Book 2, Chapter 1

Courage and Caution Are Compatible

7 min

The opinion of the philosophers perhaps seems to some to be a paradox; but still let us examine as well as we can, if it is true that it is possible to do every thing both with caution and with confidence. For caution seems to be in a manner contrary to confidence, and contraries are in no way consistent. That which seems to many to be a paradox in the matter under consideration in my opinion is of this kind if we asserted that we ought to employ caution and confidence in the same things, men might justly accuse us of bringing together things which cannot be united. But now where is the difficulty in what is said? for if these things are true, which have been often said and often proved, that the nature of good is in the use of appearances, and the nature of evil likewise, and that things independent of our will do not admit either the nature of evil nor of good, what paradox do the philosophers assert if they say that where things are not dependent on the will, there you should employ confidence, but where they are dependent on the will, there you should employ caution? For if the bad consists in a bad exercise of the will, caution ought only to be used where things are dependent on the will. But if things independent of the will and not in our power are nothing to us, with respect to these we must employ confidence; and thus we shall both be cautious and confident, and indeed confident because of our caution. For by employing caution towards things which are really bad, it will result that we shall have confidence with respect to things which are not so.

The philosophers’ view may seem paradoxical to some. But let us examine as well as we can whether we can do everything with both caution and confidence. Caution seems, in a way, to be the opposite of confidence, and opposites cannot be reconciled. In my opinion, the apparent paradox is this: if we said that we should use caution and confidence toward the same things, people could rightly accuse us of combining what cannot be combined. But where is the difficulty in what we actually say? Some things have often been said and proved. Good lies in how we respond to appearances, and so does evil. Things independent of our will cannot be either good or evil. If that is true, what is paradoxical about the philosophers’ claim? They say we should be confident about things that do not depend on our will. But we should be cautious about things that do depend on it. For if evil consists in a bad exercise of the will, we should be cautious only about things that depend on our will. But things independent of our will and beyond our control are nothing to us. So we must be confident about them. In this way, we shall be both cautious and confident. Indeed, we shall be confident because we are cautious. By being cautious about what is truly bad, we shall gain confidence about what is not.

We are then in the condition of deer; when they flee from the huntsmen's feathers in fright, whither do they turn and in what do they seek refuge as safe? They turn to the nets, and thus they perish by confounding things which are objects of fear with things that they ought not to fear. Thus we also act: in what cases do we fear? In things which are independent of the will. In what cases on the contrary do we behave with confidence, as if there were no danger? In things dependent on the will. To be deceived then, or to act rashly, or shamelessly or with base desire to seek something, does not concern us at all, if we only hit the mark in things which are independent of our will. But where there is death, or exile or pain or infamy, there we attempt to run away, there we are struck with terror. Therefore as we may expect it to happen with those who err in the greatest matters, we convert natural confidence (that is, according to nature) into audacity, desperation, rashness, shamelessness; and we convert natural caution and modesty into cowardice and meanness, which are full of fear and confusion. For if a man should transfer caution to those things in which the will may be exercised and the acts of the will, he will immediately by willing to be cautious have also the power of avoiding what he chooses: but if he transfer it to the things which are not in his power and will, and attempt to avoid the things which are in the power of others, he will of necessity fear, he will be unstable, he will be disturbed. For death or pain is not formidable, but the fear of pain or death. For this reason we commend the poet who said

We are like deer. When deer flee in terror from the hunters' feathers, where do they turn for safety? They turn to the nets and die because they confuse what they should fear with what they should not fear. We act the same way. What do we fear? Things beyond our will. And where do we act confidently, as if there were no danger? In things that depend on our will. We do not care at all if we are deceived or act rashly or shamelessly, or seek something from a base desire. We care only that we succeed in things beyond our will. But when we face death, exile, pain, or disgrace, we try to run away and are terrified. So, as we might expect from people who are mistaken about the most important matters, we turn natural confidence, confidence in accordance with nature, into recklessness, desperation, rashness, and shamelessness. We turn natural caution and modesty into cowardice and meanness, full of fear and confusion. If a man directs his caution toward matters where he can exercise his will and toward his own acts of will, he can avoid what he chooses simply by choosing to be cautious. But suppose he directs his caution toward things beyond his power and will. If he tries to avoid things in the power of others, he will inevitably be afraid, unstable, and troubled. For death and pain are not frightening in themselves, but the fear of pain or death is. For this reason, we praise the poet who said

