No More Learning

In ct, this apparent con sion is, once again, the result ofdi erences in perspective: di erences introduced, on the one hand, by the concrete, lived practice ofphilosophy, and on the other by the orderly progression demanded by the teaching of philosophy. In practice, it is indeed the criticism of our representations, and the correction of the false ideas which we rm about things, which is the most urgent task, because it conditions the control of our desires and our impulses. We cannot wait to practice the discipline ofjudgment and of assent until, at the end of our program of studies, we have begun the study of texts on theoretical logic, or the examination of hypothetical syllogisms and sophisms. The urgency of life does not permit such niceties, and, in the words of Epictetus, "life is made up of other things besides books. " In everyday li , the discipline of desire, the discipline of impulses, and the discipline ofjudgment are inseparable, and are but three aspects of one activity, which Epictetus calls " the right way of using (chresis)" representations (II , 19, 32; 22, 29); that is to say, the right way ofexamining the value and correctness ofthe ideas which we rm ofthings, which are the causes of our desires and impulses.
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And yet these three disciplines are taught, which means they are the object of a theoretical discourse which, if it is well assimilated by the disciple, contributes to his spiritual progress. Here again the matter is urgent-but om another point ofview. The exercise-themes which are to be given top priority are those which will allow the disciple to live philosophically: the discipline ofdesire, which delivers us om "worries, agitations, and grief" (III, 2, 3), and the discipline of impulse, which teaches us to live within our mily and our city. "These," says Epictetus (I, 4, 12), "are the exercise-themes which must come rst, and which are the most necessary. " In theoretical teaching, then, the discipline of de­ sire, which is the rst exercise-theme, will correspond to physics; the second-the discipline ofactive impulses-will correspond to ethics, and in particular to the theory ofappropriate duties and actions (kathekonta).
Once again, then, we return to the relationship between theoretical physics and that lived physics which we have identi ed as the discipline ofdesire. In order r the philosopher to be able to discipline his desires, he must understand the Stoic theory of nature. As Chrysippus28 himself had already said:
There is no more appropriate way to arrive at the theory of goods and ofevils, virtues and wisdom, than by starting out om universal Nature and the organization of the world . . . r the theory of goods and evils must be connected to these subjects . . . and physics is taught only so that we may be able to teach the distinction which must be established between goods and evils.
It is precisely upon this distinction between goods and evils that the discipline of desire is based, and this is why we encounter this intimate link between physics and the theme ofthe exercice ofdesire in Epictetus. Epictetus, moreover, also makes an explicit reference to Chrysippus (I, IO, ro):
Please examine what, according to Chrysippus, is the administration ofthe world, and what place rational animals occupy therein. Then, om this point of view, consider who you are, and what good and evil are r you.
In the Discourses of Epictetus as reported by Arrian, we do not nd lengthy considerations ofthis series ofquestions, which must have corre­ sponded to an entire program ofstudies. O en, however, we can recog-
The Stoicism ofEpictetus 95 nize in passing Epictetus' allusions to this essential part ofthe discourse
on the teaching ofphysics, such as the llowing passage (IV, 7, 6):
God has made everything that is in the universe and the universe in its entirety, ee of constraint and independent; but he made the parts ofthe Whole r the sake ofthe Whole. Other beings lack the capability of understanding the divine administration; but rational beings possess the inner resources which allow them to re ect upon this universe. They can re ect that they are a part ofit, and on what kind ofa part they are; and that it is good r the parts to yield to the Whole.
Becoming aware, by means ofthe study ofphysics, ofour situation as parts ofthe Whole does notjust serve the nction ofproviding a theo­ retical and rational undation r the discipline of desire, which, as we have seen, requires that, precisely because we are parts ofthe Whole, we must desire everything that happens as a result of the natural course of Nature. On the contrary, it also means enjoying the spectacle of the entire universe, and looking at the world with the vision of God himself In another passage, Epictetus describes the solitary meditation of God at the moment when, at the end of one of the periodic cycles of the Universe, he remains alone, since r a moment all things have been reabsorbed into him-that is to say, into the original re which is at the same time the logos which produces the world-and he urges us to imitate him (III, 13, 7):
As Zeus is with himself, rests in himself, thinks about the way in which he administers the world, and is plunged in thoughts worthy ofhimsel so too should we converse with ourselves: with no need of others, and without being worried about how to keep our lives busy. We, too, should re ect on the way in which God administers the world, and on our relation to the rest of the world; we should consider what our attitude has been, up until now, toward things that happen; and on what it is now; we should consider what are the things that cause us pain, and how we could best remedy them. . . .
