Dane R. Gordon & David B. Suits, Epictetus. His Continuing Influence and Contemporary Relevance (Inglés)

EPICTETus
EPICTETus
His Continuing Influence
and
Contemporary Relevance
edited by
Dane R. Gordon
and
David B. Suits
rit press
2014
Epictetus: His Continuing Influence and Contemporary Relevance
Edited by Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits
Copyright (c) 2014 Rochester Institute of Technology and individual contributors.

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ISBN 978-1-933360-90-4 (print)
ISBN 978-1-933360-91-1 (e-book)
Cover image: Detail of imaginary portrait of Epictetus. Engraved frontispiece of Edward Ivie’s
Latin translation (or versification) of Epictetus’ Enchiridon, printed in Oxford in 1751.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:
Epictetus : his continuing influence and contemporary relevance / edited by Dane R. Gordon
and David B. Suits.
pages cm
Includes index.
ISBN 978-1-933360-90-4 (alk. paper)
1. Epictetus. I. Gordon, Dane R., editor of compilation.
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188--dc23
2013038824
EPICTETUS:
His Continuing Influence and
Contemporary Relevance
7 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
9 Introduction
15 Socrates, Heracles and the Deflation of Roles in Epictetus

Brian Earl Johnson
41 Foucault on Askesis in Epictetus: Freedom through

Determination
Christopher Davidson
55 Taking the Same Things Seriously and Not Seriously: A Stoic

Proposal on Value and the Good
Katja Maria Vogt
77 Epictetus’s Moral Epistemology

Jeffrey Fisher
89 In Defense of Patience
Matthew Pianalto
105 Epictetus on the Meaning of Names and on

Comprehensive Impressions
Eleni Tsalla
131 Kant and Epictetus. Transformations of Imperial Stoicism

Matthias Rothe
151 Self-Identity in Epictetus: Rationality and Role

Carrie L. Bates
165 Epictetus and Moral Apprehensive Impressions in Stoicism

Pavle Stojanovic

197 The Curious Case of Epictetus’s Encheiridion
Scott Aikin
207 Epictetus on Beastly Vices and Animal Virtues

William O. Stephens
241 index
259 Contributors

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits
We wish to express our sincere appreciation to James Winebrake,

Dean of the College of Liberal Arts at Rochester Institute of Technology, for so
generously funding nearly the entirety of the April 2012 conference on Epictetus
that inspired the papers in this book. Other financial assistance came from
Wade L. Robison, the Ezra A. Hale Chair in Applied Ethics at R.I.T.
Our colleagues Silvia Benso and Katie Terezakis were instrumental
in getting this conference organized, inviting speakers, refereeing papers, and
making sure that all went well during the conference itself.
Finally, we want to thank Lindsey Johnson and Christine Sage Suits for
their help in making the conference run smoothly.
7
8 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance
introduction
Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits
In our initial discussions about whether or not to hold a conference

on Epictetus, we wondered how much interest there was. Epictetus (c. 50–120
CE) is less well-known than other Stoics, and his teaching is not regarded by
all scholars with unqualified esteem. W. A. Oldfather observes that because
so many passages in Epictetus can be paralleled from remaining fragments of
Musonius Rufus, his teacher, “there can be no doubt but the system of thought
of the pupil is little more than an echo, with changes of emphasis due to the
personal equation, of that of the master” (“Introduction”, viii, n2).1
A. A. Long, in his study of Epictetus, published many years later, does
not agree. He discusses the issue of originality and concludes, “much of Epictetus’
philosophy appears to be fresh in formulation and distinctive in emphasis”
(Epictetus, 32). Long provides strong affirmation: “Epictetus is a thinker we
cannot forget, once we have encountered him, because he gets under our skin.
[…] [N]o one who knows his work can simply dismiss it as theoretically invalid
or practically useless. In times of stress, as modern Epictetans have attested, his
recommendations make their presence felt” (Epictetus, 1).
Epictetus’s mother was a slave, and he himself was a slave in the early
part of his life. Epaphroditus, Epictetus’s master, allowed him to attend the
lectures of Musonius Rufus, a distinguished Stoic teacher, and later gave him
his freedom.
Throughout his life freedom was of greatest importance to him.
Oldfather writes, “I know no man upon whose lips the idea more frequently
occurs. The words ‘free’ (adjective and verb) and ‘freedom’ appear some 130
times in Epictetus, that is, with a relative frequency about six times that of their
occurrence in the New Testament […]” (“Introduction”, xvii).
Epictetus did not write for publication. What he taught was taken
down in stenographic form by Flavius Arrian, one of Epictetus’s pupils, and
published in eight books of Diatribai, or Discourses, of which four survive; and
a brief selection of his work, known as Encheiridion (Manual or Handbook) was
published for those of the general public who could not take time to read the
Discourses.
They are remarkable in ancient philosophic work as providing the
ipsissima verba of the lecturer, following the twists and turns, the abrupt changes
1 Bibliographic information for all references can be found in the Select

Bibliography at the end of this Introduction.
Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits 9

and sometimes contradictions of his thought. They reveal the personality of a
teacher absolutely committed to what he taught.
Cynthia King remarks that according to Musonius Rufus, “philosophy,
done properly, should affect us personally and profoundly. […] [O]ne of the
primary objectives of philosophy [is] to reveal to us our shortcomings so we can
overcome them and thereby live a good life” (“Editor’s Preface”, 11). Reading the
Discourses, it is clear that Epictetus fully agreed with that.
Perhaps the most important of Epictetus’s beliefs is the distinction
between what is in a person’s power and what is not. From the opening passage
of the Encheiridion we find this:
Under our control are conception, choice, desire, aversion,

and, in a word, everything that is our own doing; not
under our control are our body, our property, reputation,
office, and, in a word, everything that is not our own doing.
Furthermore, the things under our control are by nature free,
unhindered, and unimpeded; while the things not under our
control are weak, servile, subject to hindrance, and not our
own. Remember, therefore, that if what is naturally slavish
you think to be free, and what is not your own to be your
own, you will be hampered, will grieve, will be in turmoil,
and will blame both gods and men; while if you think only
what is your own to be your own, and what is not your own
to be, as it really is, not your own, then no one will ever be
able to exert compulsion upon you, no one will hinder you,
you will blame no one, you will find fault with no one, will
do absolutely nothing against your will, you will have no
personal enemy, no one will harm you, for neither is there
any harm that can touch you. [Encheiridion 1]
The moral of life for Epictetus was to accept what God had determined
one should be and do. “Remember”, he declares, “that you are an actor in a play,
the character of which is determined by the Playwrite […]. For this is your
business, to play admirably the rôle assigned you; but the selection of that rôle is
Another’s” (Encheiridion 18.17).
Epictetus had a high level of personal responsibility that stemmed first
of all from the fact that we are citizens of the world and are expected to be
concerned for one another, and then from the fact that we all have a portion of
the same God. We carry him within us and must take care not to defile him by
what we say or by our behavior.
Understandably, a number of early Christians regarded Epictetus’s
teaching as strongly evocative of the New Testament. The Epistle of James
has numerous suggestive parallels. Such apparent similarities continued to
1 0 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

be attractive. The seventeenth-century scholar Thomas Gataker wrote that
“it may be boldly asserted, there are no remaining monuments of the ancient
strangers, which come nearer to the doctrine of CHRIST, than the writings
and admonition of these two: Epictetus and [Marcus Aurelius] Antoninus”. The
quote is taken from a review by Noel Malcolm of Christopher Brooke’s 2012
book, Philosophic Pride: Stoicism and Political Thought from Lipsius to Rousseau.
Malcolm notes that Stoicism “was an omnipresent yet problematical factor in
early modern intellectual life”. We believe that it remains a potent factor still,
in particular in the teaching of Epictetus. Consider Long’s comment, quoted
earlier: “Epictetus is a thinker we cannot forget […]. In times of stress, as
modern Epictetans have attested, his recommendations make their presence
felt.” In 2013, we live in times of stress. It might seem that almost everyone
who can afford it, at least in North America, has a personal counselor to find
relief from stress. In that respect Epictetus’s teaching is pointedly relevant to
the anxieties of contemporary life. His basic advice is good: take life as it comes,
don’t worry about what is not in our control; do be concerned with what is in our
control—with how we think, with what we choose and how we behave toward
other people. “Hardly philosophy”, some people may object; “no more than self-
help.” But to others Epictetus’s teaching is profoundly philosophic. Self-help and
helping others were motivating factors for the earlier philosopher Epicurus, and
before him Aristotle, and before him Socrates. Epictetus, who was not widely
familiar with other philosophers, would nevertheless most likely have known
Socrates’s maxim “know thyself ”. These philosophers shared the belief that life
requires the exercise of reason, not excluding emotion, to guide us in how we
behave, and in our concern for one another.
We went ahead with the conference in April of 2012. Attendees came
from different parts of the United States, from Poland, and from the United
Kingdom. The conference itself was lively, discussion after the papers at times
animated. One of those who came told us that in twenty years of teaching and
scholarly interest in Epictetus, this was the first conference he had known that
dealt specifically with that philosopher.
Eleven papers are included in this book. (For reasons of time
constraints, only nine of them were presented at the conference itself.) What
follows are brief sketches of salient ideas and questions to be found in each one.
The reader may notice the range of topics the authors address, an indication
to us that what Epictetus taught provides strong incentive to contemporary
philosophical thinking.
Brian Earl Johnson discusses the implication of a passage in the
Encheiridion: “We are actors in a play”. According to this, each person has a
divinely given role and is responsible for playing it well. But a person has other
roles: husband, wife, senator, soldier, or cobbler. Do these roles have value
of their own or do they simply “deflate” into the larger cosmic role that we
are given?

Christopher Davidson considers Epictetus from the point of view of
Foucault. “Foucault’s work on the Ancients”, he writes, “is better understood
as a challenge or interrogation of current understanding of freedom.” This
is especially true of askesis—“the self adjusting the self ”. Foucault’s understanding
of askesis, as seen in his reading of Epictetus, unsettles what has become
obvious. He prompts us “to think of a different kind of self: a self which,
if internally compelled and constituted by techniques of askesis, is determined to
become free”.
Katja Maria Vogt suggests we should ask “whether the seemingly
antithetical attitudes of taking the same things seriously and not seriously are
rational modes of valuing”. In the conclusion of her essay she writes: “Stoic
ethics is the only major ethical theory that focuses on what I take to be a
pervasive task in ordinary life: taking the same thing seriously and not seriously.
[…] The Stoics […] address the challenge of taking the same things seriously
and not seriously as a fundamental component of their ethical theorizing. As
I see it, it is a virtue of a philosophical theory to acknowledge how widely this
challenge figures in ordinary life, and to try to account for the rationality of the
relevant attitudes.”
Jeffrey Fisher explains that the goal of his paper is to explain “why
exactly Epictetus’s epistēmē of life should be understood as an epistēmē in the
orthodox Stoic sense […] as a system of cognitions”. Fisher points out that
according to Epictetus we can have cognitions of general ethical truths and
their application. To Epictetus, therefore, the epistēmē of life is comprised of
cognitions. In sum, the epistēmē of life as Epictetus understands it is “an epistēmē
in the orthodox Stoic sense”.
Matthew Pianalto offers “an account of the defense of patience that
places it at the center of the moral life”. He shows how the significance of patience
is reflected in Seneca and Epictetus. He writes in his abstract (not included in
this book): “understanding the value and scope of patience, and the vices and
emotions it opposes, also provides a way of understanding and defending the
Stoic ideals of fortitude, detachment and tranquility of mind because patience
itself is a central virtue for the Stoics, even if not often or explicitly named.”
Eleni Tsalla notes that according to Epictetus, the examination or
observance of names is “foundational for the philosophical endeavor”. But
deciphering the meaning of names reveals the nature and function of things
only when they are understood with reference to the nature of the whole, i.e.,
the cosmos. In similar manner, a comprehensive impression is “one by means of
which the observer entertains an immediate impression of a thing while at the
same time positioning the thing securely in the structure of the cosmos”. To a
contemporary reader reflecting on Tsalla’s paper, this may capture the feeling of
insignificance that people have in the face of great events, such as death, and the
encouragement to be drawn from belief that we live in an ordered universe in
which there are reasons for what happens.

Matthias Rothe claims that of all Stoic philosophers, “Epictetus
appears to be the one who resonates most with Kant’s thinking”. Both Kant
and the Stoics grounded their ethics on “the dignity of man in freedom”. This
freedom, Rothe writes, “is realized or guaranteed in Kant through the categorical
imperative. And there is indeed a concept in Stoic philosophy” used most
systematically by Epictetus “that can be understood as a functional equivalent
of the categorical imperative: the circle of familiarities”. In these ways Kant and
Epictetus are similar in their ethical teaching. But Rothe also calls our attention
to an important difference between them.
Carrie L. Bates writes on behalf of the equal status of women. She
argues that, according to Epictetus, a person’s true status is that of a child of God.
Our bodies belong to the category of “not up to us”. Our sex, man or woman, is
accidental and plays no part in who we really are. Gender difference, therefore,
is irrelevant.
Pavle Stojanovic writes about apprehensive impressions, “the only
type of impression whose propositional content is such that it could not turn
out to be false and which, because of this, unmistakably represents the thing
that caused the impression”. He asks whether the Stoics thought that the moral
and practical perfection of the Sage is based on apprehensive impressions, and
if so, whether they consider that apprehensive impressions ensure that the Sage’s
actions are always morally right. He introduces a “Discrimination Requirement”
that provides the basis for morally perfect action.
Scott Aikin considers the “curious case” of Encheiridion 33.11–15,
in which Epictetus appears to argue that whether or not others are pleased
by what we say and do is morally irrelevant, yet criticizes certain kinds of talk
because it is liable to “lessen your neighbor’s respect for you”. That appears to
be a contradiction. Aikin argues that if, in specific circumstances, we see the
opinions of others as being a feedback mechanism that enables us to evaluate
our own virtue, then the two views are consistent.
According to William O. Stephens, Epictetus’s views on Naminals (as
Stephens calls nonhuman animals) have not been scrutinized by philosophers
because, to the Stoics, Naminals lack the ability to reason; their behavior is
irrelevant to the art of living. Yet for Epictetus, Naminals have a beauty when
they behave in accord with their own nature. In that respect humans can take
them as their model. But it is natural for lions to be vicious, pigs to wallow in
the mud, characteristics which humans should avoid. How do we resolve that?
***
It was a pleasure for us to hear these papers, and to discuss them at
the conference, and, as editors, to become acquainted again with the ideas and
issues. We hope your experience of them will be as enriching.
— David B. Suits and Dane R. Gordon

Select Bibliography
Epictetus. Encheiridion. In Epictetus: The Discourses as Reported by Arrian,

The Manual, and Fragments, translated by W. A. Oldfather, vol. 2.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library,
1966.
King, Cynthia. “Editor’s Preface”. In Musonius Rufus: Lectures and Sayings,

translated by Cynthia King. www.CreateSpace.com: William B. Irvine,
2011.
Long, Anthony A. Epictetus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Malcolm, Noel. “Adventures of the Stoics”. Times Literary Supplement 5718 (28
September 2012).
Oldfather, W. A. “Introduction”. In Epictetus: The Discourses as Reported by

Arrian, The Manual, and Fragments, translated by W. A. Oldfather,
vol. 1. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical
Library, 1967.

Socrates, Heracles, and the Deflation of
Roles in Epictetus 1
Brian Earl Johnson
The Socrates of Plato’s Apology rather famously defends his life by

arguing that he was stationed to be a kind of philosophical gadfly by the god at
Delphi (Ap. 28d–29e, 30e, and 37e–38a). Plato’s Socrates defends his actions by
reference to his own special station in life. Whereas Socrates expects others to
engage in the same self-examination that he practiced, he appears to treat his
own station of gadfly as nearly sui generis, for he suggests that a man like him is
hard to replace (31a). In addition, he provides no hint about how others might
interpret their own lives as a station with special obligations.
To the question of how we might universalize the Socratic position
in the Apology, the Stoic Epictetus adopts the Socratic idea of a station (taxis)
and asserts that the life of each person represents a post that is assigned by the
divine general (Discourses iii.24.34 and 95–99; cf. i.16.20–21). Epictetus appears
to equate this military analogy with a stage metaphor according to which every
agent should be understood as inhabiting a divinely given role (prosôpon):
Remember that you are an actor in a drama, which is as the

playwright wishes; if the playwright wishes it short, it will be
short; if long, then long; if the playwright wishes you to play
a beggar, [it is assigned] in order that you good-naturedly
play even that role; [and similarly] if [you are assigned to
play] a disabled person, an archon, or a lay person. For this is
what is yours: to play finely the role [prosôpon] that is given;
but to select [that role] itself is another’s [i.e., the divine
playwright]2. [Epictetus, Encheiridion 17]
1 I would like to thank the editors of Ancient Philosophy for their permission to
reprint this paper, an earlier version of which was published in Vol. 32 (Spring,
2012): 125–145.
2 Translations are my own, but I am indebted to the translations of Oldfather and
Hard, both of which frequently agree. I have also benefited from Dobbin, Epictetus:
Discourses, Book I and Dobbin’s translations in Epictetus: Discourses and Selected
Writings. Bibliographic information for all references can be found in the Select
Bibliography at the end of this essay.
Brian Earl Johnson 15

Just as Plato’s Socrates insists that he must steadfastly remain in his
military-like station or be disgraced (Ap. 28d), so Epictetus insists that each of
us must fulfill his or her assigned role or else be disgraced (Ench. 37).
Beyond universalizing the station to all agents, Epictetus appears to
have worked out a simple classification scheme for the roles that we must play.
He implies that our roles divide into two sorts (iii.23.3–5),3 one sort is common
to us as rational human agents (ii.9.1–10), and another sort is more specific
to us as individuals: “son, father, brother, citizen, husband, wife, neighbor,
fellow-traveler, ruler, and subject” (ii.14.8), and so on. Applied to Socrates,
Epictetus’s account means that Socrates had the common role of a human being
that includes the obligation to practice the canonical Greek virtues and treat
externals as a matter of indifference. In addition, Socrates had the more specific
role of philosophic teacher that included such obligations as playing the gadfly
and inflaming the jurors at his defense,4 a role potentially shared by only a small
sector of humanity.
Interestingly, whereas this account provides an innovative framework
for Socrates’s remarks in the Apology, Epictetus’s account of roles immediately
confronts interpreters with its own difficulty: what is the status of these more
specific roles? In particular, do these specific roles (such as brother or gadfly)
lay upon us any special obligations that are not stipulated by or necessitated by
our human role? Does Socrates’s role as gadfly represent a special obligation to
cross-examine others, an obligation that is distinctive from his general human
obligation to seek a life of virtue? Or, do these specific roles arise merely from
the application of our universal, human role to some given circumstance?
That is, does Socrates’s role as gadfly arise simply because he has (in his view)
received a divine order and thus his mission is nothing more than the human
virtue of piety? In turn, this question about the status of Socrates’s role as gadfly
has significance for how (on Epictetus’s view) we ought to evaluate our own lives
and actions relative to Socrates’s actions.
Thus far in the literature, the most common response to these examples
of specific roles has been the latter interpretation. For example, two noted
authors on the subject, Bonhöffer (The Ethics of the Stoic Epictetus) and Gill
(“Personhood and Personality”), doubt that Epictetus awards these specific roles
such as father or philosophic teacher with a substantive place in the prudential
reasoning of individuals. Both scholars appear to believe that Epictetus endorses
only one kind of role, our human one, with all other “roles” as the expression
of our humanity in specific contexts and circumstances. Since this reading
favors only one role holding for all, we might call it the “deflationary” reading.
3 This passage is discussed below in Section I.

4 This is how Epictetus interprets Socrates. See i.9.23–26 and iii.1.19–23; cf. the
echoes in i.16.21 and iii.24.99. Also cf. note 26.

Bonhöffer treats those actions that fulfill our role as brother or friend as
mere applications of our universal (human) obligations. For example, regarding
Epictetus’s claim that a brother’s role requires “deference, obedience, good
speech, and never laying claim against your brother for any of the things beyond
[the province] of choice” (ii.10.8), Bonhöffer says that one “sees at once that
these duties contain really nothing characteristic, but are essentially the same
ones which generally hold good in dealings with human beings” (The Ethics of
the Stoic Epictetus, 129)5. Thus, Bonhöffer does not believe that different jobs
will require different appropriate acts. This way of reading specific roles seems
an application of the view that the Stoics have “the tendency […] to obliterate
and [make] uniform individuality” (153).
Similarly, Gill offers a deflationary reading of two of the key discourses
(i.2 and ii.10). According to Gill, Epictetus’s “advice to maintain [one’s] own
prosôpon is converted into the advice to maintain our universal prosôpon as
human beings” (“Personhood and Personality”, 189)6. Correspondingly, Gill
argues that Discourses ii.10 is interested only in our universal role as human
beings, and that our roles such as ruler or guest “are, in essence, simply regarded
as contexts in which rational moral agency can be expressed” (191). Gill
suggests that for Epictetus these specific roles do not have “a weight and value of
their own” (192).
5 A version of this position also seems to be put forward by N. White: “It does
appear that [Panaetius], more than Epictetus, stressed the differences that might
obtain among various people all aiming at the same ideal. For although Epictetus
is concerned […] with giving advice to imperfect human beings, he tends to
assume that generally speaking the same advice will do pretty well for all of us”
(The Handbook of Epictetus, 7).
6 Gill makes a weaker version of this claim, saying that specific roles “should,
in effect, be subordinated to our common human role” (“Personhood and
Personality”, 189). This weaker claim is echoed by A. A. Long and J. Annas.
Long appears to hold that our specific or “secondary roles” consist of our own
endowments and relations, which mediate the norms laid down by our humanity
in the same way that our own circumstances mediate Aristotle’s mean relative to
us (Epictetus, 232 and 237–241). Annas treats roles as “embedded perspectives”
that offer a way of “aspiring to the Stoic ideal in our everyday life” (“Epictetus
on Moral Perspectives”, 148). She identifies this Stoic ideal with the universal
reason of the human role (145). In her view, whereas it is realistic and pragmatic
to work within our specific roles, we must nonetheless aim at the one, universal
ideal (cf. 150). While I agree with Gill, Long, and Annas that the universal human
role should take priority (since the demands of our specific roles should never
undermine our humanity), I am opposing them by arguing that, in Epictetus’s
view, these specific roles are not merely extensions or mediations of our human
role, but are substantial fixed points in our practical reasoning.

This deflationary view is plausible, but it generates a number of
difficulties for Epictetus’s account of roles. Above all, Epictetus does not fulfill
the stated purpose of his account. He announces that we can account for
many different lives as different kinds of roles (Ench. 17); but, according to the
deflationary model, we need only to reflect on our lone role as human beings.
Moreover, it is puzzling that Epictetus bluntly tells us that we cannot all be like
Socrates (i.2.33) because “all horses do not become fast” (i.2.34). Stranger still,
Epictetus nowhere invokes our humanity in the examples of roles in Discourses
i.2, even though the deflationary reading requires it to do the important work
of the account.7 Indeed, on the deflationary reading, it is hard to see what a
role even is.
Alternatively, if we take Epictetus to be differentiating the role and
obligations of Socrates from other kinds of roles and their obligations, we
can account for these oddities. Epictetus introduces the stage metaphor and
exemplifies each life as a kind of role, putting emphasis on the specific roles
that we inhabit, from friend to teacher. I shall examine cases in which Epictetus
suggests how specific roles feature in the deliberations of agents. Epictetus
sketches a layered picture of humanity, according to which we have our human
role and our more specific roles.
I.
Towards the end of Discourses ii.5, Epictetus takes up the view that
we, as human beings, are attached to the cosmos just as a foot is connected
organically to the body; and, just as a severed foot is no longer a foot, so a
“detached” human would no longer be a human being (ii.5.24–26). Immediately
following this claim, Epictetus clarifies it by pointing out that we are citizens of
the cosmos and citizens of a human city. He then concludes the discourse by
examining the trial and condemnation of an individual who sounds like Socrates
(ii.5.27–29). I attempt to unpack ii.5.24–29 in order to show that it provides
a layered picture according to which our calculations about our human role
are distinct from our calculations about our specific roles. This analysis focuses
on Epictetus’s treatment of Socrates’s universal role as a human being and the
resulting conflict with his specific roles as gadfly and father. I demonstrate that
one layer of reasoning does not “deflate” into the other, and that role conflicts
are possible.
Discourses ii.5.26 asserts that human beings are members of two poleis:
“For what is a human being? A part of a polis; first, [of that polis composed]
7 R. Dobbin (Epictetus, 80) thinks that our humanity is invoked at i.2.26 where a
great athlete’s fatal decision is justified on the grounds that he acted “as a man”,
but the Greek is anêr, not anthrôpos. In addition, Epictetus further qualifies the
athlete’s role as that of an Olympic athlete who thus differs even from ordinary
athletes or nonathletes (cf. 84–85).

of gods and humans; and then, of that which is said to be as close as possible
[hôs engista] [to that],8 [the polis] that is a certain small copy [mimêma] of
the universal [polis]” (ii.5.26).9 This passage regards us as citizens of the
polis of gods and humans, and it seems apparent that this citizenship refers
to our cosmopolitan role as a human being. It also makes us members of a
microcosmic polis such as Athens or Corinth, and gives us the many other
roles that citizens assume there, such as senator or shoemaker (cf. Ench. 24.4).
Epictetus’s understanding of the relationship between these two forms of
citizenship holds great importance for determining what he thinks about the
relationship between the universal role and specific roles.
Epictetus claims that our political community is a “small copy of ” and
is “as close as possible” to the cosmic community. It seems that he sees city-states
as “copies” of the cosmic state inasmuch as the citizens of both ought to obey a
sovereign and act for the benefit of the whole:
What, then, is the profession of a citizen? To keep nothing

profitable in private, to plan about nothing as if he were
detached [from everyone], but [to act] just as the foot or
8 Oldfather renders this line in ii.5.26 as “and then of that which is said to be very
close to the other”, whereas Hard renders it as “and next, of that to which you
immediately belong”. On Oldfather’s reading, Epictetus indicates a close kinship
between the cosmic polis and the human polis; on Hard’s reading, Epictetus merely
says that we are immediately proximate to our civic polis. Although, grammatically
speaking, we might debate what is being called close to what, there are good
grounds for favoring Oldfather’s interpretation as the more consistent. If we
follow Hard’s interpretation, we have made Epictetus say that our civic polis is
nearer to us than the city of humans and gods. Unless we attribute to Epictetus the
rustic and non-Stoic view that the gods inhabit a faraway place (such as Mount
Olympus), it is difficult to make sense of this interpretation. For Epictetus, as for
any Stoic, the cosmic polis envelops us; in fact, Epictetus forcefully asserts that our
immediate and fundamental kinship is not to our civic polis, but to the cosmic
polis (i.9.1–7). Epictetus cites Socrates as an exemplar of this cosmopolitan kinship,
and he explains the primacy of our cosmic citizenship by reference to the fact
that we are “interwoven with God through logos” (i.9.5). Indeed, this immediate
kinship with the cosmos is even emphasized in lines before ii.5.26 when Epictetus
urges that we ought to consider ourselves as “parts of the whole” (ii.5.25). The
cosmic kinship is also reflected in Epictetus’s emphasizing that we are surrounded
by physical nature and all the random events of life (ii.5.27 and iii.24.29). For these
reasons, my translation takes Epictetus to say that the human polis is as close as
possible to the cosmic polis.
9 See also ii.6.9–10 and ii.10.4–6, of which the latter passage is preceded by a
discussion of our universal (human) role.

the hand, which, if they had reason and understood the
construction of nature, would never exercise an impulse or a
desire in any other way than by reference to the whole. […]
[Our place] is assigned from the arrangement of the whole,
and the whole is more sovereign than the part, and the state
more sovereign than the citizen. [ii.10.4–5]
Indeed, whenever Epictetus discusses our cosmic (human) commitments

in relation to our specific political commitments, he mirrors these themes about
reasoning holistically (see i.9.1–7 and ii.15.10). The polis, then, is a mimêma that
is “as close as possible” to the cosmos because the two have parallel components
expected to perform corresponding functions: a citizen ought to obey the
sovereign just as a human being ought to obey nature, a citizen should benefit
the whole just as a human ought to benefit the world, and so on. Features
of my political citizenship arise from the part that I play in my specific polis,
just as features of my cosmic citizenship arise from the part that I play in the
world at large.
In opposition to the deflationary reading, Epictetus treats our cosmic
and political stations as hierarchical but distinct cases of membership (as parts)
in a whole.10 He does not treat one as an instance of the other. Moreover, outside
of the ii.10.4–6 passage on citizenship, Epictetus’s picture of cosmopolitanism
makes the distinction between cosmic and civic memberships even stronger. In
his cosmopolitan view, Epictetus distinguishes our political citizenship from
our cosmic citizenship, and he values cosmopolitanism over our more narrow
commitments because it is our relation to nature that makes possible our civic
communities (i.9.1–7). Even though the universal form of citizenship is more
fundamental, this fact does not support the deflationary reading, because the
priority means that we should meet our civic commitments after trying to meet
our cosmic attachments. By distinguishing our specific roles from our cosmic
role, Epictetus opens the possibility of conflict between our specific roles. Role
conflict clashes with the deflationary model because that model regards specific
roles as nothing more than applications of the universal role to our particular
circumstances. The universal role cannot demand p while its particular
applications demand q and r such that q and r are in conflict.11
10 Cf. iii.24.34–36 where he speaks of Nature as a general ordering up troops, but he

adds that “that General [i.e., God] and this one [i.e., an ordinary general] are not
the same, either in strength or the superiority of character” (iii.24.35).
11 Curiously, the subject of role conflict is rarely addressed in the literature on
Epictetus, and yet it is the natural question to ask of Epictetus’s account (cf.
Cicero’s criticisms of Panaetius on this score: De Off. i.152–161). Regarding role
conflict in Epictetus, Annas (“Epictetus on Moral Perspectives”, 140–142) raises
the problem of conflict between our universal human role and our more specific

The hierarchical picture at ii.5.26 suggests that individuals ought to
examine the layers of their communities, first cosmic, then civic. And, in fact,
this is the picture Epictetus offers throughout the Discourses. Individuals have
layers to their attachments, with the highest priority layer constraining the
choices and actions of the lower layer: first, individuals ought to obey the will
of God in whatever form it may occur, and they ought never to forsake their
own (divinely given) capacity to reason or their own prohairesis (choice); second,
as long as piety and rationality are preserved, individuals ought to pursue the
requirements of their specific roles, such as the role of an Athenian or of a
father.12 As Epictetus says:
roles (such as son or councilor) and she concludes, quite rightly, that the two
should work in concert (149–152). It is only Frede who explicitly worries about
the thorny problem of conflict between our specific roles. Frede agrees that
our human role must take precedence, but he adds that there are many specific
roles “instantiated in one individual human being” (“A Notion of a Person in
Epictetus”, 167) that may not mix. Frede, however, defers further discussion: “It
is an important part of Epictetus’ thought about persons, which unfortunately I
have no time to address, that various roles or sorts of person do not mix (IV.2.10)”
(ibid.). Sorabji equally notices that we “cannot combine different roles”, but he
draws the unusual inference that we thus each have a human role and a unique,
individual role (Self, 162; cf. 163 and 167). Sorabji would, perhaps, therefore join
me in resisting the deflationary account, but his insistence on the uniqueness of
our specific role appears to rule out any conflict of the sort that I am describing,
because his account appears to leave us with only one specific role per person.
12 Cf. ii.10.1–7; see also Ench. 24.4, in which we are told to take up whatever role in
a city we can have while maintaining our (human) sense of shame (see Kamtekar,
“ΑΙΔΩΣ in Epictetus”). Interestingly, this priority system resembles Cicero’s
prioritization of our human persona over our specific personae. Epictetus is less
explicit, however, quite possibly because he seems to think that conflict between
our humanity and a specific role is rare. Having granted that resemblance, I should
note important differences between Cicero’s account of the four personae (in De
Off. i.107–125) and Epictetus’s account of roles. While Epictetus’s account is often
treated as a reflection of Cicero’s (and Panaetius’s) account (see Gill, “Personhood
and Personality”, 187; Dobbin, Epictetus, 79), I disagree with that treatment since,
for Cicero, roles are a tool in the service of the virtue of decorum where decorum
is one of the four canonical virtues (after wisdom, justice, and greatness of spirit).
In fact, Cicero’s account of roles merely elaborates upon one of several ways that
agents can perform their actions with decorum. By contrast, Epictetus deploys
roles to do the same work as the traditional virtues (and more) by framing each of
our obligations as arising from some role (e.g., ii.10.1–14). Cicero conceives us as
actors on a stage performing before an audience whom we must please, whereas
Epictetus’s account conceives of us as actors in a story with specific functions to fill

For each of the things that come to be by us [i.e., by our
agency], if we do not refer them back to anything, we shall act
at random; […]. Furthermore, there is a common standard
and a specific [idia]13 [standard]. First of all, in order that
I [act] as a human being. What is included in this? Not [to
act] as a sheep, gently but at random; nor destructively, like
a wild beast. The specific [idia] [standard] applies to each
person’s pursuit and choice [prohairesin]. The cithara-player
is to act as a cithara-player, the carpenter as a carpenter,
the philosopher as a philosopher, the rhetor as a rhetor.
[iii.23.3–5]
Similarly, as he says at iv.12.15–16, “[we ought] to pursue nothing

external, nothing belonging to others […]. And next to this, [we ought] to
remember who we are, and what our designation [i.e., role] is, and [we ought]
to try to guide aright our appropriate acts in reference to the significance [tas
dunameis]14 of our relations” (iv.12.16); that is, we first ought to fulfill our
human obligation to treat externals as indifferent, and then we ought to fulfill
our specific roles or functions.
Beyond the language of copies, ii.5.26 also claims that we are members
of both a cosmic and a civic polis because we are human beings: an anthrôpos
is “part of a polis; first, [of that polis composed] of gods and humans; and then
[…] [of the polis] that is a certain small copy of the universal [polis] […]”. This
line treats both stations as a component of our humanity, and thus it seems
to be a version of Gill’s deflationary claim that the “advice to maintain [one’s]
own prosôpon is converted into the advice to maintain our universal prosôpon
as human beings” (189). I shall argue, however, that ii.5.26 implies a composite
picture of humanity in which our possessing a logos, a specific body, and a
specific place in the world, lays the basis for role conflict.
regardless of our audience.

13 This term is difficult to translate in this context. While “private” is the more
immediately obvious translation, that term does not work well to characterize the
roles that he goes on to cite, such as a philosopher or a rhetor. Since idia is here
used as a contrast to what is common, it is perhaps best to translate it as what is
more specific.
14 The use of dunamis here is curious. Oldfather translates it as “the possibilities of
our social relations”, whereas Hard translates it as “the rightful demands of our
social relationships”. I have followed LSJ, which indicates that dunamis can mean
“the force or meaning of a word” or “the worth or value of money”. As a result,
Epictetus is saying that we gauge appropriate action by reference to the weight or
importance of each relationship.

II.
Epictetus tries to explain the practical meaning of his remark about the
communities to which we belong as human beings by examining the place of an
accused person in the larger community around him:
“Then [is it necessary] for me to be put on trial now?” Now

then, [is] someone else to be sick with fever, someone else to
be at sea, someone else to die, someone else to be condemned?
For it is impossible in such a body [as ours], in this [universe]
which encompasses us, among such fellow-inhabitants, that
such things not happen, some to one man, some to another.
It is your task, therefore, to come forward and say what you
ought, to arrange these things as is fitting. Then that man
[viz., the judge] says, “I judge you guilty.” [I reply], “Let it
be well with you. I have done my part, and it is yours to see
whether you have done yours.” For there is some danger for
that man [viz., the judge], do not forget that. [ii.5.27–29]15
Although Epictetus does not explicitly say so, I suggest that he is

thinking of a figure like Socrates who is calmly asking whether or not he ought
to be put on trial. There are two factors indicating that this is whom Epictetus
has in mind. First, Epictetus discussed the trial of Socrates earlier in Discourses
ii.5 as a way of clarifying the point that success or failure in court is a matter
of indifference, but one’s trial behavior is not (ii.5.18–21). Second, it would be
altogether surprising for Epictetus to be invoking an individual contrary to
Socrates, that is, a wicked man, because the passage would then say that it is
necessary for some individuals to do wrong and thus be condemned.16
Given that Epictetus likely has Socrates in mind, we can elaborate on
what is meant by the dual citizenship of a human being through the example
of Socrates. On one level, Socrates is a human being and a citizen of the
cosmos (i.9.1–9); he thus has the God-given faculty of prohairesis, a faculty
that must be preserved by concerning himself with what is under his control
and not worrying about what is outside his control. Socrates has to treat as
15 Cf. i.1.18: “‘Then, [is it necessary] for me to be the only one to be beheaded
now?’ What then? Do you want everyone to be beheaded in order for you to have
consolation?” See also ii.5.25, ii.10.4–6 and iii.24.28–29.
16 This would contradict Epictetus’s claim that we are given prohairesis by the gods
(i.1.7–9), a faculty that is strictly up to us (iii.26.24 and iv.5.34) and that can be
used for good or evil (i.25.1). For discussion of Epictetus’s concept of prohairesis,
see Dobbin, “Προαίρεσις in Epictetus”; Bobzien, Determinism and Freedom in
Stoic Philosophy, 331–339; Asmis, “Choice in Epictetus’ Philosophy”; Sorabji,
“Epictetus on proairesis and Self ”; Stephens, Stoic Ethics, 16–25.

indifferent anything beyond his control: “Imprisonment, banishment, drinking
poison, being deprived of his wife, leaving his children orphaned” (ii.5.19; cf.
iii.24.60–62, iv.5.1–7 and iv.1.159–169). Under his control is his behavior and
not entreating or begging for his life or his family (ii.2.15–20; cf. iv.4.21–23).
On another level, Socrates is a particular human among other human beings;
he is a citizen of Athens, a husband, father, friend, and (Cynic-like) teacher.
In other words, Socrates has many specific roles with their own obligations.17
Among Socrates’s specific roles, Epictetus supplies the most detail
about the roles of a father and of a Cynic-like teacher. Epictetus contrasts the
obligations of these two roles, and using his analysis I argue that these two roles
are incompatible. It is de facto impossible to be a Cynic and a father because
both roles are simply too demanding on one’s time. A father has obligations “to
demonstrate certain [services] to his father-in-law, to render [services] to the
other relatives of his wife, [and] to the wife herself ”, and he must “care for the
sick [and] earn an income” (iii.22.70). Accordingly, “it is necessary for him [to
get] a pot in which he prepares hot water for the baby in order that he bathe it in
the tub; a little wool for his wife when she has given birth, olive-oil, a little couch,
a cup (the utensils immediately become more and more)” (iii.22.71). Ought he
not “bring little cloaks for the little children? Come, [is it not necessary for him]
to send them to the elementary teacher having little writing-tablets, pencils,
note-books, and to prepare a little couch for them? For they are unable to be
Cynics when they have come forth from the womb”18 (iii.22.74). Indeed, “if he
does not [do these things], it is better to expose those [infants] who have been
born than to kill them in this way” (iii.22.74). In sum, a father is “tied down to
the private appropriate acts [of everyday life]” (iii.22.69; cf. iii.22.74). The Cynic’s
life is equally demanding because Epictetus treats the Cynic as a kind of Stoic
priest ministering to the character of others (iii.22; see especially iii.22.45–50).
Similarly, Epictetus presents the Cynic as a special king who must watch over all
families (iii.22.72) and as a universal doctor who regards everyone as a patient
(iii.22.72–73). Thus, a Cynic needs to be “free from distraction, wholly [applied]
to the service of the god, able to go among [every] human being” (iii.22.69;
cf. iii.22.81–82). He requires “leisure for [serving] the public”19 (iii.22.72).
17 As implied by ii.5.18–21; see iii.24.60, iii.26.23, and iv.5.33 on Socrates’s role

as a father; iv.1.159–165 on his roles as father, husband, citizen, and soldier
(cf. iv.5.1–7).
18 Throughout the litany, Epictetus frequently uses the diminutive, signaling a kind
of annoyance at all the “little” tasks that are placed upon this Cynic-father.
19 In much the same way, Epictetus grants that even the position of high-level
politician mixes poorly with family life: “You are stationed in a chief polis and
not in some humble spot, and you are forever a senator. Do you not know that it
is necessary for such a man to manage his household minimally, and to be away
from home much of the time whether ruling or being ruled or serving some ruler,

If we force a Cynic to concern himself with the appropriate acts of a family, he
would have no time to be a Cynic; he would be “entwined by relations which he
cannot transgress while preserving the role [prosôpon] of the fine and good man”
(iii.22.69). If we encumber a Cynic with family obligations, Epictetus complains,
“consider how far down we have dragged our Cynic, how we have taken away
his kingdom” (iii.22.75).
Epictetus therefore concludes that a Cynic cannot fulfill the obligations
of a private family without destroying his role as a Cynic (iii.22.69; cf. iii.22.75).
At the same time, a father “has a certain function which, unless he fulfills it, he has
destroyed the father” (iii.18.5). Hence, it seems apparent that Epictetus regards
these two roles as being in conflict. Identifying Socrates’s role as gadfly with the
Cynic’s role, Epictetus says that a Cynic must “get up onto the tragic stage and
speak [the words] of Socrates” (iii.22.26; cf. iii.21.19) about our unfortunate
obsession with external things and our neglect of the good. Epictetus does not
portray Socrates as performing any of the tasks of a father; rather, he portrays
Socrates as “holding up against a cantankerous wife and a senseless son”20
(iv.5.33). Accordingly, Epictetus’s analysis of the roles of a father and a Cynic
suggests tension between Socrates’s role as father and his role as gadfly.
Epictetus tries to minimize the tension, but his setup is unable to
eliminate it. He points out that Socrates had philia for his own children (iii.24.60–
62) and that this philia is consistent with regarding family members as a matter of
indifference (see above and cf. iii.3.5–10). In addition, Epictetus tells his students
that they must “learn the [life] of healthy men, how slaves live, how laborers,
how the genuine philosophers, how Socrates lived—that man [i.e., Socrates]
lived even with a wife and children—how Diogenes, how Cleanthes studied
and drew water at the same time” (iii.26.23), as though Socrates successfully
carried both roles.21 Where Socrates is concerned, Epictetus’s approach weakens,
allowing that Socrates lived as a healthy man even with a family. Socrates could
live a sound life because he understood that the character of his family was
beyond his control. Epictetus explains that Socrates could endure Xanthippe
dumping water on his head and smashing the cakes that he received because
he regarded such things as matters of indifference22 (iv.5.33). Moreover, even
if his family was beyond his prohairesis, his treatment of his family was under
his control (cf. ii.22.20). Perhaps Cleanthes successfully combined work and
whether serving in the army or sitting as a judge?” (iii.24.36).

20 Epictetus straightforwardly accepts the apocryphal stories about Socrates’s jealous
and hostile wife, Xanthippe, and his ungrateful son, Lamprocles. Compare, for
example, iv.5.33 to D.L. ii.36–37.
21 On Cleanthes, see D.L. 7.168–170, although Diogenes reports Cleanthes as
working by night and engaged in philosophy by day.
22 As Oldfather (vol. 2, 344) points out, these were gifts from Alcibiades; presumably,
they were smashed by Xanthippe out of jealousy. See Athen. Deip. 14, 643 F.

school—contemplating as he hauled water23—but Epictetus’s account makes it
difficult to reconcile the manifold tasks of a father with the demanding task of
tending to the character of humanity. Whereas the Socrates of the Phaedo can
send away his lamenting wife and small children from his final conversation
with his students,24 Epictetus will chastise a senator for running away from
a sick daughter (i.11). Even for a senator, Epictetus finds it unnatural and
unaffectionate to avoid caregiving for a sick child (i.11.20–26).25 Nevertheless,
for the Cynic-like Socrates, Epictetus appears to think that Socrates can neglect
his family because his gadfly role entails a life outside the home caring for the
well-being of all of Athens (cf. iii.22.72–74); thus, in Socrates’s final hours, he
attends not to the false grounds for his wife’s grief (since death is not an evil), but
to the faulty beliefs of his grieving associates.
Aside from the treatment of the above conflicting roles, Epictetus adds
to the distinctness of Socrates’s specific role as gadfly through his discussion of
Socrates’s courtroom defense. Here, too, Epictetus brings out the competition
between roles. For Socrates, his gadfly role will entail making orphans of his
children; for another man, his role as father will entail defending himself while
preserving his family. Epictetus makes this point in a passage where he uses his
own friend, Heracleitus, as a foil to Socrates (ii.2.15–20). Epictetus begins by
saying that if Socrates had wanted to preserve his external goods, he would not
have provoked the judges (ii.2.15–16). Epictetus then relates that Heracleitus
was in a petty lawsuit about a piece of land, and he copied Socrates’s technique
of explicitly rejecting entreaties precisely when they were expected in the
peroration (ii.2.17; cf. Pl. Ap. 34b–35d); naturally, Heracleitus destroyed his own
case (ii.2.18). Epictetus objects that it was useless for Heracleitus to do that; he
23 Musonius Diss. 11 claims that farmers can study philosophy by listening to a

teacher while they toil in the fields. However, Musonius cautions that “occupations
which strain and tire the whole body compel the mind to share in concentration
[…] upon the body”; and so, “it is not impossible for men to learn in addition to
their farm work, especially if they are not kept at work constantly but have periods
of rest” (Lutz, “Musonius Rufus”, 81–82 and 85).
24 Pl. Phaedo 60a. Since Epictetus cites few details of Socrates’s home life, I am
extrapolating from the record about Socrates in order to bring out a relevant
contrast. However, given that Epictetus seems to accept the entire record, whether
Xenophon or Plato (see, for example, his quoting from the Crito in i.4.24 and
31), my use of an example from the Phaedo seems warranted. Epictetus appears
to quote from the Phaedo at ii.1.15 (Pl. Phaedo 77d), and he seems to nod to the
dialogue at iv.4.22 when he speaks of Socrates composing hymns while in prison, a
detail that is recorded in Phaedo 60d and 61a–b. See also ii.13.24, which references
Socrates’s dialogues in prison. Epictetus’s use of the Phaedo is discussed in Erler,
“Death is a Bugbear”.
25 On the challenges of mixing a senator’s life with a family, see note 19.

should have made no entreaties, but withheld boasting about it (ibid.; cf. iii.18.6–
8). One should not behave as Heracleitus did “unless it is the critical moment to
purposefully antagonize the jury as it was for Socrates”26 (ibid.). “But”, Epictetus
concludes, “if logos persuades you that you should appear in court and outdo
yourself to persuade [the judge] about your [lawsuit], then the things that follow
[from what logos has determined] surely must be done while maintaining what
is your own [ta idia27]” (ii.2.20).
Epictetus does not tell us why it was time for Socrates to provoke his
jury, but he does indicate that Socrates’s very identity was at stake when it came
to his behavior: “And how would he still be Socrates if he bewailed these things?”
(iv.4.22). And, we can surmise that Epictetus thought that inflaming the jury was
a part of Socrates’s role as gadfly. Insofar as it was Socrates’s role to be the radical
who summons us to virtue, Epictetus implies that Socrates fulfilled that mission
when he secured his own execution: “if we are presently beneficial, will we not
be more beneficial to humanity after we have died when it was necessary and
as it was necessary? And since Socrates is now dead, the memory [of him] is no
less beneficial (or is even more beneficial) to humanity than what he did or said
while he lived” (iv.1.168–169).
Although Epictetus offers no more detail at the end of Discourses ii.5
about the layers of our roles, the above way of understanding specific roles is
confirmed by how Epictetus discusses particulars and the varieties of human
experience:
Do you not know that in the long course of time, manifold

things necessarily happen; a fever gets the better of one man,
a robber of another, a tyrant of yet another? For such is [the
character of] what encompasses us, such is [the character
26 While I think that Epictetus has grounds for concluding that Socrates is
deliberately provoking the jury (e.g., his inflammatory demand for free meals
as his punishment at Apology 36b–38b), I am not entirely convinced by his
interpretation that Socrates’s role as gadfly requires such behavior. Rather, I
suspect that, because Epictetus relates Socrates to the Cynic tradition (see iii.22.26,
cited above), he sees Socrates’s courtroom demeanor as akin to the scandalous
behavior of the Cynics. For Epictetus, the outrageous behavior of a Cynic seems to
have the goal of shocking us into an awareness of our own hypocrisy.
27 As with the translation of idia in iii.23.4 (see note 13), the resonance of this
compact expression is difficult to render. Given that Epictetus uses idios to
distinguish our more specific roles from our universal role in iii.23.4, and idiotikos
in iii.22.69 and iii.22.74 to distinguish our familial obligations from the public
obligations of the Cynic, Epictetus might here be referring to Heracleitus’s specific
roles or his familial obligations. At the very least, ta idia picks out one’s private or
local interests, including one’s family, as opposed to what is shared in common.

of] the associates around us; cold and heat; unsuitable food;
road travel and sea travel; winds and manifold crises; one
man is demolished, another banished; one man is tossed on
an embassy, another on a military campaign. [iii.24.28–29]28
In much the same way, our own nature directly features in the sorts
of roles that we take up—the sun is given its place in the heavens because it has
the power to emit light and traverse the heavens (iii.22.5–7), the bull heads the
herd because of its muscle power (i.2.30–31), and even shoemakers take up their
place in the city because our human bodies require shoes (Ench. 24.4).
For Epictetus, then, our humanity appears to be a composite fact
because we have a share in logos, which connects us to cosmic nature, and
because we have a body in a certain place and time, which means that we are
susceptible to illness and a variety of material needs and that we must live among
others and the consequences of their actions. As a result, our humanity cannot
act as sole standard, as the deflationary model would have it, because it has
many influences acting upon it; this multiplicity undermines the deflationary
model. Thus, Epictetus does not say to agents, “Here is a universal (human)
standard, apply it to your differing circumstances”, as the deflationary view
suggests; rather, he says, “The universe needs these different functions, so here
are your specific stations” (cf. i.29.26–28, iii.22.4–8, and iii.24.94–95).29 It is this
fact that is recognized by ii.5.26 and Epictetus’s account of Socrates.
In sum, I suggest that Epictetus’s treatment of Socrates substantively
fills in the claim that we are first members of the cosmic polis, and secondarily
members of a civic polis. Granted that Socrates’s human role had to be the
fundamental layer and that he had to preserve that role in order to be a good
man in any of his specific roles (see iii.24.61), it remains the case that each of
Socrates’s specific roles entailed its own set of (potentially conflicting) obligations.
Epictetus would surely prefer these specific roles to operate in harmony, but he
nonetheless seems to recognize that some roles can conflict. As a father, Socrates
ought to be present to his family, and thus perhaps convince the jury (without
entreaties or arrogance) to release him. But, Socrates also had the role of a
gadfly that required him to inflame the jury into issuing a death sentence. It is
28 Cf. ii.5.25 and ii.5.27: as an “attached” human, that is, as a human being living in
the cosmic plenum among others, “it is appropriate for you now to be sick, now
to be at sea and in danger, now to be at a loss, and sometimes it is possible to die
before your time” (ii.5.25). These lines are discussed in note 8. Also see ii.10.4–6.
29 Cf. how in i.2.26 Epictetus explains the reasoning of the athlete who chooses death
over castration, an explanation couched in terms of specific roles “as a man [anêr],
Epictetus said, and as a man who had been proclaimed at the Olympic games and
had contended for victory, who dwelled in such places, and had not merely been
rubbed with oil in Bato’s [wrestling school]”.

appropriate to avoid a conviction (within reason);30 but, for Socrates, it appears
that his missionary role won out over his role as a father. In this way, by treating
practical reasoning as a layered process that reflects the composite features of
humanity, Discourses ii.5.26 opens the possibility for conflict between specific
roles, a conflict that the deflationary model is ill-equipped to recognize.
And Epictetus is willing to go further. Though our human role is
clearly the more fundamental, he regards our specific roles and their associated
externals as ends-in-themselves in the deliberations of agents. He supplies this
evidence in Discourses i.6, to which we now turn.31
III.
Epictetus implicitly treats our specific roles as ends-in-themselves in
Discourses i.6 where he observes that we need the twists of fortune in order to
realize our capacities. He argues that Heracles would not have been Heracles
without the hydra or the lion, and he examines the part played by those externals
in Heracles’s motivation for action. Early in Discourses i.6, Epictetus prepares his
audience for thinking about the interdependence between externals and specific
roles when he lays out a principle of providential design concerning capacities
(dunameis) and their respective objects:
If God had made colors, but had not made the faculty
[dunamin] for seeing them, what would be the use [ophelos]?
— None whatsoever — But, conversely, if God had made
the faculty, but what exists is not the sort of thing that is
subject to the faculty of sight, in that case what is the use?
— None whatsoever. — What then, if God had made both of
these, but had not made light? — Even thus, there is no use
[ophelos]. [i.6.3–6; cf. ii.23.2–6]
30 Epictetus does not cite an example beyond that of his friend Heracleitus, but
perhaps he would allow that Aristotle made the right decision: to withdraw from
Athens during the upswing of anti-Macedonian sentiment rather than to stay and
risk a conviction (or worse).
31 In the foregoing section, it is not my aim to develop Epictetus’s complete account
of Socrates or of Cynicism. I offer the example of Socrates and Cynicism as one
of Epictetus’s best examples of role conflict. Another instance might include the
curious case of Crates’s Cynic marriage or kynogamia (iii.22.67–76; cf. Diogenes
Laertius 6.96.1–15). Readers interested in a much fuller account of Epictetus’s
relationship to Socrates should consult Long, Epictetus. Readers interested
in Epictetus and Cynicism should consult Billerbeck, Epiktet, and Schofield,
“Epictetus on Cynicism”.

If a faculty (dunamis) cannot be exercised, it has no use (ophelos).
Epictetus does not here deny that a faculty could exist perennially dormant;
rather, he finds it objectionable that divine design would allow for such waste.
So, his claim is a maxim about the world’s proper design: every faculty should
have the corresponding conditions needed to realize itself.
On the basis of this claim, Epictetus turns to our human faculty
for understanding. Since God designs our faculty of understanding with the
necessary conditions for it to be realized, we ought to actualize that faculty
(i.6.12–29; cf. ii.23.3–10). Epictetus unfolds this principle by examining the
essential faculties of animals and human beings. He asserts that animals have
the capacity to “make use of their impressions” and that we have the further
capacity to “understand the use [of impressions]” (i.6.13). From this observation
he infers that, for an animal, “it is sufficient to eat, drink, rest, procreate, and all
other such things it is prescribed for each of them [to do]” (i.6.14). The ability
to use external impressions explains the ability of animals to perform various
survival functions (such as eating and reproducing), and it limits them to
performing only those functions. By contrast, Epictetus reasons, since we have
the capacity to do more than our animal counterparts, it is therefore insufficient
for us merely to perform survival functions. Our capacity to understand requires
us to behold Nature as an aesthete does a work of art (i.6.23–27). Accordingly,
Epictetus also holds that not only should all faculties have the corresponding
conditions to be realized, but also that all faculties ought to be realized.32 As he
summarizes it, “For of beings whose constitutions are different, the tasks [erga]
and the ends [are different]” (i.6.16).33
To justify our obligation to realize our capacities (dunameis), Epictetus
returns to the idea that Nature needs us each to play our parts. He holds that
our roles were designed with reference to the whole and that our capacities were
designed to allow us to fulfill our roles. For animals, it seems that they are limited
to survival functions in order to serve anthropocentric ends: to be eaten, to serve
as pack animals, and so on (i.6.18). For human beings, Epictetus says that God
32 Besides our human capacity to understand, Epictetus adds that we also have other
(presumably allied) human capacities (e.g, a capacity to bear whatever happens;
i.6.28–29).
33 Given the different obligations among specific roles, it appears that Epictetus
believes that his function argument applies not just to humans versus animals, but
also to Cynics versus fathers and so on. He thus merges his account of roles with
Aristotle’s function argument (NE I.7). I would suggest that Epictetus’s variation on
the function argument also provides us with an analogous way of understanding
the potential conflict of roles discussed in the previous section; for just as the
function of reproduction may tragically come into conflict with the function of
survival (in what biologists call antagonistic pleiotropy), so the functions of a
father may conflict with the functions of a Cynic.

“has introduced human beings to be a spectator of Himself and of His works, and
not only a spectator, but also an interpreter of them” (i.6.19).34 Epictetus provides
no explanation as to why God would need a spectator and interpreter or, quite
surprisingly, as to why humans need God, but, for our discussion, we should see
that Epictetus is further expanding his observations about capacities and the
external world: each part (i.e., role) has been given the requisite capacities and
the corresponding circumstances necessary to fulfill its place.
Epictetus applies these principles to an example about special
capacities and their obligatory realization through preferred externals. The
example concerns the labors of Heracles and seems to invoke his specific role as
a hero (i.6.30–36). Epictetus does not explicitly say that Heracles has a specific
role, but we have some grounds for thinking that Heracles does exemplify a
special role (as does Socrates) because he matches Epictetus’s treatment of the
exemplary roles in Discourses i.2. In i.2, Epictetus uses the analogy of a bull
in a herd of oxen that is aware of its own prowess and thereby takes up the
role of defending the herd against a marauding lion (i.2.30–31).35 In the herd
of humanity, Heracles’s special role is to be a “commander and leader of all the
earth and sea, the purifier of injustice and lawlessness, the bringer of justice and
piety” (iii.26.32).
Regarding Heracles, Epictetus wonders what “Heracles would have
amounted to” (i.6.32) had it not been for his epic labors with beasts and evil
men. For “what would he [Heracles] do if no such things had come to be? Or is
it not clear that he would have wrapped himself [in a blanket] and lain down to
sleep?” (i.6.33). Moreover, Epictetus says,
Well then, in the first place, he would never have become

Heracles by dozing away his whole life in such luxury and
ease; but even if he had, of what good would he have been?
What would have been the use of those arms of his and of his
other strengths, his perseverance and his nobility, had not
such circumstances and materials roused him and exercised
him? [i.6.33–34]
34 Although Epictetus develops those features with an emphasis on human beings

(see e.g., i.2 and ii.10), his account in i.6 suggests that he is open to the idea that
nonhumans have roles because they, too, have specific capacities and relations.
This suggestion is further supported by Epictetus’s use of analogies to animals
when he explains certain special roles (e.g., iii.1.22–23; iii.22.6; and iii.22.99); see
Stephens, “Masks, Androids, and Primates”.
35 Epictetus several times uses the analogy of a bull for the role of a protective leader.
See iii.1.22–23, iii.22.6, and iii.22.99.

A sleeping Heracles, then, would either no longer be Heracles proper,
or he would be of no use.
Epictetus here develops his example in two somewhat incompatible
ways. In one way, a sleeping Heracles would not really be a Heracles at all; he
would be much more like Endymion than a legendary hero who performed epic
labors.36 Epictetus’s point here appears to emulate Aristotle’s argument that sleep
cannot constitute happiness and so it cannot be the activity of the gods. “For
what is the difference between sleeping an unbroken sleep from one’s first day to
one’s last, say for a thousand or any number of years, and living the life of a plant?”
(Eudemian Ethics 1216a3–6; Solomon trans.; cf. NE 1176a33–35). Aristotle says,
“Still, every one supposes that they [the gods] live and therefore that they are
active; we cannot suppose them to sleep like Endymion” (1178b19–21; Ross and
Urmson trans.). For Epictetus, a dormant dunamis (a sleeping Heracles) suffers
harm or destruction; an eye without exposure to light goes blind. In another
(incompatible) way, Epictetus offers that a sleeping Heracles would retain his
identity, but would be of no use. By this course of reasoning, a dormant dunamis
is not harmed by remaining dormant, but may readily persist, never to be
summoned. As in the case of eyesight and color, Heracles (and his capacities)
would have been for naught without the proper external circumstances through
which to realize them.
Between the two readings, Epictetus’s language emphasizes the claim
that a sleeping Heracles would, in some sense, no longer be Heracles. His
phrasing “but even if he had” implies that the scenario of a sleeping Heracles
retaining his identity is granted for the sake of an argument concerning
realization, without conceding that such a scenario makes sense. In light of the
Heracles example and the discourse leading up to it, it appears that the externals
relevant to a role are necessary to the realization of that role, i.e., the stage must
be set for the role. Certainly, Epictetus’s main point in this passage is one about
providential design, but, by implication, he provides insight into Heracles’s
reasoning as a particular role-bound agent. Epictetus’s argument does not focus
on the material requirements of virtue as much as it does on the reasons for
action. Epictetus could have argued that Heracles needed the lion in order to
exercise his extraordinary courage and prowess; “if such a [toioutos] lion had
not come to be” (emphasis added, i.6.32), Heracles would have had no object
on which to realize his prowess. Although Epictetus appears to accept that point,
what he chooses to emphasize is the fact that, without such obstacles as the lion,
Heracles would sleep; he does not say that Heracles would exercise himself on
36 Cf. Epictetus’s line elsewhere: “If Heracles had sat at home, what would he have
been? [He would have been] Eurystheus [the figure who commanded Heracles’s
labors] and not Heracles” (ii.16.44). See also iv.4.22, discussed above, which says
that a crying Socrates would no longer be Socrates.

other activities.37 Elsewhere, Epictetus praises the fact that Heracles traveled the
world and made himself at home wherever he went (iii.24.13–16) because “it
was possible for him to pass his life happily wherever he was” (iii.24.16);38 but, in
i.6, it seems that Heracles needed the lion in order to take action.
By contrast, Heracles is described in Aristotle’s fragment 675 as
undergoing his labors for the sake of virtue (aretê).39 But, Epictetus in i.6.32
claims that it is the challenge of the hydra itself that roused Heracles, and that
virtue resulted from the confrontation; without such a challenge, Heracles
would have been contented merely with sleep. Epictetus would surely think that
Heracles wishes to be virtuous (and to express his humanity), but, in i.6.32, it is
neither virtue nor vice that rouses Heracles—it is the hydra, the lion, and so on.
Heracles should not “prepare these [labors] for himself, and seek to bring a lion
into his own country”, for that would have been “folly and madness” (i.6.35–
36).40 And yet, “since they did come to be and were found, they were serviceable
for the sake of revealing and exercising our Heracles” (i.6.36).41
In this way, Heracles faces a life-or-death decision, but the death
involved is not of the body but of the person. If Heracles sat at home because
37 Indeed, note that Epictetus does not present us with the traditional story about
Heracles at the crossroads where Heracles must choose between virtue and vice (cf.
Cicero De Off. i.118 and Xenophon Mem. ii.1.21ff.). For Epictetus’s Heracles, the
choice is between being Heracles and being Endymion or Eurystheus.
38 From other references to Heracles in the Discourses, it is clear that Epictetus
expected Heracles to fulfill his human obligation to accept what the world assigns
to him (iii.22.57 and iv.10.10).
39 “Excellence [Areta], greatly striven for by mankind, / […] For your sake Heracles,
son of Zeus […] underwent much, hunting your power” (F675 R from D.L. 5.7;
Barnes and Lawrence, Fragments).
40 If Heracles sought to create his own labors, he would, in effect, be doubting that
God had beneficently designed a match between his circumstances and his talents;
he would be usurping Nature (cf. i.24.1–3). Nonetheless, there is a sense in which
Heracles does seek the lion or the hydra: when he has no choice but to confront a
beast, he piously assents to his circumstances, he wishes no others, and he rushes
into the fray (iii.22.57). Accordingly, Epictetus generalizes from Heracles’s role to
all our specific roles, explaining how the realization of our capacities must involve
a willingness on our part to meet whatever comes our way (i.6.37).
41 Epictetus’s unusual treatment of Heracles’s labors has also been recognized by
Cullyer in her essay on andreia in Stoicism (“Paradoxical Andreia”). Cullyer
explains the passage by suggesting that Epictetus is synthesizing Stoicism with
Greek conventions about the nature of andreia. While Cullyer’s explanation is
plausible, I have been arguing that Epictetus’s account of Heracles is not so much
about conventional norms of courage as it is about Heracles’s fitting attachment to
his specific role as a hero.

there were no lions, Heracles would be Eurystheus (ii.16.44). If he lay himself
down to sleep, he would not be Heracles (i.6.33), but would be Endymion.
Accordingly, the choice before him was to live a human life as another person or
to be dormant. The presence of this choice distinguishes Heracles’s case from the
analogy of eyesight that began Discourses i.6. On Epictetus’s eye analogy, an eye
in a world without light would be useless. It does not have the ability to choose
another course of action; but, even if it did, it has no other function (other than
sight) to take up; it cannot decide to perform the function of hearing. By contrast,
Heracles has prohairesis (cf. iv.10.8–16), and he has another function other than
his role as hero—that of a human being—so it is indicative that Epictetus has
him sleep when his heroic actions become impossible. It seems apparent that
Heracles’s identity is at stake because his role as hero is at stake, and that that role
is constitutive of who he is. And, from the perspective of his specific role, the
de-personalized human life is less worthy than a life of sleep.
IV.
Epictetus supplies two related considerations for resisting the claim
that specific roles (such as brother or senator) “deflate” into our more general
human role. Most importantly, human beings are members of several different
kinds of communities. Socrates is a member of Athens and is a member of a
specific family. Socrates’s humanity makes possible certain kinds of community
roles (such as that of “gadfly”), but his humanity is insufficient to explain
his specific role in the civic community. While the deflationary reading has
Socrates’s specific roles “deflate” into his human role, this move makes it difficult
to see what Epictetus means by the role of a citizen, a father, or a gadfly. Instead,
I have argued, each community membership constitutes a distinctive role with
distinctive obligations. Because Epictetus takes humans to be members of at least
two sorts of communities (cosmic and civic), with many different capacities and
functions to be fulfilled within a given civic community, he has good grounds to
conclude that humans have many roles.
In addition, Epictetus supplies us with a decidedly un-deflationary
picture of specific roles and their associated externals. The deflationary model
must treat Heracles’s heroic role merely as an application of his humanity. If there
were no hydra or lion, it would be wrong for Heracles to sleep because dormancy
would make him more of a plant than a human. Without those feats, Heracles
should find some other way to express his humanity. This reading is unequipped
to explain why Heracles does not seek out another life. My reading can account
for why Heracles sleeps and why he is awoken. Heracles does not fight the hydra
in order to express his humanity; rather, he fights the hydra because he has the
role of the “bull in the herd”. Although it remains true that externals (such as
mythic beasts) ought to be treated in a way that is consistent with one’s humanity,
Epictetus gives more place to externals in our practical reasoning than the
deflationary model predicts. He seems to elevate their place because he seems to

treat specific roles (and their associated externals) as constitutive of who we are
and as ends-in-themselves.
If I am right about the specific roles of Socrates and Heracleitus,
Epictetus has given us hints concerning how others might interpret their own
lives as stations with special obligations. When Epictetus introduces his account
of roles in Discourses i.2, he refers to a person who is wondering what to do
in the face of a demeaning order to hold a master’s chamber pot (i.2.8–11). It
seems clear that he has in mind the role of a slave or servant. Concerning the
demeaning command, he notes that one person will find it reasonable to hold
the chamber pot because otherwise there will be punishment, whereas another
person will find it intolerable to hold the chamber pot or even to watch someone
else do so (cf. i.2.5–7). When pressed further, Epictetus reminds the slave of the
consequences of the decision: if the slave holds the chamber pot, there will be
no punishment; if the slave refuses, there will be physical punishment. The slave
then objects that the action is beneath him, and Epictetus answers that it is up to
the slave to consider that question: “For you are the one who knows yourself, of
how much you are worth to yourself ” (i.2.11).
Given the foregoing discussion, we may take it that the role of a slave
entails a special obligation to obey one’s master (apart from one’s obligations as
a human being). Epictetus’s responses are therefore apparently designed to think
through the terms of that role and to consider whether the individual in question
has that role at all. If the slave finds it reasonable to hold the chamber pot, then he
should accept his role and obey the master’s order. If the slave finds it intolerable
to hold the chamber pot, then this individual finds the action unreasonable and
apparently does not see himself as a slave. He should, therefore, prepare himself
to receive the beatings that will follow from his refusal of the order. This reading
allows us to have many sorts of roles with many sorts of obligations.
To understand the slave’s role, it is instructive to return to Epictetus’s
treatment of the trial of Socrates and that of his friend Heracleitus. For their
respective trials, they should treat the outcome as a matter of indifference,
whether conviction or acquittal; this indifference is required by their role as
human beings. So, too, with the slaves and the demeaning order, the outcome
must be a matter of indifference, whether beatings or holding the chamber pot.
As in the Socrates and Heracleitus example, external goods are not sufficient to
determine what to do. What they need to know is their specific role—to bait the
jury or to persuade the judge. So it is with the slave. The matter is to be resolved
by determining what his specific role is, the role that is consonant with who he
is. Intriguingly, Epictetus hesitates rather than answering; instead, he advises the
slave not to sell himself cheap. In the context of his account of roles, I suggest
that this means that the slave not fail his human role by obsessing over external
goods and that he not assign to himself a specific role that is other than the role
that he can and ought to fill (cf. Ench. 37). It is for the slave himself to determine
whether the role of a slave genuinely belongs to him or whether, for example, he

is a figure, like Diogenes the Cynic, who can be bought as a slave and yet insist
that his role is to govern humanity (D.L. 6.29–30). Under one role, the slave
should obey; under another, he should resist.
This interpretation of the slave scenario is similarly consistent with the
example of Heracles’s role. As in the Heracles example, it is not circumstance that
necessarily determines one’s role, for it is the role itself that determines whether
a circumstance is relevant to action. One’s circumstances may be insufficient
because there are many avenues through which we can express ourselves as
human agents. For Heracles, it is his role as hero that gave the lion and the hydra
their central importance. Thus, for the slave, what matters is that he find the
right role. And, to find that, Epictetus says that the slave will have to rely on self-
knowledge, for “you are the one who knows yourself ” (i.2.11). Just as Heracles
must recognize who he is, that he is neither Endymion nor Eurystheus, so the
slave must come to know what role makes him who he is. It is up to the slave to
determine what role that is. As long as he endeavors to fulfill that specific role
while preserving his role as a human being, the slave can be secure in the fact
that his endeavors are sufficient (cf. i.2.36 and Ench. 24.4).
Taken together, these cases yield a model of Epictetus’s account of roles
that is not deflationary and reductive, but additive and robust. Socrates, Heracles,
and the slave are united by their common human role, but they are distinguished
by their significant, specific roles. Their specific roles do not “deflate” into their
human role; rather, their specific roles represent an important addition to their
human role, because their roles identify them as the individuals they are and in
terms of what they should do. What is more, this anti-reductive reading shows
that Epictetus is not distilling Stoicism into platitudes when he talks of roles.
Rather, he is grappling with an important philosophic problem about how the
unity of Stoic virtue maps onto the messy pluralities of real life. He deploys
the human role to capture the unity of virtue, and specific roles to capture the
particularities of daily life. I am convinced that Epictetus was only beginning
to explore that intersection. He was clear enough that Socrates’s specific roles
were in conflict, but it is unclear that he has any explanation for why rational
action (i.e., Stoic virtue) could entail conflict, other than to imply that our
decisions with respect to these conflicts are themselves a part of virtue. At the
very least, Epictetus was convinced that we make progress towards wise living
when we accept the plurality in our lives; for, in answer to the Socratic summons,
Epictetus holds that we examine ourselves by examining our roles, and that it
is in the realization of our specific roles that we make our particularized lives
worth living.42
42 This paper has benefited from the feedback of Elizabeth Asmis, Ian Mueller,
Gabriel Richardson Lear, Brad Inwood, Ronald Polansky, and the anonymous
reviewers at Ancient Philosophy. I also received valuable comments and questions
from the audiences at the University of Chicago and St. John’s University.

