The Classification of Desires, Part 2
How does it affect how we live?
In the first part of this essay, I introduced Epicurus’ classification of human desires into three types: those which are natural and necessary, natural but not necessary, and neither natural nor necessary. We reviewed what exactly Epicurus said, and clarified both what specific desires he placed in each category and how he recommended approaching each of the different classes. If you haven’t read that part, I recommend starting there. Today I’ll cover one further nuance that is sometimes debated—Epicurus’ attitude towards sex and romantic relationships and where he placed them within the trichotomy of desires—before turning to a broader discussion of how we can use the Epicurean classification of desires to guide our lives today.
As a form of brief recap before we get started, I’d also like to acknowledge Emily Austin’s suggestion for a catchier retitling or paraphrasing of Epicurus’ admittedly clunky titles. In her excellent introduction to Epicurean ethics, Living for Pleasure, she refers to the three categories as the necessary desires, the extravagant desires, and the corrosive desires. This is a reasonable and convenient shorthand. “Extravagant” desires are those which are decidedly not necessary—a particularly tasty sandwich and a decent beer, rather than bread and water—but which are not in themselves harmful. We broadly understand the concept of a “harmless extravagance.” “Corrosive” desires, on the other hand, are those which we should seek to minimize or eliminate: feeding the desire for great wealth, fame, power, or eternal life will only make it worse, as such desires have no natural point of satiation.
For a more complete review of the necessary, extravagant, and corrosive desires, head back to Part 1 of this essay. To see how we can use these categories to lead happier lives, read on.
In which category do sex and romantic relationships belong?
Last time out, I covered the debate over Epicurus’ general attitude towards the natural but not necessary desires (I think he is quite permissive of gratifying them, albeit with certain guidelines). Another subject of less than perfect agreement among scholars is the Epicurean attitude towards sex and romantic relationships. Some think Epicurus would classify sex as clearly unnecessary, and perhaps generally harmful. There is something to this, but I think such warnings are easily overstated. Along with some passages in Lucretius where the poet speaks quite harshly of romantic obsession (4.1058–1191) and some seeming advice from Epicurus on how to manage such emotions (Vatican Saying 18), the main passage read as discouraging sexual relationships is probably this one from Metrodorus:
I learn from your letter that you find your body to be drawn excessively towards sex. You may indulge this inclination as you like—as long as you do not break any laws, violate any good customs, distress any neighbors, harm your body, or consume your resources. It is difficult, however, to avoid being affected by any of these penalties, and so the pleasures of sex are never a profit to us, and we must be content if they do us no harm. (VS 51)
On the one hand, it is true that Metrodorus1 says that “the pleasures of sex never profit us” and lists several possible downsides of their pursuit. On the other, this passage is not an outright rejection of sexual pleasure. “You may indulge this inclination as you like,” he formally concedes, as long as certain problems are avoided. One obvious case that would seem to satisfy his requirements is sex within a marriage (as long as your spouse doesn’t spend all your money). Metrodorus was married himself! Or at least had a long-term, stable, children-producing partnership with Leontion, an Epicurean philosopher in her own right. In general, Epicureans seem to me to be pro-marriage: other members of the Garden were married, Lucretius actually says quite nice things about long-wedded couples (IV.1277-1287), and Epicurus is said to have explicitly recommended marriage:
The wise man will also both marry and have children, as Epicurus says in the Problems, and in On Nature.2
Strictly speaking, I would admit that Epicurus probably placed sex itself in the “natural but unnecessary category” for most people. As with other unnecessary desires, the cautions given by Metrodorus can be understood as warning of the potential prudential consequences (as in Principal Doctrine 26’s “hard to attain or likely to cause harm”). Likewise, the danger of excessive erotic obsession with a particular person (hinted at in VS 18 and the more precise topic of Lucretius’ diatribe) would constitute the addition of unwarranted opinions to the originally natural desire, converting it to a desire of the third, ill-advised category (à la PD 30).
Some might argue for putting sex and relationships in the “natural and necessary for happiness category.” I think it is even possible to read the advice in VS 51 as compatible with a partial acceptance of this position—it acknowledges the strong urge that Pythocles feels and doesn’t simply say “root out this terrible feeling,” but rather presents a list of prudential cautions, while acknowledging that if they are avoided, sex can be safely pursued. Perhaps Epicurus and Metrodorus might concede that it is necessary for happiness for at least some people, and so perhaps “the pleasures of sex do not profit us” should be understood more along the lines of “being a sex-chasing profligate does not profit us.” Perhaps if Pythocles had written with a complaint of his excessive interest in food, Metrodorus would have written back that “the pleasures of the table do not profit us,” while of course admitting the necessity of eating. I couldn’t rule this out.