Here we switch, with complete naturalness, om a v1s1on of the universe to an examination of conscience. The latter is related to the discipline of desire, and to our attitude with regard to the events that
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happen to us by virtue of the general movement of the universe. As Epictetus says later on (IV, r , roo-ror):
This body made of mud: how could God have created it ee of impediments? He there re submitted it to the revolution of the Universe, as he did with my possessions, my rniture, my house, my children, and my wife. Why, then, should I ght against God? Why should I wish r things that ought not to be wished r?
It is thus no good complaining, and blaming him who has given us all r taking away om us that which he has given (IV, I, 103-4):
Who are you, and why have you come here? Isn't it God who has introduced you down here? Isn't it he who has made the light shine r you . . . and who has given you reason and the senses? In what condition, moreover, has he introduced you down here? . . . Was it not so as to live on earth with a miserable piece of esh and, r a little while, to contemplate his government, llow his procession, and celebrate a festival with him?
Good people, there re, will say when they are dying (III, 5, ro):
I leave ll ofgrate lness to you, r you havejudged me worthy of celebrating the festival with you, of contemplating your works, and of llowing together with you the way in which you govern the world.
Finally, the discipline of desire, inso r as it is a lived physics, consists not only in accepting what happens, but in contemplating the works of God with admiration (I, 6, 19-25):
God introduced humankind down here in order to contemplate both him and his works . . . For us, nature's nal accomplishment is contemplation, becoming aware, and a way of living in harmony with nature. Make sure, then, that you do not die without having contemplated all these realities . . . will you never realize, then, who you are, why you were born, and what this spectacle is to which you have been admitted?
The rst theoretical instruction in the education ofa philosopher must there re be in physics, which rms the basis ofthe distinction between
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good and evil, and hence the discipline ofdesire. The second subject of theoretical teaching is in ethics, which is the basis of the discipline of impulses. Theoretical instruction in logic, which corresponds to what Epictetus calls the " exercise-theme of assent, " comes third.
We have here a good example of the way in which Epictetus viewed two kinds of exercises as somehow ndamentally identical: intellectual exercises, as practiced in the exposition of a given part of philosophical discourse-in this case, logic-and lived exercises, as practiced in everyday life-here, as the exercise-theme (topos) of judgment and assent. Epictetus does, a er all, use the same term, " the exercise-theme of as­ sent, " to designate both lived logic (the criticism of our representations and of the ideas which we rm of things) and, on the other hand, theoretical logic (that is to say, the theory of syllogisms) .
On the one hand, Epictetus a rms (III, 12, 14-15):
The third exercise-theme concerns assent, and in particular seduc­ tive and attractive representations. Just as Socrates used to say that an unexamined life is not worth living, so we must never accept an unexamined representation.
Thus, in this description of lived logic, or logic put into practice, we recognize the proper use ofrepresentations which is, in ct, the basis and undation of all the other exercise-themes. Let me repeat: om this lived and concrete point ofview, the three themes are necessarily simul­ taneous; and ifEpictetus speaks ofthe "third theme," it is only r the sake of clarity of exposition.
On the other hand, there are other passages in which the exercise­ theme of assent really is the third theme: it comes last a er all the others, and is reserved r those who are making progress (III, 2, 5). In this case, what is under discussion is theoretical/scholarly discourse about logic, conceived as reasoning-processes which change in value-those which end in one of the premises, hypothetical syllogisms, and deceptive rea­ soning (III, 2, 6) . 29 Epictetus insists upon the absolute necessity of this teaching; r instance, he responds as llows to an auditor who asks to be persuaded ofthe use lness oflogic (II, 25, 1): "Without logic, how will you know whether or not I am deceiving you with a sophism? " For Epictetus, it is indispensable to be able to provide, by means ofthe art of uncovering sophisms and errors in reasoning, the dogmas one has re­ ceived via instruction in physics and ethics with an unshakably rm undation. Such logic may be sterile (I, 17, rn); it is a purely critical
discipline, which teaches no dogma, but examines and criticizes every­ thing else.