Hunters used to frighten deer toward nets by displaying feathers of various colours on ropes or strings. Virgil, Georg. iii. 372:

Euripides, fragments.

Not death is evil, but a shameful death.

Death is not evil, but a shameful death is.

Confidence (courage) then ought to be employed against death, and caution against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary, and employ against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it we employ carelessness, rashness and indifference. These things Socrates properly used to call tragic masks; for as to children masks appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we also are affected in like manner by events (the things which happen in life) for no other reason than children are by masks. For what is a child? Ignorance. What is a child? Want of knowledge. For when a child knows these things, he is in no way inferior to us. What is death? A tragic mask. Turn it and examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the spirit either now or later as it was separated from it before. Why then are you troubled, if it be separated now? for if it is not separated now, it will be separated afterwards. Why? That the period of the universe may be completed, for it has need of the present, and of the future, and of the past. What is pain? A mask. Turn it and examine it. The poor flesh is moved roughly, then on the contrary smoothly. If this does not satisfy (please) you, the door is open: if it does, bear (with things). For the door ought to be open for all occasions; and so we have no trouble.

So we should face death with courage and approach the fear of death with caution. But we do the opposite. We try to escape death, while treating our opinion about it with carelessness, recklessness, and indifference. Socrates rightly called these things tragic masks. Masks frighten children because they have no experience of them. In the same way, the events of life frighten us for no other reason. For what is a child? Ignorance. What is a child? A lack of knowledge. Once a child knows about these things, the child is in no way inferior to us. What is death? A tragic mask. Turn it around and examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the spirit, either now or later, just as it was separated from it before. So why are you troubled if it is separated now? If it is not separated now, it will be separated later. Why? So that the cycle of the universe may be completed, for it needs the present, the future, and the past. What is pain? A mask. Turn it around and examine it. The poor flesh is treated roughly, then gently. If that does not please you, the door is open: if it does, bear with things. For the door should be open on every occasion, and so we have no trouble.

In the Phaedon, c. 24, or p. 78.

Some philosophers believed that the soul was a part of the divine sent down into human bodies.

This was a doctrine of Heraclitus and Zeno. Zeno (Diog. Laert. vii. 137) speaks of God as "in certain periods or revolutions of time exhausting into himself the universal substance (οὐσία) and again generating it out of himself." Antoninus (xi. 1) speaks of the periodic renewal of all things. Human life is so short that the doctrine of all things perishing over time and then being renewed has no practical value for us. The present is enough for most people. But a few can take in the past, present, and future in their thoughts. For them, contemplating the fact that all existing things perish may have some value. It may lift their minds above the trivial things that others value too highly.

Sec. i. 9, note 7. Schweighaeuser says he does not quite understand what 'ought to be open' means. He suggests that Epictetus meant 'we ought to consider that the door is open for all occasions'. But he says these occasions should be when a man cannot bear his circumstances or cannot honorably endure them. The wise man regards such occasions as the voice of God signaling him to retire.

