No More Learning

. . . Amorfati: that is my innermost nature. 22
"To wish r nothing other than that which is": Marcus Aurelius could have said this, just as he could have concurred with the llowing:
The main question is not at all whether or not we are satis ed with ourselves, but whether, more generally, there is anything at all with which we are satis ed. Let us suppose we said Yes to one single instant: we have thereby said Yes not only to ourselves, but to the whole of existence. For nothing is su cient unto itself-neither in ourselves, nor among things-and i just one single time, our soul has vibrated and resonated with happiness, like a stretched cord, then it has taken all ofeternity to bring about that single event. And, at that unique instant of our Yes, all eternity was accepted, saved,
justi ed, and a rmed. 23
For Marcus, as r Epictetus, there is no link between this loving consent to the events which happen to us and the Stoic doctrine of the Eternal Retu . This doctrine asserted that the world repeats itself eter­ nally, r the rational Fire which spreads throughout the world is subject to a perpetual alternation ofdiastoles and systoles, which, in their succes­ sion, engender a series of periods all of which are unique, and during which the same events repeat themselves in a completely identical man­ ner. For the Stoics, the ideas of Providence and Destiny, together with the concepts of the complete inte enetration of all the parts of the wo d, and of the loving accord between the Whole and all its parts,
The Discipline ofDesire 1 45
were enough to justi that attitude ofloving acceptance in the ce of all that comes om Nature which constitutes the discipline of desire. Nietzsche, by contrast, links the love of Destiny to the myth of the Eternal Return. To love Destiny thus means to want that what I am doing in this moment, as well as the way in which I live my li , should be eternally, identically repeated. It means to live any given instant in such a way that I want to relive again this instant I am now living, eternally. This is where Nietzsche's amorfati takes on a highly idiosyn­ cratic meaning:
The highest state which a philosopher can attain: to have a
Dionysiac attitude toward existence. My rmula r that is amor fati. . . .
For this, we must conceive of the hereto re denied aspects of existence not only as necessary, but as desirable: and not only desir­ able with regard to the aspects which have been approved up until now (as their complements, r example, or as their presupposi­ tions) , but in themselves, as the aspects of existence which are more powerful, more fertile, and more true, in which its will expresses itselfmost clea y. 24
As we shall see, Marcus did indeed consider the repulsive aspects of existence as necessary complements or inevitable consequences of the initial will ofNature. Nietzsche, however, goes much rther: in ct, an abyss appears between his views and those ofStoicism. Whereas the Stoic "yes" means a ration consent to the wo d, the Dionysiac a rmation of the world ofwhich Nietzsche speaks is a "yes" given to irrationality, the blind cruelty of li , and the will to power which is beyond good and evil .
We have wandered r om Marcus; yet this detour has perhaps al­ lowed us to arrive at a better de nition ofthat consent to Destiny which is the essence ofthe discipline of desire.
As we have seen, the exercises of de nition of the self and concentra­ tion on the present, together with our consent to the will ofNature as it is mani sted in each event, raise our consciousness to a cosmic level. By consenting to the present event which is happening to me, in which the whole world is implied, I want that which universal Reason wants, and identi myselfwith it in my feeling ofparticipation and ofbelonging to a Whole which transcends the limits ofindividuality. I feel a sensation of
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intimacy with the universe, and plunge myself into the immensity of the cosmos. One thinks ofBlake's verses:25
To see the World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold In nity in the palm ofyour hand And Eternity in an hour.
Thus the self qua will or liber coincides with the will of universal Reason, or the logos which extends throughout all things. The self as guiding principle coincides with the guiding principle ofthe universe.
I then, the self's awareness is accompanied by a consent to events, it does not become isolated, like some tiny island, in the universe. On the contrary: it is opened up to the whole ofcosmic becoming, to the extent that the self elevates itself om its limited situation and partial, restricted individual viewpoint, toward a universal perspective. Thus, my con­ sciousness is dilated until it coincides with the dimensions of cosmic consciousness. In the presence of each event-no matter how banal­ my vision now coincides with that of universal Reason.
When Marcus writes (IX, 6): "Your present inner disposition is enough r you, as long as it nds itsjoy within the present conjuncture ofevents," the expression "is enough r you" has two meanings. In the rst place, as we have seen, it means that we possess the whole ofreality within this present instant. As Seneca said,26 at each present moment we can say, with God, "Everything belongs to me. " This, however, means that if my moral intentions are good in this present moment, and I am consequently happy, neither a the duration ofli nor all eternity could bring me one iota more of happiness. In the words of Chrysippus:27 "If one has wisdom r one instant, he wi be no less happy than he who possesses it r all eternity. " Elsewhere, Seneca28 writes: "The measure of the good is the same, although its duration may vary. Whether one draws a large circle or a small one does not depend on its shape, but on the surface which they enclose. " A circle is a circle, whether it is large or small. Similarly, moral good, when it is lived within the present moment, is an absolute of in nite value, which neither duration nor any other external ctor can a ect. Once again, I can and I must live the present which I am living at this moment as ifit were the last moment ofmy life; r even ifit is not owed by any other instant, I wi be able, because of the absolute value of moral intention and of the love of the good which I have lived in this instant, to say in that very instant: I have
The Discipline ofDesire 147 realized my life, and have gotten everything I could have expected out of
it. 29 It is this that enables me to die. As Marcus says (XI, 1, 1):
The rational soul . . . attains its proper end wherever it achieves the limit ofits life. It is not like the dance or the theater or other arts of that kind, in which all the action is incomplete if they are inter­ rupted. On the contrary: the action ofthe rational soul, in each of its parts, and at whatever point one considers it, carries out r itself what it was planning lly and without ult, so that it can say, "I have reached my l llment. "
Whereas a dance or the reading ofa poem reach their goal only when they are nished, moral activity reaches its goal in the very instant when it is accomplished. It is there re entirely contained within the present moment, which is to say, within the unity ofthe moral intention which, in this very moment, animates my actions or my inner disposition. Once again, we note that the present instant can thus immediately open up the totality of being and of value. One thinks of the words of Wittgenstein: "Ifwe understand by "eternity" not an in nite temporal duration, but a lack of temporality, then he who lives within the present lives eter­ nally. "30
Providence or atoms?