In the nal analysis, one gets the impression that, r Epictetus, the place of logic in a philosophical education is situated at two moments: the beginning and the end. It has its place at the beginning, because, as we have seen, in order to be able to practice the three themes ofphilo­ sophical exercise, it is indispensable to learn, as soon as possible, how to criticize one's representations, and how to give one's assent only to those which are adequate. "This," says Epictetus, "is the reason why we place logic at the beginning" (I, 17, 6). Logic also, however, has its place at the end of the curriculum, in its more technical rm of the theory of syllogisms; this is what gives unshakable certainty to the dogmas, which are the principles of action (III, 26, 14). The danger of this technical study, however, is that it may remain purely technical, and become an end in itselfor a means ofshowing o (III, 2, 6; I, 26, 9; II, 19, 5). In such a case, the third exercise-theme may become deleterious to a philosophi­ cal education.
As we can see, reconciling the demands of concrete philosophical li with those ofpedagogical and theoretical education was very di cult r Epictetus, as it was r the other Stoics as well. He probably restricted himself to the combined teaching of all three disciplines. Nevertheless, the doctrine of the three topoi, or lived exercise-themes, appears in Epictetus' teachings as the nal development of the Stoic theory of the three parts ofphilosophy. Epictetus enunciates a philosophical discourse on the subject of these three parts, but at the same time he also nds them within the everyday life of philosophers. Here, they assume the rm of three exercise-themes, linked to the three activities of the soul; r the discipline ofdesire is possible only by means ofthat awareness by virtue ofwhich the philosopher considers himselfas a part ofthe cosmic . Likewise, the discipline of impulses is possible only by means of that awareness by virtue ofwhich the philosopher discovers his place within the human community; while the discipline of assent is possible only thanks to the awareness by means of which the philosopher simultane­ ously discovers, on the one hand, his liberty with regard to repre­ sentations, and, on the other, the rigorous laws ofReason.
The coherence ofthe All
Most historians of philosophy mention Epictetus' doctrine of the three exercise-themes. For instance, they have recognized that Arrian used this
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The Stoicism ofEpictetus 99
scheme of the three exercise-themes in order to group together those sayings of Epictetus which he collected in the summary of the Master's teachings which he entitled the Manual. 30 Scholars have also sought to discover traces ofanalogous schemes in Seneca or Cicero,31 but it appears that we shall never arrive at decisive results concerning this point. De­ spite all these e orts, however, scholars have perhaps not su ciently emphasized the human signi cance of this doctrine.
The discipline ofdesire essentially consists in re-placing oneselfwithin the context of the cosmic , and in becoming aware of human exist­ ence as being a part, one that must con rm to the will of the Whole, which in this case is equivalent to universal Reason. The discipline of impulses and of actions consists essentially in re-placing oneself within the context ofhuman society; this entails acting in con rmity with that Reason which all human beings have in common, and which is itself an integral part of universal Reason. Finally, the discipline of judgment consists in allowing oneselfto be guided by the logical necessity which is imposed upon us by that Reason which is within ourselves; this Reason, too, is a part ofuniversal Reason, since logical necessity is based upon the necessary linkage of events.
Thus, the scheme ofEpictetus' exercise-themes has exactly the same goal as did the three aspects of lived philosophy-physics, ethics, and logic- r the Stoics: to live "in accordance with Reason. " There is nothing surprising about this, since, as we have seen, Epictetus holds that the three exercise-themes are the three aspects of lived philosophy. The philosopher must abandon his partial, egoistic vision of reality, in order, by way of physics, to rise to the point of seeing things as universal Reason sees them. Above all, the philosopher must intensely wish the common good of the universe and of society, by discovering that a part can possess no other proper good than the common good ofthe . The philosopherisacitizenoftheworld(I,9,l;II,IO, 3);butheorsheisalso a citizen ofthe human City (II, 5, 26), which is nothing other than a smaller image of the cosmic City. If one's individual consciousness can be expanded as r as the utmost limits of the cosmic event, and wills this wholly and completely, this still does not prevent one om assuming the responsibilities of social duties, nor om having a pro und love r the human community. If my Reason has come rth om universal Rea­ son, then so has that of all other human beings. people are brothers and sisters since they share in the same Reason; and even a slave is thus his master's brother (I, 13, 3).
Epictetus' three disciplines, there re, guide and direct the relations
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between human beings and the universe, other human beings, and hu­ mankind's own reason. Thus, the totality ofhuman existence is situated in relation to the whole of reality. For the Stoics, moreover, totality is precisely what characterizes living beings; in their view, to be a whole is to be coherent with oneself By means of the three disciplines, people eely cooperate with a totality and a coherence which will necessarily be actualized, whether they like it or not, r it is only the totality of the cosmos which is assured ofa perfect, unbreakable coherence. Although humankind's eedom confers upon it the privilege of being able to con rm, eely and voluntarily, to this rational coherence ofthe cosmos, it also exposes humanity to the risk of allowing incoherence to in ltrate its thought, its a ectivity, and the human City as a whole. Humankind's adherence to the coherence of cosmic Reason is always agile and in doubt, but the divine plan will be realized ofnecessity.