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Foucault on Askesis in Epictetus:
Freedom through Determination 1
Christopher Davidson
Michel Foucault turned to Classical and Hellenistic philosophy late in

his career, a change of focus that surprised and was misunderstood by many at
the time. Often, it is supposed that his aim was to find the “freedom” that he had
allegedly excised from power relations. I would contend, instead, that Foucault’s
work on the Ancients is better understood as a challenge or interrogation of
current understandings of freedom. This is especially true of his analyses of
askesis, or “practices of the self ”— that is, the work one performs on oneself
in order to transform what one is. Practices of askesis, and those of Epictetus
in particular, show that knowledge alone is not sufficient for improving oneself,
and that treating one’s volition as a quasi-object to be adjusted through practical
techniques might be something other than an alienation of freedom. Indeed,
Foucault shows that through the practices and exercises of askesis, a subject can
be produced and constituted as free for the first time. But the sense of “freedom”
and “subject” developed in Foucault’s reading of the Stoics remains wholly
foreign to “free will”, as we will see. In fact, it challenges free will through a
number of issues, including the relation to knowledge, the constitution of desire
and judgment, and the treatment of oneself as a determinable quasi-object. It is
precisely through askesis that Foucault most clearly raises these issues.
Every ethics, Foucault claims, has some form of askesis or practices of the
self.2 The Hellenistic era, however, was a “golden age” of askesis, making possible
a “care of the self ” that has not been matched before or since.3 The Hellenistic
Stoics—and Epictetus is paradigmatic in this regard—made practices of the self
the very core of their ethics (Care of the Self, 47). However, Foucault’s work on
Epictetus and askesis is not meant to prompt readers to return to Stoicism tout
1 I would like to immediately express my gratitude to the organizers and

participants of the conference that gave rise to this paper, as well as to James
Wetzel.
2 “There is […] no forming of the ethical subject without […] an ‘ascetics’ or
‘practices of the self ’” (Foucault, Use of Pleasure, 28). Bibliographic information for
all references can be found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.
3 Foucault, Care of the Self, 45. The importance of the Stoics for Foucault’s later
works must be noted, since Foucault regrets that practices of the self are nearly
nonexistent today, and he only began to mention them once he had seriously
considered his Ancient sources. One has to wonder if he would have noted askesis
at all, had it not been for its prevalence in Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca.
Christopher Davidson 41
court. As Foucault said, “I think there is no exemplary value in a period which
is not our period […] it is not anything to get back to” (Beyond Structuralism,
234). Rather, Foucault’s reading of Stoic askesis is best mobilized to critique and
challenge our contemporary understanding of freedom. Foucault’s relation to
his historical sources aims to generate a genealogical critique of the present
moment. Genealogy reveals how differently madness, criminality, sexuality, and
so forth were understood, which shakes up our present understanding of such
concepts. Foucault’s genealogical approach to history “studies what is closest,
but […] so as to seize it at a distance” (“Nietzsche, Genealogy, History”, 89). We
can then start seeing the present moment differently, “to imagine it otherwise
than it is, and to transform it not by destroying it but by grasping it in what it is”
(“What Is Enlightenment?”, 41). Genealogy, as critique, prompts us to consider
what in our present age’s ideas may be arbitrary, susceptible to change, and less
desirable than previously thought.
But we cannot critique our own thought ex nihilo; we must be
prompted by something that challenges an idea we hold, that shows us “to what
extent it might be possible to think differently” (Use of Pleasure, 9).
Understanding askesis, as a submission to a self-deployed technique that
constitutes and necessarily determines the subject at its very core, will aid in
reconfiguration of the fairly widespread contemporary notions of free will.
Askesis, in light of general themes in Foucault’s work,4 forces us to reconsider
fundamental aspects of freedom, and its relation to desire and truth. Askesis
can prompt skepticism that the originary essence of a self is a will, called
“free” in light of its arbitrariness, disconnected from all constitution or
determination, and mysteriously indicative of some inner secret realm, as will
be discussed below.
Of course, scholars other than Foucault have recognized the large
gap that separates Stoic conceptions of “freedom” from the ways in which
“free will” is typically understood today. Susanne Bobzien, for instance, argued
thoroughly that Stoic fate and volition do not map onto our pair-opposition
of scientific determinism and free will (Bobzien, Determinism and Freedom).
Her crucial analysis prevents Stoic volition from being misunderstood as a
“free will” defined by its very lack of determination: volition is not externally
determined, yet this does not mean that it is indeterminate or determined by
nothing at all.5 Like the cylinder that rolls because of the kind of nature it has,
Stoic volition is determined by its own nature. However, her analysis is “static”,
4 Such themes, which can only be mentioned here, are the shaping of our field of
possible acts and knowledge by practices, a denial that knowledge simply sets us
free, and a skepticism that desire is the mysterious fount of each individual and
needs to be liberated.
5 The point recurs throughout Determinism and Freedom, but 6.3.5, especially
286–287, states it neatly.

arguing that volition, as a theoretical entity, always needs to be understood as
part of a causal chain. Foucault’s focus on askesis, on the other hand, allows us
to pursue more “dynamic” questions: what processes can be introduced into a
subject to efficaciously change what it is? How might we understand volition
as approaching closer to what it ought to be, through technical determination?
Askeses, as ethical technologies that aim at transformation, provide direct access
to these dynamic questions. Askesis is a gradual training of self for freedom, an
apprenticeship that submits, in order to achieve freedom and self-mastery.6
Now that the stakes have been set, we can turn to Foucault’s analysis of
Epictetus on askesis. Askeses, as Foucault defines them, are practical techniques
that cause those “transformations that one seeks to accomplish with oneself as
object” (Use of Pleasure, 29). Askesis is the self adjusting the self: it causes an
effect of freedom in itself by submitting itself to technique. Epictetus, in his
instances of askesis, will cast you as a patient, or as an athlete undergoing hard
training, who is in the process of “making yourself beautiful” (Discourses III.i.9)
by becoming “fashioned” by better judgments (Discourses II.xix.23). Simply
in defining askesis, we already see a blurring of the line between freedom and
determination. Rather than generating a compatibilist stance, askesis seems to
present the ethical subject as if it were (to take the famous Stoic image) the dog
tied to the cart, but which is simultaneously driving the cart. Epictetus shows
that volition itself is trainable and manipulable, that it can be forced to become
good, which disrupts any definition of freedom as a pure indeterminacy. We
can auto-affect and train our volitions: while never subject to any external
compulsion, volition can subject itself to internal compulsion. The askesis of
the Stoics is nothing but the process of generating stronger internal compulsion.
Askesis loses some of its importance if we reduce it to the simple
teaching of principles. In Epictetus, askesis does not teach new knowledge; it
does not take reason as its site of application, but rather, volition itself.7 Askesis
comes after knowledge of the basic Stoic teachings; that is, once reason has
been given certain axioms, askesis is applied to volition itself. Volition is the
decisive element of Stoic morality, and so ethical training must seek to effect
a change in the volition itself; what others would try to attribute to a so-called
6 The Ancient Greek ethical attitude, as defined in Use of Pleasure, is one of agonistic
self-mastery. This is largely retained in the Hellenistic model, though the emphasis
shifts from combative mastery toward a curing of ills that gives one undisturbed
control over the self. See “Enkrateia” in Use of Pleasure and “Conclusion” in Care
of the Self.
7 Separating reason from volition is somewhat artificial, since the soul is one in
Stoic psychology. That said, to the extent that we can distinctly analyze them
heuristically, my point is that askesis compels our desire in a new direction,
without always giving us a new truth. It forces us to really not desire particular
externals, not merely to recognize that rationally we should not desire externals.
free will is here almost manipulated or forced, in order to adjust the degree of
a specific desire or aversion. To admit this does not do away with freedom—far
from it—rather, it is crucial for understanding truly effective practices of askesis
that produce freedom. Volition is not free in the sense of a free will: it is free
when it becomes so, when it is produced as such, but not when we take it as
an untouchable indeterminacy. We need to “regulate” our desire, and “control”
our moral purpose—not let them be, but manipulate and adjust them directly
(Discourses IV.i.84 and IV.i.100).
Take the striking example of a praemeditatio malorum (a consideration
of supposed evils) regarding attachment to our offspring. Foucault summarizes:
through a work of thought on itself, [you] control yourself

and check yourself […]. It is very simple, [Epictetus] says.
When your child, your little boy or girl, is on your knees
[…] at the very moment you are kissing your child […] say
to yourself constantly, repeat in a whisper, for yourself […]
“tomorrow you will die.” Tomorrow, you, the child I love,
will die. [Hermeneutics, 433, referring to Discourses III. xxiv.
88–90]
The repetition of this scene every evening is a technical practice and

exercise, one meant to induce a certain effect. The intended effect is clearly not
in your reason or knowledge: even a novice Stoic already knows that his child
is not under his control. This practice does not teach us anything new, and does
not clarify a difficult truth. (You and I certainly didn’t first learn Stoic principles
by repeating “my child will die” every night.) What, then, does this practical
technique aim to change? Simply put: volition.
If we look closely at practices, we see that some of them have only
an indirect relation to reason. Foucault emphasizes that “the praemeditatio
malorum is a test of the worst […] we must assume that not just the most
frequent evils may happen to us, those that normally happen to individuals, but
that anything that can happen to us will happen to us” (Hermeneutics, 469). You
are not, after all, preparing yourself for actual death of your child tonight, which
is unlikely. You are considering that which “in terms of probabilities” (470) is
unlikely, as if it were certain. The praemeditatio malorum (and askesis generally)
is not about convincing oneself (in terms of a heretofore misunderstood
rational truth), but about producing a conviction in oneself (in terms of desire/
aversion): this exercise makes you less attached to your child, not more educated.
Since we are identified primarily as our volition in Stoicism, to constitute
volition is more than merely changing what we know—it changes what we are.

To change what we are, askesis is absolutely required. Progress can
be made only by combining learning and practice. Epictetus repeatedly8 rails
against those sham philosophers who can quote Chrysippus and Cleanthes, but
who nonetheless act like the common run of people. “Who, then, is making
progress? The man who has read many treatises of Chrysippus? What, is virtue
no more than this—to have gained knowledge of Chrysippus?” (I.iv.6). Beyond
mocking those whose deeds do not fit their discourse,9 this repeated theme in
Epictetus no doubt also informs his students that they cannot become good
without askesis.10 Otherwise, the truth of doctrine cannot be absorbed: it will
be vomited up (III.xxi). “Ought you not, first, to have acquired something from
reason, and then to have made that something secure?” (III.xxvi.15). Those
who have so-called “learning”, but have not performed askesis, cannot produce
significant ethical effects in themselves.
What does it mean, then, that I have heard the words of the
philosophers and assent to them, but that in actual fact my
burdens have become no lighter? […] What is it, then, that I
yet lack? […] [I lack] the necessary principles […] these I do
not exercise, nor do I take the practice that is appropriate for
them. [IV.vi.12–17]
Askesis makes the idea suffuse us fully, whereas merely reading keeps
the idea at the surface. There can be no Socrates or Diogenes without training,
and perhaps we could even say that with enough training, a Socrates or Diogenes
would be a given.11
Foucault understands that the Ancients viewed reason or logos as more
than logical or factual propositions: logos is a force that suffuses the cosmos,
that through practice can come “to penetrate the soul” (Hermeneutics, 345).
The virtuous do not merely know the logos: the logos “lives in the soul” of the
8 Discourses I.xxvi.8; I.xxix, II.i.31; II.iv.10; II.ix.13; II.xvi; II.xvii; III.vi.8; III.xxi; III.
xxiii; III.xxvi.10; IV.vi, etc.
9 As in III.vii, where an Epicurean is shown to live apart from his principles.
10 The insistence that askesis is absolutely required (which is more than merely a
pedagogical nicety) speaks to epistemological concerns: the idea, true as it may be,
needs time and repetition and practice to become fully absorbed. Beyond being
“practical”, Epictetus here is also implying a theory of ideas.
11 I.xxv.31: “This is what Socrates practiced, and that is why he always wore the same
expression on his face.” And II.xiii.24: “Socrates used to practise speaking to some
purpose—Socrates, who discoursed as he did to the Tyrants […]. Diogenes had
practised speaking—Diogenes, who talked to Alexander as he did […]. [But the
likes of you should] go into your corner and sit down, and spin syllogisms.”
virtuous.12 Askesis does not show that ideas are simply divided from practice,
but something rather more subtle is proposed. Training makes ideas (and
nothing but ideas) operative, allowing “the logos [to] produce effects on the soul
spontaneously and automatically, so to speak” (Hermeneutics, 338). Askesis is
the technique of selecting and deploying ideas such that they do not remain
inert, but rather live within you and even “govern your life”, as in what Foucault
calls a “sophistic” exercise in Epictetus (Technologies of the Self, 38). This exercise
consists of questions addressed to a student, meant to be answered rapid-fire. He
is not asking the students to teach them (they know already); he is not asking
just to hear the point (Epictetus could have said it himself; instead, he asked the
students so that in restating it, they could “practice” the idea). This takes what
the student knows and makes it life, pushes it from the student’s lips (II.ix.16)
to the student’s heart, makes it “ready” and “on hand to use” (III.x.1, III.x.4).13
After askesis, we have paraskeue (preparation or “equipment” of virtue), which
is philosophy’s goal.14 Askesis makes it possible for true ideas to shine forth in
all that you do. It is not the case that ethos has simply been set alongside or
added to logos. The logos itself has become ethos: “the paraskeue is, again, the
element of transformation of logos into ethos” (Hermeneutics, 327). And this
happens, not by willing more ardently to choose the truth you already know;
nor is it achieved by studying the theory in more detail. It happens by submitting
to training.
Epictetus, through numerous “tests”,15 asks the question: how far
have I come in my preparation, the real integration of an idea into my life, the
constitution of self via the causal force of practices?
How far are the truths I know […] really the forms, rules, and
principles of action in my conduct throughout the day and
throughout my life? Where have I got to in this development
[…]? Where have I got to in [the] fashioning of myself as the
ethical subject of truth? [Hermeneutics, 484]
12 Care of the Self, 89: “Now, who then is to govern the ruler? The law, of course; it
must not, however, be understood as the written law, but rather as reason, the
logos, which lives in the soul of the ruler and must never abandon him […]. But
this principle applies to anyone who governs: he must attend to himself, guide his
own soul, establish his own ethos.”
13 See also Foucault’s discussion of the logos as “ready to hand”: Hermeneutics, 325.
14 “Once prepared and trained in this fashion to distinguish what is not your own
from what is your own possession […]. Then have you any longer anyone to
fear?—No one” (IV.i.81).
15 Such as the examination of conscience discussed below.

Preparation is the result of fashioning your self as a determinable quasi-
object, so that whatever befalls you, your automatic response is to act according
to reason. As Foucault paraphrases Epictetus, preparation requires “equipping
ourselves for a series of unforeseen events by practicing a number of exercises
which actualize these events with an unavoidable necessity” (Hermeneutics,
485).16 Being prepared does not mean choosing according to truth; it means
being moved as truth dictates. Ideas cause behavior; fully absorbed ideas
more consistently cause behavior. Determining oneself through exercises
removes the possibility of acting in various ways, generating the automatically
indifferent attitude toward externals. This is precisely the attitude that a poorly
prepared person knows he or she should have yet still lacks, or wants but
still cannot achieve.
I would like to further highlight the element of compulsion,
constitution, or determination. Any judgment one has produces a determinate
result: every cause has an effect. Whether the idea is true or false, whether
merely an image or a truth of reason, is of little import here: all ideas have
causal force. One idea forces you to desire, while another idea forces your
aversion: “if a man’s judgments determine everything, and if a man has unsound
judgments, whatever be the cause, such also will be the consequence” (III ix 5).
Sound judgments, of course, also “determine” “consequences”. We must recall a
fundamental law of Stoic psychology: “The instant the good appears it attracts
the soul to itself, while the evil repels the soul from itself ” (III iii 4). Similarly,
“Socrates knew what moves a rational soul, and that like the beam of a balance it
will incline, whether you wish or no” (II.xxvi.7).
With the father who fled from his sick daughter, Epictetus makes it clear
that both a bad flight and a good decision to stay would be caused: “the cause
of our doing, or not doing, anything [is] only our opinions and the decisions of
our will [dogmata] […]. Of such sort, then, as are the causes in each case, such
likewise are the effects” (I.xi.33–35). Certainly, both depend on the father; that
is, they are not externally determined. But this is the crucial point—his behavior
in either case is indeed caused: it is internally caused by him, but compelled or
determined nonetheless.
Askesis harnesses this law of the human soul, as we can see in the
specific examples that make use of impressions (phantasia). The use of what
I would like to call “counter-images” modifies desire and habit, allowing us to
effectively change our habits, in a way that merely willing or wishing to have
right desire will not. “What can overcome one desire or aversion but another
desire or aversion?” (I.xvii.24).17 Epictetus gives the example of seeing someone
attractive in the street and notes that you should not “picture” that person
16 Epictetus uses the same language of “necessity” at II.xxvi.3.

17 See I.xxvii.3 as well: a “contrary habit” is required to overcome a habit.
“disrobing and lying down” (II.xviii.15).18 “Otherwise, it will take possession
of you […]. But do you rather introduce and set over against it some fair and
noble impression, and throw out this filthy one” (II.xviii.23). To picture a naked
beautiful body stirs our desire, and yet, how do we rid ourselves of this desire?
If it were just a matter of willing not to desire, there would be no issue; instead,
work or practice is required. As Foucault says, “a work of neutralizing thought,
desire, and imagination is involved […] this work of thought on itself, of self
on self ” (Hermeneutics, 432). This work involves producing another image in
yourself, “setting over and against it” a counterimpression.
Similarly, in Marcus Aurelius, if you fear someone, produce a
counterimage in yourself that does not appear so threatening, so as to lessen
your undue aversion. “Imagine him eating, sleeping, copulating, and excreting”,
as Foucault paraphrases (Hermeneutics, 305–306). An image, as was the first
fearful one, but with the opposite effect. Or, we could picture the attractive
person in the street, not as a whole, but as parts: skin, hair, toenails, bile, viscera,
a pile of minerals. It is obvious what effects these impressions will have: picturing
viscera and bile will lessen your desire for the person, bringing you closer to a
state of indifference. I would here ask the reader to think of what effect merely
willing to desire differently has: very often, none whatsoever. This technique,
however, has clear effects.
Epictetus repeatedly shows that introducing a specific image-idea
or phantasia forces a specific effect in the soul: if the idea of the city’s crowds
causes you agitation, imagine that you are instead going to Olympia (IV.iv.24).
There, the crowds do not produce a similar aversion in you. By substituting one
crowd-judgment for another in your imagination, you effectively neutralize the
improper aversion. If you are arrogant, and someone strikes you, counter your
anger by telling yourself that you just threw your arms around a cold statue (III.
xii.10). In picturing what the person truly is as parts, or linking one crowd to
another, we necessarily reverse negative judgments (or induce positive effects)
with images.
It is a commonplace to link Epictetus’s ethics to the Socratic insistence
that we only err unwillingly: we always think we pursue good, though we are
very often incorrect about this.19 Issues of knowledge are often brought to the
fore. While this link is certainly present, in light of counterimages, we can
18 Similarly, “when your imagination bites you (for this is something you cannot
control) […] do not allow it to grow strong, or to take the next step and draw all
the pictures it wants, in the way it wants to do. If you are [exiled to] Gyara, don’t
picture the style of life at Rome […]” (III.xxiv.109). Do not picture Rome, because
the false idea of what seems good about Rome will necessarily cause the effect
of desiring Rome. And again, to dwell on the beauty of the Acropolis necessarily
causes sorrow to one away from Athens (II.xvi.33).
19 See Epictetus’s repeated references to this theme: I.xvii, II.xxvi, etc.

see more interesting issues surrounding choice or will: what must be noted is
that we just as unwillingly do well. The point here is that we do not choose to
follow ideas—they compel us. Askesis will deploy ideas (sometimes true ideas
of reason, sometimes mere images) to compel volition or desire. So while we
can emphasize the typical element (the true can replace the false and then we
leave error behind), let us also remember that all ideas compel our judgment or
behavior: all ideas have determinate effects on our desire and aversion.
The manipulation of images can have the effect of making it impossible
for volition to assent to the proposition “this person is fearsome”, or, “this body
is desirable, so I should have it”. Note that, in these examples, the impossibility
of assenting is freedom itself. Neither the true idea nor the false is placed
before a free will that can choose to pick it up or leave it be. Stoic volition and
this conception of free will are not compatible, though just such a notion is
commonly in play today. If one finds Foucault’s analysis of Stoic askesis of interest,
the reading no doubt produces skepticism toward free will. Merely wanting or
willing is likewise insufficient for this freedom: true discourse makes us free,
“just as we get sunburned, [Seneca] says, when we walk in the sun, although this
was not our intention” (Hermeneutics, 337). It is not enough to simply place
doctrine before us or to wish for virtue. The truth must be, as it were, forced
under our skins, “driven into him, embedded in him (these are Seneca’s phrases
in letter 50)” (Hermeneutics, 323). This takes a regularizing technique, a practice
of askesis, a causally determined process with consistent effects that occur at the
site of volition. “There is something here like an automatism of the work of the
logos on virtue, on the soul” (Hermeneutics, 337).
Another challenge to the notion of a “free will” comes through
Epictetus’s multiple metaphors involving athletics and various technai. In athletic
training, excellence is produced without reference to what the individual wants
or hopes for. The amount of virtue produced correlates to the amount of askesis
performed—and not to the degree to which you want it: “if you form the habit
of taking such exercises, you will see what mighty shoulders you develop, what
sinews, what vigour” (II.xviii.191). Presumably, if you perform the training, like
it or not, wishing for it or not, you will become excellent; conversely, if you forgo
training, you will not become excellent, no matter how your heart burns for virtue.
This is true of the helmsman, the carpenter, the athlete, and the virtuous man.
“May it not be, then, that in our case also it is not sufficient to wish to become
noble and good?” (II.xiv.9). We become a different type of person, not because
we willed or decided upon a different life, but because we submitted to different
practices that inexorably reshape the ethical athlete. However grudgingly you
submit to the regimen, you will improve, despite yourself. Ethical training, like
athletic training, is a power that pushes us, even drags us, toward perfection.
Like the athlete or apprentice to a technique, the training applied
reshapes us over time: repetition is considerably more important here than any
choice of a free will. Unlike rational insight or willing (either of which could
happen in an instant), habits take repeated askesis. Only painstaking and slow
training can make one improve. The bad habits one had took time to develop,
and new habits (caused by askesis) will take time to develop as well. Epictetus, in
his sarcastic fashion, asks, “Does this require only a little time, and is it possible
to acquire it on a passing visit? Acquire it, then, if you can!” (III ix). But of
course, you cannot acquire it quickly, with a quicksilver decision of the will or a
flash of rational insight.
Similarly, in his medical metaphors, Epictetus states that I can be
“forcibly” cured, “even against my will” (IV.viii.40). When Epictetus says that
“the lecture-room of the philosopher is a hospital”, we should not forget that
Epictetus goes on to deny the students the “dainty little notions and clever little
mottoes” that they want (III.xxiii).20 As Foucault summarizes, the teacher-
trainer can “impose” upon the student (Hermeneutics, 139), and if this teaching-
training fails, “one should not blame the person one is guiding”, because the
problem does not lie with the person’s will (Hermeneutics, 140).21 As long as
you submit to the techniques of askesis, you will in fact improve, “whether the
subject likes it or not” (Hermeneutics, 336). In these references to techne, what we
normally focus upon is the relation to knowledge: that one must know in order
to be good. The emphasis in Foucault, however, is on the “how” of knowledge:
how is knowledge produced, by what dynamic processes? How is the habit of
knowledge instilled? Much of Foucault’s later work was framed by his claim that
the Ancients insisted that “care of the self ” is required before you can “know
yourself ”.22 Ethical knowledge requires askesis and does not require the support
of a free will to be effective, which is part of the reason that medical knowledge
and medical imagery are assimilated into ethical discussions. Askesis deploys the
power of techniques to produce results (regardless of what a “will” may choose),
to force changes onto its object—which, in askesis, is the technician herself. The
constituting of an individual by herself, the production and technical adjustment
of behavior (with no necessary reference to her will), is at issue here.
Foucault spends much time discussing the daily examination of one’s
actions.23 You recall your basic principles, then recall what you actually did that
day, and compare the two for any discrepancies.24 If there is a discrepancy, a Stoic
20 Foucault makes reference to this passage in Care of Self, 55, and to Epictetus on
illness again at ibid., 58.
21 For Foucault’s general statements about the relation of medicine to Hellenistic
ethics, see Care of the Self, 54–58 and 99–104. Additionally, Galen is a familiar
presence in this text: specifically, Care of the Self, 105–111.
22 For instance, he begins the Hermeneutics lectures with just this issue: 1–19.
23 Epictetus mentions self-examination in III.x, IV.iv.7, and IV.vi.33; Foucault refers
to the examinations of Epictetus, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius in Hermeneutics,
481–484 (the last day of his lecture course in 1982).
24 This is not simply a question of memorization of principles: Hermeneutics,

“does not reproach himself ” (Hermeneutics, 483), for his are “errors of strategy
not character” (Technologies of the Self, 33–34). There is not an internal war of
present and past will, but a looking at self, much like a looking out at any object.
“[Seneca] uses the verb scrutari, which is the technical verb meaning to make
an inspection of an army, a military camp, or a ship, etcetera” (Hermeneutics,
483). Askesis, as technique, is so impersonal that even the Stoic examination of
(so-called) “conscience” is hardly about one’s private inner life: it “focuses on
deeds, not thoughts” (Technologies, 30).
This lack of anything like a “personal subject” (even in this direct
relation of oneself to oneself) is another significant element of Foucault’s
analysis. When a Stoic recounts his faults, Foucault says that “you can see that
these faults should be understood as basically technical errors. He was unable to
deploy or handle well the instruments he was using […]. He could not achieve
his objectives […] because he did not use the right means” (Hermeneutics,
482). The practice involves looking to any mismatch between means and ends,
tools and results, and adjusting the means as needed. What the examination of
conscience achieves is simply the recognition that if one wants different results
(in one’s actions), then one must apply different techniques, pull different levers.
That the lever pulled is part of oneself matters little for the Stoics.
This is all quite different from today, when one’s “feelings” (“On the
Genealogy of Ethics”, 238) are taken to be the most immediate element of
any experience, and the most important. Unlike the typical modern subject,
notions of personal guilt and “remorse” (Hermeneutics, 480) are entirely absent;
there is no feeling that one should have chosen otherwise in Stoic examination of
conscience. Even if guilt is less prevalent today, we still engage in “soul-searching”
remorse, based in a notion of a “deep” self. Remorse, where one first claims that
one could have willed differently, and then adds that one now wills to have willed
differently, is a concept foreign to Stoicism. Stoicism avoids the theoretical and
practical questions of remorse, such as whether the first or second willing was
“really yours”; why sometimes, a willing, though ardent, still fails; why the will
can remain hidden from you, even as it supposedly directs your behavior; and so
forth. Foucault has no use for the concept of a purely free will, and he is skeptical
of the notion that ethical knowledge consists primarily in a rather opaque (if
not downright occult) knowledge of a personal unconscious self.
Foucault is wary of this personalistic “hermeneutics of the self ”
because it invents the problem of an inner mystery that is vital to understand,
but nearly impossible to grasp. A solution was then devised for this problem:
confession, to the priest, and later, to the psychoanalyst. Rather than a complex
hermeneutics of the self where one has to sniff out every little self-deception
with the aid of doctor or priest, Stoic self-examination uses a clear-sighted and
impersonal “administrative” gaze (Hermeneutics, 482). This approach allows
325–326.
you to avoid the morass of discovering which opaque will is “genuinely” yours.
Like any given thing, the volition or self can be administered, made to act this
way rather than that. When it does so imperfectly, hand-wringing and obsession
with one’s hidden internal mysteries are not Stoic responses.
This Stoic version is inspiring to Foucault, who feels stifled by the
modern insistence that there is a secret world buried inside of us, that we must
understand its truth, that incessant talk is required in order to find it, that a
professional is required to talk to, and so on. The Stoics have a notion of self
that allows that moral error need not generate feelings of guilt or soul-searching,
and also allows that our moral errors can be administered, corrected, improved
through practices of the self. Stoics are responsible for improving themselves,
but avoid remorse; they are determined and fated, yet they can and do improve
as they become determined otherwise. No wonder Stoic askesis held such an
allure for Foucault.
In review, Foucault does not seek to prompt a return to Stoic ethics.
Instead, Foucault can help us rethink common assumptions about freedom
today, based on the distance between the Hellenistic Stoics and ourselves.
Foucault’s reading of askesis, as seen in his reading of Epictetus, unsettles what
has become obvious about the subject and freedom. Askesis is the submission
to actions performed on oneself by oneself and the necessitation of the effects
of freedom. These are not strictly paradoxical formulations, but clearly they
will not be reconciled with the idea of free will as pure indeterminacy. On a
Foucault-inspired reading of Stoic askesis, whatever freedom we acquire is more
or less forced into us; freedom, truth, and virtue are induced in and added
to subjects by techniques that work on the self like a quasi-object. Foucault
thus implies and prompts us to think a different kind of self: a self that, if
internally compelled and constituted by techniques of askesis, is determined
to become free.

Select Bibliography
Bobzien, Susanne. Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy. Oxford:

Clarendon Press, 1998..
Epictetus. The Discourses as Reported by Arrian. Vols. 1 and 2. Translated by

W. A. Oldfather. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical
Library, 2000.
Foucault, Michel. The Hermeneutics of the Subject: Lectures at the Collège de

France, 1981–82. Edited by Frédéric Gros. Translated by Graham
Burchell. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005.
———. “On the Genealogy of Ethics: An Overview of Work in Progress”.

in Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, edited
by Hubert Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow, 229–252. 2nd ed. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1983.
———. The History of Sexuality. Vol. 2, The Use of Pleasure. Translated by Robert
Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1990.
———. The History of Sexuality. Vol. 3, The Care of the Self. Translated by Robert
Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1988.
———. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History”. In The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul

Rabinow, 76–100. New York: Pantheon Books, 1984.
———. Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault. Amherst: The
University of Massachusetts Press, 1988.
———. “What Is Enlightenment?” In The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul

Rabinow, 32–50. New York: Pantheon Books, 1984.
Taking the Same Things Seriously and Not Seriously:
A Stoic Proposal on Value and the Good 1
Katja Maria Vogt
If someone were to say that an archer does everything in

his power not for the sake of hitting the target but for the
sake of doing everything in his power, one would suppose
him to be speaking in a riddling and fantastic way.
So it is with these idiots […].2
Matters of value—life, health, wealth, and so on—provide reasons for

action, or so it is often assumed.3 Aiming to figure out what to do, the agent, it
seems, must take these matters seriously. Does this translate into the claim that,
when such things are attained or lost, the agent should be elated or distraught,
respectively? According to widespread intuitions, one should be able to step
back, realizing that it is possible to lead a good life if health is affected, money
lost, and so on. That is, one should not take seriously the very things that, while
deliberating, one was asked to take seriously. This is a puzzling demand, and
yet it attaches to a wide range of situations in everyday life. Value theory, then,
should ask whether the seemingly antithetical attitudes of taking the same
things seriously and not seriously are rational modes of valuing. The Stoics are
exceptional in putting these matters at the center of ethical theory. Indeed, they
1 I am grateful to the organizers of the 2011 conference on Epictetus and

Stoicism for inviting me. The conference looked at “continuing influences and
contemporary relevance” of Stoic thought. Bringing Stoic ethics into conversation
with contemporary thought—which is one intention of this paper—strikes me
as a rewarding approach. Nandi Theunissen provided helpful comments on the
interrelationship between several sets of questions relevant to my concerns in
this paper. Jens Haas advanced the paper significantly through raising any number
of objections and providing critical input on several drafts.
2 Plutarch, On Common Conceptions 1070F–1071E (selection) = LS 64C.
Bibliographic information for all references can be found in the Select
3 This assumption is in conflict with T. M. Scanlon’s influential proposal that reasons
are primitive, a view that is alien to ancient thought and that I think the Stoics
would be right to reject (What We Owe to Each Other). There is no talk at all about
“reasons” of the sort that has become customary in contemporary ethics. Insofar
as I speak of reasons, I use the term in a weak sense: matters of value provide
considerations for deliberation, and in this sense, they provide “reasons”.
Katja Maria Vogt 55

seem to be part of the motivation for a technical move the Stoics propose: a
distinction between the good and the valuable.4
It will be helpful to first identify what, precisely, appears misguided or
paradoxical about the Stoic proposal. Here is a list of what I consider the main
objections. (1), (2), (3) and (4) figure in long-standing reservations about the
Stoics. (5), I think, formulates a suspicion that readers today may bring to the
Stoic proposals.
(1) Artificial Terminology Charge: The Stoic proposal rests on

an artificial distinction between valuable and good.
(2) Nature of Value Charge: The Stoic proposal mischaracterizes

the value of good deliberation vis-à-vis the value of those things
deliberation takes into account as reasons for and against
courses of action.
(3) Irrationality Charge: It is irrational to consider the same

things as reason-giving and as indifferent to a well-going life.
(4) Substantive Falsity Charge: It is not true that it is possible to

lead a good life whether or not things of value are attained
and things of disvalue are avoided.
(5) Psychological Fraud Charge: The Stoics ask us to consider

life, health, wealth, etc., as indifferent at the very moments
when they are lost or impaired; this attitude is no more than
a strategy for psychological survival; it is an invitation to
self-delusion.
The Stoic distinction between value and the good, as I will argue in
the following sections, survives the first four attacks.5 The Psychological Fraud
Charge, however, leads into difficult territory. Some late Stoics, and in particular
4 In agreement with long-standing trends in scholarship, John Cooper

approaches this distinction from the opposite end: as antithetical to common
attitudes (Pursuits of Wisdom, 184–214). Though Cooper and others are
right that agents tend to treat the valuable as good, I propose that the Stoics
succeed in addressing an important phenomenon of everyday valuing that is
underappreciated in scholarship.
5 On the question of how the good and the valuable figure in the wise person’s
deliberation, cf. Rachel Barney, “A Puzzle in Stoic Ethics”; Katja Maria Vogt, “Die
frühe stoische Theorie des Werts”; Vogt, Law, Reason, and the Cosmic City, chapter
4, “Law and Reason”; Cooper, Pursuits of Wisdom.

Epictetus, might be guilty as charged. If he is, this may or may not be held
against him. It could turn out that deluding ourselves about matters of value has
psychological advantages, so much so that it calls into question the very aim of
getting clear about them. This is in tension with the basics of Stoic ethics, which
is devoted to the Socratic project of a life guided by reason. My paper thus ends
with a proposal and a question. I propose that the Stoic distinction between
value and the good is worth taking seriously as a position in metaethics. And
I ask whether the aim of psychological survival under adverse conditions is in
tension with the aim of getting clear about value.
1. The Artificial Terminology Charge

In contemporary philosophy, “good” and “valuable” are both taken to
be generic terms that can, in principle, refer to any kind of positive valence. How
are these terms understood in ancient ethics? Just as today, the relevant locutions—
to have value (axia) and to be good (agathon)—are ordinarily understood to be
closely related. If one asks how widely a given term is employed in philosophy,
however, things come apart. Today, “value” is used widely, perhaps partly because
there are easily available English cognates: a verb, “to value”; a noun, “value”;
an adjective, “valuable”; and a further adjective, “evaluative”. Ancient ethicists,
on the contrary, tend to employ agathon and its cognates. Though there is no
verb that corresponds to “good”, there are any number of related terms: “good”
as an adjective (agathon); “a good” as a noun and its plural “goods” (agatha);
“best” as the superlative (ariston) of “good” and “best-ness”; aretê, as the term
that gets translated as “virtue”, but really just means excellence or goodness-in-
the-superlative. That is, while value-talk abounds today, good-talk abounds in
ancient ethics. The Stoics, however, introduce a technical notion of value, to be
distinguished from the notion “good”, thus adding to the vocabulary of their
predecessors. Ancient ethical discussions used to get by with just one central
term referring to positive valence, namely “good”. In Stoic ethics, there are both:
goods-talk and value-talk, each devoted to its own set of issues.
To approach the Stoic proposal, consider how earlier ancient ethicists
speak of goods, agatha. This expression bears some similarity to the way we speak
of “values”, but it is decidedly not the same. Goods in the sense of agatha are good
conditions, states, etc., while values, as we speak of them, may also be ideals
that could turn out to be misguided. Today’s notion of values invites theorizing
about the relation between valuer and value: one can speak of someone’s values
and thereby refer to what she holds to be valuable. There is no ancient correlate
to this. Though there is abundant discussion about disagreement, this is not
expressed in terms of “someone’s goods versus someone else’s goods”. This way
of speaking would appear confused: the very notion of a good, an agathon,
implies that one is talking about something that in some sense is good.
According to a well-known distinction that goes back to any number
of discussions among ancient ethicists other than the Stoics, there are three
Katja Maria Vogt 57

kinds of goods: goods of the soul, also called internal goods; goods of the body;
and external goods. In this framework, classificatory questions can be raised.
For example, one might ask whether bodily goods are a class of their own, or
whether goods such as beauty, health, and strength are to be subsumed under
the category of external goods. Similarly, there might be goods that could be
viewed as either external or internal. For example, friendship could be a resource,
and thus resemble money. Insofar as it does, it could be an external good.
Or it could count as an internal good. These questions, though in substance not
relevant to current purposes, provide a sense of the way in which evaluative
language is employed in ancient ethical discussions. Notably, all this can be
expressed without ever using the term axia, value. Everything is put in terms
of goods. The Stoics, however, introduce a notion of value according to which
the valuable is different from the good. Consider three lists of what counts, for
the Stoics, as good:
Goods–1: virtue, virtuous action, the virtuous person.6

Goods–2: the virtues and the affective attitudes of the
virtuous person.7
Goods–3: virtue, wisdom, knowledge.8
Bad–1 to 3: the opposites of what is good.9
These lists are pulled from different texts, and they are not meant to
compete with each other. Each of them is a way to spell out the more general claim
6 SE M 11.22 (= LS 60G). Another item on the list is the friend of the virtuous
person, who is, pace further Stoic premises, also a virtuous person.
7 Stobaeus 2.58,5–15 (= LS 60K). For example, moderation, courage, etc., and joy,
cheerfulness, etc., which are the so-called eupatheia, rational feelings that take the
place of emotions in the wise person. According to Stobaeus, the virtues are final
and instrumental goods, while the virtuous person is an instrumental good and
rational feelings are final goods (2.71,15–72,6 = LS 60M). Such classifications are
to be read with a grain of salt: Stobaeus likes to introduce Peripatetic distinctions
that are alien to orthodox Stoic ethics. On this issue, cf. Katja Maria Vogt, “The
Good is Benefit: On the Stoic Definition of the Good”, and David Sedley,
“Comments on Professor Reesor’s Paper”.
8 Via a number of Stoic premises, it is evident that virtue, knowledge, and wisdom
are three ways to describe the condition of reason achieved by a perfect agent/
cognizer.
9 The Stoics also say that the good benefits and the bad harms, where this is taken
to mean that the good really does something good for one’s life, and the bad
something bad; accordingly, value and disvalue do not count as benefitting and
harming. Cf. Vogt, “The Good is Benefit”, and DL 7.101–103.

that only virtue is good. Goods–1 and Goods–2 pick out several ways in which
virtue can be effective in the world. Goods–3 provides important additional
information. It offers three terms that, for the Stoics, describe a perfected state
of mind: wisdom, virtue, and knowledge are three names for the very same state
of mind.10 Since they tend to evoke different associations, it is not advisable to
describe this state of mind simply by using one of these terms. Instead, I shall
speak of WVK to refer to the perfected mind—or, in Stoic terminology, the
perfected rational soul or reason—of the Stoic ideal agent. In short, what counts
as good for the Stoics is perfect reasoning and its various manifestations in the
world, in actions and attitudes, but also just in the presence of a wise person.
Consider now the lists of valuable and disvaluable things.11
Value: life, health, beauty, strength, wealth, good reputation,

being born into a good family, having one’s perceptual
faculties intact.
Disvalue: death, illness, pain, ugliness, weakness, poverty, bad

reputation, being born into a bad family, impediments
to one’s perceptual faculties.12
The reports on which I’m drawing each offer short lists, explicitly
flagged as incomplete. That is, it is in the spirit of the Stoic proposal to add to
the list of values whatever is in general conducive to human life. Moreover, more
specific items could be considered as valuable, insofar as they relate to the items
on the list. For example, clean drinking water might count as valuable by virtue
of its relation to health, strength, and wealth. Contra the Platonic-Aristotelian
10 The Stoics’ most general distinction between different virtues is a list of three,
namely mastery of knowledge in ethics, physics, and logic (Aetius 1, prooem. 2 =
SVF 2.34 = LS 26A).
11 The Stoics also describe these matters in terms of what is natural and against
nature. It is a long-standing objection against them that they equivocate on the
notion of “natural”, using “natural” sometimes such that it refers to something that
affects how an organism functions, and at other times in a more elevated sense,
where it is associated with the good. Whether or not that is a damning objection,
I think that talk about what is “natural” comes with far more difficulties than the
distinction between “good” and “valuable”. In his Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic
Guide to Life, Anthony A. Long says that the two most long-standing objections to
the Stoic proposal are the Equivocation Charge (raised against versions that talk
about nature) and what I call the Artificial Terminology Charge (183–184).
12 DL 7.101–102 (= LS 58A) and Stobaeus LS 58C–E. I discuss the idea that pleasure
is not of value though pain is of disvalue in Vogt, “Die frühe stoische Theorie der
Emotionen”.
Katja Maria Vogt 59

tradition, which conceives of such matters as external-cum-bodily goods, the
Stoics decidedly do not call them goods of any kind.13
From the point of view of Peripatetic critics of the Stoics, the Stoic
distinction between the good and the valuable does nothing but advance
artificial terminology—this is the Artificial Terminology Charge. But clearly,
the proposal is meant to do something other than revise ordinary usage of the
language: it is meant to capture the difference between good deliberation on
the one hand, and the material of deliberation (what deliberation is concerned
with) on the other hand. Perfect deliberating is good; the things that perfect
deliberating is concerned with have value or disvalue.14 This is an eminently
plausible distinction. Moreover, the proposal is self-consciously technical. Even
Chrysippus, the Stoic philosopher most notoriously devoted to re-defining
terms, doesn’t mind if we continue to talk in more ordinary ways. As he puts
it, if someone were to refer correctly—that is, think of one category of things
when saying “good” in some contexts, and think of another category of things
when saying “good” in other contexts—then all would still be well. The usage of
the person who speaks this way “must be accepted on the grounds that he is not
wrong in what he refers to and in other respects he is aiming at the normal use
of terms”.15
My defense of the Stoic proposal adopts this spirit. It is true that
people do not speak about the good and the valuable according to the Stoic
distinction, but the same applies to any number of philosophical distinctions.
As long as technical terminology expresses a philosophical point, and one of
some significance, it should be admitted into discussion. This does not yet mean
that it ought to be accepted. But it merits consideration.
Accordingly, I suggest that the Artificial Terminology Charge be set
aside, and that for the purposes of this discussion we use “good” and “valuable”
as the Stoics do, namely simply by using these terms. Scholars often add qualifiers,
13 The addition of having one’s perceptual faculties intact is likely to be Stoic. A

precursor might occur in Plato’s Meno, where memory is listed among goods that
are standardly regarded as external/bodily (87–89).
14 I shall elaborate on this interpretation of the distinction throughout the rest of the
paper. Cooper (Pursuits of Wisdom) offers the most recent discussion of the Stoic
proposal. His analysis is compatible with my characterization, though he mainly
explores the ways in which an agent ought to relate to Zeus’s actions. “The only
correct guide to good living, and to our own happiness, given that we are by our
nature rational agents, is to live in agreement with Zeus’s plan” (191). I agree with
the upshot of his discussion (cf. Vogt, Law, Reason, and the Cosmic City, chapter 3,
“Wisdom: Sages and Gods”), but my focus in this paper is elsewhere.
15 Plutarch, On Stoic Self-Contradictions 1048A (= LS 58H, with changes). The title
of Plutarch’s treatise—“On Stoic Self-Contradictions”—provides a sense of how
uncharitable other philosophers were in their responses to Stoic distinctions.

speaking, say, of what “merely” has “some” value, or characterizing the good as
“objectively” valuable.16 These qualifiers, however, do not appear philosophically
innocent to me. If the Artificial Terminology Charge is recognized as misguided,
then we might as well use “good” and “valuable” as the technical terms they are.
Moreover, rejecting the charge that Stoic terminology is artificial should not go
as far as to obscure the fact that it is technical. Indeed, it seems to me that this
makes the Stoic proposal particularly interesting: it opens up the question of
how an analysis of the property good relates to an account of valuing—and this
is a worthwhile question to have clearly set out.
2. The Nature of Value Charge

Consider now the substance of the Stoic proposal: a distinction
between perfect deliberation—the good—and the material of deliberation—the
valuable and disvaluable. This is a far-reaching proposal. It means that virtue is
nothing other than good deliberation, and that the kinds of things deliberators
are concerned with have value and disvalue. The Nature of Value Charge objects
on both counts.
Suppose a WVK person is involved in foreign aid. In aiming to help
others, she will think about their lives with respect to health (access to health
care, medications, clean drinking water, disease prevention, etc.), wealth (shelter,
adequate clothing, training, job opportunities, a functional economic system,
etc.), and so on. Trying to assess these matters adequately, she will come up with
a plan of action. She is WVK, in Stoic terms, insofar as her “selection” (eklogê)
and “disselection” (apeklogê) of things such as life, health, wealth, and so on is
perfect.17 That is, WVK consists in being a perfect reasoner about things of value
and disvalue. The upshot of this proposal is that virtue is not in and of itself a
value that competes with other values: virtue is the ability to deliberate well.
Compare this to a Platonic line of thought, according to which things
like health, wealth, and so on depend on wisdom if they are to play a positive
role in one’s life. In order to remain agnostic on whether this proposal should
be ascribed to Plato, I will call it E, because it is formulated in the Euthydemus.
E: The things we called good are not good in their nature

(kath’ hauta pephuken). If ignorance controls them, they are
bad (worse than their opposites); if wisdom, they are good.
In themselves (kath’ hauta), neither of them is of any value
(axia). [280d–281e]18
16 Cf. Cooper, Pursuits of Wisdom, 184–214, esp. 184 and 188.

17 Deciding on a course of action consists in selection and deselection of indifferents
(Stobaeus 2.76,9–10).
18 A similar idea is discussed in the Meno (87e–89a). Contrary to the goods of the
soul (the virtues, etc.), matters such as health, wealth, beauty, and strength can
Katja Maria Vogt 61

Scholars have long thought that the Stoics react to this passage, and
this seems plausible. Notably, however, the Stoics do not endorse it. They pick
up the term axia, and proceed to say something that rejects E’s account both of
the good and of the valuable. Consider E a bit more closely. What does E say
when it says that wisdom, virtue, and so on are good by their natures? Wisdom
is good because, given that it is wisdom, it cannot but be used wisely: there is
no foolish use of wisdom. “In its nature” refers to the nature of wisdom: it is
wisdom. Similarly, virtue does not admit of badness, simply because virtue—
aretê—literally is goodness or “best-ness”. So far, so good. But E says more,
namely that WVK is a good-maker for anything it deals with. And this the Stoics
reject. For example, wealth does not become good if used wisely. It is valuable,
but not good. The Stoic resistance goes both ways: wealth does not become good
if used wisely, and it doesn’t become bad if used foolishly; it has value.
Indeed, things like health and wealth really have value for the Stoics.
This might appear to be a simple point, but it is not. Contemporary philosophers
operate, I think, with conflicting intuitions about this matter. In discussions,
say, of poverty, it is often taken for granted that having clean drinking water
and access to medications is valuable. This assumption appears to be based
on the premise that health is valuable. Indeed, in these contexts it would
appear cynical to most of us to doubt that this is so. However, philosophers
sometimes feel the need to ground this in something loftier. Clean drinking
water or access to medications then appears to be valuable because of some
relation it bears to autonomy, or other values that seem to be closely related
to morality. Contrary to any such constructions, the Stoics are—and this is
a notable thing to say, since they are often represented otherwise—rather
commonsensical. For them, health and wealth have value. Health and wealth,
and so on, are the very things that we consider when we try to act well.19
Imagine a view that denies this, saying that things like health and
wealth are “indifferent” in the sense of not providing any value-considerations.
This proposal was formulated by Aristo, a dissenting Stoic. Other Stoics, in my
view correctly, rejected it on the grounds that it collapses the whole enterprise
of virtue.
Next comes an explanation of the difference between things,

by the denial of which all life would be made completely
undiscriminated, as it is by Aristo, and no function or task for
benefit or harm, depending on whether they are used wisely or not.

19 The much-debated Stoic formulae describe the end, a virtuous life, as “reasoning
well in the selection and disselection” of matters such as health and wealth. I am
refraining here from discussing the full quotes. For present purposes, we can
translate “what is in accordance with nature” into talk about what is valuable.
Stobaeus 2.76,9–15 (= LS 58K).

wisdom could be found, since there would be no difference
at all between the things that concern the living of life, and
no choice between them would have to be made. [Cicero, De
fin. 3.50 = LS 58I]
Deliberation that views virtue as the only good, and as the only
relevant consideration, is an impossible enterprise. In the foreign aid example,
the virtuous person helps those who are in need. In doing so, she is taking
seriously whether people have access to medications, clean drinking water,
shelter, personal safety, a chance to preserve what the ancients call “reputation”
and what we might reformulate in terms of self-respect and social standing,
and so on. If she did not consider any of these things important—say, claiming
that only virtue matters—then she would have nothing to do. Virtuous actions
respond to features of the world that involve life and death, health and illness,
perceptual faculties, wealth and poverty, social standing, and so on. The idea
that only virtue counts is utterly empty: if it were true, there would be nothing
for the virtuous person to do, and thus there would be no virtue. For example, if
illness and poverty were not disvaluable, it would be unclear why helping others
who suffer is at all good.20
Consider some objections to the Stoic proposal. Suppose the foreign
aid worker takes herself to be addressing not living conditions, but injustice or
lack of freedom. Does this provide a case that the Stoics cannot account for? No:
this case involves, again, deliberation about matters of value. If the inhabitants
of a country suffer from injustice, they suffer from a government or legal system
that does not adequately assign value to their lives, health, wealth, perceptual
faculties, reputations, and so on.21 That is, in aiming to address injustice and
oppression, the foreign aid worker is still concerned with matters of value.
But there is likely to be a further element: tyrannical rulers mis-
understand value and the good. They fail to ascribe value to the lives, wealth,
health, etc., of others, and they fail to recognize the goodness of good lives.
That is, neither do they themselves strive for knowledge—the virtues achieved
by studying physics, logic, and ethics—nor do they recognize that this striving
20 A similar line of thought is explored in late antiquity. The virtues respond to

features of the world that one might prefer to be different. For example, courage
is a virtue that soldiers need, but it would be perverse to wish for war so that
this virtue can be displayed. Doctors are virtuous in caring to the best of their
knowledge for their patients, but it would be preferable if there were no sickness
in the world. Cf. Michael Frede, A Free Will: Origins of the Notion in Ancient
Thought, 140.
21 More would have to said here about the status of all human beings as fellow-
valuers, a status that is violated by injustice, oppression, etc. But again, the story
would involve reference to value and disvalue.
Katja Maria Vogt 63

is utterly important for the people over whom they rule. According to the
Stoic proposal, good lives can be lived only by those who are in a position to
deliberate well, that is, by those who have attained knowledge. Oppression may
well include policies that prevent people from becoming the kind of deliberators
they need to be in order to live good lives. In aiming to reduce injustice, the
foreign aid worker would thus also be concerned with the good: she would
find herself arguing for the ideal of lives guided by reason, and aiming for
institutions, such as schools, that are conducive to this goal. But notably, virtue
does not enter the picture as a substantive value. It continues to be understood as
perfect deliberation.22
3. The Irrationality Charge

The apparently paradoxical attitudes of taking the same things seriously
and not seriously are attitudes toward the material of deliberation: health, illness,
wealth, poverty, perceptual faculties, social standing, and so on. The Irrationality
Charge says that it is irrational to aim as well as you can without caring whether
you hit the target. Why should one be able to say “whatever” if one fails an exam,
does not get that promotion, loses one’s money, and so on? If these things are
sufficiently relevant to motivate the norm that one should “aim well”, then it
would appear to be justified that one is upset when one misses the target, and
things do not go as one hoped.
To defend the Stoics against the Irrationality Charge, consider some
of the details of how, according to the Stoics, one should relate to value and
disvalue. Most fundamentally, an agent must seek knowledge: she needs to
study everything that pertains to human life, so as to be able to think correctly
about value and disvalue. Studying natural science, logic, and ethics, the agent
understands how, say, sense-perception helps a human being lead her life. But
she also understands that a good human life is possible even with quite a few
impediments to the ordinary functioning of a human organism. Based on these
insights, it is reasonable to prefer health over sickness, life over death, and
so on. Accordingly, in deciding what to do, one should “go for”—technically
speaking “select”—life, health, wealth, having one’s perceptual faculties intact,
etc. Preferring and dispreferring (selecting and disselecting) are reasonable
preferences based on recognized value and disvalue. They do not involve pathê—
passions or emotions—as the Stoics understand them.23
22 Of course, virtue in the sense of perfect deliberation can itself figure in

deliberation. One can think, “I hope I’m getting this right” while one tries to figure
out which action to perform in a given situation, and one might quite generally
make it one’s aim to become a good deliberator. Such thoughts, however, play a
different role from particular value considerations. They frame deliberation, rather
than providing reasons of the kind that are provided by value and disvalue.
23 Stoic theory of the emotions is widely discussed. For present purposes, it suffices

Rational valuing, on this proposal, has two dimensions, relating to two
questions, each of which is sometimes considered the starting point of ethics:
what to do, and how to live. The Stoics suggest that when asking what to do, the
agent must consider value and disvalue as reason-giving, and when asking how
to live a good life, she must step back and understand that it is possible to have
a good life when things of value are not attained or things of disvalue come to
be present in one’s life.
To see that this is not a paradoxical proposal (and also not a cynical
one), consider an example. Suppose you are waiting for a train and your eyes
fall on an advertisement for a gym. The slogan says “without health, nothing is
worth anything”. It reminds you that you are badly neglecting your health. You
really should exercise, because health is valuable and it is unreasonable to live
an unhealthy life. Then your eyes fall on the person next to you waiting on the
platform, a man in a wheelchair. The advertisement, it turns out, is offensive.
More than that, it does not state what you initially took it to say, namely
that health is valuable and that you have reason to preserve your health. It
states that one cannot have a good life without being healthy, and this claim
is arguably false.
The Stoic proposal can be saved from the Irrationality Charge because
the difference between these two statements—that health is valuable and that
one cannot lead a good life without health—is relevant to valuing. Valuing
comprises two dimensions: one that is engaged in coming up with plans of
action, and one that asks whether and how one can lead a good life, given the
very conditions one happens to find oneself in.24 Moreover, the seemingly
to recall the points that the wise person has no emotions and that emotions often
involve seeing something that is merely of value as good, or something that is
merely of disvalue as bad. On the question of how the good is to be related to, cf.
M. Frede, “On the Stoic Conception of the Good”.
24 Note that, even where one aims to build a life given worsened health, one is not
thereby rationally committed to considering health non-valuable. On the contrary,
people with a chronic illness can rationally build a good life, and at the same time
try to learn about potential new treatment methods. In Chapter 4 of Law, Reason
and the Cosmic City, I argue against a long-standing interpretive option, namely
that the Stoics claimed that, if in a given situation an agent reasonably decides
against, say, having all her limbs intact, this involves that she thinks of having
all her limbs as non-valuable. I used the example of a hiker who cuts off his arm
because it becomes stuck under a rock in an accident—otherwise he could not
climb down the mountain. In this kind of situation, it is reasonable to cut off one’s
arm, though this doesn’t make having one’s arm (one’s health, etc.) non-valuable.
Surely, once back in the plains, the hiker would go to the hospital and reasonably
do all he can to restore his health as much as possible. But he can also build his
new life around having just one arm, and be back in the mountains soon enough,
Katja Maria Vogt 65

antithetical attitudes of taking seriously and not taking seriously are unified
insofar as they involve the same affective attitudes toward value and disvalue.
The ability to “switch” between taking seriously and not taking seriously involves
the ability to keep apart different questions; it does not involve an attitudinal
shift, as if one were to initially strive with fervor after value, and then switch
to emotional indifference. Suppose you take up a new position as an employee
and you are asked to make decisions about your retirement investments. The
affective side of preferring captures the difference between trying to make an
informed choice on the one hand, and getting absorbed by desire for money on
the other hand. The former is what one should do, the latter what one shouldn’t
do. That is, the agent’s affective involvement must consistently reflect her grasp
of the fact that the matters she deals with are valuable, but not good, where this
means that it is possible to have a good life if things go differently than planned.
In describing the two dimensions of rational valuing, there is a
temptation to put matters in temporal terms. For example, one might describe
the investment example as if one should care about maximizing one’s retirement
income when one makes a selection, and not care about losses once the market
drops in an economic crisis. The two dimensions would then appear to be an
ex ante and an ex post perspective. However, this move should be resisted.
Though it may often be the case that choosing takes place while one does not
yet know outcomes, and asking “can I have a good life without X?” takes place
when one does, this is not essential to the distinction. In principle, both
perspectives can be inhabited contemporaneously. While I make a selection,
I can step back and realize that, one way or another—whether, say, the markets
rise or fall—I shall have to try to lead a good life, and that thought, the Stoics say,
should be based on the premise that this is indeed possible.
The Stoic claim that it is possible to lead a good life if something of
value is lacking can be pushed further. It can be rational to be committed to the
life one has even though one recognizes that, if one were not already engaged in
leading this very life and if faced with a choice, one would reasonably prefer the
value to be present. For example, people who have grown up deaf often say that
they would not want to change that condition.25 Stoic theory can account for
as presumably the real hiker from whose story I derive my example did.
25 Elizabeth Harman discusses this example in “‘I’ll Be Glad I Did It’: Reasoning and
the Significance of Future Desires”. The Stoics would embrace this case, though
their analysis would differ in any number of ways from Harman’s. For example,
Harman assumes, perhaps for the sake of simplicity, that in general deaf people are
happy. The Stoics make a modal claim: they can be happy and build a good life for
themselves. This makes a decisive difference: just as one can build a good life for
oneself if deaf, one can also build a good life for oneself if not deaf. Thus the fact
that a deaf person finds herself leading a good life does not provide a reason for
others (if given the choice) to prefer to be deaf, or to decide against surgery that

such assessments. Having one’s perceptual faculties intact is to be preferred. If,
say, one had to choose whether to be born deaf or not deaf, one would reasonably
choose the latter. But if one is deaf, one can build a good life, and then this life
is one’s life. In saying “I would want to change the condition I’m in”, one would
essentially say “I reject the good life I have built for myself ”—and there is no
reason to do so, assuming that indeed one is leading a good life.
4. The Substantive Falsity Charge

The Stoic view, however, hangs on a substantive claim: that things
of value and disvalue are indifferent to whether it is possible to have a
good life. Why assume that life, health, wealth, and so on, are indifferent to
whether it is possible to have a good life? The gym advertisement and the
retirement case are “friendly” examples—we tend to be committed to the
view that one can lead a good life even if one is, in some respects (and even
some rather significant respects) not healthy or disabled, or if one has less
rather than more money. But some Stoic examples seem rather chilling to
even the most sympathetic readers. When Epictetus, a late Stoic who arguably
develops a perspective that in some respects differs from the “orthodox” Stoic
perspective I have been sketching up to now, says that one shouldn’t grieve
over the death of one’s child, Stoicism might appear to be at its worst. As
Epictetus puts it, the death of one’s child is not bad, but the grief is. The death is
not up to us, and thus it doesn’t fall into the domain of the good and the bad.26
But grieving is up to us. Since it involves the mistake of considering death a bad
thing, it is itself bad.27
Epictetus’s instructions make Stoicism seem rather stark. It is one
thing not to despair if I need glasses; it is another thing not to despair if my child
dies. Are there cases of loss of value where it is reasonable to give up? Notably,
my point here is not that it may be a relatable human weakness to grieve and
despair. The point is that it may be rational. If someone dies who is central to
the life I am leading, and if my life is no longer recognizable as the life I have
would allow their children to hear.