Marcus asks, rather enigmatically (IV, 3, 5):
Are you unhappy with the part ofthe which has been allotted to
you? Then remember the disjunction: either providence or atoms.
In the rst sentence, we recognize the problematic characteristic of the discipline of desire: we must accept, and even love, that part of the which has been allotted to us. I says Marcus, we are initially unhappy at and irritated by events, then we must remember the disjunctive dilemma: either providence or atoms. Marcus is here alluding to an argument, and it is enough r him to cite its rst proposition-either providence or atoms-in order to remind his readers of the entire thing. This dilemma reappears throughout the Meditations, often accompanied by the argu­ ment, or by variations on the argument, which remains implicit in this rst quotation.
Be re we try to understand its meaning, it is necessary to spend some
time clari ing this initial proposition, which opposes two ctors: on the one hand, providence-elsewhere identi ed with Nature, the gods, or with Destiny-and on the other hand, atoms. These two opposing con­ cepts correspond respectively to the models of the universe set rth by Stoic and by Epicurean physics. Marcus uses a variety of images to describe these alternatives: there is either a well-ordered world or a con sed one; there is either union, order, and providence, or else a rmless mess, the blind linking up of atoms, and dispersion (IV, 27, l ; VI, IO, l; IX, 39, l).
Marcus thus opposes two models of the universe: that of Stoicism and that of Epicureanism. His reason r doing so is to show that, on any hypothesis, and even if one were to accept, in the eld of physics, the model most diametrically opposed to that of Stoicism, the Stoic moral attitude is still the only possible one. If one accepts Stoic physical the­ o that is to say, the rationality of the universe-then the Stoic moral attitude-that is, the discipline ofdesire, or rational consent to the events brought about by universal Reason-does not raise any di culties: one must simply live in accordance with reason. I however, one accepts the Epicurean physical theory-a model where the universe is a dust of atoms produced by chance and lacking unity-then the grandeur of humankind consists in our introduction ofreason into this chaos:
Ifthe is God, then all is well. But ifit is ruled by chance, don't you, too, be ruled by chance (IX, 28, 3).
Consider yourself rtunate i i n the midst o f such a whirlwind, youpossessaguidingintelligencewithinyourself(XII, 14,4).
On either hypothesis, then, we must maintain our serenity and accept events the way they are. It would be just as crazy to blame atoms as it would be to blame the gods (VI, 24).
This serenity must especially be maintained in the ce of death. Whether one accepts the Stoic or the Epicurean model, death is a physi­ cal phenomenon (VI, 24):
After their deaths, Alexander of Macedon and his mule-driver wound up in the same state: either they were taken back up into the rational rces which are the seeds of the universe, or else, in the same way, they were dispersed among the atoms.
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The Discipline ofDesire 149
Our choice of a model of the universe thus changes nothing with regard to the ndamental Stoic disposition ofconsent to events, which is nothing other than the discipline ofdesire (X, 7, 4). Ifwe reject the hypothesis of rational Nature, says Marcus, and choose to explain the trans rmations ofthe parts ofthe universe by saying that "that's just the way things are" (that is, that things occur by virtue ofsome kind ofblind spontaneity), then it would be ridiculous to a rm, on the one hand, that the parts ofthe All can thus spontaneously trans rm themselves, and yet, at the same time, to be su rised and angry at these trans rmations, as if they were something contrary to nature.
Such arguments are obviously not Marcus' inventions. When he rst speaks about them (IV, 3), he makes only a briefallusion to them, as ifhe were speaking of a well-known school-doctrine ("Remember the dis­
junction . . . ") , without bothering to set rth the entire chain of reason­ mg.
There is nothing in Epictetus which coincides word- r-word with Marcus' rmulations; yet we do nd an argument of the same kind as that set rth by Marcus in Seneca. The latter says roughly: "Whichever hypothesis we accept-whether God or chance-we must philosophize; that is, we must either lovingly submit to the will of God, or proudly submit to the will of chance. "31
Whatever modern historians may claim, the dilemma "either provi­ dence or chance, " when used by Seneca or by Marcus Aurelius, does not signi either the renunciation of Stoic physical theories or an eclectic attitude which re ses to decide between Epicureanism and Stoicism. 32 In ct, we can see that Marcus has already made his choice between Epicureanism and Stoicism, by the very way in which he describes the Epicurean model with a variety ofpejorative terms: "con sed mixture" or " rmless mess," r example. More important, Marcus re tes the "atoms" explicitly and repeatedly, notably in IV, 2T
Should we accept the hypothesis of an ordered world, or that of a con sed mixture? -Why, quite obviously, that of an ordered wo d. 33 Ifnot, it would be possible r there to be order in you, and r disorder to reign over the , even though all things are so distinguished om one another, and so deployed compared to one another, and so much in sympathy with one another.
A similar re tation occurs in Book XI, I 8, 2 ofthe Meditations, where, in order to remind himself of his duty to love other human beings,
150 THE INNER CITADEL
Marcus utilizes the Stoic principle which a rms the cohesion and accord with itself of Nature, all of whose parts are related to one another. Marcus arrives at this principle by rejecting the other branch of the dilemma-that is, the Epicurean model:
Go back rther up om the llowing principle: if we rej ect the atoms, then it is Nature which governs the . Ifthis is so, then the inferior beings exist r the sake ofthe superior beings, and the latter exist r each other.