The doctrine of the three exercise-themes, disciplines, or rules of life thus contains within itself the whole essence of Stoicism, recapitulated in a grandiose way. It invites humankind to a complete reversal ofits vision ofthe world and its usual way ofliving. The philosopher-emperor Mar­ cus Aurelius, as the distant disciple ofthe philosopher-slave, would mag­ ni cently develop and orchestrate these richly-harmonied themes in his Meditations.
6
THE INNER CITADEL, OR THE DISCIPLINE OF ASSENT
The discipline ofassent
As we have seen, the Meditations are Stoic spiritual exercises. We can, however, be more speci c: by means of these exercises, Marcus Aurelius wished to establish within himself the inner discourse and the pro und dispositions which would allow him to practice concretely-in the midst ofhis imperial life-the three exercise-themes or rules oflife set rth by Epictetus. The Meditations return constantly to the rmulation of these exercise-themes, and of the dogmas which serve as their undation. The structure underlying the Meditations is the very same ternary structure that we havejust seen in the case ofEpictetus, and we must now turn to examining the rm which this structure takes on in the Meditations.
The objective or adequate representation hantasia kataleptike)
The discipline of assent consists essentially in re sing to accept within oneselfall representations which are other than objective or adequate. In order to understand what Marcus Aurelius means by this, it is necessary to speci the meaning of the technical Stoic vocabulary which the Emperor uses in this context.
In the rst place, sensation (aisthesis) is a corporeal process which we have in common with animals, and in which the impression of an exte­ rior object is transmitted to the soul. By means ofthis process, an image hantasia) ofthe object is produced in the soul, or more precisely in the guiding part egemonikon) of the soul.
The phantasia has a double aspect. On the one hand, it replaces the object, and in a sense becomes identi ed with it, since it is an image of the object. On the other hand, it is a modi cation athos) of the soul, brought about by the action of an exterior obj ect. Marcus Aurelius, r
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instance, asks himselfthe llowing question (III, r r , 3; XII, r 8): "What is the nature ofthe object which is producing this phantasia within me? "
I n the summary o f Stoic logic which the historian Diogenes Laertius has preserved r us, we read the llowing: "The phantasia comes rst, and then re ection (dianoia) which enunciates what it feels as a result of the phantasia, and expresses it in discourse. "1 The presence ofthis image in the soul is thus accompanied by an inner discourse; that is to say, a phrase, proposition, or series ofphrases and propositions which enunci­ ate the nature, quality, and value ofthe object which has given rise to the phantasia in question. It is to these enunciations that we may either give or withhold our assent. Like exterior objects, the phantasia is corporeal, but the inner discourse to which we give our assent is inco oreal, inso r as it possesses a meaning. By contrast with the passive nature of the phantasia-the image or representation produced by exterior ob­
jects-this inner discourse represents an activity ofthe guiding part ofthe soul. The soul, moreover, can also produce representations hantasiai) when it combines the images it has received. 2
This double aspect of the cognitive process-passive and active, con­ strained and ee-can be observed in a passage by Epictetus quoted by Aulus Gellius. 3 It deserves to be cited in its entirety, since it gives a good description ofthe mechanism ofassent:
These representations of the soul, which the philosophers call phan­ tasiai, by which a person's spirit is momentarily moved, at the rst glimpse of the thing which presents itself to the soul: they do not depend upon the will, and are not ee. Rather, by means of some kind of rce which is peculiar to them, they throw themselves upon people, in order to be known.
Assents, by contrast, which are called sunkatatheseis, by means of which these representations are recognized and judged, are volun­ tary and take place through human eedom.
This is why, when a terri ing sound is heard-whether it comes om the heavens or om the collapse ofsome building, or whether it announces some kind ofdanger, or anything else ofthat nature­ it is necessary that the soul of the sage, too, be also slightly moved and constricted and terri ed; not because he judges that some rm of evil is present, but because of the rapid and involuntary move­ ments, which usurp the proper task ofthe mind and ofreason.
The sage, however, does not give his assent immediately to such representations which terri his soul; he does not approve them,
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but brushes them aside and rejects them, and it seems to him that there is nothing to ar om such things. This is the di erence between the sage and the olish person: the olish person thinks that things are as they appear to the rst emotion ofhis soul-that is to say, atrocious and ight l, and the olish person approves by his assent these rst impressions, which appear to justi his fear.
