(55–135 C.E.)
Epictetus was an exponent of Stoicism who flourished in the early second century C.E.
about four hundred years after the Stoic school of Zeno of Citium was
established in Athens. He lived and worked, first as a student in Rome, and
then as a teacher with his own school in Nicopolis in Greece. Our knowledge of
his philosophy and his method as a teacher comes to us via two works composed
by his student Arrian, the Discourses and the Handbook. Although Epictetus
based his teaching on the works of the early Stoics (none of which survives)
which dealt with the three branches of Stoic thought, logic, physics and
ethics, the Discourses and the Handbook concentrate almost exclusively on
ethics. The role of the Stoic teacher was to encourage his students to live the
philosophic life, whose end was eudaimonia ('happiness' or 'flourishing'), to
be secured by living the life of reason, which – for Stoics – meant living
virtuously and living 'according to nature'. The eudaimonia ('happiness') of
those who attain this ideal consists of ataraxia (imperturbability), apatheia
(freedom from passion), eupatheiai ('good feelings'), and an awareness of, and
capacity to attain, what counts as living as a rational being should. The key
to transforming oneself into the Stoic sophos (wise person) is to learn what is
'in one's power', and this is 'the correct use of impressions' (phantasiai),
which in outline involves not judging as good or bad anything that appears to
one. For the only thing that is good is acting virtuously (that is, motivated
by virtue), and the only thing that is bad is the opposite, acting viciously
(that is, motivated by vice). Someone who seeks to make progress as a Stoic (a
prokoptôn) understands that their power of rationality is a fragment of God
whose material body – a sort of rarefied fiery air – blends with the whole of
creation, intelligently forming and directing undifferentiated matter to make
the world as we experience it. The task of the prokoptôn, therefore, is to 'live
according to nature', which means (a) pursuing a course through life
intelligently responding to one's own needs and duties as a sociable human
being, but also (b) wholly accepting one's fate and the fate of the world as
coming directly from the divine intelligence which makes the world the best
that is possible.
1. Life
It is possible to draw only a basic
sketch of Epictetus' life. Resources at our disposal include just a handful of
references in the ancient texts, to which we can add the few allusions that
Epictetus makes to his own life in the Discourses.
Epictetus was born in about 55 C.E.
in Hierapolis in Phrygia (modern-day Pamukkale, in south-western Turkey). As a
boy he somehow came to Rome as a slave of Epaphroditus who was a rich and powerful
freedman, having himself been a slave of the Emperor Nero (he had been an
administrative secretary). Whilst still a slave, Epictetus studied with the
Stoic teacher Musonius Rufus.
There is a story told by the author Celsus (probably a younger contemporary
of Epictetus) – quoted by the early Christian Origen (c.185–254) at Contra
Celsum 7.53 – that when still a slave, Epictetus was tortured by his master who
twisted his leg. Enduring the pain with complete composure, Epictetus warned
Epaphroditus that his leg would break, and when it did break, he said, 'There,
did I not tell you that it would break?' And from that time Epictetus
was lame. The Suda (tenth century), however, although confirming that Epictetus
was lame, attributes his affliction to rheumatism.
At some point Epictetus was
manumitted, and in about 89, along with other philosophers then in Rome, was
banished by the Emperor Domitian. He went to Nicopolis in Epirus (in
north-western Greece) where he opened his own school which acquired a good
reputation, attracting many upper-class Romans. One such student was Flavius
Arrian (c.86–160) who would compose the Discourses and the Handbook, and who
later served in public office under the Emperor Hadrian and made his mark as a
respected historian (much of his writings survive). Origen (Contra Celsum 6.2)
reports that Epictetus had been more popular in his day than had Plato in his.
Aulus Gellius (c.125–c.165) reports that one of Marcus Aurelius' teachers,
Herodes Atticus (c.101–177), considered Epictetus to be 'the greatest of
Stoics' (Attic Nights 1.2.6).
Our sources report that Epictetus
did not marry, had no children, and lived to an old age. With respect to
marriage and children we may note the story from Lucian (Demonax 55) about the
Cynic philosopher Demonax who had been a pupil of Epictetus. On hearing
Epictetus exhort his students to marry and have children (for it was a
philosopher's duty to provide a substitute ready for the time when they would
die), he sarcastically asked Epictetus whether he could marry one of his
daughters.
2. Writings
It appears that Epictetus wrote
nothing himself. The works we have that present his philosophy were written by
his student, Flavius Arrian. We may conjecture that the Discourses and the
Handbook were written some time around the years 104–107, at the time when
Arrian (born c.86) was most likely to have been a student.
Dobbin (1998), though, holds the
view that the Discourses and the Handbook were actually written by Epictetus
himself; the Suda does say, after all, that Epictetus 'wrote a great deal'.
Dobbin is not entirely convinced by Arrian's claim in his dedicatory preface
that he wrote down Epictetus' words verbatim; firstly, stenographic techniques
at this time were primitive, and anyway were the preserve of civil servants;
secondly, most of the discourses are too polished, and look too much like
carefully crafted prose to be the product of impromptu discussions; and
thirdly, some of the discourses (notably 1.29, 3.22 and 4.1) are too long for
extempore conversations.
There is no way to resolve this
question with certainty. Whether the texts we have do indeed represent a
serious attempt to record Epictetus at work verbatim, whether draft texts were
later edited and rewritten (as seems wholly likely), possibly by Epictetus, or
whether Epictetus did in fact write the texts himself, drawing on his
recollections as a lecturer with only occasional attempts at strictly verbatim
accuracy, we shall never know. But what we can be certain of, regardless of who
actually wrote the words onto the papyrus to make the first draft of the text
as we have it today, is that those words were intended to present Stoic moral
philosophy in the terms and the style that Epictetus employed as a teacher
intent on bringing his students to philosophic enlightenment as the Stoics had
understood this enterprise.
a. Discourses
Written in Koine Greek, the
everyday contemporary form of the language, Epictetus' Discourses appear to
record the exchanges between Epictetus and his students after formal teaching
had concluded for the day. Internal textual evidence confirms that the works of
the early Stoic philosophers (Zeno, Cleanthes and Chrysippus) were read and
discussed in Epictetus' classes, but this aspect of Epictetus' teaching is not
recorded by Arrian. What we have, then, are intimate, though earnest,
discussions in which Epictetus aims to make his students consider carefully
what the philosophic life – for a Stoic – consists in, and how to live it
oneself. He discusses a wide range of topics, from friendship to illness, from
fear to poverty, on how to acquire and maintain tranquillity, and why we should
not be angry with other people.