One the one hand, then, Epicurean physics is impossible to uphold, in the ce of both inner and exterior experience. On the other hand, Epicurean ethics, which could llow om Epicurean physics, is impossi­ ble to defend om the viewpoint of inner moral demands. If that exists are atoms, disorder, and dispersion, then (IX, 39, 2):
What are you worried about? you have to do is say to your guiding principle: "You are dead; you are destroyed. You've be­ come a wild beast; you de cate, you mingle with the ocks, and you graze.
With caustic irony, Marcus thus implies that in a world without reason, human beings become irrational beasts.
When, in other passages, Marcus seems to imply that the Stoic moral attitude would be the same, whichever model of the universe one uses, and whichever physics one accepts, he is trying to demonstrate that, on all possible hypotheses, it is impossible not to be a Stoic. Aristotle af­ rmed that even when we say that we must not do philosophy, we are still doing philosophy. 34 Similarly, the arguments of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius run as llows: even if we agree with the Epicureans, and say that there is no universal Reason, and that there re Stoicism is lse, in the nal analysis we must nevertheless live like Stoics; that is to say, in accordance with reason. " If everything is random, don't you, too, act at random" (IX, 28). This does not by any means signi the abandonment of Stoic physics, which Marcus elsewhere lly accepts and recognizes as the undation ofmoral choice. What we have here is instead a kind of thought-experiment, which consists not in hesitating between Epicure­ anism and Stoicism, but rather in demonstrating the impossibility of not being a Stoic. Even ifEpicurean physics were true, we would still have to renounce the Epicurean idea that pleasure is the only value. We would
The Discipline of Desire 1 5 1
still have to live like Stoics; which means recognizing the absolute value of reason, and consequently the indi erent nature of those events which are independent of our will. In any event, we will still have to practice the discipline of desire, which, as we have seen, consists in making no distinction between indi erent things, which do not depend upon us.
Again and again, we nd ourselves returning to the same central theme: the incommensurable value ofmoral good chosen by reason, and of true eedom, which are values compared to which nothing else has value. This a rmation of the virtually in nite value of autonomous moral reason does not, however, prevent the Stoic-precisely because he does attribute this value to reason- om concluding that it would be highly implausible r us to possess reason, and yet r the All ofwhich we are only a part not to possess it. Either providence-in which we case we must live like Stoics-or else atoms-in which case we still have to live like Stoics. In the last analysis, however, the ct that we do live like Stoics proves that there are no atoms, but rather universal Nature. We must there re always live like Stoics.
The disjunction I have just discussed, which was used to prove that, whatever our hypotheses, we have to live as Stoics, was a traditional part ofa more vast and developed argument sketched by Seneca. 35 This argu­ ment took into account all possible hypotheses on the ways in which events may be brought about, in order to prove that, on all these hy­ potheses, the Stoic philosopher's moral attitude remained unchanged. The accompanying diagram presents these hypotheses schematically; in this regard, the llowing passage om the Meditations is highly sig­ ni cant (IX, 28, 2; numbers in parentheses refer to subdivisions ofthe diagram) :
Either the universe's thought exercises its impulse upon each indi­ vidual (5). Ifthis is so, then accept this impulse with benevolence.
Alternatively, it gave its impulse once and r all (4) and every­ thing else occurs as a necessary consequence (J). Why, then, should you worry?
Finally, if the all is God (2), then all is well. If it is random (1), don't you, too, act a t random.
As we can see, each of the hypotheses presented brings us back to the ndamental attitude ofthe discipline ofdesire.
In the diagram, we note that the disjunction-a ndamental and absolute opposition-is situated between the a rmation of chance
(= Epicureanism) , and the negation of chance (= Stoicism) , which im­ plies the a rmation ofprovidence. All ofthe subdisjunctions, by con­ trast, are compatible with the Stoic system. This schema, however, which makes explicit the logical structure ofMarcus' text, shows us that the a rmation ofprovidence contains a great many nuances, and that the events which result om the action of providence can have widely varying relationships with this providence. The initial opposition be­ tween chance and non-chance, or chance and providence, is, as Marcus himself a rms, a disjunction, which is to say that one of the alternatives completely excludes the other. They are absolutely incompatible.
The remaining oppositions, however, are not true disjunctions, but are what historians of logic call " subdisjunctions. "36 In this case, exclu­ sion is not absolute, but relative: this means that, according to Marcus, in the same world, some things may be brought about by the direct action of providence (= hypothesis 2), while others may be produced in a way which is merely indirect and derivative (= hypothesis 3). Alte atively, we could say that, in the same world, some things may be brought about either by a one-time general impulse on the part of providence (= hy­ pothesis 4), or by a speci c impulse which relates to rational beings (= hypothesis 5).
Things are produced disjunction
either by chance (1)
either by providence (2)
subdisjunction
or by an impulse
given once and
r all at the
beginning of the world, hence in the past (4),
[or not by chance]
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or by an actual and particular impulse exercised speci cally
way, as the necessary accompaniment of providence's decision (kat' epakolouthesin);
= neither by chance nor directly by providence (3).
upon rational beings, and hence in the present (5),
subdisjunction
or in some derivative
The Discipline ofDesire 153
The distinction between hypotheses 2 and 3 is ofcapital importance as r as the discipline ofdesire is concerned (VI, 36, 2):
Everything comes om above, either under the impulse of the common guiding principle (2), or else as a consequence (3) (kat' epakolouthesin). Thus, the gaping jaws of a lion, poison, and every­ thing which is unpleasant, such as thorns or mud, are o y the accidental consequences (epigennemata) of these things om above, which are venerable and beauti l. There re, do not represent to yourselfthese things which happen as a consequence (3) as alien to that which you venerate; rather, rise up in your thought to the source ofeverything (2).
things and events, there re, are the results of universal Reason, but in two di erent ways: either directly, in accordance with the will of universal Reason, or else indirectly, as consequences which have not been willed by universal Reason.