What seems clear is that Epicurus would not consider all sexual relationships to be the product of ungrounded opinion, and therefore to be avoided. Instead, sex can reasonably be placed anywhere around the borderline of “natural and necessary” and “natural and unnecessary.” Either seems defensible as an interpretation of Epicurus and as a philosophical stance, as does a hybrid position of “necessary for some people.” Overall, however, the bulk of our surviving texts seem to treat sexual relationships most similarly to the natural and unnecessary desires, advising that one weigh the costs of their pursuit, avoid excessive obsession, and choose the most prudent way to satisfy such desires. For most people, this is probably marriage.
Actionable takeaways for modern life
It should now be basically clear what Epicurus puts in each category of his tripartite division. The corresponding general advice for each category should also be fairly apparent: prioritize and prudently pursue the first, pursue the second with some extra caution, and avoid the third. Let’s wrap up this essay by fleshing out those overarching themes with some more specific details. What does this look like in practice?
Natural and necessary
This is one of Epicurus’ most crucial and radical insistences: we must frequently remind ourselves how simple our true necessities are. If you think you need more, groundless opinion is creeping in: maybe you are comparing yourself with others, are being mislead by advertisements, or have simply been habituated to think of extravagances as essentials.
To “remind ourselves” does not mean that we will always live in a minimal way (see the Letter to Menoeceus and Seneca, Letters 18.9). It means that we will practice spiritual exercises aimed at internalizing the proper categorization of desires: read and reread the core doctrines, periodically experiment with a highly restrained lifestyle, and practice both gratitude for the simplest pleasures and the letting go of unnecessary desires. Remember what is necessary.
In terms of our overall lifestyle, correctly recognizing the necessary desires has a few implications. One of the most impactful is a recalibration of our true financial needs. Many people come to think of actually unnecessary desires as necessary for their happiness—a big house in an expensive area, multiple cars, frequent long-distance vacations, whatever—and therefore commit to longer, more stressful, or less enjoyable careers. If you trim back the unnecessary desires, your working life could be shorter in years, less demanding in hours, or chosen more for compatibility rather than income-maximization. Work accordingly.
Prioritizing the necessary desires also has implications for how we spend our time outside of making a living. Emily Austin likes to include the development of a correct understanding of the world, skill in prudent decision-making, and virtuous habits as among the necessary desires. While I’m not sure that these constitute independent objects of desire, I do agree that Epicurus would say these are essential tools for satisfying our necessary desires. (Friendship is more plausibly both an aid to material security and a direct object of desire.) Cultivating all of these therefore will occupy a larger share of the Epicurean’s time, in preference to the pursuit of wealth, reputation, or variety of pleasure. Such a life is not boring, as “a life focused on the essentials” might sound—it is one of constantly increasing tranquility. Make wisdom and prudence your hobbies.
Natural but not necessary
As previously discussed, the specific ancient example we were given for this category was “expensive food.” Modern variations on that theme are easily multiplied: expensive drinks, expensive clothing, expensive homes and home furnishings are all aimed at fulfilling natural needs for sustenance and protection from the elements, but add additional variety that is not actually necessary to remove the pain of true deprivation.
“Expensive,” of course, can mean very different things to different people. I think it is perfectly reasonable to admit that a great deal more consumer variety is affordably available to modern, financially-stable Americans like myself than was available in the ancient world. I can purchase an astounding variety of yogurts and pillows with negligible differences in cost, so there is very little need for outright monotony in the way we satisfy such desires. But along with this proliferation of affordable options has come a proliferation of expensive options, wherever you personally draw that line in relation to your financial resources. The first step in Epicurean prudence in regards to such desires, therefore, is simply to be aware of this differences in how “easy to attain” different options are, and generally choose the ones that are cheaper in total lifetime cost. Make the hard to obtain extravagances a negligible element in your life.
The more nefarious phenomenon to watch out for here is the transformation of natural desires by groundless opinion. The telltale symptom is “intense zeal” in your desire, as described in Principal Doctrine 30:
Intense zeal sometimes arises for the objects of those natural desires which do not cause pain if unfulfilled. Such desires come about through groundless opinion and fail to be relinquished not because of their own nature, but because of the groundless opinions of mankind.
Fancy food, fancy drink, fancy clothes—so many things other than actual necessity creep in here. Repeat to yourself: kenai doxai, kenai doxai, kenai doxai. Even when you can identify some putative improvement in function, that function is usually irrelevant to the alleviation of the pain in question. “High fiber,” “convenient,” “cerulean blue.” “Keto-friendly,” “all natural,” “better quality stitching.” None of these qualities is necessary. Don’t empty your wallet, neuroticize your mind, and dilute the irreplaceable hours of your life fixating on such inconsequential details. Beware obsession.
