Book 1, Chapter 4

Progress or Improvement

5 min

He who is making progress, having learned from philosophers that desire means the desire of good things, and aversion means aversion from bad things; having learned too that happiness and tranquillity are not attainable by man otherwise than by not failing to obtain what he desires, and not falling into that which he would avoid; such a man takes from himself desire altogether and defers it, but he employs his aversion only on things which are dependent on his will. For if he attempts to avoid anything independent of his will, he knows that sometimes he will fall in with something which he wishes to avoid, and he will be unhappy. Now if virtue promises good fortune and tranquillity and happiness, certainly also the progress towards virtue is progress towards each of these things. For it is always true that to whatever point the perfecting of anything leads us, progress is an approach towards this point.

A person who is making progress has learned from philosophers that desire is directed toward good things, and aversion toward bad things. He has also learned that a person can attain happiness and peace of mind only by getting what he desires and avoiding what he fears. So he gives up desire altogether and puts it off. But he directs his aversion only toward things that depend on his own will. If he tries to avoid anything outside his control, he knows that he will sometimes encounter what he wants to avoid. Then he will be unhappy. Now, if virtue promises good fortune, peace of mind, and happiness, then progress toward virtue must also be progress toward each of these. For whatever goal perfection leads us to, progress always brings us closer to that goal.

τὸ εὔρουν or ἡ εὔροια is translated “happiness.” The idea is “flowing easily,” as Seneca (Epp. 120) explains: “beata vita, secundo defluens cursu.”

ὑπερτέθειται. The Latin translation is: “in futurum tempus rejicit.” Wolf says: “Significat id, quod in Enchiridio dictum est: philosophiae tironem non nimium tribuere sibi, sed quasi addubitantem expectare dum confirmetur judicium.”

How then do we admit that virtue is such as I have said, and yet seek progress in other things and make a display of it? What is the product of virtue? Tranquillity. Who then makes improvement? Is it he who has read many books of Chrysippus? But does virtue consist in having understood Chrysippus? If this is so, progress is clearly nothing else than knowing a great deal of Chrysippus. But now we admit that virtue produces one thing, and we declare that approaching near to it is another thing, namely, progress or improvement. Such a person, says one, is already able to read Chrysippus by himself. Indeed, sir, you are making great progress. What kind of progress? But why do you mock the man? Why do you draw him away from the perception of his own misfortunes? Will you not show him the effect of virtue that he may learn where to look for improvement? Seek it there, wretch, where your work lies. And where is your work? In desire and in aversion, that you may not be disappointed in your desire, and that you may not fall into that which you would avoid; in your pursuit and avoiding, that you commit no error; in assent and suspension of assent, that you be not deceived. The first things, and the most necessary, are those which I have named. But if with trembling and lamentation you seek not to fall into that which you avoid, tell me how you are improving.

Why, then, do we agree that virtue is what I have described, yet seek and display progress in other things? What does virtue produce? Tranquility. Who, then, is making progress? Is it someone who has read many books by Chrysippus? But does virtue consist in understanding Chrysippus? If so, progress clearly means nothing more than knowing a great deal about Chrysippus. Yet we agree that virtue produces one thing, while progress, or coming closer to virtue, is something else. Someone says, “This person can already read Chrysippus on his own.” Indeed, sir, you are making great progress. But what kind of progress? Why mock the man? Why distract him from recognizing his own troubles? Won’t you show him what virtue produces, so he can learn where to look for progress? Look for progress, wretch, where your work lies. And where is your work? It lies in desire and aversion, so that you get what you desire and do not meet what you dread. It lies in what you pursue and avoid, so that you make no mistakes. It lies in giving or withholding assent, so that you are not deceived. The first and most necessary things are those I have named. But if you tremble and lament as you try to escape what you dread, tell me how you are improving.