26 Epictetus discusses the distinction between what is up to us and what is not
up to us in any number of contexts; it is one of the best-known aspects of his
thought. To be able to make this distinction is one of the prime goals of education
(Discourses I.22.9–10). What, then, is up to us? How we assent, what we accept as
true, how we decide, what we intend—these may serve as preliminary glosses for
the Greek term prohairesis as Epictetus uses it. Not even Zeus, says Epictetus, can
conquer one’s prohairesis (I.1.21–23).
27 Cf., for example, “‘So-and-so’s son is dead.’ Answer, ‘That lies outside of the sphere
of prohairesis; it is not a bad thing.’ [...] He was grieved at all this. ‘That lies within
the sphere of prohairesis; it is a bad thing’” (III.8.2–4).
Katja Maria Vogt 67

built for myself, then it might appear Stoically appropriate to think that this is
it: I don’t want to go on.
Infant mortality, much more present in people’s lives in antiquity than
in many parts of the world today, serves as a central example in Stoic theorizing.
What can be said on behalf of Stoic theory with a view to such examples? One
point we can make, I think, is that whatever else is to be said about infant
mortality, we are strongly in favor of the scientific progress and health care
improvements that lead to lowering its rate. In making this point, I am siding
with early Stoic theory and against Epictetus. Epictetus’s distinction between
what is “up to us”—virtue/right decision-making—and what isn’t “up to us”—
everything else—has a different flavor from the good-value-distinction I defend.
It suggests that life and health and wealth are outside of the domains in which
we should be invested: we should see these things as not in our power, and focus
elsewhere. This is contrary to the early Stoic proposal that one should do one’s
very best to aim well with respect to precisely such things as life and health and
wealth. One should try to understand how the human organism works, what
kinds of parts of nature humans are, and so on. This spirit leads toward science,
and thus, among other things, toward aiming to figure out how children can
be kept alive. Accordingly, it is rather different from the attitudes Epictetus
advocates. The early Stoic answer to “what should one do in the face of infant
mortality?” might indeed be this: one should aim to improve living conditions,
medicine, access to health care, and so on, so as to reduce infant mortality rates
as much as one can. In my view, this is a rather good response. It recognizes the
value of life and health.
But arguably, this does not yet explain why a given parent should not
find herself unable to overcome the loss of her child. To see more clearly whether
and how the Stoic proposal can be defended, consider a clause that I have been
using throughout, but that merits careful analysis—the clause that “it is possible
to have a good life” without attaining or securing things of value. The clause
comes from a report of Stoic theory that distinguishes two ways of using the
term “indifferent”:
‘Indifferent’ is used in two senses: unconditionally, of things

which contribute neither to happiness nor unhappiness, as
is the case with wealth, reputation, health, strength, and
the like. For it is possible to be happy without these, though
the manner of using them is constitutive of happiness
or unhappiness. In another sense those things are called
indifferent which activate neither impulse nor repulsion, as
is the case with having an odd or even number of hairs on
one’s head, or stretching or contracting one’s finger. But the
previous indifferents are not spoken of in this sense. For they
are capable of activating impulse and repulsion. Hence some

of them are selected and others disselected, but the second
type is entirely equal with respect to choice and avoidance.
[DL 7.104–105 = LS 58B]
The claim that matters such as health and wealth are indifferent to
happiness or misery is here explained as the claim that it is possible to be happy—
or, to have a good life—without them. This proposal is more modest than Stoic
theory is often taken to be, and it should not be conflated with a number of
stronger claims. (i) The claim is not that, say, a person could not feel happy after
she inherited so much money that, in her new home high above Lago di Lugano,
she barely recalls how she used to slave away as a philosophy professor in the big
city. This notion of happiness as a subjective feeling is not the notion of happiness
that figures in ancient ethics. The ancient notion of happiness is one that takes
a third-person perspective and looks, roughly speaking, at someone’s life as a
whole. From this kind of perspective, one could say that someone’s life is going
well or is not going well. Indeed, one could say about the person who is elated
about her newly acquired riches that her life is not going well. For example, she
might have adopted a mode of life devoted entirely, say, to expensive wines and
sustaining a perfect suntan, that is, a mode of life without any projects guided by
value and the aim of attaining WVK.
(ii) Nor do the Stoics claim that things such as health and wealth
cannot be significant components of a given well-going life. For example, a
parent devoted to raising her children well might count as able to lead a good
life, and it might be impossible for the parent to do what she does if she loses her
health, her job, and so on. If one were to describe her life—how hard she works
to provide for the children and give them a good education, how untiring she is
in playing with them, taking them outdoors for exercise, and so on—it would
appear that the facts that she is healthy and has an income are quite relevant. The
Stoics do not deny this. They propose, instead, that if the parent were to lose her
job and to become sick, she would still be able to lead a good life. It would be a
different life, and not the one she hoped for. Perhaps her children would have to
move in with relatives. But the parent’s life could still be a good life, and there
would still be ways in which she could play a good role in her children’s lives.
(iii) The Stoic proposal also does not mean that any kind of adversity
should be suffered as if it did not affect one’s life. On the contrary, the Stoics are
the only ancient philosophers—and among the very few thinkers until today—
who defend suicide as a potentially reasonable option. If one’s life becomes such
that one cannot do anything—not talk with one’s children, not perform any
good actions, and so on—then the Stoics do not see what should be wrong with
ending it. They are, however, cautious in how they advertise this view. As is well-
known from other contexts, the Stoics share with the skeptics a certain epistemic
pessimism, and they assume that we tend to be rather bad at assessing such
matters. Accordingly, they think that only the wise person is in a position to
Katja Maria Vogt 69

make this decision.28 With respect to everyone else, they share our conventional
view, namely that someone in danger of committing suicide is to be engaged
with more as a patient suffering from a self-destructive pathological condition
than as an agent who is deciding what to do. Still, their general line of thought on
suicide is relevant to our current discussion. It indicates that the Stoics ascribe
real significance to matters of value and disvalue.
Against the Substantive Falsity Charge, it is thus relevant that the Stoic
claim is weaker than it is sometimes taken to be. The claim is not that things
such as life, health, wealth, and so on, cannot evoke a sense of happiness, or
cannot figure in how a life that is good goes. The claim is more modest: when
such things are lost, it is in general still possible to come up with a way of life
that is good. This can involve anything from small adjustments to re-imagining
one’s life and starting from scratch. In some limiting cases, no such plan can
be found: no life can be imagined and taken up that would plausibly count as
going well. If one were wise, one could assess these matters correctly, and one
might arrive at the conclusion that it is best to end one’s life. This decision would
reflect the basic premise that only the good life is desirable. But given that we
tend not to be wise—and are thus prone to think in emotionally clouded ways,
such that we may not recognize ways in which our life could be a good life—
this can only be the rarest of exceptions, and certainly not practical advice for
moments of despair.
5. The Psychological Fraud Charge

What, then, remains of the suspicion that the Stoics invite us to
commit psychological fraud, talking ourselves into the view that life or health or
wealth really doesn’t matter the very moment it is lost, but otherwise encourage
us to pursue these kinds of things? This charge has already been refuted: based
on the arguments offered in response to other objections, the Psychological
Fraud Charge can be recognized as misguided. It arises only if one rejects two
substantive proposals: first, that valuing has two dimensions (deliberation about
what to do, and thinking about whether, under given conditions, one can lead a
good life), and second, that a good life is possible when things of value are lost
or impeded.
One reason the Psychological Fraud Charge might still resonate with
readers of Stoic texts is that late Stoic texts are more accessible than early Stoic
philosophy, which I have been drawing on. Recent scholarship has interpreted
Epictetus, Seneca, and other late Stoic authors as offering therapeutic advice.
In their writings, philosophy and therapy seem to merge, and it is hard to say
where this leads with respect to the Psychological Fraud Charge. It might be
argued that Roman Stoic philosophers put forward a model of philosophy
that moves away from arguments and toward practices that help one deal with
28 Cf. John Cooper, “Greek Philosophers on Euthanasia and Suicide”.

adversity in life.29 This raises the question of whether these practices are meant
to be delusional, or whether they are meant to capture the truth of the matter.30
If a philosophy invites attitudes on the grounds that they are psychologically
effective, whether or not they are rational, then this should give anyone pause.
I am not making a move here that recent scholars have dismissed, namely
to look down upon later Stoic writings as less aptly considered “philosophy”
than early Stoic thought because they involve a therapeutic or exercise-oriented
element. For present purposes, I shall assume that there are different ways of
doing philosophy. The question I am asking is about kinds of therapy. It invokes
a distinction between (i) therapy that aims at correcting the agent’s views of the
world such that they are more truthful, and (ii) therapy that aims at modifying
the agent’s views in such a way as to help her navigate the manifold challenges
of life. The relevant distinction is today sometimes discussed in the context of
so-called depressive realism. Contrary to the long-standing assumption that
depressed people see the world more negatively than it is, such that therapy
could aim to instill more realistic evaluations, some studies suggest that
depressed people see the world more realistically than the non-depressed—
and this means therapy would have to move them away from the truth. These
studies and their interpretations are controversial.31 For current purposes, the
question of how they are to be assessed need not be settled. It suffices that the
29 These matters are controversial, and every late Stoic philosopher would have to be
discussed in his own right. Prominent contributions on these questions include
Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life; Long, Epictetus; John Cooper, “Moral
Theory and Moral Improvement: Seneca”; Brad Inwood, Reading Seneca; Gareth
Williams, The Cosmic Viewpoint; Cooper, Pursuits of Wisdom.
30 For example, Cicero has a Stoic ask how someone who accepts the distinction
between external, internal, and bodily goods could be happy. The implication is
that one should reject the idea that strength and health and so on are goods for
the very reason that otherwise one cannot be happy. “For if a man is confident in
the goods that he has, what does he lack for living happily? Yet a man who adopts
the threefold division of goods inevitably lacks confidence. For how will he be
able to be confident of bodily strength or secure fortune? Yet no one can be
happy without a good which is secure, stable, and lasting […]. The man who
would fear losing any of these things cannot be happy.” (Tusculan Disputations
5.40–1 = LS 63L).
31 The initial study was published by L. B. Alloy and L. Y. Abramson, “Judgment of
Contingency in Depressed and Nondepressed Students”. For critical discussion,
cf. K. Dobson and R. L. Franche, “A Conceptual and Empirical Review of the
Depressive Realism Hypothesis”; R. Ackermann and R. J. DeRubeis, “Is Depressive
Realism Real?”; L. G. Allan, S. Siegel, and S. Hannah, “The Sad Truth about
Depressive Realism”; T. S. Fu, W. Koutstaal, L. Poon, and A. J. Cleare, “Confidence
Judgment in Depression and Dysphoria”.
Katja Maria Vogt 71

phenomenon they point to is conceivable: that in order to get through life, one
would have to delude oneself, and that therapy could contribute to creating the
relevant delusions.
This is the charge I have in mind with respect to late Stoicism. Some of
the proposed practices might aim to make one see things differently than they
are, based on the assumption that these acquired views and attitudes would be
psychologically helpful, though they are not true. My suspicion is, for example,
that to think of health as straightforwardly not “up to us” is to adopt a false view.
If one were to aim as best as one could for health, one would start to think about
health care and hygiene, one might study medicine or support that others study
medicine, and so on. At the same time, no matter how far health care advances,
there are likely to be cases where people die of illnesses.32 It seems, however,
that the dichotomy of what is up to us and not up to us is unsuitable to deal
adequately with matters of value. Health is the kind of thing that one can try one’s
very best to achieve. It makes a difference how much study, thought, and care
one puts into it, even though one may in the end still get sick. This perspective,
which proceeds in early Stoic terms, aims to describe things as they are, not—
presumably—as they are best thought of by those who want psychological relief.
And indeed, the early Stoic claim would be that ultimately the truth is most
therapeutic: that one will lead a better life by aiming to see things as they are,
and that includes by seeing health as something that is reasonably aimed for as
best as one can. The early Stoics are committed to the Socratic ideal of leading
a life guided by reason. According to this conception of philosophy, practices
count as psychological fraud if they do not aim to reflect how things are.
6. Conclusion
Stoic ethics is the only major ethical theory that focuses on what I
take to be a pervasive task in ordinary life: taking the same things seriously and
not seriously. Other ethicists often have something to say about some related
ideas, such as questions of “moral luck”—how outcomes that were a matter of
luck affect our attitudes to actions. The Stoics, however, address the challenge of
taking the same things seriously and not seriously as a fundamental component
of their ethical theorizing. As I see it, it is a virtue of a philosophical theory to
acknowledge how widely this challenge figures in ordinary life, and to try to
account for the rationality of the relevant attitudes.
Though ethicists tend to neglect these matters, religion traditionally
addresses them. For example, it is part of the point of some religious holidays (in
several religious traditions) that they allow the believer to take a step back, as it
32 I shall not enter here into discussions of where to draw the line between dying
of symptoms typical to old age on the one hand, and disease on the other. The
important point is that even the greatest advances in medicine are unlikely to
create a world entirely devoid of disease.

were distancing herself from the concerns of her daily life. A child who is asked
every day in the week to take her homework seriously and pay close attention
in school so that she will do well on her exams and eventually “do well in life” is
allowed to realize that, from another point of view, such matters as grades and
entry exams for college are rather irrelevant. What matters, she is told, is that
she become a good person. Religious holidays that institutionalize these ideas
respond to a serious task: it is not easy to acquire the complex set of attitudes
that it takes in order to study enthusiastically for your exams and at the same
time recognize that you can lead a good life whether or not you pass the exams.
Late Stoic therapeutic practices may be thought to bear similarities to religion,
aiming to help people attain seemingly antithetical attitudes through practices.
The early Stoics, by contrast, put their stock in arguments, trying to
get clear on why the seemingly antithetical attitudes of taking the same things
seriously and not seriously are not just effective, but indeed rational. Though
the distinction between the valuable and the good might be one of the most
famous components of Stoic ethics, I think it has been one of its least well
understood. The Stoic proposal is not only relevant to ordinary life—which
should suffice to recommend it—but also relevant to contemporary philosophy.
It ties discussions about value to discussions about complex attitudes of valuing:
attitudes involved in deliberation on the one hand, and in wanting one’s life as
a whole to go well on the other. Not least, it raises the question of whether the
good and the valuable are indeed well conceived as distinct properties: whether
the valuable is plausibly thought of as what today we might call “the reason-
giving”, while the good as primary motivational end might be the good life.
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Katja Maria Vogt 75

Epictetus’s Moral Epistemology
Jeffrey J. Fisher
This paper is an attempt to trace the outlines of Epictetus’s moral

epistemology. The argument of the paper is that, in his conception of knowledge,
Epictetus is an orthodox Stoic, upholding the main tenets of Stoic epistemology.
Now I ultimately see this argument as a prolegomena to understanding
Epictetus’s own novel contributions to Stoic epistemology, which I think are
considerable. In short, I think his contribution is that he shows his students
(and us, his readers) how they can best go about acquiring moral knowledge—
how they can make progress towards knowledge from where they are right now.
What makes this contribution particularly interesting, not just for scholars of
Stoicism, but for anyone interested in moral knowledge in general, is that the
acquisition of moral knowledge, according to Epictetus, is much less a matter
of reading treatises or articles, or memorizing arguments and theories, than
it is a matter of desiring, acting, and living properly—our practical lives, for
Epictetus, play a much more important role in attaining moral knowledge than
our intellectual ones. But all that must wait. For to have that discussion, we need
to first determine what Epictetus’s account of ethical knowledge is, which is an
interesting and worthwhile pursuit in its own right. For not much attention has
been paid to it, but exploring the epistemological theory of one of the leading
Stoics should add much to our understanding of Stoic epistemology. More
specifically, exploring Epictetus’s epistemology will shed light, as I hope to show,
on the epistemological aspects of the famous notion of the “art of living”, for, as
we will see, this notion is central to Epictetus’s moral epistemology.
I. The Epistēmē of Life

The standard Stoic view of knowledge, or epistēmē, is found, among
other places, in Stobaeus: “knowledge [epistēmēn] is a system” of cognitions
(katalēpsis) that are “secure and unchangeable by reason” (LS 41H, with
modifications).1 One important upshot of this conception of knowledge is that
only masters or experts possess it. Now this, of course, is a far cry from how we
today use the word “knowledge”. Today, we tend to use the word “knowledge”
in a much less robust sense. For example, it is perfectly acceptable to say that
I know x even though my belief that x may be shaken and even though my
1 All translations cited as being in LS are those of Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic
Philosophers, unless otherwise noted. Bibliographic information for all references
can be found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.
Jeffrey J. Fisher 77
belief might not be situated within a system of unshakeable beliefs. I can know
x without being a “master” of the domain of which x is a member.
Now, in Discourses IV.1, Epictetus mentions the “art of living”, but not
by that name—he refers to it as the “epistēmē of living” (IV.1.62–64), or the
“epistēmē concerning life” (IV.1.117–118).2 As will become clear in what follows,
this epistēmē is what we would call ethical or moral knowledge. The goal of this
paper is to flesh out why exactly Epictetus’s epistēmē of life should be understood
as an epistēmē in the orthodox Stoic sense—that is, should be understood as a
system of cognitions—as opposed to some other sense of knowledge, such as
our contemporary one.
A first clue that it should be is given by the fact that the epistēmē of
life ranges over a particular domain—namely, life—which makes it much more
like an expertise than like justified true belief of some proposition or other.
This clue is further corroborated by (1) the fact that in the two places where
Epictetus discusses the epistēmē of life, he compares it to other organized bodies
of expertise (IV.1.62–64; IV.1.117–118), and (2) possession of this epistēmē,
Epictetus tells us, makes one a “master” (IV.1.118).
Now while this may make it plausible that the epistēmē of life is a
Stoic epistēmē, it doesn’t establish it. And I would like to see how firmly we can
establish it. To make a stronger connection, we will need to take a bit of a longer
path, one that begins with elucidating the relationship between the epistēmē of
life and a human being’s end (telos).
Possession of the epistēmē of life, Epictetus tells us, makes us free from
hindrance in life (IV.1.63–64). He also tells us in another discourse that freedom
from hindrance is tantamount to following God (I.12.8–21) and then that this,
in turn, is our end (telos) (I.12.5, I.30.5). Possession of the epistēmē of life, then,
is what allows us to fulfill our end and so live well.
At II.11.9, Epictetus gives us an alternative characterization of what
it is for human beings to attain their end. They would do this—they would be
perfect (teleious)—if they had knowledge both of ethical preconceptions (or,
in other words, general ethical truths, such as those concerning “noble” and
“base”) and of the correct applications of those preconceptions. In speaking of
this knowledge, Epictetus does not use “epistēmē” or any word built from the
same root; rather, he uses “oida” (II.11.7). Epictetus uses “oida” (and forms
of “eidenai”, in general) in much the same way as we use “knowledge” today.
Most commonly, “eidenai” is used to ascribe knowledge of propositions—both
contingent and necessary. For example, Epictetus speaks of knowing (oidas) that
“the book costs five denarii” (I.4.16) and of knowing (oidas) that “freedom is
something noble and remarkable” (I.12.12). Clearly, this is a different kind of
knowledge than epistēmē.
2 All translations of Epictetus are my own. I have used Oldfather’s edition of the
Greek text.

So here at II.11.7, “oida” refers to knowing particular propositions.
Epictetus is not talking about the mastery of some science, but merely about
knowing what “noble” and “base” are—for example, knowing the general truth
that the noble is praiseworthy and the base blameworthy. Now it is knowledge
(eidenai) of these general truths about noble, base, and other central ethical
concepts and knowledge of how to apply them, Epictetus tells us here, that
makes us perfect (teleious); that allows us to fulfill our end. Accordingly, having
knowledge (eidenai) of all general ethical truths and knowing how to apply them
is closely related, if not identical, to possessing the epistēmē of life. And, indeed, I
think a strong case can be made for their being identical. For if they are not the
same, then what exactly is the relationship between them? Are they two different
and distinct routes that one can take to human perfection? Or are there two
kinds of perfection, one reached by one route, the other reached by the other?
It seems highly unlikely that there would be two such routes or two kinds of
perfection. For, first, Epictetus never explicitly discusses such multiplicity; and,
second, it seems needlessly baroque both as an interpretation of Epictetus and
as an ethical theory. Elucidating Epictetus’s thoughts on knowledge of general
ethical truths and their applications, then, should shed light on what precisely
the epistēmē of life is, and so on whether or not it is an epistēmē in the orthodox
Stoic sense. First let us examine knowledge of general ethical truths. To do so,
we will need to turn our attention to preconceptions.
II. Knowledge of General Ethical Truths

i. Preconceptions
All human beings, by virtue of their human nature, have preconceptions,
according to Epictetus. What exactly is it to have a preconception of something?
Consider the preconception of evil. Having this preconception involves thinking
of evil things as harmful, to be avoided, and to be gotten rid of by any means
possible (IV.1.44). That is to say, to have the preconception of evil is to believe
that if something is evil, then it is also “harmful”, “to be avoided”, etc.; it is to
believe certain categorical propositions about evil and things insofar as they
are evil. In more general terms, to have a preconception of X is to believe a
categorical proposition that predicates some other concept(s) of X or of things
that are X. For example, “All Xs are Ys”, or “Xa → Ya”. To grasp a preconception,
then, is to grasp a general truth. To grasp a preconception concerning an ethical
concept, accordingly, is to grasp a general ethical truth. But how do we come to
have this grasp? Where do preconceptions come from?
ii. God, Reason, and Preconceptions

According to Epictetus, nature (phusis) instructs us about, and
implants in us, preconceptions. And as it is part of Stoic orthodoxy to identify
nature with God, Epictetus is not merely saying that everyone has certain
preconceptions regardless of the society of which she or he is part (which
might be one commonsensical way to interpret him here), but, in addition,
that God has implanted preconceptions into every human being; it is part of
God-given human nature to have the preconceptions that we have. It looks,
then, as though Epictetus is a nativist.3 Now one of the longer-living debates
in Stoic scholarship is over whether or not, and to what degree, the Stoics were
nativists.4 And at the center of this debate is Chrysippus and his reported
mention of “innate preconceptions” (emphutôn […] prolêpseôn) (Plutarch,
On Stoic Self-Contradictions, 1041E = LS 60B). In the case of Epictetus, by
contrast, scholars disagree much less—there is much more of a consensus that
Epictetus was, in fact, a nativist.5 And I think this consensus correct. For not
only does Epictetus refer to preconceptions as “innate concept[s]” (emphuton
ennoian) with which all of us are born (II.11.3), but he also explains our present
ability to apply preconceptions to the world by referring to our having already
been instructed by nature about them by the time we are born (II.11.6). It is
unclear, to say the least, how such instruction could be understood as not being
an affirmation of at least some minimal form of nativism. Accordingly, we
should understand Epictetus as holding that preconceptions are innate in every
human being, being planted there by God before we were born.6 To further
understand the nature of preconceptions, it will help to clarify the nature of God.
3 By nativism, I mean the theory that certain concepts are implanted in our minds
naturally, if only in an undeveloped or spermatic way.
4 Bonhöffer (Epictet und die Stoa, 187–222) argued that Chrysippus (as well
as Epictetus) was a nativist in this sense, while Sandbach (“Ennoia and
ΠΡΟΛΗΨΙΣ”), in direct response to Bonhöffer, argued that Chrysippus was
not, but agreed that Epictetus was. More recently, Jackson-McCabe (“Implanted
Preconceptions”) has taken up Bonhöffer’s cause, and Dyson (Prolepsis and
Ennoia) has argued that the Stoics did not think we have concepts (ennoia)
implanted in us from birth (see, in particular, 148), but that they did think we have
innate dispositions to form certain concepts and that preconceptions are these
dispositions. (Dyson understands nativism to be the thesis that concepts (ennoiai)
are innate, and so he claims that the Stoics were not nativists. But in the sense in
which I am using the term, Dyson would agree that the Stoics ascribed to a kind of
nativism—namely a dispositional or spermatic kind.)
5 Indeed, even in the debates in the secondary literature previously referred to, it is
acknowledged that Epictetus thought that preconceptions were innate—the debate
is only over the early Stoics and whether they did or not.
6 Whether or not Epictetus departs from Stoic orthodoxy on this point depends
on what exactly the Stoic orthodoxy is. If Sandbach (“Ennoia and ΠΡΟΛΗΨΙΣ”)
is right about what it is, then Epictetus does, in fact, depart from it; if Bonhöffer
(Epictet und die Stoa) or Jackson-McCabe (“Implanted Preconceptions”) or Dyson
(Prolepsis and Ennoia) is right, then Epictetus does not.

In particular, we need to clarify the relationships between God, reason,
and human beings. In short, God is identical to reason, and, more specifically,
God is identical to our reason; Epictetus identifies a human being’s faculty
of reason with (a fragment of) God. In a mock conversation with himself at
I.14.11–12, Epictetus asks his confounded imaginary interlocutor, “does anyone
also tell you this, namely, that you possess a faculty (dunamin) equal to God?”
Though he does not explicitly state so, it is clear that the faculty in question at
I.14.11–12 is the faculty of reason. For God is reason (logos), and so a faculty that
is the same as God must be a reasoning faculty. Our reasoning faculty, then, is
God; it is the fragment or piece of God within us (II.8.11).7
It is this fragment that Epictetus speaks of when he tells us that each
of us has within a “diviner who has spoken the true nature of good and of evil
[tēn ousian tou agathou kai kakou]” (II.7.3). I think it is clear that Epictetus
has preconceptions in mind in this passage—that is, that Epictetus thinks
that through the preconceptions of good and evil, we are “told” the true
nature of good and evil by our faculty of reason. Why think he is speaking of
preconceptions here? First, Epictetus clearly thinks we have preconceptions of
both good and evil, and he often uses them as paradigmatic, exemplary, and
uncontroversial preconceptions (e.g., at III.22.39, I.22.1, and IV.1.44). Second,
and more importantly, there is no other plausible explanation internal to
Epictetus’s philosophy that might explain what “being told the true nature
of good and evil by an internal diviner” is; there is no other item within his
philosophy that could play such a role. What this passage says, then, is that the
preconceptions implanted in our souls by God/reason tell us, and grant us our
access to, the truth about those things of which they are preconceptions. It is
through preconceptions, then, that we come to have knowledge of propositions
like “evil is to be avoided”; which is just to say that it is through preconceptions
that we come to have knowledge of general ethical truths.
What this passage also points to is the fact that Epictetus thinks we
have cognition (katalēpsis) of preconceptions. To see this, we need to first turn
our attention to the Fragments. In Fragments 1, we find Arrian recounting
some of Epictetus’s thoughts about the uselessness of certain kinds of inquiries.
He writes:
What does it matter to me, he [i.e., Epictetus] says, whether

beings are composed from atoms or indivisibles or from fire
and solids? For is it not enough to learn the true nature of
good and evil [tēn ousian tou agathou kai kakou], and the
measures of desires and aversions, and still yet of choices and
refusals and, through these things, using them as standards,
7 For further discussion of Epictetus’s claim that we are a fragment of God, see Long,
Epictetus, 143–146.
manage the things of life, dismissing the things beyond us,
things which, perchance, are uncognizable [akatalēpta] by
the human mind, and, even if one assumes they are most
cognizable [katalēpta], what profit comes from them being
cognized [katalēphthentōn]? [Fragments 1.2–11]
What interests me is not so much the claim about the profit (or lack
thereof) of physical inquiry, but rather that Epictetus clearly implies that the
“true nature of good and evil” is cognizable—it is the kind of thing of which
we have cognition (katalēpsis). That is just to say, however, that preconceptions
are cognizable, for, as was just discussed, it is preconceptions that contain the
content of, and so tell us, the “true nature of good and evil”. The knowledge (in
the sense of eidenai) of general ethical truths that in part constitutes the epistēmē
of life should, then, not be understood as, for example, weak assent to a general
truth, but rather as cognition (katalēpsis) of it.
It is also important to note who has this eidenai of general ethical truths.
At II.11.7, Epictetus is engaging in a mock conversation with himself where one
of the participants is supposed to be Epictetus himself. The other participant
is a philosophical layman—an “everyman” without extraordinary abilities or
extensive education. It is this layman who, at II.11.7, claims to have knowledge
(eidenai) of the noble and the base, and Epictetus in his own person agrees that he,
in fact, does. Moreover, this knowledge is claimed simply on the basis of having
the relevant preconception. According to Epictetus, then, the philosophically
unsophisticated and untrained person has knowledge of what is noble and base,
and presumably of anything else of which we have preconceptions. One need
not be a philosopher or a Stoic to have such knowledge—one need only be a
human being.
It seems, however, that it is possible that the knowledge we have on the
basis of preconceptions is, in many cases, latent. It is not active and not attended
to. Indeed, it is part of progress to articulate preconceptions; to activate and
systematize them (this will be discussed later). When this knowledge is left latent,
Epictetus thinks that it will not guide our actions. And thus the articulation
and activation of preconceptions becomes important. So even though we can
all quite easily come to have cognition of general ethical truths, not all of us
do, in fact, have this cognition.8 For we might never pay much attention to our
preconceptions and so never come to really grasp any (or, at least, some) general
ethical truths.
Having shown that we have cognition of general ethical truths via
preconceptions, let us turn our attention, now, to knowledge of the applications
of preconceptions.
8 Barnes (Logic and the Imperial Stoa, 40–44) addresses much the same point.

III. Knowledge of Applications
i. Ethical Disagreement, Preconceptions, and Standards
In II.11, Epictetus gives us a detailed account of how beliefs about
the application of preconceptions and preconceptions themselves interact. He
begins by noting that we are born with preconceptions about certain ethical
terms such as good and evil (II.11.3) and so have a certain kind of knowledge of
them (II.11.7). Because we all have the same preconceptions, Epictetus thinks
that there will be little disagreement between people concerning preconceptions
and that disagreement will arise primarily at the level of application of
preconceptions (II.11.7–12, I.22.4). So we all more or less agree that evil is to
be avoided; but we tend to disagree about what particular things are evil and
so to be avoided. In order to determine which applications are correct, we must
test our applications, Epictetus tells us, by turning to some standard that will
determine what the proper application is.
At I.28.28 we get an answer as to what the standards are when, in
an effort to help resolve an ethical disagreement, Epictetus says, “let us go to
our standards (kanonas), bring forth your preconceptions” (I.28.28). The
standards are preconceptions. Now perhaps, one might object, this is too
quick; preconceptions and standards are two different things—this passage
doesn’t necessarily equate them. In response. let me note two things: (1) it is
by no means implausible, and is, in fact, quite natural, to take I.28.28 as a case
of apposition and so as equating preconceptions and standards, and (2) (and
this is the more important one), when Epictetus actually employs standards, for
example in II.11.20 and 22, it is clear that they are preconceptions.
So preconceptions are the standards by which we should resolve
disagreements over applications. And so, they might seem to be the way in
which all applications are known—if one knows all preconceptions, one can
figure out and come to know all applications through the “preconception
test”. While I think this test could be used as a way of coming to knowledge
of some applications, I do not think that it’s exhaustive of the ways in which
applications are known, and so I don’t think it has as central an epistemological
role as it may seem to.9 An examination of this test, however, will make clear
what exactly Epictetus’s epistemology of applications is. Let us, now, examine the
preconception test.
ii. Articulation of Preconceptions

The test requires that one’s preconceptions be “at hand” or “activated”.
For, as Epictetus tells us, “it is impossible to apply preconceptions to the
9 Since Epictetus uses the central Hellenistic epistemological notion of the “criterion”
(kritērion) on only a few occasions, the fact that a number of those instances occur
within discussion of this test lends further credence to the notion that it might be
central to Epictetus’s epistemology.
appropriate things without having first articulated them” (II.17.7). Now while
it may seem fairly easy to articulate a handful of preconceptions, and thus easy
to properly apply preconceptions, such scanty articulation is insufficient. For,
according to Epictetus, we need to articulate a complete interconnected system
of preconceptions (II.17.10; II.11.18) in order to apply them properly. This
complete system is the standard against which we should check any application
we make—any application should be consistent with this system. Articulating a
complete system, undoubtedly, is much more difficult.
Let us turn to an example to see why the complete system is needed.
Consider the argument against hedonism found at II.11.20–22:
(1) All good things are worthy of confidence and trustworthy.

(2) Nothing worthy of confidence is insecure.
(3) Pleasure is insecure.
(4) Therefore, pleasure is not worthy of confidence (from 2 and 3)
(unstated).
(5) Therefore, pleasure is not good (from 1 and 4).
(1) and (2) are clearly statements of preconceptions. And if we had

articulated only one of these two, we would be unable to produce this refutation.
For without also articulating the other, we would be unable to reach the
conclusion that pleasure is not good. Because some false applications require
one, two, three, or however many preconceptions in order to be refuted, one
needs to have the complete system at hand. In order to be ready and able to
adequately test any application that one might come across, articulation of the
complete system is required.
Now while having a complete system of articulated preconceptions is
necessary for this refutation, what is also necessary is the premise that pleasure
is insecure. Without this premise, the argument would simply stay at the level
of conceptual relations and would not make contact with the particular things
in the world with which we interact. And this will be true of any argument that
brings preconceptions to bear on particular things in the world. In this case, this
premise seems to be an application of “insecure” to a particular thing, namely,
the pleasure we have felt. So how do we know that pleasure is insecure? How do
we know that this application is true? If it is by testing it in the same way that we
tested the application that pleasure is good—submitting it to the “preconception
test”—then we are off on an infinite regress. For that further testing will itself
require some other application, which will then have to itself be tested and so
on ad infinitum. And given the foundationalism of Stoic epistemology (and
arguably of epistemology in general until the nineteenth century), such a regress
would be unacceptable for Epictetus. So there must be at least one application
(there are most likely many) that is not known or justified via this test. How is
this application known?

Now Epictetus does not appear to be terribly concerned about such a
question. He seems to think that the most important, and perhaps most neglected,
tool for resolving ethical disagreement and error is the preconception test; he
seems to think most people go wrong because they do not have the complete
system articulated. This is why, when disagreements arise, his advice is to turn to
preconceptions and to articulate them. In this way, one is brought closer to the
complete system and to being able to refute oneself or one’s interlocutor, thus
resolving the dispute and dispelling the error.
But still, we might wonder, what about those applications that are not
known through the test—those applications that must be known prior to any
testing? How exactly does he think they are known? In general, aside from the
preconception test, what is Epictetus’s epistemology of applications? Let us turn
to these questions.
iii. Knowing Applications

The very first discourse describes the preeminence of the faculty of
reason. This faculty, Epictetus tells us, “sanctions the use of ” the other faculties
(I.1.6), passing judgment on their uses and value, and telling us when the right
time to use them is. In a later discourse he elaborates further, adding that the
faculty of reason passes judgment on the faculties of perception (he mentions
sight and hearing), telling us whether or not to trust what these other faculties
tell us (II.23.13). The faculty of reason, in other words, approves or disapproves
of the propositions delivered to it via the senses and other faculties. For a
deliverance of the senses might be a hallucination or it might be a cognitive
impression, and it is the task of the faculty of reason to determine what kind
of perception it is and then to either assent or not. Indeed, we see Epictetus
stating this explicitly as concerns sense-impressions at III.12.15: “We ought not
accept a sense-impression that has not been examined, but should say ‘wait,
show yourself, let me see who you are and whence you come’ (just as the night-
watch says, ‘show me your tokens’). ‘Do you have the token from nature, the one
which it is necessary for a sense-impression which will be accepted to have?’”
Now, presumably, only cognitive impressions (katalēptikē phantasia) come with
a “token from nature”, for Epictetus holds that only cognitive impressions should
be accepted or assented to (III.8.4).
That he holds this is to be expected, seeing as it is standard Stoicism
to hold that the sage only ever assents to a cognitive impression (katalēptikē
phantasia). Now, the sage, for Epictetus, is the one who possesses the epistēmē
of life, which is to say (as was discussed in the beginning of my paper) that the
sage knows (and so must therefore assent to) all general ethical truths and their
applications. Accordingly, if Epictetus is to retain orthodoxy, he must think that
general ethical truths and their applications are cognizable. As was previously
shown in section II.ii, he thinks that general ethical truths are. I think that III.8
shows that he thinks applications are as well.
There, Epictetus is discussing which things we can properly apply good
and evil to. One’s son dies—“that is not within the sphere of prohairesis, [so]
it is not evil” (III.8.2). One is distressed at this—“that is within the sphere of
prohairesis, and it is evil” (III.8.3). One bears the death nobly—“that is within
the sphere of prohairesis, and it is good” (III.8.4). “If we habituate ourselves
[ethizōmetha] thus”—that is, if we acquire the habit of always referring our
judgments of good and evil to our prohairesis—“we will make progress
[prokopsomen]” (III.8.4). “For”, Epictetus tells us, “we will never give our assent
to something other than that of which there is a cognitive impression [phantasia
katalēptikē]” (III.8.4).
There is much of interest in this passage, but, for present purposes,
what is noteworthy is the reference to cognitive impressions. In this passage,
Epictetus gives us arguments for certain claims and then tells us, though in
not so many words, that the premises of those arguments and the conclusions
that follow from them are cognizable—we can have cognitions of them. The
conclusions are of the form “this particular thing is (not) evil/good”, for example,
“the death of your son is not evil”. This is as clear a case of an application as could
be imagined. What this passage tells us, then, is that applications are cognizable.
They need not always go through a preconception test in order to be known—
some applications can be known because they carry a “token from nature”.
Now, unfortunately, Epictetus says very little about what these “tokens
from nature” might be. Though presumably Epictetus thinks, in line with his
fellow Stoics, that certain applications have a character about them such that,
when the faculty of reason focuses upon them and upon the sources from
which they sprang, it will be evident that they are true and that they could not
possibly be false. This Stoic view is certainly at least compatible, even perhaps
harmonious, with what Epictetus does say.
So while Epictetus doesn’t tell us much about cognition or the cognitive
impression, he does tell us that we can have cognition of applications. As we
saw in section II.ii, he also thinks we have cognition of general ethical truths.
And since the epistēmē of life comprises knowledge of general ethical truths and
applications, as was seen in section I, we can conclude that the epistēmē of life
is composed of cognitions. In sum, the epistēmē of life is an epistēmē in the
orthodox Stoic sense.

Select Bibliography
Barnes, Jonathan. Logic and the Imperial Stoa. Leiden: Brill Academic, 1997.
Bonhöffer, Adolf. Epictet und die Stoa: Untersuchungen zur Stoischen Philosophie.
Stuttgart: Enke, 1890.
Dyson, Henry. Prolepsis and Ennoia in the Early Stoa. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter,
2009.
Epictetus. The Discourses as Reported by Arrian, The Manual, and Fragments,

translated by W. A. Oldfather. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University
Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1959.
Jackson-McCabe, M. “The Stoic Theory of Implanted Preconceptions”, Phronesis

49 (2004): 323–347.
Long, A. A. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. New York: Oxford
LS = Long, A. A., and Sedley, D. N. The Hellenistic Philosophers. Vol. 1,

Translations of the Principal Sources, with Philosophical Commentary.
Sandbach, F. M. “Ennoia and ΠΡΟΛΗΨΙΣ in the Stoic Theory of Knowledge”.

Classical Quarterly 24 (1930): 44–51.
In Defense of Patience
Matthew Pianalto
“In your patience possess ye your souls.”

—Luke 21:19 (King James Version)
In recent philosophical discussions of the virtues, almost no sustained

attention has been given to patience.1 This may be because even though patience
is recognized as a virtue, it has been considered at best a minor virtue, the virtue
of waiting well in checkout lines and so forth. This is to underestimate the scope
and hence the significance of patience. Indeed, within the Christian tradition—
as succinctly expressed (above) in Luke 21:19—patience has been regarded as
a central virtue.2 The neglect of patience by secular-minded virtue ethicists
might equally be explained by doubts that a secularized patience, lacking an
orientation toward God and a hereafter, can have the same significance or,
perhaps, by Nietzschean concerns that patience is a “slavish” virtue, and so not
much of a virtue at all.3 But this is simply a failure to appreciate the daily and
continual need we have of patience, as temporal beings, in a world not of our
own making that does not operate according to our plans or schedules.
In what follows, I will offer an account and defense of patience that
places it at the center of the moral life, and show how the significance of patience
is reflected in the work of Seneca and Epictetus. This defense of patience thus
doubles as a defense of the Stoic ideals of fortitude, detachment, and tranquility of
mind, by underwriting a response to the objection that these states are achieved
at the cost of becoming dead to the world. By locating practical advice offered
by Stoics within the implicit project of cultivating patience, and by making the
moral necessity of that project explicit, I hope to clarify the significance and the
humanity of the Stoic project.
1 The notable exceptions are Joseph Kupfer, “When Waiting Is Weightless: The
Virtue of Patience”, Eamonn Callan, “Patience and Courage”, and Geoffrey Scarre,
On Courage, 68–75, 93–97. Bibliographic information for all references can be
found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.
2 Though not by Aquinas, as I briefly discuss below. For a recent, philosophically
subtle examination of patience from a Christian perspective, see David Baily
Harned, Patience: How We Wait Upon the World.
3 On the Nietzschean objection, see, e.g., On the Genealogy of Morality, First
Essay, §14. The objection for Nietzsche, however, is against a certain conception
of patience that he regards as too passive. As will be clear in this essay, genuine
patience is to be distinguished from mere passivity.
Matthew Pianalto 89
1. Patience: A Preliminary Sketch
Joseph Kupfer defines patience as “the disposition to accept delays in
satisfying our desires—delays that are warranted by circumstances or the desires
themselves” (“When Waiting”, 265). This captures the idea that patience involves
not merely waiting—circumstances sometimes force us to wait whether we wish
to or not—but also accepting the waiting that must be done. Here, to accept a
delay is to endure it with equanimity. Kupfer’s emphasis on this notion of delays,
however, obscures the fact that some of the frustrations that one can endure
patiently or impatiently cannot straightforwardly be interpreted as a delay in
the satisfaction of one’s desires. That is, some desire a person has might be
permanently frustrated, and so patience cannot be a matter of accepting a delay
in the satisfaction of that desire. Eamonn Callan offers the example of a man
who has lost his sight: his desire to see has now become permanently frustrated
(“Patience and Courage”, 525). Coming to terms with his condition—which
the man in Callan’s example deeply resents, and which is, in turns, a source of
both rage and despair—will require patience. The patience necessary here will
not be a matter simply of accepting the delays that might arise in adapting to
his blindness, but also of coming to accept that this is his condition. We might
also imagine a case in which an important goal or dream is crushed, and there
remains no further reasonable hope that our desire will be fulfilled. We may be
tempted to think that our life can no longer be meaningful, even though other
opportunities (and often, other goods and relationships) remain available. In
such conditions, anger and despair over permanent frustrations can sour one’s
whole life, and it seems that we can say that in the face of such circumstances,
we need patience in order to endure such frustrations while avoiding both anger
and despair. This suggests—in a way that agrees with this history of the term4
—that patience is broader in its meaning and significance than Kupfer’s focus on
waiting captures.
We could instead define patience as the capacity to endure either the
temporary or permanent frustration of our desires without lapsing into anger
or despair. To what extent is such a capacity a virtue? It might be thought that
the permanent frustration of at least some desires would be reasonable grounds
for despair and that other frustrations are reasonably met with anger, and
thus that there must be points at which our patience should reasonably run
out.5 Importantly, whether it is reasonable for one to abandon patience in the
4 For example, the Oxford English Dictionary identifies the following primary
senses of patience: “(1a) The calm, uncomplaining endurance of pain, affliction,
inconvenience, etc.; the capacity for such endurance; (1b) Forbearance or long-
suffering under provocation; esp. tolerance of the faults or limitations of other
people; (1c) Calm, self-possessed waiting; (1e) Constancy or diligence in work,
exertion, or effort; perseverance”.
5 See, for example, Aristotle’s views about mildness or good temper (with respect to

face of frustration also depends upon whether the frustrated desire was itself
reasonable. As the Stoics often point out, many of our frustrations are avoidable
and result from harboring desires (and expectations) that are unreasonable—
when, as Epictetus would say, we form desires about those things that are “not
up to us”. Of course, it is hard (practically impossible?) not to have any desires
or expectations about external goods, and so patience is needed in order to bear
the frustration of desires concerning matters over which we have limited or no
control. For those of us who are not Stoic sages, masters of detachment from
externals, patience becomes a necessary corrective to the unreasonableness—in
Stoic terms—of some of our desires. Patient endurance allows us to separate
ourselves from that which has frustrated our expectations, and may enable us to
see, at least in hindsight, that our expectations were unreasonable. In this way,
some amount of patience is necessary for moral and practical insight; if we are
consumed by anger or despair in the face of frustration, we fail to be in a frame
of mind fit to receive such insights, to increase our practical wisdom.
This implies that patience is a virtue when it involves the wise endurance
of temporary or permanent frustrations of our desires without succumbing to
anger or despair. Such endurance can be wise either in that the thing we desire
itself takes time to realize, such that patient endurance is the most reasonable
way to bide our time until satisfaction comes, or because the frustrated desire
itself was unreasonable, and so we need patience in order to avoid compounding
our error by becoming unreasonably angry or despondent. Patience, then, is
an active expression of practical wisdom. Thus, it is not to be confused with an
endurance of frustrations that results from sloth, moral indifference (or apathy),
or cowardice, and patience is not incompatible with further positive action
undertaken in response to frustration and harm. The patient person does not
simply endure a beating that can be avoided or otherwise allow others to walk
all over him needlessly. Patience enables a person to endure frustrations in a way
that makes a wise response possible (and to be patient will itself be part of the
wise response); whereas responses to frustrations motivated by despair or anger
run the risk of being unduly passive on the one hand, and rash on the other, and
thereby, in both cases, unreasonable.
Thus, patience may ultimately be regarded as the virtue of bearing one’s
unavoidable or wisely assumed burdens with equanimity. This way of defining
patience captures the connection to desires and delays above, but also highlights
the distinction between “burdens” that are chosen and those that are not. For
chosen burdens, the qualification that those burdens be “wisely assumed”
captures the idea that it is not a virtue to endure burdens that it is no longer
reasonable to bear. When burdens are assumed by choice, say by undertaking
some project, then it is possible to abandon the project at a later time, and there
may be cases where it would be unwise to continue. Knowing when to call it quits
anger) in Nicomachean Ethics, Book IV, Chapter 5.
Matthew Pianalto 91
may be a matter of preference or require moral deliberation—depending on the
nature of the project or commitment. The relevance of patience here is that the
patient person will resist the temptation to give up too soon. Additionally, the
patient person will not proceed with undue haste. Writing a book or building a
house, for example, is an endeavor that takes time, and the excellent completion
of these projects takes time and careful attention. The patient person does
not rush the job. So long as a person remains (wisely) committed to it, then
various “burdens” arise within the larger task, and the patient person is not
run off the larger course by these smaller tasks and details. These smaller tasks
remain unavoidable so long as the individual is committed to the larger end,
and these various steps in a large undertaking are not best thought of as delays—
or obstacles—in the satisfaction of the person’s main desire (say, to complete
the book or the house), because they are essential steps in the overall project.
Of course, in any large undertaking, we may encounter unforeseen obstacles
and setbacks that delay our progress, and so the patience of accepting delays is
contained within this broadened conception of patience as bearing unavoidable
and wisely assumed burdens with equanimity.6
Before proceeding, I should add a brief remark about my use of the
term burden. This term should be understood as broadly as possible and as only
descriptive of those things—obstacles, delays, or other forms of adversity that
may give rise to undue anger or despair—to which one can respond, or fail to
respond, with patience. Burden tends to have a negative connotation, and this
is surely because many of the things that burden us are things from which we
would prefer to be free. But as I noted above, some of the things that “burden”
us are inextricable parts of larger projects that we value—to the examples of
writing a book or building a house we might add the raising and teaching of
children (which takes patience if anything does!), or participation in deliberative
and legislative bodies in which clashes of opinion are largely inevitable. We
might in some cases call the burdens that attend to these activities and roles
their constitutive duties and responsibilities, and as Epictetus notes, it is wise
first to understand these constitutive burdens before committing ourselves to
6 Here we might note Epictetus’s “open door policy”, expressed in Golden Saying
XLIV: “Above all, remember that the door stands open. Be not more fearful than
children, but as they, when they weary of the game, cry, ‘I will play no more,’ even
so, when thou art in the like case, cry, ‘I will play no more’ and depart. But if thou
stayest, make no lamentation.” The open door policy is ultimately a reminder that
one can choose suicide over bearing one’s troubles in life (though it might also
remind us that many burdens can be avoided by abandoning a project). At the
same time, of course, in many cases, suicide might be regarded as an expression
of impatience as despair, and presumably Epictetus is not so much recommending
suicide as using it to put his students’—presumably not so terrible—burdens into
perspective.

such endeavors (Encheiridion 29). If we take on too much, then we become
overburdened. This itself can undermine the cultivation of patience since, in
taking on too many responsibilities, we seem to have no time to discharge all of
our duties, and thus no time to be patient.
2. The Value of Patience

Patience thus contrasts with several other ways of responding to the
various burdens of life. On the one hand, patience contrasts with mere passivity,
apathy, despair, and even cowering—all frames of mind that can lead to a failure
to undertake right or proper action, or to give up too soon. On the other hand,
I have contrasted patience with anger. (In this grouping, we could also include
undue haste and rashness, both of which are related to anger.) Seneca agrees with
the characterization of anger as “brief madness”, in which reason is supplanted by
this violent emotion (On Anger, 14: I.1.2).7 He writes, for example, that anger is
in fact an unbalanced thing overall: now it sallies forth

farther than it should, now it comes to a halt sooner than it
should. It’s self-indulgent, it bases its judgments on its desires,
it doesn’t want to listen, it leaves no room for intercession,
it keeps a grip on what it has seized, and it doesn’t allow
its judgment to be wrested from its control, even if that
judgment is warped. [29–30: I.17.7]
This passage indicates several problems with anger. First, those

consumed by anger tend to act rashly. Importantly, for Seneca, anger is not
merely a feeling, but rather an emotion comprising several cognitive attitudes:
the judgments that a wrongful injury has occurred and that revenge is warranted,
and the desire for such revenge. These judgments and desires, taken together,
constitute anger as Seneca understands it. Seneca sees revenge itself (as opposed
to a justified, corrective punishment) as futile, and regards the consuming nature
of the angry desire for revenge as an obstacle to proper moral judgment and
action. As Nussbaum brings out in her reading of On Anger, in becoming angry
with others, we run the risk of losing sight of or denying the humanity of the
other, of objectifying others while also becoming overly confident of our own
righteousness, while forgetting our own imperfections and errors (The Therapy
of Desire, 423–424).
Anger is unreliable not only in its tendency to rashness, but also because
its energy (or motivational force) is fickle. This, in addition to the considerations
above, is why Seneca rejects the Aristotelian idea that courage, for example, can be
7 In the text I provide page references followed by reference to Seneca’s divisions by

book, section, and subsection.
Matthew Pianalto 93
helped by a properly conditioned disposition to anger.8 Seneca writes that anger
being empty and swollen […] lacks a solid core. It enjoys

a violent onset, just like onshore winds and those that
arise over rivers and marshes, strong but short-lived: after
an initial massive assault it droops, prematurely wearied,
and the anger that had contemplated nothing but cruelty
and novel penalties is already broken and tamed when the
punishment must be imposed. Passion quickly fades, reason
is well-balanced. [29: I.17.4–6]
Experience would seem to confirm Seneca’s observations. Anger

can be very intense, but intense emotions tend not to last, and so if we rely on
them in order to undertake some course of action, we will very quickly lose our
motivation. Once our anger has subsided and we again become reasonable, we
may not see the point of carrying out what we had determined, in anger, to do.
Of course, this is often a good thing. However, Seneca’s reference to punishment
that “must be imposed” is a reminder that sometimes punishment of wrongdoing
(or other non-punitive correction of, say, innocent mistakes) is appropriate and
it is right that it be carried out, but that doing so does not require anger. He
notes, for example, that like the impersonal law, “a good judge condemns things
worthy of reproof, he doesn’t hate them” (28: I.16.7). If punishment or some
other response is reasonable, then it is not anger but rather a sense of duty and
a concern for justice that is necessary. If we correct others only when we are
angry, we will run the risks of acting with both undue severity and inappropriate
lenience. That is, we will fail to make appropriate corrections if we react to
wrongdoing only when it makes us unbearably angry. (Consider, for example, a
“patient” parent who never corrects or disciplines his or her excessively unruly
and disrespectful child, except in those rare, and embarrassing, moments when
the parent explodes in anger. Or consider the parent who never explodes, but
also never corrects—if there is such a parent.)
Of course, it might seem that the patient person, too, is liable to
undue lenience, since the patient person is better able to endure the misdeeds
and mistakes of others without reacting with anger. But patience is not simply
unlimited forbearance—in many cases, correction is necessary. (Again, think
of parenting or teaching.) Patience is about the frame of mind one is in when
such duties are carried out—one can correct a student in anger, or patiently,
8 For Aristotle’s view, see Nicomachean Ethics, Book III, Chapters 6–9, and Book IV,
Chapter 5. Importantly, because Seneca defines anger in cognitive terms, he allows
that the initial feelings one has, which can prompt angry judgments, can themselves
be controlled; and so those feelings themselves, which may prompt initial action
and response, would not for Seneca count as anger. See On Anger, II.3.4.

understanding that students will inevitably make mistakes and that one’s
duty as a teacher is to make corrections in a way that fosters learning. Undue
lenience results from a lack of practical wisdom, or inattentiveness, insensibility,
and possibly cowardice, but these failures should not be confused with the
patient endurance of errors and misdeeds, which is as compatible with
responding to them by way of correction or just punishment as it is with
forbearance and forgiveness.
The value of patience can be understood in terms of its contrast with
these other possible ways of responding to unavoidable and wisely assumed
burdens—both the destructive and unreliable emotion of anger and the
hopeless passivity that attaches to despair. On the one hand, the patient person
is not blown about by the recklessness of anger, but on the other hand, and this
is equally important, the patient person is able to maintain his or her sense of
purpose and of self in the face of unavoidable burdens that might tempt others
to despair and lose hope, thereby losing the motivation to act. The equanimity
that characterizes the patient frame of mind can thus be seen to be indispensable
to a proper execution of one’s responsibilities. Furthermore, the person who
remains patient, as opposed to giving in to anger or despair, is perhaps better
able to attend to the details of her circumstances, and thus is in a better position
to make good judgments about when and how to act in carrying out her duties
and pursuing her other projects. In this respect, patience supports mindfulness,
diligence, and constancy of commitment, as opposed to a distracted, hurried
kind of living in which we lose sight of ourselves and the things that we think
should matter most to us.
3. The Scope of Patience

This characterization of patience and its value will seem to suggest
that patience is an instrumental virtue, necessary for the cultivation of other
virtues, that has its value primarily as a kind of restraint. Aquinas, deviating
from Christian theologians such as Tertullian and St. Gregory who classify
patience as one of the central virtues, argues that patience is a minor virtue (and
an aspect of fortitude), because it merely opposes vice and temptation; whereas
virtues such as justice and love are themselves positively oriented toward the
good.9 However, the indispensability of patience should perhaps lead us to doubt
9 Aquinas’s views about patience can be found in the Summa Theologica, II.2.136.
Contrast with Tertullian, “Of Patience”, and Gregory the Great, Homiliae in
Evangelia XXXV (translated in Forty Gospel Homilies, 301–311). It is noteworthy
that Tertullian claims that (non-Christian) philosophers concur in their high
estimation of patience (though their lack of faith makes their patience a false
form of the true Christian virtue). Although Tertullian does not name any specific
philosophers or schools, the fact that he was well-acquainted with Stoic thought
makes it reasonable to think that he has the Stoics, if others, too, in mind here.
Matthew Pianalto 95
Aquinas’s assessment of patience. In this section, via a comparative detour into
the thought of Kierkegaard, whose estimation of patience is more in line with
that of earlier Church thinkers, I aim to motivate the idea that patience is indeed
central to the moral life, and to show how this view is reflected in Stoic thought
as well.10 This will illustrate how patience can retain a central significance in
moral life even within a secular framework.
As Kierkegaard notes in one of his “upbuilding discourses”, people
understand the necessity of patience when it comes to instrumental affairs—
that patience enables us to endure well the time between sowing and harvest,
to pace ourselves on a long journey, to wait for the fish to bite (“To Gain One’s
Soul in Patience”, 160–161). In some cases patience is inextricable from the wise
pursuit of some goal, as in cases where patience enables us to pace our efforts. In
other cases, patience attaches not to the pursuit, but rather to the wait—patience
enables us to avoid acting too soon (as in harvesting crops) or merely acting out,
say, in a pointless outburst of frustration as we wait our turn in line.
Plain examples such as these indicate the instrumentality of patience in
the pursuit of external goals. However, Kierkegaard critiques patience that aims
only at external goals—patience understood as a merely instrumental virtue—on
the grounds that the person who practices patience only for the sake of attaining
the external goal “is not really gaining patience but gaining what is coveted”
(“To Gain One’s Soul in Patience”, 161). Patience is recognized, in its merely
instrumental form, to be preferable “over the wild, undisciplined outbursts that
achieve nothing but only give rise to confusion and harm”, but for Kierkegaard
the value and need of patience extends beyond its instrumentality in waiting.
For it is in patience that one “gains one’s soul” (and preserves it), and this gaining
of one’s soul—this self-possession, we might call it (although Kierkegaard notes
the strain in thinking of the soul or the self as something that can be possessed)—
is not the attainment of one external good among others. Kierkegaard’s point
can be related to Seneca’s view of anger as temporary madness: in madness one
has “lost one’s mind”, is “not oneself ”. By contrast, patience prevents the self
from becoming lost, from losing itself, in anger or other forms of impatience. In
this respect, patience underwrites the continuity of the self, enables one to be
oneself rather than a mindless center of rage or despair. The need for patience
thus transcends its merely instrumental usefulness as a way of enduring delays
in the satisfaction of our desires (as in Kupfer’s definition of patience). We need
10 This idea is also implicit in later neo-Stoic thought. The sixteenth-century neo-
Stoic Justus Lipsius writes in his De Constantia that “the true mother of Constancy
is Patience […] which is a voluntary sufferance without grudging of all things
whatsoever can happen to or in a man” (On Constancy, 37). Jacqueline Lagrée
writes that “constancy is less a particular virtue than something that colors all the
virtues” (“Constancy and Coherence”, 150). Thus, patience, too, will implicitly
“color”—or influence the development of—the other virtues.

patience not simply in order to get what we want, but more importantly, in order
to be who we are—that is, to maintain a proper sense of self and good judgment
in the face of the various changes in fortune that are inevitable.
Like the Stoics (despite the obvious theological difference), Kierkegaard
regards attachment to externals as an obstacle to self-possession. The person
attached to fortune is one who seeks “to possess the world”; however, “The world
can be possessed only by its possessing me” (“To Gain One’s Soul in Patience”,
164). Devotion to external goods, to what (in Epictetus’s terms) is not up to us,
leads one to think that the condition for a good life is found in the world, in
externals, and thus neglects virtue itself, the inner, the soul. To be possessed by
the world is, in effect, to have abandoned a steadfast commitment to virtue, the
Good (and likewise, for Kierkegaard, to God). Gaining (and preserving) one’s
soul through patience, for Kierkegaard, can thus be understood as the steadfast
commitment to virtue and the Good, which endures in spite of the vicissitudes
of worldly fortune.
Thus, patience as self-possession is an indispensable condition of living
virtuously on both views. Note, for example, the similarity between Kierkegaard’s
point about being “possessed” by the world and what Epictetus says about losing
our minds, as it were, over things that are not up to us; Encheiridion 28 is most
explicit about this:
If someone turned your body over to just any person who

happened to meet you, you would be angry. But are you not
ashamed that you turn over your own faculty of judgment to
whoever happens along, so that if he abuses you it is upset
and confused?
By turning over our judgment to the other, by becoming angry at

or despairing over what is not up to us, we fail to possess ourselves. At the
same time, given the Stoic view that anger is contrary to virtue, we also fail to
maintain a steadfast commitment to the good. If we are patient with the person
who insults or abuses us (which, again, is not simply to remain passive), if we
accept what is not up to us, then we possess ourselves in patience. If we desire
what we cannot have—absolute control over externals, immunity from the
fickleness of fortune—then we are bound for frustration. We will in that case,
says Epictetus, “necessarily be a slave” to fortune and thus fail to possess ourselves
(Encheiridion 14).
Similarly, Epictetus warns against the desires that arise from the
expectation of pleasure—not that we should refuse to take pleasure in what
passes before us—but that we are “not to be carried away” by the pursuit of
pleasure. Instead, we should “let the thing wait for [us] and allow [ourselves] to
Matthew Pianalto 97
delay” (Encheiridion 34).11 If we are “carried away” by the promise of a pleasure,
then we again are possessed by something else, and thus fail to possess ourselves.12
Likewise, Seneca writes of dealing with anger, “The great cure for anger is
delay. Ask it, at the outset, not to forgive but to deliberate: its first assaults
do the damage, but if it waits it will back off ” (54: II.29.1). The points can be
related insofar as in anger, the desire for revenge produces its own expectation
of pleasure—that is, the pleasure of avenging the perceived wrong to oneself (or
otherwise giving expression to one’s anger). And we have already seen Seneca’s
reasons for distrusting anger.
In closing this section, I want to note how the role patience plays in
maintaining self-possession relates to the cultivation of character in general.
Above, I characterized the instrumentality of patience in terms of its role in the
pursuit of externals, but it should be clear that patience is equally instrumental
to the pursuit of internal goods13—that is, to the cultivation of other virtuous
traits. Indeed, if we maintain self-possession in and through patience, then
patience is not merely instrumental to the cultivation of other virtues, not
merely helpful, but is rather absolutely necessary in order for us to improve and
sustain our character. This is both because the cultivation of character and skills
takes time and because there may be moments when we fail to live up to our
own expectations. Such failures may tempt us to become angry with ourselves or
to despair over our own imperfection or moral weakness.14 It might be tempting
here to say that it is good to be angry with ourselves over some failures, but if
we understand anger, as Seneca does, as a temporary departure from reason, as
madness, then perhaps we should avoid the term “anger” here and say that it is
reasonable to be disappointed (or ashamed, as the case may be) by our failures.
Such failures are an occasion for humility, but neither anger nor despair can save
us from future failures, and the humbled, patient person will bear these mistakes
without losing hope in the possibility of improving herself and of doing better
in the future. In patience, we bear the burden of our own imperfections and
11 See also Encheiridion 15, that we should conduct ourselves in life as we do at a

banquet, taking things as they come around to us.
12 I will leave aside for now the objection that the Stoics’ idealization of self-mastery
and self-control involves, as it were, an unrealistic desire to micromanage one’s
own experiences. Here, we can simply read Epictetus as warning against pursuing
imprudent pleasures, since he notes further in Encheiridion 34 that we should
delay our pursuit of a pleasure in order to compare our expectation of pleasure to
the regret we will feel if what we pursued was shameful or imprudent.
13 I borrow the term from MacIntyre, After Virtue, e.g., 169–189.
14 For Kierkegaard, despair is essentially a desire to be rid of oneself in the face of
recognition that one cannot get rid of oneself, and so we can understand such
despair precisely as a kind of impatience with oneself. See Kierkegaard’s The
Sickness Unto Death.

limitations without losing sight of the goal of improvement. Additionally, since
the exercise of other virtues requires practical wisdom, and patience makes us
receptive to practical insights that we would overlook when blinded by anger or
despair, patience takes the form of an enabling (and not merely a restraining)
virtue—enabling us to maintain hold of the practical wisdom that informs the
practice of other virtues.15
4. Patience, Fortitude, and Detachment

However, it might seem that Stoic ideals go beyond patience, that
patience is instrumental only in the process of achieving a more complete state
of Stoic detachment and imperviousness, which might be ideally characterized
as an utter lack of disturbance in the face of misfortunes involving externals.
Seneca, for example, illustrates the ideal person as follows:
It’s a special trait of true greatness not to feel the blow when
struck; that’s the way a huge beast regards dogs’ barking,
without concern, or the way an ocean swell leaps against a
great crag, to no effect. That man whom I just now described
as standing taller than any vexation holds the greatest good,
as it were, in an embrace. [84: III.25.3–4]
This idealized picture of fortitude is expressed in even more striking

form earlier in On Anger in Book II: “nothing feeds anger more than luxury that’s
out of control and incapable of forbearance: the mind must be treated roughly so
it feels only a serious blow” (51: II.25.4, emphasis added). One who has truly
achieved the kind of detachment that makes this thick-skinned imperviousness
possible has nothing in the way of inner disturbance to endure; misfortune is
borne not patiently, but rather, it appears, indifferently. This looks very much
like the attitude praised by Epictetus; it is through detachment, and thereby
indifference, that one avoids becoming upset at misfortunes of both small and
large measure (e.g. Encheiridion 3).16
15 For a detailed examination of the relationship between patience and courage that
illustrates this point, see Callan, “Patience and Courage”.
16 In his recent study of courage, Geoffrey Scarre argues that patience and fortitude
are distinct virtues, and “that patience has primarily to do with how one feels,
while fortitude has most to do with how one acts” (On Courage, 93). He also
remarks that patience and fortitude “involve different kinds of strength: the subject
of fortitude has the firmness of self-possession and endures hardship without
flinching, while the patient individual has the power to dismiss such disturbing
emotions as anger, bitterness, resentment, depression, and disappointment” (On
Courage, 94). However, I suggest that Scarre is wrong to identify patience only
with feeling, since responding to a person patiently is not merely a function of
Matthew Pianalto 99
At this point we encounter three familiar and related objections to Stoic
detachment. First, it might be argued that such detachment is psychologically
impossible and, second, that even if detachment were possible, it would be
undesirable because it would lead to a diminished inner life and a degraded
capacity for moral concern, a lack of humanity. Third, the prizing of detachment
for the sake of inner tranquility appears overly egocentric, since detachment
seems to involve withdrawal from the world and its various injustices, and thus
an objectionable indifference to the sufferings of others.17
A thorough Stoic response to these objections would take us far from
the topic of patience, and so a sketch that identifies patience as the essential
underlying psychology to fortitude will have to suffice. I will group together the
first two objections above, and explain how a satisfactory response to them will
diffuse the (third) objection from egocentrism.
Stoic practical philosophy—in ways strikingly similar to Buddhist
philosophy18—is largely premised on the idea that human suffering is
compounded by unnecessary attachments. Cultivating a stance of detachment
toward externals, those things that are not up to us, thus has the therapeutic
point of releasing us from avoidable suffering. Detachment is a strategy for
contending with the fickleness of fortune, for dealing with loss and misfortune
without being blown about by anger or despair, and thus for maintaining one’s
own sense of self and purpose in spite of adversity. For Epictetus, this culminates
in the advice: “Do not seek to have events happen as you want them to, but instead
want them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go well” (Encheiridion
8). Such advice seems at first glance to recommend a kind of passivity, which is
no doubt part of the concern in the first two objections mentioned above. We
might be inclined to think here of both great natural and moral evils, and to
wonder whether Epictetus could be serious in suggesting that we should want
such things to happen. But a focus on such evils here may threaten to distract us
how we feel, but also of how we treat the other person. From the Stoic perspective,
the indifference or detachment typically described as a source of fortitude can
thus equally be regarded as the perfection of patience. As one’s patience increases,
so does one’s fortitude. Notably, Callan also distinguishes patience and fortitude
in his example of the man who has lost his sight, imagining this man to bear his
blindness with fortitude, but without patience (since he is inwardly plagued by
bouts of rage and despair). But this would not count as fortitude—which is not
merely a matter of external display, but also of inward acceptance and resolve—
from a Stoic point of view.
17 These various objections are discussed at greater length, in relation to Seneca’s
views about anger, by Nussbaum in The Therapy of Desire, 402–438. See also
316–401.
18 See, e.g., Peter J. Vernezze, “Moderation or the Middle Way: Two Approaches
to Anger”.

from Epictetus’s therapeutic point, which is that if our expectations (or desires)
run contrary to the course of fortune, then we are bound to be disappointed and
to find ourselves tempted by anger, despair, and other useless emotions—useless
in the sense that they cannot undo what has occurred and only increase our own
suffering. To “want them to happen as they do” is best read, I think, as suggesting
that we must be open and realistic about the fickleness of fortune—as well as the
moral imperfection of human beings—so that we are not surprised—at least not
surprised in a way that becomes psychologically unmanageable—when events
take an unfavorable turn, or people act badly.
Detachment of this sort need not culminate in passivity. Rather,
detachment is intended to foster a state of mind in which loss can be borne
without rage, resentment, or despair, and thus enables one to make sound
decisions and commitments, which includes decisions about how to respond
to losses and adversity resulting from both natural and human causes. In this
respect, detachment is the perspective from which an important kind of practical
wisdom is gained and preserved; we step back from our impulses, desires, and
ambitions, and consider both their own merits as well as our own capacity for
satisfying them. Epictetus reminds us that before undertaking some course of
action, we must “consider what leads up to it and what follows it, and approach
it in the light of that” (Encheiridion 29). Part of his point here is that we can
avoid frustration by not getting in over our heads, and by refusing to take on
commitments for which we lack the appropriate skill or motivation. Detachment
prevents us from acting “only randomly and half-heartedly”, and this counsel
against hasty, rushed action and judgment is thus a counsel to patience—to
patiently seek both self-understanding and practical wisdom before one moves
forward in action, and thereby to appreciate the patience that one will likely
need, in the midst of one’s actions and commitments, in order to persevere in
the face of obstacles that may arise along the way.
In this respect, Stoic detachment is an exercise in prudence. But, we
might ask, what prevents the prudential aims of detachment from collapsing into
an unjustifiable egocentrism, an excessive concern for one’s own tranquil good?
Here, we can return to Seneca on anger and recall the point that in anger there
is a risk that we will lose sight of the humanity of others; thus, anger threatens to
undermine one’s grasp of the cosmopolitan bond one has with all other humans.
Of course, the fact that anger runs the risk of one kind of inhumanity does not
itself tell us whether Stoic detachment is not also capable of inhumanity—in
particular, the inhumanity of indifference to the suffering of others. However,
a response to this worry can be located within the cosmopolitan commitment
of the Stoics, for the person who is indifferent to the sufferings of others cannot
plausibly be thought to be upholding his or her cosmopolitan responsibilities.
Epictetus says that we should “not hesitate […] to sympathise” with those who
are suffering from some loss, even if this person’s suffering is prompted by the
loss of something not up to him or her (Encheiridion 16). We should not lose
Matthew Pianalto 101

sight of that point even though Epictetus goes on in the same passage to say
that if we “groan” in outward sympathy with this person, we should not “groan
inwardly”. This maintenance of self-possession does not falsify or invalidate
one’s outward efforts to comfort another person.
On the other hand, as Seneca notes, it is of no use becoming angry
at every injustice in the world: “If you want the wise man to be as angry as the
unworthiness of the crimes demands, he must become not angry but insane” (40:
II.9.4). So, even as we sympathize with others, effective consolation and other
positive action—when correction or redress of misfortune is possible—requires
that we act in patience. If we lose ourselves in anger or despair, then how can we
help?19 How can we be present to help if we are ourselves overthrown? It might
be objected that in some cases what others need is not “help”, but rather for
someone else to share in their own feelings of loss, or their anger.20 But surely,
in the case of despair, this cannot mean that we allow ourselves to despair as
well. (Then who will comfort us?) So, too, with anger. (If we allow ourselves to
grow deeply enraged alongside those we seek to console, then who will control
us in our anger?) It is instead through the self-possession that patient endurance
makes possible that we are able to be fully present for those who need our care
and assistance.
Acknowledgements
I must thank Duncan Richter for comments on a previous draft, as well
as the participants at the conference “Epictetus and Stoicism” at Rochester Institute
of Technology, April 26–27, 2012, for their comments on the version of this paper
presented there, and finally my colleague Ron Messerich, whose conversations
with me about the virtues, including patience, are always stimulating.
19 Peter J. Vernezze makes similar arguments in defense of the Stoic and Buddhist
views about anger, in contrast with the Aristotelian tradition, in “Moderation or
the Middle Way: Two Approaches to Anger”.
20 My concluding response to this objection is admittedly brief, and a more detailed
Stoic response might involve marking the distinction between emotions such as
anger and “emotional preludes” such as the feelings that precede (and seem to
accompany) those emotions, and providing an account on which it is sometimes
acceptable to give expression to those emotional preludes. One may be able
to express those feelings (which many ordinarily identify as anger, conceiving
of anger, unlike the Stoics, as a feeling rather than a set of judgments) without
becoming angry in Seneca’s sense. (For example, see On Anger II.3.4.) And such
expressions might be taken as a way, in some contexts, of showing that one is not—
as is sometimes charged of the Stoics—“dead to the world”. Although she herself is
not convinced that this approach vindicates Stoicism in terms of her own concerns,
see Nancy Sherman for further discussion of this approach in “Aristotle, the Stoics,
and Kant on Anger”, esp. 221–227.

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1999.
Callan, Eamonn. “Patience and Courage”. Philosophy 68 (1993): 523–539.
Epictetus. Discourses. Vol. 1. Translated by W. A. Oldfather. Cambridge, MA:

Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press, 1925.
———. Encheiridion. Translated by Nicholas White. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983.
———. Golden Sayings. http://classics.mit.edu/Epictetus/goldsay.1.1.html.
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———. The Sickness Unto Death. Translated by A. Hannay. New York: Penguin,
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Nietzsche, Friedrich. On the Genealogy of Morality. Translated by M. Clark and
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Philosophy East & West 58 (2008): 2–16.