This distinction goes back to Chrysippus37 himself
The same Chrysippus, in the urth book ofhis On Providence, treats and examines a question which he thinks worthy of being asked: "Whether human illnesses come about in accordance with Nature. " In other words, did that very Nature of things, or providence, which has produced the system ofthis world as well as the human race, also produce the illnesses, sicknesses, in rmities, and bodily su ering which people endure? He thinks that it was not Nature's primary intention to arrange things so that people should be ex­ posed to illnesses, r such a goal has never been compatible with Nature, the creatrix and mother of all good things. However, he says, while Nature was engendering and bringing into the world a large number of great, appropriate, and use l things, other incon­ venient things which were linked to these great things she was accomplishing came to be added accessorily. Thus, he says that these obstacles were not produced by Nature, but as a result of certain necessary consequences which he calls kata parakolouthesin. For ex­ ample, the construction of the human body required that the head be rmed of very small and thin bones. Thus, an inconvenient side-e ect-the weakness of the head-came about as a result of the interest of the principal task.
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This theory of accessory consequences plays a very important role in Marcus' discipline of desire, since it is intended to justi our love r things and events which may seem pain l or repulsive to us. Ifuniversal Reason has laid down the laws of Nature which ensure the health and the conservation of the entire universe, then
I must there re joy lly accept and love that which happens to me as a consequence ofthem (kat' epakolouthesin) (VI, 44, 3).
That which could be called an accidental and blind consequence of Nature's initial will is the ct that a given natural phenomenon-a plague, r example, or an earthquake-should happen to strike me in particular; it is also the ct that certain natural phenomena---such as lions, thorns, or dirt--seem to me to be terri ing or repulsive. The notion of"accidental consequence" is, then, intimately linked to subjec­ tivity. The reason I think that an accident cannot be the work of a benevolent Providence is because it is happening to me, is present to me, and is perceived by me, or because I represent to it to myse as repulsive or terri ing. I may then rebel, criticize Reason and universal Nature, and re se to accept it. Consequently, the discipline of desire consists in recti ing this false judgment, by discovering that the event in question is indeed the result ofthe benevolence ofNature, although without having been willed directly by her. This has two implications: on the one hand, the initial wi of Nature was not to harm me. In the words of Cicero,38 "If drought or hail do harm to a landowner, that is no business of
Jupiter's. " In other words, "natural" phenomena do not pick and choose among individuals.
Second, Nature's initial will was not to produce something cata­ strophic, repulsive, dangerous, or ugly. Everything is natural, but it is an accidental consequence of Nature's will that such natural phenomena as lions, poison, and thorns may possibly represent a danger r human beings, or at least appear to be a threat to them.
Here again, the discipline of desire is based upon a physical de nition: that which, setting aside all-too-human value-judgments, restricts itself to the objective, adequate representation ofits object. Such a de nition sees reality as ifhuman beings were not a part ofit.
Precisely because Stoic providence is rational, it is not omnipotent. Chrysippus told us that providence was constrained, in its construction of the human body, to give the bones of the head a dangerous thinness. Stoic Nature, like its Aristotelian counterpart, acts like a good adminis-
The Discipline of Desire 1 5 5
trator or craftsman, who gets the best she can om the available materi­ als. This has less to do with any defect ofmatter than with the very nature ofReason. Reason demands a determinate, and there re nite, object. The possibilities open to it are limited, and it must choose between quite determinate contrary solutions, each ofwhich have their drawbacks and advantages. The result is not only a determinate universe which cannot be other than the way it is-this is but another aspect of the doctrine of Destiny-but also "such-and-such"39 a universe, which un lds "such­ and-such" an evolution om beginning to end, and repeats itselfeter­ nally.
When universal Reason produces the world, it engraves certain laws into the coming-into-being of things. It is a law, r instance, that the elements are in constant trans rmation, and yet that the beings brought about by the trans rmation ofthe elements tend to preserve themselves. The result of these ndamental laws, however, can be phenomena which, on a subjective level, seem to us to be repulsive, terri ing, or dangerous. The law ofthe perpetual metamorphosis ofthe elements, r example, has among its results death, dust, and mud; while the law of self-preservation results in such defensive elements as a rose's thorns or a lion's teeth. these are incidental consequences of Nature's initial decision.
The notion ofnecessary and incidental consequences is thus intimately linked to the idea of a Providence which gives a one-time, originary impulse (see hypothesis 4 above) . Everything then happens by way of a necessary chain ofevents (kat' epakolouthesin), ofwhich the e ects that are pain l to humankind were not willed by the original impulse (hypothe­ sis 3 ) . The two notions of originary impulse and consequential linkage, then, strictly imply each other.
At the origin of everything is a single, universal impulse, which is the work ofNature/Reason. We must not, however, imagine this impulse as a " llip," to use Pascal's te 40 when he said that the God ofDescartes does nothing more than snap his ngers in order to set the universe in motion. We are not talking about an impulse imposed om outside by some being di erent om the world, which then a ows the world to ro along like a billiard ball. On the contrary: the impulse Marcus speaks ofis imposed by a rce which is within the world: the soul or mind of the world. This must not be imagined in accordance with a model which is mechanical, but rather according to an organic one; r the Stoics see the development of the universe as like that of a living being, developing om a seed. A seed has two aspects: on the one hand, it contains within
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itself a rce which exerts pressure or an impulse. On the other, it contains programmed within itself all the stages of the living being's development. Since this program proceeds methodically, it is " rational, " and this is why the Stoics call the rces which bring rth living beings " seminal reasons. "41 God, who is identical with Reason and Nature, is the source of all beings; but he is himself a seminal reason containing within himselfall other seminal reasons. 42 This is why Marcus Aurelius (IX, I, IO) can speak of
. . . the ancient impulse of providence, by means of which, starting om a particular beginning, it gave the impulse so that this arrange­ ment of the world might be brought about. Prior to this, it had gathered together some productive reasons of things which are to come, and determined the rces which would engender births, trans rmations, and successions ofsuch-and-such a kind.
