No More Learning

If this is the case, and the discipline of assent is somehow implied by the two others, then one can say that the practice ofthe philosophical li can be summed up in the two disciplines of desire and the active will (Marcus Aurelius, XI, 13, 4):
What evil can there be r you, ifyou do that which, in this present moment, is appropriate to your nature;
and if you accept that which, in this present moment, comes at the moment which is opportune r the Nature efthe All?
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What precisely is meant by these two natures? "My" nature is not my particular individual character, but my nature as a human being and my reason, which I have in common with all human beings. Thus, it corre­ sponds to that transcendent selfwhich we have seen in the context ofthe discipline of assent: that divine principle or daimon which is within us 0/, IO, 6):
Nothing will happen to me which is not in accordance with the Nature of the Whole, and it is possible r me to do nothing which is contrary to mygod and my daimon.
"My" nature and the common Nature are not opposed, nor external to each other, r "my" nature and "my" reason are nothing other than an emanation om universal Reason and universal Nature, which are immanent in all things. Thus, these two natures are identical (VII, 55, 1):
Keep looking straight ahead, in order to see where nature is leading you; both the nature ofthe All, by means ofthe events which happen to you, and your own nature, by means ofthat which you must do.
These ideas go back to the Old Stoa, and can be traced at least as r back as Chrysippus. 2 While de ning the moral goal as life in con rmity with nature, Chrysippus speci ed that he understood by this term both universal Nature and that nature which is peculiar to humankind. The identity between "nature" hysis) and "reason" �ogos) is, moreover, attested throughout the Stoic tradition. 3 The ct that these two terms are identical means that the wo d, together with all beings, is produced by a process of growth (in a sense, this is the meaning of the word physis), which has within itself its own method, rational law of cause and e ect, and organization (this is the meaning of the word logos) . Human beings, as rational animals, live according to nature when they live according to that inner law which is reason.
We constantly return to the ndamental intuition of Stoicism: self­ coherence, which is at the same time the law which generates reality and that which regulates human thought and conduct. The two disciplines of desire and impulse thus consist, in the last analysis, in remaining coherent with oneself; and this is the same thing as remaining coherent with the Whole of which we are only a part (IV, 29, 2) :
He who ees the reason ofthe human community is a gitive. . . . He who separates and distances himself om the Reason of com-
The Discipline ofDesire 13I
man Nature, and complains about what happens to him, is an abscess upon the world . . . He who splits o his own particular soul om the soul of other rational beings is like an amputated limb of the city, r the soul is one.
By means ofthe discipline ofdesire, we are to desire only that which is use l to the constituted by the world, because that is what universal Reason wants. By means of the disciplines of the will and of our im­ pulses, we must want only that which serves the Whole constituted by the human city, because that is what is wanted by right reason, which is common to humankind.
Circumscribing the present
As the reader has perhaps already noticed, what characterizes the presen­ tation ofthe three exercise-themes in Marcus Aurelius, and di erentiates it considerably om the analogous expositions und in the sayings of Epictetus as written down by Arrian, is the insistence with which Marcus emphasizes that these exercises are concerned with the present. In the case of the discipline of assent, they are concerned with our present representations. In the discipline of desire, these exercises are directed toward the present event; and in the discipline of active impulse what counts are our present actions. We have already seen that the exercise intended to delimit and circumscribe the self was, simultaneously and indissolubly, an e ort to concentrate upon the present.
This process of delimiting the present is entirely analogous to the process by means ofwhich we hold st to the cts and to reality in our objective and adequate representations, and re se to add value-judg­ ments to them. There is, a er all, a sense in which the value-judgments which trouble us are always related either to the past or to the ture. We become agitated about the consequences which a present event-or even something that happened long ago-may have r us in the ture; or else we are a aid ofsome ture event. In any case, instead ofsticking exclusively to what is happening right here and now, our representations constantly over ow toward the past and the ture-in other words, toward something which does not depend on us, and is there re indif­ rent (VI, 32, 2):
Everything other than its own activity is indi erent to the culty of re ection (dianoia). Everything that is its own activity, however, is within its power. Moreover, even among these latter activities, the
IJ2 THE INNER CITADEL
re ective culty concerns itself only about the present; r even its past or ture activities are now indi erent to it.
