You can only truly master one thing, according to Epictetus
The Stoic philosopher argued that most of life is outside our control — but the little we do control defines who we are.
This article is part of our January monthly issue, The Pursuit of Mastery. Click here to catch the full issue.
By Massimo Pigliucci
When we say that we have “mastered” something, we typically mean that we have become highly skilled or proficient in it — we have a deep understanding of the subject or activity and the ability to perform it without difficulty. To master also means to gain complete control over something, such as emotions or situations — but can we ever truly master something in that sense?
According to the 2nd-century Stoic philosopher Epictetus, we actually control very little, but that little is crucial, as it defines who we are, deep down. At the beginning of the Enchiridion, a manual for a good life compiled by Epictetus’s brilliant student Arrian of Nicomedia, the philosopher says:
Some things are up to us and some are not. Up to us are judgment, inclination, desire, aversion — in short, whatever is our own doing. Not up to us are our bodies, possessions, reputations, public offices — in short, whatever is not our own doing.
He then proceeds to tell us that a good life is one in which we focus on the things that are up to us while, at the same time, striving to develop an attitude of acceptance and equanimity for the things that are not up to us.
If this sounds familiar, it may be because Epictetus’s manual was used as a source of spiritual exercises by Christian monks throughout the Middle Ages, and in the early 1930s, American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr echoed the philosopher’s ideas about control in his “Serenity Prayer,” which is often recited at the beginning of meetings for Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step organizations: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Epictetus says only one thing is truly up to us: our deliberate, conscious judgments.
Let’s go back to that opening section of the Enchiridion and unpack it a bit to truly grasp Epictetus’s meaning. He clearly tells us that only four things are “up to us”: judgment, inclination, desire, and aversion. Standard English translations, however, are a bit misleading, so we need to take a look at the original Greek words:
“Judgment” is translated from hypolepsis, which means grasping or taking up. It refers to the sort of deliberate judgments we arrive at after careful consideration of the matter at hand.
“Inclination” is from horme, meaning the intention we have to act in a particular fashion.
“Desire” is from orexis, which indicates something that reflects our values and that we therefore want.
“Aversion” is from ekklisis, which is the exact opposite of orexis — it’s something that does not align with our values and that we want to avoid.
In a sense, Epictetus is saying that only one thing is truly up to us: our deliberate, conscious judgments. If you think about it, our intentions to act or not are the result of our preliminary judgments about things, and our values and disvalues are also forms of judgments. No wonder Epictetus thinks that the faculty of judgment, our prohairesis, is the most precious thing we have, what truly defines us as human beings.
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Modern cognitive scientists call this faculty “executive function.” It consists of high-level cognitive processes that act as the brain’s air traffic control system, allowing individuals to plan, solve problems, manage complex tasks, and control their behavior and emotions. Executive functions are typically broken down into three interconnected components:
The ability to resist impulses and stop or override a dominant or automatic response in favor of a more appropriate one
The capacity to hold and manipulate multiple pieces of information in the mind over a short period to complete a task
The ability to shift attention and adjust behavior or thinking to changing demands, rules, or priorities
Executive function is primarily associated with the frontal lobes, specifically the prefrontal cortex (PFC), an area situated at the very front of the brain just behind the forehead. It is the last brain region to fully mature (often not until early adulthood) and is significantly larger in humans than in other primates.
Epictetus, of course, didn’t know all of these scientific details, but he had the right general idea: Executive function / prohairesis is what makes us who we are. The horrible disease frontotemporal dementia (FTD) is proof of this. It progressively damages and shrinks the nerve cells in the frontal lobes of the brain, and because these areas are responsible for personality, behavior, and language, people affected by FTD become different individuals, a fact that is painfully disconcerting to their friends and family.
The Stoics were aware that our prohairesis can be irreparably damaged in old age, which is why Seneca the Younger wrote that he would rather “cut the cable” (meaning, commit suicide) before losing his mind (Letter 58.32-36).
We control far less than we think, but we control the one thing that matters the most.
But what about the things that Epictetus says are not up to us? The list is surprising because it includes our health, possessions, reputation, career, and many other things that we normally think we can at least partially master, given that we can influence them to some degree.
Right, but how does this influence come about? By way of our judgments, of course. Consider health as an example. Yes, we can take care of it by eating a nutritious diet, exercising regularly, and periodically checking in with the doctor. But all such behaviors are decisions to act that result from our judgments about what is or is not conducive to health — judgments that presuppose that we value good health in the first place.
The Stoic insight, then, is both humbling and empowering. We control far less than we think — not even our own bodies are fully within our command — but we control the one thing that matters the most: how we think about and respond to everything that happens to us.
This is what Epictetus means by mastery. It’s not about dominating external circumstances, but cultivating our capacity for sound judgment. In doing so, we shape our intentions, our values, and, ultimately, our character. Everything else we can only influence, never fully control. Wisdom lies not in lamenting this limitation, but in recognizing where our true power resides: in the small space between stimulus and response where our prohairesis — our executive function, our essential self — makes its choices. Master that, and while you may not be in control of your circumstances, you will have mastered something far more important: yourself.
 | A guest post by
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From the time I was a child my late mother and I shared one critical thing. We were both fully committed stoics. It didn't take me long to realize that I could only control what I could think about rationally. I was bound to have less of anything I could imagine than at least one group of people so it was best to use what I had to control what I could. That approach worked very well. My philosophy supported a long and pleasant life and career helping others, including my wife of 54 years, whose last 18 years were spent in my care the care of professionals while she was a victim of early-onset Alzheimer's. I am now 81, still a stoic helping whomever I can. In my life I I have been retrieved from death three times by excellent doctors. I am afraid of nothing, especially that which I cannot control, my end being the primary thing out of my hands.
We spend decades trying to master outcomes, often confusing statistical influence with actual sovereignty. This piece is a vital reminder that our only true jurisdiction is the fidelity of our own judgment. Master the input, and the result ceases to own you.