But the sage, although the color ofhis ce was brie y and rapidly altered, does not give his assent, but maintains the rce and solidity of the dogma which he has always had about such representations: that they are not at all to be ared, but they terri people by means ofa lse appearance and an empty terror.
This text provides a irly clear distinction between the image hanta­ sia-in this case, the thunderclap which resounds within the soul); the judgment (which Marcus calls a hypolepsis) , which is an inner discourse of the rm: "This is awful and terrible! "; and nally the assent (sunkatathe­
sis), which either approves or ils to approve the judgment.
Marcus has a equent tendency to con se judgment and repre­ sentation; in other words, he identi es representations with the inner discourse which enunciates their content and their value. We may omit the passage in Book V, 16, 2, where Marcus speaks ofa chain ofrepre­ sentations, even though what is being discussed is a syllogism, and hence a chain ofjudgments: r in this particular case one can admit that he is speaking of those phantasiai logikai, or abstract representations, which I have alluded to above as the result ofintellectual operations. Elsewhere, however, we nd Marcus saying either (VIII, 29): "Erase your repre­ sentations hantasiai)," or else (VIII, 40): "Suppress your judgment," without there being any apparent di erence in meaning. And yet Marcus is sometimes quite capable of distinguishing the inner discourse-and hence the judgment-which the soul develops about a given repre­
sentation, om the representation itself (VIII, 49) :
Don't tell yourself anything more than what your primary repre­ sentations tell you. Ifyou've been told, "So-and-so has been talking behind your back," then this is what you've been told. You have not, however, been told that " Somebody has done a wrong to you. "
Here, we can recognize the stages ofthe process. In the rst place, we have the exterior event: someone announces to Marcus that so-and-so has been saying negative things about him. Next, we have the repre-
sentation produced within him, which is called "primary" because as yet, nothing has been added to it. In the third place, there is the discourse which enunciates the contents ofthis primary representation: "So-and-so has been saying negative things about you"; this is what is announced by the primary representation. Finally, there is yet another enunciation, which is no longer content merely to describe the situation, but emits a value-judgment: " I have been wronged. "
Here we encounter once again the notion ofan "adequate" or "objec­ tive " representation hantasia kataleptike), as we have seen it de ned by Epictetus. An objective or adequate representation is one which corre­ sponds exactly to reality, which is to say that it engenders within us an inner discourse which is nothing other than the pure and simple descrip­ tion ofan event, without the addition ofany subjective value-judgment (Arrian, Discourses, III, 8, 5):
He was sent tojail.
What happened? He was sent to jail. But "He is unhappy" is added by oneself[i. e. , subjectively].
Thus, both Marcus and Epictetus draw a clear distinction between "ob­ jective" inner discourse, which is merely a pure description of reality, and "subjective" inner discourse, which includes conventional or pas­
sionate considerations, which have nothing to do with reality.
The "physical" de nition
One must always make a de nition or description of the object which is presented in a representation, so as to see it in itself, as it is in its essence, in its nakedness, in its totality, and in all its details. One must say to oneselfthe name which is peculiar to it, as well as the names of the parts which compose it, and into which it will be resolved (III, r r).
Marcus Aurelius gives us several examples ofwhat he means by this kind ofde nition (VI, 13):
How important it is to represent to oneself, when it comes to ncy dishes and other such ods: "This is the corpse ofa sh, this other thing the corpse of a bird or a pig. " Similarly, " This Falernian wine isjust some grapejuice," and "This pu le vestment is some sheep's
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The Discipline ofAssent 105
hair moistened in the blood of some shell sh. " When it comes to sexual union, we must say, " This is the rubbing together of abdo­ mens, accompanied by the spasmodic ejaculation ofa sticky liquid. " How important are these representations hantasiai) which reach the thing itself and penetrate right through it, so that one can see what it is in reality.
Here again, Marcus uses the term phantasia to designate that inner discourse which describes the object ofrepresentations. Yet these repre­ sentations, which appear to be discourses which "strike reality and pene­ trate it through and through," correspond to "objective" or "adequate" representations, as these are conceived by Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. They do not add anything to reality; rather, they de ne it in its nudity, by separating it om the value-judgments which people el obliged to add to it, whether by habit, under the in uence ofsocial prejudices, or out of passion.