Epictetus on the Meaning of Names and
on Comprehensive Impressions 1
Eleni Tsalla
1. Observing the Meaning of Names

In the Discourses, Epictetus makes the examination or observance of names
foundational for the philosophical endeavor:2
I will say that in the first place you ought to understand the
meaning of terms (parakolouthein onomasi). — So you imply
that I do not now understand the meaning of terms? — You
do not. — How comes it, then, that I use them? — Why, you
use them as the illiterate use written speech (eggrammatois
phōnais), as the cattle use external impressions (phantasiais);
for use (chrēsis) is one thing, and understanding
(parakolouthēsis) another. […] You know neither what God
is, nor what man is, nor what good, nor what evil is […]
[Y]ou do not understand your own self […]. [2.14.15–20]
The context of Epictetus’s comments is a visit of a Roman citizen who, with his
son, is attending Epictetus’s lecture. Epictetus appears reluctant to proceed with
a demonstration of philosophical instruction. He reminds his visitor that the
practice conducive to the learning of any art is boring to the uninitiated, even as
1 I conducted initial research for this paper as participant of the 2010 NEH Summer
Seminar Aristotle on Truth and Meaning directed by Deborah Modrak and Mark
Wheeler.
2 At 1.17.12, arguing in favor of the priority of logical studies, Epictetus cites in
support Chrysippus, Zeno, Cleanthes, but also Antisthenes, according to whom
“the beginning of education (archē paideuseōs) is the examination of terms
(tōn onomatōn episkepsis)”. Epictetus refers to the Socratic practice recorded
by Xenophon last (Mem. 1.1.16 and 4.6.1): “he began with the examination of
terms (ērcheto apo tēs tōn onomatōn episkepseōs), asking about each, ‘What does
it mean (ti sēmainei hekaston)?’” (Oldfather, trans., Discourses and Fragments).
(Bibliographic information for all references can be found in the Select
Bibliography at the end of this essay.) Dobbin draws the links of the passage with
Stoic debates about the status of definitions in relation to logical investigations
and with Epictetus’s practice of articulating preconceptions or concepts (Dobbin,
trans., Discourses Book I, 165). A. A. Long (Epictetus, 84) also connects Epictetus’s
examination of names with the important task of correctly applying articulate
preconceptions to particular instances.
Eleni Tsalla 105

the product of the art is quite useful. The task (ergon) of philosophy, Epictetus
continues by fleshing out the impression of it,3 is (i) to conjoin (sunarmosai)
wishing (boulēsin) with all that occurs so that one does not encounter anything
unwillingly or the nonoccurrence of one’s will (2.14.7). The immediate
consequence of such coordination of wish is imperturbability within oneself
and maintenance of natural and acquired relations with fellow human beings,
be they son, father, brother, citizen, man, woman, neighbor, fellow traveler,
ruler, or ruled (2.14.8). The state of imperturbability is achieved (ii) by coming
to understand the presence of divine providence and the divine properties (poioi
tines esti) that one will strive to emulate (2.14.13). (iii) The starting point of the
above process is attending closely to or understanding the names of things.4 To
the surprise of his interlocutor, Epictetus cautions that communal membership
and use of names according to conventionally established meanings is like an
illiterate’s grappling with a written text or an animal’s use of sensory impressions.
Adoption of common meanings parallels the way most human beings attend the
Olympic Games: like cattle concerned with fodder, they do not attend with a view
to the vision of the whole (2.14.23–25). Epictetus’s chastising of commonplace
name-use is a call to move from mere use (chrēsis) of names to the observance
(parakolouthēsis) of names.
The reader finds in the Discourses intriguing examples of name
analysis. A story about a nameless athlete brings to the fore challenges involved
in understanding the meaning of names and, more importantly, in acting
according to what various names imply:5
3 2.14.7: “We picture the work of the philosopher to be something like this […]
(to ergon tou philosophountos toiouton ti phantazometha […])”. See also 2.14.9 for
verbatim repetition of the formula.
4 Parakolouthein: to follow, attend, understand; the term carried logical and
epistemological connotations. See Plato, Sophist 266c; Aristotle, Top. 131b9;
125b28; 123a19; Cat. 8a33; Met. 1054a14; APo. 99a17. In the Discourses, besides
names, one attends: occurrences (ginomena, 1.6.13); proofs (tois apodeiknuousi,
1.7.14); the wish of nature (tō boulēmati tēs phuseōs, 1.17.15); nature (tē phusei,
1.18.18); what is said (tō legomenō, 1.29.26); the use of impressions (tē chrēsei
tōn phantasiōn, 2.8.8) or simply impressions (tais phantasiais, 4.7.32); the divine
administration (tē theia dioikēsei, 2.10.3); oneself (emautō, 3.5.14).
5 The term “name” does not appear explicitly in the discourse. Epictetus goes
through instances of examining and applying preconceptions: “to learn how, in
conformity with nature, to adapt to specific instances (tais epimerous ousiais
epharmozein) our preconceived idea of what is rational and what is irrational
(tou eulogou kai alogou prolēpsin”) (1.2.6). However, 2.11.4–5 directly connects
names (onomata), concepts (ennoiai), and preconceptions (prolēpseis): “who
has come into being without an innate concept (emphuton ennoian) of what is
good and evil, honourable and base, […] and happiness […]? [W]e all use these

In like manner also a certain athlete acted, who was in danger
of dying unless his private parts were amputated. His brother
(and he was a philosopher) came to him and said, “Well,
brother, what are you going to do? Are we going to cut off
this member, and step forth once more into the gymnasium?”
He would not submit, but hardened his heart and died. And
as someone asked, “How did he do this? As an athlete, or as
a philosopher?” As a man (anēr), replied Epictetus; and as a
man who had been proclaimed at the Olympic games and
had striven in them, who had been at home in such places,
and had not merely been rubbed down with oil at Bato’s
wrestling school. [1.2.25–26]
With reference to the insignia of philosophical activity and to his attachment to

the philosophical task, Epictetus remarks in the same context:
“Come then, Epictetus, shave off your beard.” If I am a

philosopher, I answer, “I will not shave it off.” “But I will take
off your neck.” If that will do you any good, take it off. [1.2.29]
Faced with the dilemma of either dying or having his private parts
amputated, the accomplished athlete chose death contrary to his brother’s
advice—who, as the story goes, was a philosopher—to continue his life, albeit
without an illustrious athletic career.6 When asked whether such a course of
action was consistent with the man’s athletic or with his philosophical status,
Epictetus ruled the man’s choice to be in line with manhood. The exemplary
athlete, one worthy enough to have won Olympic victories, finds continuation
of the activities associated with his station in life an impossible option if this
is at the cost of his manliness. The passage makes manhood, rather than
rationality, the quality that takes precedence over the particular attributes and
terms (chrōmetha tois onomasi) and endeavour to adapt (epharmozein) our

preconceptions (prolēpseis) about them to the individual instances (tais
epimerous ousiais).”
6 Even if one assumes that bodily defects would disqualify athletes from
participation in the Olympic Games, Epictetus’s scorn for the pursuit of prestige
generally (1.10) and his use of the Olympic Games in order to underscore the
greater importance of the inner, psychological contest (3.4.11; 3.25.3–5; Manual
51) would lead the reader to expect that continuation of exercising, even without
the chance for distinction, would be the reasonable choice. Adolf D. Bonhöffer
remarks regarding the incident, “Epictetus also permitted suicide in the case of
bodily afflictions, of course only in very special cases that concern personal honor”
(The Ethics of the Stoic Epictetus, 58).
Eleni Tsalla 107

behavior conventionally associated with being an athlete.7 Concluding his point,
Epictetus declares that likewise he would refuse to shave his beard—the Stoic
and Cynic staple of the philosopher—even under threat of decapitation.
The term “human being” (anthrōpos) comes up often in the Discourses8
and, on one occasion, Epictetus expounds on the meaning of the term. The title
of the discourse is “Of personal adornment” (3.1). Epictetus, deriving excellence
from function, instructs a young rhetorician prone to self-adorning on how to
identify what human excellence (aretē anthrōpikē) is:
Young man, whom do you wish to make beautiful

(kalon)? First learn who you are, and then, in the light of
that knowledge, adorn yourself. You are a human being
(anthrōpos); […] a mortal animal gifted with the ability
to use impressions rationally (chrēstikon phantasiais
logikōs). […] In accordance with nature and perfectly
(phusei homologoumenōs kai teleōs) […] Come, what other
7 Dobbin translates anēr correctly as “man” but takes the word to mean “human
being”: “The reply, ‘As a man’, indicates that the most important role is what
Panaetius called the first prosōpon, human nature simpliciter. All other roles are
variations of that, and subordinate” (Dobbin, Discourses Book I, 84–85). The
text, however, does not support this interpretation. It is unclear why genitalia
amputation would affect the reasonable performance of the functions associated
with the athlete’s human nature. If anything, the story appears to aim at
challenging Epictetus on this point exactly. With the two interpretations suggested,
i.e., that the person acted either as an athlete or as a philosopher, Epictetus
juxtaposes a third option. The athlete chose death preserving neither his athletic
function nor strictly speaking his philosophical one, but preserving his being
a “man”.
8 See 1.29.59: “for man (anthrōpos) is a kind of animal (zōon) that loves
contemplation (philotheōron)”; 2.5.24–29: “What are you? A man (anthrōpos) […]
a thing detached (ōs apolyton) […] a part of some whole (meros holou tinos)”;
2.9.2: “For what is a man (anthrōpos)? A rational, mortal animal”; 2.10.1–5: “a Man
(anthrōpos); that is, one who has no quality more sovereign than moral choice
(prohaireseōs)”; 3.20.13–14: “what sort of person a man is (ti esti anthrōpos) who
follows the will of nature (tō boulēmati tēs phuseōs parakolouthōn)”; 3.23.4–5:
“there are two standards to go by, the one general (koinē anaphora), the other
individual (idia). First of all, I must act as man (anthrōpos)”; 4.1.120–121: “man
(anthrōpos) is not a wild beast but a tame animal”; 4.11.1: “the social instinct is a
necessary (periechetai to koinōnikon) element in the nature of man (en tē phusei
tou anthrōpou)”.

designations (prosēgoria)9 apply to you? Are you a man or
a woman? — A man. — Very well then, adorn a man, not
a woman. Woman is born smooth and dainty by nature
(phusei), and if she is very hairy she is a prodigy (teras), and
is exhibited at Rome among the prodigies. But for a man not
to be hairy is the same thing […]. [T]he men who pluck out
their own hairs do what they do without realizing what it
means (oi tilomenoi ou parakolouthountes) […] And when
you have begotten boys, are you going to introduce them into
the body of citizens as plucked creatures too? A fine citizen
and senator and orator! [3.1.25–35]
The passage starts without any surprises, at least for a piece of ancient Greek
philosophy: rationality is the generic human function and, consequently, human
excellence is the cultivation or fruition of such function. Epictetus, however, in
conjunction with rationality also considers secondary sex characteristics, e.g.,
hair for men and softness for women, as part of human natural constitution and
normative. Preserving sex characteristics is an aspect of human virtue. A similar
analysis of “human being” appears in discourse 2.10 under the title “How is
it possible to discover a man’s duties (ta kathēkonta) from the designations
(onamatōn) which he bears”. Epictetus points out that grammatical or musical
ability neither adds to nor subtracts from one’s value, since both are externals,
i.e., they are qualities the acquisition or maintenance of which does not depend
on the agent (16). Male homosexuality though, regardless of whether one is
active or passive, constitutes loss of manhood and damages oneself (17).10 In
9 Prosēgoria: address, appellation, name; see Aristotle, Categories 1a13: “ē kata

tounoma prosēgoria”; also, 3b14: “tō schēmati tēs prosēgorias”. A treatise “On
Appellatives” is attributed to Chrysippus, SVF 214. See also Epictetus 3.1.2: “Do
we […] pronounce each of these creatures in its own kind beautiful (en tō autō
genei kala prosagoreuomen), or do we pronounce each beautiful on special
grounds (idiōs hekaston)?”
10 2.10.15–18:
Yet, if you lost your skill in the use of language or in music, you
would regard the loss of it as damage; but if you are going to
lose self-respect and dignity and gentleness, do you think that
does not matter? And yet those former qualities are lost from
some external cause that is beyond the power of our will, but
these latter are lost through our own fault; and it is neither
noble to have nor disgraceful to lose these former qualities, but
not to have these latter, or having had them to lose them, is
a disgrace and a reproach and a calamity. What is lost by the
victim of unnatural lust (kinaidou paschōn)? His manhood (ton
Eleni Tsalla 109

fact, every deviation results from disregard for a human trait, but disregard for
even a single trait corrupts one’s humanity, Epictetus asserts at 4.11.36, where
he treats cleanliness.11 Apparently, each human being is the locus of a series of
characteristics deemed natural and necessary, but not to an equal degree or at
all times. Heterosexuality is a natural and necessary quality, while grammatical
or musical ability may not be.
Examining the term “philosopher” at 4.8, Epictetus explicitly recognizes
characteristics, such as the cloak and long hair, that are peripheral and non-
constitutive of the philosophical nature.12 The proper attribute of the philosopher
is lack of error and to call one philosopher in the absence of such an attribute
is a misnomer; the designation (prosēgoria) does not apply to the entity. Hence,
a lengthy admonition (7–14) that the misbehavior of philosophers cannot
legitimately lead to the inference (epagousi, 9) that philosophy is worthless.
Philosophical misconduct is only a sign that a particular human being, lacking
the proper qualification, does not belong to the philosophical kind. Obviously,
Epictetus recognizes common attributes (koina, 15) that in and of themselves do
not qualify one to carry a certain designation or to be of a certain kind and
nature.13 However, given Epictetus’s analytical practice in the passages examined,
andra). And by the agent (diatitheis)? Beside a good many other

things he also loses his manhood no less than the other (ouden
hētton ton andra).
11 “Every eccentricity arises from some human trait (pasa ektropē apo tinos
anthrōpikou ginetai), but this trait comes close to being non-human (hautē
eggus esti tō mē anthrōpikē einai).”
12 But a judgment (dogma) is not readily determined by externals
(ek tōn ektōs). “This man is a carpenter.” Why? “He uses an
adze.” What, then, has that to do with the case? “This man is
a musician, for he sings.” And what has that to do with the
case? “This man is a philosopher.” Why? “Because he wears a
rough cloak and long hair.” And what do hedge-priests wear?
That is why, when a man sees some one of them misbehaving,
he immediately says, “See what the philosopher is doing.” But
he ought rather to have said, judging from the misbehaviour,
that the person in question was not a philosopher. For if the
prime conception (prolēpsis) and profession (epaggelia) of
the philosopher is to wear a rough cloak and long hair, their
statement would be correct; but if it is rather this, to be free
from error (anamartēton einai), why do they not take away
from him the designation of philosopher (ouchi tēs prosēgorias
aphairountai), because he does not fulfill the profession of one?
[4.8.4–6]
13 Students of philosophy especially are susceptible to this type of error that Epictetus

the converse does not hold. While the cloak or the beard does not make one a
philosopher, the philosopher will wear a cloak and will have a beard,14 in the
same way that the carpenter will have an adze.
According to Epictetus, customary meaning ascription misidentifies
the things at which terms point. “Do you tell me that any word (onoma) is
ill-omened (dusphēmon) which signifies (sēmantikon) some process of nature
(phusikou tinos pragmatos)?” he exclaims in exasperation at 3.24.91, also
asserting that the proper function of names is to signify the natural state
of things. The passage is important since the combination of terms echoes
investigations of early Stoicism into signification or meaning. According to
the sources, the Stoics distinguished between: (i) signifier, i.e., the utterance,
(ii) signified, i.e., the state of affairs declared by the utterance, and (iii) what
occurs, i.e., the external subject.15 Moreover, only signifiers and occurrences
often castigates people for making. See 1.8.7–10: “For great is the power of
argumentation and persuasive reasoning (dynamis epicheirētikē kai pithanologikē),
and especially if it should enjoy excessive exercise and receive likewise a certain
additional ornament from language (ei tuchoi gumnasias epipleon kai euprepeian
apo tōn onomatōn proslaboi) […] being apt to make them conceited and puffed up
over it.” They “walk about as veritable thieves and robbers who have stolen these
designations and properties that in no sense belong to [them] (toutōn tōn ouden
prosēkontōn onamatōn kai pragmatōn)” (2.19.28). They “ornament and compose
the words (kallōpizei ta onomatia), as hairdressers do the hair” (2.23.14–15).
Also, at 3.23 skillful use of language for the sake of fame is dishonoring “good
names and things (kala onomata kai pragmata kataischunontes)” (35). 3.24.41,
3.26.13, 4.1.113 and Encheiridion 143 list more instances of abusing the name
“philosopher”.
14 Epictetus cautions, however, against any rushed or harsh judgment of others,
especially when one is not in a position to know the kind of beliefs that motivate
a certain type of action (4.8.3).
15 See Sextus, Against the Logicians = Math. 8.11–12:
three things were connected with one another, the thing
signified (to sēmainomenon) and the signifier (to sēmainon)
and the object (to tugchanon). Of these the signifier is the
utterance (tēn phōnēn) (for example, the utterance ‘Dion’); the
thing signified is the actual state of affairs revealed by it (pragma
to hup’ autēs dēloumenon), and which we apprehend as it
subsists in our thought, and which foreigners do not understand
even though they hear the utterance; and the object is the
externally existing thing (to ektos hupokeimenon) (for example,
Dion himself). And of these, two are bodies, namely the
utterance and the object, while one is incorporeal (asōmaton),
namely the state of affairs signified (to sēmainomenon pragma)
Eleni Tsalla 111

are corporeal, i.e., actually existing entities. Things signified are incorporeal,
what is or can be said (lekta, literally “sayables” or “expressibles”) and asserted
(axiōmata) of corporeal things, i.e., meanings expressible in any language that
can be objectively true or false.16 Interpretive differences aside, scholars agree
that the Stoic account on lekta was the result of a complex, dialectical process
within the school.17 More than advance in theory of language, lekta served to
avert ontological confusions resulting from linguistic conventions, specifically
the temptation to treat all subjects of linguistic propositions as existing subjects.
Names pick out bodies, which qua particular and concrete individuals are the
existing entities that constitute the world and human experience. Naming
should not be confused with attribution, i.e., what can be said about particular
and concrete individuals or their states. Things said of particulars can become
propositional subjects in their own right, e.g., green is the color of my pen or
green is a color. Nonetheless, things said should not be mistaken for existents.
The Stoic emphasis on incorporeal lekta qua intentional contents of thought(s)
and referents of linguistic expressions circumvents the temptation to substantiate
commonly occurring states of particular and concrete individuals, i.e., to assign
ontological status to the genera and species under the referential import of
which particulars fall.
Epictetus hardly engages in independent theoretical pursuits, semantic
or dialectical. Discussions about the origin of language18 do not figure in the
Discourses, and he mostly brings up etymological and rhetorical concerns in the
context of the practical life. In addition, crucial technical vocabulary associated
and sayable (lekton), which is true or false”.

See also DL 7.42–43 and 62.
16 See Anthony A. Long, “Stoic Linguistics”, 36–55. Long traces the Stoic theory of
meaning to Socrates’s formal naturalism, a position in the Cratylus (388b–390a;
393d) according to which names purport to render the forms of things named (46,
n.23). See also Dirk M. Schenkeveld and Jonathan Barnes, “Meaning”.
17 See Michael Frede, “The Stoic Notion of a Lekton”. Victor Caston (“Something
and Nothing”) especially tells a fascinating story whereby Chrysippus, by means
of lekta, rejected the realist presupposition that general terms have metaphysical
implications, eschewing the semantic principle that underlay both Plato’s forms
and Zeno’s concepts qua apparitions (phantasmata), i.e., generic, nonexistent,
intentional objects. “Strictly, there are no generically qualified things; therefore
all talk ostensibly about them, by means of common nouns, must be reconstrued”
(196). According to Caston, Chrysippus’s reconstructive strategy replaced
definitional statements with conditional universal generalizations (katholikon,
Sextus, Against the Ethicists = Math. 11.8 and 11.11; Epictetus, Disc. 2.20.2–3)
(198–199).
18 See James Allen, “The Stoics on the Origin of Language”.

with the Stoic theory of meaning is absent.19 However, according to 1.29.26, one
listens to what is signified (tou sēmainomenou akouei) and attends to what is said
(tō legomenō parakolouthein). Even if Epictetus identifies what is signified with
the perceptual event instead of the state of affairs that constitutes the referent
of the perceptual event, as the Stoic distinction would have it, the passage
hints at lekton in its technical sense, i.e., as something to be grasped beyond
symbolic inscription, phonetic or linguistic, and beyond individual mental
states. Epictetus repeatedly uses the formula “names and things” (onomata kai
pragmata)20 and engages in rigorous analysis of names to reveal the natural
state of things, which is not exhausted or even captured by conventional usage
of terms.21 It is questionable whether by linguistic conventions Epictetus has
in mind philosophical ontologies that assert the existence, incorporeal or
immanent, of genera and species. But he clearly takes to task the range of
referents conventionally associated with terms and applied to particulars. While
an athlete, strictly speaking, is one who engages in athletic activity, manliness
also determines the conditions of proper exercising and competing. All human
beings are characterized by rationality or citizenship as a common trait. At the
same time, though, each one is either man or woman, designations that signify
qualities no less normative than rationality or citizenship. A philosopher is one
who is free from error, but Epictetus, faithful to his name and nature, would not
shave his beard even at the cost of beheading.22
19 Epictetus uses the term axiōmata twice, both times nontechnically, in the sense of
“honors” or “reputation”. See 2.2.10 and 4.5.26. The term lekton does not come up.
20 See 2.19.28, 3.23.35, and 3.24.41.
21 Basanismos (2.14.16), elenchus (2.14.17), episkēpsis (1.17.12) are Epictetus’s
terms for the necessary examination of conventional names, which reveals their
insufficient referential import. See 2.6.19: “All these things are a mere noise
(psophos) and a vaunting of empty names (kompos kenōn onomatōn)”; 2.11.5–8:
“who of us refrains from expressions of this kind (pheidetai toutōn tōn onomatōn)?
Who of us waits before he uses them (anaballetai tēn chrēsin) until he has learned
what they mean (mechri mathei), as those who have no knowledge (kathaper hoi
ouk eidotes) of lines or sounds wait before they use the terms relating to them (peri
tas grammas ē tous phthoggous)?” 2.17.13: “[…] all of us who have these terms
upon our lips (ta onomata lalountes) possess no mere empty knowledge (mē kenōs
ismen) of each one severally (hekasta toutōn) […]”.
22 Similarly, see 4.8.16: “but the guise (to schēma) is fitted to the art (pros tēn technēn),
and they get their name from the art (apo tēs technēs de to onoma), but not from
the guise.” However, at 4.11 Epictetus says of Socrates that “he was not merely
pleasant to hear, but also to see” (21), even though he bathed infrequently but
apparently very effectively (19). The philosopher will not be convincing if he “has
the bearing and face of a condemned man (schēma katadikou echon kai prosōpon)”
(23–24).
Eleni Tsalla 113

2. The Nature of Things
Name analysis reveals not only the nature of things, but also what is
suitable for them, i.e., their proper function and the courses naturally fitting
them.23 “For each of these designations (onomatōn), when duly considered,
always suggests the acts that are appropriate to it (ta oikeia erga)” (11), according
to discourse 2.10, the title of which, as mentioned in the previous section,
correlates names and duties. One understands the meaning of names when, like
the few worthy attendants of the Olympic Games, one seeks understanding of
the whole, Epictetus observed at 2.14.25, also discussed in the previous section
of the paper. The discourse on duties explicitly identifies what the whole is.
Before any other designation, the human being is an appointed citizen of the
world (2.10.3). The world is the whole that has more authority than its parts
in the same way that the city has more authority than its citizens (2.10.6).24
Epictetus does not tire of pointing out the regulated structure of the universe,
which testifies to its being divinely ordained and providential.25 Deciphering the
23 As Long and Sedley point out, animals and plants have proper functions as well
(The Hellenistic Philosophers, 365). Epictetus extends proper functions even to
parts of animate beings, e.g., feet (2.5.24), and to everything one encounters
(1.7.2). Specifically for human functions and their names, see 4.12.16. Epictetus
has already reminded his audience that one first needs to be intent on universal
principles (4.12.7), “and all the other things as they have been given us. And next
we must remember who we are, and what is our designation (ti hēmin onoma),
and must endeavour to direct our actions, in the performance of our duties (ta
kethēkonta apeuthunein), to meet the possibilities of our social relations (pros tas
dunameis tōn scheseōn)” (4.12.16). Also, 4.6.27.
24 The point permeates the Discourses:
Anyone who has attentively studied the administration of
the universe and has learned that ‘the greatest and most
authoritative and most comprehensive of all governments is this
one, which is composed of men and God, and that from Him
have descended the seeds of being, not merely to my father or
to grandfather, but to all things that are begotten and that grow
upon earth, and chiefly to rational beings, seeing that by nature
it is theirs alone to have communion in the society of God,
being intertwined with him through the reason,’ — why should
not such a man call himself a citizen of the universe? [1.9.4–6]
The quotation is attributed to Poseidonius (DL 7.138) and Chrysippus (Diels,
Doxographi Graeci 464.20; 465.15). See also Discourses 1.3; 1.6; 1.14; 1.16; 3.17.
25 2.8.12: “do you not know that you are nourishing God, exercising God? You are
bearing God about with you, you poor wretch, and know it not!” Against the
tendency to read more into Epictetus’s personalistic language about God, see

meaning of names reveals the nature and function of things only when such
nature and function is understood with reference to the nature of the whole,
i.e., the cosmos. The analysis of names Epictetus conducts and the hierarchy
he observes in the series of natural and necessary qualifications he attaches to
things can best be understood in light of Stoic cosmology, and more particularly
in light of the Stoic categories.
The Stoic cosmos is the only self-sufficient corporeal being, according
to a holistic and presumably parsimonious ontology. Two perpetually
intermingling principles make the cosmos intelligible: (i) God or logos, the
active and causal principle, which inheres in (ii) matter or unqualified substance
(apoios hulē, apoios ousia), the passive principle, which receives, thus, form and
movement. More than explanatory tools, the two principles are productive
of the cosmos and everything in it. All individual beings are divine sparkles,
formations of the passive principle by the active cause.26 Hence, the world
process with the multiplicity of its beings at any stage of their development is
the unfolding of the providential process of logos. The sources attribute to the
Stoic system a categorical scheme that posits four genera of being: substrate
(hupokeimenon), quality (poion), disposition (pōs echon), and relative disposition
(pros ti pōs echon).27 Something belongs to the genus of hupokeimenon by
means of its corporeality and as such is part of ousia, the ultimate stuff of
the universe. Ousia is always qualified by the presence of logos that turns the
formless substance to a qualified and, thus, differentiated being, i.e., a poion.
Differentiated beings are found in various states or conditions, in particular
spatial and temporal situations, captured by the genus of disposition (SVF 2.369;
399; 400). They can also be found in relation to other particular, differentiated
beings, e.g., father to son, relations that are pertinent to their being and serve
Keimpe Algra, “Epictetus and Stoic Theology”.

26 Besides a cosmology, the Stoics are putting forth a cosmogony with biological
analogies by means of which the active and passive principles beget the existing
world in a sequence of recurring generative stages: introduction of spermatikoi
logoi to ousia, formation of elements, formation of heavenly and sublunary bodies,
conflagration. SVF 2.300; SVF I.87[80].
27 SVF 2.369; SVF 2.371. See John M. Rist, “Categories and their Uses”. For more
recent studies of the Stoic genera, see Richard Sorabji, Matter, Space and Motion,
89–93; Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, 165–166; Stephen Menn,
“The Stoic Theory of Categories”. Menn, moving beyond the problem of identity
and change, explains the deployment of the four genera as part of the Stoic attempt
to account for “A is F” predications within a strictly corporeal framework: (i) in
terms of the presence of F-ness in A, where F-ness is a body and whereby ousia
and poiotēs are two parts of the thing, the passive and active principle respectively
blended into a whole; (ii) in terms of local motion either intrinsic to the parts of
the entity (absolutely pōs echon) or external to them (pros ti pōs echon).
Eleni Tsalla 115

to further determine them, included in the genus of relative disposition (SVF
2.403). The Stoic genera of being match their cosmological, productive scheme.
The fourfold classification presupposes the generative view of the universe
according to which things proceed in sequence from unity to increasing degrees
of individuation. Hence, the categories serve as tools of analysis of particulars,
whose particularity is simultaneously an outcome of the dynamic outflow and
sequential differentiation of the one, continuous being.28
The incessant interaction of the active and passive principles not only
generates but also sustains the cosmos in being. The notion of immanence
further strengthens Stoic holism, asserting the world as eternal and one despite
the multiplicity observed in it. The world pneuma, i.e., logos in its post-generative,
immanent, causal, and kinetic (tonikē) function, according to Chrysippus, binds
the parts of the world in living sympathy to an organic whole (SVF 2.473).
There are four strata of being, differentiated in terms of pneuma-containment
(SVF 2.458): (i) state (hexis), the simplest form of pneuma, pervades inanimate
objects yielding unity and qualification. (ii) Growth (phusis), described as
movable hexis, characterizes plants affording them nutrition and proliferation.
(iii) Irrational animals contain soul (psuchē), which is phusis endowed with
imagination (phantasia) and drive (hormē), i.e., selective movement in accordance
with appearances. (iv) Mind (nous) permeates human beings and the cosmos
granting rationality.29 Each level of being is the embodiment of a pneuma-
type more complex and active than the one preceding it and defined as such.30
The Stoic genera can also be used with reference to the pneumatic kinds and
their distinct ways of being. Immanent logos points to the formed, deployed
world. Inanimate beings come to be by the presence of the simplest form of
pneuma or hexis. The presence of further differentiated pneuma, i.e., disposed
towards self-nutrition and self-growth, gives rise to plants. Additional pneuma
differentiation signals the nonrational soul that is also relatively disposed. Its
movement (kinēsis) becomes drive (hormē), i.e., an urge towards specific objects
presented to the organism through imagination. One sees at work the Stoic view
of nature as an unfolding whole, their explanatory, generative, classificatory,
and analytical principles positioning beings within such a whole. Human
beings are the closest to logos because they partake of it to the fullest degree
28 Ti, as the most general term, also includes sayables or expressibles, void, place,
time, i.e., objects that do not exist, but subsist. See Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic
Philosophers, 164.
29 Pneuma spreads through the world but also has a “command center”
(hēgemonikon), which in various Stoic sources is identified either with the sun or
the aithēr (SVF 2.644).
30 Besides phusis, which is hexis kinoumenē (SVF 2.458), the soul is pneuma pōs
echōn (SVF 2.806[d]); virtue also is pōs echōn hēgemonikon (Sextus, Against the
Ethicists = Math. 11.23.2).

by means of their reason. While all beings are distinct instantiations of
logos, human beings as rational instantiations relate to the unfolding logos by
understanding and observing it.
Epictetus’s name-analysis reflects the Stoic ontological scheme.
Epictetus’s examination of names reveals the part by also placing it firmly in
the structure of the whole.31 Rationality is the feature that characterizes human
beings as instantiations of universal logos. In this sense, rational agency indeed
takes precedence over all other qualifications. Rationality, however, is the
movement that enables agents to grasp and articulate the process of logos’s
continuous unfolding. Therefore, rational agency ultimately commands the
observance of all the modes in which individuals embody logos; hence the
hierarchy of qualifications Epictetus observes in things.32 His analysis of the case
of the athlete who would rather die than have his genitals amputated subordinates
athletic performance to manliness. In his analysis of the human being, Epictetus
31 For a different view see Rist: “In his article on the Stoic Categories De Lacy
claimed to have found the categories in use as methodological principles in the
writings of men like Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. This claim has been received
with some skepticism, and I must number myself among the skeptics” (“Categories
and their Uses”, 54). Rist does not explain his skepticism. De Lacy, however, treats
the categories not as ontological principles, but as methodological and analytical
tools, whereby the examination of what a thing is precedes the examination of
its qualities, disposition, and relative disposition, whether in the domain of logic,
physics, or ethics. See Phillip De Lacy, “The Stoic Categories as Methodological
Principles”.
32 Scholars connect Epictetus’s treatment of duties to Panaetius’s fourfold distinction
of roles (personae) that each human being instantiates: (i) universal rationality,
(ii) individual and particular constitution, (iii) circumstantial stations in life, and
(iv) chosen stations in life (Cicero, De Officiis I.107ff). Besides Dobbin, Discourses
Book I, 84–85, see Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, 368 and 424;
Michael Frede, “A Notion of a Person in Epictetus”. Specifically, Frede observes:
“one’s being a human being and hence a rational agent, should take precedence
over all other roles” (166). Commenting on discourse 2.10.3, where Epictetus
designates the human being both rational and a citizen of the world, Frede
remarks regarding rationality: “This is obviously the first type of role distinguished
by Panaetius” (166), and regarding universal citizenship: “This clearly is not the
second type of persona we find in Panaetius. I do not here want to discuss the
Stoic notion of world-citizenship. I take it that what Epictetus has in mind is this:
we, being rational, and thus able to understand the natural order of things, have
the role of maintaining this order in our lives in the light of our understanding
of it. Epictetus then goes on to talk about being a son, a brother, a member of the
council, that is the sorts of person which fall under Panaetius’ third and fourth
type” (167).
Eleni Tsalla 117

makes a man’s hairiness a condition for his fitness as a citizen, a senator, and
an orator. Sex characteristics are the symbols of god, according to 1.16.10–14.33
Heterosexuality is a trait that takes precedence over grammatical or musical skill.
Analyzing names to capture the nature of things, Epictetus considers necessary
all the qualifications in the fourfold sequence of a continuously individuated
being: an embodiment of logos (hypokeimenon or substrate), human being
(poion or qualified), man (pōs echon or disposed), and athlete or citizen, or
son, etc. (pros ti pōs echon or relatively disposed). Alternatively, while human
beings are determined by the movements of the most complex pneuma, they
equally share the states and motions of the less active pneumatic kinds: unity
and quality, nutrition and proliferation, imagination and drive.34 Human beings,
then, carry naturally a variety of attributes as they find themselves variously
positioned in the world, but, before any other designation and like anything
else, human beings are subjects for logos to unfold. Rationality as the proper
qualification of a human being implies grasping and abiding by all other
determinants of the individual human being.35 Since ultimately all things are
of the same kind, instances of the same whole, individuation is the condition
to discriminate between beings since ultimately they are instantiations of the
same whole. Genera and species are denied ontological status not only because
of commitment to an economical, corporeal ontology, but also because they are
replaced by a universal, encompassing being and its modes.
3. Mind, Names, Impressions, and Things

In the same treatise that analyzes the term “philosopher”, Epictetus
also identifies the philosophical function as “lack of error”. The discourse
(4.8) spells out the condition that makes the philosopher unerring:36 “To
keep his reason right […] to understand (gnōnai) the elements (stoicheia) of
reason, what the nature of each one is, and how they are fitted one to another,
and all the consequences of these facts” (4.8.12). The account of how such a
conditioning comes to be is a description of the movement and development of
33 “Wherefore, we ought to preserve the signs which God has given; we ought not
to throw them away; we ought not, so far as in us lies, to confuse the sexes which
have been distinguished in this fashion” (1.16.14).
34 1.14.5–6: “But are the plants and our own bodies so closely bound up with the
universe, and do they so intimately share its affections, and is not the same much
more true of our own souls?”
35 See 2.10. One is first (prōton) a human being (2.10.1). In addition or besides (epi
toutois, literally, upon these), one is a citizen of the world (2.10.3).
36 In the same context, Epictetus points out that the preconception (prolēpsis)
of the philosopher is one of the most confused and inarticulate in common
understanding, formed only on the basis of common (koina, 4.8.1 and 15),
external (ek tōn ektōs, 4.8.3 and 10) attributes.

human logos from reception of sense-impression to higher cognitive states and
a manifestation of divine providence. At 1.6.10–11,37 Epictetus is identifying
consecutive cognitive stages: (i) tupōsis is the process of being imprinted by
sensible objects; (ii) eklēpsis is the reception and manipulation (aphairesis,
prosthaisis, synthesis) of sensible impressions; and (iii) by metabasis rational
beings are making inferences. At the level of tupōsis, Epictetus’s account
emphasizes the passivity of the organism. The sentient being “falls under the
power” (hupopiptontes) of sensible objects.38 Tupōsis is a stage human beings
share with animals and results in the capacity to use impressions. The successive
stages, though, are discussed in active terms. One is not only imprinted, but
capable of selecting imprints and making inferences to something else by
subtracting, adding, and composing.39
Epictetus summarizes the same point at 1.14.7–9.40 One is capable of
being moved by myriads of things (muriōn pragmatōn), both perceptually and
intellectually, and by retaining in the soul memories (mnēmas), one further
moves to notions (epinoiai) that are of the same form (homoeideis) as the original
imprints, which give rise to the various arts (technas). Interestingly enough, not
37 The title of the discourse is “Of Providence”. “[B]ut the marvelous constitution
of the intellect (dianoia) whereby, when [i] we meet with sensible objects
(hupopiptontes), we do not merely have their [forms] impressed upon us
(tupoumetha), but [ii] also make a selection (eklambanomen) from among them,
and subtract (aphairoumen) and add (prostithemen), and make these various
combinations (suntithemen) by using them (tade tina di’ auton), yes, and, by
Zeus, [iii] pass (metabainomen) from some things to certain others which are in
a manner related to them (parakeimena)—is not even all this sufficient to stir our
friends and induce them not to leave the artificer out of account?” (1.6.10–11).
38 See also 4.1.55 for the use of the term with an emphasis on its meaning as
submission.
39 The terminology is technical and goes back to Plato (tupōsis, Theaetetus 191d) and
Aristotle (eklēpsis, Prior Analytics, 43b1), while much of it the Stoics appropriated
from Epicurus, e.g., metabasis (Philodemus, On Signs, 19; 38), epinoia (Epicurus,
Fr. 255).
40 [Y]ou have the faculty of being moved (kineisthai) by myriads of matters
at the same time both in your senses (aisthētikōs) and in your intelligence
(dianoētikōs), and at the same time you assent to some (sugkatathetikōs), while
you dissent from others (ananeustikōs), or suspend judgment about them
(ephektikōs); and you guard in your own soul so many impressions (tupous)
derived from so many and various matters (pragmatōn), and, on being moved
by these impressions (apo autōn), your mind falls upon
notions corresponding to the impression (eis epinoias homoeideis epipipteis)
first made and so from myriads of matters you derive and retain arts,
one after the other, and memories. [1.14.7–9]
Eleni Tsalla 119

all concepts (ennoiai) arise naturally, Epictetus remarks at 2.11, with reference to
the right-angled triangle (orthogōnion) and the half-tone musical interval (diaisis
hemitoniou). Such concepts require instruction in a technical tradition (technikē
paralēpsis) (1–2). But all human beings have a natural conception (emphuton
ennoia)41 of the good, the bad, and the appropriate, and of happiness, which
explains the fact that all human beings use such names (onomasi) and attempt
to apply their preconceptions (prolēpseis) to particular instances (epi merous
ousiais); however, not always well. While at least some concepts arise naturally,
higher cognitive states require the structuring or articulation (diarthrōsis)
of preconceptions (18).42 In its turn, structuring or articulation of concepts
results in a system of necessarily interconnected elements (stoicheia), the
41 “What is the beginning of philosophy”, is the title of the discourse. The term
emphutos ennoia has led scholars to attribute a kind of ethical innatism to the
Stoics (e.g., Long, Epictetus, 80–84). For a discussion of other similar views, see
Dobbin, Discourses Book 1, 188–192. For a recent view, see Matt Jackson-McCabe,
“The Stoic Theory of Implanted Preconceptions”: “These derive ultimately from the
tendency, innate in all animals, to evaluate experience subjectively, distinguishing
what is beneficial for themselves from what is harmful. Humans are not born with
ethical conceptions per se; nonetheless, as rational animals in whom concepts
naturally begin to form almost immediately, they are predisposed to the formation
of these conceptions regardless of their experiences” (346). Whatever the case
might be, it should be noted that Epictetus’s would be an innatism converse to
the traditional one, which recognizes the power of human beings to come up
with novel ideas not immediately available through sense-experience. With such
a capacity Epictetus juxtaposes the “natural” driven movement of human beings.
Additionally, Epictetus does not assign much importance to the distinction
between art (technē) and science (epistēmē).
42 See also 2.17.3 and 10; 2.12.6. Besides prolēpseis, Epictetus uses the terms epinoiai,
ennoiai, katholika, or even “common mind” (koinos nous, 3.6.8): “When someone
asked him what ‘general perception’ was, he replied, Just as a sense of hearing
which distinguishes merely between sounds would be called ‘general,’ but that
which distinguishes between tones is no longer ‘general,’ but ‘technical,’ so there
are certain things which those men who are not altogether perverted see by virtue
of their general faculties. Such a mental constitution is called ‘general perception’.”
Oldfather translates nous as “perception”. See also Disc. 1.22, “On Preconceptions”.
For a recent study that attempts to distinguish between prolēpseis and ennoiai, with
reviews of major positions on the matter, see Henry Dyson, Prolepsis and Ennoia
in the Early Stoa: “[P]rolepsis is an often unconscious, yet teleologically secured,
process by which humans derive conceptions of basic natural kinds and moral
properties; […] the resulting conceptions tacitly contain the definitions of the
corresponding properties, at least in outline” (xxix).

hypotheses and theorems of the Stoic Founders,43 which is the outcome of
the philosophical task, according to Epictetus’s analysis of the prolēpsis of
the philosopher, as reported at 4.8.12.
Epictetus repeatedly reminds his audience that the spelling of names
is not up to the speller:
For how do we act in writing? Do I desire (boulomai) to

write the name (onoma) “Dio” as I choose (ōs thelō)? No,
but I am taught to desire (thelein) to write it as it ought to
be written. What do we do in music? The same. And what
in general, where there is any art or science? The same. […]
[I]nstruction (to paideuesthai) consists precisely in learning
to desire (thelein) each thing exactly as it happens. And how
do they happen? As he that ordains them has ordained. […]
Mindful, therefore, of this ordaining (diataxeōs) we should
go to receive instruction (erchestai epi to paideuestai), not in
order to change the constitution of things (tas hupotheseis),
— for this is neither vouchsafed us nor is it better that it
should be […]. [1.12.13–17]44
In this sense, names have one important characteristic in common with

hypotheses: they are not up to the discretion of the rational agent; they are
respectively the grammatical and the cosmic given. The fundamental Stoic
postulates that recur in the Discourses assert three things: (i) a providential
cosmos, which Epictetus supports by arguments from design; (ii) the self-
sufficiency of virtue as the necessary condition to be in command of one’s
happiness in a providential cosmos;45 and (iii) the awesome range and power
43 Also hupolēpseis and dogmata; see 3.9; 3.16; 3.21. Jaap Mansfeld argues that
Epictetus’s “elements of logos” (4.8.12) refer to primary theorems of philosophical
theory, “the fundamental principles of the Stoic philosophical doctrine, system,
or general theory” (“Zeno on the Unity of Philosophy”, 128). On Epictetus and
philosophical method see Paulo Crivelli, “Epictetus on Logic”. Crivelli observes,
It is also worth remarking that the role attributed to logic by Epictetus
is, roughly speaking, “passive”: the purpose of logic is not to enable one to
expand one’s knowledge in some area or other, but to preserve one’s true
beliefs which are relevant to morality or organize in proofs those pieces of
knowledge which one has independently acquired, or to enable one to take
part in dialectical debates in which one’s theses will be subjected to scrutiny.
Because of this “passive” role, logic must be studied after one has already
obtained the views it is supposed to enable one to defend. [24–25]
44 Epictetus makes the same point at 2.2.23–24; 2.11.5; 2.13.20.
45 4.4.29: “What is mine? What is not mine? What has been given me? What does
Eleni Tsalla 121

of human logos to tune into universal logos and to inform all human functions
accordingly.
Eight discourses in Arrian’s collection are dedicated specifically to
logic. The importance of logical lessons is stressed, however, throughout the
46
four books.47 The opening discourse, entitled “Of the things which are under our
control and not under our control”, introduces right away the logikē dunamis,
the power of logos. A principle in Stoic physics as well as the human faculty
of reason or hēgemonikon,48 in traditional Stoic terminology, it is described by
Epictetus as the power capable of (i) knowing itself; (ii) knowing all the other
faculties; and (iii) making use of external impressions. (iv) It is a portion of the
divine in human beings. (v) It is also the faculty of choice (hormē) and refusal
(aphormē); (vi) the faculty of desire (orexis) and aversion (ekklisis); and (vii) the
only power under human control.49 (viii) The power that at 1.1.23 is identified
with prohairesis.50 Underlying such integration of functions is the Stoic unitary
God will that I do now, what does He not will?”

46 1.7: “Of the use of equivocal premises, hypothetical arguments and the like”;
1.8: “That reasoning faculties, in the case of the uneducated, are not free from
error”; 1.17: “That the art of reasoning is indispensable”; 2.12: “Upon the art
of argumentation”; 2.23: “Of the faculty of expression”; 2.25: “How is logic
necessary?”; 3.21: “To those who enter light-heartedly upon the profession of
lecturing”; 3.23: “To those who read and discuss for the purpose of display.”
47 For Hellenistic philosophers, the discipline had a wide signification, being the
science that investigated, besides arguments, argument forms and demonstration,
all the aspects of logos, including rhetoric, the nature of language, and
epistemology. Epictetus often uses the verb dialegomai to refer to the Socratic
practice of exchanging short questions and answers. For all the other functions he
uses derivatives of logos and descriptive terms. E.g., “the treatment of equivocal
and hypothetical (logoi), and, additionally, of arriving at a conclusion by
questioning, and, to put it simply, of all such logoi […]” (1.7.1).
48 2.1.39: “you shall exhibit what can be achieved by a rational governing principle
(logikon hegemonikon) when arrayed against the forces that lie outside the
province of the moral purpose”. See also 1.15.4; 1.20.11; 1.26.15.
49 “[O]ne which contemplates both itself and everything else […] for this is the only
one we have inherited which will take knowledge both of itself—what it is, and
of what it is capable, and how valuable a gift it is to us—and likewise of all the
other faculties” (1.1.4); “Makes use of external impressions” (1.1.6); Zeus says “we
have given thee a certain portion of ourself ”, “this faculty of choice and refusal, of
desire and aversion” (1.1.12); “the gods have put under our control only the most
excellent faculty of all” (1.1.7).
50 2.1.39 identifies the logikon hēgemonikon as the power that can be set against the
aproairetous dunameis; primarily sensation is such power, available to animals,
which are restricted to the use of impressions but not their parakolouthēsis. It

psychology. One commanding faculty or psychological whole performs all the
distinct life functions: thinking, desiring, and choosing.51
Armed with the hypotheses of the Stoic founders, Epictetus’s analysis
of names displays what parakolouthēsis entails beyond chrēsis. Names attach
to individual bodies presented to sentient and rational beings by means of
impressions. Many common impressions of the same thing familiarize the
organism with the range of traits that individuals can carry, i.e., with their possible
modes and qualifications. Nevertheless, such familiarity without technical
instruction is mere use of impressions, a passive compliance with the apparent
state of things, which fails to identify securely their natural condition, i.e., the
qualifications that at any given time demonstratively and ontologically pertain to
them.52 Only names that refer to articulate preconceptions, preconceptions that
form part of the necessary elements of reason and, consequently, are derived from
the fundamental hypotheses of the Stoic system, identify things as they are and
signify things correctly or unerringly. Comprehensive or cognitive impressions
(katalēptikai phantasiai), the Stoic criteria of truth understood as impressions
that inherently carry representational reliability and, therefore, constitute
epistemic foundations,53 do not figure in Epictetus’s account of the mind’s rising
from sense-impressions to higher cognitive states.54 Epictetus explicitly talks
seems plausible then that when Epictetus wants to emphasize the cognitive
functions of the unified whole, he uses cognates of logos, but when he wants to
capture the whole array of human operations, including hormē and aphormē, he
uses the more inclusive prohairesis. The use of the term prohairesis is an Epictetean
innovation of his Stoic heritage. A term more readily connected with Aristotle, it
is used by Epictetus coextensively with the hēgemonikon of the earlier Stoa (SVF
2.836). The appropriation of the term can plausibly be understood as Epictetus’s
response to peripatetic criticism that providence did not allow freedom of action.
See Robert F. Dobbin, “Prohairesis in Epictetus” and Richard Sorabji, “Epictetus
on Proairesis and Self ”. According to Epictetus, prohairesis is the one power that
Zeus placed under complete human control (eph’ hēmin), the point upon which
the Discourses commence, to be repeated again and again, e.g., 1.6.40.
51 1.18.1: “in all men thought and action start from a single source”; also SVF 2.823.
52 See also 2.17.13: “if all of us who have these terms upon our lips (hoi ta onomata
lalountes) possess no mere empty knowledge (kenōs ismen) of each one
severally (hekasta toutōn), and do not need to devote any pains to the systematic
arrangement of our preconceived ideas, why do we disagree, why fight, why blame
one another?”
53 See Long and Sedley: “there is a type of impression which gives its recipient an
absolute guarantee that it represents the object with complete accuracy and clarity.
As the criterion of truth, the cognitive impression is nature’s gift of a standard for
securely determining what really is the case” (The Hellenistic Philosophers, 250).
54 Even though such a use of the term is echoed at 1.20.5: “Well then, for what
Eleni Tsalla 123

about natural measures (metra) and standards (kanonas) available to human
beings in order to discover truth (2.20.21), but when he uses such standards
it becomes clear that he is referring to the theōrēmata of the Stoic system. The
term “comprehensive impression” (katalēptikē phantasia) appears twice in the
Discourses, both times in relation to assent, the third field of study according
to Epictetus’s implementation of the Stoic curriculum (3.2). When mastered,
this field secures infallibility (anexapatēsia) in assenting (sugakatathesis) and in
withholding assent (epochē), i.e., in the judgments one makes about impressions
(phantasiai) received from the external world. Characteristically, at 3.8.4–5,
Epictetus promises that with the proper habituation, “we shall never give our
assent (sugkatathēsometha) to anything but that of which we get a convincing
sense-impression (phantasia katalēptikē). His son is dead. What happened? His
son is dead. Nothing else? Not a thing.”55
Epictetus employs the term phantasia abundantly with reference to the
capacity of sentient beings to be presented internally with the external world. He
acknowledges the subjective element of perceptual experience and the possibility
of error without, however, mistrusting perception as a function. In fact, Epictetus
takes for granted the accurate presentational function of phantasia and attributes
error to psychological disturbances that distort the perceptual input.56 Veridical
purpose have we received reason (logos) from nature? For the proper use of
external impressions (pros chrēsin phantasiōn). What, then, is reason itself?
Something composed out of a certain kind of external impressions (systēma ek
poiōn phantasiōn). Thus it comes naturally to be also self-contemplative.” See
also Manual 45.
55 The second instance of katalēpsis appears explicitly at 4.4.13; Epictetus is criticizing
philosophy students who pursue exclusively theoretical studies. “It is as if, when
in the sphere of assent (epi tou sygkatathetikou topou) we were surrounded with
sense-impressions (paristamenōn phantasiōn), some of them convincing (tōn men
kataleptikōn), and others not convincing (tōn d’ akatalēptōn), we should not wish
to distinguish between them, but to read the treatise On Comprehension (Peri
katalēpseōs)!”
56 Epictetus uses a very telling image at 3.3.20–22: “The soul is something like a
bowl of water, and the external impressions something like the ray of light that
falls upon the water. Now when the water is disturbed, it looks as though the ray
of light is disturbed too, but it is not disturbed.” See also 1.28.1–3: “What is the
reason that we assent to anything (aition sugkatatithesthai tini)? The fact that it
appears to us to be so (to phainesthai hoti huparchei). It is impossible, therefore,
to assent to the thing that appears not to be so. Why? Because this is the nature
of the intellect (dianoia)—to agree to what is true (alēthesi epineuein), to be
dissatisfied with what is false (pseudesi dusarestein), and to withhold judgement
regarding what is uncertain (pros adēla epechein).”

perception develops over time under normal conditions and allows sentient
beings to interact with their environment successfully in order to satisfy their
needs. As opposed to other mortal animals, human beings are rational, mortal
animals (2.9.2). They are capable of moving beyond mere use of impressions to
their rational use or to observing the use of impressions, where “rationally” is
further determined as “in accordance with nature” (1.6.13; 2.8.8; 4.7.32). The
distinction between chrēsis and parakolouthēsis applies to both names and
impressions. According to the picture that emerges, then, a comprehensive
impression for Epictetus is not a case of an infallible presentation with a privileged
status in founding higher cognitive stages. Rather, assuming the higher cognitive
stages, a human being is in the presence of a comprehensive impression whenever
the mind is capable of sorting immediate impressions in accordance with the
main tenets of the Stoic system. Or, employing Epictetus’s own vocabulary,
an impression or presentation (phantasia) is comprehensive whenever the
human mind successfully applies (epharmozei) an articulated preconception
to a particular instance (epi merous ousia), i.e., when the mind unmistakably
discerns the proper dialectical and ontological fitting (hupotassein) of particular
encountered instances (2.17.7). If phantasia generally is the faculty of cognitive
descent, a comprehensive impression is a case of unerring cognitive descent.
Epictetus’s suggested response to the various ways according to which
impressions arise does support such a reading of comprehension:
The [external] impressions (phantasiai) come to us in four

ways; for either things are, and seem to be (esti tina kai outōs
phainetai); or they are not, and do not seem to be (ouk onta
oude phainetai hoti esti), either; or they are, and do not seem
to be (esti kai ou phainetai); or they are not, and yet seem to
be (ouk esti kai phainetai). Consequently, in all these cases
it is the business of the educated man to hit the mark. But
whatever be the thing that distresses us (thlibon), against that
we ought to bring up our reinforcements. [1.27.2]57
57 The passage echoes a complicated Stoic classification of impressions reported by

Sextus (Against the Logicians = Math. 7.241–248) in terms of their plausibility or
implausibility, truth or falsity. See, Christopher Shields, “The Truth Evaluability
of Stoic Phantasiai”. Regarding the truth-value of phantasiai, Shields remarks,
“the Stoics can have neither the simple correspondence theory nor the coherence
theory in mind when offering the judgment that phantasiai are truth evaluable.
It suggests, rather, that they adopt ISV [inherited semantic value], the account
according to which they [phantasiai] derive their truth evaluability from
associated axiōmata, the entities they deem primarily truth evaluable and as truth
evaluable in terms of their intrinsic characteristics” (338).
Eleni Tsalla 125

Comprehension consists in conscious coincidence between appearance and what
truly and really is. Determination of what truly and really is employs functions
that exceed the immediate perceptual event or perception altogether. The
condition for comprehension is observance (parakolouthēsis) of the elements of
reason as one constantly monitors immediate impressions. The Stoic doctrines,
then, are literally reinforcements that guarantee imperturbability (1.27.2-5). (i)
The logical exercises of the Stoic educational system are remedy against Academic
and Pyrrhonist sophisms. (ii) Clear and developed preconceptions (prolēpseis
enargeis esmēgmenas kai procheirous) protect against the plausibility of things
(pragmatōn pithanotētes), whereby things appear (phainetai) good while they
are not. (iii) Practicing the opposite ethos is defense against an unsuitable one.
4. Conclusion
While the Discourses is primarily a work of applied ethics, Epictetus’s
protreptic discourse is informed by Stoic logic and physics, which Epictetus
employs while introducing subtle innovations.58 Names, like impressions or
appearances, can be either used or observed. Use is passive adherence to the
immediate perceptual event, whereby bodies qua individuals and particulars
variously qualified are registered. Passive use of impressions and names
lacks understanding of the causal link underlying the presence of various
qualifications and attributions. Names properly signify things with reference
to the Stoic theorems, which articulate the cosmic structure as the constant,
dynamic, and stratified mixture of the active and passive principles. Rational
beings, then, come to grasp, observe, and articulate how things are the outcome
of the one, universal being and its consecutive modifications. I.e., rational beings
observe impressions and names when they come to detect the qualifications and
attributes of individual things necessitated by the activity of logos on matter in
each particular instance.
Observance of the underlying structural constitution of things is the
condition that makes rational agents active and free by enabling them to re-
imagine the world radically. One is in the presence of a comprehensive impression
when one is able to grasp every particular as a bit of ousia (hypokeimenon),
differentiated (poion), in a certain disposition (pōs echon), and in relation to
other such things (pros ti pōs echon) as ordered causally by logos. Analysis ends
with relative disposition, i.e., with things as individuals in the way human beings
58 Scholars point out consistently with internal evidence that the content of the
Discourses does not necessarily represent the formal school curriculum, but a
supplement to formal instruction addressed to students and probably visitors
of Epictetus’s school. Epictetus’s views are presented as explications of the Stoic
fathers whose dogmata he presupposes. See John M. Cooper, “Moral Theory and
Moral Improvement in Epictetus” and Long, Epictetus, ch. 2 and 4.

at first encounter them. However, the complete intellectual vision will always
refer individuals to the complex whole, to the underlying continuous process
of the unfolding logos. A comprehensive impression is one by means of which
the observer entertains an immediate impression of a thing while at the same
time positioning the thing securely in the structure of the cosmos. Inability to
apprehend how an encountered immediate impression of a thing fits into the
whole requires suspending judgment.
Bringing the vision of logos shaping every miniscule aspect of what
there is to bear on understanding oneself, the rational agent in any particular
guise finds him or herself constantly and uniquely equipped to be how logos
manifests by discerning and adhering to all natural and necessary qualifications
that determine him or herself.59 A human being is a rational being, which though
at the same time instantiates logos carrying the qualifications of plant (phusis)
and animal (psuchē) life. Under normal conditions, the rational agent acts so that
all the corresponding attributes apply. However, what holds for each particular
kind need not always hold necessarily. Epictetus instructs at 2.5.24–25 that
qualifications of the same thing can be both against nature and in accordance
with nature without contradiction. Things can be apprehended (hupolabein)
either in themselves, i.e., absolutely and unconditionally (apoluton), or as parts
of a whole, i.e., relationally and conditionally. In each case, the determination of
the natural differs. Epictetus clarifies the point with the example of a foot and of
a human being. Absolutely, the natural condition of the foot is to be clean. But
as part of the body “it will be appropriate for it to step into mud […] to be cut
off for the sake of the whole body; otherwise it will no longer be a foot” (2.5.25).
Absolutely, it is natural for a human being to reach old age, to prosper, to
be healthy. A human being, however, is also a member of the universal
community composed of gods and men, and a member of a specific political
community. As a part in relation to a whole, it is suitable and dutiful (kathēkei)
to be sick, to travel, to be in danger. The ultimate determinant is the overarching,
cosmic kind.
Presumably, then, it is consistent with the nature and career of limbs,
conceived not absolutely, to be amputated. Yet, Epictetus confidently claims
that the athlete who died refusing to amputate his genitals acted reasonably
(1.2.25–26). One wonders how the relation of the particular instance to the whole
commands death rather than amputation. The ultimate test of one’s attunement
to the apprehended logos is the event of one’s annihilation. All particular kinds are
59 See the almost eschatological 1.29.42–43: “A time will soon come when the tragic
actors will think that their masks and buskins and the long robe are themselves.
Man, all these things you have as a subject-matter and a task […] if one should
take away from him both his buskins and his mask (prosōpeion) […] is the tragic
actor lost, or does he abide? If he has a voice, he abides.”
Eleni Tsalla 127

subject to the process of the whole. It can be appropriate to amputate a food for the
sake of the whole body, and, yet, the athlete was reasonable because by embracing
death to maintain his manliness, he gave perfect evidence to his abiding by logos.
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Kant and Epictetus. Transformations
of Imperial Stoicism
Matthias Rothe
1. Reception or Appropriation?
An affinity between Kant’s moral theory and Stoic ethics has often
been noted and occasionally discussed, most recently by Maximilian Forschner
(Oikeiosis), Julia Annas (Morality), Ulrike Santozki (Bedeutung antiker Theorien,
23–25), and Thomas Bénatouïl (Les Stoïciens, 92–96).1 What, though, is the nature
of this affinity? How might we account for it? In my view, it is quite clear that in
those rare cases where Kant explicitly discusses Stoic concepts, or even credits the
Stoics with insights important to his own theory,2 he does not simply copy their
ideas or discuss them for the sake of critical review. He substantially transforms
them. This transformation is not a matter of intellectual dishonesty, nor, I would
argue, should it be understood as evidence of bad faith; it is something unavoidable.
There is no such thing as an unobstructed dialogue between schools of philosophy
or great thinkers across time and space. Ideas and arguments are not merely
“received”; they are always “appropriated” to serve historically specific purposes.
To be sure, intellectual dishonesty and bad faith exist. However, evidence of
this necessarily depends upon a proper reconstruction of the “conditionings” to
which the theorists in question were subject. Only when these are clearly delineated
will it be possible to consider whether a gesture of bad faith is involved.
First of all, Kant’s appropriation of Stoicism seems to be conditioned
by certain theoretical preconceptions. He understood all philosophical endeavors
that preceded the critical turn he himself had initiated to be, as Ulrike Santozki
convincingly argues (Bedeutung antiker Theorien, 23–25), a mere “groping
around” and accordingly, each insight a result of blind luck. Kant saw himself,
then, in the fortunate position of systematizing in terms of merits or failures by
determining whether the limits of knowing, imposed by the nature of reason,

Bibliography at the end of this essay. (Immanuel Kant’s works are quoted after the
academy edition, unless stated otherwise, and translated by the author.)
2 Compare for example Kant’s discussion of the interconnection between happiness
and virtue in Stoic philosophy (AA V, 112), the Stoic idea of the wise man and
of duty (AA V, 125–127) in Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft, of the role the Stoics
assign to moral exercises in Metaphysik der Sitten (AA VI, 484), or the Stoic theory
of evil in Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der reinen Vernunft (AA VI, 57–59)
and in Vorarbeiten zur Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der reinen Vernunft (AA
XIII, 107).
Matthias Rothe 131

had been respected, presupposed, or violated. Philosophies that preceded the
critical turn constituted, for him, an open and resonating space rather than a thick
and impenetrable matter that required detailed philological study, and those
well-known and rigid distinctions that represent the critical turn—this cannot
be emphasized enough—are his steadfast tools of observation (classification):
theory vs. practice; the intelligible vs. the sensual/empirical; constitutive (a
priori) vs. operative (a posteriori) reason; or knowledge vs. morality. While each
of these divisions diverges from ancient ethics, the latter two in particular are in
full rupture with it. Given this, any idea or arguments that would comply with
his theoretical frame necessarily had to change substantially.
A famous example of such a “reconfiguration” is Kant’s understanding
of Aristotelian prudence (phronêsis).3 Whereas the Aristotelian concept seems
to presuppose a distinction between two kinds of theory—practical wisdom and
contemplative wisdom—Kant relegates prudence to the realm of blind practice
(the empirical) as opposed to theory (the intelligible). Furthermore, whereas
for Aristotle the prudent man’s (phrônimos) task is to work out each time anew
the only right thing to do, and thereby emerge victorious through changing
circumstances (thus re-establishing a law), Kant defines prudence as a—each
time anew—flexible calculation of means and ends. This is because no ultimate
end can be defined, or moral law obtained, within ever-changing circumstances. 4
Hence prudence and cleverness, for Aristotle strict opposites, become in Kant’s
discussion one and the same, deprived of any moral value and pitted against
actions guided by a priori principles.5
But the theoretical stance taken by Kant was itself subject to impersonal
or epistemic rules, a historical conditioning, so to speak. It had become
necessary to rethink moral categories for the project of a society of potential
equals, and to explain the existence of society without reference to a divine
or secular government. Stoic philosophy seems to have provided conceptual
material particularly suitable for these objectives. After all, Stoicism had a second
renaissance in the eighteenth century (I take the Neo-Stoicism of the sixteenth
3 Compare Aubenque, La prudence, 186–212 for a more elaborate discussion.

