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Buddhism’s Most Important Teachings: The Middle Way, Four Noble Truths, and Eightfold Path

Wheel of the chariot of the sun, Konark Sun Temple, Odisha. 1250 CE.
Wheel of the chariot of the sun, Konark Sun Temple, Odisha. 1250 CE. The temple is designed as a chariot with 24 such wheels. As a symbol, the wheel of dharma features in several Indian religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 14 August 2026.

The Buddha was struck by human suffering and spent years trying to understand its causes and the means to overcome them.

After reaching enlightenment, he delivered his first sermon in the deer park at Sarnath, on the outskirts of Kashi (modern-day Varanasi). He preached the Middle Way between luxury and austerity, the Four Noble Truths, and the Eightfold Path.

In these core teachings lies the essence of Buddhism: why we desire, why we suffer, and how we might free ourselves from both.

The Middle Way and Dependent Origination

Two early insights that led the Buddha to enlightenment are the Middle Way and Dependent Origination.

According to the doctrine of the Middle Way, we are more likely to achieve insight and wisdom if we avoid extremes of self-gratification and self-mortification.

The Buddha had tried both. He had lived amid princely luxury and later practised such severe asceticism that he almost starved to death. Neither extreme had brought him enlightenment.

According to the doctrine of Dependent Origination, or Interdependent Arising, life is a continuous process of change, and every instance of change has manifold causes and effects. This means that all things are conditioned by other things, so that all things are interconnected.

Much of our suffering arises from a craving for permanence; but all permanence is an illusion that, in time, can only lead to pain and disappointment.

Although nothing exists permanently, it is equally wrong to say that nothing exists at all. This, too, is a middle way.

Does the self exist? In one sense, it does; in another, it does not—which is why, when asked the question, the Buddha, as was his way, simply remained silent.

The Four Noble Truths

The good news is that, if all things are conditional and subject to change, then so too is suffering.

It is said that, upon enlightenment, the Buddha understood the Four Noble Truths—more accurately translated as the ‘four truths for the noble of spirit’:

  1. Suffering (dukkha) is inherent in all life.
  2. The cause of all suffering is desire.
  3. There is a natural way to eliminate all suffering.
  4. The Noble Eightfold Path is that way.

The first truth, dukkha, acknowledges the unsatisfactory nature of existence. The second truth, samudaya (origin), attributes a cause to this suffering. The third truth, nirodha (cessation), posits a state comparable to the Greek ataraxia (tranquillity) that is free from suffering. And the fourth truth, marga (path), points to the method for achieving that state.

Although translated as ‘suffering’, dukkha refers more broadly to the inherently impermanent and unsatisfactory nature of all things, including the pleasant ones—for it is on account of those that we suffer most.

The cessation of suffering, nirodha, culminates in nibbana (‘blown out’, ‘extinguished’, as in a candle) in Pali or nirvana in Sanskrit, indicating that, rather than a positive state, nirvana is more of a negative state of absence of desire.

Nirvana is the state of wishing for nothing, not even Nirvana.

If the cause of dukkha is desire, the cause of desire is ignorance, pointing to knowledge or wisdom as the way forward. With proper perspective, there would be no desire, and so no suffering—and no (re)birth, which is the fruit of desire, and the source of all suffering.

Does this mean that people should not have children? No, insofar as being born is an opportunity to escape being born. The purpose of life is to provide us with an opportunity to escape it, by achieving wisdom. Otherwise, ‘we’ shall have to try again.

The Eightfold Path

Unfortunately, wisdom is hard to attain because it runs counter to everything we have learnt and everything we love, including the thing we love most: ourselves. On top of that, it confronts us with everything we fear, not least death and impermanence.

For these reasons and more, it takes long practice and training to attain wisdom, and even longer practice and training to hold on to it in the face of temptation, fragility, and adversity.