We are to picture this ori nary impulse as the e ect ofa rce which, om within, sets in motion the process ofthe expansion and deployment of the universe. More exactly, what Marcus has in mind is a movement of relaxation and expansion, which somehow causes the original energy to explode. Thus, this universe contains within itself its rational laws of development and organization. In this evolutionary process, as in the growth of a living being, everything contributes to the wel re of the entire organism, and eve thing is brought about as a necessary conse­ quence at' epakolouthesin) of the initial impulse, and the rational pro­ gram which the latter sets in motion. As we have seen, however, it may be that these necessary consequences appear as evils to any given part of the Whole, and it may seem that they have been "willed" by this devel­ opmental law.
This theory ofthe originary impulse thus corresponds to the idea ofan impersonal, immanent providence, within the development of the uni­ verse as a whole. The ct that the world is rational does not mean that it is the result of the deliberation, choice, or calculation of some craftsman exterior to his work. Rather, it means that the world possesses its own internal law.
This image of an impersonal providence (hypothesis 4 above) seems utterly opposed to that of a particular providence taking care of the human race, and of some speci c human beings in particular (hypothesis 5) . We now nd the physical model of an impersonal law of nature, which runs the risk of crushing individuals, replaced by the images of
The Discipline ofDesire 1 57
gods who care r human beings, who can be prayed to, who are suscep­ tible to pity, and who concern themselves with the smallest details oflife. These two representations appear to be completely incompatible, and one might think that Marcus brings up the idea ofa providence suscepti­ ble to pity in the same way as he brought up the dilemma "providence or atoms": in order, that is, to show that we must maintain the same Stoic
attitude, no matter which hypothesis is true (XII, 14):
Either the necessity ofDestiny and unbreakable order, or else provi­ dence capable ofpity, or else directionless chaos.
Ifit is in exible necessity, why do you resist?
Is it providence susceptible to pity? Then make yourselfworthy ofdivine assistance.
Directionless chaos? Then consider yourself rtunate that, in midst of such a whirlwind, you possess within yourself a guiding intelligence.
The very idea ofa providence capable ofpity does not seem compat­ ible with the principles of Stoicism, inso r as it seems to imply that universal Reason could deviate om its initial movement. Seneca em­ phasizes this point: "Ifdivine majesty had done something which it later had to modi , it would be an a ront and the admission of an error. "43 God himself cannot change the course of destiny, because it is the neces­ sity and the law which he has imposed upon himsel God is his own necessity unto himsel
Nevertheless, the opposition between the unique initial impulse and individual providence is not as radical as it appears at rst glance. In order to discover the true meaning ofthis opposition, we must simply take into account religious attitudes, as well as the mythical language which ac­ companies them.
It is certain that the theory ofan individual providence is a response to the need to personalize our relationship with the world and with Nature, as well as to the need to sense God's presence, his goodness, and his paternity. Such a need had been felt since the very beginnings of Stoi­ cism; the mous Hymn to Zeus by the Stoic Cleanthes is a striking testimony to it, since it requests the god's spiritual assistance: "O Zeus, giver of all good things . . . save men om sorry ignorance. Chase it, 0 Father, r om our hearts . . . "44 Generally speaking, the gure of Zeus is intended to provide a ce r the impersonal rce ofthe logos, Nature, or the rst Cause. Such an identi cation is clearly apparent in Seneca:
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"The Ancients did not believe that theJupiter [= Zeus] we adore on the Capitol and in the other temples sent bolts of lightning with his own hand. "45 On the contrary: by "Jupiter, " they meant the soul and mind of the world.
names are appropriate to him.
Do you want to call him Destiny? You won't be wrong, r it is
om him that all things are suspended; he is the cause of causes.
Do you want to call him Providence? You will speak rightly, r it is by his counsel that the needs of the world are provided r, in order that it may reach its appointed term without impediment, and
that it may un ld all its movements.
Nature? You will not be in error, r it is om him that all things
are born, and thanks to whose breath we live.
The World? You will not be wrong, r he is all that you see; he is
present in all of his parts and he conserves both himself and his parts. 46
The rest of this passage applies the theory of the unique initial impulse to Zeus-Jupiter:
Lightning-bolts are not hurled by Jupiter, but all things have been so disposed that even those things which are not done by him do not happen without that Reason which belongs to Jupiter . . . For even ifJupiter does not now do these things himsel yet he has caused these things to happen. 47
For the Stoics, the gures of the other gods correspond to the ele­ ments which make up the world, and they represent the phases of the general movement of the universe. Epictetus (III, r 3 , 4-8) mythically depicts Zeus-that is to say, Reason or Nature-at the moment when the universe, after a phase ofexpansion (diastole) llowed by concentra­ tion (systole), is returned via a general con agration to its seminal state: in other words, the moment when Reason is alone with itself Will Zeus cry out: "Oh unhappy me! I have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor Apollo . . . "? "No," says Epictetus: "Zeus then keeps company with himsel and rests within himself . . . he entertains himself with thoughts worthy of himself "
this corresponds, then, to a religious need: the need to personalize that power, to the will of which the discipline of desire instructs us
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complacently to consent. This is why Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus, o en employs the expressions " llow the gods" or "obey the gods"48 to describe this attitude of consent.