4 This becomes especially obvious when Kant criticizes Aristotle’s concept of
virtue as a mean between two extremes, that is between excess and defect in Die
Metaphysik der Sitten AA VI, 432–433. Kant seems to assume that virtue is at
any moment a matter of degree for Aristotle; hence the prudent man chooses
between different forms of actions (as equally possible means) in order to achieve
virtue (the goal). Aristotle, however, allows for degrees only across situations, but
not within one and the same situation; the end is always preserved in the means,
as only one action at a time can fulfill the criteria for virtue. This is at least one
reading of Aristotle that Kant fails to take into consideration.
5 Compare above all Kant’s discussion of prudence in Grundlegung zur Metaphysik
der Sitten AA IV, 414–419 and in Kritik der Urteilskraft AA V, 170–173.

and seventeenth centuries to be the first). Not only Kant, but also moral and
political philosophers such as Rousseau, Shaftesbury, Francis Hutcheson, and
Adam Smith make an almost excessive use of Stoic arguments.
2. Kant’s sources
How then did or could Kant have come in touch with Stoic ethics?
His personal library contained the works of Seneca and Cicero (Warda, Kants
Bücher), which he seems to have read in the original; Cicero’s de finibus and de
officiis were almost unavoidable in liberal education. And it is likely that Kant
also knew Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, Epictetus’s Manual (Encheiridion)
and Epictetus’s Discourses (translated into German6 for the first time in 1778
[Schranka, Der Stoiker Epiktet, 35] just before Kant’s full “awakening from the
dogmatic slumber”). The Meditations and the Manual were popular and available
in numerous translations in German and Latin. More importantly, Kant refers to
Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca as the most famous members of the Stoic
sect (Logik, Physische Geography, Pädagogik AA IX, 31), and when discussing
Stoic philosophy, he seems content with general terms such as “the Stoics” or “the
Stoic sect”; hence, it is fair to assume that he had these authors in mind when he
employed generic terms, rather than philosophers of the early or middle Stoa
possibly also known to him through Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, or Stobaeus.7
Furthermore, some passages from Epictetus’s Discourses display
a striking similarity to passages from Grundlegung der Metaphysik der Sitten
(1785) and from Die Metaphysik der Sitten (1797), as I shall argue. Finally, Kant
points to Epictetus in his Vorlesungen über die Metaphysik8 (approx. 1789), most
significantly when explaining the key concept of his moral philosophy, freedom:
“Personal freedom can remain even if the physical is missing, as for example
with Epictetus”9 (Vorlesungen, 18; Die persönliche Freiheit kann bleiben, wenn
auch die physische fehlt, wie z.B. beim Epiktet).
6 It has often been suggested, for example, that Kant’s Greek might not have sufficed
to read Plato and Aristotle in the original; it seems he knew them only through
translations or interpretations of other authors; compare Santozki, Bedeutung
antiker Theorien, 39, 129.
7 Kant appears to have known Diogenes Laertius’s Life of Eminent Philosophers
and Stobaeus’s Florilegium. He references Diogenes Laertius in Kritik der reinen
Vernunft (AA III, 9). Moreover, Shamuel Sambursky argues that Kant’s allusion
to a Greek in “Perpetual Peace”, who is supposed to have said that war produces
more evil people than it gets rid of, is a quotation from Stobaeus’s collection of
fragments (Sambursky, Zum Ursprung, 280).
8 Admittedly, some Kant scholars dispute the correctness of these lectures, which
are based on lecture notes.
9 Kant seems to draw a connection here between Epictetus’s disability—he is said to
have limped—and Epictetus’s philosophy.
Matthias Rothe 133

However, even if Kant did not, in fact, read the Roman Stoic
philosophers (or merely read a select few), he was undoubtedly exposed (whether
he was aware of it or not) to their ideas and arguments indirectly, in the writings
of authors whose texts he engaged with and valued. Kant owned several works
by Hutcheson, and his admiration for Rousseau is well known. He likewise held
Adam Smith’s The Theory of Moral Sentiments in high esteem,10 and he had fierce
philosophical debates with Christian Garve, to name only a few influences. These
theorists not only made use of Stoic philosophy, but also actively promoted it.11
Finally, some of these theoretical affinities might be accidental, in the
sense that they do not derive from an actual point of contact. Direct or indirect,
or for that matter, nonconscious encounter need not necessarily be at play.
Instead the (always) local and (necessarily) superficial similarity of a problem
could have led to a comparable solution. Although such a case could not count
then as an appropriation, it would be of interest nonetheless; for it would allow
for the identification of some of the conditions that shaped the eighteenth-
century interest in Stoic thoughts.
Because in many cases it is impossible to know precisely in which
manner Kant made contact with Stoic thoughts, I must be content with tracing
the similarities between Stoic, notably Epictetian, ethical reasoning and Kant’s
moral philosophy to focus, more importantly for my purposes here, on what I
see as transformations of Stoic ideas. Though I cannot claim to be in possession
of the “original meaning” of the Stoic terms and arguments in question, it seems
legitimate to me to draw on a contemporary understanding of Stoic philosophy
as a backdrop against which Kant’s reading of it might stand out.
3. Kant and Epictetus, at first glance

Of all the Stoic philosophers, Epictetus appears to be the one who
resonates most with Kant’s thinking. Ideas that are at the core of Epictetus’s
philosophy bear a close resemblance to the key concepts of the Kantian ethics.
There is firstly Epictetus’s term prohairesis, absolutely central to his
philosophy and an original contribution,12 which was—misleadingly (as will
10 Kant notices in his Reflexionen AA XV, 592: “But where is the writer who is able
to discuss history or the most perfect philosophical objects with reason and deep
insight such as Hume, or the moral knowledge of human beings such as Smith!”
(Aber wo ist der Schriftsteller, der die Geschichte und die vollkommensten
philosophischen Gegenstände mit Verstand und tiefer Einsicht doch so schön
abhandelt als Hume, oder die moralische Kenntnis des Menschen wie Smith!)
11 Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, 271–293, for example, contains a long
chapter on Stoic philosophy, and there are discussions of Stoic philosophy, above
all of Epictetus, throughout the book.
12 Aristotle employs the term in the Nichomachean Ethics as well, but only with
Epictetus does it come to designate a specifically human faculty, more precisely,

become clear below)—translated as will (or voluntas in Latin versions). The
famous beginning of Grundlegung der Metaphysik der Sitten (1785) seems to
already strongly echo Epictetus’s account of prohairesis from the Discourses:
“Nothing in the world, indeed nothing even beyond the world can possibly
be conceived which could be called good without qualification except a good
will” (Foundations, 393) (Grundlegung AA IV, 393; Es ist überall nichts in der
Welt, ja überhaupt auch ausserhalb derselben zu denken möglich, was ohne
Einschränkung für gut könne gehalten werden, als allein ein guter Wille). The
moral value of all talents depends “on the will that uses these natural gifts” (ibid.;
der Wille, der von diesen Naturgaben Gebrauch macht). Epictetus claims in a
very similar manner: “Where lies good? In the will (prohairesis). Where evil? In
the will (prohairesis)”, or, “[b]ut when you ask me what is the most excellent of
things, what shall I say? I cannot say eloquence, but a right will (prohairesis); for
it is this which makes use of that and of all the other faculties, whether great or
small” (Discourses II, XVI, II, XXIII).
More importantly, both Kant’s will and Epictetus’s prohairesis must
ensure the possibility of autonomy (and freedom) in that they allow for assenting
or refusing assent to sensual impressions or inclinations. As the Roman Stoics,
notably Epictetus and Seneca, depart from the idea of a rigid division between
wise and foolish people—a division that did not concede any degree and that
was prominent in early Stoicism—they came to think of this refusal much
more in terms of an overcoming of empirical constraints.13 They engaged in
a pedagogical enterprise. Thus, their idea of kathêkon comes much closer to
Kant’s concept of Pflicht (duty) than was the case with the early Stoic kathêkon,
conceived from the perspective of the wise man that acts fundamentally in line
with all natural inclinations.
The most striking resonance between Kant and Epictetus, however,
lies—as I will try to show—in the kind of support they assign to the will or to the
faculty of prohairesis: an awareness of a belonging to mankind “institutionalized”
in Kant’s categorical imperative and in Epictetus’s concentric circles of familiarity.
the highest faculty that guides every other activity or behavior (Bénatouïl, Les
Stoïciens, 169–178; Long, Epictetus, 210–220; Trapp, Philosophy in the Roman
Empire, 127–129).
13 Compare Epictetus’s depiction of resistances against desires in the Enchiridion
X, XVI, XIX. Seneca, in his treatise On Anger, for example, develops a theory of
affection that must have been very appealing to Kant. Seneca acknowledges the
unavoidable force of passions and focuses on the possibility of containing and
mastering rather than completely dissolving them; autonomy, then, is defined by
this possibility. Likewise, Seneca emphasizes that moments of overcoming original
inclinations are a necessary part of the process of oikeiosis. Moral development,
according to Seneca, means to seek what is best, which would also imply the
suffering of pain (Lucilius, 121, 6–8).
Matthias Rothe 135

Although the concept of spheres of familiarity dates back to early Stoicism,
according to Diogenes Laertius, Cicero, Stobaeus,14 and others, it was Epictetus
who systematically employed it for his moral philosophy and derived a theory
of social roles from it.15
4. Kant and Epictetus, at second glance

a) Prohairesis and will
Prohairesis in Epictetus and will in Kant both designate a human
faculty that makes use of all other faculties, talents, and things of the world,
and thereby reduces them to morally indifferent objects.16 The will can be good
or evil,17 just as the prohairesis can be right or wrong. The good will makes the
good man, the evil will makes the evil man; through the wrong prohairesis
“man becomes wicked”, and through the right prohairesis “man becomes good”
(Discourses II.23).
It has been debated whether Epictetus’s concept of prohairesis
anticipated the modern idea of will, with the objection that freedom in Epictetus
does not reside in choice as with the (modern) will, but only in the right choice.
In other words, only a prohairesis set right allows for freedom, whereas wrong
means twisted in much the same way as an arm or a leg can be twisted and hence
no longer able to move freely. This might be a correct assessment, but if so, it
applies likewise to Kant. Kant’s concept of the will would then be a pre-modern
one, as only the good will can be truly said to be a free will.18
Freedom in Epictetus, and for the most part in Kant, designates,
broadly speaking, the possibility of independence from external constraints,
14 Compare for example Cicero, Moral Ends, III, 62, or Diogenes Laertius, Leben und
Meinungen, VII, 108–109, Long and Sedley, Die hellenistischen Philosophen, 416.
15 Compare Annas, Morality, 107, 175.
16 Kant was aware of the Stoic origin of this move (to transfer all moral value to
the faculty that makes use of things). Compare his remark in Erläuterungen zu
A. G. Baumgartens Metaphysika AA XIX, 118: “The Stoic statements ‘Health is
not a good and pain is not an evil, but merit and fault’ are so very true, that they
make the man who is subject to them neither good nor evil” (Die stoischen Sätze
“Gesundheit ist kein Gut und Schmerz kein Übel” sind so sehr wahr, dass sie den
Mann, an dem sie angetroffen werden, nicht gut, und auch nicht böse machen).
17 Compare, for example, Kant, Religion AA VI, 57–58.
18 “The free will”, Kant defines in Kritik der praktischen Vernunft AA V, 72, is the will
that “is not so much determined […] by the collaboration of sensual impulses,
but much more by a refusal of all such impulses and by a termination of all
inclinations” (Der freie Wille (ist derjenige der) nicht bloss unter Mitwirkung
sinnlicher Antrieb, sondern selbst mit Abweisung aller derselben und mit
Abbruch aller Neigungen […] bestimmt werde).

and not freedom of choice.19 Kant does not hesitate to point to this proximity,
and rightly so:
These philosophers [the Stoics] took their general moral

principle from the dignity of human nature, freedom (as
independence from the force of inclinations); they could
not have based their thinking on a better, nobler one (Religion
AA VI, 57; Diese Philosophen nahmen ihr allgemeines
Prinzip von der Würde der menschlichen Natur, der Freiheit
[als Unabhängigkeit von der Macht der Neigungen] her;
ein besseres and edleres konnten sie auch nicht zum
Grunde legen).
Thus I would like to propose that it is not in their understanding of

freedom in terms of autonomy (as freedom from) that Kant and Epictetus differ,
but in the role that knowledge plays in their conceptions. Prohairesis for Epictetus
is not only the faculty that guides the usage of all others and all the things of the
world; this guidance also immediately relies on an analysis of circumstances
supported by a habitus.20 In other words, prohairesis stands for acts of volition
ingrained in a character that are simultaneously acts of knowledge. It is likely
this intricate interconnection between insight, attitude/character, and resolution
that makes the translation of the term so difficult, as I have noted above.21 Kant’s
concept of the will, then, insofar as it isolates the act of resolution, downplays
the role of character, and eliminates the knowledge aspect, seems closer to
Augustine’s liberum arbitrium than to Epictetus’s prohairesis.22
19 This has led Adorno to the evaluation that freedom and pure practical reason
eventually merge in Kant and become the instrument of repression (Adorno,
Moralphilosophie, 107).
20 This analysis follows the famous distinction of “things which are within our power
and things which are beyond our power” (Enchiridion 1) and calculates the value
of each thing; compare Discourses I.2, 7, 29; II.23.
21 For an elaborate discussion, compare Bénatouïl, Le usage de soi, or Charles H.
Kahn, Discovering Will.
22 Augustine, likewise, holds that the will can be truly free, or rather, realize its
freedom only if directed towards the good (God), and is twisted otherwise. Yet
more importantly, what was originally a punishment for sinning, namely that the
will could not find sufficient support in knowledge anymore (Augustinus, Freier
Wille, 3, 52), eventually becomes in Augustine a defining feature of the will. Kant
seems to further this Augustinian project of a disentanglement of knowledge and
will. For a discussion of the difference between choice and freedom in Augustine’s
conception of the will, also compare Drews, Menschliche Willensfreiheit, 9–10.
Matthias Rothe 137

Because it is an informed resolution, a wrong prohairesis can eventually
be corrected by knowledge, whereas an evil will cannot. Evilness as opposed to
ignorance divides the resolution from within.23 Kant, however, very likely guided
by the German (or Latin) translation of prohairesis as will, takes prohairesis to
be synonymous with his own concept. He renders Epictetus’s (or the Stoic’s)
freedom from external constraints24 as “freedom from the force of inclination”
and recognizes in their reliance on knowledge nothing more than a forgivable
naivety. “(T)hose brave men” (jene wackern Männer) took an “uncorrupted
will [sic]” (unverdorbener Wille) for granted, they “underestimated their enemy
[…]. They summoned wisdom up against foolishness, which was only carelessly
deceived by the inclinations” (Religion AA VI, 57l; [Sie] verkannten doch ihren
Feind […]. Sie boten die Weisheit gegen die Torheit auf, die sich von Neigungen
bloss unvorsichtig täuschen lässt).
b) Individual development and duty/kathêkon

Kant’s distrust of knowledge as a cure for moral evil—a defining
feature of ethical thinking that has passed through Christianity as much as
it is a concession to the (new) complexity of society—is far from a negligible
difference. In Stoicism, it is through knowledge that the individual’s moral
actions become part of a developmental story. Already the first impressions of
the newly born are not simply suffered, but “managed”. There is a care for the self
at work—an intellectual activity—that evaluates and relates every incident to
the project of perfection. The accomplishment of this process (oikeiosis) makes
the individual a conscious part of the rationality of the world, “connects” him
to the world in just the right way. Because passions were understood as wrong
judgments, or at the least resulting from a not yet fully obtained understanding
of this rationality, once perfection is achieved, desires will be perfectly in line
with the demands of reason. A life without obstacles, where the Stoic kathêkon
23 “As far back as we might go when attending to our moral condition, we will find: it
is no longer res integra, but we must begin by chasing the evil, which has already
settled there, away from its estate” (Kant, Religion AA VI, 58; so früh wir auch auf
unseren sittlichen Zustand unsere Aufmerksamkeit richten mögen, so finden wir:
dass mit ihm es nicht mehr res integra ist, sondern wir davon anfangen müssen,
das Böse, das schon Platz genommen hat […] aus seinem Besitz zu vertreiben).
Kant eventually defines evil as the possibility of the desiring faculty to follow its
own maxims or its suitability to be determined by maxims different from those
provided by pure practical reasoning. It should be noted that Kant employs
a different concept of freedom in this context. Freedom here does not mean
independence from external constraints, but freedom of choice: the freedom to
follow either the good or the bad maxims. Kant holds that evil “has to be sought in
freedom itself ” (ibid.; ist in der Freiheit selbst zu suchen).
24 Compare Epictetus, Discourses I.4.

ceases to be experienced as an imperative but is instead inscribed in the desires
themselves, remains the ultimate goal of Epictetus’s teaching. “For he is free
to whom all happens agreeably to his desire, and whom no one can unduly
restrain.”25 The mere fact, then, that there are inclinations still in need of being
overcome already indicates an imperfection.
There is no such individual development in Kant. Moral actions do not
rely on a progressive understanding of the world. Duty is defined through the
act of overcoming. The absence of effort would reveal—in contrast to the Stoics—
that an action was performed out of inclination instead of out of respect for a
law (provided by practical reason); Kant’s dichotomy between the intelligible
and the empirical/sensual is fully at work here.26 Although Kant seems to align
himself with the Epictetian idea of autonomy operated by an inner resolution,
that is, the possibility of assent or its refusal, for Kant and contrary to Epictetus,
a struggle with desires is not a transitional phase while progressing, but
becomes constitutive of autonomy itself. It is its acid test, indeed the only means
of constituting moral experience.27 Because there is no individual perfection at
25 Discourses I.12, or, “He is free who lives as he likes; who is not subject to
compulsion, to restraint, or to violence; whose pursuits are unhindered, his desires
successful, his aversion unincurred” (IV.1).
26 For example, it has been pointed out by Santozki (Bedeutung antiker Theorien,
185–186) that Kant’s distinction between acting according to duty and acting out
of duty is very close to the Stoic division between kathêkon and kathorthoma. The
former applies to the life of the average man, the latter to the acting of the wise
man. More interesting for my purposes here, however, are the differences between
these conceptions. For Kant, these forms of duty do not stand for different types
of people; they designate different kinds of action performed by one and the same
person. Moreover, a kathorthoma is performed with the greatest possible ease; its
execution accomplishes freedom in dealing with things, the world, oneself, and
others. It indicates a harmony with the order of things, whereas acting out of duty
necessitates greater obstacles and stronger resistance to prove itself than does
acting according to duty. Thus, the Kantian division between reason/intelligible
and desire/empirical remains fully operative.
27 Compare Kant’s introduction of the concept of duty in the Grundlegung AA IV,
397. The “concept of duty”, Kant explains, “implies that of a good will, although
subject to certain limitations and obstacles, which should, however, far from
hiding or mutating this will, instead make it all the more visible and therefore
shining more brightly” (Der Begriff der Pflicht […] der den eines guten Willens,
obzwar unter gewissen Einschränkungen und Hindernissen enthält, die aber doch,
weit gefehlt, dass sie ihn verstecken und unkenntlich machen sollten, ihn vielmehr
durch Abstechung heben und desto heller hervorscheinen lassen). Obstacles and
limitations are desires and inclinations. Clearly, it is through resistance that the
good will, hence autonomy, becomes an experience, according to Kant.
Matthias Rothe 139

play, each moral act is an isolated and single incident. For example, Kant cannot
but understand the ancient concept of a moral habitus/hexis—prominent across
all philosophical schools—as a mere behavioral training: “Habituation […] is
the foundation of a permanent inclination without any maxims” (Metaphysik der
Sitten AA VI, 479; Angewöhnung […] ist die Begründung einer beharrlichen
Neigung ohne alle Maximen), and he objects to it: “virtue […] always starts
anew” (ibid., 409; Tugend hebt […] immer von vorne an). He likewise rejects
the idea of following moral examples, that is, being part of a tradition: “that with
which others provide us cannot found any maxims of virtue” (ibid., 479; das,
was uns andere geben [kann] keine Tugendmaxime begründen).
A moral action must be the result of a solitary and original resolution.
Hence the individual seems to be disconnected from others as well as from the
world. There seems to be nothing left but eternal struggle that does not add up
to anything, because knowledge can neither save nor redeem.
c) The status of mankind, circles of familiarity, and categorical imperative

Kant praises the Stoics because they, like he, grounded their ethics in
“the dignity of man, in freedom” (Religion AA VI, 57), understood as autonomy,
or, in Kant’s words, “independence from the force of inclinations” (ibid.). This
freedom is realized or guaranteed in Kant through the categorical imperative.
And there is indeed a concept in Stoic philosophy that can be understood as a
functional equivalent of the categorical imperative: the circle of familiarities. The
latter, likewise, realizes or guarantees freedom in terms of autonomy, although
this autonomy—as I have tried to show—eventually leads to an accomplished
accord with the external world, and not to an independence from it that has to
be achieved each time anew.
Epictetus is the philosopher who perhaps most systematically employs
the concept of the circles of familiarities (Discourses I.9, 12; II.5, 10, 15; III.1,
2, 24, 28). For him, these circles define social positions: being a son, a father, a
neighbor, a citizen of the city, or a citizen of the universe. Just as Kant derives
various duties from the categorical imperative, Epictetus derives kathêkonta from
these positions.28 Furthermore, in both Kant and Epictetus there is a nonrigid
distinction at work between “tasks” (duties/kathêkonta) concerning, in the first
place, the self, such as keeping one’s body healthy by cleaning and nourishing
it properly (Discourses I.16, IV.11; Metaphysik der Sitten AA VI, 421ff.), and
“tasks” concerning others above all. This distinction is nonrigid since for both
philosophers, the ultimate reference point for each moral action is humanity or
28 “Consider who you are. In the first place, a man; that is one who recognizes
nothing superior to the faculty of free will [prohairesis], but all things as subject to
this […]. Remember next, that perhaps you are a son, and what does this character
imply?” (ibid., II.10).

mankind—the outer, all-inclusive circle in the Stoic model.29 Individuals, then,
by taking care of themselves, simultaneously honor or care for mankind, of
which they are necessarily a part.
The similarity in function in Kant’s imperative and Epictetus’s circles
also becomes apparent in their application. Epictetus’s discussion of the example
of a father who cannot see the suffering of his daughter and thus runs away from
her resonates closely with Kant’s discussion of cases for which the categorical
imperative would provide the right guidance.30 The procedure that Epictetus
applies in his teaching also resembles the one that Kant envisions in his ethical
didactic.31
Did you then [Epictetus asks the man], from an affection to
your child, do right in running away and leaving her? Has
her mother no affection for the child? — Yes surely she has.
— Would it have been right that her mother too should leave
her […]? — It would not. […] — And does her preceptor
love her? — He does. — Then ought he also have run away
and left her, the child being thus left alone and unassisted,
from the great affection of her parents and her friends […] —
Heaven forbid! — But is it not unreasonable […] that what
you think right in yourself […] should not be allowed to
others […]? — It is absurd. — Pray, if you were ill yourself
should you be willing to have your family, and even your wife
and children, so very affectionate as to leave you helpless and
alone? — By no means. [Discourses I.11]32
29 It is important to note that the wise man achieves to see not only the human being
in everybody, but also in every human being the family member. The circles are
“merged” in both directions, so to speak. Compare Laurand, La politique, 36–37.
30 Compare, for example, Kant, Grundlegung AA IV, 421–423.
31 Kant rejects the Socratic method of teaching, “because the student doesn’t
even know how to ask” [weil der Schüler nicht einmal weiss, wie er fragen soll]
(Metaphysik der Sitten AA VI, 479), and demands that the teacher “question his
student’s reason in regard to what he wants him to learn, and if the student didn’t
know to respond, he would (in guiding his reason) have to put the words into
his mouth” (ibid, 480; fragt der Vernunft seines Schülers dasjenige ab, was er ihn
lehren will, und wenn dieser etwa nicht die Fragen zu beantworten wüsste, so legt
er sie ihm [seine Vernunft leitend] in den Mund). Kant then provides an example
of such a dialogue (ibid., 480–482).
32 See also Kant’s discussion of the question of whether it can be legitimate to abstain
from helping others in Die Metaphysik der Sitten AA VI, 453: “[E]ach man who is
in need of help would want other men to help him. If, however, he announces his
maxim to not help others in return if they needed help […] everybody would […]
equally refuse him assistance” ([J]eder Mensch, der sich in Not befindet, wünscht
Matthias Rothe 141

Like Kant, Epictetus submits the individual action to a “law check”.
Everyone must always inquire in everyday situations, even when eating, taking
a bath, or responding to others, if this would be “to the divine acceptance”, that
is, if it is in line with one’s kathêkonta derived from the circles.33 Hence Epictetus
and Kant both operationalize, through the projection of a perspective other
than that of the individual, a self-detachment; mankind is the ultimate reference
point. This self-detachment leads to the identification of a rule that guides action
across individuals and circumstances. Epictetus establishes that for every man,
being a father implies the task of assisting one’s daughter, because the circle of
the family is included within the larger circle of the universe (mankind).34
However, there is an important difference between their conceptions.
Those who adopt the perspective of the Epictetian circles and follow the social
roles imposed by them will be able to appropriately inhabit precisely defined
spaces or milieus: the oikos (sphere of the family), the village or city, the universe
(universal city). Accordingly, the state of perfection—a belonging to mankind
made possible by the proper application of the “law check”—is spatially defined.
The wise and the foolish man share the same time; they only inhabit different
places. The former already lives in the universal city that—in accordance with
the rationality of the world—coexists with any other place. The foolish man is
dass ihm von anderen Menschen geholfen werde. Wenn er aber seine Maxime,
anderen wiederum in ihrer Not nicht Beistand leisten zu wollen, laut werden liesse
[…] so würde ihm […] jedermann gleichfalls seinen Beistand versagen).
33 Discourses XIII. Anger about one’s servant would be clearly wrong, for example,
because the servant is a “brother”; he is “from the same stock, and of the same
high descent”, and it does not count that the master is socially “placed in some
superior station” (ibid.).
34 It could be objected, though, that for the Stoics, no rule can be called a moral law
in the strict Kantian sense. Actions designated by the kathêkonta are, like anything
else, indifferent (adiaphora); they only indicate preferable actions, or, in other
words, they have value, but are not goods. This is implied in the Stoic emphasis on
evil and good as being defined by the way the highest human faculty (prohairesis)
makes use of things, including other human beings. Hence, there are conceivable
circumstances in which it becomes necessary not to assist one’s daughter or, to be
more precise, where this demand is in conflict with another. Thomas Bénatouïl
convincingly argues that only the non-sage will experience a conflict between
different demands. In the case discussed here, the assistance of a daughter, for
example, could be experienced as in conflict with the assistance of the city. For the
sage, however, who has successfully merged the circles, not to help one’s daughter
would simply be what assistance means in exceptional circumstances. The
daughter is not only a daughter, but simultaneously belongs to the city of men and
is thus treated as such; see Bénatouïl, Faire Usage, 309–317.

exiled, so to speak, but can return.35 This is precisely the pedagogical enterprise
to which Epictetus commits himself: bringing man home. The figure of the wise
man ensures that every incident or development happens in the present.36
By contrast, whoever acts according to the demands of the categorical
imperative acts upon a state of moral perfection yet to come. The categorical
imperative is derived from what would be the “natural” behavior of a perfected
rationality. The potential of mankind (the species), according to Kant, stands
in for rationality as such, a morality where imperatives are superfluous. The
idea of mankind “is not taken from experience”; it is an “objective end” of all
men (Grundlegung AA IV, 430). By conforming their maxims to the categorical
imperative, individuals take tentatively, so to speak, the perspective of a reason
already “fully developed”.37 The nonperfect individual acts as if it were already
part of a future “realm of ends” (Grundlegung AA IV, 438). Accordingly, Kant
evokes not wise men, but angels as perfected beings. The latter open up not
an eternal present, but a future, thus pointing out an ideal to which one can
progress.
In other words, Kant reverses the relation between time and space
proposed by the Stoics. The nonperfect individuals might well share a place with
perfected beings such as angels, but not a time.38 Moreover, as no one can claim
35 See Laurand, La politique, 77–81.

36 See Victor Goldschmidt for an analysis of the Stoic concept of time: “L’ordre
des raisons est donc conforme à l’ordre des choses. Mais cela même nous avertit
que cet ordre, fondé en être, recouvre un système plus profond, qui, lui, n’est pas
progression qui s’accomplit, mais totalité achevée” (Goldschmidt, Le Système
stoïcienne, 62).
37 This difference—mankind as an anticipation of the individual vs. a present
mankind, “embodied” or potentially “embodied” by each individual—might also
account for Kant’s fierce rejection and the Stoic’s promotion of suicide. Both hold
rational self-determination to be the defining feature of a human being. Kant’s
conception, however, makes the individual responsible for a perfection that is
not his own, but that of the species; for the Stoics, the whole of mankind exercises
its autonomy de facto, that is, hic et nunc; hence, in each (wise) individual the
possibility of suicide is not only not precluded, but becomes the ultimate proof
of autonomy.
38 Julia Annas, Morality, 448–449, claims that “there is nothing in the ancient texts
which corresponds even remotely to Kant’s formula of universal law or to an
interest in universalizability”. She holds that the “contrast […] between rational
humanity in its achieved or perfected form […] and rational humanity in any
other state” prevents the Stoics from developing such a formula. But Kant likewise
makes a distinction between a perfect and a nonperfect state of humanity, as I
have argued here. The categorical imperative is designed with the perspective of
all rational beings in mind, that is, of rationality in its perfected form. The
Matthias Rothe 143

to have already achieved perfection, the distinction between wise and foolish
no longer classifies persons, but each individual action. Acting as if can be fully
effective everywhere.
Finally, much like Epictetus, Kant depicts perfection in terms of a
“state of world citizenship” (weltbügerlicher Zustand).39 Mankind materializes in
the form of an ideal constitution. Although an accomplished world citizenship
does not end the individual’s striving for autonomy, but only frames and lends
the best possible support to it, this perspective at least offers a compensation for
its joyless struggle. Even though individuals cannot hope to realize mankind in
their own person—which was the Stoic promise—they contribute to the species
as a historical project.
d) Intention of nature (Naturabsicht) and divine supervision40

Kant assumes that a progression toward world citizenship is an
“intention of nature” (Idee zu einer Geschichte AA VIII, 17; Naturabsicht), and
he emphatically calls nature “the great artist” (die grosse Künstlerin). With
this idea—a benign rationality that organizes the world—Kant again explicitly
aligns himself with the Stoics against an Epicurean conception of a completely
accidental order arising from chaos,41 which leaves open whether the “discord,
so natural to our species, would prepare for us a hell of evils” (Idee zu einer
Geschichte AA VIII, 25; ob nicht die Zwietracht, die unserer Gattung so natürlich
ist, am Ende für uns eine Hölle von Übeln […] vorbereite). Yet because Kant’s
intention of nature operates in time, or rather through time, the status of evil—a
key question for every philosophy that works with the premise of a well-meaning
and all-mighty providence—changes significantly. With Kant, “Theodicy turns
into philosophy of history” (Kittsteiner, Ethik und Teleologie, 49). Evil precedes
and generates the good in a historical (chronological) order. It is fully assumed
in Kant.
It was precisely the weight of moral and physical evil that the Stoics
had sought to minimize. To this end they employed two strategies. Incidents
usually considered evil were declared to be nothing but morally indifferent
difference, then, consists in the way in which the perfected state is “played out
against”, or related to, the non-perfected state of the individual. The difference is
one of temporality.
39 Kant, Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltbürgerlicher Absicht AA VIII, 28.
Kant’s Zum ewigen Frieden AA VIII, 358, envisions the same end of history.
40 See for example Epictetus, Discourses I.4 or I.14 where Epictetus speaks of “the
divine supervision”.
41 Although Kant does not name the Stoics explicitly, the fact that Epicurus stands in
for the option that Kant wishes to avoid evokes the Stoics as counterpart. Epicurus
was traditionally seen as an adversary, and it seems, also by Kant. See for example
Kant, Praktische Vernunft AA V, 112.

events or material, which, if properly used, would allow for a better knowledge
of oneself, foster moral education by providing training opportunities, or would
make the good man an example for the community and so on (Seneca, Göttliche
Vorsehung, 1–27). Alternatively, with great precaution, the Stoics made evil part
of the divine economy. Epictetus seems to have chosen the latter option. Why is
it, Epictetus reasons, that there are so many things in the world not in our power,
and hence that we are faced with the danger of being “weighed down […] by this
multiplicity of encumbrances”? (Discourses I.1). Did the gods not want to give
us power over all things?
I rather think that, if they could, they had granted us these

too; but they certainly could not. For, placed upon earth, and
confined to such a body, and to such companions, how was
it possible that […] we should not be hindered by things
outside of us? [Discourses I.1]
The existence of evil understood in terms of certain limitations

and dangers appears to be unavoidable. Given that reason has to work on or
through matter (body, earth, companions), it is not entirely free and must
accommodate certain constraints. The world as it is, nevertheless, is the
best possible arrangement. Kant follows Epictetus in making evil part of the
divine economy, but without the precautions. For Kant, evil is no longer an
(unfortunate) byproduct or side effect. Nature “allows unity to emerge through
the discord between human beings, even against their will” (Ewiger Friede AA
VIII, 360; [Eintracht] durch die Zwietracht der Menschen selbst wider ihren
Willen emporkommen zu lassen). “Through” is employed here in the sense of
“by virtue of ”.
Thus when Kant takes up the Epictetian idea of the world as a great
theater, he has to introduce an aspect completely foreign to Epictetus. He clearly
recognizes the problem that comes along with the shift he introduces, namely
that such a conception provides the individual with a justification of moral evil
ex ante. In Kant’s version of a world theater, then, the participants are far from
able to “act well the given part” (Enchiridion XVII). They do not know what
their part is. Nature’s intention has to remain secret to them; hence they cannot
claim to kill and ravage for a better world (Ewiger Friede AA VIII, 362–363).
Nature “coerces them to enter into more or less lawful relations […] against
their inclination” (Ewiger Friede AA VIII, 363–364 ; Die Natur [hat] durch
eben denselben [Krieg] sie [die Menschen] in mehr oder weniger gesetzliche
Verhältnisse zu treten genötigt […] gegen ihre Neigungen). The state of world
citizenship in Kant, the ideal constitution, cannot be the result of controlled
actions as with Epictetus. Those acting have to try their best before they can
even begin to hope that nature capitalizes on their failure.
Matthias Rothe 145

5. An eighteenth-century condition?
The Stoics already argued against Aristotle that “doing the right thing”
was possible under any circumstances and would not be dependent on the
agent’s physical well-being or possession. Kant’s disentanglement of morality
and knowledge, then, as well as his refusal to condition morality on character,
habitus, or individual development, still radicalizes the Stoic move towards a
“democratization of morality”. It not only makes morality in theory accessible to
everyone, everywhere and at any time, but claims that everyone always already is
and always has been a moral agent. One cannot not act morally. The categorical
imperative is a given universal. Put differently, Kant inquires into the conditions
of possibility of self-governance in a society of equals where corporate rules no
longer apply, and he is well aware of the “incapability of common reason for […]
subtle speculation” (Kritik der reiner Vernunft AA III, 425; Untauglichkeit des
gemeinen Menschenverstandes zu […] subtiler Spekulation).
However, Kant is far from revitalizing the Stoic or, broadly speaking,
ancient conception of community. Community cannot be conceived anymore as
a mere product of individual behavior, in the way the men of wisdom form the
universal city or few noble aristocrats or a good prince determine everyone’s fate.
Instead—with everybody on an equal footing, so to speak—it is a consideration
for the other in its abstract form (the human being) that permanently informs
individual behavior. The categorical imperative is its formalization. By contrast,
being guided by the circles of familiarity in Epictetus remains an individual
achievement and part of “good behavior”. Thus Kant completely reverses the
Stoic conception of community. In Kant it is not individual self-governance
that allows for community, but community in terms of a regard for others is
constitutive of the self. Community is reconfigured as society, that is, as an entity,
which is more than the sum of individuals in that it already and always precedes
and conditions their becoming.
This in turn has a paradoxical consequence: It is the lack of autonomy—a
fundamental relatedness to others—that enables autonomy. Kant’s “unsocial
sociability” (Idee zu einer Geschichte AA VIII, 20; ungesellige Geselligkeit)
expresses this condition and envisions the individual as determined and defined
by a conflict, which is caused by the unavoidable precedence of the other (after
all, “sociability” figures as the referent in this construction). In other words,
there is no reconciliation possible anymore between the self and the other as is
the case in Stoic ethics or still with Spinoza, where the regard for the other can
finally be understood (and experienced) as subservient to the care of the self.
Selfishness (moral evil) in Kant obtains a value in itself.
These constellations or perspectives coincide with, or are part of,
changes that result in nation-states and in economies, which fundamentally
rely on selfish interests. It is within this context that the concept of such an
inextricable interconnection between the self and the other emerges and is

put to play by Kant: politically, in terms of sacrifice,42 or, economically, when
Kant conceives of selfishness as a driving force in the generation of wealth or in
social progress. In other words, these transformations of Stoicism and in
particular of Epictetian thoughts are far from mere solitary achievements of
a genius. Rather, they are indicative of general conditions to which eighteenth-
century moral philosophy was subjected. Adam Smith’s famous concept
of the impartial spectator, for example, likewise makes a concern for others
a constitutive factor of the self, drawing on Epictetus’s circles of familiarity
(Smith, Moral Sentiments, 135–136), and selfishness is rendered unavoidable
and a prerequisite for progress by him. The “proud and unfeeling landlord”,
deprived of any considerations for others and exactly because of that,
will “without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of society”
(Moral Sentiments, 181–182). As with Kant, nature employs “deception which
rouses and keeps in continual motion the industry of mankind” (ibid., 181).43
Though selfish motives are considered useful and are assumed as such, they
still remain objectionable.
42 Compare, for example, Kant’s casuistic of suicide in Metaphysik der Sitten AA

VI, 422. To be sure, individuals have devoted themselves to the well-being of the
community before, yet this devotion might have been a different experience, more
in line with Socrates’s famous words in Plato’s Apology: you can kill, but not harm
me.
43 See Kittsteiner, Ethik und Teleologie, for a detailed analysis.
Matthias Rothe 147

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Self-Identity in Epictetus:
Rationality and Role
Carrie L. Bates
Introduction
One goal of philosophers is to provide coherent, logically consistent
answers to the questions with which they engage. Stoic philosophy, which
flourished from about 300 BCE to CE 200, engages with the question of what
constitutes the best life for a human being to live. Stoics posit happiness
(eudaimonia) as the chief end of human beings and their highest good.
“Philosophical eudaimonia is a condition in which a person of excellent character
is living optimally well, flourishing, doing admirably, and steadily enjoying the
best mindset that is available to human beings” (Long, Epictetus, 193).1 For
Stoics, care of the self is the means to that end. In order to care for the self, one
must know the identity of that self.2
Is Stoic teaching about self-identity and eudaimonia coherent?
A charitable and close reading of Epictetus provides a positive answer to this
question, even though there is much at first glance that seems to be contradictory
in Epictetus’s teaching. The charitable reading that I propose allows a picture
to emerge of “a remarkable historical figure and […] thinker whose recipe for
a free and satisfying life can engage our modern selves, in spite of our cultural
distance from him” (Long, Epictetus, 3). In this paper, I will argue that the key
ingredient in Epictetus’s recipe for a flourishing life is his concept of self-identity
(that which constitutes the self) as something that is both essential (innate,
natural) and constructed.
It is easy to read Epictetus’s teaching (preserved by Arrian in The
Discourses or The Encheiridion)3 simply as a group of moral maxims and to thus

2 Throughout this paper, I use the word identity in a way that differs from the
philosophical problem of identity, explored in thought experiments such as the
“Ship of Theseus”. I use identity as shorthand to refer to what constitutes the self in
Epictetus’s brand of Stoicism.
3 The teachings of Epictetus have come to us through his disciple Arrian and in
the sub-literary form of a diatribe. The diatribe was in use from about the fifth
century BCE to the fifth century CE; it consisted of a stenographic record of the
schoolroom activity that accompanied the instructor’s reading of a text and his
detailed exegesis of that text. The remarks thus preserved were offhand remarks
made between students and teacher with regard to a specific text, the identity
Carrie L. Bates 151

draw incorrect conclusions about Epictetus’s coherency on the matter of self-
identity. What he says in one place seems to contradict what he says in others.
Sometimes he speaks of a single, universal, human nature, referring to it as
divinely established. Other times, he mentions distinct male and female natures,
and classifies those as divinely bestowed.4 The divine origin of a nature provides
a reason to think of that nature as essential/innate, and Epictetus classifies
contrary natures (a single universal nature and distinct multiple natures) as
divine in origin. Does Epictetus envision a single human nature, or does he posit
two distinct kinds of human nature: a male human nature and a separate female
human nature? The answer is crucial if I am to know my own self-identity and,
knowing that, to care for that self so that I can reach eudaimonia.
Given Epictetus’s seemingly contradictory or careless remarks on the
nature of human beings, we are justified in asking if he perceives eudaimonia
as gendered: does he think that there is a male eudaimonia and a female
eudaimonia? As we seek to answer this question, we must keep several factors
in mind. We must consider the cultural context—his audience, his setting, and
his purpose. We must also remember that we have lost much of what he actually
said, as well as much of what he would have communicated by gesture and
intonation. Finally, we resolve apparent contradictions when we understand that
Epictetus’s teaching on self-identity has two aspects: a primary/essential aspect
and a secondary/constructed aspect. This paper addresses that dual aspect of
self-identity.
The Primary/Essential Aspect of Self-Identity: Rationality

The primary/essential aspect of self-identity focuses on the absolute
and universal nature of human beings as rational creatures. Epictetus insists
that we must grasp this before we consider any responsibilities connected to our
secondary/constructed identity. Epictetus urges his students, “Consider who
you are. To begin with, a Man; that is, one who has no quality more sovereign
than moral choice, but keeps everything else subordinate to it […]” (Discourses
2.10.1). For Epictetus, the first priority for any human being is to recognize
who—what—he/she is. Human beings are to think of themselves as rational,
because this, in fact, is what and who they are.
Rationality, as understood by Epictetus, allows for the faculty of moral
choice, and at the same time informs that faculty about right choices. If I am to
be the best person I possibly can be, I must recognize the difference between
what is up to me and what is not up to me (Encheiridion 1). The only thing that
of which we do not know. Arrian does not present Epictetus’s teaching as a

systematized treatment of topics and thus, to ascertain Epictetus’s teaching on any
particular point, the reader must engage in a careful and comprehensive reading of
all that we have from Epictetus.
4 Epictetus, Discourses 1.13.3–5; 1.16.9–14.

is up to me is how I think about things. Externals are outside my control and
therefore not up to me. They fall into the category of indifferents. Rationality is
what matters; it defines me. It is the essence of a human being. To be human is
to be rational.
The Secondary/Constructed Aspect of Self-Identity: Role

The secondary/constructed aspect of self-identity is the role we
are given. This is not innate, but is contingent on externals: I am a slave, or a
freedman, or an artisan, or a senator, or a philosopher, or some other such thing
(Encheiridion 17, 29). This is the role God has given me, and I must perform it
to the best of my ability, single-mindedly, insofar as that performance is guided
by reason and so does not conflict with my primary identity. The Stoic sage
engages in the proper duties of his or her secondary identity “as reason rather
than convention commands” (Rorty, “Two Faces”, 342).
The Dual Model and Freedom

For Epictetus, the fundamental category for self-identity is freedom,
but not political or social freedom (these are constructed freedoms). Rather, it
is an inalienable ethical freedom, bestowed by God, and unaffected by external
constraints—an essential freedom (Starr, “Tyrant”, 26). This freedom is the ability
to employ prohairesis—to make rational choices about what is good, what is bad,
and what is indifferent. Prohairesis, or volition, is absolutely autonomous: it is
the “person’s individual self with the capacities of reason, desire, intention, and
reflexive consciousness” (Long, Epictetus, 92). Therefore, the only true master
of a person is someone who has power over what that person wants or does not
want (Encheiridion 14). All human beings, by virtue of being human, have this
ability to employ prohairesis, but only those who have been educated properly,
i.e., as Stoics, will be able to use it to achieve eudaimonia.
The dual self-identity model allows a person to be slave in the
secondary sense, but free in the primary sense. “A person’s master is someone
who has power over what he [or she] wants or does not want” (Encheiridion
14). What I am to want is exactly what life brings (Encheiridion 8). Whatever
happens to me is the will of God; therefore, it is the right thing. Therefore, I
should want it (Long, Epictetus, 153, citing Epictetus, Discourses 1.12.15–
17). So I can play the role of slave if God wills it, while maintaining my
primary/essential freedom: the freedom to think rightly about myself and
the world around me. My opinions, impulses, desires, and aversions are free,
unhindered by anything outside me; they are completely my own. Conversely,
a person could be free in the secondary sense, but still be a slave in the
primary sense because of irrational appetites. The essence of the irrational
appetite is to be insatiable and never at rest (Bonhöffer, Ethics of Epictetus,
33). To be subject to irrational desires and fears is to be a slave to them.
Carrie L. Bates 153

Epictetus follows the Roman custom of connecting identity to status.
In Rome, birth determined a person’s initial status, which in turn shaped that
person’s sense of self. Other factors might later play a part in adjusting status
(e.g., the acquisition of wealth sometimes allowed a person to move from a
lower to a higher social stratum), but birth or origin was fundamental to identity
(Winter, “Roman Law”, 76, 98; and Roman Wives, 44, 54–58). Thus, we have the
Roman distinction between a freeman and a freedman. Epictetus maintains this
manner of recognizing identity, but he democratizes it by appealing to what
is universal about human birth. “God has given a portion of himself to each
person, whose status is correspondingly exalted” (Long, Epictetus, 144). For
both Epictetus and his Roman audience, birth determines identity, but Epictetus
immobilizes that identity by grounding it in something fixed and beyond the
cultural circumstances of one’s birth. Upward mobility was possible in Roman
society, and with it, a corresponding change in identity. Epictetus, on the other
hand, taught that reason, as the gift of God to all humans, established and firmly
fixed everyone’s identity as a citizen of the universe and a child of God, which
gives all persons the highest possible status (Discourses 1.9.6). Therefore, no
change in status or identity is possible or desirable.
The Dual Model and Socrates

Primary identity, for Epictetus, is essential—innate—it is defined by
our very human-ness. Our nature as humans—as rational beings—fits us alone
of all the creation to have “communion in the society of God” (Discourses 1.9.5).
This identity is independent of all external circumstances. At the same time,
Epictetus acknowledges a constructed identity—one that is dependent upon
externals. The ideal situation would be perfect harmony between constructed
identity and essential identity. The person who achieves this would be the Stoic
sage. Epictetus is doubtful that such a paragon actually exists, although he
believes that Socrates had achieved this ideal state. Socrates is the identity model
par excellence for Epictetus.
Socrates taught that no harm can come to a good person (i.e., the
only things that really matter are goods of the soul); Epictetus taught that the
things that are not up to a person fall into the category of indifferents (i.e., the
only thing that really matters is making correct judgments about goods of the
soul). Socratic and Stoic ethics take the form of virtue ethics, which locates
value in a person’s character and asks not what a person should do, but who a
person should be or become (Clark, Lints, and Smith, Key Terms, 22). Socrates
would have answered that a person should be a good person, i.e., a flourishing
human being who is giving the full and proper expression to his or her nature
(ibid.); Epictetus would have answered that a person should be just like Socrates
(Encheiridion 33). Socrates is that happy example of perfect harmony between
essential and constructed identity; therefore, he is an appropriate model for a
constructed identity (Encheiridion 51).

Epictetus’s discourses, both in form and in content, reinforce this
sense of Socratic purpose and identity. The diatribe functioned as an aspect of
the Socratic indictment-protreptic process (censure and persuasion), with its
dialogical elements pointing to a pedagogical rather than a polemical or general
function (Stowers, Diatribe, 57). Epictetus employs the diatribe to educate his
students in the art of living well. To do that, he must show them where conventional
thinking goes wrong, beginning with faulty reasoning about what is truly good
and what is truly dreadful (Encheiridion 5; Bonhöffer, Ethics of Epictetus, 19).
Faulty reasoning about these matters stems from an incorrect sense of self-
identity. Unless a person knows that the primary/essential human identity is that
of rationality, that person risks making something else, something indifferent,
be the basis from which he or she operates (Encheiridion 12, 13; Rorty, “Two
Faces”, 345).
Identity, Conversion, and Morality

Epictetus taught that the person who distinguishes correctly (between
what is his/hers and what is not his/hers) will not accept any impression that
presents what is not his/hers as a good. The moral stance represented by this
“correct distinguishing” represents a conversion from normal life—a rejection of
identity and status markers such as fame, power, and wealth (Stadter, Arrian of
Nicomedia, 22; Winter, Roman Wives, 5, 33). Epictetus’s maxim, while remaining
unsatisfactorily vague about the specific criterion for distinguishing veridical
from nonveridical impressions,5 nevertheless exposes the inadequacy of self-
satisfaction based on popular ideas of the good and the necessary.
The notion of conversion reinforces the idea that fundamental morality
(correctly distinguishing between what is ours and what is not ours) is located in
the primary/essential nature. Conventional morality, however, does not become
irrelevant. Epictetus advises his students to accept external circumstances as
providentially ordered and therefore in their best interest. The virtuous person
(the desired self-identity) will demonstrate morality by performing only those
actions that accord both with nature and with a culture’s construction of a
particular person’s place in nature (Rorty, “Two Faces”, 352).
5 Skeptic opponents of Stoicism complained that before we can make “correct”

distinctions (up to us/not up to us) between impressions/appearances, we must
have some way of distinguishing between true and false impressions. There would
be no point in using any kind of qualifying moral category for an illusion (a
deceptive appearance), and since we have no way of knowing which impressions
are real and which are illusory, making meaningful claims about further
distinctions is impossible.
Carrie L. Bates 155

The Relationship between Primary and Secondary Self-Identities
What connection does Epictetus make between our primary/essential
identity as human beings and the conduct appropriate to us in our secondary/
constructed roles? Epictetus advances autonomous volition as the primary and
factual identification of human beings as such. “Study who you are. First of all,
a human being, that is, one who has nothing more authoritative than volition
(prohairesis)” (Long, Epictetus, 233, citing Discourses 2.10.1). Rationality is
our primary identity and as such is normative and has the capacity to fashion
and empower the self (ibid., 206). This faculty is a divine gift, an endowment
that is itself divine, and, rightly employed, it allows human beings to make
correct use of impressions, judging them accurately with respect to desire and
aversion (Encheiridion 1, 2; Long, Epictetus, 207). When we grasp this capacity
as that which defines us, then we have understood our nature—we have rightly
identified ourselves. This self-identity renders us morally excellent, happy, and
autonomous.6 Epictetus calls this the first topic: endeavoring to understand the
necessary identity of human beings (Long, Epictetus, 231).
Knowledge of our primary identity is the essential condition for acting
well in our secondary identities. Therefore, “Only those who have limited their
desires and aversions to what they can actually ‘will’ and seek to implement,
and who are wholly at peace with themselves, have the right kind of disposition
to care effectively about other people as well” (Long, Epictetus, 114). We must
master the lesson of liberating ourselves from false conceptions of goodness
and badness with their concomitant frustrations and passions before we
can have appropriate responses in our relationships with others or with self-
regarding functions such as care of one’s health and property (Long, Epictetus,
115). Epictetus’s educational principle—harmony among knowing, wishing,
and doing—straddles both our primary (essential, innate) and secondary
(constructed) identities, but begins with care of the primary/essential self.
Epictetus’s second topic concerns our contingent or secondary
identities—we are individual people who live within particular constraints: a
certain time; a certain place; with certain other people with various personalities
in a variety of relationships (Long, Epictetus, 231–232). These factors are externals
6 Autonomous here refers to self-determination and self-control. No outside agent

can make us happy or unhappy, because no one can force us to believe that
something is a good if we have determined that it is not a good. “‘For what tyrant,
or what thief, or what courts of law are any longer formidable to those who have
thus set at naught the body and its possessions?’ […] Who then, will ever again be
ruler over the man who is thus disposed?” (Discourses 1.9.17, 21). In the spheres
of assent, desire, and choice, no one can force us to accept the false; our moral
purpose is to be “free from hindrance, constraint, and obstruction” (1.17.21–24).
The invincible person is the one who is dismayed by nothing that is outside the
sphere of his or her moral purpose (1.18.21).

over which we have no control. They fall into the “not-up-to-us” category. The
attitude we have toward those people, however, is up to us.
Epictetus asks us to regard the relationships in which we stand as
“constituents of our personal identities and hence as falling within the realm of
our essential selves or our volition” (Long, Epictetus, 236–237). This means that
we decide how we want to treat people based on who we are in relation to them:
a brother, a son, a mother, a sister; but not on how they treat us within that same
relationship (Encheiridion 30, 43). “The relevant relationship is one-sided: us in
relation to them, not them in relation to us” (Long, Epictetus, 237).
Gender and Identity: Apparent Inconsistencies

At times, it seems as though Epictetus places what is not up to us into
the category of what is primary/essential. In commenting upon male facial hair,
he says that nature, by this means, has “distinguished between the male and the
female. Does not the nature of each one among us cry aloud forthwith from
afar, ‘I am a man; on this understanding approach me; on this understanding
talk with me […] behold the signs?’ Again, in the case of women, just as nature
has mingled in their voice a certain softer note, so likewise has taken the hair
from their chins” (Discourses 1.16.10–12). Is Epictetus advocating two distinct
primary/essential natures: one male and one female? This would stand in
contradiction to his statements elsewhere that we are not our bodies and that
our bodies and the parts of our bodies are not under our control (Discourses
1.22.10–11).
We avoid seeing Epictetus as inconsistent and self-contradictory
when we realize that he uses the term nature to refer both to our primary/
essential nature and to our secondary/contingent nature. As we construct our
identities, we look both inward—at who we are in relation to God/nature, and
outward—at who we are in relation to the rest of the world (Kerferd, “Personal
Identity”, 179). If we confuse or conflate the two identity topics, we will fail
to read Epictetus on his own terms. Indeed, we need to practice a kind of
literary/philosophical oikeiosis. In Stoic oikeiosis, a person constructs his or her
identity by perceiving what is already there and then harmonizing seemingly
disparate or even discordant elements. In a literary/philosophical oikeiosis, the
reader recognizes what is essential to the author’s argument and harmonizes
seemingly contradictory elements. For readers of Epictetus, that tension of
apparent contradictions is resolved by correctly discriminating between the
two facets of self-identity. In Part Two of this paper, I will apply this dual-facet
model of self-identity to Epictetus’s explicit and implicit attitude toward women,
demonstrating the actual coherence of seemingly contradictory gender and
identity teachings in The Encheiridion and The Discourses.
Carrie L. Bates 157

Part Two: The Encheiridion 40 as a Case Study
The Identity of Women

Epictetus specifically mentions women in chapter 40 of The
Encheiridion, noting that they act according to what the culture expects of them.
He recommends that men, therefore, change their expectations so that women
are honored, not for being sexual objects (because their sex is something not up
to them), but for having certain character qualities (which is up to them).
Women are called ladies by men right after they are fourteen.
And so when they see that they have nothing else except to
go to bed with men, they begin to make themselves up and
place all their hopes in that. It is therefore worthwhile to pay
attention so that they are aware that they are honored for
nothing other than appearing modest and self-respecting.
[Encheiridion 40]
Epictetus acknowledges that men construct an identity for women by

the words they use, in both direct and indirect discourse. One way, then, to
read Epictetus here is as tacitly approving a constructed identity for women (and
perhaps, by extension, a constructed identity for men, as well). If, however, we
fail to recognize that this identity falls into Epictetus’s second topic (contingent
nature), we would wrongly construe his teaching as stating that identity is only
constructed (there is no essential identity), and that it is gendered. The notion of
our only identity being gendered, however, would not make sense for Epictetus
because he is emphatic in stating that everything about our bodies is accidental
and plays no part in who we really are.
A second objection to reading Epictetus as stating that identity is only
constructed is that it violates Epictetus’s principle that all people have the same
status because all people are the children of God. On this reading (constructed
identity is our only identity), Epictetus would be teaching that “only through
modesty and chasteness (however we want to define those qualities) do women
deserve the esteem of men” (Bonhöffer, Ethics of Epictetus, 96). If that were true,
then women should base their self-identity and self-respect on what someone
else thinks of them, as well as on what they think of themselves. Indeed, it
would seem that what women think of themselves depends upon what men
think of them. This reading, however, would contradict Epictetus’s statements
elsewhere where he avers that what is essential to human beings is the faculty
of choice (reason) and that everything else is indifferent. This reading would
violate Epictetus’s principle of the priority of our essential identity: rationality.
God is in each person, whose status is thereby exalted (Long, Epictetus, 144).
This God-in-me is reason, and that is what defines me. That alone is what is
essential. Everything else is incidental. That means that what someone else

thinks of me is unimportant. We have, then, two reasons to reject a reading of
Epictetus here that suggests that we have only a constructed identity and that
that identity is gendered: (1) our primary identity is that of children of God,
and (2) everything about our bodies is accidental and plays no part in who we
really are. Epictetus focuses on volition as essential, and he is concerned that
we violate this essentiality when we identify ourselves with our bodies, as well
as with other external things, including what other people think of us (Long,
Epictetus, 28).
So how are we to understand the identity Epictetus advocates for
women? The idea that men construct identity for women seems to be a matter of
indifference to Epictetus. Male construction of female identity is neither good
nor bad, but just something that is. Epictetus is more concerned that the identity
that men construct for women is along certain lines rather than others. Are
those lines gendered, and how does his tacit approval of a secondary/constructed
identity square with his notion of a primary/essential identity?
At first glance, the character qualities Epictetus favors for women
seem to fall exactly into place with traditional Roman female virtues. Male
virtues included courage, justice, and self-mastery: public virtues essential
for participation in community life. Female virtues, by contrast, were private:
chastity, silence, and obedience. The modesty that Epictetus advocates, however,
is not sophrosune (female chastity as well as male temperance); for Epictetus,
women are said to be virtuous by being kosmiai kai aidemones (modest and
self-respecting).7 This modesty, then, is with regard to spheres other than sexual
chastity. Someone who is kosmios contributes to the well-being of society by being
decorous and is an asset to the community (Zodhiates, Word Study Dictionary,
880). This person is orderly and decent: he or she fulfills the duties incumbent
upon him or her. For Epictetus, the primary duty of all human beings is to live
in accordance with nature—to act rationally by having the right opinion about
everything. This duty is incumbent upon all people equally because it comes
from God (or the gods). Thus, this duty is not gendered.
The right opinion is to recognize that only that which is up to us can
make us happy or unhappy; that which is not up to us can make no impact on our
happiness or unhappiness. Thus, the virtue of modesty is not simply dress and
demeanor, but having those outward expressions conform with the inner life,
where the right opinion resides. Modesty is defined by having expectations that
are in line with reality. One can and should comply with the propriety of cultural
modesty as long as it does not prevent one from complying with rationality,
which correctly judges appearance and demeanor as an indifferent, albeit, a
preferred indifferent. The modesty Epictetus advocates is not coterminous with
chastity; it is not a body-centered modesty. To focus on our bodies would be
7 There are textual variants here, but most translators of The Encheiridion adopt
kosmiai kai aidemones as the preferred reading.
Carrie L. Bates 159

irrational because it would be to focus on something that is accidental and plays
no part in our essential identity.
The second term in this pair of virtues is aidemones, a term that refers
to self-respect. This uniquely natural human virtue is the capacity for self-
evaluation that manifests itself in attitudes such as shame and/or self-respect
(Kamtekar, “ΑΙΔΩΣ in Epictetus”, 136). Self-respect results from spoudaios:
knowing, desiring, and doing the correct thing in all situations and thus avoiding
justified internal censure (Kamtekar, “ΑΙΔΩΣ in Epictetus”, 137). In a gendered
honor/shame culture, such as existed in Rome, female self-respect was tied to
sexual reticence (Torjesen, When Women Were Priests, 119). When Epictetus
tells his students to see to it that women know they are honored for nothing
more than appearing modest and self-respecting, it is tempting, even if we avoid
associating modesty with chastity, to read him as reinforcing Augustan moral
norms for feminine sexuality. Women should not be promiscuous; instead, they
should be chaste.
Such a reading would partially catch Epictetus’s point, but it conflates
or ignores his sense of primary and secondary identities. A person’s sex belongs
to the category of indifferents; therefore, sex does not determine sexual behavior
(promiscuity or chastity). Rather, a person’s relationship to others governs his
or her sexual behavior. Sexual behavior flows out of both our identities: “We
must remember who we are and what is our title, and try to regulate our proper
functions to suit the possibilities of our social relationships” (Engel, “Women’s
Role”, 287, citing Discourses 4.12.16-17; emphasis added). Both husbands and
wives should practice sexual fidelity, but unmarried men and women may engage
in sexual relations as the need arises, as long as they have made the correct
judgment about the activity: i.e., it is an indifferent (Encheiridion 33; Bonhöffer,
Ethics of Epictetus, 87, 95). Modesty and self-respect, while possibly entailing
or implying chastity, apply primarily as stable mental states equally to men and
women, and secondarily as conditionally appropriate actions (Encheiridion 30).
For Epictetus, self-respect includes understanding who we are and
where we fit, both in the cosmic scheme and in the social scheme. Our thoughts
and actions should reproduce the harmony evident in the cosmic order (Long,
Epictetus, 26). We achieve self-respect when we act in accordance with moral
norms that are “neither arbitrary nor culturally relative, but guaranteed and
explained by the actions of a supremely beneficent intelligence” (Long, Epictetus,
188). Our nature’s construction—the fact that God is in us—equips us with an
innate and inalienable moral sense (Long, Epictetus, 225). What is salient with
regard to self-respect is not so much the role one plays, but how one plays that
role (Encheiridion 17, 43; Long, Epictetus, 243).
Epictetus links self-respect to rationality first, and to role second. In
this way, his advice that women think of themselves in terms of modesty and
self-respect transcends traditional Augustan social mores that classified virtue

by gender. Given Epictetus’s placement of both sex and gender into the category
of indifferents, what are we to make of his statements that seem to make both
sex and gender normative? In the Discourses, we find Epictetus teaching, “nature
made women smooth and men hirsute. If a man born hairless is an ominous sign,
what are we to make of a man who depilates himself?” (Boyarin, “Homotopia”,
51, citing Discourses 3.1.27–28). One way to read this is that men violate their
natures when they make themselves “less male” by altering something natural
about their bodies. Such men are feminized, perverse, and depraved, rebelling
against nature—against their essential nature (ibid.).
In the larger context, however (24–36), Epictetus is presenting the
necessity of identifying oneself initially and primarily according to one’s
capacity for rationality. One’s sex is a factor in identity only secondarily, and one
should accept it as coming from God and play the role accordingly (Discourses
1.16; Encheiridion 17). Epictetus is not looking to overthrow conventions, but to
judge them correctly and to accept them for what they are—God’s providential
ordering of our lives. It is rational to accommodate oneself to prevailing social
customs insofar as those customs do not require one to violate one’s essential
nature as a rational being (Encheiridion 24; Bonhöffer, Ethics of Epictetus, 87).
Nature/God has distinguished between the sexes by mean of externals (not up
to us and therefore, indifferent), but this divine origin of the externals makes it
wrong to wish them away (attitude is up to us).
Furthermore, the men to whom Epictetus refers were plucking their
beards because those men thought that women liked smooth men better than
they liked hairy men. These men, by heeding others’ opinions, had judged
incorrectly about what was good. Epictetus goes on to say, “Because you are
not flesh, nor hair, but moral purpose; if you get that beautiful, then you will
be beautiful” (Discourses 3.1.40, 41; emphasis in the original). Those whom
Epictetus criticizes had placed value on an indifferent—others’ opinions—
and they had rebelled irrationally against divine providence. In this way, they
violated their nature, but it was their nature as rational beings primarily, and
their constructed identity secondarily.
Even though Epictetus is not looking to overthrow conventions, his
stance on sex and identity is countercultural—in a culture that paraded male
freeborn bodies as the highest and best form of human life, he champions the
rational person, regardless of sex or status, as the finest state to which a human
being can aspire. Epictetus values modesty and self-respect in women, but does
not assign them as virtues particular to one sex only. He urges his students,
wealthy, privileged Roman males aged fifteen to eighteen, to develop those same
qualities in the same way (Encheiridion 24, 25, 33). Virtue, in Epictetus’s scheme,
is not gendered. Anyone who thinks rightly will be virtuous. And thinking
rightly means recognizing the difference between what is up to us and what is
not up to us. Externals are not up to us—they are matters of indifference and play
no part in essential self-identity. The only thing that is up to us—the only thing
Carrie L. Bates 161

over which we have control—is how we use our faculty of choice. What happens
to our bodies does not happen to the essential us; bodily injury “interferes with
something else, not with you” (Encheiridion 9). Implicit in this advice is the
notion that everything about our bodies is accidental. Indeed, Epictetus states
explicitly that our bodies belong to the category of “not up to us” (Encheiridion
1). If everything about our bodies is accidental, then our sex is accidental as
well, and plays no part in who we really are. In a similar manner, any particular
culture’s construction of gender is accidental, playing no part in our essence.
We can harmonize remarks that seem contrary to this tenet by remembering
that Epictetus taught that socially constructed gender roles are only secondarily
connected to identity. What is essential to our nature—to our identity—is the
faculty of choice.
Epictetus wants his students to think of modesty and self-respect in
two ways: first, in terms of how those virtues relate to rationality; and second,
in terms of how they relate to role. What is paramount for both men and
women is the way in which we care for our rational integrity, but we do that
in the arena of our relationships within our families and our social and civic
lives. We cannot accept one kind of identity—primary/essential or secondary/
constructed—and reject the other; rather, we must recognize both, hold them
in the proper relationship, and act appropriately. This approach to identity is
how we care for the self, and to care for the self is the means to philosophical
eudaimonia, a condition in which a person of excellent character is living
optimally, flourishing, doing admirably, and steadily enjoying the best mindset
that is available to human beings.
Select Bibliography
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Translation. Translated by William O. Stephens. Revisioning
Philosophy, edited by David Appelbaum. Vol. 2. New York: Peter
Lang, 1996.
Boyarin, Daniel. “Homotopia: The Feminized Jewish Man and the Lives of
Women in Late Antiquity”. Differences 7, no. 2 (1995): 41–81.
Clark, Kelly James, Richard Lints, and James K. A. Smith. 101 Key Terms in
Philosophy and Their Importance for Theology. Louisville: Westminster
John Knox, 2004.

Engel, David M. “Women’s Role in the Home and the State: Stoic Theory
Reconsidered”. Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 101 (2003): 267–
288.
Epictetus. Epictetus: Discourses, Books 1–4. Fragments. The Encheiridion. Vols.

1, 2. Loeb Classical Library. Translated by W. A. Oldfather. Harvard:
Harvard University Press, 1928.
———. The Handbook (The Encheiridion). Translated by Nicholas P. White.

Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983.
Kamtekar, Rachana. “ΑΙΔΩΣ in Epictetus”. Classical Philology 93, no. 2 (April

1998): 136–160.
Kerferd, G. B. “The Search for Personal Identity in Stoic Thought”. Bulletin of

the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 55 (1972): 177–196.
Long, A. A. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. New York: Oxford
Oakes, Peter, ed. Rome in the Bible and the Early Church. Grand Rapids: Baker
Academic, 2002.
Rorty, Amélie Oksenberg. “The Two Faces of Stoicism: Rousseau and Freud”.
Journal of the History of Philosophy 34, no. 3 (July 1996): 335–356.
Stadter, Philip A. Arrian of Nicomedia. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina

Press, 1980.
Starr, Chester G., Jr. “Epictetus and the Tyrant”. Classical Philology 44, no. 1
(January 1949): 20–29.
Stowers, Stanley K. The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Dissertation
Series (Society of Biblical Literature). Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1981.
Torjesen, Karen Jo. When Women Were Priests: Women’s Leadership in the Early
Church & the Scandal of Their Subordination in the Rise of Christianity.
New York: Harper San Francisco, 1995.
Winter, Bruce. “Roman Law and Society in Romans 12–15”. In Rome in the Bible
and the Early Church, edited by Peter S. Oakes, 67–102. Grand Rapids:
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Carrie L. Bates 163

———. Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance of New Women and the
Pauline Communities. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2003.
Zodhiates, Spiros. The Complete Word Study Dictionary; New Testament: For
A Deeper Understanding of the Word. Chattanooga: AMG, 1992.

Epictetus and Moral Apprehensive
Impressions in Stoicism
Pavle Stojanovic
The only person who possesses knowledge and virtue, and whose every
action is always morally right, is the Sage, the ideal person used by the Stoics
as a paradigm in arguing for the possibility of achieving epistemic and moral
perfection.1 The foundation for the Sage’s epistemic perfection was the so-called
“apprehensive impression” (phantasia katalēptikē), the only type of impression
whose propositional content is such that it could not turn out false and which,
because of this, unmistakably represents the thing that caused the impression.2
Our sources have preserved relatively elaborate accounts of how the Stoics
thought apprehensive impressions could lead to knowledge about nonmoral
situations. However, our sources are less explicit about the following two
questions. First, did the Stoics think that there are moral apprehensive
impressions? Second, if they did, then are there any similarities and differences
between them and nonmoral apprehensive impressions? Finally, how is the
moral apprehensive impression supposed to contribute to the moral and practical
perfection of the Sage? In this essay, I will argue that there is textual evidence
in Epictetus that suggests that the answer to the first question is positive. In
answer to the second question, I will try to offer a possible reconstruction of
how Epictetus and his Stoic predecessors might have understood moral
apprehensive impressions and their relationship to nonmoral apprehensive
impressions. Finally, I will attempt to explain how moral apprehensive
impressions might provide a foundation for morally perfect action.
I.
The core elements of the Stoic account of the apprehensive impression
have been preserved by our sources at some length. According to one of the
most common formulations of the Stoic definition reported by Sextus, the
apprehensive impression:
is the one that is from something existent [apo huparchon]

and is stamped and impressed in accordance with that
1 Cf. Sextus Empiricus (SE) M 7.151–152 = LS 41C1–5; Anon. Herc. pap. 1020 =
LS 41D3; Stob. 2.111,18–112,8 = LS 41G = IG 102.11m; 2.99,3–8 = LS 59N = IG
102.11g; 2.66,14–67,4 = LS 61G = IG 102.5b10. (Bibliographic information for all
references can be found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.)
2 DL 7.46 = LS 40C; SE M 7.247–252 = LS 40E.
Pavle Stojanovic 165

existent thing itself, and is of such a kind as could not come
about from something that was not existent.3
Unfortunately, interpreting in detail each of the requirements

formulated in the definition and how exactly the Stoics thought they should
work together is a complex question, and one that is hotly debated among
contemporary scholars.4 Attempting to offer carefully argued solutions to these
controversies would take us well beyond the scope of our present discussion,
which is why a few brief remarks will have to suffice. We can say with some
confidence that preserved accounts of the apprehensive impression yield
something like the following account. Unlike the so-called “empty attraction”
(diakenos elkusmos), an impression produced by some “effects in us”, i.e. by our
minds,5 the apprehensive impression has to be caused by something huparchon,
i.e. by something existent. In the context of their theory of phantasia katalēptikē,6
3 SE M 7.248 = LS 40E3.
4 See, for example, Frede, “Stoics and Skeptics on Clear and Distinct Impressions”;
Frede, “Stoic Epistemology”; Annas, “Stoic Epistemology”; Hankinson, “Stoic
Epistemology”; Sedley, “Zeno’s Definition of phantasia kataleptike”.
5 SE M 7.241.
6 The word huparchon and its verbal form huparchein were Stoic technical terms.
As Long, “Language and Thought in Stoicism”, 89, has correctly noticed, the
Stoics used them in more than one sense. Several different translations of the
terms huparchon and huparchein have been offered, and I am not sure that there
is one single word in English that can be used consistently to translate these
terms in all contexts where they occur. In the context of the Stoic definition of
the apprehensive impression, I have opted for translating huparchon as “existent”
because in English we have at our disposal the verb “to exist” that can correspond
to the Greek verb huparchein, and because the contrast that the Stoics made
between the verbs huparchein and huphistasthai can conveniently be reflected in
English by the contrast between the verbs “to exist” and “to subsist”. Regarding
the interpretation of huparchon in the definition, two notable proposals are (1)
that huparchon refers to a fact (pragma) or to what is true, which was put forth
by Frede, and (2) that it refers to the corporeal object simpliciter that is causing
the impression. In my opinion, option (2) has been successfully criticized by
Sedley, “Zeno’s Definition of phantasia kataleptike” (although I disagree with his
proposed solution to treat the apo in the definition as having representational and
not causal meaning). Option (1) is problematic because it seems that the Stoics
thought that facts and what is true are incorporeal (cf. SE M 8.12 = LS 33B) and as
such they cannot cause apprehensive impressions because the Stoics thought that
only corporeals can be causes (aitia, Aet. 1.11.5 = LS 55G; cf. Cic. Acad. 1.39 = LS
45A; SE M 8.263 = LS 45B). My rendering of huparchon as referring to a qualified
corporeal object, or poion, differs from both interpretations.

it seems that the Stoics used the word huparchon to refer to the real, corporeal
object that causes the impression and is its “impressor” (phantaston).7 However,
since they thought that corporeal objects are always qualified in some way, i.e.
that their corporeal substance always possesses some properties or “qualities”
(poiotēs), huparchon here should be taken to refer not to the corporeal object
simpliciter, but to a poion, a corporeal object that is qualified in a particular way,
that is, to the corporeal object together with its corporeal properties. Because of
its focus on what causes the impressions, let us call this the Causal Requirement.
In addition to being caused by something existent, the apprehensive
impression also has to be in accordance with its impressor, i.e. with the thing
that caused it. An impression is in accordance with its impressor when the
predicates in the impression’s propositional content correspond to the actual
properties of the impressor. For example, if the impression with the propositional
content “Dion is walking” was caused by Dion who is actually walking, then the
impression would be in accordance with its impressor because the predicate “…
is walking” would correctly represent Dion’s property of walking; on the other
hand, if it was caused by Dion who is, for example, sitting, then it would not be
in accordance with its impressor because the predicate “… is walking” would not
correctly represent Dion’s property of sitting.8 Let us call this the Accordance
Requirement.
Finally, the impression that is caused by an existent thing and is in
accordance with it in addition has to be “of such a kind as could not come
about from something that was not existent”. This third requirement emerged
7 Aet. 4.12.1–5 = LS 39B4.

