Principal Doctrine 22:
We must always take into account the fundamental goal and the evidence of perception: it is to these we must refer our opinions. If we do not, everything will be full of confusion and disturbance.
Principal Doctrine 25:
If you do not, on every occasion, consider each of your actions in reference to our nature’s goal, but stop short at some other objective when you are deciding what to choose and what to avoid, then your actions will not be consistent with your principles.
Commentary
The football club Olympique de Marseille has had a classic motto since its founding in the 1890s: droit au but, or “straight to goal.” They’ve stuck with it because it captures an insistence on directness that is appealing both as a tactical outlook (control and conservatism are not as exciting to watch as an emphasis on constant attack) and as an expression of character (the city’s reputation is one of bluntness and straightforwardness compared to their hoity-toity Parisian rivals). Epicurus has a similar reputation, disdaining the elitism, sophistry, and abstruse language that has often characterized philosophy. His is a philosophy of focus and directness, nowhere more so than in today’s selection from the Principal Doctrines, in which he insists that we remain focused at all times on our ultimate goal: a life of pleasure.
In these particular maxims, Epicurus merely refers to our telos, the overarching goal or end of human nature, without explicitly defining it. He did that back in the Letter to Menoeceus:
Keeping these facts in unwavering focus allows us to refer every choice and avoidance to the health of the body and the serenity of the soul, for to secure these is the goal (telos) of a blessed life. Everything we do is for this purpose: the avoidance of pain in our body and fear in our mind.
… It is when we feel pain from the absence of pleasure that we require pleasure; when all our pain has been relieved, we need no further pleasure. This is why we say that pleasure is the beginning and end (telos) of a blessed life.
The telos of the human animal is to pursue pleasure, which is composed of a pain-free bodily state (aponia) and an untroubled mental state (ataraxia). At some point, I will write more about this claim, but broadly speaking, Epicurus’ use of the word telos should not be mistaken as implying any actual teleological claim. Unlike Plato or Aristotle, his project is not to determine our “purpose” or “function” in the same way as one might inquire into the function of an intentionally designed tool. A good hammer “should” drive nails well. Humans, however, were not specially designed in some unique way that sets us apart from other animals. There is no ideal blueprint to consult.
What Epicurus means by telos is a little different. His approach is to look to our underlying nature, as reflected in the behavior not just of adult humans, but also of infants and animals, to determine what the inevitable goals of our species are, once you peel back the complication and confusion of learned ideologies. His conclusion from this empirical research is that humans necessarily seek pleasure and avoid pain, and that a good philosophy of life should therefore be oriented towards effectively fulfilling that goal. (If you are concerned that this definition of the telos leaves important things out, take a look at my explainer of Epicurean hedonism—our conception of pleasure is significantly different than that used by non-philosophers.)
With that background established, we can take a closer look at these two maxims on the importance of keeping that fundamental goal constantly in mind during our decision-making process.
22. We must always take into account the fundamental goal and the evidence of perception: it is to these we must refer our opinions. If we do not, everything will be full of confusion and disturbance.
PD 22 advises us to consider two things: our fundamental goal and pasan ten enargeian (literally, something like “every clear perception”). This second item is often taken to refer to sensory perception (Cyril Bailey takes it this way, for instance), or to the combination of sensory perception and our corresponding feelings of pleasure and pain (Norman DeWitt). In either case, the general drift is a materialist and empirical one: Epicurus thinks the two elements of an effective belief-forming process are 1) our fundamental goal of a pleasurable life, and 2) the granular and specific conditions of our situation.
I will discuss the epistemological implications of this saying a little more in my next installment from the Principal Doctrines, when I cover PD 23 and PD 24, which are all about epistemology and refuting skepticism. For now, we’ll focus on the ethical and practical dimensions of this advice, which are substantial: if we turn aside from our underlying goal due to distraction, or overlook our direct sensations due to prioritizing more abstract values, our lives will be filled with confusion and disturbance. (“Disturbance” is tarakhes, a word familiar as the condition we seek to avoid when we achieve ataraxia and become untroubled.)
The first one: neglecting the telos. If you lose sight of our fundamental, underlying, and indeed inescapable goal of pleasure, you will not succeed in avoiding confusion. As discussed previously, people seek wealth, fame, political power or other such attributes, mistakenly thinking they are either instrumentally infallible or intrinsically worth seeking, rather than being good only insofar as they increase our pleasure or diminish our pain. Sometimes people attain the objects of their desire, and sometimes they don’t, but in neither case do they satisfy and resolve their underlying dissatisfactions. More on this below.
