Why Epicurus?

There is a Korean proverb that says, “Excess is worse than scarcity.”
Behind this simple saying lies a quiet insight: that beyond a certain point, more does not bring peace, but disturbance. Humility and moderation, long treated as old-fashioned virtues, may in fact describe something structurally necessary for a livable life.

Modern society often moves in the opposite direction. Economic systems reward endless expansion, while political systems multiply choices and freedoms without clear limits. Abundance grows, yet anxiety deepens. Freedom expands, yet conflict intensifies. Instead of harmony, societies find themselves increasingly strained.

At moments like this, it can be meaningful to pause and listen to voices from the past—not for ready-made answers, but for ways of seeing. One such voice is that of Epicurus.

Epicurus did not begin with politics or theology. He began with everyday life, asking a simple question: what kinds of desire disturb us, and which allow us to remain at ease? To explore this, he distinguished desires into three broad kinds.

Some desires are natural and necessary: food, shelter, basic security. These desires are limited by nature itself. They are relatively easy to satisfy, difficult to erase, and when fulfilled, they bring a quiet sense of sufficiency. Trouble begins not with these needs, but when we push beyond their natural limits—when nourishment turns into indulgence, or shelter into display.

Other desires are natural but unnecessary. Comfort, ornament, and excess belong here. Clothing protects the body, but ornate clothing seeks distinction. Shelter provides safety, but lavish homes invite comparison. Intimacy is natural, yet elaborate pursuits can entangle desire with anxiety. These wants are not wrong, but they often complicate life rather than settle it.

Finally, Epicurus spoke of vain and empty desires: the pursuit of unlimited wealth, power, fame, immortality, or ever-escalating luxury. These desires have no natural endpoint. They are sustained by social pressure and beliefs about what one must have to matter. Because they cannot be fully satisfied, they tend to generate restlessness rather than fulfillment.

Epicurus did not propose indulgence, nor did he praise deprivation. His insight was quieter: that disturbance grows when desire loses its natural limits. When needs multiply without bound, effort intensifies but peace recedes. When less is required, life becomes lighter.

For many readers, this way of thinking resonates not as a rule to obey, but as a recognition. It suggests that stability—personal or social—does not always require invention, expansion, or acceleration. Sometimes it requires realignment.

Not by multiplying want,
but by bringing them back into proportion with life itself.