8 Cf. Stobaeus 1.106,18–23 = LS 51B4. The Stoics thought that predicates are
paradigmatically expressed by verbs (cf. DL 7.58; Ammon. In Ar. De int. 44.19–
45.6). From the summary account of Stoic logic in DL 7.49–83 where a number of
examples of propositions occurs, it looks like they made a conscious effort to avoid
expressing predicates in the form of copula + adjective or copula + noun. However,
a few examples of propositions that contain such predicates occur in Stoic contexts.
Some examples are propositions “This [man] is kind” (philanthrōpos estin outos,
DL 7.70), “Dion is a horse”, “Dion is an animal” (hippos esti Diōn, zōon esti Diōn,
DL 7.78 ), “Something is a man” (ti estin anthrōpos, SE M 11.8). No surviving
source reports on how the Stoics understood predicates in such propositions. If
they strictly held to the doctrine that predicates should be properly expressed
only by verbs, then perhaps they thought that every expression of the form copula
+ adjective or copula + noun is only a loose paraphrase of the corresponding
verbal form. It seems to me, however, that this uncertainty does not affect the
main points of my analysis of moral impressions—like, for example, “prudence is
good”—whose predicates are often expressed in the form copula + adjective/noun.


from the lengthy debate the Stoics led with their chief opponents, the skeptical
Academics. The Academics argued that unless the apprehensive impression is
capable of distinguishing between two extremely similar but different objects,
then it couldn’t provide foundations for the achievement of the demanding ideal
of knowledge of the Sage. For example, if the Sage’s impression were to report
“This tall man wearing a skull-cap is Castor” even in the situation in which the
impression was caused by Castor’s twin brother Polydeuces,9 then the Sage
would not have apprehension (katalēpsis), which is a necessary step towards
achieving knowledge (epistēmē).10 The Sage never assents to nonapprehensive
impressions because even in cases when they are true, they could nevertheless
turn out false.11 That is why the third requirement is sometimes formulated
as stating that the apprehensive impression is “of such a kind that it could not
become false”. In other words, the apprehensive impression has to be true not
only at the time it is entertained, but always, which is what makes it unmistakable.
One way of understanding this requirement is that unlike true nonapprehensive
impressions, which are true in actual situations, apprehensive impressions are
true in all counterfactual situations as well. In cases involving impressions about
morally neutral things like discriminating between extremely similar but distinct
particular objects, the Stoics relied on the principle that each existent object
is ontologically unique to ensure that this requirement is met. Their strategy
was to argue that given that every corporeal object is ontologically unique,
apprehension is possible because the apprehensive impression captures that
uniqueness and guarantees that no apprehensive impression could mistakenly
represent its impressor. Since it is able to capture the ontological uniqueness of
its impressor, the apprehensive impression about Castor would be such that, if it
were caused by Castor, it would represent its impressor as being Castor, and if it
were not caused by Castor (but, for example, by his twin Polydeuces), it would
not represent its impressor as being Castor. Thus, it would allow the person
entertaining such an impression to discriminate between actual situations
in which the content of their impression is true and possible counterfactual
9 As mythical twin brothers known for their extreme similarity, Castor and
Polydeuces were often used by the Academics in their arguments against the Stoic
theory of the apprehensive impression, e.g. in SE M 7.410 (= LS 40H4).
10 The Stoics considered knowledge to be a system of assents to apprehensive
impressions that are not changeable by reason (Stob. 2.73,19–21 = LS 41H1; cf.
Stob. 2.111,18–112,8 = LS 41G).
11 SE M 7.152 = LS 41C4; cf. Cic. Acad. 2.112. It is important to note that for the
Stoics the truth value is a temporal property of impressions (see Bobzien, “Logic”,
87–88), i.e. a same impression that is true at one time (e.g. “It is day” when indeed
it is day) can be false at another (e.g. “It is day” when it is in fact night).

situations in which the content of their impression would be false. Because of
this, let us call this the Discrimination Requirement.12
Therefore, we can conclude that the Stoics thought that an impression
is apprehensive if and only if it meets the following three requirements:
(1) The Causal Requirement: the impression must be caused

by an impressor that is existent;
(2) The Accordance Requirement: the actual properties of its
impressor must be represented by the corresponding
predicates correctly in the impression;
(3) The Discrimination Requirement: the impression must be
such that it enables the subject to discriminate between
actual situations in which the content of the impression is
true and possible counterfactual situations in which its
content would be false.
II.
In the surviving texts about Stoicism, a vast majority of examples of
apprehensive impressions are of those that refer to morally neutral states of
affairs. Typically, they rely on cases of discriminating between extremely similar
but distinct objects we have mentioned in the previous section. Apprehensive
impressions are also mentioned in Arrian’s report on Epictetus’s philosophy,
although only a few times.13 One place in particular, however, suggests that
Epictetus thought that apprehensive impressions about moral states of affairs
exist, and that they are necessary for the achievement of moral and practical
perfection. In Diss. 3.8.1–4, Epictetus is reported as saying:
In the same way as we exercise ourselves to deal with

sophistical questionings, we should exercise ourselves daily
to deal with impressions [phantasias], for these too face us
with questions. So-and-so’s son is dead. Answer, “That lies
outside the sphere of choice, it is not a bad thing [kakon].”
So-and-so has been disinherited by his father; what do you
think of that? “That lies outside the sphere of choice, it is not
a bad thing.” Caesar has condemned him. “That lies outside
the sphere of choice, it is not a bad thing.” He was grieved by
all this. “That lies outside the sphere of choice, it is not a bad
thing.” He has borne it nobly. “That lies within the sphere of
12 My choice of the name for this requirement is an homage to Alvin Goldman,

“Discrimination and Perceptual Knowledge”, who has formulated a similar
requirement for the reliability of perceptual knowledge.
13 As far as I can see there are only three occurrences: Diss. 3.8.5, 4.4.13, and
Ench. 45.

choice, it is a good thing [agathon].” If we acquire this habit,
we shall make progress [prokopsomen]; for we shall never
assent to anything unless we get an apprehensive impression
[phantasia katalēptikē] of it.
Impressions that Epictetus talks about here are the ones that attribute
moral predicates, for example “good” and “bad”, to things like someone’s death,
someone’s disinheritance by his own father, someone’s condemnation by a
powerful person such as Caesar, someone’s distress about these calamities, and
someone’s endurance in the face of them. According to him, one could
achieve moral progress (prokopē) only if one acquired the habit of assenting to
apprehensive impressions about morally relevant things, which, as we have seen
in section I above, means impressions that correctly and unmistakably attribute
moral predicates to impressors, i.e. things that cause the impressions. Correct
attribution of predicates to impressors, or “the application of preconceptions
to particulars” as Epictetus often calls it, is one of the central themes in his
philosophy. In several places (Diss. 1.2.6, 22.2–9; 2.11.3–12, 17.6–16; 4.1.41–45)
he discusses the application of moral “preconceptions” (prolēpseis) such as
good (agathon), bad (kakon), advantageous (sumpheron), disadvantageous
(asumphoron), just (dikaion), courageous (andreios), etc. to particular actions.14
They were called “preconceptions” because Epictetus, like other Stoics, believed
that, unlike typically nonmoral concepts such as, e.g., “white”, that are acquired
through instruction and attention,15 moral concepts develop from our natural
14 Epictetus sometimes also talks about nonmoral preconceptions, for example

about the preconception of the philosopher, the carpenter, the musician, etc. (Diss.
4.8.6–10). However, most contexts where he discusses the correct application of
preconceptions to particulars are cases of moral preconceptions.
15 Cf. Aet. 4.11.1–4 = LS 39E. The Stoics made a technical distinction between the
notions of “conception” (ennoia) and “concept” (ennoēma). As Aetius reports,
according to them, ennoia refers to the physical processes in the corporeal soul
that occur when we think of something (cf. also Plut. Com. not. 1084F–1085A
= LS 39F), while ennoēma is the incorporeal result of that process. The Stoics
clearly thought that the ontological status of ennoēmata was questionable. They
called them “figments” (phantasmata, Stob. 1.136,21–137,6 = LS 30A; DL 7.60
= LS 30C1–2), entities that are analogue to purely fictional things like Centaurs.
Accordingly, it seems that they thought that all propositions involving concepts
should be understood as paraphrases of conditional propositions that range over
corporeal particulars (see end of section III below). For example, the proposition
“Man is a rational mortal animal” involving the concept “man” should be
understood as a paraphrase of the conditional “If something is a man, that thing
is a rational mortal animal”. Presumably, the word “man” in the conditional no
longer refers to a concept, but to the common quality possessed by all men (cf. DL

inborn tendencies to pursue things that are in accordance with our nature, and
to stay away from the things that are not.16 In keeping with the Stoic orthodoxy,
Epictetus also calls them “innate concepts” (emphutoi ennoiai, Diss. 2.11.3) and
claims that, because of their innateness:
Preconceptions are common to all men, and one

preconception does not contradict another. For who among
us does not assume that the good [agathon] is profitable
and something to be chosen [haireton], and that in every
circumstance we ought to seek and pursue it? [Diss. 1.22.1
= LS 40S1]
For who does not have a preconception of bad [kakou], that

it is harmful, that it is to be avoided [pheukton], that it is
something to get rid of in every way? [Diss. 4.1.44]
However, although moral preconceptions do not contradict each other,

conflicts often arise when we try to apply them to particulars. For example,
members of different cultures have the same preconception of piety, that it is
something that should be put above all else and pursued in all circumstances.
The conflict arises when people try to apply the preconception of piety to
particulars such as someone’s act of eating pork: one believes that someone’s
act of eating pork is pious, another that it is impious (Diss. 1.22.4). Since these
conflicting beliefs cannot both be true, Epictetus argues that, just as in the case
of deciding whether some object is black or soft we use a criterion to determine
the truth, we should have a criterion for deciding which of our moral beliefs
are true (Diss. 1.11.9–15). This criterion cannot be mere opining (dokein), but
something higher (anōteros) than mere opining (Diss. 2.11.11–12). Although
Epictetus does not explicitly name it, he does think that such a criterion exists
(Diss. 2.11.17). Since the Stoics thought that the apprehensive impression is
7.58 = LS 33M). Since this quality is something corporeal, the predicate “is man”
in this sense can be predicated of something without ontological complications
(see n. 8 above for Stoic understanding of predicates). If Epictetus is following
the Stoic classification of “preconceptions” (prolēpseis) and concepts (ennoēmata)
under the same genus, then applying moral preconceptions to particulars would
seem to amount to predicating the incorporeal products of the process of moral
conception (ennoia) to particular corporeal objects.
16 Although this has been subject to controversy (see, e.g., Sandbach, “Ennoia and
ΠΡΟΛΗΨΙΣ in the Stoic Theory of Knowledge”), I think that Jackson-McCabe
(“The Stoic Theory of Implanted Preconceptions”) has persuasively argued
that Epictetus’s position on the innateness of moral preconceptions was fully in
agreement with the doctrines of the early Stoics.

the criterion of truth,17 and since Epictetus believed that moral apprehensive
impressions are possible, I think we can conclude that the criterion Epictetus
had in mind here was the moral apprehensive impression.
In addition to the evidence that Epictetus might have thought that
apprehensive moral impressions exist, there is some indirect evidence that
this idea was not Epictetus’s own invention, but a part of the orthodox Stoic
doctrine. The well-attested orthodox Stoic approach to defining virtues and
vices as instances of knowledge and ignorance,18 which was a part of the
doctrine from the very beginning, suggests that the early Stoics too thought that
moral impressions could be apprehensive. They defined prudence as knowledge
(epistēmē) of what is good, bad, indifferent, or neither of these,19 and thought
that this knowledge is related to how kathēkonta, or befitting actions, come into
being.20 We know that for the Stoics, epistēmē is not only a system of beliefs that
are firm and unshakable, but also a system of beliefs composed of assents to
only one type of impressions: those that are apprehensive.21 It follows then that
prudence is a system of firm assents to impressions about what things are good,
bad, indifferent or neither, i.e. of assents to moral impressions about good, bad,
etc. things that must be apprehensive.22 Therefore, it seems that there are some
17 DL 7.54 = LS 40A; SE M 7.152 = LS 41C5.

18 Stob. 2.59,4–60,8 = LS 61H1–5 (partially) = IG 102.5b1; cf. DL 7.92–93, which,
despite the lacuna in 92, undoubtedly reports virtues as being defined in terms of
knowledge and vices in terms of ignorance.
19 DL 7.92; Stob. 2.59,4–7 = LS 61H1 = IG 102.5b1.
20 ten men phronēsin peri ta kathēkonta ginesthai, Stob. 2.60,12 = IG 2.102.5b2.
21 Stob. 2.73,16–74,13 = LS 41H = IG 102.5l.
22 Apparently, for the Stoics, prudence occupied a special place among the virtues.
For example, it seems that Zeno used to define the other three virtues in terms
of prudence (Plut. Virt. mor. 441A = LS 61B5; St. rep. 1034C = LS 61C1–2), and
Apollophanes even went so far as to claim that prudence is the only virtue (DL
7.92). This is not surprising given that the Stoics thought that all cardinal virtues
(prudence, temperance, justice, and courage) are physically inseparable and
that they differ only in their respective topics (Stob. 2.63,6–64,12 = LS 61D &
63G = IG 102.5b5; DL 7.125–126). Namely, they defined temperance as a virtue
primarily concerned with impulses (Stob. 2.60,13 = IG 2.102.5b2), which consists
in knowledge of what is worth choosing (haireton), what is worth avoiding
(pheukton), and what is indifferent (oudeteron) (Stob. 2.59,8–9 = LS 61H2 =
IG 102.5b1); also, they defined courage as the virtue that concerns instances
of standing firm (peri tas hupomonas, Stob. 2.60,14). It is not hard to see how
temperance and courage can both be based on prudence, i.e. on judgments
that something is good, bad, or indifferent, because the Stoics defined good
things as those that are worth choosing (haireta) and worth standing firmly
by (hupomeneta), and bad things as the opposites of these (Stob. 2.78,7–17 =

reasons to think that the existence of moral apprehensive impressions and their
importance for moral action was not Epictetus’s invention, but a Stoic orthodoxy.

III.
We have seen that there is some evidence that Epictetus thought that
moral apprehensive impressions exist, and that it is possible that in this he
was following the earlier Stoics. Unfortunately, no detailed accounts of these
impressions have been preserved in the surviving texts. In the remainder of this
essay, I will attempt to provide a reconstruction of how Epictetus and perhaps the
other Stoics might have understood moral apprehensive impressions by relying
on their theory of nonmoral apprehensive impressions and other relevant parts
of their philosophical doctrine. However, the reader should keep in mind that,
because of the lack of direct textual evidence, this reconstruction will necessarily
have to involve some level of speculation.
In the previous section, we have suggested that moral apprehensive
impressions are impressions that correctly and unmistakably predicate some
moral property of some object. In other words, the paradigmatic form of the
moral apprehensive impression would be “x is M”, where x is some particular
corporeal object and M is a predicate corresponding to some moral property
possessed by the object. If so, then moral apprehensive impressions would be
very similar to nonmoral apprehensive impressions. This should not be very
surprising since according to the Stoics, moral objects and moral properties
are an integral part of the corporeal world, and the location problem for moral
properties does not arise in their metaphysics.23 They claimed that all moral
objects, for example, particular instances of prudence, temperance, courage, etc.,
are corporeal,24 and that everything that is good is a body.25 Furthermore, since
actions as dispositions of particular agents’ corporeal souls are also corporeal
objects, they are properties of agents’ corporeal substance. Because of this, the
Stoics say that, just like nonmoral properties, moral properties such as being
good and being bad huparchein, i.e. “exist” or “belong” to objects,26 and thus
provide a basis for truthful, substantial predication of moral predicates to
particular objects.27 Consequently, moral apprehensive impressions, just like
nonmoral ones, are caused by huparchonta, i.e. by existent, particular corporeal
IG 102.6f). Consequentially, this would mean that they thought that all virtues
depended on the knowledge of what is good, bad, indifferent or neither, i.e. on
apprehensive impressions of the form “x is M”.
23 For one example of an influential discussion of the location problem for ethics, see
Jackson, From Metaphysics to Ethics, especially chapters 1 and 5.
24 Stob. 2.64,20–22 = IG 102.5b7.
25 Sen. Ep. 117.2 = LS 60S.
26 Stob. 2.68,24–25 = IG 102.5c.
27 Cf. Stob. 2.97,19–21 = LS 33J1 = IG 102.11f.

objects, as is testified by many impressions offered by Epictetus as illustrations
in his discussion of the correct application of preconceptions to particulars, for
example, “So-and-so’s son’s death is not bad”, “So-and-so’s disinheritance is not
bad”, “His grief because of all this is bad”, “His standing firm in the face of all
this is good”, etc.28 For this reason, moral apprehensive impressions of the form
“x is M” would have no problem meeting the Causal Requirement we described
in section I above, which states that apprehensive impressions must be caused
by something huparchon. In addition, since the Stoics thought that apprehensive
impressions, as impressions caused by huparchonta that accurately represent
their objects, express states of affairs or facts (pragmata), they probably thought
that moral apprehensive impressions, which are also caused by huparchonta and
accurately represent their objects, express moral states of affairs or moral facts.
In other words, for the Stoics, that Dion’s prudence is good is a fact as much as
the fact that Dion’s hair is brown.
On the other hand, even if some impressions of the form “x is M” have
the capacity of being apprehensive this does not imply that all moral impressions
have the same capacity. Obviously, moral impressions that falsely attribute some
moral property to their impressors—such as, for example, the impression that
Dion’s cowardice is good—cannot be apprehensive.29 What is less obvious but
very important for our present discussion, however, is that since according to
the Stoics no universal impression can be apprehensive, no universal moral
impression can be apprehensive either. This point may seem surprisingly strong
given the abundance and the importance of universal moral statements in the
extant texts on Stoic ethics. Nevertheless, our evidence clearly suggests that the
Stoics thought that universals are concepts (ennoēmata) and that concepts are
not existent things or huparchonta, only mere figments (phantasmata) of our
mind,30 so as such they cannot cause apprehensive impressions. As we have
seen in section I, the Casual Requirement clearly prevents any impression that
is caused by “empty attraction” from being apprehensive, and according to the
Stoics, figments are things we are attracted to in empty attractions.31 Accordingly,
unlike impressions of the form “x is M” (for example, “Dion’s prudence is good”),
which are impressions about corporeal particulars (in our example, Dion’s
prudence), impressions of the form “X is M” (for example, “Prudence is good”),
which are impressions about universals (in our example, the generic Prudence),
cannot be apprehensive because they are impressions caused by figments of the
mind. In other words, although particular moral facts exist in the Stoic universe,
universal moral facts do not.
28 Cf. Diss. 3.8.1–4.

29 In section V below we will discuss another class of moral impressions that are true,
but nevertheless fail to be apprehensive.
30 Aet. 1.10.5 = LS 30B; Stob. 1.136,21–137,6 = LS 30A; DL 7.61 = LS 30C2.
31 Aet. 4.12.1–5 = LS 39B; cf. DL 7.49–50 = LS 39A1–3.

This, of course, does not imply that impressions about universals are
superfluous and useless. On the contrary, since all definitions and divisions
have the form of universal impressions, they are basic tools in Stoic logic
and dialectic, and ultimately provide foundations for the Sage’s knowledge.32
Namely, the Stoics considered universal impressions to be useful paraphrases of
conditionals that involve impressions about particulars. According to them, all
universal moral impressions of the form “X is M” are generalized impressions
(katholika) that stand for impressions expressing conditionals “if x is X, then
x is M”.33 For example, the universal impression “prudence is good” would stand
for the impression “if some particular thing is prudent, then that thing is good”.
Furthermore, they thought that universal impressions can be true, and that their
truth depends on the truth of the impressions about particulars over which they
range; for example, “Prudence is good” is true if and only if all particular prudent
things are good. Thus, although themselves nonapprehensive, universal moral
impressions of the form “X is M” and their truth-values crucially depend on
particular moral impressions of the form “x is M”, and the latter, as we have seen,
are capable of being apprehensive. Consequently, knowledge of universal moral
truths can be secured through the apprehension of particular moral truths, that
is, through moral apprehensive impressions of the form “x is M”.
IV.
In the previous section, I have argued that Epictetus and the Stoics
would have probably thought that the moral apprehensive impression shares
some important similarities with the nonmoral apprehensive impression: they
are both caused by existent objects, and they are both perceptual impressions
about corporeal objects. In this section, I would like to suggest that there is
one crucial difference between moral and nonmoral apprehensive impressions.
Namely, it seems that the Stoics thought that, unlike nonmoral apprehensive
impressions that are merely descriptions of their impressors, moral apprehensive
impressions are not only descriptions, but also evaluations of corporeal objects.34
32 See, e.g., DL 7.60–62 = LS 32C and Aug. Civ. dei 8.7 = LS 32F; cf. Long, “Dialectic
and the Stoic Sage”.
33 SE M 11.8–11 = LS 30I.
34 Accepting this dual nature of moral impressions might cause some reluctance
among those contemporary meta-ethicists used to sharp distinctions between
descriptions and evaluations. However, I see no reason to attribute some form of
such distinction to the Stoics. This is not a sign that, unlike contemporary ethicists,
they did not understand the importance of this distinction. On the contrary, I
think that their idea that some descriptions are also at the same time evaluations
was a sophisticated philosophical maneuver that (if successful) allowed them to
avoid many problems that plague contemporary meta-ethicists participating in the
debate about ethical cognitivism and noncognitivism.

This dual nature of moral impressions is the result of the Stoic theory of the
innate origin of moral concepts we have already mentioned. Although they
refer to corporeal moral properties of objects, there is some evidence that
the Stoics thought that moral predicates also carry meanings35 that indicate
the agent’s potential pursuit-type or evasion-type stance towards corporeal
objects that possess these properties. In other words, it seems that according
to the Stoics, every moral predicate is not only a descriptive predicate, but also
an evaluative predicate. That’s why they say that, for example, everything that
is good (agathon) is also “worth choosing” (haireton), and everything that is
bad (kakon) is worth avoiding (pheukton),36 and, accordingly, that everything
that has some nonabsolute value (axia) is also “worth taking” (lēpton), and
everything that has some disvalue (apaxia) is “worth not taking” (alēpton).37
The general idea behind this dual function of evaluative predicates is that some
object is, for example, valuable to us not simply because we think of it as being
worthy of taking, but because it really possesses properties that contribute to our
nature and well-being, just as, for example, food satisfies our hunger not simply
because we think so, but because of the nutrients that are really contained in
it. Thus, since moral predicates are both descriptive and evaluative, the Stoics
thought that the impression that, for example, some x is good not only describes
x as being good, but also at the same time evaluates x as being worth choosing,
i.e. as the potential object of some agent’s choice.38 It is by virtue of this dual
function of moral predicates that moral impressions provide the basis for action,
which will be discussed in section V below.
The evaluative nature of moral impressions in Stoicism and the
possibility of moral apprehensive impressions have recently caused considerable
controversies in interpreting the Stoic position, so I will devote the rest of this
section to solving some of these controversies. Gisela Striker has argued that
for the Stoics, evaluative predicates are not perceptual,39 and that apprehensive
impressions must be perceptual,40 from which she concluded that moral/
evaluative impressions cannot be apprehensive. Brennan accepts Striker’s first
35 The Stoics did make the distinction between the meaning of a word, “the
signification” (sēmainomenon), and the corporeal thing it refers to, “the name-
bearer” (tunchanon); see, for example, M 8.11–12 = LS 33B.
36 Stob. 2.72,19–20 = IG 102.5i.
37 Stob. 2.79,18–80,21 = IG 102.7a–b; 82,20–84,3 = IG 102.7e–f; 84,18–85,11 = IG
102.7g.
38 Stob. 2.75,1–6 = IG 102.5o; 80,14–21 = IG 102.7b; 82,20–83,9 = IG 102.7e.
That concepts like haireton and pheukton represent parts of the meanings of
preconceptions “good” and “bad” is suggested by Epict. Diss. 1.22.1 = LS 40S1 and
4.1.44 (quoted above).
39 “Skeptical Strategies”, 70–72.
40 Striker, “Κριτήριον τῆς ἀληϑείας”, 73–76.

premise (that moral/evaluative impressions are nonperceptual), but disagrees
with her conclusion (that all moral/evaluative impressions are nonapprehensive),
so he is led to deny Striker’s second premise, that all apprehensive impressions
must be perceptual.41 Both views get something right about the Stoic position,
but ultimately rely on the premise that the Stoics thought that impressions
cannot be both perceptual and evaluative. This premise is, as I will argue, false.
Namely, according to Plutarch:
[Chrysippus] says that goods and bads [tagatha kai ta kaka]

are perceptible [aisthēta], writing as follows in On the end
book I: ‘[…] Not only are the passions [pathē], grief and fear
and the like, perceptible along with [people’s] appearances,
but also it is possible to perceive theft and adultery and
similar things, and in general, folly and cowardice and many
other vices, and not only joy and benefactions and many
other instances of right conduct [katorthōseōn] but also
prudence and courage and the remaining virtues.’42
The passage clearly states that Chrysippus thought that moral

properties of corporeal objects, such as being good or being bad, are
perceptible.43 Furthermore, it seems that he also thought that particular
instantiations of actions, such as right actions (katorthōmata), are perceptible
as well. It is important to note that Chrysippus does not say only that actions
in general (energeia) are perceptible, but also that right actions are perceived
as right and vicious actions as vicious, which implies that they are perceived
in an evaluative way. In addition, at another place Chrysippus is cited as saying
that “appropriation” (oikeiōsis), another important Stoic evaluative concept, is
perception (aisthēsis) of what is appropriate.44
All this suggests that the Stoics thought that impressions attributing
evaluative predicates to corporeal objects are perceptual. In fact, this is not
surprising given the Stoics’ position on the relationship between properties
of corporeal objects and predicates in perceptual impressions about these
objects. Namely, according to them, moral properties of the corporeal object
cause evaluative predicates in the perceptual impression about the object in
exactly the same way in which nonmoral properties of the corporeal object
41 Brennan, The Stoic Life, 75–79.

42 Plut. St. rep. 1042E–F = LS 60R.
43 Contra Brennan (The Stoic Life, 76), who seems to think that being good is a
property that is nonperceptual.
44 Plut. St. rep. 1038C; this is in direct contradiction with Brennan’s claim (“Stoic
Epistemology”, 324) that the property of being oikeion is a nonperceptual property.
For the Stoic concept of oikeiōsis, see e.g. DL 7.85–86 = LS 57A.

cause descriptive predicates in the descriptive impression about the object. For
example, Zeno is reported as saying that corporeal instantiations of prudence
(phronēsis) and temperance (sōphrosunē) in objects cause moral predicates
“being prudent” (phronein) and “being temperate” (sōphronein) in impressions
about these objects.45 Since moral impressions of the form “x is M”—which
are, as we have seen, at the same time evaluative—are caused by properties of
corporeal objects, there is no reason to assume that the Stoics thought that they
cannot be perceptual.
The likely motivation behind the resistance towards the idea that
evaluative predicates are perceptual might lie in certain elements of the Stoic
theory of the origin of moral concepts. Namely, according to Diogenes Laertius,
the Stoics thought that all impressions obtained through sense organs are
perceptual (aisthētikai), while nonperceptual (ouk aisthētikai) impressions are
those obtained through thought, for example impressions about “incorporeals
and other things acquired by reason”.46 Although moral impressions of the form
“x is M” are impressions about corporeal objects obtained through sense organs,
it is not hard to assume that all impressions that involve moral concepts
nevertheless fall into the category of nonperceptual because the Stoics thought
that moral concepts, unlike descriptive ones such as “white”, are innate, formed
from the principles within us,47 and acquired spontaneously.48 The fact that the
meanings of evaluative concepts possess an element that does not come from
the senses, however, does not imply that evaluative concepts are nonperceptual,
at least not in any sense of the notion of “nonperceptual” that the Stoics would
use. Although evaluative concepts partially originate from the innate principles
in us, the Stoics thought that their purpose and applications are inseparable
from perceptual objects.49 In fact, as Diogenes himself reveals later,50 by “other
things acquired by reason” the Stoics most likely had in mind nonevident things
45 Stob. 1.138,14–139,4 = LS 55A. In SE M 9.211 = LS 55B and Clem. Strom.

8.9.26.3–4 = LS 55C, the same explanation is offered for the causal origin of purely
descriptive predicates such as “being cut”, “being burnt”, etc. There is no indication
that the Stoics thought that the causal origin of moral predicates is in any way
different from that of nonmoral predicates.
46 DL 7.51 = LS 39A4.
47 Plut. Comm. not. 1070C.
48 Aet. 4.11.1–4 = LS 39E.
49 In Fin. 3.20–22 = LS 59D, for example, Cicero explains how the function of the
concepts such as “valuable” (aestimabile, Gr. axian) and “befitting” (officium, Gr.
kathēkon), after they develop from the “starting-points of nature”, is to enable us
to actually select objects that are valuable and to perform befitting actions. Indeed,
it is hard to see how one could even develop the concept of something valuable
without perceiving valuable objects.
50 DL 7.53 = LS 39D7.

(adēla) that are conceived through “transition” (metabasis) from perceptual
things via sign inference or demonstration, for example, like when by perceiving
sweat we conceive unperceivable pores in the skin.51 Because of this, I think it is
best to conclude that the Stoics thought that nonperceptual impressions are only
those impressions that are about nonevident things and incorporeal objects.
However, as we have seen above, the Stoics understood moral apprehensive
impressions as impressions about particular corporeal objects, and moral
properties as perceivable corporeal properties of those objects. Therefore, it
seems that they would classify moral apprehensive impressions among the
perceptual impressions.
V.
So far, we have argued that there is evidence that the Stoics thought
that moral impressions are both descriptions and evaluations of corporeal
objects, and that there are no obstacles to assuming that the Stoics classified
them as perceptual impressions. In this section, we will discuss another group
of evaluative impressions—those that have the form “it befits A to do K” or “K
is befitting for A”, that is, impressions that some particular action K is kathēkon
for the agent A—because the Stoics thought that a subclass of impressions of this
form, called “impulsive impressions”, provides the basis for rational action. First
of all, let me say that given everything we have said so far, there is nothing in the
Stoic system that prevents at least some impressions of the form “it befits A to
do K” or “K is befitting for A”, that is, impressions that some particular action K
is kathēkon for the agent A, from being apprehensive. Several places in Epictetus
mention such impressions: for example, “it will befit it [viz. the foot] to step
into mud”,52 or “it befits you now to be sick, and now to make a voyage and run
risks, and now to be in want, and on occasion to die before your time”.53 They are
all examples of impressions that evaluate some corporeal thing, that is, a particular
action of some agent, as being befitting. For example, in the impression “it befits
Dion to make a voyage”, Dion’s act of making the voyage is a corporeal object that
is being evaluated as something befitting for Dion. In this respect, impressions
that state that some action of the agent is befitting are a species of the genus of
moral impressions of the form “x is M”, so there is no reason to assume that the
Stoics would have thought that they are incapable of being apprehensive.
51 See, for example, SE M 9.393–394; the Stoic origin is suggested by mentioning

the same methods of conceiving things (similarity, composition, analogy,
transposition) listed in DL 7.53. On conceiving nonevident things from perceptual
things via sign inference and demonstration, see e.g. SE PH 2.104–106 = LS 35C,
2.140 = LS 36B7.
52 Diss. 2.5.24: kathēxei auton eis pēlon embainein.
53 Diss. 2.5.25: nun men soi nosēsai kathēkei, nun de pleusai kai kinduneusai, nun d’
aporēthēnai, pro hōras d’ estin hot’ apothanein. Cf. also Ench. 42.

Does this mean that for the Stoics, impulsive impressions, as a species
of the genus of impressions of the form “it befits A to do K”, are also capable of
being apprehensive? Unfortunately, the answer to this question is much harder
to discern, but it seems that there are reasons to think that they aren’t. According
to Stobaeus, the Stoics thought that all rational action is initiated by “an
impulsive impression [phantasia hormētikē] of something immediately befitting
[kathēkontos]”,54 i.e. by assent to such an impression, which activates the agent’s
impulse (hormē) towards the befitting action. The befitting action mentioned in
the impulsive impression is expressed in the form of a predicate (katēgorēma),
always as a verb in infinitive, for example, “being prudent” (phronein) or “going
on an embassy” (presbeuiein).55 Presumably, the role of the word “immediately”
(autothen) in Stobaeus’s report indicates that the Stoics thought that the impulsive
impression also contains an indexical element (something like “for me, now”),
whose function is to associate the kathēkon in the impulsive impression with the
particular agent entertaining the impression and the practical context in which
his action is to be executed.56 Thus, for the Stoics, impulsive impressions most
likely had the form “it befits me to K now”, where K is the agent’s potential action
expressed as a predicate. Note that impulsive impressions are very similar to
the impressions of the form “it befits A to do K”, i.e. that some agent’s action
is befitting, which we’ve discussed in the previous paragraph. The difference
between these and impulsive impressions is that the latter are always entertained
in the agent’s first-person perspective. For example, the impression “it befits me
to be sick” (kathēkei moi nosēsai)57 is impulsive, while the impression “it befits
54 phantasian homētikēn tou kathēkontos autothen, Stob. 2.86,17–8 = LS 53 Q1 =

IG 102.9. This formulation has inspired Brennan (“Stoic Moral Psychology”,
268) to argue that impulsive impressions typically have the form “it is K that p”,
where K stands for kathēkon (or other relevant terms such as oikeion, eulogon, or
sumpheron), and p stands for some candidate action.
55 Cf. Stob. 2.86,1–7 = IG 102.8–8a.
56 See LS 2.318, comm. on 53Q.
57 This seems to be supported by another set of Epictetus’s examples. In Diss. 1.22.14,
he mentions several impressions linked in a conditional: “if it profits me to have
a farm [sumpherei moi agron echein], then it profits me to take it away from my
neighbor [sumpherei moi kai aphelesthai auton tou plēsion]; if it profits me to
have a cloak [sumpherei moi himation echein], then it profits me to steal it from
a bath [sumpherei moi kai klepsai auto ek balaneiou]”. For Epictetus, impressions
that something is profitable (sumpheron) have the same motivational function as
impressions that something is kathēkon (Diss. 1.18.1; 1.28.5; cf. Brennan, “Stoic
Moral Psychology”, 268). If every action that is sumpheron is also kathēkon, then it
seems that Epictetus thought that impulsive impressions in Greek have the form
kathēkei moi + action that is to be performed. This is also confirmed by certain
instances in Seneca, for example, in Ep. 113.18: “It befits me to walk” (oportet me

you to be sick” or “being sick is befitting” isn’t. The reason is that my assent
to the impressions “it befits to be sick” or “it befits you to be sick now” need
not cause me to do anything, because the former would be an impression
about a universal fact that it kathēkei to be sick in general, while the latter
would be an impression of what kathēkei to you, not of what kathēkei to me.
Stobaeus reports that the impulsive impression is an impression “of something
immediately kathēkon”, which, as we have seen, means that it necessarily has
to be an impression of what is kathēkon to me as the agent who is performing
the action.
However, this difference in perspective that distinguishes impulsive
impressions from non-impulsive impressions that something is kathēkon seems
to prevent impulsive impressions from being apprehensive. Namely, we have
already mentioned that my impulse towards some potential action is stimulated
by my assent to the impulsive impression that some action is befitting for
me.58 According to the Stoics, my impulse is directed towards the predicate
in the impulsive impression identified as being kathēkon,59 and eo ipso results
in my acquiring the property that corresponds to the action expressed by the
predicate.60 For example, my assent to the impulsive impression “it befits me to
ambulare) and “it befits me to sit” (oportet me sedere).

58 Stob. 2.88,1–7 = LS 331 = IG 102.9b. Here, I follow the standard interpretation
exemplified by Inwood, Ethics and Human Action in Early Stoicism, 56–66 (cf. LS
2.200; Brennan, The Stoic Life, 87–88).
59 I think that this follows from Stob. 2.97,15–98,6 (= LS 33J = IG 102.11f). There,
we are told that advantages (ōphelēmata) are “to be chosen” (hairetea), and that
they are predicates corresponding to good things. Hairetea, or things that are “to
be chosen”, are directed at predicates, just as impulses are. From Stob. 2.86,2–3,
it is clear that the Stoics thought that ōphelēmata are one species of the genus
of kathēkonta. If we assume that this means that hairetea are directed at the
same predicates as impulses, it follows that impulse is directed at the predicate
describing the kathēkon. In other words, while prudence (phronēsis) is a good
thing, the predicate “being prudent” (phronein) is a kathēkon, and in an impulsive
impression involving this kathēkon, impulse would be directed toward the agent’s
possession of prudence, i.e. achieving the state in which the predicate “being
prudent” can be truthfully applied to him. I see no reason to assume that the Stoics
thought that the same does not also hold for kathēkonta that are not ōphelēmata,
for example for the so-called intermediate proper functions (mesa kathēkonta),
such as “walking” (peripatein, cf. Stob. 2.97,4–5 = LS 59M4) or “getting married”
(gamein, cf. Stob. 2.86,3), and thus for the whole genus of kathēkonta.
60 For arguments that the phrase “directed at” (hormē/horman epi + acc.) in this
context applies here to both the corporeal action and the incorporeal predicate
describing the action, see Inwood, Ethics and Human Action in Early Stocism,
272, n. 53.

walk” initiates impulse towards the predicate “to walk”, and the corresponding
action, walking, and results in my having the property of walking. But, then
it seems to follow that befitting actions mentioned in impulsive impressions
cannot be huparchonta. Namely, according to Chrysippus,
only those predicates that are attributes are said to belong,

for instance, “to walk” belongs to me when I am walking, but
it does not belong to me when I am lying down or sitting.61
In other words, some predicate “belongs” to me (huparchei moi), i.e. refers to

something existent, only when it is my actual attribute (sumbebēkos), i.e. when
it is indeed a property of my body. Because of this, the predicate “to walk”
(peripatein) belongs to me only when I am actually walking, that is, when “I
am walking (peripatō)” corresponds to the reality. During the time when I
am not walking, the predicate “to walk” is not something that huparchei moi,
i.e. something that belongs to me. Accordingly, the predicate “to walk” in the
impulsive impression “it befits me to walk (kathēkei moi peripatein)” cannot
huparchei moi unless walking is one of my attributes, that is, unless I am actually
walking. However, according to the Stoic theory of impulse, my walking is
initiated only at the moment I assent to the impulsive impression “it befits me
to walk”, which is when walking becomes my attribute and thus something that
huparchei moi. But, at the time I am entertaining the impression and before I
assent to it, walking is not one of my attributes and, therefore, not something
huparchon for me. Because of this, it seems that no impulsive impression “it
befits me to K” can be caused by something huparchon, since the action K is
the effect of my assent to the impulsive impression, i.e. because K becomes
something huparchon only after I assent to the impulsive impression.62 But, if
61 Stob. 1.106,20–23 = LS 51B4: katēgorēmata huparchein legetai mona ta

sumbebēkota, hoion to peripatein huparchei moi hote peripatō, hote de katakeklimai
ē kathēmai ouch huparchei. Notice that I have followed Long & Sedley in
translating huparchein here as “belongs” because using the translation “exists”,
which I have used in section I above, would sound very awkward in English; cf.
n. 6 above.
62 This problem remains even if huparchein here is understood in the sense that
applies to incorporeal propositions or facts, in which it means “to be true” or “to
be the case” (for this sense of huparchein, see Long, “Language and Thought in
Stoicism”, 91). Before my impulse to walk occurs, it is not yet true or the case that
I am walking; “I am walking” becomes the case only after I assent to the impulsive
impression “it befits me to walk”. That is why the solution proposed by Brennan
(The Stoic Life, 78–79) to the problem of apprehensive impressions caused by other
impressions does not apply to the impulsive impressions. Even if we grant that
some apprehensive impressions could be caused by incorporeal sayables that are

impulsive impressions cannot be caused by huparchonta, then it seems that, as
we have seen in section I, they cannot meet the Causal Requirement and that
they cannot be apprehensive.
One obvious problem of this result is that the claim that impulsive
impressions cannot be apprehensive seems to imply that the practical perfection
of the Sage is based on nonapprehensive impressions, or in other words, that
there is nothing to distinguish morally perfect actions of the Sage from morally
imperfect actions of the non-Sage. But this conclusion need not follow. Namely,
we have seen at the end of section III above that the Stoics thought that it is
possible to construct universalized impressions, which cannot be apprehensive,
from sets of impressions about particulars, which can be apprehensive.
Accordingly, from a set of impressions that evaluate someone’s walking in
a particular practical context, for example “Dion’s walking is befitting in the
practical context C”, “Theon’s walking is befitting in C”, etc., the agent could
form a universalized impression “walking is befitting in C” or “it befits to walk in
C”,63 and then, when in circumstances sufficiently similar to C, the agent could
deduce the impulsive impression “it befits me to walk now”. Examples of such
universalized impressions about kathēkonta are abundant in our sources; in
fact, various lists of befitting actions that we find in preserved accounts of Stoic
ethics seem to consist precisely of such universalized propositions. For example,
Diogenes Laertius says that (in most contexts) honoring parents, brother, and
the fatherland is befitting, that spending time with friends is befitting, while
neglecting parents is not befitting, and so on (DL 7.108–109 = LS 59E.). Thus,
even if impulsive impressions cannot be apprehensive, they can be deduced
from the agent’s knowledge of universal facts about which actions are befitting,
which was in turn based on the apprehension of particular befitting actions of
other agents. Obviously, if the agent is a non-Sage, at least some of his impulsive
impressions would be deduced from false universal moral impressions, i.e.
those that are based on nonapprehensive moral impressions about particulars.
Therefore, it does not follow that, if impulsive impressions are incapable of
being apprehensive, there would be nothing to distinguish between the morally
huparchonta in the sense of “being true” or “being the case” (which is, as noted
in Striker, “Κριτήριον τῆς ἀληϑείας”, 73–76, by no means uncontroversial), an
impulsive impression of the form kathēkei moi K by definition cannot be caused by
such huparchonta, because K in the impulsive impression is not true (or the case)
before the agent assents to the impulsive impression.
63 I take it that the Stoics thought that impressions such as “walking is befitting” and
“it befits to walk” are interchangeable, i.e. that they differ only in syntax; in the
former, the evaluative element “is befitting” is expressed as a participle (kathekon)
and the action as the corresponding noun (peripatēsis), while in the latter the
action is expressed in the form of infinitive (peripatein) and the evaluative element
“it befits” in its verbal form (kathēkei).

perfect actions of the Sage and the morally imperfect actions of the non-Sage.
On the contrary, they would be distinguished by the fact that the former’s actions
would be based on knowledge about moral objects, i.e. on a set of assents to
apprehensive moral/evaluative impressions about moral particulars, while the
latter’s actions would be based on a set of impressions which would contain
at least some nonapprehensive moral/evaluative impressions about particulars.
VI.
In sections II and III above, I have argued that Epictetus thought that
certain moral impressions are capable of being apprehensive, and that these
impressions, as perceptual impressions about particular corporeal objects,
would have been capable of meeting the Causal Requirement described in
section I. In section IV, we have suggested that the Stoics thought that moral
impressions are both descriptions and evaluations, and in section V that
there are no obstacles in assuming that certain evaluative impressions that are
relevant for action can also be apprehensive, although impulsive impressions
themselves cannot be apprehensive. What remains to be discussed, however, is
whether there are moral/evaluative impressions that could meet the other two
requirements necessary for apprehension.
Let us start with the Accordance Requirement. In the case of the
nonmoral impression, this requirement is met if and only if the predicates
contained in the impression correspond to the properties that indeed belong
to the impressor. By analogy, it is natural to assume that in the case of the
moral/evaluative impression the Accordance Requirement is met if and only if
moral predicates contained in the impression correspond to moral corporeal
properties of the impressor.
It seems, however, that the picture is more complicated than this. As
we have seen in section IV above, moral impressions are descriptions not only
of their impressors, but also of their evaluations. The meanings of evaluative
predicates indicate a certain type of pursuit or evasion stance, and this must
be taken into account when considering how moral impressions meet the
Accordance Requirement. One way of doing this would be to assume that
just as a nonmoral impression is in accordance with its impressor when the
nonmoral predicates contained in it correspond to the nonmoral properties of
the impressor, a moral/evaluative impression is in accordance with its impressor
when the moral/evaluative predicates contained in it also indicate a correct stance
towards the impressor. Because of their evaluative role, it seems that the chief
criterion of success for a moral/evaluative impression should not be its being
true as in the case of purely descriptive impressions, but primarily its correctness
as an evaluation. Therefore, in order to meet the Accordance Requirement, it is
crucial that the moral/evaluative impression is above all a correct evaluation of
its object, which means that it associates the correct agent’s stance to its object.


How is this association of correct stances to objects supposed to work?
In order to see this, we have to understand how the Stoics classified evaluable
objects and possible evaluative stances the agent can take towards them. On
the one hand, they distinguished between four types of evaluable impressors
classified in two general categories. In the first category they placed two
general classes of things that are morally relevant, which they called goods
(agatha) and bads (kaka), and in the second two general classes of things that
are morally indifferent but practically relevant, which they called preferred
indifferents (proēgmena adiaphora) and dispreferred indifferents (apoproēgmena
adiaphora).64 Unlike good and bad things, morally indifferent things are
those that in themselves neither benefit nor harm because they can be used
both well and badly, depending on the context.65 Those indifferents that are
in accordance with our nature,66 like health, pleasure, wealth, etc. have value
(axia) and are thus preferred, while those that are not in accordance with
our nature, like illness, pain, poverty, etc. have disvalue (apaxia) and are
thus dispreferred.67 In virtue of having value or disvalue, indifferents too
are capable of stimulating action.
On the other hand, the Stoics thought that each of these four types
of objects has a stance that is appropriately associated with it. We have already
mentioned these four stances in section IV above: goods are worth choosing,
bads are worth avoiding, preferred indifferents are worth taking, and dispreferred
indifferents are worth not taking. Evaluating objects by associating correct
stances to them was important for the Stoics because they thought that different
stances involve different kinds of impulse. Although goods and preferred
64 The distinction between good and bad things on the one hand and preferred and
dispreferred indifferents on the other originated with Zeno (see Stob. 2.57,18–20
= IG 102.5a and 2.84,18–24 = LS 58E1–2 = IG 102.7g). Despite dissenting views
from some of the members, such as Aristo (see e.g. SE M 11.64–67 = LS 58F and
commentary on LS 1.358–359), it remained the orthodox doctrine of the Stoic
school. Nevertheless, Aristo’s arguments could have been the motivation for
Chrysippus to acknowledge the usage of agathon and kakon in the loose sense of
these words; see below.
65 DL 7.103 = LS 58A5–6. For example, a preferred indifferent like wealth can be
used in a vicious way; also, it is sometimes virtuous to give up your own life (a
preferred indifferent) for your country or friends, or if suffering from an incurable
disease (DL 7.130 = LS 66H).
66 See Stob. 2.79,18–80,13 = LS 58C1–3 = IG 102.7a; cf. DL 7.102–103 = LS 58A4 for
a list of indifferents.
67 Stob. 2.83,10–11 = LS 58D1 = IG 102.7f. The difference in terms of value between
goods and bads on the one hand and indifferents on the other is that goods and
bads have absolute value and disvalue, while indifferents have relative value and
disvalue (Stob. 2.84,18–85,11 = LS 58E = IG 102.7g).

indifferents both stimulate the same general pursuit-type behavior, they thought
that preferred indifferents are pursued conditionally because they stimulate
conditional impulse towards them,68 while goods are pursued unconditionally
because they stimulate unconditional impulse towards them. Analogously,
bads stimulate unconditional impulse away from them, while dispreferred
indifferents stimulate conditional impulse away from them. Therefore, it could
be said that a moral/evaluative impression meets the Accordance Requirement
if and only if it associates choosing with a good object, avoiding with a bad
object, taking with an object that is a preferred indifferent, or not taking with
an object that is a dispreferred indifferent, and eo ipso correctly stimulates an
unconditional impulse towards a good object, an unconditional impulse away
from a bad object, a conditional impulse towards a preferred indifferent, or a
conditional impulse away from a dispreferred indifferent.
If this is correct, however, then it follows that meeting the Causal and
the Accordance Requirements is sufficient to make a moral/evaluative impression
apprehensive. Namely, we have seen in section I above that the hallmark of the
apprehensive impression is that it is not merely actually true, but such that it
could not turn out false, and that meeting the Discrimination Requirement
is supposed to secure this. In the case of nonmoral descriptive apprehensive
impressions, the Discrimination Requirement is met by the apprehensive
impression’s ability to capture the ontological uniqueness of its object, which
prevents the possibility of mistaking that object for another extremely similar
but distinct object. In the case of moral/evaluative impressions, however,
conditions for securing that an impression could not turn out incorrect seem
to be different. In fact, they seem to be already sufficiently satisfied by meeting
the strong version of the Accordance Requirement that we have described in the
previous paragraph. A moral/evaluative impression that correctly associates the
appropriate stance to the object is arguably already not only a correct evaluation,
but also an evaluation that could not turn out incorrect. For example, the
impression “Dion’s prudence is a good thing” is not only a correct evaluation of
Dion’s prudence insofar as it indicates that prudence is worth choosing for Dion,
but also an evaluation that could not turn out incorrect because, according
to the Stoics, as a good object prudence is always worth choosing since it is a
proper object of unconditional impulse.
Did Epictetus and his Stoic predecessors think that meeting the
Causal and the Accordance Requirements is sufficient to make a moral/
evaluative impression apprehensive? It is quite possible. Such a view would be
consistent with the view that the Stoics originally thought that an impression
that meets the first two requirements—i.e. an impression that is caused by
something existent and is in accordance with that existent thing—is already
apprehensive. On this view, the Stoics added the Discrimination Requirement
68 Cf. Stob. 2.75,1–3 = IG 102.5o.

to the definition of the apprehensive impression only as a further explication of
the Accordance Requirement in response to the pressure from the Academics
to eliminate the possibility of confusing two extremely similar but distinct
objects.69 Therefore, it is possible that the Stoics thought that the addition of the
Discrimination Requirement was necessary only in the case of purely descriptive
apprehensive impressions because only they were susceptible to the Academics’
counterexamples requiring discrimination between extremely similar objects.
On the other hand, I think that there is some reason to reject the
assumption that meeting the Causal and the Accordance Requirements is
sufficient to make a moral/evaluative impression apprehensive. Namely, Plutarch
reports that Chrysippus wrote the following in his book On good things:
If someone in accordance with such differences [i.e. between

the preferred and dispreferred] wishes to call the one class
of them good and the other bad, and he is referring to
these things [i.e. the preferred or the dispreferred] and not
committing an idle aberration, his usage must be accepted
on the grounds that he is not wrong on the matter of
meanings [sēmainomenois] and in other respects is aiming at
the normal use of terms.70
The text here suggests that Chrysippus thought that those who apply the
concept “good” to preferred indifferents and the concept “bad” to dispreferred
indifferents are not completely mistaken, and that their language usage does
not involve a mistake in “the matter of meanings”. However, we saw above that
the Stoics distinguished sharply between things that are genuinely good and
bad and things that are only preferred and dispreferred indifferents, as well as
between stances that should be appropriately associated with them. So, what
could Chrysippus have meant by saying that calling preferred indifferents good
and dispreferred indifferents bad is not an error but something consistent with
the meanings of these respective pairs of terms? It seems that Chrysippus is
referring here to a potential agent’s stances, which, as we have argued in section
IV above, constitute parts of the meaning of moral/evaluative predicates.
69 See, for example, Frede, “Stoic Epistemology”, 302–311. The chief textual evidence
that suggests this interpretation is Cic. Acad. 2.77 = LS 40D4–7.
70 St. rep. 1048A, transl. by LS, 58H. Although the text has been the subject of many
proposals for editorial emendations (cf. Cherniss, Plutarch: Moralia XIII: II, 530,
ns. 10–18), it is reasonably clear that Chrysippus here states that, although this
is not strictly speaking correct according to the Stoic doctrine, those who apply
“good” (agathon) and “bad” (kakon) to preferred and dispreferred indifferents
do not err in respect to the meanings of these moral concepts and are in general
following the loose, everyday linguistic sense of these terms.

Indeed, there is a connection between goods and preferred indifferents, as well
as between bads and dispreferred indifferents in respect to stances: goods and
preferred indifferents are properly associated with a general pursuit-type of
behavior (choosing and taking), while bads and dispreferred indifferents are
associated with a general evasion-type behavior (avoiding and not taking). After
all, this connection is not surprising given the fact that the Stoics thought that
our conception of the good develops through analogy from our conception of
the valuable, i.e. from our conception of the preferred indifferents.71 Because
of this, it is possible that Chrysippus was trying to say that those who evaluate
preferred indifferents as good and dispreferred indifferents as bad will not be
completely wrong in respect to what kind of general behavior they associate
with evaluated objects.72 For example, someone who assents to the impression
“My health is something good” would be evaluating his own health as something
that should be pursued, and this evaluation would be correct in most cases
because even the Stoics thought that, although not a genuine good, health is an
indifferent that is preferred, i.e. something that is generally in accordance with
our nature and, as such, has a significant amount of (non-absolute) value.73
If our interpretation of what Chrysippus had in mind above is correct,
then (at least some of) the Stoics would have been inclined to understand the
Accordance Requirement as a considerably weaker condition than the one we
discussed a couple of paragraphs above. Instead of ensuring that each of the four
71 Cic. Fin. 3.20–21 = LS 59D2–4; 3.33 = LS 60D1–2; cf. Jackson-McCabe, “The Stoic
Theory of Implanted Preconceptions”, 334–339.
72 It remains unclear what Chrysippus’s position would be on the truth-value of
moral impressions that evaluate a preferred indifferent as something good or a
dispreferred indifferent as something bad. Namely, if moral impressions have
dual descriptive-evaluative function, then it seems that as descriptions, such
impressions would be false. There is, perhaps, one way to avoid this conclusion.
Arguably, moral concepts of an agent entertaining such impressions have not
yet reached the level of development where they can track the Stoic distinction
between genuine goods and bads, and preferred and dispreferred indifferents.
Accordingly, when such an agent entertains an impression that some preferred
indifferent impressor is good, perhaps his conception of good does correctly
capture a corporeal element in the impressor that is in fact shared both by objects
that are preferred indifferents and objects that are genuinely good. If so, then it
seems that this agent’s impression would be a true description after all. In any case,
one could still say that, at least in most cases, such impressions are “in accordance
with the impressor” in a substantial sense of this phrase.
73 The same account could be given for evaluating dispreferred indifferents as
something bad: “My illness is something bad” would be evaluating my illness as
something that I should generally try to evade, which would in most cases be a
correct evaluation.

types of evaluable objects (goods, bads, preferred and dispreferred indifferents)
is associated with exactly one of the possible agent’s stances (choosing, avoiding,
taking and not taking), this weaker version of the Accordance Requirement
would be satisfied by simply assigning the correct kind of general behavior
(pursuit or evasion) to objects belonging to one of the two general groups of
evaluable impressors (goods and preferred indifferents, or bads and dispreferred
indifferents). It should immediately be clear that meeting this weaker Accordance
Requirement would not be sufficient to make a moral/evaluative impression
apprehensive. Although the agent assenting to impressions that meet only the
Causal and the weak version of the Accordance Requirements would have
evaluations that are in most situations, and perhaps even in all actual situations,
correct, his evaluations would not be such that they could not turn out incorrect.
There would still be (actual or possible) situations in which such an agent’s
evaluations could turn out incorrect. For example, someone who assents to the
impression “My health is something good” and is hence evaluating his health is
an object of general pursuit-type behavior, in most cases may be actually correct
in his evaluation of health because in most cases health should properly be
pursued. In fact, if he never actually encounters a situation in which it would
be befitting for him to harm himself,74 this agent may even spend his whole life
pursuing health and remain correct in his original evaluation.75 Nevertheless,
his original evaluation of health would not be such that it could not turn out
incorrect, because had the agent been in a situation in which it would have been
befitting for him to give up his health, he would not have done it. His impression
74 One example of such a situation is that, when the Sage is called to serve the
interests of a tyrant, he would rather choose sickness than health in order to
avoid the service, SE M 11.66 = LS 58F4. From another place talking about the
Sage’s suicide (Stob. 2.110, 9–10 = IG 102.11m), it is clear that in such situations
actions that are contrary to what is normally a preferred indifferent are considered
befitting (kathēkon) by the Sage.
75 Indeed, it seems that the “moral progressor” (prokoptōn), a non-Sage who has
progressed to the furthest point short of becoming the Sage, mentioned by
Chrysippus in Stob. 5.906,18–907,5 (= LS 59I) is precisely such an agent—a
person whose all moral/evaluative impressions he has assented to so far have
actually turned out correct, but at least some of these impressions are nevertheless
nonapprehensive. As Chrysippus says, even though all of this person’s actual
actions are based on correct evaluations (because they are all befitting), he has
not yet achieved happiness and wisdom because his actions have not yet acquired
firmness and fixity that characterizes the actions of the Sage. I take this to mean
that regardless of the fact that this person actually acts correctly, at least some
of his actions are based on moral impressions that could turn out to be incorrect
evaluations. That is why his actions have not yet achieved the firmness and fixity
of the Sage’s actions.

“My health is something good” would evaluate his health as something worth
choosing, and since choosing is a stance that involves unconditional impulse,
it would have prevented him from giving up his health in this situation.76 In
other words, a moral/evaluative impression that meets the Causal and the Weak
Accordance Requirements would not enable the agent to discriminate between
actual situations in which his evaluation is correct and counterfactual situations
in which his evaluation would have been incorrect, and the ability to make
such discriminations is, as we have seen, crucial for making a moral/evaluative
impression apprehensive.77
Therefore, in order to be apprehensive, a moral/evaluative impression
would have to meet an additional requirement, which would be parallel to the
third requirement from section I above. The role of this additional requirement
that would serve as the Discrimination Requirement for the moral/evaluative
apprehensive impression would be to ensure that the agent’s evaluation of the
object is not only correct, but such that it could not turn out incorrect. From
our discussion so far, it should be clear that the Discrimination Requirement
would be met through correct association of stances that involve conditional
and unconditional impulses to corresponding evaluable objects. More
precisely, a moral/evaluative impression that meets this requirement would
be the impression that correctly associates stances involving unconditional
impulse with genuine good and bad objects, and stances involving conditional
impulse to preferred and dispreferred indifferents. Defined in this way, the
Discrimination Requirement in conjunction with the weak version of the
Accordance Requirement described above now seems to be able to ensure
that the impression meeting it is an evaluation that is not only correct, but
such that it could not turn out incorrect. The way in which the Accordance
76 In explaining the difference between the moral disposition of the Sage and the
non-Sage, the preserved texts suggest that the Stoics invested more effort in
focusing on the cases of mistaking preferred indifferents for genuine goods
than on, for example, mistaking genuine goods for preferred indifferents (see,
for example, DL 7.101–103 = LS 58A; SE M 11.200–201 = LS 59G). This is to
be expected, because most ordinary people as well as non-Stoic philosophers
consider moral indifferents to be geniune goods or bads. After all, even the Stoics
themselves believed, as we have seen above, that the conception of relative value of
things that they classified as preferred indifferents is developmentally prior to the
conception of the genuine good. I do not think, however, that this means that their
approach to analyzing evaluations that mistake genuine goods and bads for objects
of conditional impulse would have been any different.
77 Here I agree with Brennan (The Stoic Life, 178) and his emphasis on the
importance of the correctness of evaluations in not only actual, but counterfactual
situations as well for the moral and practical perfection of the Sage and his
distinction from the non-Sage.

and the Discrimination Requirements work together to make a moral/
evaluative impression apprehensive could be represented by the following table:
Accordance Requirement
General Pursuit General Evasion

Behavior Behavior
Unconditional Choosing Avoiding

Impulse (Goods) (Bads)
Discrimination
Requirement
Conditional Taking Not Taking
Impulse (Preferred (Dispreferred
Indifferents) Indifferents)
We are now finally ready to attempt to formulate a definition of

the moral/evaluative apprehensive impression; it would state that a moral/
evaluative impression is apprehensive if and only if it meets the following three
requirements:
(1) The Causal Requirement: the impression must be

caused by an impressor that is existent;
(2) The Accordance Requirement: the impression has
to be in accordance with the impressor that caused it;
this means that the moral/evaluative predicates
contained in the impression must evaluate the
impressor by correctly associating a general
pursuit-type (choosing or taking) or a general
evasion-type (avoidance or not taking) stance with
the impressor;
(3) The Discrimination Requirement: the impression
must be such that it enables the agent to discriminate
between actual situations in which the impression
is a correct evaluation of the impressor and possible
counterfactual situations in which the impression
would be an incorrect evaluation of the impressor;
this means that the moral/evaluative predicates
contained in the impression must correctly associate
unconditional or conditional impulse with the
impressor (unconditional to goods and bads,
conditional to preferred and dispreferred
indifferents).

As we can see from the definition, the mechanisms enabling nonmoral
and moral impressions to meet the Discrimination Requirement, although
different, nevertheless both rely on some kind of special discriminatory power
that characterizes the apprehensive impressions. In the case of the non-moral
apprehensive impression, this mechanism, as we have seen in section I above,
relies on the ability of the impression to discriminate between extremely similar
but distinct impressors because confusing such objects is the chief obstacle to
achieving nonmoral apprehension. In the case of moral/evaluative apprehensive
impressions, this mechanism relies on the ability of the impression to
discriminate between genuine goods and preferred indifferents, or genuine bads
and dispreferred indifferents because confusing these impressors is the chief
obstacle to achieving moral apprehension. However, in both cases, the person
who assents only to true impressions that distinguish between extremely similar
but distinct objects and correct evaluations that distinguish between genuinely
morally relevant objects and indifferents will be capable of achieving epistemic,
moral, and practical perfection worthy of a Stoic Sage.78
78 Of course, just as in the case of descriptive apprehensive impressions and

knowledge, entertaining apprehensive moral/evaluative impressions is only a
necessary but not sufficient condition for achieving moral and practical perfection.
In addition, the agent needs to achieve the state in which he assents only to moral/
evaluative impressions that are apprehensive, and never to moral/evaluative
impressions that are nonapprehensive.

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The Curious Case of Epictetus’s
Encheiridion 33.14–15
Scott Aikin
I.
Epictetus consistently makes the case in the Encheiridion that the
objectives of pleasing others and seeking their esteem are not relevant reasons
for action or self-assessment.
If it ever happens that you turn outward and want to please

another person, certainly you have lost your plan of your life.
[E 23]
If people think you amount to something, distrust yourself.

[E 13.1]
I cannot be in a bad state because of another person any

more than I can be in a shameful one. [E 24.1]
These statements and others1 articulate a consequence of the principal

division of Epictetus’s ethics between what is and what is not up to us (E 1). In
rough form, whether or not others are pleased by our actions and whether or not
they hold us in esteem are themselves not up to us. What is up to us is whether or
how we allow these things to affect us, and since these things are not up to us, we
should not allow them to affect us. Epictetus’s views here are, further, consistent
with his advice in the Discourses.2
[Quoting Diogenes approvingly,] Ill repute is a noise made

by madmen. [D 1.24.7]
Someone is saying bad things about you? Very well. What is

it to you? [D 3.18.3]
Moreover, these sorts of views were standard fare for the imperial Stoics
generally, as Epictetus’s teacher, Musonius Rufus, articulates a similar attitude:
“If a philosopher cannot scorn blows or jeering, he is useless […]” (Stobaeus
1 See also E 25.1; 28.1; 29.6; 33.9; 46.2; 48.2. Bibliographic information for all
references can be found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.
2 See D 1.15.1; D 1.22.5; D 3.1.32; D 3.16.15; D 3.18.2; D 3.20.19; and D 4.2.8.
Scott Aikin 197

3.19.16; 2011:50).3 And the view is consistently held after Epictetus, too, as
Marcus Aurelius exercises himself in similar fashion in the Meditations:
Is it your reputation that is bothering you? But look how

soon we’re all forgotten. [M 4.3.3]
Ambition means tying your well-being to what others say or

do […] sanity means tying it to your own actions. [M 6.51]
[T]o be remembered is worthless. Like fame. Like everything.

[M 9.30]
Action taken for the sake of pleasing others, garnering their approval and honor,
is below the dignity of the one with the right perspective, the one with Stoic
virtue. William Irvine describes the view, particularly about the views of others:
As we make progress in our practice of Stoicism, we will

become increasingly indifferent to other people’s opinions
of us. We will not go through life with the goal of garnering
their approval and avoiding their disapproval […]. [A Guide
to the Good Life, 45]
This view is echoed in Diogenes Laertius’s review of Stoic value theory:

“Everything that neither benefits nor harms (our virtue) is neither good nor
bad, and these include: life, health, beauty, strength, reputation […] and their
opposites, disease, pain, ugliness, poverty, low repute, and so on” (DL 7.102).
That the pleasures and esteem of others is, as Epictetus regularly says of many
other matters, a concern “outside the sphere of one’s moral purpose” (D 3.8.3)
is a relative Stoic commonplace. Let us call it the hard line on the opinion of
others.4
The puzzle, then, is how to square the commonplace of the hard line
with two cases in the Encheiridion where Epictetus invokes the pleasures others
take in our actions and their esteem for us as reasons for his advice.
3 Musonius, further, tells the story of Phocion the Good who, when his wife was
insulted, replied that her virtue had not been harmed by the statement.
4 For others noting the hard line here, see Holowchak, The Stoics, 124–125; Stephens,
Marcus Aurelius, 132–133; and Long, Epictetus, 236. Further, other observers of
the tradition have noted it in antiquity. Cicero glosses what I’ve called the hard
line in Tusculan Disputations, when in favor of Stoicism, he notes that he will “pass
over good birth and public reputation where it is called into being by the united
voice of fools and knaves” (V.xvi.46).

In articulating a number of first-order practical norms of social
intercourse from E 29 to 33, Epictetus closes E 33 with two rules of thumb for
conversation (I will divide them with notation for ease of reference in discussion):
14: In your own conversations [a] stay away from making

frequent and longwinded mention of what you have done
and the dangers you have been in, [b] since it is not as
pleasant for others to hear about what has happened to you
as it is for you to remember your own dangers.
15: [a] Stay away from raising a laugh, [b] since [bi] this
manner slips easily into vulgarity and [bii] at the same time
is liable to lessen your neighbor’s respect for you.
The structure of both sentences here consists of (a) a piece of advice, followed
by (b) a reason given in support of the advice. In both cases, the reasons
given are consequentialist reasons—that certain classes of action have
identifiable negative consequences, and in order to avoid these consequences,
one should not engage in those activities. So far, the form of the advice and
reasons given fit another commonplace Stoic formula of moral advice given
with the object of, on the one hand, preventing the degradation of the soul,
and on the other hand, improving it. And so, it is not the consequentialist form
of the reasoning in E 33.14 and 15 that makes them curious, but the content,
the kind of consequences invoked. Specifically, the consequences invoked
are pleasures others take in our actions (at 14b) and the respect others have
for us (at 15bii). Given the commonplace of the hard line on the opinions
of others, this advice seems out of step with Epictetus’s regularly expressed views.
Indeed, it seems positively unStoic.
The interpretive puzzle is simply that of squaring (A) Epictetus’s
regularly expressed view that the questions of whether others find us and our
actions pleasurable and whether they hold us in high regard are not important
and are not reasons to act (what I’ve called the hard line) with (B) Epictetus’s
invocation of the pleasures others take in our stories and their respect for us
as reasons to act in certain ways. Two strategies are available. On the one hand,
we may soften the hard line by holding that though these objectives are not
ultimately good, they nevertheless are in accord with nature and hence are
choiceworthy. On the other hand, we may interpret the invocation of pleasing
others and taking their esteem for us into account as being, under certain
circumstances, relevant to matters of virtue, as they are markers that one is
failing or succeeding.
Scott Aikin 199

II.
Before we take to the philosophical alternatives, it is worth asking
whether this is, instead, a philological question as to whether the phrases
actually bear on each other in the fashion they seem to. My take is that they do.
Here is Epictetus’s koine:
[E 33.14] En tais homiliais apestō to eautou tinōn ergōn

kindunōn epi polu ka ametrōs memnēsthai. Ou gar, hōs soi
hēdu esti to tōn sōn kindunōn memnēsthai, houtō kai tois
allois hēdu esti to tōn soi sumbebēkotōn akouein.
In 14, Epictetus offers the reason with a comparative (hōs) between the pleasure
(hēdu) one feels in telling one’s own stories and the pleasure that others (tois
allois hēdu) take in hearing (akouein) them. That others do not take the pleasure
in hearing them that one takes in telling one’s own stories is the reason to hold
back on them. Again, this is, at least on its face, an issue of taking the pleasures
others take in our actions as a reason to regulate our actions.
In 15, Epictetus holds that telling jokes (gelōta kinein) produces a
character beneath the dignity of a Stoic (ho tropos eis idiōtismon). Moreover, it
properly occasions (hikanos) onlookers (tōn plasion) to lose their respect for you
(aidō tēn pros se […] anienai). Again, it is clear that the reason offered for the
advice is to enhance the respect (aidō) others have for us. These, consequently,
seem to be less issues of translation, and more issues of philosophical
interpretation, since it is clear that the pleasure others take in our stories and
respect others have for us (aidō tēn pros se) are invoked as reasons to act in
the manners suggested. These reasons, again, seem inconsistent with the Stoic
commonplace.
III.
Let us consider the first strategy of softening Epictetus’s hard line.
For sure, there are other points in the Encheiridion and the Discourses where
consideration for others’ feelings is appropriate. Epictetus advises us to
“sympathize with” others who have experienced loss, at least verbally (E 16).
This is presumably because it would, even for a Stoic, be inappropriate to steel
oneself in this way, as one would not be in sync with others in their most trying
times. “Appropriate actions are determined by relationships” (E 30.1), and that
relationships can be maintained only through the cultivation of mutual regard
for emotions is undeniable. Failing in that regard and care is contrary to nature,
and so others’ taking pleasure in our stories and others’ having good opinion of
us are choiceworthy. If we are to play our assigned parts well (as we see it in E
17), we must take on at least some of the motivations that go with the part. All
the world’s a stage, and sometimes it takes method acting.