Not all of the Discourses appear to
have survived, as the ancient Byzantine scholar Photius (c.810–c.893) reports
that the complete text originally comprised eight books, whereas all we have
today are four books. Because the text, chapter by chapter, jumps to different
topics and shows no orderly development, it is not readily apparent that
anything is missing, and indeed, the reference to eight books may be mistaken
(though another author, Aulus Gellius, at Attic Nights 19.1.14, refers to the
fifth book of the Discourses). The range of topics is sufficiently broad for us
to be reasonably confident that, even if some of the text has been lost, what
we lack by and large repeats and revisits the material that we have in the book
as it has come down to us.
b. The Handbook
This little book appears to be an
abstract of the Discourses, focusing on key themes in Epictetus' teaching of
Stoic ethics. Some of the text is taken from the Discourses, and the fact that
not all of it can be correlated with passages in the larger work supports the
view that some of the Discourses has indeed been lost. (To find translations of
the Handbook on-line, please visit my 'Translations of Epictetus on the
Internet' page at my BT site or my Geocities site.)
3. Epictetus' Stoicism
The writings of the early Stoics, of Zeno (335–263 B.C.E.) the founder
of the school, of Chrysippus (c.290–207 B.C.E.) the extremely influential third
head of the Stoa, and of others, survive only as quoted fragments found in
later works. The question arises as to what extent Epictetus preserved the
original doctrines of the Stoic school, and to what extent, if any, he branched
out with new emphases and innovations of his own. The nineteenth-century Epictetan
scholar Adolf Bonhöffer (1998, 3) remarks: '[Epictetus] is completely free of
the eclecticism of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius; and, compared with his teacher
Musonius Rufus … his work reveals a considerably closer connection to Stoic
doctrine and terminology as developed mainly by Chrysippus.' Evidence internal
to the Discourses indicates that Epictetus was indeed faithful to the early
Stoics. At 1.4.28–31, Epictetus praises Chrysippus in the highest terms,
saying of him, 'How great the benefactor who shows the way! … who has
discovered, and brought to light, and communicated, the truth to all, not
merely of living, but of living well' (trans. Hard). It would be inconsistent,
if not wholly ridiculous, to laud Chrysippus in such terms and then proceed to depart
oneself from the great man's teaching. At 1.20.15, Epictetus quotes Zeno, and
at 2.6.9–10 he quotes Chrysippus, to support his arguments. Aulus Gellius
(Attic Nights 19.1.14) says that Epictetus' Discourses 'undoubtedly agree with
the writings of Zeno and Chrysippus'.
Scholars are agreed that the 'doctrine of the three topics (topoi)'
(fields of study) which we find in the Discourses originates with Epictetus
(see Bonhöffer 1996, 32; Dobbin 1998, xvii; Hadot 1998, 83; More 1923, 107).
Oldfather (1925, xxi, n. 1), in the introduction to his translation of the
Discourses, remarks that 'this triple division … is the only notable original
element … found in Epictetus, and it is rather a pedagogical device for lucid
presentation than an innovation in thought'. Our enthusiasm for this
division being wholly original to Epictetus should be tempered with a reading
of extracts from Seneca's Moral Letters (75.8–18 and 89.14–15) where we also
find a threefold division of ethics which, although not exactly similar to
Epictetus' scheme, suggests the possibility that both Seneca and Epictetus drew
on work by their predecessors that, alas, has not survived. Suffice it so say,
what Epictetus teaches by means of his threefold division is wholly in accord
with the principles of the early Stoics, but how he does this is uniquely his
own method. The programme of study and exercises that Epictetus' students
adhered to was in consequence different from the programme that was taught by
his predecessors, but the end result, consisting in the special Stoic outlook
on oneself and the world at large and the ability to 'live the philosophic
life', was the same.
4. Key Concepts
a. The Promise of Philosophy
Epictetus, along with all other
philosophers of the Hellenistic period, saw moral philosophy as having the
practical purpose of guiding people towards leading better lives. The aim was
to live well, to secure for oneself eudaimonia ('happiness' or 'a flourishing
life'), and the different schools and philosophers of the period offered
differing solutions as to how the eudaimôn life was to be won.
No less true of us today than it
was for the ancients, few people are content with life (let alone wholly
content), and what contributes to any contentment that may be enjoyed is almost
certainly short-lived and transient.
The task for the Stoic teacher
commences with the understanding that (probably) everyone is not eudaimôn for
much, or even all, of the time; that there is a reason for this being the case
and, most importantly, that there are solutions that can remedy this sorry
state of affairs.
Indeed, Epictetus metaphorically
speaks of his school as being a hospital to which students would come seeking
treatments for their ills (Discourses 3.23.30). Each of us, in consequence
merely of being human and living in society, is well aware of what comprise
these ills. In the course of daily life we are beset by frustrations and
setbacks of every conceivable type. Our cherished enterprises are hindered and
thwarted, we have to deal with hostile and offensive people, and we have to
cope with the difficulties and anxieties occasioned by the setbacks and
illnesses visited upon our friends and relations. Sometimes we are ill
ourselves, and even those who have the good fortune to enjoy sound health have
to face the fact of their own mortality. In the midst of all this, only the
rare few are blessed with lasting and rewarding relationships, and even these
relationships, along with everything that constitutes a human life, are wholly
transient.
But what is philosophy? Does it not mean
making preparation to meet the things that come upon us? (Discourses 3.10.6,
trans. Oldfather)
The ills we suffer, says Epictetus,
result from mistaken beliefs about what is truly good. We have invested our
hope in the wrong things, or at least invested it in the wrong way. Our
capacity to flourish and be happy (to attain eudaimonia) is entirely dependent
upon our own characters, how we dispose ourselves to ourselves, to others, and
to events generally. What qualities our characters come to have is completely
up to us. Therefore, how well we flourish is also entirely up to us.
b. What is Really Good
The central claim of Stoic ethics
is that only the virtues and virtuous activities are good, and that the only
evil is vice and actions motivated by vice (see Discourses 2.9.15 and 2.19.13).
When someone pursues pleasure or wealth, say, believing these things to be
good, the Stoics hold that this person has made a mistake with respect to the
nature of the things pursued and the nature of their own being, for the Stoics
deny that advantages such as pleasure and health (wealth and status, and so
forth) are good, because they do not benefit those who possess them in all
circumstances. Virtue, on the other hand, conceived as the capacity to use such
advantages wisely, being the only candidate for that which is always
beneficial, is held to be the only good thing (see Plato, Euthydemus 278e–281e
and Meno 87c–89a).
Thus, the Stoics identify the
eudaimôn ('happy') life as one that is motivated by virtue. The term we
translate as 'virtue' (from the Latin virtus) is aretê, and means 'excellence'.
To progress towards excellence as a human being, for Epictetus, means
understanding the true nature of one's being and keeping one's prohairesis
(moral character) in the right condition. Epictetus uses the term aretê only
occasionally, and whereas the early Stoics spoke of striving for excellence as
what was proper for a rational creature and required for eudaimonia
('happiness' or well-being), Epictetus speaks of striving to maintain one's
prohairesis in proper order (see Discourses 1.4.18 and 1.29.1).
