Book I, Chapter 21: Of the Desire of Admiration
“When a man maintains his proper attitude in life, he does not long after externals.”
Epictetus examines our desire for admiration. Making approval a condition of contentment leaves us dependent on other people’s judgments. If we want to become wiser, fairer, or more disciplined, those qualities need to matter even when nobody notices.
“Because I could wish moreover to have all who meet me admire me, and all who follow me cry out, What a great philosopher!”
The speaker claims to be satisfied with living well, then adds another condition: he wants everyone to recognize it. Even philosophy can become a performance. We may pursue the appearance of wisdom or independence because we want to be admired for possessing those qualities.
How much of my effort goes toward developing a quality, and how much goes toward making sure it is noticed?
“Who are those by whom you would be admired? Are they not the very people who you used to say were mad?”
We sometimes seek approval from people whose judgment we claim not to respect. We question their priorities, yet treat their admiration as evidence of our worth. Why does their opinion become authoritative when it flatters us?
Other people can offer valuable insight.
The question is whose judgment deserves our trust; and whether we evaluate praise as carefully as criticism.
Whose approval am I seeking?
What do I believe receiving it would prove?
Would I still value what I am doing if the admiration never came?
Book II, Chapter 9: What We Practice, We Become
“For what is man? A rational and mortal being. … Take care, then, to do nothing like a wild beast; otherwise you have destroyed the man; you have not fulfilled what your nature promises.”
We have the capacity to examine our impulses, consider their consequences, and choose how to respond. Fulfilling our nature means putting that capacity into practice.
“When we act gluttonously, lewdly, rashly, sordidly, inconsiderately … What have we destroyed? The rational being. When we behave contentiously, injuriously, passionately, and violently, into what have we sunk? Into wild beasts. … By all these means, the nature of man is destroyed.”
He describes a failure to live according to the rational capacities he considers central to human nature. When appetite or anger governs our conduct, we surrender the judgment that could have guided us.
An impulse becomes morally significant in what we do with it. Feeling anger gives us something to examine; acting cruelly allows it to shape our behavior and our relationships.
“For when is a complex thing sustained? When it fulfills what its nature implies. … All things are preserved and improved by exercising their proper functions; as a carpenter, by building; a grammarian, by grammar; but if he permit himself to write ungrammatically, his art will necessarily be spoiled and destroyed.”
Character develops through practice. A carpenter maintains a skill by using it well. In the same way, we strengthen patience by practicing patience, honesty by telling the truth, and fairness by treating people fairly.
Our actions also make certain responses more familiar. Each time we indulge resentment, dishonesty, or carelessness, we practice those tendencies too.
“Thus modest actions preserve the modest man, and immodest ones destroy him.”
The qualities we value in ourselves require continued care. Calling ourselves thoughtful, trustworthy, or kind carries a responsibility to act in ways that sustain those qualities.
I find this useful as a question to bring into everyday life: What am I practicing right now?
When I justify a small dishonesty, feed an unnecessary argument, or choose patience when irritation would be easier, what am I making more habitual?
And if I continued making this same choice, what kind of person would I become?
Book II, Chapter 10: What We Stand to Lose
“Consider who you are. … Besides, you are a citizen of the universe, and a part of it…”
Epictetus begins by asking us to consider our place in the world. We are beings capable of reason, living among others whose lives are connected to our own.
That connection carries responsibility. Our choices affect people beyond ourselves, and living reasonably involves taking those relationships into account. What benefits me immediately may come at a cost to the people and community I belong to.
“For each of these names, if it comes to be considered, always points out the proper duties…”
The “names” he refers to are the roles we occupy: a child, a sibling, a citizen, someone entrusted with public responsibility.
Each relationship asks something of us. Being a sibling involves consideration. Being trusted involves reliability. Having responsibility for others calls for judgment about their well-being.
His example of giving up a chair or a lettuce makes this practical. We can become so determined to secure a small advantage that we overlook the goodwill we sacrifice to obtain it.
“Is it only the loss of money which is reckoned damage; and is there no other thing, the loss of which damages a man?”
We recognize certain losses immediately. Money disappears. A possession breaks. An opportunity passes.
Damage to character can be harder to notice, particularly when it brings an external reward. Someone may profit through dishonesty and consider the outcome a success. Epictetus asks us to count the loss of trustworthiness too.
His argument gives character a value of its own. Honesty matters even when dishonesty goes undiscovered. Kindness matters even when cruelty carries no obvious penalty.
This changes how we evaluate an advantage: What did obtaining it require me to give up?
“Since he has hurt himself by injuring me, shall I not hurt myself by injuring him?”
Here, hurting oneself means damaging one’s own character. Someone who behaves unjustly has already compromised something in themselves. Answering with injustice risks doing the same to us.
The temptation is understandable. Being hurt can make cruelty feel deserved. But another person’s behavior does not settle what our own conduct should be.
We can protect ourselves, set boundaries, and seek fair accountability. The question is whether our response remains consistent with the qualities we believe are worth preserving.
Can I respond firmly while keeping my fairness, judgment, and self-respect?
“In that case, all the improvement we make reaches only to words; and beyond them is absolutely nothing.”
The chapter ends by bringing these ideas back to practice. We may speak convincingly about integrity while overlooking it whenever money, pride, or resentment is involved.
Philosophy asks us to examine that gap. Its value should become visible in how we handle the situations that test us: a disagreement, an opportunity to take advantage, a moment when retaliation would feel satisfying.