The broad trouble with softening Epictetus’s line like this is that he is,
in so many places, very hard. E 23 is the starkest case, as Epictetus is clear that
if one ever has the objective of pleasing another, one has “lost (one’s) plan for
(one’s) life”. Seddon glosses the line:
If we do that [i.e., pursue pleasing others], we will have

chosen something over and above virtue as our goal in life,
and we have made our well-being dependent on the reactions
of other people. [Epictetus’ Handbook, 95]
Simplicius, too, holds that Epictetus is clear that “turning away from oneself
towards what is outside in order to please someone undoes the philosophical
disposition” (On Epictetus’ Handbook, 112; D 60, 1:22). The point, of course, is
that Aristotelianizing Epictetus requires more revision than preservation.
Perhaps this is quick on giving up on the softening line, but a more
promising line is as follows. The Stoic must, for sure, sympathize (as in E 16)
and be kind and forgiving (D 2.22.36). And, moreover, Epictetus is sensitive to
the pleasures and esteem of readers when he notes that books should be written
with clear character and attractive language (D 2.23.2). Such concerns are within
our moral purpose, but not because they themselves are valuable, but because
to fail to manifest the traits that give rise to them is a failure of our own internal
virtues. Epictetus captures this turn of perspective when he speaks of those who
judge the progressing philosophers in E 22. The judging comes in two stages.
First the philosopher is the object of ridicule: “Here he is again, all of a sudden
turned philosopher on us!” and “Where did you get that high brow?” (22.2). The
key, though, is that the progressor not be shaken by these taunts, because once
the virtues are stable, once the progressor approaches the sage, the attitudes of
others change. And so the second stage of judging has it that the progressor in
the end does receive the esteem of others:
And remember that if you hold to these [Stoic] views, those

who previously ridiculed you will later be impressed with
you, but if you are defeated by them, you will be doubly
ridiculed. [E 22]
But it is clear that the significance of this vindication is not dependent on the
judgment of others, but lies in the maintenance of the attitudes of indifference
and self-control. The goal wasn’t to gain their esteem, but the irony is that being
indifferent to it was the means to it (and that caring a great deal about it makes
it inaccessible). Importantly, under these conditions, the esteem of others is
deserved—those who have come around from jeering at the philosopher to
taking him or her as an object of wonder are indicative of the real value of that
life. The derision that the jeerers and mockers originally gave is based on things
Scott Aikin 201

that do not matter, and so initially, their contempt does not track desert.5 But
under some conditions, it does.
It is in light of the turnaround of the mocking crowd in E 22 that I
believe the curious cases of E 33.14 and 15 can be read. The displeasures and
loss of respect that others can have for us are, under specifiable conditions,
indicators of our failures of virtue. Let us consider the cases.
In the case of 14, what is prohibited is going on and on about
oneself, one’s accomplishments, and one’s challenges. And so it is a rule about
conversations: it is not all about you. Simple enough. The reason offered, 14b,
is the observation that there is a magnitude gap6 between telling a story about
oneself and hearing the same story about someone else. In short, when it is
your story about you, it always will seem more interesting to you than when it’s
someone else’s about him/herself.
Epictetus makes a similar observation about the magnitude gap
between first- and third-person perspectives in E 26:
[W]hen someone else’s little slaveboy breaks his cup we

are ready to say, “It’s one of those things that just happen.”
Certainly, then, when your own cup is broken you should be
just the way you were when the other person’s was broken.
Seeing the event in the right light is seeing it for what it is, and it is the third-
person perspective on the loss of a cup that reveals how much it matters. In
short, it doesn’t. To react and feel from the first-person perspective, then,
is not just incorrect, in that it is inaccurate regarding the truth of the matter,
but it is inappropriate, because to see it only from that view is small-minded
and selfish.
Epictetus is clear that the point is a general one, as he tells us to extend
the principle to “larger matters”, like the loss of a wife or child. But his general
point is not simply about right perspective on losses and pains, but on pleasures,
too. And so applied to the conversational case in 14b, Epictetus reminds us of
something we should already know: one is a bore when one goes on about oneself.
The trouble is not that one thereby bores one’s interlocutors, but that one should
5 See E 25 where praise and attention at banquets is bought at the price of flattery,
not proportioned to virtue.
6 This term is from Roy Baumeister’s work in social psychology. Baumeister’s
application of the term is intended to highlight the difference perspective and
position make when considering the extent of a harm. “The importance of what
takes place is always greater for the victim than it is for the perpetrator” (Inside
Human Violence and Cruelty, 18). My usage here includes gaps not just of pains (as
shown with E 26), but of pleasures, too.

not be a bore. To make a public display of one’s quotidian accomplishments (or
even the great ones) is to be self-indulgent. The boredom of others evoked by
this, then, is reflective of our vice—sometimes a yawn from a conversational
partner is important feedback about what we are doing.
The reason, then, that the pleasure-gap in 14b is relevant is not because
the pleasure others take in our conversations is important (we are not trying
to please them), but because others’ not taking the pleasure in our stories that
we take in them is a reminder of how the vice of being a bore is not in being
boring but in being selfish and indulgent, putting our own pleasures in recounting
our deeds first. The reactions of others, then, are relevant, because under
these conditions, they are actually reflective of our character, something we must
care about.
A similar story can now be told for 15. The first reason it is important
to avoid the cheap laugh is that it cheapens the discussion. This, in essence,
is 15bi—much humor is on the slippery slope to vulgarity, to thoughts and
expressions beneath our dignity. Following the axiom Anything for a laugh may
promote titillating chuckles, but it will not promote or embody virtue. And this
is why Epictetus follows with bii, that it occasions our neighbor’s losing respect
for us. The class clown, the practical joker, the uncle who likes puns. There’s a
reason Rodney Dangerfield got no respect—he was a comedian.
In parallel fashion with the conversion of the jeerers in E 22, those who
are on the receiving end of a comedy routine that tries to pass for conversation
rightly lose respect for the speaker. The reason their respect matters, again like
that in E 22, is that it is, under these conditions, an indicator of the state of one’s
soul. And so, when the jeerers in E 22 are in the end impressed, they are rightly
impressed. And when the conversational partners in 15 are repulsed, they are
rightly so. And that is why their esteem is relevant—under these conditions,
they are accurate indicators of what sort of esteem we deserve.
IV.
My interpretive strategy here has been to bring the cases of caring
about the pleasures and esteem of others in E 33.14 and 15 into line with the
demanding exclusion of their relevance. I have taken the Epictetian hard line here
by taking these cases of pleasures and esteem to be entirely of derivative status as
only indicators of one’s virtue, and so, in themselves, not valuable. This, as I’ve
called it, hard-line interpretive strategy, along with what I’ve called the softened
alternative (which I’ve foregone) are of a family, characterized by pursuing
the requirement of consistency. That is, both the hard-line and the softened
interpretations are governed by the thought that the correct interpretation of
the advice in E 33 will be consistent with the correct interpretation of Epictetus’s
larger ethical project. And so, again, the hard-line interpretation of Epictetus’s
project, as I’ve interpreted it, yields a hard-line interpretation of the advice and
reasons. The softened reading of Epictetus’s project yields a softer interpretation
Scott Aikin 203

of the reasons for the advice. Again, I’ve opted for the hard line here, but what if
Epictetus suspends the consistency requirement?
Here is a reason to consider suspending consistency as a desideratum
for interpreting the advice: Stoic evangelism. The Stoic is a missionary, and
missionaries must not only speak the language of truth, but they must also
speak the language of those who need salvation. And so when addressing
progressors and potential progressors with advice that promotes virtue, all the
other motivating reasons should be brought to bear—even the ones that are not
officially endorsed motivating reasons. Why? Because at the beginning stages,
we’re all Aristotelians. We care about wealth, health, honor, and so on. Stoicism
would not have its unique purchase on our philosophical imaginations were it
otherwise. And so, in order to speak to those in need of help, Epictetus must
occasionally use their language, encourage them from their own perspective.
Consequently, the one pursuing honor finds that caring about the esteem of
others is self-defeating in E 22 and 33.14b. And the ones hoping to entertain
their conversational partners with long stories about themselves learn in 15b
that it is actually boring to do so. They have the impulses, and those impulses
can be put to the use of cultivating virtue. They take alternate routes to Stoicism.
Epictetus’s self-conception as a kind of evangelist isn’t clear in the
Encheiridion, but it is in the Discourses. He holds that those hearing his message
would reason:
It was not Epictetus who said these things to me—how could

he?—but some friendly god speaking through him […]. He
gives signs to some men in this way, and to others in that,
but in the greatest most decisive matters (god) gives his sign
though a most noble messenger (angellou). [D 3.1.36–38]
In other places in the Discourses, Epictetus holds that he was summoned to bear
witness (martus) for the divine cause of making it clear what moral purpose his
listeners have (D 1.29.47). In this way, the Epictetian self-conception is parallel
to Socrates’s account of his own role in Athens—sent by the god to remind his
fellow citizens to care for virtue (Apology 29d).7 Given Epictetus’s evangelical
streak,8 there are two things to expect from him: a theological vision and
missionary zeal.
The trouble is that Epictetus is rarely accommodating with his
missionary message. For example, he does not take a line of internal critique
when he addresses those who wish to withdraw from his school to deal with
family issues: “if your governing principle cannot be brought into conformity
7 Epictetus explicitly invokes Socrates on this parallel in D 1.9.23.

8 This is shown conclusively by Ierodiakonou, “The Philosopher as God’s Messenger”,
60–66.

with nature, no doubt your paltry piece of land can be made to conform with it”
(D 3.5.3). He parodies those who expected more of him: “When I met Epictetus
it was like meeting a stone, a statue.” And “Epictetus was nothing at all, his
language was full of solecisms and barbarisms” (D 3.9.12 and 14). Epictetus
seems unyielding and unwilling to change his style with those positively looking
to be moved by him. He does not accommodate the erroneous commitments
of his audience. Epictetus was an evangelical figure, for sure, but his missionary
zeal yields an uncompromising take on those to be saved. We must, then, keep
with the requirement of consistency.
V.
As long as we are constrained, I think reasonably, by the consistency
requirement for interpreting E 33.14 and 15, it is a matter of either softening
Epictetus’s exclusion of the relevance of the esteem of others for us or showing
how the esteem of others is of value only as an indicator of our virtue. I have
argued here that the softened program is not sustainable in the face of so many
of Epictetus’s unequivocally hard-line exhortations not to care for others’ esteem.
Further, under the condition that a group has the capacity to render reliable
judgment of our internal character, it is worthwhile to be moved by their esteem
for us. This, again, is consistent with Epictetus’s hard line, as sometimes the way
people judge is reflective of our character. Consequently, the curious cases of
E 33.14 and 15 are not only consistent with the Epictetian gospel of self-control,
but they are also in the service of it.9
Select Bibliography
Baumeister, Roy. Evil: Inside Human Violence and Cruelty. New York: Barnes
and Noble Books, 1997.
Cicero. Tusculan Disputations. Translated by J. E. King. Cambridge, MA: Loeb

Classical Library, Harvard University Press, 1945.
Diogenes Laertius. Lives of the Eminent Philosophers. Translated by R. D. Hicks.

Cambridge, MA: Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press,
1991.
9 Many thanks to the Philosophy Department faculty at the Rochester Institute of

Technology for arranging the conference on Epictetus and Stoicism, and thanks
to those at the session who provided valuable feedback on the essay. Thanks also
to Erin Bradfield, Lenn E. Goodman, David M. Gray, Robert B. Talisse, Jeffrey
Tlumak, and Julian Wuerth for their comments on early drafts of the paper.
Scott Aikin 205

Epictetus. Discourses I–IV. Translated by W. A. Oldfather. Cambridge, MA: Loeb
Classical Library, Harvard University Press, 1988.
———. The Handbook. Translated by Nicholas P. White. Indianapolis: Hackett,

1983.
Holowchak, Andrew. The Stoics: A Guide for the Perplexed. New York:
Continuum, 2008.
Ierodiakonou, Katerina. “The Philosopher as God’s Messenger”. In The Philosophy

of Epictetus, edited by Theodore Scaltsas and Andrew S. Mason, 58–70.
Irvine, William B. A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy. Oxford:
Long, A. A. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford: Oxford

Marcus Aurelius. Meditations. Translated by Gregory Hays. New York: Modern

Library, 2003.
Musonius Rufus. Lectures and Sayings. Translated by Cynthia King. CreateSpace.

com., 2011.
Seddon, Keith. Epictetus’ Handbook and the Tablet of Cebes. New York:
Routledge, 2005.
Simplicius. On Epictetus’ Handbook 1–26. Translated by Charles Brittain and

Tad Brennan. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002.
Stephens, William. Marcus Aurelius: A Guide for the Perplexed. New York:
Continuum, 2012.

Epictetus on Beastly Vices and Animal Virtues
William O. Stephens
I. Introduction
The significance of animals in Epictetus’s Stoicism has yet to be
explored in detail. Yet Epictetus’s views on nonhuman animals—or Nanimals, as
I will call them—their traits, abilities, habits, and virtues, profoundly shape his
view of what human beings are and what we ought to be. It is hardly surprising
that Epictetus’s texts on Nanimals have not been scrutinized by philosophers
who write about animals,1 by environmental ethicists, or by researchers in the
emerging field of human-animal studies. This is in part because a common
but superficial interpretation of the ancient Stoics holds that they summarily
judged all Nanimals to lack logos (speech/reason) and so to fall outside the
bounds of justice and morality, and therefore to be essentially irrelevant to the
human art of living.2 Yet I will argue that Epictetus’s Stoic account juxtaposing
beastly vices and animal virtues with monstrous, inhuman vices and humane
virtues continues to be relevant. Finally, I will suggest that some aspects of his
outlook on Nanimals resonate unexpectedly with the ideas of two quite different
modern-day thinkers.
Some of the complex ways in which human beings conceive of
Nanimals, how we relate to certain kinds of Nanimals, and how we use certain
kinds of Nanimals, have changed little from Epictetus’s day to our own. On the
other hand, our much better scientific understanding of our kinship to them,
the industrial complexes we have erected to bring huge numbers of select
kinds of Nanimals into existence for a short time before disassembling them
in order to gratify our conditioned tastes, the extent to which our ways of life
recklessly exterminate billions of Nanimals every year, and the accelerated rate
at which our unwillingness or inability to share this planet with other living
things drives to extinction countless species of Nanimals, vastly distance our
world from Epictetus’s. The ancients domesticated, hunted, fished, and trapped
animals, used them in religious sacrifices3 and agriculture,4 and used them for
1 For example, Epictetus is entirely absent from Stephen T. Newmyer, Animals in

Greek and Roman Thought. (Bibliographic information for all references can be
found in the Select Bibliography at the end of this essay.)
2 For a corrective to this superficial and oversimplified interpretation, see Richard
Sorabji, Animal Minds and Human Morals.
3 See Maria-Zoe Petropoulou, Animal Sacrifice in Ancient Greek Religion, Judaism,
and Christianity.
4 Timothy Howe, Pastoral Politics: Animals, Agriculture and Society in Ancient Greece.
William O. Stephens 207

food,5 clothing, raw materials, labor, transportation, warfare, and sport.6 We
continue to exploit nonhuman animals for nearly all of these purposes, but
instead of ritually sacrificing them to the gods, we clone them, vivisect them, and
genetically design them to be optimal experimental subjects and monstrously
fast-growing but typically physically deformed protein machines to fuel our
bodies. We routinely slaughter shiploads of bycatch.7 We kill millions of cats
and dogs that aren’t cute enough to adopt as pets in order to spare ourselves the
costs of spaying and neutering their parents.
How might Epictetus the moralist evaluate the following statistics?
Roughly 58 billion land animals worldwide each year are killed to become our
food.8 In 2009, approximately 20 billion sea animals were killed in U.S. waters
for human consumption. Unlike the ancients, we breed designer species to
experiment on in laboratories in order to test new shampoos, soaps, cosmetic
products, drugs, and biomedical instruments and treatments. Millions of
rabbits, cats, dogs, and monkeys are sacrificed in such experiments. Estimates
range widely, from 17 million to 100 million animals annually, because mice,
rats, birds, reptiles, amphibians, fish, and invertebrates killed in experiments are
unreported. Today we kill over 40 million animals a year worldwide for their fur.
Over 200 million animals are reported killed legally by hunters in the United
States each year. This number excludes those animals killed illegally by poachers,
animals who are injured, escape, and die later, and orphaned animals who die
after their mothers are killed. According to the Humane Society of the United
States, three to four million cats and dogs are killed in animal shelters in the U.S.
every year.
Today many of our activities and various aspects of the world we have
constructed both directly and indirectly cause vast numbers of birds to die.
Anywhere between 100 million and 900 million birds annually are estimated to
die in the U.S. from flying into glass windows.9 The National Audubon Society
estimates that 100 million birds fall prey to cats each year in the U.S. Between
50 and 100 million birds per year are estimated to be killed by cars and trucks
on U.S. highways. Perhaps as many as 174 million birds die by colliding with
power lines each year in the U.S. According to the Smithsonian Institution,
5 See Michael MacKinnon, Production and Consumption of Animals in Roman Italy.

6 See George Jennison, Animals for Show and Pleasure in Ancient Rome.
7 Bycatch are the sea creatures we don’t want to eat who are killed or lethally
maimed because they have the bad luck of getting in the way as we fish and trawl
for the marine animals we do like to eat.
8 The source of the statistics reported in this paragraph is http://animalrights.about.
com/od/animalrights101/tp/How-Many-Animals-Are-Killed.htm (accessed July
13, 2012).
9 The source of the statistics reported in this paragraph is http://www.currykerlinger.
com/birds.htm (accessed July 13, 2012).

pesticides may poison as many as 67 million birds per year. Communication
towers, guy wires, electric power lines, livestock water tanks, oil and gas
extraction, commercial fishing, logging, strip mining, airplanes, and fireworks
kill perhaps between 5 and 12 million birds annually. According to the U.S.
Fish and Wildlife Service, more than 100 million ducks, geese, swans, doves,
shorebirds, rails, cranes, and other birds are legally hunted and killed each year.
How would Epictetus regard the fact that we directly and indirectly kill so many
millions of birds every year as a result of what we decide to build, how we choose
to travel, how we elect to produce our food and energy, and how we like to
entertain ourselves? I will return to this question at the end of the paper.
Our contemporary understanding of the origin of all animal species
was of course transformed by Charles Darwin.10 Yet as scientists continue to
refine evolutionary biology, our attitudes about breeding, eating, wearing,
hunting, owning, training, working with, experimenting on, domesticating,
cuddling, and euthanizing nonhuman animals remain deeply ambivalent
and ultimately, one could argue, incoherent.11 So enticing is the convenient
10 For a lucid argument for the ethical lessons to be drawn from Darwinian
evolutionism, see James Rachels, Created from Animals: The Moral Implications of
Darwinism.
11 Jonathan Safran Foer, Eating Animals, 25, observes that “The French, who love
their dogs, sometimes eat their horses. The Spanish, who love their horses,
sometimes eat their cows. The Indians, who love their cows, sometimes eat their
dogs”. We could add that Kashrut prohibits observant Jews from eating eels,
lobster, oysters, clams, shrimp, crabs, cats, dogs, monkeys, pigs, rabbits, camels,
hawks, eagles, owls, rodents, reptiles, and amphibians, while permitting them
to eat properly slaughtered tuna, salmon, carp, herring, goats, sheep, deer, bison,
cattle, chickens, ducks, and geese. There is some disagreement among Jewish
communities about the permissibility of eating turkeys and locusts. Muslims may
not eat pigs or any animal that has died from falling, being beaten, strangulated,
or suffocated, but may eat as Halal fish, sea animals, and properly slaughtered
chickens, ducks, turkeys, deer, bison, goats, sheep, and cattle. Observant Catholics
abstain from eating meat on Fridays, Ash Wednesday, and Good Friday, and
during Lent. Some Catholics abstain from meat on Fridays year around, while
others substitute a penitential practice or charitable practice for abstaining from
meat on Fridays outside of Lent. This diversity of religious dietary rules and
restrictions resists any scientifically informed philosophical justification. Consider:
Americans train dogs to assist the physically disabled, guide the visually impaired,
and provide therapy for those in emotional need. In 2009, Americans spent about
45 billion dollars on toys, accessories, and veterinary care for their pets (http://
www.dancingdogblog.com/2009/06/454-billion-spent-on-pets-top-5-categories-
8-basic-annual-costs/ — accessed July 13, 2012). Yet Americans euthanize three
to four million dogs and cats every year, and the corpses of many of these animals

belief inherited from Aristotle and the Stoics and re-affirmed in many of the
world’s religions that Nanimals are given to us by Nature Herself (or Zeus, God,
Yahweh, Allah), and so belong to us as our property to use however we wish,
that selfishness and self-deception seduce us into denying our post-Darwinian
epistemically undeniable kinship with the other animals.12
The ancients disagreed about whether considerations of justice apply
to the other animals. Even if we assume that justice excludes wild animals, might
the beasts living among us in our community belong to the moral community?
The Stoics believed that our rationality makes us superior to the other animals
and that Providence gifts their bodies to us. The Epicureans believed that
since Nanimals cannot make social pacts with us, they are unprotected by
the constraints of justice. The Pythagoreans believed in the transmigration of
the souls of all animals, both human and nonhuman, and they propounded a
philosophy of vegetarianism. Dedication to empirical biology led Theophrastus,
Aristotle’s favorite pupil, to the realization that Nanimals can feel, sense, and
reason just as human beings do. So, Theophrastus, Aristotle’s successor as head
of the Lyceum, rejected the practice of eating meat on the grounds that it robbed
are converted into protein pellets that become feed for poultry and cattle. Which
Nanimals we love, which we hate, which we love to eat, which we hate to eat,
which we fear, which we fondle, which we admire, which disgust us, and when,
varies, sometimes widely, from culture to culture, religion to religion, place to
place, profession to profession, social class to social class, and perhaps also from
gender to gender. Though the period she covers ends three and a half centuries
before Epictetus, see Louise Calder, Cruelty and Sentimentality: Greek Attitudes
to Animals, 600–300 BC.
12 Does our kinship with the other animals entitle us to exploit them, or does it
give us a good prima facie reason not to exploit them? Some argue as follows:
(1) Nanimals use, kill, and eat other animals; (2) It is not wrong for Nanimals to
do so; (3) Human beings are animals too; (4) Hence, it is not wrong for human
beings to use, kill, and eat Nanimals. This argument seems to assume that (a)
no Nanimals are moral agents with obligations to each other or to us, and so
(b) no human beings are moral agents with any obligations regarding Nanimals.
Yet most recognize that some human beings—normal adults, for example—are
moral agents with various kinds of obligations. Interestingly, this moral status
is invoked by some to argue as follows: (1) Human beings are moral agents
and Nanimals are not; (2) Hence, human beings are superior to Nanimals; (3)
Therefore, this superiority provides moral justification for human beings to use
Nanimals however we choose. Arguments like these have been cogently criticized
by more than a few philosophers who write on animals. See, for example, Mary
Midgley, Animals and Why They Matter; Steven F. Sapontzis, Morals, Reason, and
Animals; Evelyn B. Pluhar, Beyond Prejudice: The Moral Significance of Human and
Nonhuman Animals.

Nanimals of life and so was unjust. The most extensive catalogue of arguments
for and against the permissibility of killing, ritually sacrificing, or eating animals
that survives from antiquity is On Abstinence from Animal Food, written by the
philosopher, religious critic, opponent of theurgy, and music theorist Porphyry
of Tyre.13 Porphyry, born to Phoenician parents about a century after Epictetus’s
death, studied with Cassius Longinus in Athens and with Plotinus in Rome.
Porphyry edited Plotinus’s Enneads and authored the monumental and highly
influential fifteen-volume polemic Against the Christians,14 which, along with
the commentaries on it, was condemned by the imperial church in CE 448
and burned. The Latin translation of Porphyry’s Isagoge became the standard
textbook on logic throughout the medieval period. A very learned intellectual,
philologist, and historian, Porphyry was a scathing wit, a vegetarian on spiritual
and philosophical grounds, and a staunch defender of animals.
Born into slavery as a slave woman’s son in Hierapolis, Phrygia,
Epictetus may well have had a fair amount of firsthand experience interacting
with and observing Nanimals. When Epictetus relocated to Rome, his familiarity
with Nanimal behavior was adumbrated by the philosophy he learned from
the great Stoic teacher Gaius Musonius Rufus. But instead of beginning my
analysis of Epictetus’s account of Nanimals by situating it among the other
major philosophies of Nanimals in antiquity, for my purposes in this paper it
should prove more instructive to compare Epictetus’s zoology to a common
contemporary view of animals.
Today, many sort Nanimals into five basic categories: (1) valuable
resources we are free to generate, modify, destroy, and consume however we
wish; (2) entertainers who provide us sport, spectacle, or amusement; (3)
companions; (4) useless, benign bystanders who do not impede our activities;
and (5) noxious threats to our health, hygiene, or safety. Note that from this
contemporary perspective, these categories are permeable. We can move any
particular Nanimal or collective group15 of Nanimals from one class to another
as our attitude shifts or the setting changes.16 Few people today regard Nanimals
as (6) virtuous role models or moral exemplars. Animalitarianism is the view
13 See Porphyry, On Abstinence from Killing Animals.

14 For the extant fragments, see Porphyry’s Against the Christians: The Literary
Remains.
15 Bevy of quail, cloud of flies, drove of asses, earth of fox, fold of sheep, gang of deer,
herd of horses, kine of calves, litter of puppies, murder of crows, nest of vipers,
pride of lions, rout of wolves, sounder of swine, team of oxen, etc.
16 For example, mice in the basement are pests to exterminate, a mouse in the field
can be ignored, and a talking, hat-wearing mouse on the movie screen is an
entertainer. A wild turkey in the woods could be shot with a camera, shot to death
with a rifle, or both. A deer in a meadow could be hunted, while a deer on the
highway can instantly become a car-damaging accident and roadkill.

that Nanimals are more natural, happier, and more admirable than human
beings. Was Epictetus an animalitarian? I will argue that the answer is yes and
no. Yes, Epictetus judges certain dispositions and traits of certain Nanimals to be
admirable compared to the deficient conduct of vicious human beings. And no,
Epictetus believes that certain wild animals are less happy than human beings
and that Nanimals are not more natural than human beings, insofar as we are as
capable of living in agreement with nature as they are. However, Epictetus scolds
his students for failing to use their natural ability of reason properly, that is, in
such a way as to be happy no matter what. Thus, Epictetus seems to think that
certain Nanimals are happier in some respects than many human beings, but
he insists that this is the fault of those human beings themselves and not ill fate
imposed by nature.
II. Us, Them, and Specific Standards of Excellence

The range and sophistication of animal examples in Epictetus far
surpass those in the sparse remains of his teacher Musonius Rufus and Marcus
Aurelius’s Memoranda,17 whose Stoicism was strongly influenced by Epictetus.
The protreptic roles that such numerous exempla play in Stoic ethics are little
appreciated, yet philosophically weighty.18 Moreover, since Epictetus is the
only Roman Stoic who speaks from an animal’s own perspective, his use of
prosōpopeia in key texts in the Discourses marks a significant advance in the
pedagogical use of animal examples. In these discourses, Epictetus deploys
specific Nanimals as normative models for his students to emulate. In doing
so, he wavers between two very different traditions about Nanimals: the Stoic
tradition that denies Nanimals reflective intelligence, and the popular Aesopic
tradition that readily acknowledges animals as “persons” with various thoughts,
feelings, cleverness, and other admirable traits.
17 For a brief defense of why this title of the collection of philosophical writings left
by Marcus is better than Meditations, see William O. Stephens, Marcus Aurelius: A
Guide for the Perplexed, 2.
18 While it is true that Epictetus identifies Socrates as the master of cross-
examination (elenctic), Diogenes as the master of kingship and castigation
(epiplectic), and Zeno as the master of teaching and formulating doctrine at
3.21.19, I interpret Epictetus’s Diogenes as protreptic as well because I think
Epictetus appreciated how well Diogenes perceived, admired, and trained himself
to model, the sturdy self-sufficiency displayed by dogs, mice, and other animals.
The plausibility, or at least possibility, of the connection between the epiplectic
and the protreptic in Diogenes’s case is suggested by the parallel connection of
the protreptic and the elenctic at 3.23.33, and by Socrates’s being credited with
mastery in both protreptic and elenctic at 2.26.4–7. See Malcolm Schofield,
“Epictetus on Cynicism”.

Though Epictetus grants that there are many things that human beings
have in common with other animals, he too holds that we are rational and
they are not.19 He says that all animals are capable of using sense-impressions
(phantasiai), but only human beings have the power to understand how to use
our sense-impressions.20 Epictetus contrasts the principal cognitive ability of
Nanimals with the more sophisticated cognitive abilities of human beings in the
following text, worth quoting at length.
God had need of animals as beings who use sense-

impressions, and of us as beings who understand that use.
Therefore, it is sufficient for them to eat and drink and rest
and procreate and perform other such functions as belong
to each of them; but for us, to whom god has granted also
the power of understanding, these functions are no longer
sufficient, for if we do not act properly and in an orderly way,
and each in conformity with his nature and constitution, we
shall no longer achieve our own ends. For of beings whose
constitutions are different, their works [ta erga] and ends are
also different. So for the being whose constitution is adapted
only to use, use alone is sufficient; but for the being who also
has understanding of the use, unless what is proper is added
to this, his end will never be attained. What then? Each of
the animals God made so that one is to be eaten, another is
19 Disc. 1.6.12. On this discourse see Epictetus, Discourses, Book 1, 107–109. See
also A. A. Long, Stoic Studies, 276 for a discussion of this text as it relates to
Epictetus’s account of the correct use of phantasiai, and 262, where Long quotes
1.6.20 to support his suggestion of how the Stoics reconcile continuity and
difference between human and nonhuman animals. While Long is not incorrect
that Epictetus was “open to the thought […] that animal behaviour can teach us
something about ethics and the common needs of all animal species, including
ourselves” (261), I would go further. I contend that Epictetus’s analysis of virtues
and vices is grounded in the habits and patterns of behavior of all animals, human
and nonhuman. For a comparison of the Stoics’ account of human and animal
psychology, see Adolf Bonhöffer, Epictet und die Stoa, 67–76.
20 2.8.4–8; 2.14.15. Urs Dierauer, Tier und Mensch im Denken der Antike, 229–230
writes: “Eine solche Freiheit gegenüber den Vorstellungen hat die Stoa den Tieren
offenbar nicht zugestanden. Bezeichnend ist in diesem Zusammenhang, was
Epiktet mehrfach als grundlegenden Unterschied zwischen Menschen und Tieren
hervorhebt: Auch die Tiere haben Vorstellungen und machen Gebrauch davon,
aber sie begleiten diesen Gebrauch nicht wie der Mensch mit verstandesmässigem
Urteil”, and in his note quotes from Disc. 2.8.6, cites 1.6.12–22 and 2.14.14, and
refers for comparison to 1.28.20, 3.1.25, and 4.7.7.

to serve in farming, another is to produce cheese, and the
others are for some other comparable use; for these purposes
what need do they have to understand sense-impressions
and to be able to distinguish between them? But the human
being has been introduced to be a spectator both of Him and
of His works, and not only a spectator, but also an interpreter
of them. Therefore, it is shameful for a human being to begin
and end just where the non-rational animals [ta aloga] do,
but rather he ought to begin there, but end where nature
has fixed our end. And it ended in contemplation and
understanding and a way of life harmonious with nature.21
When Epictetus says that “a human being ought to begin” where the non-rational
animals do, this beginning point might mean the biological, developmental
beginning of life as an infant, or it might mean the first step toward achieving
our proper end. This first step would include exercising our animal, non-rational
constitution by eating, drinking, resting, procreating, using sense-impressions,
and the like. But Epictetus insists that in addition to these functions, human
beings are also endowed with the power of understanding sense-impressions,
acting in an orderly way, in conformity with this constitution, and properly
understanding that this is our distinctive human nature. God (Zeus) has made
some Nanimals to be our food, some to make our food (cheese), and some to
help us farm. Epictetus does not suggest in this text or elsewhere what service wild
Nanimals might provide for us. But none of the other animals can be spectators
or interpreters of Zeus or of Zeus’s works. Only human beings, with the power
of understanding the world, can fulfill this role in nature. Therefore, only by both
using and understanding sense-impressions, distinguishing between our sense-
impressions, being spectators of Zeus, interpreting His works, contemplating
the world, and thoughtfully, knowingly living a way of life harmonious with
nature do we attain our proper, God-given end as the kind of animals we are.
Epictetus concludes that to fall short of attaining this end by living the way of life
21 Disc. 1.6.13–21. Translations of Epictetus are mine. Johannes Haussleiter, Der

Vegetarismus in der Antike, 270 quotes Disc. 1.6.18 to add support to Bonhöffer’s
reasons for thinking that Epictetus was not a vegetarian like his teacher Musonius
Rufus. Haussleiter adds: “Hier sehen wir deutlich, wie Epiktet auf dem Standpunkt
des Chrysippos steht, daß die Tiere nur um des Menschen willen geschaffen sind.”
Dierauer (Tier und Mensch, 240) writes: “Auch wenn der Anthropozentrismus
nicht überall in der Stoa gleich extrem formuliert wird, so gehört doch die
Behauptung, die Tiere seien um der Menschen willen geschaffen worden, zu jenen
Sätzen, die praktisch für alle Stoiker bezeugt sind”, citing, among other sources,
1.6.18.

of mere animality is shameful for a human being. Humans are indeed the only
animals that blush and know shame (3.7.27).
Epictetus maintains the anthropocentric view—as popular in antiquity
as it remains today—that Zeus provides Nanimals for the service of human
beings (1.16.1–8),22 and so Nanimals are not of primary importance (2.8.6–7).
He argues that if the ass had been granted the power to understand its use
of sense-impressions, it would no longer be subject to us, nor would it have
provided these services to us, but it would be equal to and like us (2.8.8). Since
Nanimals lack this power, however, they are works of the gods (theōn erga), but
not parts of the gods (merē theōn) (2.8.10). Human beings differ from storks,
for example, in understanding what they do, their sociability, faithfulness, self-
respect, steadfastness, and intelligence (1.28.20).23 Epictetus emphasizes that
reason separates human beings from wild beasts and sheep, and as rational
beings, we, unlike Nanimals, are capable of understanding the divine governance
of the world and of reasoning out what follows from this divine governance.
This special capability makes us citizens of the world and leading parts of it,
not subservient parts of it (2.10.2–3). Nanimals lack the capacity to understand
god’s governance, and so they are much further removed from the divine than
human beings are (4.7.7).
Nonetheless, Epictetus believes that nature equips every organism
with its own particular nature and its own functional tendencies. So, each plant
or animal does well when acting in accord with its peculiar nature, and does
badly when acting contrary to it. He notes that the dog24 ought not to be criticized
for lacking an excellence characteristic of the horse (3.1.3–6; cf. Ench. 6).
The dog’s talent is at following the scent (4.5.13–14), yet not all dogs are equally
good at tracking (1.2.34). Though the natural ability of the horse is to run
(4.5.14), not all horses become swift (1.2.34). So, when Epictetus is careful,
he recognizes that the excellence characteristic of one species of animal, say,
the dog, ought not to be applied as the standard for evaluating the excellence
of a different species of animal, say, the horse. The dog’s talent is at following
the scent and he is miserable not when he is unable to fly, but when he is unable
to track. The horse’s talent is to run and he is miserable not when he is unable
to crow, but when he is unable to run (4.5.13–14). The excellent dog follows
the scent well, while the inferior dog follows the scent poorly. The excellent
horse runs swiftly, while the inferior horse runs slowly. Epictetus applies
this standard of infra-specific Nanimal excellence to human beings as well.
Though all people are naturally endowed with the capacity to become as great
in rationality, virtue, and mental freedom as Socrates, not all—indeed, not
22 See Dobbin, “Commentary”, 103–105.

23 See Dobbin, “Commentary”, 225.
24 For a fascinating study, see Catherine Johns, Dogs: History, Myth, Art.

many—will realize this potential.25 Few human beings will be excellent
(virtuous). Most will not be.
But why should it be the case that only a few human beings will excel in
rationality and become virtuous? If reason is a natural endowment of all human
beings, why do only a few realize this potential? The explanation Epictetus
offers is that human nature is essentially dual. He insists that we are chiefly the
offspring of God (Zeus),
but since in our birth we have these two things mixed within us,
the body, on the one hand, in common with the animals,
reason and intelligence [gnōmē], on the other hand, in
common with the gods, some of us incline towards the
former kinship, which is the unfortunate and mortal one,
while some few towards the divine and blessed one.26
Human nature is a mixture of a bestial body and a godlike mind. Our bodily
kinship with the other animals is mortal and unfortunate. Our kinship with the
gods in rationality and intelligence is divine and blessed. Yet Epictetus notes that
our divine and blessed rationality and intelligence fail to steer most of us away
from our animality. Because of our kinship with the flesh, he explains, some of
us incline towards the body and become like wolves, faithless, treacherous, and
harmful. Others incline towards the body and become like lions, wild, savage,
and untamed. But most of us incline towards the body and become like foxes,
which Epictetus judges to be the sorriest of living creatures. “For what else is a
slanderous and malicious human being than a fox, or something even sorrier
[atukhesteron] and more rascally? Take care, then, and see to it that you do not
become one of these wretches [atukhēmatōn].”27
25 But what is great and exceptional perhaps befits others, Socrates and
those like him. Why, then, if we are by nature born for this, do not
all, or many, become like him? Well, do all horses become swift?
Are all dogs keen to follow the scent? What then? Because I am
naturally ungifted, shall I on that account give up my diligence?
Far be it! Epictetus will not be better than Socrates; but if I am not
worse, that is enough for me. For I shall never be a Milo, and yet I
do not neglect my body; nor a Croesus, and yet I do not neglect my
property; nor, simply, do we abandon diligence in any area because
we despair of attaining the highest perfection in it. [1.2.33–37]
26 1.3.1–3. This view of the divine-animal duality of human nature seems consistent
with the account given in 1.6.13–21.
27 Disc. 1.3.7–9; cf. 2.4.11. For comments on this discourse see Dobbin,
“Commentary”, 86–88; at 8 he does well to translate en zōiois atukhēmata “the
sorriest of the lot”, but then blunts the emphatic repetition by translating

Is Epictetus carelessly violating his own standard of infra-specific
excellence by faulting members of one species—rapacious human beings—for
acting like members of other species—wolves, lions, and foxes? Consider the
many other examples he cites. To fail to listen to reason is to act like an ass
(4.5.21). To fail to practice whole-hearted commitment is to foolishly imitate
like an ape (Disc. 3.15.6 and Ench. 29.3). Epictetus urges his students to persevere
and not to act frivolously as quails do.28 He cautions against living in social
isolation like flies.29 The hypocrite who merely mouths many Stoic maxims
without living by them displays the depravity of a worm.30 Superficial
camaraderie and veiled greed are exposed by means of a canine example. When
a piece of land comes between a son and a father, their feigned friendship
disappears, just like pups fawning on and playing with each other when a scrap
of meat is thrown between them (2.22.9–11).
Epictetus is not carelessly forgetting his standard of infra-specific
excellence by illustrating what counts as vice in a human being by comparison
with the mimicking of apes, the “frivolity” of quails, the asociality of flies,
the “depravity” of worms, or the greedy hunger for meat of pups. The power
of reason, Epictetus believes, enables us to know better than the ass, who has
no ability to listen to reason. We can know better than to ape many pursuits
half-heartedly. We can know better than to be diverted from serious goals
by frivolous distractions. Flies do not act viciously when they live as isolated
individuals, but human beings are not flies and we do act viciously when we
live in social isolation. Dogs do not act viciously when they fight over a scrap
of meat, but human beings are not dogs. Father and son do betray their familial
relationship when they fight over a piece of real estate. Epictetus’s concern is
to educate his students about human vice and virtue, but it’s no accident that
Nanimals provide a wealth of vivid lessons for his pedagogical aims. So, while
atukhesteron as “less dignified” in the next sentence. It is interesting that Epictetus

portrays lions only negatively here. Lions are also symbols of good and noble
qualities in other authors, and Epictetus himself greatly respects their untamed
freedom (4.1.25). In Aesop, though not in Epictetus, even the wolf can be a symbol
of freedom. Epictetus sees the fox as a wretched rascal, without also admiring its
intelligence.
28 Disc. 3.25.5. For a disappointingly unclear description of the sport of ortugokopia
see Julius Pollux, Onomasticon 9.108–9. See Tom Wolfe, A Man in Full, for a
literary exploration of Stoicism and manliness, and 3–15 for Wolfe’s description of
a quail hunt.
29 1.23.6; cf. 4.11.32. See Dobbin, “Commentary”, 194–199.
30 4.1.142. Epictetus also uses the negative worm example when he rebukes
Epicureans for supposing that the ousia of the good is pleasure: “For if this is so,
lie down and sleep and lead the life of a worm, of which you have judged yourself
worthy; eat and drink and copulate and defecate and snore” (2.20.10).

his standard of infra-specific excellence saves him from foolishly faulting a dog
for lacking the virtue of a horse, it does not bar him from faulting a human being
for having a certain trait that (he believes) resembles a particular trait of a wolf,
lion, fox, ass, ape, quail, fly, worm, or dog. Epictetus finds this latter set of traits
of Nanimals repugnant because they are vices in human beings, that is, because
they conflict with the better part of human nature.
In some texts (3.1.3–6 and 4.5.11–14), it serves Epictetus’s didactic
purpose to recognize that the beauty of an animal derives from the abilities,
habits, and behaviors distinctive to its species. In other passages (e.g. 1.3.7–9),
however, Epictetus is not concerned to (or perhaps able to) realize that if the
wolf ’s nature is to be faithless, treacherous, and harmful to its prey, if the lion’s
nature is to be savage, and if the fox’s nature is to be rascally, then these animals
act beautifully as excellent specimens when they act in these ways and conversely
act badly precisely when they act contrary to their own distinctive traits.
Epictetus explicitly affirms that a good dog tracks well and a good horse runs
swiftly. Of course hunting dogs and domesticated horses serve anthropocentric
ends. But probably because neither wolves, nor lions, nor foxes, nor snakes, nor
wasps, nor any wild animals are useful servants of human beings, Epictetus
does not reflect that a good wolf is treacherous, a good fox is rascally, and the
like. Consequently, Epictetus missteps when he brands foxes “the sorriest of
living creatures” due to their slanderous and malicious ways. That foxes have
a nature distinct from other Nanimals does not make them unfortunate, sorry
wretches. Indeed, how could a fox hurl slander? Epictetus nearly recognizes
his mistaken condemnation of foxes when he remarks that a slanderous and
malicious human being is something even sorrier and more rascally than a
fox (at 1.3.8). Nevertheless, inasmuch as he judges foxes to be sorry, unhappy
wretches, Epictetus is certainly not an animalitarian with respect to foxes.
Good hygiene is another norm for which Epictetus uses Nanimals
instructively. He states that humans are specially distinguished from Nanimals
by our instinct of cleanliness (4.11.1), which derives from the gods (4.11.3).
Epictetus explains: “When […] we see some other animal cleaning itself, we
are in the habit of saying in surprise that it is acting ‘like a human being’. And
again, if one criticizes some animal, we are in the habit of saying immediately,
as though apologizing, ‘Well, it is not a human being’” (4.11.2). This apology
is prompted by understanding of the standard of infra-specific excellence. Yet
as this discourse unfolds, Epictetus’s comparisons of hygiene among different
Nanimal species are simply aimed at inculcating good habits in his adolescent
pupils. “It was impossible that some dirt from eating should not remain on our
teeth. Therefore, nature says, wash your teeth. Why? That you may be a human
being, and neither a wild beast nor a little pig” (4.11.11). He praises the relative
cleanliness31 of horses and purebred dogs, while decrying the filthy habits of
31 Epictetus also gives an argument by analogy that just as it is necessary to care for,

pigs, geese, worms, and spiders, which, he claims, are animals furthest removed
from association with humans (4.11.31–32). He knows that wallowing in the
mud is natural behavior for pigs, but his aim is to circumscribe proper human
hygiene when, in one text, he appears to ignore the standard of infra-specific
excellence and applies a human standard of cleanliness to pigs in judging them
to be unclean.32 However, elsewhere Epictetus is more careful to recall explicitly
the standard of infra-specific excellence as it applies to cleanliness.
Is one’s body to be unclean? — By no means, but keep yourself

clean as you are and as you were born to be, so that a man is
clean as a man, a woman as a woman, and a child as a child.
No, let us pluck out the mane of a lion, so that he not be
clean, and groom a horse that nature has given to you, it is also necessary to wash
and groom the body that you have been given in order to avoid social impropriety
(4.11.17). He expands this analogy of care for a horse and physical hygiene with
the simile of an ass and treatment of the body and its equipment in general:
You ought to treat your whole body like a poor overburdened

ass, as long as it is possible, as long as it is allowed; and if it
be commandeered and a soldier lay hold of it, let it go, do not
resist or grumble. If you do, you’ll get a beating, and lose your
poor little ass just the same. When this is the way in which you
should conduct yourself with regard to your body, consider
what is left for you to do about the things that are procured for
the sake of the body. Since the body is a little ass, those other
things become little bridles, little pack-saddles, little shoes,
barley, fodder for a little ass. Let these go too; dismiss them
more quickly and cheerfully than the little ass itself. [4.1.79–80]
The body is a preferred indifferent, according to Stoic ethical theory. Epictetus

regards it as a tool for living virtuously, so it has only instrumental value. Food,
drink, clothing, toiletries, and the like can then be seen as even more trivial—
even less instrumentally valuable—than the body itself.
32 4.11.29: “Do you want me say to him, ‘Beauty [to kalon] consists not in being
covered with manure, but in reason’? For does he aim at beauty? Does he show any
sign of it? Go and argue with a pig, that he should not wallow in the mud.” Given
Epictetus’s belief that pigs are dirty animals, we are left to wonder how he would
answer the question he poses about whether eating pork is holy or unholy (1.22.4);
see Dobbin, “Commentary”, 192. Would their filth make pigs worthless objects
beneath contempt and so ethically edible, or would their flesh be so tainted and
disgusting that it would be ungodly to make a meal of them?

unclean; and the comb of a cock,33 for he too ought to be
“cleaned up”. Yes, but clean as a cock, and the other clean as a
lion, and the hound as a hound. [3.1.45]
Interestingly, here Epictetus not only invokes the standard of infra-specific

excellence, but even differentiates within our species subtypes of standards
of cleanliness by gender and age. He recognizes that what counts as cleanliness
for one species, for example, a pig, does not count as cleanliness for other
species, say, a sheep or a human being. Since hair is quite natural in men,34
lions, and hounds, none of these is cleansed by depilation. Nor is a cock’s comb
grime to be removed. So, while Epictetus regards cleanliness as characteristic
of a civilized, sociable, excellent human being, he does not regard depilation as
a civilized practice.
A human being is a hēmeron zoon, a tame animal,35 according to
Epictetus, not a wild beast (2.10.14; 4.1.120). This wild/tame dichotomy
distances human beings from some Nanimals more than from others. Savage
beasts (thēria) and submissive sheep mark out opposing animal temperaments—
vivid extremes between which Epictetus locates the “tameness” of human virtue.
Among the tame animals, sheep (probata) are one of Epictetus’s favorite choices
for normative instruction because he sees them as fine exemplars of gluttony,
sexual indulgence, filthiness, randomness, and heedlessness. He artfully describes
certain ovine habits for his students to avoid. For instance, the Stoic must be ever
mindful of his mortality, Epictetus insists, and so collect externals—whether
a shellfish or little onion to eat or a wife and child—while on the temporary
shoreleave of life without thinking that he can take them with him when the
ship of death sails. Epictetus teaches that the Stoic’s thought must be fixed on
the ship and that he should constantly pay attention to it lest the Captain (Zeus)
should call, in which case the Stoic must quickly give up all the externals he
collected so as to avoid being thrown on board all tied up like the sheep (Ench. 7).
A sheep, we are meant to imagine, would keep grazing heedlessly and would have
to be forced back aboard. The Stoic must not think only of filling his stomach
like the sheep does, but must be ready to drop at once all the externals he has
collected and depart from life when Zeus signals it is time to die. Here Epictetus
attributes to sheep a stubborn desire to eat. Elsewhere he characterizes sheep
not as stubborn, but as acting too compliantly and lacking backbone, whereas
wild beasts act destructively (3.23.4). In another text, Epictetus remarks that
33 Clearly borrowed from Musonius Rufus, Lectures xxi. 128.5–8; Epictetus glorifies
the beard over the comb and the mane in 1.16.13–14.
34 Epictetus sees the beard not only as the hallmark of the philosopher (1.2.29;
2.23.21; 3.1.24; 4.8.12; 4.8.15), but also as a salient differentiation of the sexes
(1.16.9–14). Consequently, he regards pogonotomy as unnatural for men.
35 4.5.10 and frag. 25 in W. A. Oldfather, Epictetus.

a man with a deadened sense of self-respect (to aidēmon)36 is worthless, a sheep,
anything but a human being, whereas someone looking for somebody to kick
or bite is some kind of wild beast (4.5.21). We act like sheep when we act
for the sake of the belly, or the genitals, or at random, or in a filthy way, or
heedlessly. We act like wild beasts when we act pugnaciously, injuriously, angrily,
or rudely. To act like a sheep or a wild beast, Epictetus reasons, is to degrade
ourselves, to destroy our humanity or our “profession as a human being” (tou
anthrōpou epanggelia).37
Sheep, then, are particularly useful for Epictetus’s ethical instruction
because their host of repulsive traits include gluttony, sexual indulgence,
randomness, spineless timidity, filthiness, heedlessness, and lack of self-
respect. Despite this, sheep should not be regarded as the most contemptible
of Nanimals, according to Epictetus, because they and all domesticated animals
are of some use to human beings.38 It is the “useless” creatures that Epictetus
maligns the most because he judges them to fall outside nature’s providential
scheme of utility.39 Wasps, for example, are not liked, and neither are useless
human beings.40 Epictetus declares that “the most pitiful and shameful fate is
that of becoming a wolf or a viper or a wasp instead of a human being” (4.1.127).
36 In rendering to aidēmon and aidōs as “self-respect”, I follow R. Kamtekar, “ΑIΔΩΣ

in Epictetus”.
37 2.9.2–7. Dierauer, Tier und Mensch, 204 writes: “Stoische Moralisten wie Epiktet
rufen dem Menschen eindringlich zu, er solle nicht wie die Tiere handeln, da er
als vernünftiges Lebewesen grundsätzlich von ihnen geschieden sei”, citing 2.9.1–5
and 1.6.20 in his note, where he adds, “In ähnlichem Zusammenhang kann Epiktet
allerdings auch wieder auf die Analogie zwischen menschlichem und tierischem
Leben hinweisen” and quotes 4.1.121 and part of 4.5.13–14.
38 Cf. 2.20.11–12, where Epictetus asks the Epicureans why, if their own pleasure is
all that matters, they would care about what other human beings think: “Do you
care about sheep because they supply themselves to us to be shorn, to be milked,
and finally to be butchered? Would it not be desirable if human beings might be
enchanted and lulled to sleep by the Stoics and allow themselves to be shorn and
milked by you and your kind?”
39 No remark like Chrysippus’s, that the flea is useful to prevent oversleeping and
the mouse is useful to prevent carelessness in leaving out cheese (Porph. Abst. iii.
20 [SVF ii. 1152]; Plu. Mor. 1044C–D [SVF ii. 1163]), is to be found in the extant
Discourses of Epictetus.
40 2.4.6. Adolf Bonhöffer, Epiktet und das Neue Testament, 353n writes: “Die
tierhaften Menschen sind allerdings den Tieren nicht ganz gleich, sondern
rangieren noch unter diesen: denn während diese sind, was sie sein können
und sollen, und irgend einen Nutzen bringen, ist der Unsittliche zu nichts nütze,
höchstens dazu, wozu die schädlichen oder lästigen Tiere da sind, den
Menschen Geduld zu lehren.”

Medea deserves our pity, not our anger, “because, poor woman, she has fallen into
error on the most important points, and, instead of being human has become a
viper” (1.28.9). Medea is not acting like a viper, Epictetus asserts, she has in fact
transformed herself into one. This might strike us as simple (or silly) hyperbole,
but Epictetus means to emphasize the monstrousness of Medea’s prosōpon, the
kind of person she is. She has become a subhuman beast. This demonstrates the
horrific power of human vice. We are the only species of animal that can morph,
morally speaking, into a member of a different species by choosing to abandon
our proper “profession” (epanggelia). For Epictetus, one’s humanity does not
consist in, nor is it established by, what one’s body looks like. We can destroy
our humanity by exercising our prohairesis (volition) contrary to our humane
nature. Our immoral acts replace our humanity with the worst, nastiest kind of
animality, namely, brutality. No wasp, sheep, fox, wolf, or viper can betray its
own animal nature in this way.
III. Nanimals as Moral Exemplars

What makes Epictetus’s philosophical treatment of animals most
fascinating is neither the wide range of species he mentions,41 nor the great
number of such examples he rehearses, nor even the pedagogical artistry he
displays in illustrating the repulsive traits and habits of Nanimals he teaches his
pupils to avoid at all costs. Rather, I contend that it is Epictetus’s several instances
of Nanimals as moral exemplars and positive role models for his students to
emulate that is most striking because he is a Stoic committed to the position
that Nanimals are by nature nonrational, inferior to us, and providential gifts
for our use.
Consider the sad fact that some people abandon their children.
Epictetus is the only imperial Stoic who explicitly remarks that no Nanimals
abandon their offspring. He notes that neither sheep nor wolves ever desert their
offspring, so, in this respect, these beasts are superior parents (1.23.7–8). This
observation sharply contrasts with the texts in which Epictetus points to the
despicable traits of sheep and wolves that count as vices in humans. Despite
his judgment that wolves are faithless (1.3.7 and 2.4.11), Epictetus also upholds
41 Mammals he discusses include the ape (pithēkos), the mouse (mus), and various
quadrupeds, such as the ass (onos), the horse (hippos), the mule (hēmionos), the
ox (bous), the calf (moskhos), the bull (tauros), the pig (hus, sus, khoiros), the sheep
(probaton), the deer (elaphos), the fox (alōpēx), the lion (leōn), the wolf (lukos), the
dog (kuōn), and the hunting hound (kunēgos). Epictetus’s birds range from the
cock (alektruōn), the quail (ortux), the raven (korax), and the crow (korōnē), to
the nightingale (aēdōn), the swallow (khelidōn), the stork (pelargos), and the goose
(khēn). The fish (ikhthus), the shellfish (kokhlos), the viper (ekhis), the serpent
(ophis), and the worm (skōlēx) are also instanced. Insects featured are the wasp
(sphēx), the bee (melissa), the fly (muia), and the spider (arakhnēs).

sheep and wolves as faithful parents. Therefore, he recognizes this trait of faithful
nurturing as an aretē (excellence) of sheep and wolves.42
Epictetus also seems to be of two minds about the stubbornness of
an ass. An ass is rigidly immobile when it does not want to move. Physical
stubbornness is one of the ass’s natural talents, an invincibility characteristic
of its species. The natural invincibility of a human being, however, Epictetus
regards as quite different. So, on the one hand, he insists that a human being
ought not to be invincible like an ass is (1.18.20). Human invincibility lies in the
rational judgments of the prohairesis. Similarly, Epictetus criticizes the boasting
pancratiast: “If you tell me, ‘I kick mightily’, I shall say to you in reply, ‘You take
pride in an ass’s act’” (3.14.14). Epictetus is impressed not by physical athleticism,
but by discipline of the mind, by rigorously training one’s desires and decisions
to be rational. Yet a different kind of asinine invincibility Epictetus respects so
much that he upholds it as a strength that the Cynic must emulate. He observes
that anyone can beat to death an ass (3.7.32). The ass is, after all, commonly
regarded as one of the lowliest of domesticated animals.43 So it is remarkable
that Epictetus declares that the Cynic must withstand being flogged like an ass
(3.22.54), since the Cynic’s calling is to calmly endure, and be strengthened
by, all such hardships. This is a particularly dramatic animal example given
Epictetus’s high esteem for the Cynic.
Consider food. Epictetus knows that the need to eat can cause anxiety
in members of our species, but it never seems to in other animals. Epictetus
wonders: “And must our philosopher, when he travels abroad, put his confidence
in others and rely on them and not take care of himself, and must he be inferior
to and more cowardly than the non-rational animals, each of which is self-
sufficient, and lacks neither its proper food, nor the way of life appropriate to
it and in accord with nature?”44 Epictetus tries to dispel his student’s cowardly
worry about finding food. If mere, nonrational Nanimals can fend for themselves,
following a way of life appropriate to their species and in accord with nature,
Epictetus wonders, why can’t a human being, armed with the added and superior
faculty of reason, do just as well? No Nanimals fear starvation, Epictetus thinks,
42 Dierauer, Tier und Mensch, 232 remarks: “Doch auch bei Stoikern wird
gelegentlich der Begriff Arete auf Tiere angewandt, womit allerdings bloß die
Vollendung der je eigenen Leistungsfähigkeit der Tiere, also eine relative, aber
nicht absolute, auf Vernunft gegründete Vollkommenheit, gemeint ist.”
43 Epictetus belittles “playing and braying” with an ass at 2.24.18.
44 1.9.9. Dobbin, “Commentary”, 124 characterizes this text as Cynic in spirit,
but it also lies in an established Stoic tradition. Cf. 1.16.1: “Do not be surprised
if other animals have all things necessary to the body ready provided for them,
not only food and drink but a place to lie down in, and that they have no need
of shoes, or bedding, or clothing, while we need all these things.” See Dobbin,
“Commentary”, 159.

and so in this respect, despite being alogon (nonrational), they are better off
than Epictetus’s fretful philosopher. More generally, nonrational animals don’t
seem to worry about anything, so why can’t rational animals like us achieve the
same freedom from anxiety and confidence in self-sufficiency? Even the much
maligned sheep can discriminate suitable from unsuitable objects of food, and is
thereby self-sufficient in nourishing itself (2.24.16). Moreover, Epictetus draws
a positive allegorical lesson from what sheep do with their fodder. He observes
that sheep don’t bring their fodder to the shepherds to show how much they
have eaten. Rather, sheep simply digest their food internally and produce wool
and milk externally. Epictetus instructs his students that likewise, they ought
not to boast about their Stoic principles to laymen, but rather display to laymen
the actions that result from these principles once they have been digested (Ench.
46.2). Though Epictetus often describes ovine traits and habits as instances of
how not to be and how not to act, the ease with which they convert what they
consume into wool and milk symbolizes how Epictetus’s students should behave.
It is easy to propound Stoic principles to laymen. The challenge is to internalize
those principles and display them in practice, in one’s actions.45 The biological
self-sufficiency of sheep and other Nanimals is ready-made by nature, whereas
human beings must work hard to attain self-sufficiency through the disciplined
exercise of their natural reason. That few people ever achieve this self-sufficiency
is frequently emphasized by Epictetus.
In the lengthy discourse “On the Cynic Calling”, Epictetus looks to the
herd and the hive to discern the hegemonic dynamics from which to derive a
human norm. He argues that a real Cynic is neither a busybody nor a meddler.
As a true authority on human affairs, a friend to people, and a servant to the
gods, the real Cynic legitimately criticizes and instructs others. In contrast, one
who merely poses as a Cynic and criticizes others while hiding a stolen cake
in his pocket has no such authority. Epictetus challenges the poser, asking him
what he has to do with other people’s business. Is he the bull of the herd or the
queen of the bees? Epictetus demands to be shown the tokens of the poser’s
supremacy, like those that the queen bee has from nature. If he has no such
tokens and is instead a drone that lays claim to the sovereignty over the bees,
doesn’t he think, Epictetus asks, that his fellow citizens will expel him, just as
45 Cf. 3.21.1–3: “Those who have learned the principles and nothing else are eager
to throw them up immediately, just as persons with a weak stomach vomit up
their food. First digest your principles, and then you will surely not vomit them
up this way. Otherwise they are mere vomit, foul stuff and unfit to eat. But after
you have digested these principles, show us some change in your ruling principle
[to hēgemonikon] that is due to them; as the athletes show their shoulders as the
results of their exercising and eating, and as those who have mastered the arts can
show the results of their learning.”

the bees do the drones (3.22.99)? A pseudo-Cynic will no more be tolerated by
his fellow citizens than a pseudo-queen bee is by the other members of the hive.
The bull has corresponding tokens of supremacy over his herd. The
bull/herd analogy is a commonplace in ancient political philosophy, but it
receives interesting variations at the hands of Epictetus. He observes: “For no
ordinary ox dares to confront the lion himself; but if the bull comes up and
confronts him, say to the bull, if you think fit, ‘Why, who are you?’ ‘What do
you care?’ Man, in every species nature produces some superior individual: in
oxen, in dogs, in bees, in horses” (3.1.22–23). This text reiterates the standard of
infra-specific excellence and adds a novel twist: Epictetus dares his interlocutor
to address the bull directly, because the Stoic pedagogue knows what the bull
would say! Epictetus clearly respects bulls. He likens non-Stoics to calves and
Cynics to bulls: “You are a little calf: when a lion appears, do what is expected
of you, or else wail your regrets. You are a bull: step up and fight, for this is
expected of you, you are fit and able to do it” (3.22.6). The calves in a herd greatly
outnumber the bull that rules it. Non-Stoics greatly outnumber Cynics in the
human herd. But how is one of Epictetus’s students to know whether he is a calf
sort of person or a bull sort of person?
Someone asked, “How then shall each of us become aware

of what befits the kind of person [prosōpon] he is?” How is it,
he replied, that when the lion attacks, the bull alone is aware
of his own resources and leaps forward to defend the whole
herd? Or isn’t it clear that along with the possession of the
resources the awareness of them comes directly too? And so
whoever of us has such resources will not be unaware of them.
But a bull does not become a bull all at once, any more than a
human being becomes noble, but he must undergo a winter
training, must prepare himself and not jump recklessly into
what is inappropriate for him.46
The bull must battle other bulls to hone his skills and ultimately win supremacy
over the herd. Such competition and practice over time realizes the excellence
potential in, and distinctive of, its species and sex. Attainment of human
excellence requires the same extended program of rigorous training. Thus
neither does the bull mature all at once into a real bull, lord of the herd, nor does
a human being become a fully realized, self-mastered human being overnight.
One kind of self-knowledge provides the impetus to gradually develop one’s
inborn capacities. Once those capacities have been realized, another kind of self-
knowledge triggers the immediate readiness, whenever the opportunity arises,
to exercise those capacities. Epictetus explains that a bull is not ignorant of his
46 1.2.30–32. See Dobbin, “Commentary”, 85.

own nature and resources when some wild beast appears, nor does he wait for
someone to encourage him before he acts. Neither does a dog hesitate when he
sees some wild animal. So, Epictetus muses, if he has the resources of a good
man, why should he wait for someone else to equip him for his own proper work
(4.8.41)? One might wonder whether Epictetus’s belief is overly optimistic that
such self-awareness is innate in us.
Birds display several traits and dispositions that Epictetus praises and
urges his students to emulate. He teaches his students that they have a radical
choice to make about how to live. They must choose either to concentrate on
their “internals” and discipline themselves to perfect their rationality into virtue
regardless of what happens, or to pursue “externals” and fully embrace slavish
dependence on them as a consequence. These two types of lives are illustrated
by two types of cocks.
For when you subject what is your own to externals, submit

to slavery from then on, and do not be dragged back and
forth and at one time willing to be a slave, at another not
willing, but simply and with the whole of your mind be
either this or that, either free or slave, either educated or
uneducated, either a noble cock47 or a lowborn one,48 either
endure being beaten until you die, or surrender at once. May
you not receive many blows and yet submit in the end.49
Why the harsh dichotomy? Epictetus constructs a kind of hypothetical

imperative: If you want to be free, a real human being, then serious consequences
follow. He is also reiterating his point about human elitism: that only a few will
excel in virtue and prevail as Stoics. Only some cocks win their fights, some dogs
track better than others, few horses are exceedingly swift, only one bull rules
each herd, and so on. Epictetus recognizes that the willingness to fight to the
death is found only in the rarest, most stalwart cocks. He challenges his students
once and for all to commit to being Stoics, or to submit to being slaves, but not
to waffle.
47 The Greek is gennaios alektruōn. Robin Hard, Epictetus: The Discourses, 80, renders
it “a fighting-cock of the true blood”; Oldfather , 227, “a spirited fighting cock”.
48 Cf. Plato, Theaetetus 164c: “We appear to be behaving like a base-born fighting-
cock, jumping away off the theory, and crowing before we have the victory over it”.
49 2.2.12–13. Cf. 4.1.124: “Just as you do not say that the victorious cock, even if cut
up, does badly, but rather the one defeated without a blow. Nor do you call a dog
happy when he is neither hunting nor toiling, but when you see him sweating, in
pain, gasping from the chase.”

