Emily Wilson, translator of the Odyssey, wrote an essay on the Stoic Epictetus for the London Review of Books. More specifically, it is a book review of Robin Waterfield’s 2022 translation of Epictetus’ Discourses and Handbook.
And while she is positive on the translation itself, she is fairly critical of Epictetus’ version of Stoicism.
However, they are a few things she gets very wrong or misunderstands about Epictetus and his philosophy. And it’s worth clarifying these, because they show some common ways in which people misunderstand Stoicism, even those well-versed in the classical world.
Before jumping to the defense of Stoicism, it’s worth reiterating that Professor Wilson knows her stuff. She is a professor of classics at the University of Pennsylvania, and her domain of expertise is not limited to the Odyssey and the Iliad. While she is likely best known as a translator of Homer, she has also written a biography of Seneca, and translated his plays.
This makes it all the more important to call out these confusions.
I also want to clarify that I am not another person on the internet who feels qualified to criticize Wilson’s work or translations with no experience. I have my PhD in philosophy, where I specialized in Epictetus and published on him. I’ve also been putting Stoicism into practice for the last 10 years, heavily inspired by Epictetus.
I will cover three arguments Wilson makes against Epictetus and Stoicism, and where I think these go wrong.
Argument 1: Epictetus’ ethics over-emphasizes the individual and neglects the importance of collective action.
“There is no discussion of the possibilities of collective action. Some Roman Stoics and Stoic-sympathisers were closely associated with opposition to imperial rule and a desire to return to the old days of the Republic. Political revolution can be ‘up to us’ only collectively: it takes more than one person to topple an emperor, or to end slavery. But Epictetus takes no interest in such goals. ‘It’s not poverty that we need to get rid of,’ he says, ‘but our judgment of poverty’ – he’s not talking about poverty as a social evil here, but giving advice to a young man who wants his father to give him a larger allowance.”
Wilson’s argument is that Epictetus’ ethical system focuses on us as atomistic agents. Harms happen at the level of the atom, and virtue is achieved at the level of the individual. This leaves an important gap. There are certain kinds of virtuous action that requires a collective (toppling an empire), and there are certain kinds of vices or evils that occur at the level of society, not just the level of the individual (e.g., the institution of slavery).
This reading is in a way correct, but not as much of an issue as Wilson makes it out to be. Epictetus is very much a “make your own bed first” philosopher. He starts with the individual intentionally. For him, effective collective action requires individuals of virtue and character (how else could you be sure the political side you are on is the right one?).
Yes, poverty is an example of injustice. But two people having a philosophical discussion will not solve poverty. What they can solve is their own biases, blindspots, and ignorance. They can fix their personal evils. And, once that is done, Epictetus would certainly have no issue going after broader injustice.
Stoicism does not exclude the possibility of participating in collective action. Marcus Aurelius was obviously concerned with collective action and he took great insight from Epictetus. It is just that Epictetus is focused on the foundation of effective collectives - the individual.
Argument 2: Epictetus’ advice is designed to help privileged men reckon with the limitations of their power
“This is the kind of problem that Epictetus’ version of Stoicism is designed to address: a privileged man is disturbed by the idea that he does not have complete control over every element of his existence.
Epictetus’ teaching intervenes from two different directions. It knocks the egotistical student down a peg or two (‘Slave!’), while providing a philosophically authorised justification for his fantasies of power, permanence and autonomy. Other philosophical and religious traditions encourage their followers to aspire to an emptiness of the self, echoing the emptiness of reality (in Sanskrit, sūnyatā) or the self-emptying of God (in Greek, kenōsis).
In Epictetus’ version of Stoicism, the self is always the focus, even for the most enlightened philosopher. The wise Stoic never gives up his desire for power and possessions, goals that can be achieved through control over the will. It isn’t a coincidence that Stoicism, in a watered-down form, is currently so popular with wealthy white men in Silicon Valley or Wall Street.”
According to Wilson, Stoicism appeals to those who want to feel powerful, permanent and autonomous, but are faced with a world in which they do not feel those things. This gap between expectation and reality makes them angry, frustrated or otherwise dissatisfied with life. So Stoicism provides a philosophical way to satisfy this desire for power. It achieves that by restricting the domain of your power to a very small space. Yes, you are all powerful and autonomous, says Epictetus, but only in this small sphere of the choices you make and how you respond to impressions.
Wilson’s point seems to be that Stoicism attempts to redirect an unhealthy desire for power instead of asking us to eliminate it. So, Stoicism intuitively appeals to misled men who desire power, without ever making them really address what is wrong with that starting point.
On its own, this is a descriptively interesting insight into why Stoicism is appealing to certain groups of people. I still wonder why Stoicism, a philosophy designed for all people, is much more popular with men. And it does some right to me that someone encountering Stoicism for the first time would want to feel powerful, and see the appeal of Stoicism in that it clarify where your power truly lies.
But Wilson then misinterprets what Stoicism actually has to say about power. She writes: “The wise Stoic never gives up his desire for power and possessions, goals that can be achieved through control over the will.”