Only the present is within our power, simply because the only thing that we live is the present moment (II, 14; III, ro, r ; XII, 26, 2). Becom­ ing aware of the present means becoming aware of our eedom.
For the present is real and has value only ifwe become aware ofit; that is to say, if we delimit it by distinguishing the present action or event om the past and om the ture. We must there re recognize that our real lives are limited to a minuscule point which, by the intermediary of the present event or action, places us in constant contact-whether ac­ tively or passively-with the overall movement of the universe. "To circumscribe that which is lived in the present" means simultaneously to isolate oneselfwith regard to the past and to the ture, and to recognize our pumness.
The delimitation of the present has two principal aspects. On the one hand, its goal is to make di culties and hardships bearable, by reducing them to a succession of brief instants. On the other, it is a matter of increasing the attention we bring to bear upon our actions, as well as the consent which we grant to the events that happen to us. These two aspects can, moreover, be reduced to one ndamental attitude, which consists, as we can already glimpse, in trans rming our way of seeing things, and our relationship to time.
The rst of these aspects appears very clearly in the llowing passage (VIII, 36):
Don't trouble yourselfby representing to yourselfthe totality oflife in advance. Don't try to go over in your mind all the pain l hardships, in all their varying intensity and number, which might possibly happen. Rather, when each of them occurs, ask yoursel "What is there about this situation that is unbearable or intoler­ able? ", r you will be ashamed if you answer a rmatively. In addition, remind yourself that it is not the present, nor the past, which weighs upon you, but always the present; and this present will seem smaller to you if you circumscribe it by de ning and isolating it, and if you make your re ective culty ashamed at the ct that it cannot put up with such a small, isolated little matter.
We always encounter the same method of the criticism of repre­ sentations and value-judgments, which consists in tearing away om
The Discipline ofDesire 1 3 3
things their lse appearance-which is what ightens us-and in de n­ ing them adequately, without mixing in any representations which are alien to the initial, objective representation we have of them. This is what I have ca ed the method of physical de nition. For Marcus, it consists not only in reducing a given reality to what it is, but also in decomposing it into its parts, in order to discover that it is only an assembly ofits parts, and nothing else. No object can make us lose our mastery over ourselves, ifwe submit it to this method ofdivision (XI, 2):
A seductive melody . . . you can despise it ifyou divide it into each ofits sounds, and ifyou ask yourselfifyou are lesser than each one of them taken separately; if you are, you would be lled with shame. The same thing will happen ifyou repeat this procedure in the case of the dance, by decomposing it into each movement or each gure. . . . In general, then, and with the exception ofvirtue and its e ects, remember to head as quickly as you can r the parts of a process, in order, by dividing them, to get to the point where you have contempt r them. Transpose this method, moreover, to life in its entirety.
Either because of his reading of Marcus Aurelius, or as a result of a personal experience, Anatole France wrote something similar:4
My mother used to say that when you went over them one by one, there was nothing extraordinary about Mme. Gance's atures. Every time my mother expressed this opinion, however, my ther used to shake his head in disbelief No doubt, my worthy ther was doing the same thing I was: he wasn't going over Mme. Gance's features one by one; and whatever they may have been like m detail, their total e ect was charming.