Although things such as material
comfort, for instance, will be pursued by the Stoic student who seeks
eudaimonia, they will do this in a different way from those not living the
'philosophic life' – for Stoics claim that everything apart from virtue (what
is good) and vice (what is bad) is indifferent, that is, 'indifferent' with
regard to being good or bad. It is how one makes use of indifferent things that
establishes how well one is making progress towards aretê (moral excellence)
and a eudaimôn ('happy') life.
Indifferent things are either
'preferred' or 'dispreferred'. Preferred are health and wealth, friends and
family, and pretty much all those things that most people pursue as desirable
for leading a flourishing life. Dispreferred are their opposites: sickness and
poverty, social exclusion, and pretty much all those things that people seek to
avoid as being detrimental for a flourishing life. Thus, the preferred
indifferents have value for a Stoic, but not in terms of their being good: they
have an instrumental value with respect to their capacities to contribute to a
flourishing life as the objects upon which our virtuous actions are directed
(see Discourses 1.29.2). The Stoic does not lament their absence, for their
presence is not constitutive of eudaimonia. What is good is the virtuous use
one makes of such preferred things should they be to hand, but no less good are
one's virtuous dispositions in living as well as one may, even when they are
lacking.
c. What is in our Power
To maintain our prohairesis (moral
character) in the proper condition – the successful accomplishment of this
being necessary and sufficient for eudaimonia ('happiness') – we must
understand what is eph' hêmin ('in our power' or 'up to us'; see Discourses
1.22.9–16). If we do not do this, our prohairesis will remain in a faulty
condition, for we will remain convinced that things such as wealth and status
are good when they are really indifferent, troubled by frustrations and
anxieties, subject to disturbing emotions we do not want and cannot control,
all of which make life unpleasant and unrewarding, sometimes overwhelmingly so.
This is why Epictetus remarks: 'This is the proper goal, to practise how to
remove from one's life sorrows and laments, and cries of "Alas" and
"Poor me", and misfortune and disappointment' (Discourses 1.4.23,
trans. Dobbin).
No one is master of another's
prohairesis [moral character], and in this alone lies good and evil. No one,
therefore, can secure the good for me, or involve me in evil, but I alone have
authority over myself in these matters. (Discourses 4.12.7–8, trans. Dobbin)
What is in our power, then, is the
'authority over ourselves' that we have regarding our capacity to judge what is
good and what is evil. Outside our power are 'external things', which are
'indifferent' with respect to being good or evil. These indifferents, as we saw
in the previous section, number those things that are conventionally deemed to
be good and those that are conventionally deemed to be bad. Roughly, they are
things that 'just happen', and they are not in our power in the sense that we
do not have absolute control to make them occur just as we wish, or to make
them have exactly the outcomes that we desire. Thus, for example, sickness is
not in our power because it is not wholly up to us whether we get sick, and how
often, nor whether we will recover quickly or indeed at all. Now, it makes sense
to visit a doctor when we feel ill, but the competence of the doctor is not in
our power, and neither is the effectiveness of any treatment that we might be
offered. So generally, it makes sense to manage our affairs carefully and
responsibly, but the ultimate outcome of any affair is, actually, not in our
power.
What is in our power is the
capacity to adapt ourselves to all that comes about, to judge anything that is
'dispreferred' not as bad, but as indifferent and not strong enough to
overwhelm our strength of character.
The Handbook of Epictetus begins
with these words:
Some things are up to us [eph' hêmin]
and some things are not up to us. Our opinions are up to us, and our impulses,
desires, aversions–in short, whatever is our own doing. Our bodies are not up
to us, nor are our possessions, our reputations, or our public offices, or,
that is, whatever is not our own doing. (Handbook 1.1, trans. White)
That is, we have power over our own
minds. The opinions we hold of things, the intentions we form, what we value
and what we are averse to are all wholly up to us. Although we may take
precautions, whether our possessions are carried off by a thief is not up us
(but the intention to steal, that of course is in the power of the thief), and
our reputations, in whatever quarter, must be decided by what other people
think of us, and what they do think is up to them. Remaining calm in the face
of adversity and controlling our emotions no matter what the provocation
(qualities of character that to this day are referred to as 'being stoical'),
are accomplished in the full Stoic sense, for Epictetus, by making proper use
of impressions.
d. Making Proper Use of Impressions
To have an impression is to be
aware of something in the world. For example, I may look out of my window and
have the impression of an airship floating over the houses in the distance.
Whether there is really an airship there, half a mile off, or whether there is
just a little helium-filled model tied to my garden gate by a bit of string, is
a separate question. 'Making proper use of impressions' concerns how we move
from the first thing, being aware of something or other, to the second thing,
making a judgement that something or other is the case. The Stoic stands in
sharp contrast to the non-Stoic, for when the latter faces some disaster, say
(let us imagine that their briefcase has burst open and their papers are
scattered by the wind all along the station platform and onto the track), they
will judge this a terrible misfortune and have the appropriate emotional
response to match. Epictetus would declare that this person has made the wrong
use of their impression.
In the first place, do not allow
yourself to be carried away by [the] intensity [of your impression]: but say,
'Impression, wait for me a little. Let me see what you are, and what you
represent. Let me test you.' Then, afterwards, do not allow it to draw you on
by picturing what may come next, for if you do, it will lead you wherever it
pleases. But rather, you should introduce some fair and noble impression to
replace it, and banish this base and sordid one. (Discourses 2.18.24–5, trans.
Hard)
Few non-Stoics, ignorant of
Epictetus' teaching, would do other than rush around after their papers,
descending deeper and deeper into a panic, imagining their boss at work giving
them a dressing down for losing the papers, making them work extra hours to
make good the loss, and perhaps even dismissing them from their job. The Stoic,
by contrast, tests their impression to see what the best interpretation should
be: losing the papers is a dispreferred indifferent, to be sure, but having an
accident of this sort is bound to happen once in a while, and is nothing to be
troubled about. They will quietly gather up the papers they can, and instead of
panicking with respect to facing their boss, they will rehearse a little speech
about having had an accident and what it means to have lost the papers. If
their boss erupts in a temper, well, that is a concern for the boss.
Our attaining the eudaimôn
('happy') life requires that we judge things in the right way, for 'what
disturbs men's minds is not events but their judgements on events' (Handbook 5,
trans. Matheson).
Remember that foul words or blows in
themselves are no outrage, but your judgement that they are so. So when any one
makes you angry, know that it is your own thought that has angered you.
Wherefore make it your endeavour not to let your impressions carry you away.