What am I willing to give up to preserve my character; and what have I been willing to sacrifice it for?
Book III, Chapter 15: What Commitment Requires
Epictetus asks us to consider what a pursuit will require before committing to it. His example is an athlete who wants to win at the Olympic Games. That ambition requires training, restrictions, discomfort, and the possibility of injury. Even after accepting those conditions, the athlete may still lose.
Wanting something involves deciding whether its demands are worth accepting, including the uncertainty of the outcome.
Do I want this enough to accept the work it requires?
What happens to my interest when the work becomes ordinary?
“Consider first, man, what the matter is, and what your own nature is able to bear.”
Commitment also requires an honest understanding of ourselves.
This means considering our abilities, circumstances, and willingness to practice. We can develop capacities we do not yet possess, but that development has to become part of what we are choosing.
“When you have fully considered these drawbacks, approach philosophy, if you think best; that is, if, at that price, you have a mind to purchase serenity, freedom, and tranquillity.”
He applies this to philosophy: becoming more disciplined means practicing restraint, examining your reactions, and sometimes accepting ridicule or fewer outward rewards. Consider those costs before committing, so enthusiasm has something to stand on when the work becomes difficult.
Do I want the result enough to practice what it requires?
Book III, Chapter 16: The Company We Keep
“For if a dead coal be applied to a live one, either the first will quench the last, or the last kindle the first.”
Epictetus uses the image of two coals to describe how people influence one another. Our companions help shape what feels normal, admirable, embarrassing, or acceptable.
Repeated exposure can make a habit familiar enough that we stop examining it. We may begin participating in conversations or behavior we once questioned simply because they belong to the environment around us.
His warning asks us to be honest about our influence. We may hope to strengthen other people’s judgment while underestimating how easily their approval changes our own.
“Because they utter their corrupt discourses from sincere opinion, and you your good ones only from your lips.”
The criticism turns toward the person studying philosophy. Others may sincerely live by their beliefs while we merely repeat ours.
We can speak convincingly about independence and still depend on approval. We can praise restraint and abandon it as soon as the people around us encourage excess.
A principle has little strength in our lives until we practice acting on it.
Which of my beliefs remain convincing only when nothing challenges them?
“Because habitual practices draw the mind aside and prevent the formation of new habits.”
New convictions can be fragile. Returning to familiar surroundings often means encountering the same expectations, temptations, and patterns of behavior.
Epictetus compares these developing convictions to wax melting in the sun. Understanding a better way to live does not automatically give us the steadiness to sustain it.
Sometimes changing our environment gives a new habit room to develop. That may involve stepping back from a particular activity, setting a boundary, or making more time for people whose conduct supports what we are trying to practice.
“No observation of what use we make of the appearances presented to our minds … whether we interpret them rightly or wrongly.”
He also asks us to examine how we interpret what happens.
Someone disagrees with us, and we take it as disrespect. Someone questions a decision, and we assume they want us to fail. Those interpretations can begin directing our behavior before we have considered whether they are justified.
Creating a pause allows us to separate what happened from what we decided it meant.
What am I assuming here, and what supports that assumption?
“Flee from your former habits; flee from the crowd if you intend to begin to be somebody.”
His advice is directed toward someone whose convictions are still developing. Distance can help when familiar pressures repeatedly pull us away from our considered judgment.
The purpose is to develop enough steadiness to choose how we live. Withdrawal alone does not accomplish that; the space it creates has to be used for practice and self-examination.
What do my surroundings encourage me to become?
Where might I need enough distance to choose more deliberately?
Book IV, Chapter 2: The Cost of Changing
“To this point you must devote yourself before all others: not to be so attached to any one of your former acquaintances or friends as to descend to behavior like his; otherwise you will ruin yourself.”
Epictetus examines what happens when attachment begins to govern our conduct. We may recognize that a habit is harmful and still continue it because it helps us remain close to someone.
A relationship can become difficult to change when its familiar patterns depend on behavior we are trying to leave behind. Joining the gossip, encouraging the excess, or overlooking dishonesty may feel like a small price for keeping things comfortable.
Over time, those choices shape the person we become within the relationship.
What am I agreeing to because I am afraid of creating distance?
“Remember that there is nothing to be had for nothing; nor is it possible that he who acts in the same manner as before should not remain the same person.”
Changing our behavior can disturb other people’s expectations. Someone who is used to our agreement may be surprised by a boundary. Someone who knows us through a shared habit may feel uncertain when we stop participating.
That discomfort can make the familiar version of ourselves tempting. We know how to belong as that person.
Epictetus asks us to accept that improvement may carry a social cost. We cannot assume that every relationship will feel exactly as it did while our choices change.
“Choose, then, whether you will be loved by those who formerly loved you, and be like your former self; or be better, and not meet with the same treatment.”
He presents the choice severely. Friendships can grow with us, and disagreement does not automatically make a relationship harmful. People who care about us may also challenge changes that deserve further thought.
The conflict becomes clearer when continued acceptance depends on conduct we have good reason to reject.
I find this useful as a way to examine what belonging asks of me.
Can I be honest, set a reasonable limit, or change my mind while remaining close to this person? Can I offer them the same freedom?
Where am I preserving closeness by continuing something I no longer believe is right?
Can I accept being seen differently while remaining thoughtful about who I am becoming?