But even if we are unable or unwilling to commit to becoming a monk or nun, we can still embark on the Noble Eightfold Path:

  1. Right view (maintaining perspective on reality)
  2. Right intention or resolve (renouncing the worldly life for the life of wisdom)
  3. Right speech (e.g. no lies, slanders, or idle talk)
  4. Right action or conduct (e.g. no killing, stealing, or sexual misconduct)
  5. Right livelihood (earning a living through a profession that does not visit harm to others)
  6. Right effort (preventing unwholesome mental states, and encouraging wholesome, productive ones)
  7. Right mindfulness (paying due attention to thoughts, feelings, sensations, and external phenomena)
  8. Right concentration or meditation (cultivating the highest states of mind)

The eight categories are overlapping and mutually reinforcing, and to be worked on simultaneously rather than successively. Indeed, the Noble Eightfold Path is often represented by a dharma wheel, or dharmachakra, with eight spokes, none of which is either first or last.

The dharmachakra can also stand for dependent origination, change, and the cycle of rebirth (samsara), all in one. It is said that, with his first sermon, the Buddha set the wheel of dharma (‘law’, ‘rightfulness’) into motion.

With desire under control, everything becomes a lot better, and a lot easier. In an absence of desire, why lie or steal, or be envious or greedy? Or why be anxious, or angry, or depressed? The opposite of envy is not merely an absence of envy but shared joy and admiration. The opposite of greed is not merely an absence of greed, but decency and generosity. The opposite of anger is not merely an absence of anger but compassion. The opposite of anxiety is not merely an absence of anxiety but tranquillity. The opposite of depression is not merely an absence of depression, but wisdom.

First and foremost, the Buddha’s solution to suffering was not to change the world so it could satisfy our desires. It was to change ourselves so that we might cease to be ruled by them. Some centuries later, the Stoics would arrive at the same fundamental insight.

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The Extraordinary Life of the Buddha

Prince Siddhartha (the Buddha) escapes his palace on horseback
The Buddha’s life has the structure of a mythical hero’s journey.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 17 August 2026.

The Buddha began as a prince whose father tried to protect him from every human suffering. For almost thirty years, his father succeeded. But one night, after sighting an old man, a sick man, and a corpse, the prince made his escape.

The Buddha’s dates are uncertain and range from 624 BCE (earliest birth) to 368 BCE (latest death). Whatever his dates, he is said to have lived for some eighty years. Buddhism emerged amid a broader culture of renunciation and philosophical experimentation that challenged aspects of the established religion, Vedic Brahmanism.

His followers came to revere him as more than an ordinary man and, accordingly, mythologised his life. It would be profitless to try, if that were possible, to separate the mythology from the reality. In any case, the mythology is as invaluable as the history, revealing how the Buddha came to be seen and interpreted.

Exceptional Birth

According to tradition, Siddhartha Gautama, later known as the Buddha, was born in Lumbini, in what is now southern Nepal, to King Shuddhodana of the Shakya clan. His mother, Mahamaya, dreamt of a white elephant with six tusks entering her right side. Ten lunar months later, while strolling in a garden in Lumbini, she grabbed onto the drooping branch of a sal tree, and Siddhartha (‘He who has achieved his goal’) emerged fully formed from under her right arm. Siddhartha proceeded to take seven steps before announcing that this would be his last life.

Two Destinies

Seven days later, Mahamaya died. The court astrologers predicted that Siddhartha would become either a chakravartin(universal monarch) or a buddha (enlightened one). Not wishing to lose his son and heir—and, at that, a future chakravartin—to a life of renunciation, Shuddhodana confined him to a life of luxury within the precincts of the palace, where he would not be exposed to religious teaching or human suffering. At the age of sixteen, Siddhartha married the beautiful princess Yashodhara, and everything seemed on track for a life as a chakravartin.

But Shuddhodana’s attempts to shelter Siddhartha spectacularly backfired. For when the prince did finally encounter human suffering, it came to him as a revelation.