For if once you gain time and delay, you will find it easier to control
yourself. (Handbook 20, trans. Matheson)
e. The Three Topoi
The three topoi (fields of study)
establish activities in which the prokoptôn (Stoic student) applies their Stoic
principles; they are practical exercises or disciplines that when successfully
followed are constitutive of the eudaimôn ('happy') life which all rational
beings are capable of attaining.
There are three areas of study, in
which a person who is going to be good and noble must be trained. That
concerning desires and aversions, so that he may never fail to get what he
desires nor fall into what he would avoid. That concerning the impulse to act
and not to act, and, in general, appropriate behaviour; so that he may act in
an orderly manner and after due consideration, and not carelessly. The third is
concerned with freedom from deception and hasty judgement, and, in general,
whatever is connected with assent. (Discourses 3.2.1–2, trans. Hard)
Our capacity to employ these
disciplines in the course of daily life is eph' hêmin ('in our power' or 'up to
us') because they depend on our opinions, judgements, intentions and desires
which concern the way we regard things over which our prohairesis (moral
character) has complete control.
i. The Discipline of Desire
The first discipline concerns what
someone striving for excellence as a rational being should truly believe is
worthy of desire, which for the Stoics is that which is truly good, virtue and
action motivated by virtue.
Of these [three areas of study], the principle, and most urgent, is that
which has to do with the passions; for these are produced in no other way than
by the disappointment of our desires, and the incurring of our aversions. It is
this that introduces disturbances, tumults, misfortunes, and calamities; and
causes sorrow, lamentation and envy; and renders us envious and jealous, and
thus incapable of listening to reason. (Discourses 3.2.3, trans. Hard)
Epictetus remarks: 'When I see a
man anxious, I say, What does this man want? If he did not want some thing
which is not in his power, how could he be anxious?' (Discourses 2.13.1, trans.
Long). Those things that most of us, most of the time, seek after as being
desirable, what we consider will make our lives go well, are things that are
not in our power, and thus the hope we have for securing these things is placed
in the hands of others or in the hands of fate. And when we are thwarted in our
efforts to gain what we desire we become frustrated (or depressed or envious or
angry, or all of these things). To be afflicted with such 'passions', says
Epictetus, is the only real source of misery for human beings. Instead of
trying to relieve ourselves of these unpleasant emotions by pressing all the
harder to secure what we desire, we should rather place our hope not in
'external' things that are not in our power, but in our own dispositions and
moral character. In short, we should limit our desire to virtue and to becoming
(to the best of our capacities) examples of 'excellence'. If we do not do this,
the inevitable result is that we will continue to desire what we may fail to
obtain or lose once we have it, and in consequence suffer the unhappiness of
emotional disquiet (or worse). And as is the common experience of all people at
some time or other, when we are in the grip of such emotions we run the risk of
becoming blind to the best course of action, even when construed in terms of
pursuing 'external' things.
The Stoic prokoptôn, in contrast,
sets their hopes on excellence, recognising that this is where their power over
things lies. They will still pursue those 'preferred indifferent external'
things that are needed for fulfilling those functions and projects that they
deem appropriate for them as individuals, and those they have obligations to
meet. But they will not be distressed at setbacks or failure, nor at
obstructive people, nor at other difficulties (illness, for instance), for none
of these things is entirely up to them, and they engage in their affairs in
full consciousness of this fact. It is in maintaining this consciousness of
what is truly good (virtue), and awareness that the indifferent things are
beyond their power, that makes this a discipline for the Stoic prokoptôn.
ii. The Discipline of Action
The second discipline concerns our
'impulses to act and not to act', that is, our motivations, and answers the
question as to what we each should do as an individual in our own unique set of
circumstances to successfully fulfil the role of a rational, sociable being who
is striving for excellence.
The outcome of our actions is not
wholly in our power, but our inclination to act one way rather than another, to
pursue one set of objectives rather than others, this is in our power. The
Stoics use the analogy of the archer shooting at a target to explain this
notion. The ideal, of course, is to hit the centre of the target, though
accomplishing this is not entirely in the archer's power, for she cannot be certain
how the wind will deflect the arrow from its path, nor whether her fingers will
slip, nor whether (for it is within the bounds of possibility) the bow will
break. The excellent archer does all within her power to shoot well, and she
recognises that doing her best is the best she can do. The Stoic archer strives
to shoot excellently, and will not be disappointed if she shoots well but fails
to hit the centre of the target. And so it is in life generally. The non-Stoic
views their success in terms of hitting the target, whereas the Stoic views
their success in terms of having shot well (see Cicero, On Ends 3.22).
The [second area of study] has to do
with appropriate action. For I should not be unfeeling like a statue, but
should preserve my natural and acquired relations as a man who honours the
gods, as a son, as a brother, as a father, as a citizen. (Discourses 3.2.4,
trans. Hard)
Appropriate acts are in general
measured by the relations they are concerned with. 'He is your father.' This means
that you are called upon to take care of him, give way to him in all things,
bear with him if he reviles or strikes you.
'But he is a bad father.'
Well, have you any natural claim to a
good father? No, only to a father.
'My brother wrongs me.'
Be careful then to maintain the
relation you hold to him, and do not consider what he does, but what you must
do if your purpose is to keep in accord with nature. (Handbook 30, trans.
Matheson)
The actions we undertake, Epictetus
says, should be motivated by the specific obligations that we have in virtue of
who we are, our natural relations to others, and what roles we have adopted in
our dealings with the wider community (see Discourses 2.10.7–13). Put simply,
our interest to live well as rational beings obliges us to act virtuously, to
be patient, considerate, gentle, just, self-disciplined, even-tempered,
dispassionate, unperturbed, and when necessary, courageous. This returns us to
the central Stoic notion that the eudaimôn ('happy') life is realised by those
who are motivated by virtue. The Discipline of Action points out to the
prokoptôn how this should be applied in our practical affairs.
Epictetus sums up the first two
disciplines:
We must have these principles ready to
hand. Without them we must do nothing. We must set our mind on this object:
pursue nothing that is outside us, nothing that is not our own, even as He that
is mighty has ordained: pursuing what lies within our will [prohairetika], and
all else [i.e., indifferent things] only so far as it is given to us. Further,
we must remember who we are, and by what name we are called, and must try to
direct our acts [kathêkonta] to fit each situation and its possibilities.
We must consider what is the time for
singing, what the time for play, and in whose presence: what will be unsuited
to the occasion; whether our companions are to despise us, or we to despise
ourselves: when to jest, and whom to mock at: in a word, how one ought to
maintain one's character in society. Wherever you swerve from any of these
principles, you suffer loss at once; not loss from without, but issuing from
the very act itself. (Discourses 4.12.15–18, trans. Matheson)
The loss here is of course loss of
eudaimonia.