What then is the fruit of these opinions? It is that which ought to be the most noble and the most becoming to those who are really educated, release from perturbation, release from fear, freedom. For in these matters we must not believe the many, who say that free persons only ought to be educated, but we should rather believe the philosophers who say that the educated only are free. How is this? In this manner. Is freedom any thing else than the power of living as we choose? Nothing else. Tell me then, ye men, do you wish to live in error? We do not. No one then who lives in error is free. Do you wish to live in fear? Do you wish to live in sorrow? Do you wish to live in perturbation? By no means. No one then who is in a state of fear or sorrow or perturbation is free; but whoever is delivered from sorrows and fears and perturbations, he is at the same time also delivered from servitude. How then can we continue to believe you, most dear legislators, when you say, We only allow free persons to be educated? For philosophers say we allow none to be free except the educated; that is, God does not allow it. When then a man has turned round before the praetor his own slave, has he done nothing? He has done something. What? He has turned round his own slave before the praetor. Has he done nothing more? Yes: he is also bound to pay for him the tax called the twentieth. Well then, is not the man who has gone through this ceremony become free? No more than he is become free from perturbations. Have you who are able to turn round (free) others no master? is not money your master, or a girl or a boy, or some tyrant, or some friend of the tyrant? why do you tremble then when you are going off to any trial (danger) of this kind? It is for this reason that I often say, study and hold in readiness these principles by which you may determine what those things are with reference to which you ought to have confidence (courage), and those things with reference to which you ought to be cautious: courageous in that which does not depend on your will; cautious in that which does depend on it.

What, then, is the fruit of these beliefs? It is what should be most noble and fitting for the truly educated: freedom from distress and fear, and liberty itself. In these matters, we should not believe the many who say that only free people should be educated. Instead, we should believe the philosophers who say that only the educated are free. How is that? Consider this. Is freedom anything other than the power to live as we choose? Nothing else. Tell me, then, do you wish to live in error? We do not. So no one who lives in error is free. Do you wish to live in fear? Do you wish to live in sorrow? Do you wish to live in distress? Certainly not. So no one who lives in fear, sorrow, or distress is free. But anyone freed from sorrow, fear, and distress is also freed from slavery. How, then, can we continue to believe you, dear legislators, when you say, We allow only free people to be educated? For philosophers say, We allow only the educated to be free. That is, God does not allow anyone else to be free. Suppose a man has turned his own slave around before the praetor. Has he done nothing? He has done something. What? He has turned his own slave around before the praetor. Has he done nothing more? Yes. He must also pay the tax on him called the twentieth. Well, has the man who went through this ceremony become free? No more than he has become free from distress. You who can turn others around and free them, do you have no master? Is money not your master, or a girl or a boy, or some tyrant, or a friend of the tyrant? Why, then, do you tremble when you are about to face a danger of this kind? That is why I often say, study these principles and keep them ready. They will help you decide where you should be courageous and where you should be cautious: courageous about what does not depend on your will, cautious about what does.

This refers to one Roman method of freeing a slave before the praetor. Compare Persius, Sat. V. 75:

Well have I not read to you, and do you not know what I was doing? In what? In my little dissertations.—Show me how you are with respect to desire and aversion (ἔκκλισιν); and show me if you do not fail in getting what you wish, and if you do not fall into the things which you would avoid but as to these long and labored sentences you will take them and blot them out.

Well, haven't I read to you, and don't you know what I was doing? What was I doing? Reading my little essays. Show me how you deal with desire and aversion (ἔκκλισιν). Show me whether you fail to get what you want or fall into what you want to avoid. But as for those long, labored sentences, take them and cross them out.

These are the words of a student boasting about what he has written.

The word is περιόδια. I am not sure of its exact meaning. See the notes of Wolf and Schweig.

What then did not Socrates write? And who wrote so much?—But how? As he could not always have at hand one to argue against his principles or to be argued against in turn, he used to argue with and examine himself, and he was always treating at least some one subject in a practical way. These are the things which a philosopher writes. But little dissertations and that method, which I speak of, he leaves to others, to the stupid, or to those happy men who being free from perturbations have [11] leisure, or to such as are too foolish to reckon consequences.

Did Socrates write nothing, then? And who wrote more? But how did he write? He could not always find someone to challenge his principles or have him challenge theirs. So he argued with and questioned himself. He was always dealing with at least one subject in a practical way. These are the things a philosopher writes. But he leaves short essays and the method I am speaking of to others. He leaves them to the stupid, or to those fortunate people who are free from disturbance and have [11] time to spare. He also leaves them to those too foolish to consider the consequences.