Diogenes Laertius (Chrysippus, lib. vii.) says that Chrysippus wrote seven hundred and five books or treatises, or whatever συγγράμματα means. Chrysippus was born at Soli, in Cilicia, or at Tarsus, in B.C. 280, according to the usual reckoning. He went to Athens and became a pupil of the Stoic Cleanthes.

Compare iii. c. 2. The word is τόποι.

Do you then show me your improvement in these things? If I were talking to an athlete, I should say, Show me your shoulders; and then he might say, Here are my Halteres. You and your Halteres look to that. I should reply, I wish to see the effect of the Halteres. So, when you say: Take the treatise on the active powers (ὁρμή), and see how I have studied it. I reply, Slave, I am not inquiring about this, but how you exercise pursuit and avoidance, desire and aversion, how you design and purpose and prepare yourself, whether conformably to nature or not. If conformably, give me evidence of it, and I will say that you are making progress: but if not conformably, be gone, and not only expound your books, but write such books yourself; and what will you gain by it? Do you not know that the whole book costs only five denarii? Does then the expounder seem to be worth more than five denarii? Never then look for the matter itself in one place, and progress towards it in another.

So, can you show me your progress in these matters? If I were talking to an athlete, I would say, Show me your shoulders. He might then say, Here are my Halteres. You and your Halteres can see to that, I would reply. I want to see what the Halteres have done for you. In the same way, you say: Take the treatise on the active powers (ὁρμή), and see how I have studied it. I reply, Slave, that is not what I am asking about. I want to know how you pursue and avoid things, how you desire and turn away from them. How do you plan, choose, and prepare yourself? Do you do these things in accordance with nature or not? If you do, give me evidence, and I will say that you are making progress. But if you do not, go away and not only explain your books, but write books like them yourself. What will you gain by that? Don't you know that the whole book costs only five denarii? Does the person who explains it seem to be worth more than five denarii? So never look for the thing itself in one place and progress toward it in another.

Halteres are exercise equipment (Galen. i. De Sanitate tuenda; Martial, xiv. 49; Juvenal, vi. 420, and the Scholiast. Upton). Halteres is a Greek word meaning “leapers.” They are said to have been lead weights used for exercise and jumping. Boys who have used such weights know how they affect a jump. A couple of bricks will serve the purpose, Martial says (xiv. 49):

> “Quid pereunt stulto fortes haltere lacerti? > Exercet melius vinea fossa viros.”

Where then is progress? If any of you, withdrawing himself from externals, turns to his own will (προαίρεσις) to exercise it and to improve it by labour, so as to make it conformable to nature, elevated, free, unrestrained, unimpeded, faithful, modest; and if he has learned that he who desires or avoids the things which are not in his power can neither be faithful nor free, but of necessity he must change with them and be tossed abort with them as in a tempest, and of necessity must subject himself to others who have the power to procure or prevent what he desires or would avoid; finally, when he rises in the morning, if he observes and keeps these rules, bathes as a man of fidelity, eats as a modest man; in like manner, if in every matter that occurs he works out his chief principles (τὰ προηγούμενα) as the runner does with reference to running, and the trainer of the voice with reference to the voice this is the man who truly makes progress, and this is the man who has not travelled in vain. But if he has strained his efforts to the practice of reading books, and labours only at this, and has travelled for this, I tell him to return home immediately, and not to neglect his affairs there; for this for which he has travelled is nothing. But the other thing is something, to study how a man can rid his life of lamentation and groaning, and saying, Woe to me, and wretched that I am, and to rid it also of misfortune and disappointment, and to learn what death is, and exile, and prison, and poison, that he may be able to say when he is in fetters, Dear Crito, if it is the will of the gods that it be so, let it be so; and not to say, Wretched am I, an old man; have I kept my grey hairs for this? Who is it that speaks thus? Do you think that I shall name some man of no repute and of low condition? Does not Priam say this? Does not Oedipus say this? Nay, all kings say it! For what else is tragedy than the perturbations (πάθη) of men who value externals exhibited in this kind of poetry? But if a man must learn by fiction that no external things which are independent of the will concern us, for my part I should like this fiction, by the aid of which I should live happily and undisturbed. But you must consider for yourselves what you wish.