We can call this kind ofde nition "physical," since it ees our repre­ sentations om every kind of subjective and anthropomorphic consid­ eration, as well as om every relation to the human point of view, in order to de ne them, as it were, scienti cally and physically. Once again we note that, according to Stoic philosophy, all is in all. Although the criticism ofrepresentations and the search r objective representations are a part oflogic, they can nevertheless only be achieved ifwe adopt a physical point of view, by situating events and objects within the per­ spective of universal Nature. It is r this reason that it will be necessary to speak of this kind of de nition once again, when we are dealing with the discipline ofdesire.
The Inner Citadel
Things Cannot Touch the Soul
Things cannot touch the soul.
They have no access to the soul. They cannot produce ourjudgments. They are outside ofus.
They themselves know nothing, and by themselves they a rm nothing.
(Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 3, ro; V, r9; VI, 52; IX, r5)
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Marcus insists strongly and repeatedly o n the total exteriority of things with respect to us, and he does so in striking terms which do not appear in the sayings of Epictetus which Arrian has preserved. When Marcus says that "things cannot touch the soul," he does not mean that they are not the cause of the representations hantasiai) which are produced within the soul. One could argue that, since the relationship between things and their representations is that of cause and e ect, it is a part of the necessary linkage of Destiny. But the blow which sets the inner discourse of the guiding principle in motion is only the opportunity r this guiding principle to develop its inner discourse. The discourse itself, however, remains entirely ee:
Just as when you push a cylinder, says Chrysippus,4 you have caused it to begin its movement, but you have not given it the property of rolling, so likewise a representation will no doubt mark and imprint its rm upon the soul; and yet our assent will still remain within our power. Just like the cylinder, our assent may be pushed om without, but then it will move by its own rce and nature.
The skeptic Sextus Empiricus5 con rms this two ld aspect ofpercep­ tion, in the context ofhis criticism ofthe Stoics:
Perception (katalepsis) consists, according to them, in giving one's assent to an objective (kataleptike) representation, and this seems to be a two ld matter: there is something involuntary it, as we as something voluntary, which depends upon our judgment. The act ofreceiving a representation, r instance, is involuntary; it does not depend upon the person receiving the representation, but upon the cause of the representation. . . . Giving one's assent to such a psy­ chological movement, however, is within the power of the person receiving the representation.
In order to understand what Marcus Aurelius means when he says that things cannot touch the soul and are outside of us, we must bear in mind that the word "soul" could have two meanings r the Stoics. In the rst place, it was a reality made ofair neuma) which animates our body and receives the impressions, or phantasiai, om exterior obj ects. This is o en what Marcus means by "soul. " Here, however, when he speaks about "us" and about the soul, he is thinking ofthat superior or guiding part of the soul which the Stoics called the hegemonikon. It alone is ee, because
The Discipline ofAssent
it alone can give or re se its assent to that inner discourse which enunci­ ates what the object is which is represented by a given phantasia. This borde ine which objects cannot cross, this inviolable stronghold of ee­ dom, is the limit ofwhat I shall re r to as the "inner citadel. " Things cannot penetrate into this citadel: that is, they cannot produce the dis­ course which we develop about things, or the interpretation which we give ofthe world and its events. As Marcus says, the things outside ofus "stay still"; they "do not come to us"; rather, in a way, "it is we who go towardthem" (XI, II).
These assertions must obviously b e understood in a psycholo cal and moral sense. Marcus does not mean that things stay immobile in a physi­ cal sense, but that they are "in themselves," in the sense in which "in itself" could be opposed to " r itsel£ " Things do not care about us: they do not t to in uence us, penetrate within us, or trouble us. Besides, "they know nothing about themselves and nothing about them­ selves. " It is rather we who are concerned about things, who try to get to know them, and who are worried about them. It is human beings who, thanks to their eedom, introduce trouble and worry into the world. Taken by themselves, things are neither good nor evil, and should not trouble us. The course of things un lds in a necessary way, without choice, without hesitation, and without passion.
If you are grieving about some exterior thing, then it is not that thing which is troubling you, but your judgment about that thing (VIII, 47).
Here we encounter an echo ofa mous saying by Epictetus:
What troubles people is not things, but their judgments about
things (Manual, §s).