But this entirely misinterprets what the Stoics say. As Epictetus says:
“If you desire something that isn’t up to us, you’re bound to become miserable…” (Handbook 2, Trans. Waterfield)
I am not sure where to even begin to square that with Wilson’s claim that the wise Stoic will never give up a desire for power or possessions. The Stoic can prefer power and possessions, but the significant ethical task laid out by Epictetus is to shift our desire from external possessions and power, to the internal quality of our character.
Second, Epictetus does not think we ‘control’ our will in order to get external power. What does Wilson even mean by the word ‘will’? If she means our faculty of choice (prohairesis), then we are our will. We are the part of ourselves that makes choices. So we don’t ‘tame’ or ‘control’ or ‘harness’ ourselves. We improve ourselves. It’s about changing what we value, not repressing or ignoring a part of ourselves.
So what starts as an interesting psychological observation about what might draw some people to Stoicism becomes a criticism of Epictetus that doesn’t make sense given what he actually says. Wilson’s view is more reflective of a shallow first reading of Epictetus on power and desire, than it is of Epictetus’ actual position. And it is one that I hope people would move on from.
Argument 3: Epictetus advice is bad for relationships with other people.
“The teachings of Epictetus are rather less useful when it comes to interactions with other people. ‘If you kiss a child of yours,’ he says, ‘or your wife, tell yourself that you’re kissing a human being, because then you won’t be upset if they die.’ This must have been a common piece of Stoic advice; the line is quoted admiringly by Marcus Aurelius.
Such mantras aren’t much good if you consider your children’s well-being more important than your own tranquillity. Epictetus discusses the case of a man who leaves home when his child is sick because he can’t bear to contemplate her suffering or the possibility of her death. He concedes that this is not the most ‘affectionate’ thing to do: if the mother and enslaved caregivers had done the same, the child would have been left entirely alone. He doesn’t explain why these people stay to take care of the child, although one possibility might be that they are more focused on her needs than their own feelings.”
Wilson’s point is that Epictetus provides a strong framework for protecting our feelings and tranquility. But in following that framework, we lose our ability to connect with other people, because human connection involves risk, vulnerability, loss and pain.
In protecting ourselves, we must disconnect from others. A trade which is not worth it for anyone who actually values the well-being and happiness of their family.
This is certainly Wilson’s worst argument. First, the focus on tranquility is strange here - this objection is almost better levelled at the Epicureans. The Stoics are focused on virtue. The Stoic would happily do something uncomfortable and unpleasant, if it was the right thing to do.
Second, Wilson says that Epictetus’ philosophy isn’t much help if you consider your children’s well-being more important than your own tranquility. This puts personal tranquility in tension with the well-being of your family. But for a Stoic, the dilemma is not an obvious one. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your child or family is to be tranquil in a moment of chaos. Often, what a sick child needs is a tranquil parent. They need a parent that can support them, make good decisions, and be healthy themselves.
It is ironic that Wilson references the example of the father who leaves his sick daughter, because this is the exact example I use to prove that the Stoics believe sometimes being emotionally tranquil is good for other people. The father fails to take care of his daughter because he gets too upset! He is unable to help those who need him because he cannot manage his emotions.
Third, because Wilson doesn’t recognize the goal of the Stoic good life as virtue, she can’t make sense of the example. When talking of the mother and caregiver of the sick child, she says Epictetus “doesn’t explain why these people stay to take care of the child, although one possibility might be that they are more focused on her needs than their own feelings.”
But the more obvious possibility to Epictetus is that, if they are Stoic, they stay to take care of the child because it is the right thing to do. Because the only reason they have to leave is their own cowardice or fear. They care more about being a good parent or caregiver to this sick child than the possibility of discomfort. Which is the exact Stoic response. The one Epictetus is encouraging the father towards.
Now, the sage, the prefect Stoic, feels no conflict between making the right choice and emotional tranquility, because they are already perfect. There is no discomfort for them in being a good parent to a sick child. But the Stoic in progress is often asked to put their feelings aside for the sake of what is right.
In conclusion, I don’t have an issue with Wilson critiquing Stoicism or Epictetus. But any good critique needs to understand and be charitable to what it is critiquing.
There are issues with Stoicism:
Is it even possible to achieve the Stoic idea of virtue, and if not what is the point of practicing it?
Does it rely on a theological conception of the world which is not valid in the face of modern scientific evidence?
Does it ignore examples of genuine evil in the world, by reducing good and bad to value categories we can only apply to character?
Does it neglect or ignore the non-rational parts, subconscious, parts of the self?
These are questions worth asking, and there are others. But what Epictetus is not teaching is an individualistic ethic, focused on the attainment of power and possessions, while prioritizing personal tranquility over helping those in need.
Stoicism, and Epictetus’ version too, is focused on helping people flourish, by focusing them on what matters. This means prioritizing the things up to us before overcommitting to broader social change. It means desiring to be a good person for its own sake, but not forsaking power and wealth as if giving up those things makes us automatically good, or as if having them makes us evil. Finally, it means doing the right thing, like helping other people, even if it is painful, difficult, or scary.
Unfortunately, Emily Wilson does not understand Epictetus.