In any case, the reader will not have iled to notice Marcus' conclud­ ing remark: "Transpose this method to life in its entirety. " Here we recognize the methods of de nition and delimitation of the present instant, which I have just discussed. We must not, says Marcus, lose our self-control because of a song or a dance, since these things can ulti­ mately be resolved into a series ofnotes or movements which are noth­ ing but so many successive instants. Similarly, we must not let ourselves become discouraged by the obal representation of the whole of life­ that is, of the hardships and di culties which await us. Like a song or
134 THE INNER CITADEL
a dance, our lives are divisible into smaller units, and consist only ofsuch units. In order to execute a song or a dance step, we need to perform each one ofthese units in succession. Li , too, consists only ofa series of such instants which we live in succession, and the better we are able to isolate each one and de ne it precisely, the better we shall be able to gain control over the entire series.
The other intention ofthe exercise ofde ning the present is to inten­ si the attention we bring to bear upon what we are doing or experienc­ ing. Here, we are no longer concerned with diminishing hardships or su ering; on the contrary, our goal is to exalt the consciousness of our existence and our eedom. Marcus does not expand upon this theme, but we can sense it in the insistence with which he returns to the necessity of concentrating upon our present representations, our present actions, and the present event, as well as the necessity of avoiding worry aboutthepastorthe ture(XII,r, r-2):
the happiness you are seeking by such long, roundabout ways: you can have it right now. . . . I mean, ifyou leave all ofthe past behind you, if you abandon the ture to providence, and if you arrange the present in accordance with piety andjustice.
It should be pointed out here that, r Marcus, "piety" represents that discipline of desire which makes us consent "piously" to the divine will, as the latter is made manifest in events. Likewise, "justice" corresponds to the discipline of action, which makes us act in the service of the human community.
Marcus repeats the same exhortation elsewhere (XII, 3 , 4) :
If you apply yourself to living only that which you are living-in other words, the present-then you can live the rest of your life until your death in peace, benevolence, and serenity.
What is required is that we dedicate ourselves, completely and whole­ heartedly, to what we are in the process of doing at a given instant, without worrying about either the past or the ture (VI, 7):
Take joy and repose in one thing only: to pass om one action accomplished in the service of the community to another action accomplished in the service ofthe community; all this accompanied by the remembrance of God.
The Discipline ofDesire 135 There is also a feeling of urgency about this attitude, r death can
arriveatanymoment(II,5, 2):
Each oflife's actions must be performed as ifit were the last.
When we view things om the perspective ofdeath, it is impossible to let a sin e one of li 's instants pass by lightly. I like Marcus and the Stoics, we believe that the only good thing is moral action and a perfectly good and pure intent, then we must trans rm our way of thinking and of acting in this very instant. The thought of death confers seriousness, in nite value, and splendor to every present instant ofli . "To perform each oflife's actions as ifit were the last" means to live the present instant with such intensity and such love that, in a sense, an entire li time is contained and completed within it.
Most people are not alive, because they do not live in the present, but are always outside of themselves, alienated, and dragged backwards and rwards by the past and by the present. They do not know that the present is the only point at which they are truly themselves and ee. The present is the only point which, thanks to our action and our conscious­ ness, gives us access to the totality ofthe wo d.
In order to lly comprehend Marcus' attitude toward the present, we must recall the Stoic de nition ofthe present, as it is given in a summary of Stoic philosophy:5
Just as the entire void is in nite in every direction, so all of time is in nite in both directions. Both the past and the ture are in nite. He [i. e. , Chrysippus] states very clearly that, in general, time is never present, r since that which is continuous is divisible ad in nitum, then in accordance with this division all of time is also divisible ad in nitum. There re, there is no present time, in the proper sense ofthe term; rather, it is spoken ofin an extended sense (kata platos). Chrysippus says that only the present "actually be­ longs" yparchein) [to a subject]; whereas the past and the ture are realized yphestanai), but "do not at all belong actually [to a sub­ ject]," just as it is said that only those predicates which really occur "actually belong. " For instance, "walking" belongs to me actually when I am walking, but does not belong to me actually when I am lying or sitting down . . .