Failing to 'remember who we are'
will result in our failing to pursue those actions appropriate to our
individual circumstances and commitments. Epictetus says that this happens
because we forget what 'name' we have (son, brother, councillor, etc.), 'for
each of these names, if rightly considered, always points to the acts
appropriate to it' (Discourses 2.10.11, trans. Hard). To progress in the
Discipline of Action, then, the prokoptôn must be conscious, moment by moment,
of (a) which particular social role they are playing, and (b) which actions are
required or appropriate for fulfilling that role to the highest standard.
iii. The Discipline of Assent
This exercise focuses on 'assenting
to impressions', and continues the discussion already introduced in the section
above on making proper use of impressions. 'Assent' translates the Greek
sunkatathesis, which means 'approve', 'agree', or 'go along with'. Thus, when
we assent to an impression (phantasia) we are committing ourselves to it as a
correct representation of how things are, and are saying, 'Yes, this is how it
is.' The Discipline of Assent, then, is an exercise applied to our impressions
in which we interpret and judge them in order to move from having the
impression of something or other, to a declaration that such-and-such is the
case.
The third area of study has to do with
assent, and what is plausible and attractive. For, just as Socrates used to say
that we are not to lead an unexamined life [see Plato, Apology 38a], so neither
are we to accept an unexamined impression, but to say, 'Stop, let me see what
you are, and where you come from', just as the night-watch say, 'Show me your
token.' (Discourses 3.12.14–15, trans. Hard)
Make it your study then to confront
every harsh impression with the words, 'You are but an impression, and not at
all what you seem to be'. Then test it by those rules that you possess; and
first by this–the chief test of all–'Is it concerned with what is in our power
or with what is not in our power?' And if it is concerned with what is not in
our power, be ready with the answer that it is nothing to you. (Handbook 1.5,
trans. Matheson)
And we should do this with a view
to avoiding falling prey to subjective (and false) evaluations so that we can
be free from deception and from making rash judgements about how to proceed in
the first two disciplines. For if we make faulty evaluations we will end up
(with respect to the first discipline) having desires for the wrong things
(namely, 'indifferents'), and (with respect to the second discipline) acting
inappropriately with regard to our duties and obligations. This is why
Epictetus remarks that the third topic 'concerns the security of the other two'
(Discourses 3.2.5, trans. Long).
Epictetus runs through a number of
imaginary situations to show how we should be alert to the dangers of assenting
to poorly evaluated impressions:
… We ought … to exercise ourselves
daily to meet the impressions of our senses …. So-and-so's son is dead. Answer,
'That lies outside the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.' His
father has disinherited So-and-so; what do you think of it? 'That lies outside
the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.' Caesar has condemned him.
'That lies outside the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.' He was
grieved at all this. 'That lies within the sphere of the moral purpose, it is
an evil.' He has borne up under it manfully. 'That lies within the sphere of
the moral purpose, it is a good.' Now, if we acquire this habit, we shall make
progress; for we shall never give our assent to anything but that of which we
get a convincing sense-impression. His son is dead. What happened? His son is
dead. Nothing else? Not a thing. His ship is lost. What happened? His ship is
lost. He was carried off to prison. What happened? He was carried off to
prison. But the observation: 'He has fared ill,' is an addition that each man
makes on his own responsibility. (Discourses 3.8.1–5, trans. Oldfather)
What we must avoid, then, is adding
to our impressions immediately and without proper evaluation any notion that
something good or bad is at hand. For the only thing that is good is moral
virtue, and the only harm that anyone can come to is to engage in affairs
motivated by vice. Thus, to see the loss of a ship as a catastrophe would count
as assenting to the wrong impression, for the impression that we have is that
of just a ship being lost. To take the extra step of declaring that this is a
misfortune and harmful would be to assent to an impression that is not in fact
present, and would be a mistake. The loss of a ship, for a Stoic, is nothing
more than a dispreferred indifferent, and does not constitute a harm.
f. God
For Epictetus, the terms 'God',
'the gods', and 'Zeus' are used interchangeably, and they appear frequently in
the Discourses. In the Handbook, God is discussed as the 'captain' who calls us
back on board ship, the subsequent voyage being a metaphor for our departure
from life (see Handbook 7). God is also portrayed as 'the Giver' to whom we
should return all those things we have enjoyed on loan when we lose close
relatives or friends who die, and when we lose our possessions through
misfortune (see Discourses 4.10.16 and Handbook 11).
If the Stoic making progress (the
prokoptôn) understands God, the universe, and themselves in the right way, they
'will never blame the gods, nor find fault with them' (Handbook 31.1, trans.
Oldfather):
Will you be angry and discontented with
the ordinances of Zeus, which he, with the Fates who spun in his presence the
thread of your destiny at the time of your birth, ordained and appointed?
(Discourses 1.12.25, trans. Hard)
Indeed, they will pray to God to
lead them to the fate that He has assigned them:
Lead me, Zeus, and you too, Destiny,
Wherever I am assigned by you;
I'll follow and not hesitate,
But even if I do not wish to,
Because I'm bad, I'll follow anyway.
(Handbook 53, trans. White = extract
from Cleanthes' Hymn to Zeus)
[For] God has stationed us to a certain
place and way of life. (Discourses 1.9.24, trans. Dobbin)
Epictetus presents orthodox Stoic
views on God. His justification for believing in God is expressed essentially
along the lines of what we recognise as an argument from design. The order and
harmony that we can perceive in the natural world (from astronomical events to
the way plants grow and fruit in season) is attributed to a divine providence
that orders and controls the entire cosmos intelligently and rationally (see
Discourses 1.6.1–11, 1.14.1–6, 1.16.7–8 and 2.14.11/25–7). The Stoics were
materialists, and God is conceived of as a type of fiery breath that blends
perfectly with all other matter in the universe. In doing this, God transforms
matter from undifferentiated 'stuff' into the varied forms that we see around
us. This process is continuous, and God makes the world as it is, doing what it
does, moment by moment. Just as the soul of a person is understood to bring
alive and animate what would otherwise be dead and inert matter, so God is
thought of as the 'soul of the world', and the universe is thought of as a sort
of animal.
Stoics hold that the mind of each
person is quite literally a fragment (apospasma) of God (see Discourses
2.8.11), and that the rationality that we each possess is in fact a fragment of
God's rationality; and this Epictetus primarily identifies as the capacity we
have to make proper use of impressions (see Discourses 1.1.12). Epictetus
expresses this in terms of what God has 'given us'; He is conceived of as
having constructed the universe in such a way that we have in our possession
all that is within the compass of our own character or moral choice and nothing
else, but this is no reason for complaint:
What has He given me for my own and subject to my authority, and what
has He left for Himself? Everything within the sphere of the moral purpose He
has given me, subjected them to my control, unhampered and unhindered. My body
that is made of clay, how could He make that unhindered? Accordingly He has
made it subject to the revolution of the universe–[along with] my property, my
furniture, my house, my children, my wife. … But how should I keep them?