Four Sights

At the age of 29, having tired of the delights of the royal kitchen and harem, Siddhartha asked to make a chariot ride through the city. The king consented but had all the old, infirm, and otherwise poor cleared from the route. Even so, Siddhartha did, for the very first time, catch a glimpse of an old man. He asked Channa, his charioteer: ‘Am I also subject to this?’

With his curiosity piqued, Siddhartha made three more outings, seeing, in turn, a diseased man, a decaying corpse, and, finally, a meditating mendicant, whose serene smile inspired him to join the path in search of freedom from suffering.

The four encounters, known as the Four Sights, shattered Siddhartha’s illusions. The old man, the sick man, and the corpse were images of his own future—and of the future of everyone he loved. But although one could not prevent ageing, sickness, and death, perhaps one could prevent the suffering that comes with them. 

The Great Departure

Siddhartha renounced his position, wealth, and family to take up the life of a wandering ascetic. As night fell and he prepared to make his escape, he was told that a son had been born to him. He went into Yashodhara’s chamber to look upon his sleeping wife and son and named the boy Rahula (‘Fetter’).

That night, in what has come to be called the Great Departure, Siddhartha escaped from the palace on his beloved horse, Kanthaka, accompanied by his faithful servant, Channa.

Having crossed the Anoma River into the forest, he sent the reluctant Channa back along with his weapons and jewels, and even his hair. He sent back Kanthaka too, who died from a broken heart.

A Beggar in the Forest

In the forest, Siddhartha adopted the life of a mendicant, or beggar. He practised successively under two meditation teachers before, with five friends, subjecting himself to extreme forms of self-mortification, progressively reducing his daily meal to a single grain of rice.

One day, he accepted a bowl of milk-rice from a woman called Sujata, who had mistaken the skeletal ascetic for a wish-granting tree spirit. With some food in the belly, he concluded that extreme asceticism would not advance him along the path to freedom from suffering, but serve only to cloud his mind.

The prince who had rejected luxury now rejected its opposite. Neither indulgence nor self-mortification offered the answer. Between the two lay what he would call the Middle Way.

Sandstone head of the fasting Buddha, whom Sujata mistook for a wish-granting tree spirit. Gandhara, second or third century CE. British Museum, London. The Greco-Buddhist Gandhara school produced the first representations of the Buddha in human form, ending the early period of aniconism in Buddhism.

Enlightenment

On the full moon of May, six years after having left the palace, the 35-year-old Siddhartha sat in meditation under a peepul tree. The demon Mara tried to disrupt him, including by sending his daughters to seduce him.

When Mara challenged his right to occupy the ground on which he sat, Siddhartha touched the earth with his right hand, and the goddess of the earth confirmed with a tremor that he had earned this right—on account of a great gift that he had made in his previous life as Prince Vessantara.

Through the night, Siddhartha had visions of his many, innumerable past lives. At dawn, he attained enlightenment. The prince who had escaped the palace had become the Buddha, ‘the Awakened One’.

The peepul tree, Ficus religiosa, is now better known as the Bodhi tree, and the place where the Buddha sat in meditation as Bodh Gaya (‘Place of Enlightenment’). Representations of the Buddha often include his earth-touching gesture, known as the bhumisparsha mudra.

First Sermons

The Buddha remained in the vicinity of the Bodhi tree to savour his enlightenment. When a seven-day storm blew up, the serpent king Mucalinda encircled him seven times with his coils and sheltered him with his seven-headed hood.

At first, he hesitated to teach. What he had discovered seemed too subtle to communicate to people lost in desire and attachment. But the god Brahma Sahampati implored him to share his secrets. 

After seven weeks by the Bodhi tree (note the preponderance of the number seven), the Buddha got up to teach. He delivered his first sermon in the deer park at Sarnath, on the outskirts of Kashi (modern-day Varanasi), preaching the Middle Way between luxury and austerity, the Four Noble Truths, and the Eightfold Path.