The second one: neglecting our “clear perceptions” (enargeian). If we disregard the basic evidence of our senses and associated pleasures and pains, we are likewise certain to pursue the wrong things. As Epicurus loves to point out, the needs of our body are very simple: not to be hungry, not to be thirsty, not to be cold. Many things we fear or desire have no impact on this fundamental well-being. Sometimes these negative impressions occupy our minds for a limited time: the cat throws up and we have to spend a few minutes cleaning, or we run over a nail and need to get a tire patched. Sometimes these concerns grip us for years: we harness ourselves to a careerist grindstone in pursuit of some distant financial goal, or to enable the acquisition of expensive cars or houses. But focus on what you can see with your eyes and feel with your hands. How much do any of these change your underlying sources of pleasure and pain? Are you able to alleviate pain and secure the comfort of your human organism in a simple way, without unnecessary complication and difficulty? Then do that.
The dangers of losing sight of our true goal are discussed further in Principal Doctrine 25.
25. If you do not, on every occasion, consider each of your actions in reference to our nature’s goal, but stop short at some other objective when you are deciding what to choose and what to avoid, then your actions will not be consistent with your principles.
When read in conjunction with PD 20, and the broader ethical advice of the Principal Doctrines, this maxim should not fundamentally be too confusing, although the scholars have made a great hash of it by plucking it out of context to serve in their dispute du jour.1 As in PD 20, what we are being advised is essentially clear: it is vital to keep the overarching goal of pleasure in mind if you want to have an effective decision-making process.
Here, the problem is framed as the creation of a situation in which “your actions will not be consistent with your principles.” The word that Bailey and I translate as “principles” is logois; Long & Sedley’s “theories” or Strodach’s “creed” are also reasonable renderings. In all of these readings, the understanding is therefore that the addressee is an avowed adherent of Epicurean philosophy (presumably the case for most readers of the Principal Doctrines). As such, the addressee officially recognizes that pleasure is the goal of human life, but takes actions that do not successfully attain that end.
What kind of actions? Here there is some genuine ambiguity as to Epicurus’ intended emphasis, although the two plausible interpretations are not mutually exclusive. In their commentaries, Bailey and Strodach think that Epicurus is talking about generally positive but intermediate virtues such as prudence, honor, justice, duty, or moderation, for instance. In favor of this emphasis is the somewhat unique word prokatastrepseis, for which I have adopted Long & Sedley’s suggestion of “stop short at” (Bailey renders it as “turn to some nearer standard”). Combined with the interpretation of logois as referring formally to the principles or creed of an avowed Epicurean, this suggests a warning against focusing on objects which are not inherently bad, but which should not be mistaken as the true and ultimate telos.
Tim O’Keefe (in “Is Epicurean Friendship Altruistic?”) suggests that Epicurus is warning against different kinds of mistaken goals, such as the pursuit of wealth or fame. This would fit in with the advice of several other Principal Doctrines, which point out that such objects do not deliver their hoped-for benefits. In this reading, logois need not necessarily be confined to the explicit creed of a declared Epicurean; it could simply be the “words” appealed to when justifying a course of action. People might often say they want wealth and power because such things offer the promise of safety, pleasure, and happiness. But—Epicurus would point out—these actions do not actually lead to the fulfillment of these stated objectives.
Overall, I don’t think there’s a clear reason to rule out either of these “something elses” at which one might stop short—both subsidiary virtues or more concrete aspirations can mislead and distract us. These are both authentically Epicurean warnings. One should fixate neither on a particular nameable virtue nor on the world’s ideas of success, but instead measure every plan of action against something more real: does it increase your pleasure or your pain?
An example of the first: I know someone who values comfort and avoiding pain. He doesn’t chase after goals of wealth or ambition. In general, these are not un-Epicurean priorities. However, for him, “live comfortably” has manifested in a lifestyle spent mostly at home, alone with the TV. I think Epicurus would advise him to check in directly with his feelings of pain and pleasure: if someone frequently feels lonely, experiencing mostly small and temporary pleasures that fail to alleviate a larger malaise, then one needs to recalibrate one’s actions in response to that. Comfort and security are good, but activity and positive social interaction are probably necessary for a happy human too!