Marcus also els the need to perceive the attention which the gods pay to him. In the rst book ofhis Meditations (I, 17), he thanks them and enumerates the bene ts they have accorded to him. In particular, he mentions the dreams they have sent to him about his health, or the communications, support, and inspiration which he has received om them in his philosophical life. We may say that this corresponds to what Christian theology calls "present graces. " Thus, not only do the gods help humankind in the realization of their moral life, but they also take the trouble to help them to obtain those indi erent things (such as health, wealth, and glory) which human beings seek (IX, I I , 2; 27, 3).
I have spoken of a religious need; but the problem is just as much sociopolitical, since the daily life ofpeople in antiquity was punctuated by religious ceremonies. Moreover, prayers and sacri ces would have no meaning if there were no current and individual providence (VI , 44, 4) :
If the gods do not deliberate about anything-to believe this would be impious; or else let us make no . more sacri ces, prayers, oaths, nor let us carry out any ofthe other rites which we practice, as ifthe gods were present and lived with us . . .
This religious need thus corresponds to the desire to have a relation­ ship with some personal being who can, as it were, enter into a dialogue with humankind. Another response to this same aspiration is the concep­ tion ofthe daimon, which is, moreover, traditionally nothing more than a particular element of the more general theory of providence. 49 In this regard, the llowing words ofEpictetus are signi cant (I, 14, 12):
God has placed next to each person, as a guardian, his own daimon, and he has entrusted each person to its protection. . . . When you close your doors . . . remember never to say to yourselves that you are alone . . . r God is within you.
In ct, however, such conceptions ofgods mixing with human beings and of the inner daimon do not ndamentally alter Stoicism's rational demands. What I mean by this is that the gures ofthe gods deliberating over the te ofan individual, or the gure ofthe daimon, are nothing but mythical, imaginative expressions, intended to render the Stoic concep-
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tions of Reason and Destiny more alive and personal. We can observe this process at work, r example, in the llowing passage om Marcus Aurelius , 27):
He lives with the gods who constantly shows them a soul which greets that which has been allotted to it with joy; it does everything that is willed by the daim n which Zeus has given each person as an overseer and a guide, and which is a small parcel of Zeus. It is nothing other than each person's intellect and reason.
Here, then, the daim n is straight rwar y identi ed with humankind's inner reason or the proper nature of humankind, which is a part of universal Nature and Reason.
Once we disengage the hypothesis of special and individual provi­ dence om its mythical rmulation, it can perfectly well be integrated within the overa scheme of the Stoic theory of providence. The Stoics not only thought that universal Reason had, by means of its initial im­ pulse, set in motion a law of the development of the universe which has as its goal the good of the Whole; but they also admitted that this ndamental law of the universe has as its primary goal the good of rational beings (V, 1 6, 5) :
Inferior beings are made r the purposes of superior ones, and superior beings are made r one another.
Providence, then, is exercised directly, especially upon reasonable beings, and by way of consequence it is also exercised upon other beings (VII, 75):
The Nature ofthe gave the impulse in the past [= hypothesis 4], so that the creation of the world might come about. Now, how­ ever, either everything that happens happens as a consequence at' epakolouthesin) ofthat [= hypothesis 3], or else there is a tiny number of things (ol ista)-and these include the most important ones­ which are the obj ect of a particular act of will [= hypothesis 5] on the part of the world's guiding principle.
This "tiny number ofmost important things" re rs to rational beings. There is thus a general providence r the entire universe, which corre-
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sponds to the "initial impulse" which Marcus mentions here. There is also a special providence r rational beings: it is a particular act ofwill, which "exercises its impulse upon each individual," as Marcus had said elsewhere (IX, 28, 2). These two notions are not, however, mutually exclusive, r the general law, which is immanent within the universe and results om the initial impulse, wants rational life to be the end that justi es the universe. Origen50 attributes this doctrine explicitly to the Stoics:
Providence made all things primarily r the good ofrational beings. Rational beings, since they are the most important, play the part of children who have been brought into the world. Non-rational and inanimate beings play the part of the placenta which is produced at the same time as the child. . . . Providence looks primarily to the needs of rational beings, but non-rational beings also pro t, by way ofaccessory consequence, om what is made r human beings.
This text should not, however, be opposed to that in which Cicero states thatJupiter does not care about the damage caused by hail in some landowner's garden; r what counts om the Stoics' point ofview is not such morally indi erent things as harvests. For them, the only important thing is humankind's moral elevation and its quest r wisdom. Divine providence, creative and nurturing toward inferior creatures, becomes the educator ofhuman beings. Henri Bergson used to call the world "a machine r making gods";51 but the Stoics would gladly have called it a machine r making sages.
Indeed, sages seem to be the privileged objects ofthis individual provi­ dence. Note, r example, the llowing passage om Epictetus (III, 26, 28) :
Could God become so disinterested in his masterpieces, his servants, and his witnesses: those he places as examples be re people without any moral training?
There is also this text om Cicero:52
The immortal gods do not only cherish the human race, but also particular men . . . who could not have been what they were with­ out divine assistance.
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For Marcus Aurelius, the main interest of this theory of providence's various modes of action is that it speci es the way in which we should practice the discipline ofdesire. We can look at events om two di erent and yet convergent viewpoints, according to whether we place ourselves in the perspective of the initial impulse, or in that of individual provi­ dence.