Where, then, is progress? Suppose one of you turns away from external things and toward your own will (προαίρεσις). You work to train and improve it. You aim to make it conform to nature: noble, free, unhindered, faithful, and modest. You learn that anyone who desires or avoids things beyond their control can be neither faithful nor free. They must change with those things and be tossed about by them as in a storm. They must also submit to others who can give or withhold what they desire or wish to avoid. Finally, suppose you follow these rules when you rise in the morning. You bathe as a faithful person and eat as a modest one. In everything that happens, you put your guiding principles (τὰ προηγούμενα) into practice. You do this as a runner practices running or a voice trainer works on the voice. This is the person who truly makes progress and has not traveled in vain. But suppose someone has devoted all their effort to reading books and has traveled for that alone. I tell them to return home at once and not neglect their affairs there. What they traveled for is nothing. What matters is studying how to rid your life of lamenting, groaning, and cries of “Woe is me” and “How wretched I am.” You should also study how to rid your life of misfortune and disappointment. You should learn what death, exile, prison, and poison are. Then, when you are in chains, you can say, “Dear Crito, if the gods will it, let it be so.” You will not say, “How wretched I am, an old man! Have I lived to see my hair turn gray for this?” Who speaks like that? Do you think I will name someone unknown and lowly? Doesn’t Priam say it? Doesn’t Oedipus say it? Indeed, all kings say it! For what is tragedy but a kind of poetry showing the turmoil (πάθη) of people who value external things? But if a person must learn through fiction that external things beyond the will do not concern us, I would welcome such fiction. With its help, I could live happily and undisturbed. But you must consider for yourselves what you want.

μεταρριπίζεσθαι. Compare James, Ep. i. 6: ὁ γὰρ διακρινόμενος ἔοικε κλύδωνι θαλάσσης ἀνεμιζομένῳ καὶ ῥιπιζομένῳ.

This is said in Plato's Criton, 1, but not in exactly the same way.

This is how kings and other such figures speak in Greek tragedies. Compare what M. Antoninus (xi. 6) says of Tragedy.

What then does Chrysippus teach us? The reply is, to know that these things are not false, from which happiness comes and tranquillity arises. Take my books, and you will learn how true and conformable to nature are the things which make me free from perturbations. O great good fortune! O the great benefactor who points out the way! To Triptolemus all men have erected temples and altars, because he gave us food by cultivation; but to hint who discovered truth and brought it to light and communicated it to all, not the truth which shows us how to live, but how to live well, who of you for this reason has built an altar, or a temple, or has dedicated a statue, or who worships God for this? Because the gods have given the vine, or wheat, we sacrifice to them: but because they have produced in the human mind that fruit by which they designed to show us the truth which relates to happiness, shall we not thank God for this?

What, then, does Chrysippus teach us? He teaches us that the things that bring happiness and peace of mind are true. Take my books, and you will learn how true and natural are the things that free me from anxiety. What great good fortune! What a great benefactor, who shows us the way! All people have built temples and altars to Triptolemus because he gave us food through cultivation. But someone else discovered truth, brought it to light, and shared it with everyone. This was not the truth that shows us how to live, but how to live well. Which of you has built an altar or a temple to him, or dedicated a statue to him, for this? Or who worships God for this? We sacrifice to the gods because they have given us vines and wheat. But they have also produced a fruit in the human mind. Through it, they meant to show us the truth about happiness. Should we not thank God for this?

ἀνεστάκασιν. See Schweig.'s note on the use of this verb form.

“Quum lassata gravi ceciderunt brachia massa.” (Macleane's Juvenal.)

“When his weary arms fell under the weight of the heavy mass.” (Macleane's Juvenal.)