No other author says that Socrates wrote anything. So it is very difficult to explain this passage. Arrian, who recorded Epictetus’s words, says that Epictetus claimed Socrates wrote so much. Socrates talked a great deal, and Epictetus may have spoken of talking as if it were writing. He must have known that Socrates was not a writer. See Schweig.'s note.

And will you now, when the opportunity invites, go and display those things which you possess, and recite them, and make an idle show, and say, See how I make dialogues? Do not so, my man; but rather say; See how I am not disappointed of that which I desire: See how I do not fall into that which I would avoid. Set death before me, and you will see. Set before me pain, prison, disgrace and condemnation. This is the proper display of a young man who is come out of the schools. But leave the rest to others, and let no one ever hear you say a word about these things; and if any man commends you for them, do not allow it; but think that you are nobody and know nothing. Only show that you know this, how never to be disappointed in your desire and how never to fall into that which you would avoid. Let others labour at forensic causes, problems and syllogisms: do you labour at thinking about death, chains, the rack, exile; and do all this with confidence and reliance on him who has called you to these sufferings, who has judged you worthy of the place in which being stationed you will show what things the rational governing power can do when it takes its stand against the forces which are not within the power of our will. And thus this paradox will no longer appear either impossible or a paradox, that a man ought to be at the same time cautious and courageous: courageous towards the things which do not depend on the will, and cautious in things which are within the power of the will.

Now that you have the opportunity, will you show off what you know, recite it, and make an empty display? Will you say, See how I compose dialogues? Do not do that, my friend. Say instead: See how I am never disappointed in what I desire. See how I never encounter what I would avoid. Set death before me, and you will see. Set pain, prison, disgrace, and condemnation before me. This is how a young man who has left school should show what he can do. Leave the rest to others. Never let anyone hear you speak of such things. If anyone praises you for them, do not allow it. Instead, think that you are nobody and know nothing. Show only that you know how never to be disappointed in what you desire or encounter what you would avoid. Let others work on legal cases, problems, and syllogisms. You should work on thinking about death, chains, the rack, and exile. Do all this with confidence and trust in him who has called you to these sufferings. He has judged you worthy of your post. There you will show what the rational governing power can do against forces beyond the control of our will. Then this paradox will no longer seem impossible or even paradoxical: a man should be both cautious and courageous. He should be courageous toward things that do not depend on the will, and cautious about things within its power.

ἐμπερπερεύσῃ. Epictetus (iii. 2. 14) uses the adjective πέρπερος to mean a vain man. Antoninus (v. 5) uses the verb περπέρευεσθαι. Paul also uses it (Corinthians i. c. 13, 4), where our version reads, 'charity (love) vaunteth not itself.' Cicero (ad Attic. i. 14, 4) uses ἐνεπερπερευσάμην to describe a rhetorical display.

'The whole life of philosophers,' says Cicero (Tusc. i. 30), following Plato, 'is a reflection upon death.'

"Some English readers, too happy to comprehend how chains, torture, exile and sudden executions, can be ranked among the common accidents of life, may be surprised to find Epictetus so frequently endeavouring to prepare his hearers for them. But it must be recollected that he addressed himself to persons who lived under the Roman emperors, from whose tyranny the very best of men were perpetually liable to such kind of dangers." Mrs. Carter. Even now, all people face accidents and misfortunes against which there is no protection. Even the most fortunate must eventually die. The lessons of Epictetus may be as useful now as they were in his time. See i. 30.

—Heu steriles veri, quibus una Quiritem Vertigo facit;

Alas, you who are empty of truth, whom a single turn makes Roman citizens.

Verterit hunc dominus, momento turbinis exit Marcus Dama.

If his master turns him around, out comes Marcus Dama in an instant.