On the one hand, om the perspective ofuniversal Nature and gen­ eral providence, things which can seem repulsive, unpleasant, ugly, or terri ing, such as the thorns ofa rose, thejaws of rocious beasts, mud, or earthquakes, will seem to be physical phenomena which are com­ pletely natural: they are not directly programmed by the initial impulse, but are the accessory and necessary consequences thereof Ifthese inevi­ table consequences of the order of the world personally a ect the un r­ tunate vineyard-owner ofwhom Cicero speaks, and he considers this to be a mis rtune r him, then it does not llow that "Jupiter" has willed him to consider this phenomenon as a mis rtune. The vineyard-owner is ee to represent events to himselfas he pleases; in ct, however, such events are only the accessory consequence ofphysical laws which result om the initial impulse. IfCicero's vineyard-owner is a Stoic, he will say "Yes! " to this universal order. He will say "Yes! " to the world, and will love everything that happens. He will consider that the loss of his prop­ erty is morally neither good nor bad, but pertains to the order ofindi er­ ent things. Indi erent things do not concern Jupiter, and have no mean­ ing within a universal perspective. They correspond only to a subjective and partial point ofview.
Nevertheless, om the perspective of particular providence, the events that happen to me are individually destined r me. Clotho-that is, the course of the universe, which has issued om the original im­ pulse-has woven them together with me since the origin of the world (IV, 34; V, 8, 12; IV, 26; X, 5). Everything that happens to me is destined r me, in order to give me the opportunity to consent to what God wants r me, in precisely this moment, and in precisely this rm. I am to accept "my" own particular destiny, which the entire universe has reserved r me alone (V, 8) :
A phrase like "Asclepius ordered him to practice horseback-riding, or cold baths, or walking bare ot" is analogous to this one: "The Nature of the ordered r him an illness, a de rmity, a loss or something else ofthe sort. " For in the rst phrase, "ordered" means
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"he prescribed that r him, since it corresponded to the state ofhis health. " In the second phrase, the event which comes to each person has been assigned to him because it corresponded to his destiny. . . . Let us there re accept these events, just as we accept the "orders" ofAsclepius.
On the one hand, says Marcus, this event has happened especially r you; it was "ordered" r you, was related to you, and was woven together with you by the most ancient ofcauses. On the other hand, that which was "ordered" r you in this way was the condition r the e cient working and the very existence ofthe universe. 53
These two outlooks are not mutually exclusive, since each event is at the same time the result ofthe general law ofthe universe, taken by itself, and ofthis same general law ofthe universe, when applied to the good of rational creatures.
Depending on which perspective one adopts, however, the practice of the discipline ofdesire can take on di erent tonalities. One may be more impersonal, tending as it does to eliminate all subjectivity in the admiring contemplation ofthe ineluctable laws ofa majestic but indi erent Nature (IX, l). The other may be more personal, since it gives the individual the feeling of contributing to the general good of the , as he l lls the task, role, and destiny r which Nature has chosen him (VI, 42):
We are all contributing to the accomplishment of a single result. Some ofus know this and cooperate consciously, whereas others do so unconsciously. I think it was Heraclitus who said that those who sleep are the workers and collaborators of what happens in the world. . . . He who governs the universe will, in any case, know perfectly well how to use you; he will know how to make you a collaborator.
Pessimism?
"His joyless, disillusioned Meditations are penetrated by a pro und pes­ simism . . . they are an authentic testimony to the solitude of an intellec­ tual. " These extracts om the catalogue54 of an exposition dedicated to Marcus Aurelius in 1988 provide a good summary of the idea most historians since Renan have had of our philosopher-emperor. It is true
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that there is no lack ofseemingly pessimistic declarations throughout the pages ofhis book (VIII, 24):
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, lth, sticky water, and all kinds of disgusting things-such is each part of life, and every object.
Or again (IX, 36):
The decomposition of matter which underlies each one of us: water, dust, bones, stench.
Sometimes, this disgust seems to be accompanied by a eling of bore­ dom which reaches the point ofnausea (VI, 46):
What you see in the amphitheater and similar places makes you sick: it's always the same thing, and such uni rmity makes the spectacle tedious; you feel the same way about the totality ofli . From top to bottom, it is always the same thing, made up of the same things. Where will it all end?
Nevertheless, we must not rush into thinking that Marcus is here giving us his personal impressions, or the expression of some incurable sadness. We know, in ct, that he is embroidering upon a canvas already prepared r him. His meditations are exercises which he practices in accordance with a quite determinate method, while llowing pre-exist­ ing models. Our task, there re, is to t to understand the true meaning and range of such traditional rmulas.
In the rst place, in many ofthese declarations we can recognize the method of physical de nition which we have encountered earlier. We recall that this method is intended to make us rely upon our objective representations, thereby avoiding the false and conventional value-judg­ ments which people tend to emit about objects. This method, says Mar­ cus (III, II, 2), must be applied to all objects which present themselves to us in life, so that we may "see everything that happens in life with exactness and om the perspective ofNature" (X, 3 I , 5). Such a method ofphysical de nition will strip things naked (VI, I3, 2; III, I I, I); it will "make it clear how little value they have, and will strip om them that appearance ofwhich they are so proud" (VI, I3, 3). When speaking of
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the method which de nes things by reducing them to their parts (XI, 2, 2) , Marcus gives the llowing advice:
Except r virtue and that which relates to virtue, remember to get right down to the parts which you've divided, and get to the point where, by means ofthis division, you despise them. Then, transpose this method to the whole oflife.
Marcus' goal is thus to denounce false values, and to see things in their naked, "physical" reality. Fancy ods are only cadavers; pu le vest­ ments are only sheep's hair; sexual union is only two bellies rubbing together (VI, 13, l). The war Marcus is waging, he says, is a hunt analogous to that of the spider and the y (X, IO, l), while social and political life are not worth much (V, 3 3 , 2) :
Everything by which people set so much store in life is emptiness, putre ction, pettiness; little dogs nipping at one another; little chil­ dren who laugh as they ght, and then suddenly burst into tears.
The same method is to be applied to people who think themselves important (IX, 9):
Imagine them as they are when they are eating, when they are sleeping, when they are making love, or going to the bathroom. Then imagine them when they are putting on airs; when they make those haughty gestures, or when they get angry and upbraid people with such a superior air.