In his second sermon, he presented his doctrine of anatman (no-self). So eloquently did he speak that, upon hearing him, his five ascetic friends rose up into arhats (those who have gained such insight as to escape the cycle of rebirth). They became the first members of the Buddhist monastic order known as the sangha.

Naga-enthroned Buddha, Angkor, twelfth century CE.

Life on the Road

For the next 45 years, the Buddha spread his teachings across northeast India, followed by wandering ascetics and laypersons who supported the ascetics. Although many of his followers imitated him in renouncing the life of the householder, most were not so ambitious.

Over the years, many of the renouncers settled into monasteries funded by prominent members of the laity. The Buddha delivered many of his discourses in the monastery of Jetavana in Shravasti, the capital of Kosala, which had been donated to him by the banker Anathapindada.

When Mahamaya’s sister Mahapajapati, who had raised Siddhartha after his mother’s death and became his stepmother, asked to be ordained, the Buddha refused her, perhaps owing to fears about the safety of nuns. But when pressed, he relented, and Mahapajapati became the first bhikkhuni (Buddhist nun). In time, Yashodhara, too, became a bhikkhuni. When Rahula asked for his patrimony, his father ordained him a monk.

However, the Buddha refused to appoint his radically austere cousin Devadatta as his successor. Bitterly aggrieved, Devadatta tried three times to kill him by means of assassins, a boulder, and an elephant, which arrested its charge to bow at his feet. The schism was repaired when the earth sucked Devadatta down into Naraka, or Hell.

Death

In Kushinagara, the Buddha, now around 80 years old, ate a meal containing sukara-maddava, an obscure term that has variously been interpreted as pork, mushrooms, or some other delicacy. He became gravely ill and prepared for death.

His chief disciple, Mahakashyapa, ignited the funeral pyre, after which his relics were distributed and enshrined in large mound-like structures called stupas.

According to Buddhist tradition, in the third century BCE, the Mauryan emperor Ashoka gathered the relics from seven of the eight stupas and erected 84,000 stupas to distribute them across India. Some of Ashoka’s stupas, such as the Great Stupa at Sanchi and the Dhamek Stupa at Sarnath, remain important pilgrimage sites.

Enlightenment had not exempted the Buddha from growing old, falling ill, and dying. What had changed was his relationship to those things. You can read about his most important teachings—the Middle Way, Four Noble Truths, and the Eightfold Path—in my article, The Buddha’s Solution to Desire and Suffering.

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Why the Ancient Indian Doctrine Is Far More Profound Than ‘What Goes Around Comes Around’

Konark Sun Temple wheel of dharma (karma)

The stone wheel of the Konark Sun Temple, Odisha, India.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 12 August 2026.

Why do good people suffer while bad people prosper?

It is one of the oldest problems in philosophy and religion. Every civilisation has wrestled with it. If the universe is just, why do the virtuous endure hardship, while the vicious flourish? Why are some people born into privilege while others are burdened from the very beginning?

The Indian traditions developed one of history’s most striking answers: karma.

Today, karma is widely misunderstood, even by Indians themselves. It is often confused with fate or destiny, or reduced to the cliché that ‘what goes around comes around’. Both are misconceptions. Properly understood, karma is a law of moral causation by which our modes of engagement come to determine our station and situation.

According to Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and several other Indian religions, every instance of thought, speech, and action is a cause, and every experience an effect. Reward and punishment are not arbitrary. Instead, the universe is governed by an intricate web of causes and consequences extending beyond a single lifetime.

Good karma is often referred to as punya (‘merit’), and bad karma as paap (‘demerit’). Even if punya does not immediately seem to pay off, it does in the longer term. This is why karma is closely tied to samsara, the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth—with future births conditioned by the accumulated balance of punya and paap.

Although karma is fundamentally individual, it can also, in certain circumstances, be transferred. The Kaushitaki Upanishad describes a rite in which a dying father passes his karma to his son, declaring, ‘Let me place my speech in thee… Let me place my breath in thee…’, with the son replying, ‘I take thy speech in me… I take thy breath in me…’

More ordinarily, the paap of a living or deceased person may be mitigated by the prayers, rituals, or pilgrimages of others.