In accordance with the terms upon which they have been given, and for as long
as they can be given. But He who gave also takes away. …
And so, when you have received
everything, and your very self, from Another [i.e., God], do you yet complain
and blame the Giver, if He take something away from you? (Discourses 4.1.100–3,
with omissions, trans. Oldfather)
The capacity that the prokoptôn has
for understanding, accepting, and embracing this state of affairs, that this is
indeed the nature of things, is another of the main foundation stones of Stoic
ethics.
g. On Living in Accord with Nature
The outlook adopted and the
activities performed by the Stoic student in pursuit of excellence, as detailed
in the sections above, are frequently referred to collectively by Epictetus
(following the Stoic tradition) as 'following nature' or 'living in harmony
with nature'. The Stoic prokoptôn maintains his 'harmony with nature' by being
aware of why he acts as he does in terms of both (a) what his appropriate
actions are, and (b) accepting what fate brings. If, for example, the prokoptôn
is berated unfairly by his brother, he will not respond with angry indignation,
for this would be 'contrary to nature', for nature has determined how brothers
should rightly act towards each other (see Discourses 3.10.19–20). The task the
Stoic student shoulders is to pursue actions appropriate to him as a brother,
despite all and any provocation to act otherwise (see Handbook 30). This, for
Epictetus, is a major component of what it means to keep one's prohairesis
(moral character) in harmony with nature (see Discourses 1.6.15, 3.1.25 and
3.16.15).
Keeping ourselves in harmony with
nature requires that we focus on two things. Firstly, we must pay attention to
our own actions so that we respond appropriately, and secondly we must pay
attention to the world in which our actions take effect and which prompts those
actions in the first place.
When you are about to undertake some
action, remind yourself what sort of action it is. If you are going out for a
bath, put before your mind what commonly happens at the baths: some people
splashing you, some people jostling, others being abusive, and others stealing.
So you will undertake this action more securely if you say to yourself, 'I want
to have a bath and also to keep my choice [prohairesis] in harmony with
nature.' And do likewise in everything you undertake. So, if anything gets in
your way when you are having your bath, you will be ready to say, 'I wanted not
only to have a bath but also to keep my choice [prohairesis] in harmony with
nature; and I shall not keep it so if I get angry at what happens.' (Handbook
4, trans. Hard)
In this extract about going to the
baths, Epictetus focuses more on accepting what fate brings, saying that we
should anticipate the sorts of things that can happen, so that when they do we
will not be surprised and will not be angry. In other situations, anticipation
of trouble or misfortune is impossible, but all the same, the Stoic will accept
their fate as what God has ordained for them, and this for Epictetus is the
very essence of keeping in harmony with nature (see Discourses 1.4.18–21).
It is circumstances (difficulties)
which show what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember
that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man.
For what purpose? you may say. Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror;
but it is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion no man has had a more
profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use of it as an athlete
would deal with a young antagonist. (Discourses 1.24.1–2, trans. Long)
Every problem we face in life
should be understood as a new opportunity to strengthen our moral character,
just as every new bout for the wrestler provides an opportunity for them to
train their skill in wrestling.
To be instructed is this, to learn to
wish that every thing may happen as it does. And how do things happen? As the
disposer [i.e., God] has disposed them. And he has appointed summer and winter,
and abundance and scarcity, and virtue and vice, and all such opposites for the
harmony of the whole; and to each of us he has given a body, and parts of the
body, and possessions, and companions.
Remembering then this disposition of
things, we ought to go to be instructed, not that we may change the
constitution of things, – for we have not the power to do it, nor is it better
that we should have the power, – but in order that, as the things around us are
what they are and by nature exist, we may maintain our minds in harmony with
the things which happen. (Discourses 1.12.15–17, trans. Long)
The wise and good man … submits his own mind to him who administers the
whole [i.e., God], as good citizens do to the law of the state. He who
is receiving instruction ought to come to be instructed with this intention,
How shall I follow the gods in all things, how shall I be contented with the
divine administration, and how can I become free? For he is free to whom every
thing happens according to his will [prohairesis], and whom no man can hinder.
(Discourses 1.12.7–9, trans. Long)
In this last extract we see
Epictetus refer to the ideal Stoic practice as that of 'following the gods'.
This means essentially the same as 'following nature', for God, who is immanent
in the world (as the Stoics understand it) is identified with the way the world
manifests, so if one follows nature, one must also be following God (see
Discourses 1.20.15, 1.30.4, 4.7.20 and 4.10.14).
h. Metaphors for Life
Epictetus employs a number of metaphors to illustrate what the Stoic
attitude to life should be.
Life as a festival
Epictetus encourages us to think of
life as a festival, arranged for our benefit by God, as something that we can
live through joyously, able to put up with any hardships that befall us because
we have our eye on the larger spectacle that is taking place. Epictetus asks
his students:
Who are you, and for what purpose have you come? Was it not he [i.e.,
God] who brought you here? … And as what did he bring you here? Was it not as a mortal? Was it not
as one who would live, with a little portion of flesh, upon this earth, and
behold his governance and take part with him, for a short time, in his pageant
and his festival? (Discourses 4.1.104, trans. Hard)
The whole thrust of Stoic ethics
aims to persuade us that we should ourselves contribute to the festival by
living as well as we may and fulfilling our duties as sociable citizens of
God's 'great city of the universe' (Discourses 3.22.4, trans. Hard). (See also
Discourses 1.12.21, 2.14.23 and 4.4.24–7/46.)
Life as a game
. At Discourses 2.5.2, in
encouraging his students to appreciate that external things are indifferent
(being neither good nor bad), Epictetus says that we should imitate those who
play dice, for neither the dice nor the counters have any real value; what
matters, and what is either good or bad, is the way we play the game. Similarly
at 2.5.15–20, where Epictetus discusses the example of playing a ball game, no
one considers for a moment whether the ball itself is good or bad, but only
whether they can throw and catch it with the appropriate skill. What matters
are the faculties of dexterity, speed and good judgement exhibited by the
players, for it is in deploying these faculties effectively that any player is
deemed to have played well. (See also Discourses 4.7.5/19/30–1.) Epictetus also
uses the metaphor of playing games when discussing suicide, for just as someone
stops playing a game when they are no longer amused by it, so it should be in
life generally: if life should become unbearable, no one can force us to keep
living it.
To summarize: remember that the door is
open. Do not be more cowardly than children, but just as they say, when the
game no longer pleases them, 'I will play no more,' you too, when things seem
that way to you, should merely say, 'I will play no more,' and so depart; but if
you stay, stop moaning. (Discourses 1.24.20, trans. Hard; see also 1.25.7–21
and 2.16.37)
Life as weaving
. In this metaphor, the wool that
the weaver uses to make cloth takes the place of the ball in the game; that is,
whatever material comes our way, it is our duty to make proper use of it, and
if possible make it into the best thing of its kind as we can (see Discourses
2.5.21–2).