An example of the second: I can think of someone else who is relatively disdainful of comfort and willing to undertake a great deal of pain and labor in pursuit of larger goals. For her, these energies get channeled into earning a high income and the ownership and renovation of a second home out-of-state. Being able to temporarily endure discomfort can be a very useful capability when it secures greater pleasure in the future, but I think Epicurus would question the tactical efficiency of her approach. She loves spending time with her children, but her stylish new house is far away from all of them. She loves pursuing her hobbies and creative projects, but her inflated housing costs are the only thing keeping her from retirement. This disconnect points to the importance of checking in with the actual pleasures of our life and not overrating what is hypothetical, far-off, and ideal. In practice, maximizing income and expenditure often has very little correlation to actually increased pleasure, especially if it comes at the expense of more valuable leisure or treasured human connections.
Instead, keep the end in mind. Evaluate your pleasure and pain according to the firmest and most direct realities of life, not according to words and their reputations. Do not merely assume the goodness of things as you pursue long-established habits or long-aspired-to dreams. Remember what your body needs for comfort and what your mind needs for tranquility. And if you are tempted by some other end, whether one of seeming-solid virtue or of widely known allure, then stop and check again: does it help you with what matters?
Read the complete series on the Principal Doctrines here.
Original Text
22. τὸ ὑφεστηκὸς δεῖ τέλος ἐπιλογίζεσθαι καὶ πᾶσαν τὴν ἐνάργειαν, ἐφʼ ἣν τὰ δοξαζόμενα ἀνάγομεν· εἰ δὲ μὴ πάντα ἀκρισίας καὶ ταραχῆς ἔσται μεστά.
25. εἰ μὴ παρὰ πάντα καιρὸν ἐπανοίσεις ἕκαστον τῶν πραττομένων ἐπὶ τὸ τέλος τῆς φύσεως, ἀλλὰ προκαταστρέψεις εἴτε φυγὴν εἴτε δίωξιν ποιούμενος εἰς ἄλλο τι, οὐκ ἔσονταί σοι τοῖς λόγοις αἱ πράξεις ἀκόλουθοι.
Bailey was perfectly clear on this maxim in his 1926 commentary, but I’ve run across three separate modern scholars trying to bend this maxim into their unrelated arguments, each time resulting in a different misunderstanding. Most people can ignore such disputes, but if you would like an example of the confusion that can result even among the experts when trying to interpret isolated Epicurean maxims, this might be illustrative.
1) Julia Annas (The Morality of Happiness, 241) uses this maxim to argue for the impossibility of faithful Epicurean friendship, claiming that it presents a decision-making process analogous to the most simplistic “act-utilitarianism.” According to her, “on every occasion” and “each of your actions” implies that Epicureans will only perform any action if it delivers some direct personal benefit when considered in isolation. This clearly runs counter to the entire vision of Epicurean friendship, which is more akin to “rule-utilitarianism,” promoting a general principle of faithful friendship so as to assure our long-term, overall security and well-being. (Tim O’Keefe refutes Annas directly in “Is Epicurean Friendship Altruistic?”)
2) Raphael Woolf (“What Kind of Hedonist Was Epicurus?”) claims that this maxim is an argument in favor of psychological hedonism, in refutation of John Cooper. Woolf is correct overall that Epicurus was a psychological hedonist, but that is not the topic of this maxim. In his take, all of our actions are necessarily hedonistic, so this maxim is saying that it is merely our words (logois, which Bailey and I translate as “principles”) which are at risk of becoming inconsistent with our nature. That would be an oddly small claim: despite the prevalence of other disagreements, I think everyone else is correct in following the much more straightforward and natural reading that it is mistaken actions that Epicurus is warning against. Our actions will necessarily be hedonistically-motivated, true, but they can easily become inconsistent with actually achieving the goal of maximum pleasure.
3) Cooper’s article (“Pleasure and Desire in Epicurus”), which I have not read and know only from the Woolf paper, apparently uses PD 25 as evidence against psychological hedonism. In Cooper’s reading, the idea of the maxim is that someone could turn aside to a non-hedonistic goal, such as the pursuit of virtue. If one does this, his actions (and presumably his own verbalized explanation of those actions) will no longer be hedonistically-oriented at all, while the logoi (understood as the underlying “principles of nature” according to Epicurus), continue to be so, creating the contradiction. Overall, Woolf presents a very convincing case that Epicurus is a psychological hedonist and that Cooper’s larger argument is mistaken. In this specific maxim, Cooper is adopting a very stretched interpretation of tois logois (literally “your words/principles,”) as apparently some kind of freestanding principles that can exist in contradiction to both what the person in question does and says. The natural and obvious interpretation of the maxim is that Epicurus is pointing out a contradiction between what people say and do.