More controversially, Epicurus would probably apply a similar logic to the choice of romantic partner: avoid obsession. That coat might seem perfect to you now, but it probably doesn’t seem perfect to other people, and probably won’t seem perfect to you either in a decade, because it probably isn’t perfect, in any objective sense. The same is true of our objects of erotic desire. Be content with good enough. A trustworthy companion is far more valuable than sexual novelty. If your partner treats you well, then consuetudo concinnat amorem—familiarity produces love.3 Don’t compare, don’t seek novelty—practice gratitude.
Unnatural and groundless
There is fairly general agreement that Epicurus felt that the desires for wealth, fame, power, and eternal life were all unnatural and unnecessary. (Numerous quotes could be lined up; for brevity, you can refer to past articles on the shortcomings of the first three for the pursuit of peace of mind, the futility of political competition, and the error of fearing death.) To be clear, all of these desires have a presumably natural evolutionary origin—it’s just that they have taken on distorted forms that are no longer beneficial for their original function, whether in the most dramatic extremes of billionaires, Hollywood stars, and dictators, or in the more modest versions of normal modern people.
For instance, when Epicurus says that the desires for wealth and fame are groundless and should be avoided—
Neither great wealth, nor the honor and admiration of the masses, nor anything else that stems from unbounded desires, resolves the troubles of the soul or produces joy worthy of the name. (VS 81)
—You might be tempted to say that he is referring to business tycoons and global celebrities, while it is perfectly natural for a person to wish to accumulate sufficient resources to comfortably meet her basic needs and to acquire enough social standing to ensure the cooperation and assistance of others. The latter is certainly true, and I don’t think Epicurus would dispute it. But I do think that he would consider the great majority of developed-world modern people to exceed the bounds of what is natural, falling victim to “unbounded desires” with no prudential calculus for when their success is sufficient.
In other words, try to be honest with yourself when evaluating whether you fall prey to any unnatural desires. You might think that you aren’t pursuing wealth, fame, power, and eternal life. But I think Epicurus would consider desires such as these to be roughly as “groundless” as the obvious cases of international tycoons and dictators:
If you want more wealth because it makes you feel important, or to enable any appearance-oriented consumption, or to purchase lots of little extravagances that you “must” have in order to be happy.
If you work to be admired by passers-by, vague acquaintances, or strangers on the internet.
If you want to have a prestigious title, whether in government, business, academia, or any organization.
If you want to live longer because you think death is terrible.
All of these have their natural origin, but all of them have exceeded that origin in a way that makes them counterproductive for contentment. People have been happy without any of these things. It is empirically trivial to find unhappy people who are rich, unhappy people who are famous, unhappy people with powerful positions, and unhappy people with highly optimized health regimens. Set limits. Relax your desires. Always remember this central dictum:
Pose this question to every desire: what will happen to me if it is fulfilled, and what will happen to me if it is not fulfilled? (VS 71)
Fulfilling unnatural desires never brings stable happiness. Letting them go never causes disaster. Such desires often feel pressing, urgent, all-important. They aren’t. The particular manifestations of our unnecessary desires are highly contingent on our education, our peers, and our cultural environment. All of these things can be changed, even if that change is not easy or immediate. Mindsets that are the product of what you were told in school, what was modeled by friends and parents, what you saw on TV and on the internet can all be reformed by finding different teachers, different role models, a different culture. To read a philosophic essay is not the end of retraining your desires. It is the first, preliminary exercise in relearning what you want.
Many anthologies will simply include this text as one of the Vatican Sayings, with no indication of authorship. But independent papyrological evidence shows this particular one is not a saying of Epicurus himself, but an excerpt from a letter of Metrodorus—the second most authoritative of the original leaders of the school—to Pythocles.
As one further note on the specific interpretation of this passage: ἀμήχανον is often translated as “it is impossible [not to be affected by the downsides of pursuing sexual pleasure],” but dictionaries also list “impracticable” and “difficult” as possible meanings, so I am not sure the word is quite as definite as the English “impossible” suggests. “Difficult” seems more logical to me as a substantive position—we know Metrodorus had kids, so presumably he had sex! His position was unlikely to be as absolute as translators of this letter often assume.
Diogenes Laertius 10.119. Causabon and Gassendi unjustifiably emended this to read “the wise man will not marry and have children,” and this is retained in the Hicks translation (used in the Loeb series), but most modern editions have correctly restored the original text.
On the Nature of Things, 4.1280–1283