We must always look to the "physical" reality; this also holds true r me, and the name which one leaves to posterity (V, 3 3 ) :
It is nothing but a simple sound, as weak as an echo.
Likewise, by the method of dividing a whole into its parts, we may strip life of its lse appearances and reduce it to one of its moments:
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, lth, sticky water, and kinds of disgusting things-such is each part of life, and every object (VIII, 24).
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Always consider human a airs as ephemeral and without any value: yesterday, you were a bit ofphlegm; tomorrow, you will be ashes or a mummy (IV, 48, 3).
In the midst ofa series of"physical" de nitions, Marcus' de nition of death reveals once more the lack of value of our physical existence (IX, 36):
The decomposition of the matter which rms the undation of the being of each one of us: water, dust, bones, stench. Or consider marble: it is only a concretion of the earth. Gold and silver? They are the dregs ofthe earth. Clothing? Mere animal hair. The purple?
Just some blood; and so rth . . .
Here we can catch Marcus as he trains himselfto give physical de ni­ tions of the most diverse objects, and we can legitimately suppose that the de nition of the decomposition of matter is no more charged with emotional and personal power than are those of marble or of gold. Instead, we are dealing with a (slightly arti cial) method r nding striking rmulas. The goal of the whole exercise, however, is to de­ nounce lse values, and this is the task of the discipline of desires.
Some historians55 have thought they could discern in these passages a genuine attitude ofrepulsion on Marcus' part toward matter and physical objects. According to them, Marcus thereby abandoned the Stoic doc­ trine of Reason's immanence in matter, and the admiration which Chrysippus had lt r the sensible world can no longer be und in Marcus. This seems to me quite incorrect.
In the rst place, when Marcus speaks about the "decomposition of matter, " he does not mean that matter itself is putre ction, but that the trans rmation of matter-which corresponds to death-is a natural process necessarily accompanied by phenomena of decomposition which, though they may appear to us to be repulsive, should nevertheless be exactly and physically de ned.
Marcus does not by any means abandon the Stoic doctrine of the immanence of Reason in matter. He speaks of the Reason which gov­ erns substance (ousia)-that is to say passive matter-as well as of that Reason which spreads throughout all substance (VI, 1), and molds all beings with the help of substance (VII, 23). He also speaks of the con­ structive rce within natural creatures (VI, 40), which is to be revered. To be sure, Marcus also speaks ofthe "weakness ofmatter" (XII, 7), but
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this "weakness" is nothing other than its " uid" nature-that is, its constant susceptibility to passive change and inability to act by itsel which characterize Stoic matter.
It is also true that Marcus sometimes speaks of the body in terms of a corpse (IX, 24; X, 3 3 , 6) ; but he himself tells us that he has learned this om Epictetus (IV, 27) :
"You are nothing but a little soul carrying a cadaver," as Epictetus said.
A glance at the Dis urses as collected by Arrian does indeed reveal that Epictetus used this expression several times (II, 19, 27; III, ro, 15; 22, 41); especially when he wonders ifhis co se is his "self" (IV, 7, 31). Else­ where, Epictetus sometimes adds, as does Marcus, that the body is made only of earth (III, 22, 41). These expressions, then, which could be classi ed as pejorative, are not Marcus' original invention.
Finally, when Marcus compares life to bath-water, together with the oily dirt which it contains, he is doing nothing other than practicing the method of physical de nition of which I have spoken. If we want to see things r what they are, we must also learn to see as they are the realities which are indissolubly linked to everyday li , such as the physical and physiological aspects of our bodily nctions. We must also become accustomed to the constant trans rmation of things within and around us, including dust, lth, bad odors, and stenches. Such a realistic view will enable us to ce life as it really is. One is reminded of the words of Seneca:
It is no less ridiculous to be shocked by these things than it is to complain because you get splashed in the baths, or get shoved around in a public place, or that you get dirty in muddy places. What happens in life is exactly like what happens in the baths, in a crowd, or on a muddy road . . . Li is not made r delicate souls. 56
Such a pitiless vision will strip li 's objects of all the false values in which our judgments wrap them up. The true reason r this alleged pessimism is, then, that Marcus considers everything vile and petty in comparison to that unique Value constituted by the purity of our moral intention and the splendor of virtue. From this perspective, li is a "stain" (VII, 47). At the same time, however, such a way oflooking at li invites us to re ect on the relative and subjective character of our
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ideas of "stain" and of "repulsive things. " What is really repulsive is not certain aspects ofmatter, but the passions and the vices.
In ct, the reason we consider certain aspects ofphysical reality "re­ pulsive" is that we are the victims ofa prejudice, and we there re do not know how to resituate such aspects within the vast perspective ofuniver­ sal Nature. All these aspects are, in ct, the necessary but accessory consequences of the original impulse which Nature once gave to the origin ofthings (VI, 36, 3):
The gaping jaws of a lion, poison, and everything unpleasant­ mud, thorns, and so rth-are accessory consequences of these sacred and venerable things on high. Don't imagine, then, that these things are reign to the principle which you venerate, but rather rise up by your rational power to the source ofall things.
Mud, dust, and dirty bath-water-all phenomena which we judge to be repugnant-are in ct intimately linked to the processes, course, and development ofthe world, which in turn can be traced back to universal Reason. Marcus goes rther still (III, 2):
We must also bear in mind things like the llowing: even the accessory consequences of natural phenomena have something grace l and attractive about them. For instance: when bread is baked, some parts of it develop cracks in their sur ce. Now, it is precisely these small openings which, although they seem somehow to have escaped the intentions which presided over the making of the bread, somehow please us and stimulate our appetite in a quite particular way. Or take gs as an example: when they are perfectly ripe, they split open.