Things cannot trouble us, because they do not touch our ego; in other words, they do not touch the guiding principle within us. They remain on the threshold, outside of our liberty. When Marcus and Epictetus add that "what troubles us is our judgment about things, " they are clearly alluding to the discourse which it is within our power to pronounce within ourselves, in order to de ne r ourselves the meaning ofa given event. It is this latter judgment which may trouble us, but this is where the ndamental dogma ofStoicism comes in: there is no good but moral good, and there is no evil but moral evil. That which is not moral-that
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is to say, that which does not depend on our choice, our liberty, or our judgment-is indi erent, and ought not to bother us. If our judgment about things is troubling us, the reason is that we have rgotten this ndamental dogma. The discipline of assent is thus intimately linked to
the doctrine of good, bad, and indi erent things (XI , 1 6) :
To live one's life in the best way: the power to do this resides within our soul, if we are capable of being indi erent to indi erent things. And we can be indi erent to indi erent things ifwe consider each of these things, in each of its parts and in its totality, remem­ bering that none of them can produce within us a value-judgment about them, nor can they reach us. Rather, things remain immo­ bile, whereas it is we who engender judgments about them, and, as it were, write them down within ourselves. But it is possible r us not to write them down; it is also possible, ifwe have not succeeded in this, to erase them instantaneously.
The soul is ee to judge as it pleases
Things, there re, should not have any in uence upon the guiding prin­ ciple. Both Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius agree that the guiding princi­ ple alone is responsible, whether it is troubled by things, or whether, on the contrary, it is at peace. It is the guiding principle itselfwhich modi es itsel as it chooses this or that judgment about things, and consequently this or that representation of the world. In the words of Marcus Aurelius (who here uses the word "soul" to designate the superior, guiding part of the soul; V, 19): "the soul modi es itsel " This concept was a part of Stoicism well be re the time ofEpictetus and Marcus, as is shown by the llowing passage in Plutarch:6
It is the same part of the soul, which they call dianoia ( culty of re ection) and hegemonikon (guiding principle), which changes and is totally trans rmed in the passions and trans rmations which it undergoes . . . they a rm that passion itselfis reason, but depraved and vicious reason, which, as a result ofbad and mistakenjudgment, grows strong and vigorous.
Here we encounter another Stoic dogma: there is no opposition, as the Platonists had held, between one part of the soul which is rational
The Discipline ofAssent 109
and good in and of itsel and another part which is irrational and bad. Rather, it is reason-and the ego itself-which becomes either good or bad, as a nction ofthejudgments which it rms about things. "It is the soul which changes itself, according to whether it knows things, or ils to know them. "7 This means that it is by its own judgment and decision that the soul is in the right, or in error.
It must be understood that, r Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, of the preceding must be situated in the order of the value which is attrib­ uted to things, and not in the order ofbeing. In order to clari this, we can use an example set rth by Marcus (VIII, 50): the cucumber that I want to eat is bitter. Consequently, there is impressed upon my soul the representation of a bitter cucumber, and the soul's guiding principle should have only one thing to say about this representation: the assertion "This cucumber is bitter. " Here we can recognize an instance ofthe objective and adequate representation hantasia kataleptike). The entire discipline of assent will there re consist in my accepting only this one objective representation. If, however, I were to add the question: "Why are there such things in the world? " or the exclamation "Zeus is wrong to allow such things! " then I am adding, eely and ofmy own accord, a value-judgment which no longer corresponds to the adequate content of my objective representation.
In Arrian's Manual (§5), the saying "It is not things that trouble people, but their judgn1ents about things" is well explained by the llowing commentary: "For instance, there is nothing fearful about death . . . rather, it is because of the judgment which we bring to bear upon death-i. e. , that it is fear l-that is what is arful about death. " Once again, we have here a value-judgment which is added on in a purely subjective way.
It is in the area of value-judgments that the power of the guiding principle, and ofits culty ofassent, comes into play. It is this power that introduces value di erences into a wo d which is indi erent and "in itsel " Nevertheless, the only value-judgments which are authentic and true are those which recognize that the good is moral good, that evil is moral evil, and that that which is neither morally good nor bad is indif­ rent, and there re valueless. In other words, the Stoic de nition of good and evil has as its consequence the total trans rmation of one's vision ofthe world, as it strips objects and events ofthe false values which people have the habit of attributing to them, and which prevent them om seeing reality in its nudity (VII, 68):
110 THE INNER CITADEL
True judgment says to that which presents itsel " this is what you are in essence, even though you may appear to common opinion to be something else. "
However, although
the guiding principle has the power to bring it about that every event appears to it in the way it wills (VI, 8),
this does not mean that the guiding principle can imagine anything it pleases about reality, but rather that it is ee to attribute what value it wishes to the objects it encounters. In order to suppress the lse value which we attribute to these objects, it is enough to suppress our lse discourse about the value of these objects. If we suppress the inner discourse which says "I have been harmed," then the harm disappears and is suppressed (IV, 7). As Epictetus had said (IV, 1, IIo): "Do not tell yourself that indi erent things are necessary to you, and they will no longer be so. "
Thus, when Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius speak of "judgments" ypolepsis), they are thinking of "value-judgments. " This is why I have usually translated hypolepsis as "value-judgment. "
Critical idealism?