Life as a play
. We have already seen, when
discussing the Discipline of Action, that Epictetus urges us to 'remember who
we are' and what 'name' we have, because what role we play in life will
determine which actions are appropriate for us. Obviously, the metaphor of life
as a play expands on this idea, but also brings in the notion of our having to
accept our fate, whatever that may be, since we do not ourselves chose the role
we must play (for although we may aim for one role rather than another, we must
recognise that our attaining it is not, in fact, 'in our power').
Remember that you are an actor in a play,
which is as the author [i.e., God] wants it to be: short, if he wants it to be
short; long, if he wants it to be long. If he wants you to act a poor man, a
cripple, a public official, or a private person, see that you act it with
skill. For it is your job to act well the part that is assigned to you; but to
choose it is another's. (Handbook 17, trans. Hard)
Life as an athletic contest
. This metaphor invites us to see
an analogy between one's training in Stoic ethics as preparatory for living the
philosophic life and someone's training in athletics as preparatory for
entering the contest in the arena. Epictetus addresses someone who has become
distressed at not having enough leisure to study their philosophy books,
saying:
For is not reading a kind of
preparation for living, but living itself made up of things other than books?
It is as if an athlete, when he enters the stadium, should break down and weep
because he is not exercising outside. This is what you were exercising for;
this is what the jumping-weights, and the sand and your young partners were all
for. So are you now seeking for these, when it is the time for action? That is
just as if, in the sphere of assent, when we are presented with impressions,
some of which are evidently true and others not, instead of distinguishing
between them, we should want to read a treatise On Direct Apprehension.
(Discourses 4.4.11–13, trans. Hard)
Training to live a life that befits
someone who strives for the Stoic ideal is directly compared to athletic
training. Such training is difficult, demanding, and unpleasant; there is
little point in showing eagerness for any endeavour if we have not properly
assessed the demands that will be placed upon us, and in inevitably losing our
original enthusiasm we will look foolish. This applies to philosophic training
no less than to training as a wrestler in preparation for competing in the
Olympic games (see Discourses 3.15.1–13 = Handbook 29). Elsewhere, Epictetus
declares that delay is no longer possible, that we must meet the challenges
that life throws at us:
Therefore take the decision right now
that you must live as a full-grown man, as a man who is making progress; and
all that appears to be best must be to you a law that cannot be transgressed. And
if you are confronted with a hard task or with something pleasant, or with
something held in high repute or no repute, remember that the contest is now,
and that the Olympic games are now, and that it is no longer possible to delay
the match, and that progress is lost and saved as a result of one defeat and
even one moment of giving in. (Handbook 51.2, trans. Boter; see also Discourses
1.4.13–17, 1.18.21–3, 1.24.1–2 and 3.25.3)
Life as military service
. This metaphor returns us to the
Stoic idea that the universe is governed by God, and that, like it or not, we
are all in service to God. The Stoic prokoptôn (student making progress) should
understand that they should live life attempting to discharge this service to
the highest standards. Epictetus addresses the person who is upset that they
are obliged to travel abroad, causing their mother to be distressed at their
absence.
Do you not know that life is a
soldier's service? One man must keep guard, another go out to reconnoitre,
another take the field. It is not possible for all to stay where they are, nor
is it better so. But you neglect to fulfil the orders of the general and
complain, when some severe order is laid upon you; you do not understand to
what a pitiful state you are bringing the army so far as in you lies; you do
not see that if all follow your example there will be no one to dig a trench,
or raise a palisade, no one to keep night watch or fight in the field, but
every one will seem an unserviceable soldier.
… So too it is in the world; each man's
life is a campaign, and a long and varied one. It is for you to play the
soldier's part–do everything at the General's bidding, divining his wishes, if
it be possible. (Discourses 3.24.31–5, trans. Matheson; see also 1.9.24 and
1.16.20–1)
i. Making Progress
In making progress, the Stoic
prokoptôn will pay a price. In standing to God, the world, society, herself and
her undertakings in this new way (by accepting the Stoic notions of what is
truly good, what is truly up to her, where her proper duties lie, and in
considering her life to be one of service to God), the prokoptôn separates
herself from the rest of society in fairly marked, if not profound, ways. For
example, Epictetus wants his students to enjoy and participate in the 'festival
of life', yet at the public games (for instance) they must not support any one
individual, but must wish the winner to be he who actually wins; they must
refrain entirely from shouting or laughing, and must not get carried away by
the spectacle of the contest (Handbook 33.10). So whilst the prokoptôn's
friends immerse themselves fully in the games, cheering on their man and
jeering at his opponent, the Stoic stands aloof and detached. Deliberately
separating herself from the crowd is the price she pays for well-being
(eudaimonia), dispassion (apatheia), tranquillity and imperturbability
(ataraxia), along with the conviction that she is living as God intends.
But having declared her hand, the
prokoptôn will pay in other ways also, for those around her will rebuke and
ridicule her (Handbook 22), for in abandoning the values and practices common
to the wider community, she will provoke hostility and suspicion. Yet there
remains the hope that some at least will see the prokoptôn as someone whose wisdom
has value for the community at large, as someone who serves as an example of
how one may get along in the world without being overwhelmed by it, as someone
with specific skills to offer, such as mediating family disputes and suchlike
(see Discourses 1.15.5).
Epictetus characterises the
differences between the non-philosopher and someone making progress in these
terms:
This is the position and character of a
layman: He never looks for either help or harm from himself, but only from
externals. This is the position and character of the philosopher: He looks for
all his help or harm from himself.
Signs of one who is making progress
are: He censures no one, praises no one, blames no one, finds fault with no
one, says nothing about himself as though he were somebody or knew something.
When he is hampered or prevented, he blames himself. And if anyone compliments
him, he smiles to himself at the person complimenting; while if anyone censures
him, he makes no defence. He goes about like an invalid, being careful not to
disturb, before it has grown firm, any part which is getting well. He has put
away from himself every desire, and has transferred his aversion to those
things only, of what is under our control [eph' hêmin], which are contrary to
nature. He exercises no pronounced choice in regard to anything. If he gives
the appearance of being foolish or ignorant he does not care. In a word, he
keeps guard against himself as though he were his own enemy lying in wait.
(Handbook 48.1–3, trans. Oldfather)
Epictetus' life as a Stoic teacher
can perhaps be regarded as a personal quest to awaken to true philosophic
enlightenment that person who will stand up proudly when his teacher pleads:
Pray, let somebody show me a person who
is in such a good way that he can say, 'I concern myself only with what is my
own, with what is free from hindrance, and is by nature free. That is what is
truly good, and this I have. But let all else be as god may grant; it makes no
difference to me.' (Discourses 4.13.24, trans. Hard)
For having attained such
enlightenment himself (for surely this we must suppose), Epictetus devoted his
life to raising up others from the crowd of humanity who could stand beside him
and share in a perception of the universe and a way of life that any rational
being is obliged to adopt in virtue of the nature of things.