Here we are ced with two diametrically opposed conceptions ofthe present: the rst considers the present as the limit between the past and
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the ture, within a time which is continuous, and hence in nitely divisible. From this quasi-mathematical point of view, the present does not exist. According to the second conception, the present is de ned in relation to the human consciousness which perceives it, as well as to the unity of the intention and attention which I bring to bear upon it. It is, on this analysis, that which I am currently doing, expressing, and feeling. From this point of view, the present does have a certain duration or "thickness" which admits ofgreater or lesser degrees (kata platos). In this sense, the Stoic de nition of the present is entirely analogous to that of Henri Bergson, who in Pensee et le mouvant drew a distinction be­ tween the present as a mathematical instant, which is nothing but a pure abstraction, and that present which has a certain thickness or duration,
which is more or less de ned and delimited by my attention. 6
In attempting to understand the opposition introduced by Chrysippus between, on the one hand, the present, and on the other the past and the ture, the reader will no doubt have been willing to grant that the present is "that which currently belongs to me," but may have been quite astonished to read that the past and the ture "are realized. " Without entering into Chrysippus' technical re nements, which already seemed exaggerated to the writers of antiquity, one can say in response that what is important in the passage discussed above is not so much the opposition between the two Greek terms which Chrysippus chose to use-hyparchein and hyphestanai, elsewhere hyphestekenai, both of which mean "to exist, " "to be real"-but rather their di erence of tense. The word hyparchein, when used with relation to the present, means "to be real qua current process"; whereas the word hyphestanai, used with regard to the past and the ture, means "to be real qua something determined and de nitive. " The rmer has an inchoative and durative rce: it denotes that which is happening right at this moment. The latter, by contrast, has a de nitive value. The reader may, moreover, be willing to
grant that the past has a de nitive value. But the ture?
Here we must recall that, r the Stoics, the ture was just as much determined as the past. 7 For Destiny, there is neither ture nor past, but everything is determined and de nite. 8 Chrysippus chose the verb hy­ parchein because it was a technical term of logic, which Aristotle e­ quently used to designate the inherence ofan accident or an attribute in a subject; thus it is a word which denotes a relationship to a subject. Walking is "present"-that is, it belongs to me currently-when I am walking. The past and the ture, by contrast, do not currently belong to me. Even if I think about them, they are independent of my initiative and do not depend on me. There re, the present has reality only in
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relation to my consciousness, thought, initiative, and eedom. It is these which ve it a kind ofthickness and duration, which in tum is linked to a series of unities: of the meaning of the discourse which I utter, of my moral intention, and ofthe intensity ofmy attention.
When Marcus speaks of the present, he is always talking about this durative present, which has a kind of thickness. Clearly, it is within this present that I situate the representation which I am having at this mo­ ment, the desire I am feeling at this moment, and the action which, at this moment, I am performing. It is also this "thick" present, however, which I can lessen by circumscribing and delimiting it, in order to make it more bearable. Such a "shrinkage" of the present does not imply, as Goldschmidt thought,9 that the lived present would then be reduced to a mathematical, in nitely divisible instant. Goldschmidt thought he could percieve two attitudes toward the present in Marcus: one which de­ nounced the unreality of the present instant, and another which be­ stowed reality upon the present instant via the initiative of a moral agent. On the contrary: we have seen how Marcus compared life to songs and to dance. Songs and dance are made up of units-notes and move­ ments-which do have a certain thickness, however slight it may be. Now, a succession of unreal entities can never be put together so as to give rise to a dance, a song, or a life. Moreover, when Marcus speaks of the present in terms of a point within in nity, we can tell om the context that he is still talking about a lived present, which has a certain thickness (VI, 36, r):
Asia and Europe are comers ofthe world. The sea is a drop ofthe world. Athas is a lump of earth, and all present time is a point within in nity. Everything is tiny and unstable, and everything vanishes (in immensity) .