Justice Beyond This Life

Why should justice extend beyond a single lifetime? Because a lifetime is simply too short. Vice and virtue do not always seem to receive their due. But over many lives, the moral balance can finally be restored.

Some ancient Greeks arrived at a strikingly similar solution. At the outset of Plato’s Republic, the sophist Thrasymachus argues that it is not the just but the unjust who flourish, and that the tyrant, being the most wicked of people, is also the happiest. At the end of the Republic, in the Myth of Er, Plato turns to reincarnation to guarantee that the genuinely just always come out on top, with each soul choosing its next life according to its accumulated store of wisdom. In this, as in much else, Plato was influenced by Pythagoras (d. 495 BCE), who, like the Indians, believed in the transmigration of the soul.

In the Catholic tradition, heaven serves much the same moral purpose as karma. The soul of the newly deceased is judged and sent to heaven, hell, or purgatory. Then, there is also a Last Judgement that takes place after the Second Coming of Christ and the resurrection of the dead.

In the Letter to the Galatians, St Paul warns: ‘Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’

According to the Old Testament, punishment might even be extended to subsequent generations, that is, to future selves: ‘The Lord is long-suffering, and of great mercy, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation’ (Numbers 14:18, and repeated almost verbatim in Exodus 34:7).

Whether through repeated rebirths or a final judgement, all these traditions share a common conviction: justice must ultimately prevail.

The Philosophy of Karma

Karma serves the same purpose as Eden in providing the major motivation to live a moral life. But it serves other purposes too, such as accounting for the existence of evil, rationalising rebirth (which could also operate independently of karma), and providing a soteriological goal of final liberation.

In determining our circumstances and even our temperament, karma may constrict our options, but it does not deprive us of choice and deliberation, enabling it to condone social inequities and the caste system while at the same time affirming human freedom.

The importance of karma, and the degree of freedom and determination within it, have long been debated in and between the Hindu schools.

But even if karma theory is not literally true, it is at least metaphorically true. Being good does pay off, if only in peace of mind and mental health.

In which case, is karma theory a firm basis for morality, or an appeal to naked self-interest?

One way around this problem, which has been taken, is to broaden the scope of karma to include thoughts as well as actions, so that the system becomes impossible to game.

Doing the right thing for the wrong reason is not the same, and does not feel the same, as doing it for the right reason. According to the Great Forest Upanishad, the truly virtuous act is the one that is desire-less. More than two millennia later, Immanuel Kant would arrive at a remarkably similar conclusion with his Categorical Imperative. Like the Stoic archer, one must concentrate on doing the right thing, to the best of one’s ability, without being attached to the outcome. For it is from attachment that life and misery arise.

The Buddhist Solution

The Buddha had another way around the problem, which is to deny the metaphysical distinction between the self and others so that helping others is the same as helping oneself.

Aristotle makes a similar if more circumscribed move in the Nicomachean Ethics, when he says that there is no conflict between helping a friend and helping oneself insofar as a perfect friend is like another self.

When we are good to another, we are good to all, including ourself, because the distinction is an illusion, and karma travels.

If we have no self, why did the Buddhists not altogether give up on karma and samsara?

In part, because karma can still operate in the absence of a Self, or Atman, with future incarnations being conditioned by the sum of all the karmic actions that have been put into the world.

The Deeper Insight

Whether or not one believes in reincarnation, the deeper insight of karma remains compelling.

Every person—their parents, their teachers, and their parents and teachers—is the embodiment of every karmic action that has ever gone before. Our every action reverberates to the end of time. 

Our every kindness changes the person who receives it, and our every cruelty does the same. Those people, in turn, shape others.

We inherit the moral world created by all those who came before us, and leave behind the moral world that our successors will inherit.

Thus, karma is not merely a mystical doctrine, but a profound truth about what it means to be human.