5. Glossary of Terms
adiaphora 'indifferent'; any of those things that are neither good or
bad, everything, in fact, that does not fall under the headings 'virtue' or
'vice'. The indifferents are what those lacking Stoic wisdom frequently
take to have value (either positive or negative), and hence take to be
desirable or undesirable. Pursuing them, or trying to avoid them, can lead to
disturbing emotions that undermine one's capacity to lead a eudaimôn life.
apatheia
freedom from passion, a constituent of the eudaimôn life.
aphormê
aversion; the opposite of hormê.
apoproêgmena
any 'dispreferred' indifferent, including such things as sickness,
poverty, social exclusion, and so forth (conventionally 'bad' things). Suffering
any of the dispreferred indifferents does not detract from the eudaimôn life
enjoyed by the Stoic sophos. See proêgmena.
appropriate action
see kathêkon.
aretê
'excellence' or virtue; in the
context of Stoic ethics the possession of 'moral excellence' will secure
eudaimonia. For Epictetus, one acquires this by learning the correct use of
impressions, following God, and following nature.
askesis
training or exercise undertaken by the Stoic prokoptôn striving to
become a Stoic sophos.
assent
see sunkatathesis and phantasiai (impressions).
ataraxia
imperturbability, literally 'without trouble', sometimes translated as
'tranquillity'; a state of mind that is a constituent of the eudaimôn life.
duty
see kathêkon.
ekklisis
avoidance; opposite of orexis.
ektos
'external'; any of those things
that fall outside the preserve of one's prohairesis, including health, wealth,
sickness, life, death, pain – what Epictetus calls aprohaireta, which are not
in our power, the 'indifferent' things.
emotion
see pathos.
end
see telos.
eph' hêmin
what is in our power, or 'up to us' – namely, the correct use of
impressions.
eudaimonia
'happiness' or 'flourishing' or
'living well'. One achieves this end by learning the correct use of impressions
following God, and following nature.
eupatheiai
'good feelings', possessed by the
Stoic wise person (sophos) who experiences these special sorts of emotions, but
does not experience irrational and disturbing passions.
excellence
see aretê.
external thing
see ektos.
God
see theos.
hêgemonikon
'commanding faculty' of the soul
(psuchê); the centre of consciousness, the seat of all mental states, thought
by the Stoics (and other ancients) to be located in the heart. It manifests
four mental powers: the capacity to receive impressions, to assent to them,
form intentions to act in response to them, and to do these things rationally.
The Discourses talk of keeping the prohairesis in the right condition, and also
of keeping the hêgemonikon in the right condition, and for Epictetus these
notions are essentially interchangeable.
hormê
impulse to act; that which motivates an action.
impressions
see phantasiai.
indifferents
see adiaphora.
kathêkon
any 'appropriate action', 'proper function', or 'duty' undertaken by
someone aiming to do what befits them as a responsible, sociable person. The
appropriate actions are the subject of the second of the three topoi.
katorthôma
a 'right action' or 'perfect action' undertaken by the Stoic sophos,
constituted by an appropriate action performed virtuously.
orexis
'desire' properly directed only at
virtue.
passion
see pathos.
pathos
any of the disturbing emotions or 'passions' experienced by those who
lack Stoic wisdom and believe that externals really are good or bad, when in
fact they are 'indifferent'. A pathos according to the Stoics is a false
judgement based on a misunderstanding of what is truly good and bad.
phantasiai
'impressions', what we are aware of
in virtue of having experiences. Whereas non-rational animals respond to their
impressions automatically (thus 'using' them), over and above using our
impressions, human beings, being rational, can 'attend to their use' and, with
practice, assent or not assent to them as we deem appropriate. The capacity to
do this is what Epictetus strives to teach his students.
phusis
nature. To acquire eudaimonia one
must 'follow nature', which means accepting our own fate and the fate of the
world, as well as understanding what it means to be a rational being and strive
for virtue. See aretê and God.
proêgmena
any 'preferred' indifferent, conventionally taken to be good, including
such things as health and wealth, taking pleasure in the company of others, and
so forth. Enjoying any of the preferred indifferents is not in itself
constitutive of the eudaimôn life sought by the Stoic prokoptôn. See
apoproêgmena.
prohairesis
'moral character', the capacity
that rational beings have for making choices and intending the outcomes of
their actions, sometimes translated as will, volition, intention, choice, moral
choice, moral purpose. This faculty is understood by Stoics to be essentially
rational. It is the faculty we use to 'attend to impressions' and to give (or withhold)
assent to impressions.
prokoptôn
one who is making progress (prokopê) in living as a Stoic, which for
Epictetus means above all learning the correct use of impressions.
proper function
see kathêkon.
right action
see katorthôma.
sophos
the Stoic wise person who values only aretê and enjoys a eudaimôn life. The
sophos enjoys a way of engaging in life that the prokoptôn strives to emulate
and attain.
sunkatathesis
assent; a capacity of the prohairesis to judge the significance of
impressions.
tarachê
disturbance, trouble; what one avoids when one enjoys ataraxia.
telos
end; that which we should pursue for its own sake and not for the sake
of any other thing. For the Stoic, this is virtue. Epictetus formulates
the end in several different but closely related ways. He says that the end is
to maintain one's prohairesis in proper order, to follow God, and to follow
nature, all of which count as maintaining a eudaimôn life. The means by which
this is to be accomplished is to apply oneself to the 'three disciplines'
assiduously.
theos
God, who is material, is a sort of
fiery breath that blends with undifferentiated matter to create the forms that
we find in the world around us. He is supremely rational, and despite our
feelings to the contrary, makes the best world that it is possible to make.
Epictetus says that we should 'follow God', that is, accept the fate that He
bestows on us and on the world. Stoics understand that the rationality enjoyed
by every human being (and any other rational beings, should there be any) is
literally a fragment of God.
topoi
'topics'. The 'three topics' or
'fields of study' which we find elucidated in the Discourses is an original
feature of Epictetus' educational programme. The three fields of study are: (1)
The Discipline of Desire, concerned with desire and avoidance (orexis and
ekklisis), and what is really good and desirable (virtue, using impressions
properly, following God, and following nature); (2) The Discipline of Action,
concerned with impulse and aversion (hormê and aphormê), and our 'appropriate
actions' or 'duties' with respect to living in our communities in ways that
befit a rational being; and (3) The Discipline of Assent, concerned with how we
should judge our impressions so as not to be carried away by them into anxiety
or disturbing emotions with the likelihood of failing in the first two
Disciplines.
virtue
from the Latin virtus which translates the Greek aretê, 'excellence'.
Zeus
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