Here, Marcus is not a rming the unreality of Asia, of the sea, or of Mount Athas, and hence not of the present, either. Rather, he is a rming-in a very scienti c way, so to speak-their relative smallness within the immensity ofthe Whole, and not their nonexistence. 10 Once again, we are dealing with the method of"physical" de nition.
Events, the present, and cosmic consciousness
According to Epictetus, the goal of the discipline of desire was that we not be ustrated in our desires, nor fall into that which we had been trying to avoid. In order to realize this goal, we had to desire only that
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which depends upon us-that is, the moral good-and ee only om that which depends on us: in this case, moral evil. That which does not depend on us is the realm ofthe indi erent: we must not desire it, but we must not ee om it either, r ifwe do we risk " lling into what we are trying to avoid. " Epictetus, we noted, linked this attitude to our consent to Destiny.
Marcus Aurelius takes up this doctrine point r point, yet in his writings its implications and its consequences appear more clearly and explicitly. Above all, the discipline of desire in Marcus is related rst and remost to the way in which we are to greet the events which result om the overall movement of universal Nature, which are produced by what Marcus calls the "exterior cause" (VIII, 7):
Rational nature (that is, the nature peculiar to human beings) l­ lows the path which is appropriate to it . . . if it has desires and aversions only r that which depends upon us, and ifit greets with
joy all that common Nature allots to it.
What is thus allotted to human nature is nothing other than the events which happen to it (III, 16, 3):
The proper characteristic of the good man is to love and to greet joy lly all those events which he encounters (ta sumbainonta), and
which are linked to him by Destiny.
We have already seen that, r the Stoics, what is present r me is that which is currently happening to me: in other words, not merely my current actions, but also the present event with which I am con onted. Here again, as in the case of the present in general, it is my thought and my attention which singles out om the ux of things that which has meaning r me; at which point my inner discourse will declare that such-and-such an event is happening to me. Moreover-whether I know it or not-the overall movement ofthe universe, set in motion by divine Reason, has brought it about that I have been destined, om all eternity, to encounter such-and-such an event. This is why I have trans­ lated the word sumbainon (etymologically "that which goes together [with] ") , which Marcus customarily uses to denote that which happens, by the phrase "the events which we encounter. " To be still more precise, one would have to translate this as "the event which adjusts itselfto us,"
The Discipline ofDesire 139 but such an expression cannot always be used. This is, however, precisely
the meaning which Marcus gives to the word sumbainon (V, 8 , 3 ) :
We say that events are tting to us (sumbainein), just as masons say that the square stones they use in walls or in pyramids " t each other" (sumbainein), when they are well-adapted to each other in a given combination.
The imagery of the construction of the edi ce of the universe is rein rced by that of weaving. The interweaving of the woof and the wa was a traditional, archaic image, linked to the gure ofthe Moirai, who, as early as Homer, spun the destiny of each human being. 11 The three Parcai, named Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos, appear- rst in the Orphic Derveni papyrus,12 and then in Plato13 and the Stoics-as the mythical gures ofthe cosmic law which emanates om divine Reason. The llowing is a testimony to the Stoic doctrine:14
The Moirai (or "Parts") are so named because of the process of separation (diame smos) which they carry out: Clotho ("the spin­ ner"), Lachesis ("she who distributes the lots"), and Atropos ("the in exible one ") . Lachesis is so called because she distributes the lots which individuals have received according to justice; Atropos [gets her name] because the division of the parts is unchangeable in any ofits details, and is immutable since eternal time. Fina y, Clotho is so named because the distribution takes place in accordance with Destiny, and that which occurs reaches its end in con rmity with what she has spun.
Another testimony gives voice to approximately the same repre­ sentations:15
The Moirai get their name om the ct that they distribute and assign things to each one of us. . . . Chrysippus suggests that the number of the Moi i corresponds to the three times in which all things have their circular movement, and by means of which all things achieve their completion. Lachesis is so called because she attributes to each human being his or her destiny; Atropos is so called because of the immutable and unchanging character of the distribution; and Clotho is so called because ofthe ct that things
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are woven and linked together, and that they can travel only one path, which is perfectly well-ordered.