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Is Desire a Form of Madness—or the First Step on the Ladder of Love?

Saint Sebastian in Ecstasy, by Guido Reni, c. 1615.
Saint Sebastian in Ecstasy, by Guido Reni, c. 1615.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 8 September 2026.

For the Apostle Paul, marriage has, it seems, no higher purpose than the containment of lust:

For I would that all men were even as I myself… But if they cannot contain let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.

Lust is the strong, passionate desire for something: not only sex, but also food, drink, money, fame, power, or knowledge, among others. Even so, owing to the historical resonance of Matthew 5:27-28, lust has come to be associated almost exclusively with sexual desire:

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: 

But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

There are many reasons for which we might desire sex, for example, to be close to someone, to hold on to or manipulate that person, to dominate that person, to injure a third party, to injure ourself, to define ourself, to feel alive, to pass the time, to make a child, or to gain some advantage such as money or preferment. But with lust, sex is contemplated primarily for itself, or, more precisely, for the pleasure that it may procure.

It is possible to seek out sex for itself without this desire being lustful. For the desire to be lustful, it has to be disordered, that is, inappropriately strong or inappropriately directed—although what counts as inappropriate is, ultimately, a value judgement that varies according to person, time, and place. People who experience lust without acting upon it are lustful without being lecherous; but if they act upon it, especially repeatedly or habitually, they are both lustful and lecherous.

King David was undone by his lust for the bathing Bathsheba, and Bill Clinton, while still the most powerful man in the world, was impeached following his affair with a young White House intern. In the Divine Comedy, souls that have committed the sin of lust are blown around in a whirlwind that symbolises their lack of self-control. More recently, MRI studies have found that patterns of brain activity in people experiencing lust are similar to those in addicts receiving their fix.

No surprise, then, that reason and philosophy are a poor defence against lust. In Greco-Roman art, Eros/Cupid is depicted as a child, and the ithyphallic (erect) satyrs are only half-human. According to mediaeval lore, when Alexander the Great found Phyllis (by some accounts, Alexander’s wife) riding Aristotle like a horse around the garden, he exclaimed, “Master, can this be!” Quick on his feet, Aristotle replied, “If lust can so overcome wisdom, just think what it could do to a young man like you.”

Shakespeare went so far as to compare lust to a form of madness, for instance, in Sonnet 129:

Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action… 

… 

Past reason hunted, and no sooner had

Past reason hated, as a swallow’d bait

On purpose laid to make the taker mad;

Mad in pursuit and in possession so…

But it is not just that lust can, at times, overcome reason. For Schopenhauer, the sexual impulse is the most powerful manifestation of the Will, the blind striving that directs all human behaviour. This idea is certainly borne out by modern advertising, which seems mostly about suggesting that buying a particular product will help us to obtain the objects of our lust. In contrast, no one ever made a fortune by peddling restraint or wisdom. It is sometimes said that everything is about sex, except for sex itself, which is about power—or would that be the other way round? 

Even the Holy Church, when seeking to express ecstatic communion with God, could do no better than Bernini’s orgasmic Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

Schopenhauer, who had read Indian philosophy, held that, so long as we are enthralled to lust, we can know no peace or happiness.

In the Hindu Bhagavad Gita, Krishna declares that, along with anger and greed, lust is one of the three gates to Naraka, or Hell. When the warrior Arjuna asks him by what one is impelled to sinful acts ‘even unwillingly, as if engaged by force’, he replies:

It is lust only, Arjuna, which is born from contact with the material mode of passion and later transformed into wrath, and which is the all-devouring sinful enemy of this world… Therefore, O Arjuna, best of the Bharatas, curb in the very beginning this great symbol of sin—by regulating the senses, and slay this destroyer of knowledge and self-realisation…

Lust, in the broader sense of coveting or craving, is also at the heart of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism:

1. Suffering (dukkha) is inherent in all life. 

2. The cause of all suffering is lust. 

3. There is a natural way to eliminate all suffering.

4. The Noble Eightfold Path is that way. 

Lust, taught the Buddha, can be eliminated through attaining a higher level of consciousness. This idea can also be found sporadically in the Western canon. For instance, the poet Charles Baudelaire (d. 1867) went so far as to suggest that artists should never have sex: ‘Only the brute is good at coupling, and copulation is the lyricism of the masses. To copulate is to enter into another—and the artist never emerges from himself.’

