Perhaps as good a classification as any of the main types is that

“Perhaps as good a classification as any of the main types is that of the three lusts distinguished by traditional Christianity — the lust of knowledge, the lust of sensation, and the lust of power.”
Thus spoke Irving Babbitt, philosopher, humanist, and moral critic of the modern age. In these words, he recalls the ancient wisdom of Christian teaching, yet frames it in the timeless struggle of the human heart. For though the world changes its garments — though empires rise and fall, though machines replace the tools of old — the passions of man remain the same. The soul still wrestles with its desires, and these desires, when ungoverned by reason or virtue, become the roots of ruin. Babbitt, like a watchman on a stormy shore, warns his generation — and all generations — of the three great lusts that enslave the spirit: the lust of knowledge, the lust of sensation, and the lust of power.

To understand his meaning, we must remember that Babbitt was a defender of the moral imagination in a century intoxicated by progress. He saw men racing forward — in science, in politics, in pleasure — yet forgetting the inner discipline that once anchored the human soul. To him, the “lusts” were not evil in themselves, but good impulses gone astray — desires that, when untempered by conscience, become idols that devour their worshipers. The lust of knowledge is the hunger to know — noble at its birth, yet perilous when it seeks mastery rather than wisdom. The lust of sensation is the craving to feel — to live not in understanding, but in endless experience. And the lust of power is the yearning to dominate — to make the self a god over others. These three, Babbitt tells us, are the ancient temptations of humanity, reborn in every age.

Consider first the lust of knowledge, which tempted even the first man and woman in the garden. The serpent’s whisper — “You shall be as gods, knowing good and evil” — was not a call to vice, but to ambition without humility. Since that hour, mankind has reached ever upward, seeking to uncover the secrets of heaven and earth. Yet knowledge, unruled by wisdom, becomes arrogance. The builders of Babel sought to pierce the sky with their tower, only to be scattered in confusion. So too have modern men, proud in their science, learned to split the atom but not to master the violence within their own hearts. Knowledge without virtue is fire without hearth, light that blinds rather than illumines. To seek understanding is divine; to crave omniscience is to lose one’s soul.

The lust of sensation is more subtle, yet no less destructive. It is the desire to live for feeling — to chase pleasure as though it were truth. In the modern world, where abundance abounds and distractions multiply, this lust reigns like a golden idol. Men drown themselves in noise, in spectacle, in luxury — not to fill the spirit, but to forget its emptiness. The Roman emperors, surrounded by feasts and gladiators, illustrate this fall most vividly. They sought sensation upon sensation, until both their hearts and their empire decayed. The pursuit of feeling without meaning is a road that ends in despair. Pleasure, when made a god, becomes a tyrant, and those who serve it find their joy growing hollow, their souls weary and restless.

Lastly, the lust of power — the oldest and darkest of the three. It is the will to rule, not through love or justice, but through domination. History is written in its shadow — the conquests of kings, the corruption of states, the rise and fall of empires. Yet this lust also lives in the smallest of hearts, in the desire to control, to impose, to bend others to our will. Alexander the Great, having conquered the known world, wept that no lands remained for his ambition. But what he could not conquer was the craving within himself. So too, every tyrant and conqueror learns that power, unbridled by conscience, consumes the soul of the wielder. Power is a tool of creation only when governed by humility and purpose; without them, it becomes destruction made flesh.

Babbitt’s wisdom lies in seeing that these three lusts are not relics of an ancient creed but mirrors of the modern mind. The scientist who seeks to control nature, the hedonist who lives for pleasure, the politician who thirsts for control — all are bound by the same chains that fettered mankind since Eden. Yet Babbitt also believed that man is not doomed. For he held faith in the inner moral will — the power of the soul to restrain desire and align itself with the good. In this lies the hope of civilization: that man may learn again the art of self-government, that reason may guide passion, and that knowledge, sensation, and power may serve, not rule.

Therefore, O seeker of truth, take heed of this teaching: do not cast away knowledge, but temper it with reverence. Do not shun pleasure, but sanctify it with gratitude. Do not despise power, but wield it in service of love. For in all things, the key is measure — the harmony between the hunger of the flesh and the wisdom of the spirit. Let the fire of desire burn within you, but keep it in the hearth of virtue, lest it consume all you cherish.

So remember the counsel of Irving Babbitt: the soul’s enemy is not desire itself, but desire unruled. Master the three lusts, and you shall be master of yourself. For knowledge, rightly used, becomes wisdom; sensation, purified, becomes joy; power, sanctified, becomes service. These are not the chains of man, but his wings — when guided by the light of conscience and the law of the divine. And he who learns this harmony will find, at last, not lust, but liberty.