The "events which I encounter," and which "adjust themselves to me" have been woven together with me by Clotho, the gure ofDes­ tiny or universal Reason (IV, 3 4) :
Abandon yourself willingly to Clotho; let her weave you together with whatever event she pleases.
Marcus Aurelius is nd ofmentioning this interweaving:
This event which you are encountering . . . it happened to you; it was coordinated with you; and was in relation to you, since it was woven together with you, om as r back as the most ancient of causes (V, 8, 12).
So something has happened to you? Good! Every event that you encounter has been linked to you by Destiny, and has, since the beginning, been woven together with you om the l (IV, 26) .
Whatever happens to you has been prepared r you in advance om eternity, and the interweaving of causes has, since rever, woven together your substance and your encounter with this event (X, 5).
While this motif is strongly emphasized by Marcus, it is not absent om Epictetus' sayings, as recorded by Arrian (I, 12, 25):
Will you be an and unhappy with what Zeus has ordained? He de ned and ordained these things together with the Moirai, who were present at your birth and wove your destiny.
For the Stoics, events were predicates, as we saw in the case of"walk­ ing," which is present to me when "I am walking. " I then, an event happens to me, this means that it has been produced by the universal totality ofthe causes which constitute the cosmos. The relationship be­ tween myselfand such an event presupposes the entire universe, as well as the will of universal Reason. We shall have to examine later whether this will de nes the event in all its details, or merely gives it an initial
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impulse. For the moment, it is su cient to note that whether I am ill, or lose my child, or am the victim ofan accident, it is the entire cosmos which is implicated in the event.
This interconnection or interweaving-the mutual implication of things in all things-is one ofMarcus' vorite themes. For him, as r the Stoics in general, the cosmos is but a single living entity, endowed with a unique consciousness and will (IV, 40) :
How all things cooperate to produce everything that is produced; how everything is linked and wound up together
in order to rm a "sacred connection" (IV, 40; VI, 38; VII, 9).
Thus, each present moment, the event which I encounter within it, and my encounter with this event, imply and potentially contain all the movement of the universe. This notion is in agreement with the Stoic conception ofreality as total mixture, or the interpenetration of things within things. 16 Chrysippus used to speak ofa drop ofwine which rst becomes mixed with the entire sea, and thence is extended to the whole world. 17 Similar wo d-visions are not, moreover, out of date: Hubert Reeves, r example, speaks of E. Mach's notion according to which "the whole universe is mysteriously present in each place and at each instant of the world. "18 I am not trying to claim that such representations are based upon science; rather, they are based upon an original, nda­ ment , existential experience, which can be expressed in poetic rm, as
it is in these verses by Francis Thompson:
things
Near and r
Are linked to each other
In a hidden way
By an immortal power
So that you cannot pick a ower Without disturbing a star. 19
Here again, we encounter the ndamental intuition ofthe cohesion and coherence of reality with itself, an intuition which led the Stoics to perceive love of self and accord with oneself in each movement of a living being as much as in the movement ofthe universe as a whole, or in the perfection of the sage. This is what Marcus expresses in passages like the llowing (X, 2 1 ) :
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The Earth loves! She loves the rain! And the venerable Ether? I t loves too! The World, too, loves to produce that which must occur. And I say to the World: I, too, lov along with you. Don't we say: "such-and-such loves to happen"?