As well as being harmful to the subject, lust is harmful also to the object. Lust is the only appetite that is for a person rather than an object, but a person qua object rather than qua person, shorn of human qualities such as dignity and agency. The lustful person is unconcerned about the blossoming of the object of his lust. More than that, he will act against her best interests to feed his appetite, and, with his appetite sated, discard her as ‘one casts aside a lemon which has been sucked dry’. These acerbic words belong to the philosopher Immanuel Kant (d. 1804), who held that a person should never be treated as a means-to-an-end but only ever as an end-in-herself.

It is in the nature of lust that it seeks to possess or ‘have’ the other, to incorporate and degrade the other by undermining her integrity and autonomy. In One Fat Englishman (1963), a novel by Kingsley Amis, the protagonist says that, when it comes to sex, his aim is ‘to convert a creature who is cool, dry, calm, articulate, independent, purposeful into a creature who is the opposite of these: to demonstrate to an animal which is pretending not to be an animal that it is an animal.’

Lust, in the words of Shakespeare, is ‘a waste of shame’. To hide that shame, many cultures magic up a male demon who lies upon sleepers to have sex with them. This incubus (and the less prevalent female equivalent, or succubus) is made to carry the blame for embarrassing nocturnal emissions, accusations of abuse or adultery, and even unexplained children. Another response to the shame of lust, much more prevalent in our culture, is to pass off lust as… romantic love. Unlike lust, love is respectable, even commendable. We look on approvingly at a pair holding hands or hugging, but turn around for the police as soon as they start acting out their lust.

Love is the acceptable face of lust, but the love that is lust in disguise is arguably even more perverse and destructive, and, in that sense, even more shameful, than the lust that knows its game. How to tell lust and love apart? While lust is hasty, furtive, and deceitful, love is patient, measured, and constant. While lust is all about taking, love is all about sharing. And while lust is all about degrading and destroying, love is all about building. Lust can lead to love, but is a poor start and a poor basis, akin to choosing one’s favourite book by the picture on the cover.

There is nothing wrong with sexual desire per se, and none of us would be here without it. Sexual desire is a life force, to be enjoyed and even celebrated. But, as with alcohol, the problems start when it turns from servant into master. Unfettered lust is especially unbecoming in the elderly, because, as the saying goes, there is no fool like an old fool.

Lust is hard to extinguish, but can more readily be redirected. If Kat is having a bad day, she can take out her frustration on anyone or everyone who crosses her path—the receptionist, her colleagues, her partner—or she can instead discharge all her nervous energy into the novel that she is writing. This second instance of anger displacement, working at her novel, is also an instance of sublimation, the channelling of unproductive or destructive forces into socially condoned and often constructive activities. As Baudelaire put it, ‘the more a man cultivates the arts, the less randy he becomes.’

For Plato, lust is the first step on the ladder of love and not to be shunned or shunted. In the Symposium, the lover begins with one beautiful body, before recognising that its beauty is shared by other bodies. From beautiful bodies, he rises to beautiful souls, practices, forms of knowledge, and finally Beauty itself. Desire is not suppressed but educated, redirected from the particular and perishable to the universal and eternal.

Lust contains its own cure, so long as one is able and willing to learn.

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If this essay spoke to you, you might look into For Better For Worse, an unconventional exploration of romantic love, marriage, and lasting relationships. For a broader exploration of love, desire, jealousy, and the emotions that shape our lives, see Heaven and Hell: The Psychology of the Emotions.

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