IV. Nanimal Interlocutors and Paragons of Freedom
Epictetus displays noteworthy pedagogical creativity in his protreptic
use of Nanimals when he enters into the mind of a Nanimal to instruct his
imaginary interlocutor. Consider this technique at work as a clever means of
articulating the standard of infra-specific excellence.
‘I am better than you, for my father is of consular rank.’ Another

says, ‘I have been a tribune, and you have not.’ If we were
horses, would you say: ‘My sire was swifter than yours,’ or,
‘I have plenty of barley and fodder,’50 or, ‘I have pretty neck-
trappings’? What then, if, when you were talking like this, I
said, ‘Granted all that, let’s run a race’? Come now, is there
nothing in the case of a human comparable to a race in
the case of a horse, by which the worse and the better
50 In a related and conceptually complex passage, Epictetus likens the multitude’s

obsession with externals to cattle’s exclusive interest in their fodder:
Our situation is like that at a fair. Cattle and oxen are brought
there to be sold, and the majority of people are buyers or sellers;
but there are a few who come only to behold the fair, see how it
goes and why and who set it up and for what purpose. So it is
too in this fair of this world; some, like cattle, busy themselves
with nothing but fodder; for as to all you who concern
yourselves with possessions and lands and slaves and some
public office or another, these things are nothing but fodder.
Few are the people who attend the fair because they are fond
of the spectacle. ‘What, then, is the cosmos?’ they ask, ‘who
governs it? No one? And how is it possible, when neither a city
nor a house can remain even a short time without someone
to govern and take care of it, that this great and fine structure
should be kept in such an orderly state by accident and chance?
There is, therefore, one who governs it. What sort of a being is
this governor and how does he govern? And what are we, who
have been created by him, and created for what task? Do we
have some connection and relation with him or none?’ This
is the way these few are affected; and from then on they have
leisure for this one thing only, to study the fair before they
depart. With what result? They are laughed at by the multitude,
as the spectators too are laughed at by the traders; and if the
cattle had any understanding, they would laugh at those who
admire anything but the fodder. [2.14.23–29]

will be known? Isn’t there such a thing as self-respect,
trustworthiness, justice? Prove yourself superior in these
points in order to be superior as a human being.51
By assuming the horse’s perspective, Epictetus strips away all accouterments

irrelevant to equine excellence. Notice that he makes his philosophical point about
the standard of infra-specific excellence neither from the holistic perspective of
providential nature, nor from the usual anthropocentric perspective, but rather
from the perspective of the particular Nanimal itself. This rhetorical technique
of prosōpopeia is not employed in the Nanimal examples of the other imperial
Stoics, so Epictetus’s use of this Aesopic device marks a significant innovation
in this topos. In this example, Epictetus contends that, despite lacking reason,
horses know their distinctive excellences, just as asses do. Consequently, for his
students to recognize and live in accordance with their human excellences ought
to be no more difficult than for colts to learn how to run. Unfortunately, the vast
majority of people fail to live virtuously, while virtually all colts learn to run.
Epictetus follows other Stoics in holding that Nanimals lack logos, are
inferior to human beings, and are providential gifts for us to enjoy. This is why
it is remarkable that at the same time he glorifies certain Nanimals as paragons
of freedom. For Epictetus, the freedom that matters is neither the unrestrained
exercise of political rights or privileges nor power over one’s physical
surroundings, but rather the power to be free from exploitation, coercion,
dependency on people or possessions, and twists of fortune. Epictetus’s aim as
a Stoic teacher is to train his students to achieve freedom of the mind rather
than to escape the legal institution of slavery, or, much less, to abolish it.52
This freedom of the prohairesis is the supreme goal of Epictetus’s philosophy.53
Therefore, he can offer no higher praise than to declare that lions,54 birds, and
fishes are truly free because they prefer death to captivity, and to glorify them as
moral exemplars for his pupils to model themselves after. He drives home this
lesson by again using the rhetorical technique of prosōpopeia.
Consider now how we apply the concept of freedom with

respect to animals. People rear lions as tame animals in
51 3.14.11–14. Cf. Oldfather frag. 18 (Schweighäuser frag. 16; Stob. iii 4, 92).
52 See C. E. Manning, “Stoicism and Slavery in the Roman Empire”.
53 For discussions of Epictetus on freedom see scattered remarks in A. A. Long,
Epictetus, and Susanne Bobzien, Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy,
330–357. For an extended study see J. C. Gretenkord, Der Freiheitsbegriff Epiktets.
54 Note Epictetus’s comment that the shipwrecked Odysseus “begged” for food like a
mountain-bred lion (3.26.33). When your ship wrecks and you’re washed ashore
naked and hungry, a bashful plea for food would be as silly for a model of Stoic
conduct like Odysseus as it would be unimaginable for a bold lion.

cages, and feed them, and some even take them around with
them. And yet who will call such a lion free? Is it not true
that the more softly he lives, the more slavishly he lives? And
what lion, were he to acquire sense and reason [aisthēsin
kai logismon], would wish to be one of those lions? Come,
and the birds, when captured and brought up in cages, what
do they suffer in seeking to escape? Some of them starve
themselves to death rather than endure such a life; while
even those that survive barely do so, and waste away, and
escape the instant they find any opening. Such is their desire
for physical freedom, and to be independent [autonoma]
and free of restraint. And what evil is it for you to be here
in a cage? — ‘What a thing to ask! I was born to fly where I
please, to live in the open air, to sing when I please. You rob
me of all this, and ask, “What evil is it for you?”’ Therefore
we shall call free only those animals which are unwilling
to submit to captivity, but escape by dying as soon as they
are captured. So too Diogenes says somewhere that the one
sure way to freedom is to die cheerfully;55 and to the Persian
king he writes, ‘You cannot enslave the city of the Athenians
any more than you can enslave fishes.’ ‘How so? Shall I not
catch them?’ ‘If you do catch them,’ says he, ‘they will leave
you immediately, and escape like fish. For if you catch a
fish, it dies.’56
Epictetus recognizes that to tame a lion,57 to strip it of its wildness, independence,

and physical liberty, is to ruin it by making it soft, to corrupt its proud, ferocious,
awesome leonine nature by making it dependent on its human master and
thereby enslaving it. A lion degraded in this way is a very sorry specimen, and
no lion who acquired sense and reason would want to suffer such victimization.
Though he certainly appears to pity lions robbed of their freedom in this
way, Epictetus stops short of judging it wrong—indeed, judging it contrary to
55 Epictetus accepts the usual Stoic view that under some circumstances suicide is
permissible, and under other circumstances it can even be mandatory.
56 4.1.24–31. For a brief discussion, see Long, Epictetus, 172–175. Cf. Cicero, De
finibus v. 56: “Even the wild animals that we keep caged up for our amusement
find their captivity irksome […] they miss their natural birthright of free and
untrammeled movement” (457).
57 When, at Disc. 4.5.37, Epictetus likens himself and his students to lions when they
roar out Stoic doctrines in the classroom, but (mere) foxes when skulking through
their lives outside the classroom, he treats all lions as interchangeable tokens of a
fearless type.

nature—to tame, and thereby to enslave, a lion. If it is contrary to the nature of a
lion to be held captive, tamed, and domesticated into a servile pet, then wouldn’t
it be a failure to live in agreement with nature for a human being to subject a
lion to such treatment? Since Epictetus clings to the orthodox Stoic view that all
Nanimals are gifts of nature to us that we are entitled to use (exploit) however
we wish, his pity for the tamed lion does not provoke the question of whether
some ways of interacting with Nanimals are contrary to our living in agreement
with nature.
Pity for tamed lions who are made slavish is paired with admiration
for those birds whose love of physical freedom and independence is so strong
that they choose to starve themselves to death in order to escape life in captivity.
Epictetus’s admiration is expressed neither for providential nature in general
nor for freedom-loving caged birds as replaceable instantiations of that cosmic
providence. He remarks that rather than endure life permanently imprisoned
in cages, birds will starve themselves. Some will escape the moment they find
any opening, while the others, presumably unable to find an escape route, will
starve themselves to death. But would it be incorrect to describe the latter birds
as choosing death by starvation instead of life in captivity? Epictetus admires
the strength of their desire for physical freedom and a life of independence
and freedom of restraint. But if these birds are to serve as positive models for
his human students, then the birds would have to have the faculty of volition
(prohairesis) in order to choose one course of action (death by starvation) over
another (life in captivity).
In having the caged bird decry its imprisonment, Epictetus again
employs the rare technique of prosōpopeia in a poignant animal example.
Dialogue is integral to Epictetus’s philosophical method in the Discourses, but
naturally his interlocutors, whether imagined or real, are nearly always human
beings. In this extraordinary text, however, Epictetus imaginatively enacts an
elenchus with, ironically enough, a speechless (alogon) Nanimal, a caged bird.
The captive bird directly and forcefully declares its ardor for physical freedom,
the ability to fly wherever it wants to, live in the open air, and sing when it wants
to. Thus, this use of prosōpopeia by Epictetus helps his students cathect both the
imprisoned bird and the idea of freedom. If Epictetus can imagine what a caged
bird would think about being robbed of its liberty, then why doesn’t he go ahead
and ascribe to such a bird some nonnegligible degree of rationality (logos) and
mentality? In this fascinating text, Epictetus’s ability and didactic desire to enter
the minds of a tamed lion and a caged bird strains against the orthodox Stoic
doctrine that Nanimals lack logos.
From the examples of the tamed lions and the caged birds, Epictetus
draws the lesson that only those Nanimals who are unwilling to submit to
captivity, but escape by dying as soon as they are captured, should be called free.
Epictetus notes that as soon as a fish is caught (removed from the water), it dies.
In this way, fish escape being enslaved and serve as role models for the Athenians.

“Live free or die” is the motto fish teach Epictetus’s students. Therefore, the lesson
learned from caged birds and caught fish in this text is that, as Diogenes knew,58
any captivity we humans experience is revocable, because we can always free
ourselves by choosing to die cheerfully. Circumstances in life can never trap
us, since our mortality always furnishes us an escape route—“a sure way to
freedom”, as Diogenes says. Therefore, this insight of the Cynic is that suicide is
a cheerful option, according to Epictetus. Death is the final free act available to
us all. Thus, the mortality we share with Nanimals is not a curse, but a boon that
underscores our freedom and theirs.
Notice that these examples of lions, birds, and fishes relate the physical
liberty to move and live without interference to the kind of freedom he upholds
for his students, namely, freedom of the prohairesis, freedom from enslaving
desires, and peace of mind. Avian freedom is the ability to fly, to live, and to
sing wherever and whenever one likes. Human freedom, in contrast, cannot
be stolen by incarcerating the body. Epictetus’s conception of human freedom
includes the ability to live happily in agreement with nature (that is, to live
virtuously) anywhere and everywhere. Consequently, he scolds his students
for slavishly whining and pining for familiar persons and places by pointing to
crows and ravens.
58 See A. A. Long, “The Socratic Tradition: Diogenes, Crates, and Hellenistic

Ethics”, 39:
Diogenes would invoke animal behavior, which became a
favorite device for illustrating the superiority of the natural to
the conventional. The notion that humans have something to
learn from animals does not imply, as has been supposed, that
Diogenes wished to reduce human nature to that of beasts.
[…] At the same time, he evidently insisted that human beings
are animals, and as such share many properties with beasts.
Civilized and conventional humanity, he probably reasoned,
has lost sight of this fact. Animals, living in their natural way,
fend effectively for their needs and have no needs that they
cannot fulfill. They are trained by nature, as it were. But human
nature, under current living conditions, is not equipped without
training to live a comparably satisfying life. Human nature,
which is essentially rational, demands rigorous training in order
to attain the self-sufficiency that is the appropriate condition of
every animal.
In the same volume see also 8 and 24.

And now you sit crying because you do not see the same
persons, nor live in the same place.59 Indeed, you deserve
to be so affected, and thus to become more wretched than
ravens or crows, which, without groaning or longing for their
former home, can fly where they will, relocate their nests,
and cross the seas. — ‘Yes, but they are affected that way
because they are non-rational beings.’ — Was reason, then,
given us by the gods for misfortune and unhappiness, so that
we may live in misery and mourning? Or should everyone
be immortal and never leave home and stay rooted in the
ground like plants? [3.24.6]
Humans are bipeds naturally impelled to move about. Therefore, Epictetus

reasons, being emotionally attached to any one locale is plantlike. To bemoan
one’s human mobility (or mortality) is thus irrational, contrary to our nature,
and pathological. Humans are born to be happily free. Human freedom,
Epictetus says, includes the ability to move about and be happy anywhere. This
is the vital lesson we learn from ravens and crows. So he scolds his students for
slavishly whining and pining for familiar persons and places. Crows and ravens
are free of homesickness, so his students can and ought to train themselves to
be free of it too. His interlocutor tries to dismiss the fact that ravens and crows
relocate their nests without suffering by appealing to their lack of rationality, but
Epictetus rejects this. If these birds, despite being nonrational, are not unhappy
moving from place to place, then he reasons that it must be possible for human
beings, with the superior power of rationality, to be happy living anywhere.
The gods did not give us reason to make us miserable, but to enable us to live
happily. Yet Epictetus’s students are in misery and mourning. Therefore, this
text reveals Epictetus to be an animalitarian about ravens and crows. His
students who groan and long for their former homes are more wretched—make
themselves more wretched—than these birds. Ravens and crows are happier
than homesick humans.
V. Conclusion
I have argued that the traits and habits of Nanimals are indispensable
tools for Epictetus’s normative instruction. In insisting that human beings
are the only rational animals, and that rationality is a power superior to the
powers of all other animals, Epictetus in principle believes that we can be
happier and more fortunate than nonrational beasts. In this respect, he is not
an animalitarian. However, insofar as we often fail to use our reason rightly, we
make ourselves more wretched and sorrier than Nanimals who effortlessly live
59 Cf. 4.4.37–38, where Epictetus compares missing the beauty of Athens to acting
like a burdened donkey.

in agreement with nature. Therefore, people who live miserably rather than die
cheerfully (as birds and fish do) and people who are homesick (unlike crows
and ravens) prompt Epictetus to hold an animalitarian position. Despite the
conventional Stoic view that Nanimals cannot have virtues because they lack
logos, Epictetus relies on numerous instances of the traits, habits, and behaviors
of various kinds of Nanimals to illustrate vices for his students to avoid. But
does Epictetus believe that Nanimals have vices? He clearly holds that various
traits and habits of different kinds of Nanimals count as vices when those traits
and habits are present in human beings. For a human being to act like a savage
wolf, a filthy pig, or a heedless sheep is an aberration of human reason, and so a
human vice. But is it a vice for a wolf to act like (be) an aggressive predator? Is
it a vice for a pig routinely to wallow in mud? Sometimes Epictetus’s eagerness
to uphold Nanimal traits and habits as negative examples for his students to
avoid push him into criticisms of the Nanimals themselves. Those Nanimal
behaviors furthest from civilized, virtuous human behavior sometimes strike
him not as vicious just for human beings, but as vicious—savage, repulsive,
disgusting, and ugly. On the other hand, Epictetus also extols certain traits,
habits, and behaviors of select Nanimals as virtues for his students to pursue.
Consequently, Epictetus’s philosophical zoology identifies beastly virtues and
brutish vices so as to explicate and locate humane virtues and inhuman vices.
We can choose to be filthy pigs, bloodthirsty pups, foolish apes, frivolous quails,
asocial flies, depraved worms, faithless, treacherous wolves, spineless, heedless,
gluttonous sheep, rascally foxes, savage lions, or stubborn asses. The case of
Medea demonstrates that with the power of rational choice, human beings are
capable of deforming themselves into inhuman monsters, destroying their very
humanity, and becoming vipers. With that same power of rational choice, on
the other hand, human beings can instead affirm the divine part of their nature
and train themselves to be invincible asses, faithfully parenting wolves, quietly
self-sufficient and self-nourishing sheep, sovereign queen bees, protective bulls,
trusty guard dogs, stalwart fighting cocks, self-confident racehorses, untamable
lions, unenslavable birds, cheerfully dying fishes, and ubiquitously content
ravens and crows.
Since Epictetus believes that various Nanimals represent virtuous role
models or normative exemplars manifestly relevant to our own moral progress,
what would he think of our contemporary treatment of Nanimals? What would
Epictetus the moralist say about the incredible scale of our factory farming of
chickens, turkeys, pigs, and cows? How would he evaluate the vast scale of the
biomedical experimentation and vivisection we perform on mice, rats, rabbits,
cats, dogs, and monkeys? What would he opine about the hundreds of species
and millions of individual marine animals annually killed and discarded, not
eaten, as bycatch? What would Epictetus think of the hundreds of millions of
Nanimals killed in recreational hunting each year? Would he be troubled by the
millions of dogs and cats euthanized every year? Would Epictetus be bothered by

the hundreds of millions of birds that die yearly as a result of what we build, how
we travel, how we produce our food and energy, and how we entertain ourselves?
I imagine that Epictetus would probably be quite ambivalent about how casually,
how thoughtlessly, how indifferently human beings exterminate these unlucky
Nanimals today. On the one hand, he may reassert that they are gifted to us by
the Providence of Zeus to serve us, that they are not our equals, and that they
are not of primary importance. On the other hand, if Epictetus were to learn
Darwinism and be educated in evolutionary biology,60 he might well reconsider
our close kinship with all animals. Would he abandon his view that no Nanimals
have rationality or intelligence61 and consequently change his ethical judgments
about them? Would Epictetus judge that nothing that we do to Nanimals today
is wrong? One could object that these sorts of questions serve merely to invite
empty speculation. So, if it turns out that we cannot answer these questions with
confidence, then how relevant are Epictetus’s remarks about Nanimals to our
philosophical concerns today?
I suggest that Epictetus’s account of vices and virtues in both Nanimals
and human beings remains relevant because human beings are not the only
animals that strive to achieve their good. One instructive way to establish the set
of traits constitutive of an excellent human being—those qualities that make it
a fine specimen of Homo sapiens—is first to identify the set of traits that make
any animal an excellent specimen of its kind. Epictetus recognized that specifying
and illustrating human vices and virtues can be facilitated by identifying both
the repulsive and the admirable traits of various Nanimals. Some traits, habits,
and behaviors of Nanimals conform to nature’s norms for the flourishing of
their species, but conflict with nature’s norms for us, and so these traits, habits,
and behaviors count as vices for us. Our humane virtues steer us away from
these beastly vices. Yet other traits, habits, and behaviors of Nanimals stir our
admiration, because we recognize that we lack them but need them to live well.
Such animal virtues inspire us, or even amaze us, and call for our emulation.
Epictetus’s ability to see virtues in various Nanimals challenges us to look for still
more virtues in other Nanimals and to strive to be more thoughtful than he was
in forming our ethical judgments about them.
Finally, Epictetus’s perspectives on Nanimals also resonate with
those of an unlikely pair of modern-day thinkers, one an ecologist-poet, the
other a philosopher. The ecologist-poet is the late Paul Shepard (1925–1996).
60 For an argument that had Stoicism survived as a continuous school of philosophy

to the present day, contemporary stoics would have long ago abandoned their
theology, their geocentric model of the universe, and their anthropocentrism,
embraced the best, current theories of the sciences, and understood “living in
agreement with nature” as “living in agreement with the facts” (e.g. the post-
Darwinian fact of natural selection), see Lawrence C. Becker, A New Stoicism.
61 For a study of animal intelligence see Donald R. Griffin, Animal Minds.

Shepard, an eloquent, imaginative, and erudite environmentalist, theorized
that “the human species emerged enacting, dreaming, and thinking animals and
cannot be fully itself without them”.62 Shepard contended that, in the human
imagination, the resolution of all oppositions of nature and culture, body and
spirit, god and nature, human and animal, are incarnate in animals (324). This
contention echoes Epictetus’s conviction that virtue and vice, good and evil, are
identified and vividly illustrated in the canny juxtaposition of the characteristic
traits, habits, and ways of life of all animals, human and nonhuman. Though
the mythic sensibilities of Shepard are a far cry from the Stoic worldview, the
prominent role of Nanimals in Epictetus’s moral pedagogy resonates with texts
like this:
Midway between ourselves and the colossal events in the

sky, the great beasts become interlocutors, whose lives sift
the forces of wind and water and fire, seeming to say that
all such phenomena ultimately are purposeful and ongoing
expressions of a meaningful world. The big animals are
momentary embodiments of the atomic vitality that
energizes nature itself. [The Others, 330]
As we’ve seen, some of Epictetus’s beasts become actual interlocutors

in his Discourses and bespeak a world steered by cosmic reason and rich in
meaning. Hence, Epictetus and Shepard seem to share the view that Nanimals,
in all their many forms, profoundly shape what human beings are and what we
ought to be. Both would agree that Nanimals dramatically and concretely enact
what it means “to live in agreement with nature”.
The philosopher congenial to another aspect of Epictetus’s zoology
is Cora Diamond. Diamond has remarked on “a sense of astonishment and
incomprehension that there should be beings [animals] so like us, so unlike
us, so astonishingly capable of being companions of ours and so unfathomably
distant”.63 Epictetus’s reflections on the caged bird, the tamed lion, the captured
fish, and the homeless crows and ravens reveal a sense of companionship with
these wild animals. Yet his inability to recognize that domesticated animals are
at least as capable of being companions of ours underscores a sharp dichotomy
in his thought between wild and domesticated animals. The latter, he thinks,
have a purpose instilled in them by nature: their purpose is to serve us. As our
servants (slaves), they cannot possibly be our companions, from his perspective.
Yet insofar as Epictetus can empathize with the captive lion forced into
domestication, the caged bird robbed of its freedom, and the caught fish, he can
see them as fellow captives of circumstance, fellow physically embodied beings,
62 The Others: How Animals Made Us Human, 4.

63 Cora Diamond, “The Difficulty of Reality and the Difficulty of Philosophy”, 61.

fellow sufferers, and fellow mortals.64 One lesson we might draw from Epictetus’s
treatment of the virtues and vices of animals is that he failed to see domesticated
animals as capable of being companions of ours. Can we eat beings who we see
are capable of being companions of ours? Diamond observes:
A sense of its being impossible that we should go and eat

them may go with feeling how powerfully strange it is that
they and we should share as much as we do, and yet also not
share; that they should be capable of incomparable beauty
and delicacy and terrible ferocity; that some among them
should be so mind-bogglingly weird or repulsive in their
forms or in their lives. [“The Difficulty of Reality”, 61]
Epictetus emphasizes both what we share with the other animals—a

bodily nature, mortality, and various traits—and what we don’t share with
them—the divine nature of reason and a sense of shame. Moreover, he was
certainly blind neither to the beauty of dogs, horses, and nightingales, nor to
the ferocity of wolves and lions. Epictetus insisted that the beauty of any animal
consists in the presence of that animal’s aretē (excellence/virtue) (Disc. 3.1). This
aretē is displayed when an animal lives in agreement with its nature. The Stoics
believed that living in agreement with nature is the goal of all living things. We
today should pause to consider whether our bogglingly vast exploitation, terribly
casual endangerment, and repulsively wholesale destruction of Nanimals are
anywhere near ways of living in agreement with nature.
64 Recall that Epictetus observes that we share both a bodily nature and mortality
with the other animals at Disc. 1.3.3.

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INDEX
A in, 213; shared stages with

Academics: on impressions, 168 human beings, 119; survival
Accordance Requirement, 169, functions of, 30; tendency
184–192 to evaluate experience
Actions: consequences of, 28; desiring subjectively, 120n41; virtues
different results from, 51; and vices, 207–236
guidance across individuals Animals, non-human. See Nanimals
and circumstances, 142; Annas, Julia, 17n6, 131, 143n38
moral, 146; to please others, Antisthenes: on examination of terms,
197–205; rational, 36; 105n2
reasons for, 55; role-fulfilling, Apollophanes, 172n22
17; virtuous, 63 Apology (Plato), 15
Adorno, Theodor, 137n19 Aquinas, Thomas, 89n2; on patience,
Adversity, 69 95, 95n9, 96
Agathon, 57 Argumentation, 122n46
Agency: expression of, 17, 36; rational Aristo, 62, 185n64
moral, 17 Aristotle, 17n6, 109n9, 119n39, 146,
Agents: divinely given role for, 15; 210; argument that sleep
perfect, 58n8; relation to cannot constitute happiness,
Zeus’s actions, 60n14; taking 32; belief in reason, 11;
matters seriously, 55; treating function argument of, 30n33;
valuable as good, 56n4 on Heracles, 33; on prudence,
Aikin, Scott, 13, 197–205 132; views of good temper,
Alcibiades, 25n22 90n5; views on anger, 94n8;
Ambition, 198 on virtue, 132n4; withdrawal
Anger: as contrary to virtue, 97; from Athens, 29n30
contrast with patience, 93; Arrian, 122, 151, 151n3, 169
courage and, 93–94; defining, Artificial Terminology Charge
93, 94n8; delay as cure for, (against Stoic proposal), 56,
98; problems with, 93; risks 57–61, 60; seen as misguided,
of, 93, 94, 101; as temporary 61
departure from reason, 98; Askesis: allows ideas to shine forth, 46;
unreliability of, 93 amount of virtue produced
Animals. See also Nanimals: abilities through, 49; defining, 12, 41,
distinctive to species, 218; 43, 52; deployment of ideas
capacities of, 31n34; essential to compel volition through,
faculties of, 30; proper 49; ethical knowledge and,
functions of, 114n23; roles 50; ethics and, 41; Foucault
of, 31n34; sense-impressions on, 41–52; freedom and, 41;
241
free will and, 42; “golden 107n6, 153, 155, 158, 160,
age” of, 41; as gradual 161, 214n21
training for freedom, 43; Boyarin, Daniel, 160
habits and training in, 49, Brennan, Tad, 177n43
50; impersonal nature of, 51; Brooke, Christopher, 11
performing, 45; practices of, Buddhism: suffering in, 100
41; production of conviction Burdens: avoidance of, 92n6;
in oneself and, 44; as self constitutive, 92; of one’s
adjusting the self, 43; as imperfections, 98, 99;
technique of selection/ patience and, 92, 93;
deployment of living ideas, responding to, 93
46; use of counter-images
and, 47 C
Assent: infallibility in, 124; Callan, Eamonn, 89n1, 90, 99n16
withholding, 124 Capacities: of humans and animals,
Augustine, 137, 137n22 30n32; obligations to realize,
Autonomy, 62; defining, 135n13; 30; observations about,
exercise of, 143n37; freedom 31; realization through
and, 137; Kant on, 139; lack preferred externals, 31, 34;
of which enables, 146; self- to reason, 21; special, 31; for
determination and, 156n6; understanding, 30, 30n32
struggles with desires and, Care of the Self (Foucault), 41, 46n12,
139; suicide and, 143n37 50n20, 50n21
Aversion, 122 Cassius Longinus, 211
Caston, Victor, 112n17
B Categorical imperative: acting on
Barnes, Jonathan, 33n39 state of moral perfection
Bates, Carrie, 13, 151–162 yet to come, 143; circle of
Baumeister, Roy, 202n6 familiarities and, 13, 140–
Behavior: general evasion-type, 188; 144; deriving various duties
ideas as causes of, 47, 49; from, 140; as given universal,
production and technical 146; provision of right
adjustment of, 50; sexual, guidance and, 141; status of
160 mankind and, 140–144
Being(s): continuously individuated, Causal Requirement, 169, 174
118; differentiated, 115; Change: forced by askesis, 50; in
genera of, 115, 115n27, habits
116; interaction with Christianity: early, 10; Epictetus’s
environment by, 125; strata teachings and, 10
of, 116; universal, 126 Chrysippus, 45, 60, 109n9,
Bénatouïl, Thomas, 131, 142n34 185n64, 187, 187n70; on
Bobzien, Susanne, 42 appropriation, 177; on
Bonhöffer, Adolf, 16, 17, 80n4, 80n6, becoming The Sage, 189n75;

on evaluating indifferents, Conversation: rules of, 199, 202, 203
188, 188n72; on examination Conversion: morality and, 155–157
of terms, 105n2; on goods Cooper, John, 56n4, 60n14
and bads, 177; on innate Cosmogony: existing world in
preconceptions, 80; on man sequence of recurring
as citizen of the universe, generative stages, 115n26
114n24; as nativist, 80n4; Cosmopolitanism, 20, 101
on strata of being, 116; use Crivelli, Paulo, 121n43
of conditional universal Cullyer, Helen, 33n41
generalizations, 112n17 Cynics, 224; lack of time for family,
Cicero, 71n30, 133, 178n49, 198n4; 24, 25; need for leisure to
account of four personae, serve public, 24; public
20n12; concept of spheres of obligations of, 27n27;
familiarity, 136; on stations scandalous behavior of,
in life, 117n32 27n26
Circle of familiarities: categorical
imperative and, 13, 140–144; D
guidance by as an individual Darwin, Charles, 209, 234
achievement, 146; inclusion Davidson, Christopher, 12, 41–52
within larger circle of the De Lacy, Phillip, 117n31
universe, 142; status of Depression, 71
mankind and, 140–144 Despair: as desire to be rid of oneself,
Citizens(hip): cosmic, 18, 19n8, 20, 98n14
23; dual, 23; Epictetus’s Detachment, 99–102; desirability of,
understanding of, 19; of 100; as exercise in prudence,
the polis, 19; political, 20; 101; passivity and, 101;
profession of, 19; world, 144, psychological possibility, 100
145 Diamond, Cora, 235, 236
Clark, Kelly James, 154 Diatribes, 151n3
Cleanliness, 110; differentiating Diogenes, 25, 25n21, 29n31, 36,
humans from nonhumans, 45n11, 133, 133n7, 136, 178,
218, 220 197, 212n18, 232n58
Cleanthes, 25, 25n21, 45; on Discourses (Epictetus), 9, 43; account
examination of terms, 105n2 of roles in, 29, 35; applied
Cognition: episteme as system of, 12; ethics in, 126; art of living
of general ethical truths, 12 in, 78; askesis and, 43;
Community: civic, 20, 21; cosmic, 19, comprehensive impressions
21; layers in, 21 in, 124; eyesight analogy
Conflict: role, 20n11 in, 34; fundamental Stoic
Conscience: Stoic examination of, 51 postulates in, 121; layers
Constitution: individual, 117n32; of roles in, 27; on man
particular, 117n32 as citizen of the universe,
Contemplation: loved by man, 108n8 114n24; moral purpose in,
243
44; name analysis in, 106, of station in life, 15; analysis
106n4; observance of names of names by, 113–126,
in, 105; Socratic notion 113n21; on animal virtues
of station in life in, 15; and beastly vices, 207–236;
treatment of exemplary roles anthropocentric view of
in, 31; on universal role as animals, 215; assent and,
human beings in, 17; use of 124; attitude toward women,
term “human being”, 108 158–162; beginning as slave,
Discrimination Requirement, 169 9; believes reason separates
Dobbin, Robert, 187, 105n2, 108, human from nonhuman
117n32, 120n41, 122n50, animals, 215; chastising of
219n32, 223n44 commonplace name-use by,
Duty: good will and, 139n27; Kantian 106; circle of familiarities and,
concept of, 139n26, 139n27; 140–144; on comprehensive
proper, 153 impressions, 105–128;
Dyson, Henry, 80n4 conception of knowledge,
77; concept of spheres
E of familiarity, 136; on
Eidenai: of general truths, 79; consecutive cognitive states,
knowledge of propositions, 119; contradictory principles
78 on equal gender status, 158–
Eklepsis, 119 162; on cosmopolitanism,
Encheiridion (Epictetus), 9, 197–205; 20; countercultural stance
on acceptance of happening on sex and identity, 161;
of events, 100; avoidance deflation of roles in, 15–36;
of frustration, 101; desiring things not up to
contradictions in, 13; need us, 91, 157, 161; differences/
to delay pursuit of pleasure similarities to Kant, 13,
in, 98n12; objectives of 131–147; distinguishing what
pleasing others in, 197; is/is not in one’s control and,
power over what others want, 10, 11, 23, 24; on division
153; relations with others between wise and foolish
and, 198–205; resistance people, 135; educational
against desires in, 135n13; principles of, 156–157;
responsibility for divinely elements of logos of, 121n43;
given roles, 11; roles in, employment of standards
20n12; what is/is not in one’s by (preconceptions), 83;
control and, 10; women in, Encheiridion, 197–205; on
158 episteme of life, 77–86;
Endymion, 32, 33n37, 34 freedom and, 136; infra-
Engel, David, 160 specific excellence and,
Epictetus: account of roles, 20n12; 217, 220, 227, 228; as
adoption of Socratic notion kind of evangelist, 204;

on meaning of names, against desires arising from
105–128; metaphors expectation of pleasure, 97,
involving athletics, 49; moral 98
apprehensive impressions Epictetus (beliefs): on askesis and,
and, 165–192; moral 41–52; classification system
epistemology of, 77–86; on for roles, 16; concern for
moral impressions, 173–192; one another, 10; of duties,
observations about capacities, 117n32; freedom, 136;
31; operationalization of fulfillment of assigned roles
self-detachment by, 142; and, 16; gender, 13; in main
on patience, 89; from tenets of Stoic epistemology:
perspective of Foucault, 77-86; not rushed or harsh
12; phantasia and, 48; judgment of others, 111n14;
praises Heracles, 33; in open door policy, 92n6;
preconceptions, 171; on personal responsibility, 10;
rationality/nonrationality on proper functions of plants
of all animals, 213; and animals, 114n23; on
recognized characteristics providential design, 32; role
of philosophers, 110; of logic, 121n43; uselessness
relevance to anxieties of of some inquiries, 81, 82;
contemporary life, 11; on virtue, 45; what is up to us or
rules of conversation, 199, not, 67n26, 68, 157, 161, 197
202, 203; scorn for pursuit Epicureanism, 217n30
of prestige by, 107n6; on Epicurus, 119n39, 144n41; belief in
secondary sex characteristics, reason, 11
109; on self-examination, Episteme: beliefs composed of assents
50n21; self-identity in, to apprehensive impressions,
151–162; shows students how 172; composition of
to acquire moral knowledge, cognitions, 12, 86; of life,
77; significance of animals 77–79; making one a master
in Stoicism of, 207–236; and, 78; possession of, 79;
on Socrates, 23, 27n26; 28; as standard Stoic view of
submission of individual knowledge, 77
action to “law check,” 142; Epistle of James, 10
on suicide, 143n37; support Equivocation Charge (against Stoic
assigned to the will by, 135; proposal), 59n11
as system of cognition, Ethics: askesis in, 41; Hellenistic,
12; theory of ideas and, 50n21; practices of the self
45n10; understanding of and, 41; pursuit of good
citizenship, 19; use of animal and, 48; rational valuing
virtues/vices to educate considered starting point of,
students, 207–236; use of 65; Stoic, 12, 57, 131; taking
phantasia, 124, 125; warns same things seriously/not
245
seriously, 55–73; training in, 112n17, 117n32, 166n6
49; truth and, 12; virtue, 154 Freedom: as ability to employ
Ethos: transformation of logos into, 46 prohairesis, 153; alienation
Eudaimonia: achieved through of, 41; autonomy and, 137;
prohairesis, 153; condition in of choice, 138n23; current
which person lives optimally, understandings of, 41, 42;
151; as gendered, 152 determination and, 43;
Eurystheus, 32n36, 33n37, 34 dignity of man in, 13; from
Evils, 44, 138; moral, 144; physical, force of inclination, 138;
144; unavoidable existence free will and, 41; from
of, 145 hindrance, 78; importance of,
Experience: “feelings” as important 9; impossibility of assenting
element of, 51; human, 27; and, 49; inalienable ethical,
moral, 139 153; as independence
from force of inclinations,
F 137, 140; as instrument of
Faculties: of animals and humans, repression, 137n19; Kant
30; of aversion, 122; of on, 13; nobility of, 78;
being moved, 119n40; of possibility of independence
choice, 122; conditions for from external constraints
realization of, 30; of desire, and, 136; prohairesis and,
122; of expression, 122n46; 136; as pure indeterminacy,
of moral choice, 152; need 43; reconsideration of
for exercising of, 30; for fundamentals of, 42; relation
understanding, 30 to desire and truth, 42;
Fisher, Jeffrey, 12, 77–86 self-identity and, 153–154;
Flavius Arrian, 9 of things under our control,
Foer, Jonathan Safran, 209n13 10; through determination,
Forschner, Maximilian, 131 41–52; of will, 137n22
Fortitude, 99–102 Free will: askesis and, 42; challenges
Foucault, Michel: on askesis to, 41, 49; contemporary
in Epictetus, 41–52; notions of, 42; ethical
current understanding knowledge and, 50; forced,
of freedom and, 12; on 44; incompatibility of Stoic
daily examination of one’s volition and, 49; skepticism
actions, 50; defining logos, toward, 49; volition and, 44
41, 46n13; on equipping
self for unforeseen events, G
47; skeptical of concept of Galen, 50n21
free will, 49, 51; “sophistic” Garve, Christian, 134
exercises of, 46; view on Gataker, Thomas, 11
askesis, 12, 43 Gender: in category of indifferents,
Frede, Michael, 20n11, 63n20, 64n23, 160; cultural construction,

162; identity and, 157–162; shame, 215; attachment
irrelevance of difference in, to cosmos, 18; attaining
13; virtue and, 159, 161 their end, 78; attempts to
Genealogy, 42 apply preconceptions by,
Gill, Christopher, 16, 17, 17n6, 22 120; capacities of, 30n32;
God: carried within us, 10; characterized by rarionality
determination of what or citizenship as common
one should be and do and, trait, 113; as citizens of the
10; in each person, 158; world, 18, 114; in different
following, 78; human beings kinds of communities, 34;
as spectators of, 30–31; discovering duties of, 109;
identified with nature, 79; divine in, 122; Epictetus’s
obeying the will of, 21; views shaped by nonhuman
preconceptions and, 79–82; animals, 207–236; essential
as reason, 81; will of, 153 faculties of, 30; excellence
Goldman, Alvin, 169n12 and, 108; faculty of reason in,
Goods: of the body, 58; external, 58; 81; happiness as chief end of,
internal, 58 151; identification of, 156–
Gordon, Dane, 9–13 157; instinct of cleanliness
in, 218, 220; as locus of
H series of characteristics
Habit: changes in, 47; overcoming, deemed natural/necessary,
47n17 110; love for contemplation
Happiness: adversity and, 69; as by, 108n8; not born with
subjective feeling, 69 ethical conceptions, 120n41;
Harman, Elizabeth, 66n25 in polis, 28; possessing
Haussleiter, Johannes, 214n21 natural conception of good
Hedonism, 84 and bad, 120; on power
Heracleitus, 26, 27, 27n27, 29n30, 35 of understanding sense-
Heracles, 29, 31, 32, 32n36, 33n37; impressions, 214; as rational
labors of, 31, 32, 33, 33n40; agents, 117n32, 125; rational
obligations of, 33n37; praise inferences by, 119; rational
for from Epictetus, 33; self-determination as
prohairesis of, 34; specific defining feature of, 143n37;
role of, 33n41 relations with, 106; role of
The Hermeneutics of the Subject taking precedence over all
(Foucault), 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, other roles, 117n32; self-
50, 51 identity as priority for, 152;
Holism, 116 shortage of excellence in,
Holowchak, Andrew, 198n4 216; as spectators of God,
Homosexuality/heterosexuality, 109, 30–31; as subjects for logos
110, 118, 118n33 to unfold, 118; tendency
Human beings: ability to know to evaluate experience
247
subjectively, 120n41; and, 123; nonapprehensive,
term used in Discourses 183; nonperceptual, 179;
(Epictetus), 108 perceptual, 179; plausibility
Hume, David, 134n10 of, 125n57; proper use
Huparchein: apprehensive of, 123n54; rational use of,
impressions and, 166, 166n6; 125; sense, 124n55; Stoic
defining, 166n6; as “existent”, classification of, 125n57;
166n6; as object causing true/false distinctions,
impression, 167 155n5; truth of, 175;
Hutcheson, Francis, 133, 134 universal, 175; use of, 123;
Hypocrisy: awareness of, 27n26 veridical, 155
Impressions, moral apprehensive,
I 13, 165–192; Accordance
Ideas: causal force of, 47; causes of Requirement, 169, 184–192;
behavior, 47; choosing apprehensive, 165–192;
to follow, 49; compelling attributing moral predicates,
judgment or behavior, 49; 170; Causal Requirement,
determinate effects of, 49 167, 169, 174, 186–191;
Identity, 115n27; as children of God, caused by huparchein, 167;
158; connected to status, 154; causes of, 165, 173, 174;
constructed, 154, 156–157, defining, 191, 192; as
158; contingent, 156–157; descriptions and evaluations
defining, 151n2; essential, of corporeal objects, 179;
154, 156–157, 158; gender differences from nonmoral,
and, 157–162; harmonius, 175–179; Discrimination
154; markers, 155; morality Requirement, 169, 186–191;
and, 155–157; primary, 154, dual nature of, 175–179;
156–157; rationality as, 155, evaluative nature of, 176;
161; secondary, 156–157; of paradigmatic form of, 173;
the self, 151 production of “effects on
Images: reversing negative judgments us”, 166; by something
with, 48; special effects on existent, 166; as understood
soul through, 48 by Epictetus and Stoics,
Impressions: arising, 125; cognitive, 173–192
123, 123n53; comprehensive, Indifferents: equality with respect
123, 124, 125, 126; distinct to choice/avoidance, 69;
from appearances, 155n5; gender and, 160; preferred/
evaluative, 179; external, dispreffered, 185, 188;
123n54, 124n56, 125; selection/deselection of,
guaranteed representation of 61n17; unconditional, 68, 69
objects, 123n53; immediate, Intellect: nature of, 124n56
125; impulsive, 179, 181, 183; Inwood, Brad, 181n58
monitoring, 126; names Irrationality Charge (against Stoic

proposal), 56, 64–67 out of duty, 139n26; distrust
Irvine, William, 198 of knowledge as cure for evil,
138; freedom and practical
J reason merging in, 137n19;
Jackson-McCabe, Matthew, 80n4, on freedom of choice,
80n6, 120n41 138n23; on individual
Johnson, Brian Earl, 11, 15–36 development, 138–140; on
Judgment: determination of interconnection between
consequences through, 47; happiness and virtue, 131n2;
ideas compelling, 49; not on limits of knowing,
readily determined by 131–132; makes distinction
externals, 110n12; reversing between perfect and
negative, 48; suspension nonperfect state of humanity,
of, 119n40; withholding on 143n38; on moral actions,
uncertainties, 124n56 139; operationalization of
Justus Lipsius, 96n10 self-detachment by, 142;
on potential for mankinds,
K 143; rejection of Socratic
Kamtekar, Rachana, 160 method of teaching, 141n31;
Kant, Immanuel, 131–147; affinity of rejection of suicide by,
moral theory to Stoic ethics, 143n37; relation of time
131–133; on autonomy, 139; and space for, 143; reversal
awareness of a belonging to of Stoic conception of
mankind by, 135; categorical community by, 146; sees evil
imperative and, 140–144; as part of divine economy,
centrality of prohairesis to 145; sources of exposure
philosophy of, 134, 135; to Stoic ethics, 133–134;
concept of duty, 135, 139n26, support assigned to the will
139n27; concept of the will, by, 135; understanding of
136, 136n18, 137; criticism of Aristotelian prudence, 132;
Aristotle’s concept of virtue, on will ensuring possibility
132n4; defining evil, 138n23; of autonomy, 135; world
depiction of perfection by, citizenship as “intention of
144; dichotomy between nature”, 144
intelligible and empirical/ Kerferd, G.B., 157
sensual in, 139; differences/ Kierkegaard, Søren, 96, 97, 98n14
similarities to Epictetus, King, Cynthia, 10
13, 131–147; on dignity Knowledge: achieving, 168;
of man in freedom, 13; acts of volition and,
disentanglement of morality 137; of application of
and knowledge, 146; preconceptions, 83–86; of
distinction between acting applying ethical concepts,
according to duty and acting 79; attainment leading
249
to good life, 64; on basis cognitive function of
of preconceptions, 82; unified whole and, 122n50;
empty, 123n52; ethical, as faculty of choice, 122;
50, 51; instilling habit as force suffusing the
of, 50; mastery of in cosmos, 45; God as, 81;
ethics, physics, and logic, human, 122; human
59n10; moral, 134n10; not beings as instantiations
sufficient for improvement of, 117; immanent, 116;
of self, 41; perceptual, knowing itself and all other
169n12; perfected state faculties, 122; making use of
of mind and (See WKV); external impressions, 122;
of personal unconscious as manifestation of divine
self, 51; of primary identity, providence, 119; observance
156–157; production, of modes embodied by
50; of propositions, 78; individuals; ousia and, 115;
reliability of, 169n12; role as portion of divine in
in conception of will, 137; humans, 122; range of power
standard Stoic view of, 77, of, 121, 122; share in, 28;
78; as system of assents to transformation into ethos, 46;
apprehensive impressions, universal, 117, 122
168n10; of universal moral Long, Anthony A., 9, 11, 17n6, 59n11,
truths, 175 105n2, 112n16, 114n23,
Knowledge, moral: acquisition of, 77; 117n32, 123n53, 151, 153,
“art of living” and, 77, 78 156–157, 158, 159, 160,
Kupfer, Joseph, 89n1, 90, 96 198n4, 213n19, 232n58
L M
Lagrée, Jacqueline, 96n10 Malcolm, Noel, 11
Lamprocles, 25n20 Mansfeld, Jaap, 121n43
Language: evaluative, 58; of necessity, Marcus Aurelius, 11, 117n31,
47n16; ordinary usage of, 60; 133, 198; on producing
origin of, 112 counterimages of fears, 48
Lawrence, G., 33n39 Meaning: expressible in any language,
Learning: performing askesis and, 45 112; Stoic theory of, 112n16
Lenience, 94, 95 Medea, 233
Lints, Richard, 154 Memory: as external good, 60n13
Logic: importance of in lessons, 122; Menn, Stephen, 115n27
necessity of, 122n46; role and Metabasis, 119
purpose of, 121n43 Modesty, 159
Logos: description of movement Morality: beliefs relevant to,
and development of, 118, 121n43; conditional,
119; continuous unfolding 146; conventional, 155;
of, 117; emphasis on democratization of, 146;

fundamental, 155; identity of, 207, 208; humans acting
and, 155–157; Stoic, 43; like, 220, 221; hunting, 209;
superfluous imperatives and, indirect killing of, 209; as
143; theoretical accessibility interlocutors, 227–232;
of, 146; values related to, 62 irrelevance of behavior to
Musonius Rufus, 9, 26n23, 197, 211, art of living, 13; kinship to,
214n21, 220n33 207; lacking in reasoning
ability, 13; lack of worry in,
223, 224; as moral exemplars,
N 222–227; orphaned, 208;
Names: analysis of, 113–128; as paragons of freedom,
attached to individuals, 227–232; parenting by,
123; connection with 222, 223; pesticides and,
preconceptions, 106, 106n5; 209; poaching, 208; as role
conventional, 113n21; models for students, 222–
cosmic given, 121; empty, 227; shaping Epictetus’s view
113n21; examination of, of human beings, 207–236;
12; impressions and, 123; supremacy amongst, 225;
observing the meaning of, traits that are vices in
12, 105–113; proper function humans, 218; unprotected,
of, 111; reference to the 210; used for food and
nature of the whole and, 12; clothing, 208; willingness to
revelation of nature of things die, 229, 230, 231
through analysis of, 114–118; Nativism, 80n3; dispositional, 80n4
separate from attribution, Nature: beholding, 30; contrary, 152;
112; signification of natural cosmic, 28; divine origin
state of things, 111; spelling, of, 152; divine supervision
121; use and observance of, of, 144–145; as general
126 ordering up troops, 20n10;
Nanimals, 207–236; ambivalent of good and evil, 81, 82; as
attitudes toward, 209; “great artist”, 144; human, 79,
application of justice to, 80, 152, 216, 218; identified
210; arguments for/against with God, 79; of the intellect,
permissibility of killing, 210, 124n56; intention of, 144–
211; awareness of distinctive 145; living in harmony with,
traits of excellence in, 214, 215; moral sense and,
228, 229; bycatch, 208, 160; preconceptions and, 79;
208n7; categories of, 211, single universal, 152; of the
212; euthanization, 209; whole, 114, 115
experimentation on, 208; Nature of Value Charge (against Stoic
exploitation of, 210n12; proposal), 56, 61–64
feelings of, 210; human Neo-Stoicism, 132
harm to and extermination Newmyer, Stephen, 207n1
251
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 89n2 sustain character, 98; needed
Norms, 17n6 for wise pursuit of goals, 96,
Nussbaum, Martha, 93 97; primary senses of, 90n4;
resistance to temptation to
O give up too soon and, 92;
Obligations: among specific roles, scope of, 95–99; secularized,
30n33; of assigned roles, 17; 89; as self-possession, 97,
familial, 27n27; of Heracles, 98; significance of, 89;
33n38; of human beings, 35; unreasonable expectations
public, 27n27; to realize and, 91; value of, 12, 93–95;
capacities, 30; of roles, 16; as virtue, 89, 91, 95
special, 35; universal, 17 Perceptions: general, 120n42;
Oikeiosis: overcoming original judgment on faculties of, 85;
inclinations and, 135n13 mistrust of as a function,
Oldfather, W.A., 9, 19, 22n14, 25n22, 124; of what is appropriate,
120n42 177
“On the Genealogy of Ethics” Perspectives: embedded, 17n6; moral,
(Foucault), 51 17n6; other than that of
Ousia, 126; presence of logos and, 115 individuals, 142; veridical,
125
P Phantasia: arrival in four ways, 125;
Panaetius, 117n32; stresses presentational function of,
differences among people, 124; truth-value of, 125n57
17n5 Philosophy: appropriation of ideas
Paraskeue: element of transformation in, 131–133; beginning of,
of logos into ethos, 46; as 120n41; dialogue between
preparation of virtue, 46 schools of, 131; of history,
Patience: acceptance of delays and, 144; lack of error and, 118;
90, 92; burdens and, 92, 93; misconduct in, 110; primary
centrality to moral life, 12, theorems of theory of,
89, 96; continual need for, 121n43; profound personal
89; defense for, 89–102; effect of, 10; question of
defining, 90, 91; detachment what constitutes best life in,
and, 99–102; distinguished 151; self-help and, 11; tasks
from passivity, 89n2, 91; of, 106
endurance of frustrations Pianalto, Matthew, 12, 89–102
and, 90, 91; fortitude and, Plato, 15, 26n24, 60n13, 61, 119n39
99–102; lenience and, 94; Plotinus, 211
for moral and practical Plutarch, 60n14, 80, 133, 177, 177n44,
insight, 91; as mother of 187
constancy, 96n10; necessary Polis: civic, 22, 28; cosmic, 19n8, 20,
for cultivation of other 22, 28; human, 19n8
virtues, 95; necessary to Porphyry of Tyre, 211

Poseidonius, 114n24 knowledge, 138
Praemeditatio malorum, 44 Prolepseis: process of, 120n42
Preconceptions: activation of, 82; Propositions: contingent, 78;
application of, 106, 106n5, necessary, 78
120, 170; articulation of, 82, Providence: divine, 106; presence
83–85, 120, 125; cognition of, 106
of, 81, 82; connection Prudence: Aristotelian, 132; as blind
with names, 106, 106n5; practice rather than theory,
disagreement on, 83; 132; cleverness and, 132;
exemplary, 81; of good and corporeal instantiations of,
evil, 81, 82, 83; as innate 178; defining, 132; Kantian
concepts, 80, 80n5, 171; understanding of, 132; as
interconnected systems of, knowledge of what is good/
84; knowledge application bad/indifferent, 172; as
of, 83–86; moral, 171; nature virtue, 172n22
and, 79; nonmoral, 170; Psychological Fraud Charge (against
origin of, 79; paradigmatic, Stoic proposal), 56, 70–72
81; particular actions and,
170; planted by God, 80; R
relevance of, 82; standards Rationality: benign, 144;
and, 83; tests, 83–85; characterizing humans as
uncontroversial, 81; of what instantiations of universal
is rational, 106, 106n5 logos, 117; as generic human
Predicates: descriptive, 176; function, 109; identity and,
evaluative, 176, 178, 184; 161; making inferences and,
meaning of, 176; moral, 173, 119; moral choice and, 152;
176, 178 normative, 156–157; as
Prohairesis, 34; ability to employ, primary/essential human
153; acts of volition and, identity, 155, 156, 157, 158;
137; autonomous, 153; as proper qualification of
extensive use by Epictetus, human beings, 118; right
122n50; freedom and, 136; opinion and, 159; role and,
guiding usage in all things 151–162; self-identity and,
of the world, 137; human 152–153; universal, 117n32
invincibility and, 223; Realism, depressive, 71
human operations and, Reason(ing): about what is truly good,
122n50; judgments of good 155; acting according to, 47;
and evil and, 86; as power capacity to, 21; defining,
placed under human control, 123n54; exercise of, 11; faulty,
122n50; preconceptions 155; as fragment of God, 81;
and, 86; used to achieve indispensability of, 122n46;
eudaimonia, 153; will and, of individuals, 16; life guided
136–138; wrong corrected by by, 57; passing judgment on
253
faculties of perception, 85; S
practical, 29, 34, 137n19, The Sage: apprehensive impressions
138n23; preconceptions and, 13; assents to
and, 79–82; preeminence of cognitive impressions, 85;
faculty of, 85; separated from ideal knowledge of, 168;
Volition, 43n6 impressions and, 168; moral
Relationships: importance of, 22; and practical perfection of,
sexual behavior and, 160; 13, 183, 184; possession of
social, 22, 114n23 episteme by, 85; possession of
Remorse: Stoic avoidance of knowledge and virtue by, 165
questions of, 51 St. Gregory the Great, 95, 95n9
Reputation, 198 Sambursky, Shamuel, 133n7
Revenge, 93; desire for, 98 Sandbach, F.M., 80n4, 80n6
Rist, John, 117n31 Santozki, Ulrike, 131, 139n26
Role(s): associated externals to, 29, Scanlon, T.M., 55n3
34; calculations concerning, Scarre, Geoffrey, 89n1, 99n16
18; of character, 137; Sedley, David, 114n23, 117n32,
combining, 20n11; common, 123n53, 166n6
16; conflict, 20, 20n11, 22, Self: care of, 41, 50; continuity of,
25, 29, 30n33; cosmopolitan, 96; “deep”, 51; different kind
19; “deflationary” reading of, 12; practices of, 41, 41n2;
of, 16, 17, 18, 20, 28, 34; self-adjusting, 12, 43
divinely assigned, 16; as Self-contemplation, 123n54
embedded perspectives, Self-determination: rational, 143n37
17n6; examination of, 36; Self-examination, 15
human, 17, 18, 153; of logic, Self-help, 11
121n43; obligations of, 16, Self-identity. See also Identity:
30n33; Panaetius’s fourfold constructed, 151, 152, 153;
distinction of, 117n32; essential, 151, 152, 153;
rationality and, 151–162; freedom and, 153–154;
secondary, 17n6; should be rationality and, 152–153;
subordinated to common relationship between
human role, 17n6; social, primary and secondary,
136; special, 31; specific, 16, 156–157
18, 20, 21, 27n27, 29, 31, Self-mastery: agonistic, 43n6
33n41, 35; as tool in service Self-respect, 159, 160, 161, 221n36
of virtue, 20n12; universal Self-satisfaction: inadequacy of, 155
human, 17n6, 18, 19, 19n9, Seneca, 49, 51, 94, 133;
27n27, 29 characterization of anger by,
Rorty, Amélie, 155 93, 94n8, 96, 98, 101, 102;
Rothe, Matthias, 13, 131–147 describes ideal person, 99;
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 133, 134 on division between wise
and foolish people, 135; on

patience, 89; on revenge, 93; signifier, signified, external
theory of affection, 135n13 subject, 111, 112111n15;
Sextus, 125n57, 165 epistemic pessimism in, 69,
Shepard, Paul, 234, 235 70; evil as part of divine
Shields, Christopher, 125n57 economy in, 145; genera
Simplicius, 201 of being in, 115, 116;
Slaves, 35, 36, 153 “hard line” on opinions
Smith, Adam, 133, 134n10, 134n11, of others, 198, 199, 200,
147 201, 203; indifference to
Smith, James, 154 others’ opinions of us, 198;
Socrates, 18, 19n8, 25, 26n24, 113n22, innate dispositions and,
212n18; achievement of 80n4; investigations into
ideal state by, 154–155; signification/meaning,
belief in reason, 11; conflict 111; moral apprehensive
of specific roles of, 36; impressions in, 165–192;
final hours, 26; fulfillment moral principles in, 137;
of assigned roles and, 16; nativism and, 80n4; notion
“know thyself ” and, 11; of self in, 52; notion of
practices speaking, 45n11; world citizenship in, 117n32;
role of gadfly and father, 15, Peripatetic criticism of, 60;
18, 19, 24, 24n17, 25, 26, 27, philosophical doctrine of,
28, 29; special role of, 31; 121n43; question of what
trial of, 23, 26, 27, 27, 27n26, constitutes best life in, 151;
35 requirements for impressions
Sorabji, Richard, 20n11, 122n50 to be apprehensive, 169;
Spinoza, Baruch, 146 second renaissance of, 132;
Stadter, Philip, 155 seeks to minimize weight of
Starr, Chester, 153 moral and physical evil, 144;
Stephens, William, 13, 207–236 self-examination in, 51; self-
Stobaeus, Joannes, 59n11, 61n17, identity and, 151; Skeptic
62n19, 77, 133, 133n7, 167n8, opponents of, 155n5; taking
172n18, 181n58, 181n59, same things seriously/not
185n67, 197; concept of seriously, 55–73; theory of
spheres of familiarity, 136; emotions in, 64n23; theory
on virtues, 58n7 of meaning in, 112n16; on
Stoicism: advice on pleasing others uniform individuality, 17; on
in, 197–205; avoidance of value and the good, 55–73
questions of remorse in, Stoic(s): askesis of, 42, 43;
51, 52; claims happiness as conceptions of freedom/free
chief end of human beings, will, 42; ethical innatism
151; defining virtues in, of, 120n41; ethics, 12;
172; detachment in, 100; examination of conscience
distinguishing between by, 51; Greek conventions
255
about nature of andreia knowledge of, 79–82;
and, 33n41; Hellenistic, 41; known by the Sage, 85;
ideals of, 12; morality, 43; preconceptions, 79
as nativists, 80; notion of Truth(s): agreeing to, 124n56; criteria
“natural”, 59n11; proposal for understood as impressions,
distinction between the good 123; criterion of, 172;
and the valuable, 56; relation discovering, 124; of doctrine,
of time and space for, 143; 45; ethical subject of, 12, 46,
responsibility for improving 79; forced, 49; relation of
themselves, 52; taking same freedom to, 42
thing seriously/not seriously, Tsalla, Eleni, 12, 105–128
12 Tuposis: capacity to use impressions
Stojanovic, Pavle, 13, 165–192 and, 119; stage shared
Stowers, Stanley, 155 between human beings and
Striker, Gisela, 176, 177 animals, 119
Student(s): system of thought as echo,
9; teaching art of living well U
to, 155; use of animal virtues/ Understanding: capacity for, 30,
vices to educate, 207–236 30n32
Substantive Falsity Charge (against Universe: inclusion of circle of
Stoic proposal), 56, 67–70 families within, 142; need for
Suffering: avoidable, 100; different functions in, 28
compounded by unnecessary Use of Pleasure (Foucault), 41n2, 42,
attachments, 100 43, 43n6
Suicide, 92n6, 229, 230, 231, 232;
Epictetus on, 107n6, 143n37; V
rejected by Kant, 143n37; Value and good distinction, 55–73.
Stoic defense of, 69, 70 See also WKV; Artificial
Suits, David, 9–13 Terminology Charge, 56,
60; deliberation and, 64;
T Equivocation Charge
Technologies of the Self (Foucault), and, 59n11; Irrationality
46, 51 Charge, 56, 64–67; Nature
Telos, 78 of Value Charge, 56, 61–64;
Tertullian, 95 Psychological Fraud Charge,
Theophrastus, 210 56, 70–72; redefining terms
Thought: conventional, 155; ethical, for, 60; rejection of accounts
138; neutralization of, 48; of, 62; Stoic proposal on,
students’ as echo, 9 55–73; Substantive Falsity
Torjesen, Karen Jo, 160 Charge, 56, 67–70; technical
Truth, general ethical, 79; cognizable notions in, 57
applications of, 85; God Value(s): considerations for
and reason and, 79–82; deliberation in matters of,

55n3; deluding ourselves Vogt, Katja Maria, 12, 55–73
about matters of, 57; and Volition, 42; acts of as acts
the good, 55–73; leading a of knowledge, 137;
good life without things of, administration of, 52;
65, 66, 68, 69, 70; moral, 135; autonomous, 153, 156–157;
notions of, 58; in person’s changing what we are and,
character, 154; rational, 44, 45; as decisive element
65; related to morality, 62; of Stoic morality, 43;
theory, 55; wide usage of essentiality of, 159; free will
term, 57 and, 44; ideas to compel, 49;
Valuing: dimensions of, 65, 66; internal compulsion and,
rational, 66 43; as part of causal chain,
Vegetarianism, 210, 211, 214n21 43; separated from reason,
Vernezze, Peter, 102n19 43n6; Stoic, 49; technical
Virtue(s): achieving, 132n4; anger as determination of, 43
contrary to, 97; canonical,
20n12; cardinal, 172n22; W
central, 95; criteria, 132n4; Wetzel, James, 41n1
decisions regarding conflicts White, Nicholas, 17n5
as part of, 36; defining, Will: askesis and, 42; Foucault and, 49,
172, 172n22; ethics, 154; 51; freedom of, 41, 137n22;
gender and, 159, 160, 161; of God, 21, 153; Kant and,
as good deliberation, 61; 135, 136, 137; potential for
impossible view of as the good or evil, 136; role of
only good, 63; as instances knowledge in conception
of knowledge/ignorance, of, 137
172; as instrumental goods, Wisdom: contemplative, 132;
58n7, 95; interconnection dependence on, 61; perfected
to happiness, 131n2; labors state of mind and (See
for sake of, 33; as matter of WKV); practical, 132
degree, 132n4; paraskeue WKV: as good-maker for anything
and, 46; patience as, 89, dealt with (rejected by
91, 95; perfect deliberation Stoics), 62; perfected state
and, 64n22; perfected of mind and, 59; as reasoner
state of mind and (See about things of value and
WKV); preservation of sex disvalue, 61
characteristics as aspect of, Women. See also Gender: Epictetus
109; private, 159; public, 159; on, 158–162; equality to men,
response to features one 160; identity constructed by
might prefer to be different, men, 158, 159; self-respect
63n20; self-respect, 159, and, 160; virtuous nature
160; self-sufficiency of, 121; of, 159
traditional, 20n12
257
X
Xanthippe, 25, 25n22
Xenophon, 26n24; Socratic practices
of, 105n2
Z
Zeno: defining virtue, 172n22; on
examination of terms, 105n2
Zodhiates, Spiros, 159

CONTRIBUTORS
Scott F. Aikin is Senior Lecturer in Philosophy at Vanderbilt University.

He is the author of Epistemology and the Regress Problem (Routledge, 2011) and
is coauthor of Reasonable Atheism with Robert Talisse (Prometheus, 2011).
Carrie Bates serves as adjunct faculty in SUNY Potsdam’s History

Department. She completed her MA in English and Communication from that
same institution in May 2013. Ms. Bates’s research interests cross disciplinary
boundaries and include rhetoric, philosophy, and New Testament studies. She
has contributed to the Priscilla Papers and to Inquiry, Argument, and Change: A
Rhetoric with Readings, has served as an editor for various publications, and has
presented papers at a number of regional and national professional conferences.
Christopher M. Davidson is currently completing his dissertation

at Villanova University, on the critical function of Michel Foucault’s genealogy
of Classical and Hellenistic ethics. His central figures are Epictetus, Spinoza,
Nietzsche, and Foucault. His interest in aesthetics and philosophy of history
derive in part from their ethical use in helping us to live better lives.
Jeffrey Fisher is a doctoral candidate in philosophy at the University

of Notre Dame. He works on ancient Greek philosophy and his dissertation
focuses on Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean, Plato’s thoughts about due measure,
and the relationship between them.
Dane R. Gordon is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy at Rochester

Institute of Technology. His publications include works in philosophy, religion,
and Old Testament studies, as well as St. Petersburg Poems and The Logic of
Death: Poems of War. He coauthored Epicurus: His Continuing Influence and
Contemporary Relevance with David Suits.
Brian Earl Johnson is an assistant professor of philosophy at Fordham

University. He specializes in ancient ethics with a particular interest in the ethics
of the Hellenistic era.
Matthew Pianalto is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Eastern

Kentucky University, where he teaches courses in philosophy, applied ethics,
and animal studies. He has written about various topics in ethics, including
papers on moral courage, humility, and integrity, on animals and ethics, and on
Wittgenstein’s ethics. He is currently writing a book about patience.
259
Matthias Rothe is assistant professor in the department of German,
Scandinavian, and Dutch at the University of Minnesota. He is the author of
Lesen und Zuschauen im 18. Jahrhundert, die Erzeugung und Aufhebung von
Abwesenheit (Königshausen & Neumann, 2005). He works at the intersection
of literature and philosophy and is especially interested in the appropriation of
Stoic philosophy within eighteenth-century moral and political thought.
William O. Stephens is Professor of Philosophy and of Classical

and Near Eastern Studies at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska. He
has published articles on topics in Stoicism, Epicureanism, ecology and
vegetarianism, ethics and animals, sex and love, and the concept of a person.
His books include an English translation of Adolf Bonhöffer’s work The Ethics of
the Stoic Epictetus (Peter Lang, 1996), an edited collection The Person: Readings
in Human Nature (Prentice Hall, 2006), Stoic Ethics: Epictetus and Happiness as
Freedom (Continuum, 2007), and Marcus Aurelius: A Guide for the Perplexed
(Continuum, 2012). His current project is a manuscript titled Lessons in
Liberation: Epictetus as Educator. Stephens has presented papers in Rhodes and
Vilia, Greece, New Zealand, and Hawaii, and has traveled to England, Scotland,
the Bahamas, Vancouver Island, Iceland, Crete, Ecuador, the Galapagos
Islands, Chile, Argentina, and Antarctica. Stephens is an avid tennis player and
ailurophile.
Pavle Stojanovic is currently in the final stages of writing his doctoral

dissertation at the Johns Hopkins University. His primary research focus
is on Ancient Greek and Roman philosophy, as well as on epistemology and
philosophy of religion.
David B. Suits is Professor of Philosophy at Rochester Institute

of Technology. Among his research interests are Epicureanism, anarchism,
philosophy of death, and philosophy of mind.
Eleni Tsalla is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Xavier University

in Cincinnati, Ohio. Her specialization is Ancient Philosophy. On Epictetus she
has also published “Epictetus on Plato: The Philosopher as an Olympic Victor”,
Philosophical Inquiry: International Quarterly, 32 (3–4) (Summer-Fall, 2010):
21–42.
Katja Maria Vogt is Professor of Philosophy at Columbia University.

She specializes in ancient philosophy, ethics, and normative epistemology, and
has published widely in these fields. Her first book, Skepsis und Lebenspraxis
(1998), discusses skeptical belief, language, and action. Law, Reason, and the
Cosmic City (2008, paperback 2012) analyzes the ethics and conception of
reason of the Stoics. Belief and Truth: A Skeptic Reading of Plato (2012) aims to

make plausible a Socratic notion of belief, doxa, according to which doxa is an
inherently deficient attitude. Vogt is currently preparing an edition of Diogenes
Laertius’s account of Pyrrhonian Skepticism and is working on a book project
tentatively entitled Desiring the Good.
261

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EPICTETus

Copyright (c) 2014 Rochester Institute of Technology and individual contributors.

Published and distributed by

Printed in the U.S.A.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

15 Socrates, Heracles and the Deflation of Roles in Epictetus

41 Foucault on Askesis in Epictetus: Freedom through

55 Taking the Same Things Seriously and Not Seriously: A Stoic

77 Epictetus’s Moral Epistemology

105 Epictetus on the Meaning of Names and on

131 Kant and Epictetus. Transformations of Imperial Stoicism

151 Self-Identity in Epictetus: Rationality and Role

165 Epictetus and Moral Apprehensive Impressions in Stoicism

207 Epictetus on Beastly Vices and Animal Virtues

Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits

We wish to express our sincere appreciation to James Winebrake,

Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits

In our initial discussions about whether or not to hold a conference

1 Bibliographic information for all references can be found in the Select

Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits 9

Under our control are conception, choice, desire, aversion,

1 0 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits 11

1 2 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

— David B. Suits and Dane R. Gordon

Dane R. Gordon and David B. Suits 13

Epictetus. Encheiridion. In Epictetus: The Discourses as Reported by Arrian,

King, Cynthia. “Editor’s Preface”. In Musonius Rufus: Lectures and Sayings,

Long, Anthony A. Epictetus. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Oldfather, W. A. “Introduction”. In Epictetus: The Discourses as Reported by

1 4 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Brian Earl Johnson

The Socrates of Plato’s Apology rather famously defends his life by

Remember that you are an actor in a drama, which is as the

Brian Earl Johnson 15

3 This passage is discussed below in Section I.

1 6 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Brian Earl Johnson 17

1 8 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

What, then, is the profession of a citizen? To keep nothing

Brian Earl Johnson 19

Indeed, whenever Epictetus discusses our cosmic (human) commitments

10 Cf. iii.24.34–36 where he speaks of Nature as a general ordering up troops, but he

2 0 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Brian Earl Johnson 21

Similarly, as he says at iv.12.15–16, “[we ought] to pursue nothing

regardless of our audience.

2 2 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

“Then [is it necessary] for me to be put on trial now?” Now

Although Epictetus does not explicitly say so, I suggest that he is

Brian Earl Johnson 23

17 As implied by ii.5.18–21; see iii.24.60, iii.26.23, and iv.5.33 on Socrates’s role

2 4 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

whether serving in the army or sitting as a judge?” (iii.24.36).

Brian Earl Johnson 25

23 Musonius Diss. 11 claims that farmers can study philosophy by listening to a

2 6 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Do you not know that in the long course of time, manifold

Brian Earl Johnson 27

2 8 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Brian Earl Johnson 29

3 0 EPICTETUS: his continuing influence and contemporary relevance

Well then, in the first place, he would never have become

34 Although Epictetus develops those features with an emphasis on human beings

Dane R. Gordon & David B. Suits, Epictetus. His Continuing Influence and Contemporary Relevance (Inglés)

Dane R. Gordon & David B. Suits, Epictetus. His Continuing Influence and Contemporary Relevance (Inglés)