Everyday language, which could use the verb "to love" to signi "to be accustomed to," is here congruent with mythology, which gives us to understand, in its allegorical way, that it is characteristic of the to love itself What Marcus is alluding to here is the grandiose image ofthe hieros
gamos between the sky (or Ether) and the earth, such as it is described by Euripides:
The Earth loves! She loves the rain, when the waterless eld, sterile with dryness, needs moisture. The venerable Sky, too, when lled with rain, loves to fall upon the earth, by the power ofAphrodite. 20
This myth allows us to glimpse that such self-love is not the solitary, egoistic love of the Whole r itsel but rather the mutual love, within the Whole, ofthe parts r each other, ofthe parts r the Whole, and of the Whole r the parts. Between the parts and the Whole, there is a "harmony" or "co-respiration," which puts them in accord with one another.
Everything that happens to the part is use l r the Whole, and everything that is "prescribed" r each part is, almost in the medical sense of the term, "prescribed" (V, 8) r the health of the Whole, and consequently r all the other parts as well.
The discipline of desire there re consists in replacing each event within the perspective of the Whole, and this is why it corresponds to the physical part of philosophy. To replace each event within the per­ spective of the Whole means to understand two things simultaneously: that I am encountering it, or that it is present to me, because it was destined r me by the Whole, but also that the Whole is present within it. Since such an event does not depend upon me, in itselfit is indi erent, and we might there re expect the Stoic to greet it with indi erence. Indi erence, however, does not mean coldness. On the contrary: since such an event is the expression ofthe love which the Whole has r itself, and since it is use l r and willed by the Whole, we too must want and love it. In this way, my will shall identi itself with the divine Will which has willed this event to happen. To be indi erent to indi erent things-that is, to things which do not depend on me-in ct means to make no di erence between them: it means to love them equally, just as Nature or the Whole produces them with equal love. It is the Whole
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which, through and by me, loves itself, and it is up to me not to destroy the cohesion of the Whole, by re sing to accept such-and-such an event.
Marcus describes this feeling of loving consent to the will of the Whole and identi cation with the divine will in terms of the need to " nd satis ction" in the events which happen to us. He writes that we must "greet them joyfully," "accept them with pleasure," "love" them and "wi " them. The Manual of Epictetus, as written by Arrian, ex­ pressed this same attitude in striking terms which encapsulate the entire
discipline ofdesire (chap. 8):
Do not seek r things to happen the way you want them to; rather, wish that what happens happen the way it happens: then you will be happy.
This entire attitude is admirably summed up in Marcus' prayer to the Wo d (IV, 23):
All that is in accord with you is in accord with me, 0 World! Nothing which occurs at the right time r you comes too soon or too late r me. that your seasons produce, 0 Nature, is uit r me. It is om you that all things come; all things are within you, and all things move toward you.
This brings us back to the theme of the present. A particular event is not predestined r me and accorded with me only because it is harmo­ nized with the World; rather, it is so because it occurs in this particular moment and no other. It occurs in accordance with the kairos ("right moment"), which, as the Greeks had always known, is unique. There­ re, that which is happening to me at this moment is happening at the right moment, in accordance with the necessary, methodical, and har­ monious un lding of all events, of which occur at their proper time and season.
To will the event that is happening at this moment, and in this present instant, is to will the entire universe which has brought it about.
Amor ti
Ihaveentitledthissection "amorJati. "MarcusAurelius,whowrotein Greek, obviously did not use these two Latin words; what is more, they are not, as r as I know, used by any Latin writer in antiquity. The phrase
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is Nietzsche's, and my intention in alluding to the love of Destiny of which Nietzsche speaks is to help us better to understand, by means of analogies and contrasts, the spiritual attitude which, in Marcus, corre­ sponds to the discipline ofdesire. Nietzsche writes, r example:
My rmula r what is great in mankind is amorJati: not to wish r anything other than that which is; whether behind, ahead, or r all eternity. Not just to put up with the inevitable-much less to hide it om onesel r all idealism is lying to oneself in the ce of the necessary-but to love it. 21
Everything that is necessary, when seen om above and om the perspective of the vast economy of the whole, is in itself equally use l. We must not only put up with it, but love it. . . . 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,
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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
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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-
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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.