and intentions that result from decision-making are real, and distinct from beliefs and affective forms of desire. The chapter begins by showing that the ordinary notion of desire conflates two very different kinds of mental state, however, and it concludes by discussing how intentions and affective desires interact when they conflict.

The standard philosophical model of intentional action-explanation appeals to states of belief and desire to do the explaining. This chapter evaluates what philosophers have had to say about the nature of desire. Chapter 5 showed that the ordinary notion of desire encompasses two very different kinds of mental state: goals and intentions, on the one hand, and affective or emotion-like forms of desire, on the other. The focus here is on the latter. The chapter shows that desires of this sort always incorporate anticipatory pleasure, and that pleasure itself is an analog-magnitude representation of value. The chapter begins with what the science can tell us about the respective natures of pleasure and desire, before comparing the results with claims made by armchair-philosophers. Many of the latter are false, albeit sometimes containing partial insights.

Pleasure was a problem for members of the Roman elite – or so moralists felt. In his treatise on the good life, Seneca stresses the insidious threat posed by the attractions of sensual pleasure, while asserting that only the subhuman will want to surrender themselves completely ... Seneca’s language presents pleasure as fluid, both engulfing and invading its hapless victims. His insistence on its seductive dangers could be read as betraying a certain fascination with pleasure.

We tend to rehearse familiar narratives with the aid of familiar writing about plants, but a turn to the non-canonical helps us to understand those canonical works in rather different ways. This chapter argues that we should be alive to those longue durée yet intimate traditions that are so often the stuff of lone engagements with individual plants, and which are most often expressed as moments of intense emotion. The chapter also suggests that we should at least question that other familiar narrative of a newly discovered ‘Romantic’ transcendence: turning to moments of emotional engagement with plants both in earlier writing and in writing outside of the ‘Romantic’ tradition, helps us to recognise a much longer tradition of transcendent emotion of which the Romantics are only a part.

Chapter 3 examines scientific accounts of laboratory experiments and outlines antivivisectionist responses to them. By closely scrutinising physiological texts to reveal the ‘real’ experimenter, antivivisectionists produced a language of textual dissection that became problematically allied with laboratory operations and threatened to undermine the movement’s binary rhetoric of ‘Art vs. Science’. Vivisectors and their opponents shared a rhetoric of intense and absorbing concentration, bodily excision and displacement, and triumphant discovery. The chapter then considers three Victorian novels which creatively adapted the reading strategies advanced by antivivisectionist leaders such as Frances Power Cobbe. Wilkie Collins’s Heart and Science (1883), Edward Berdoe’s St Bernard’s (1887), and Walter Hadwen’s Dr Deguerre (1913–18) proffer supplementary texts including real and fictional pamphlets, newspaper articles, and medical papers. These ancillary materials present alternatives to surgical intervention; they reveal diagnostic information and promote alternative holistic approaches to health which catalyse the fictional vivisector’s demise.

This chapter works through multiple valences of queerness in relation to blackness. Alongside the presence of non-normative sexual practices, intimacies, and identifications within black literatures this chapter looks at ways that blackness is often posited as already queer, part of the residue of having been hailed as property. In this reading, blackness destabilizes or “queers” the category of the person. This happens through the blurring of the categories of person and object as well as the possibility of making a distinction between an individual and a collective social identity. We might consider this person-object blurriness to be one of the effects of the processes of commodification that enslavement entailed. This estrangement from personhood though enfleshment, objectification, and loss of the mother also introduces literary possibilities of resistance in a queer register, including movements to mourn and re-find the mother, sonic resistance, and other uses of the flesh to produce forms of embodiment that evade traditional forms of capture. Here, queerness is related to finding different ways to describe orientations toward the world and pleasure.

Ancient Egyptian ideas about sex changed over time in close relation to changes in gender power relations. The comprehensive overview of textual and iconographic sources in this chapter indicates that discourses on sex did exist. Desirable bodies were either depicted or described in poetry. Pleasures could be sought in different sexscapes such as e.g., houses, gardens, streets, festivals, marshes and bathhouses. Festival sex had long history and was connected to the celebration of the return of the wondering Sun Eye goddess. She was pacified through consumption of alcohol and sexual intercourse. Sex-work is also attested, but its closer regulation through taxation does not predate Roman occupation. This is also the period when classical authors such as Strabo, formed the orientalist trope of sacred prostitution in Egyptian temples. However, contrary to this trope, sex is rarely depicted in state sponsored art and is found in media such as ostraca or rock art. Similarly, same-sex intercourse is attested throughout Egyptian history but rarely depicted. Passivity in intercourse between men was looked down upon. It even served as a metaphor to designate enemies of Egypt. Sexual violence was punishable but easily confused with adultery, putting women in precarious positions.

Experience is the cornerstone of Epicurean philosophy and nowhere is this more apparent than in the Epicurean views about the nature, formation, and application of concepts. ‘The Epicureans on Preconceptions and Other Concepts’ by Gábor Betegh and Voula Tsouna aims to piece together the approach to concepts suggested by Epicurus and his early associates, trace its historical development over a period of approximately five centuries, compare it with competing views, and highlight the philosophical value of the Epicurean account on that subject. It is not clear whether, properly speaking, the Epicureans can be claimed to have a theory about concepts. However, an in-depth discussion of the relevant questions will show that the Epicureans advance a coherent if elliptical explanation of the nature and formation of concepts and of their epistemological and ethical role. Also, the chapter establishes that, although the core of the Epicurean account remains fundamentally unaffected, there are shifts of emphasis and new developments marking the passage from one generation of Epicureans to another and from one era to the next.

Johann Georg Heinrich Feder (1740–1821) was a well-respected and well-known professor of philosophy at the University of Göttingen, especially during the 1770s and early 1780s. A turning point took place in Feder’s life and career, however, when he edited the infamous Göttingen review of the first Critique, which was originally written by Christian Garve and to which Kant responds in the Prolegomena. This chapter contains a complete translation of Feder’s review of the second Critique, which therefore captures the opinion of one of Kant’s most well-known and infamous critics. Feder discusses a number of topics in the review, including: whether pure reason can be practical without the assistance of feeling and inclination, the nature of good and evil and their relationship to pleasure and displeasure, and the idea that respect for the moral law is respect for ourselves as legislators.

This chapter aims to disentangle some the different views that have often been associated with the term ‘pessimism’. This includes the claims that (1) there is no historical progress; (2) this world is the worst of all possible worlds; (3) happiness is impossible; and (4) life is not worth living. The last thesis is identified as the central concern of the ‘pessimism dispute’, and three different justifications for it are presented. The final section of the chapter considers the expression of pessimism throughout human history and culture, with special attention paid to Schopenhauer’s analysis of religion.