It is thus misleading to compare, as does Victor Goldschmidt,8 the a r­ mations of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius to a kind of " Kantian ideal­ ism," completely di erent om the theory ofthe objective or compre­ hensive representation proposed by Chrysippus. For Chrysippus, writes Goldschmidt, " comprehension was the natural consequence of assent­ accorded voluntarily but necessarily-to the comprehensive repre­ sentation. Now, as in Kantianism, comprehension applies more to ap­ pearances than to the thing in itself It is we who elaborate upon the appearance brought about by the object, and it is there re this subjectiv­ ity, de rming reality as it does, which we must study and criticize, much more than reality itself. . . it is as ifthe representation, which is no longer comprehensive immediately and as a result only ofthe object, was now rendered such by the activity of the subj ect. " Goldschmidt, however, iled to see that, r Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, the activity of the subject does not consist in producing a comprehensive or objective repre­ sentation, but rather in sticking to that which is objective within the
The Discipline ofAssent III
objective representation, without adding to it any value-judgment which might de rm it. According to Epictetus (III, I2, I5), we must say to each of our representations:
Let's see some identi cation! Do you have the sign om nature which every representation must have, in order to be approved?
This interrogation is not directed toward the objective and adequate representation to which we spontaneously give our consent, but rather to the other representations or judgments: those inner discourses we pronounce not about the reality ofthe event or thing, but about its value. It is the latter which lack the "ID" and the "sign" ofan objective and adequate representation.
The reason Goldschmidt gave this interpretation of Epictetus and of Marcus Aurelius is that he has misunderstood a passage om Epictetus. This passage is, to be sure, highly enigmatic at rst sight (Manual, I, 5):
Every time you are in the presence of an unpleasant representation, practice saying to yoursel "You're only a representation hanta­ sia), and not quite what you represent (to phainomenon). "
This, at any rate, is the translation proposed by Goldschmidt, but it is incorrect. What is under discussion here is an "unpleasant" repre­ sentation-that is, one which gives the impression that an object or event is pain l, injurious, or terri ing. What this means is that the value-judg­ ment "this is unpleasant" has been added on to the objective repre­ sentation of an object or event. The representation is consequently no longer objective, but subjective. A more accurate translation of Epictetus' Greek would thus be "You are o y a subjective repre­ sentation, " which is to say, "You are merely a pure representation" (or "a mere product ofmy imagination," as we would put it today), "and you are not at all" ("not at all,"9 and not "not quite," as Goldschmidt trans­ lated) "what really presents itself " Here, then, to phainomenon designates the object as it is when it presents itselfwithin an objective and adequate representation-in other words, what is truly perceived.
The simultaneous discove of oneself and of the world
In the last analysis, then, the discipline of assent appears as a constant e ort to eliminate all the value-judgments which we bring to bear upon
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those things which do not depend upon us, and which there re have no moral value. The phenomena of nature and the events of the world, once they are stripped ofall the adjectives-"terri ing," " ightening," "dangerous," "hideous," "repulsive"-which humankind, in its blind anthropomorphism, applies to them, appear in their nudity and all their savage beauty. reality is then perceived om the perspective of uni­ versal Nature, as within the ow ofeternal metamorphoses ofwhich our individual life and death are only the tiniest waves. And yet, in the very act by which we trans rm the way we used to look at things, we also become aware of our ability to trans rm this way of seeing. Hence, we become aware of the inner power which we possess to see things-and by "things," let us always understand the value ofthings-as we want to see them. In other words, thanks to the discipline ofassent, the trans r­ mation of our consciousness of the world brings about a trans rmation of our consciousness of ourselves. And although Stoic physics makes it seem as ifevents are woven inexorably by Fate, the selfbecomes aware of itself as an island of eedom in the midst of a great sea of necessity. This awareness consists in delimiting our true self, as opposed to what we used to believe was our self, and we shall see that this is the necessary condi­ tion r peace ofmind. IfI can discover that the selfI thought I was is not the selfI am, then nothing can get to me.
Circumscribing the self
Marcus Aurelius speaks several times of the need r the self and r the guiding part ofthe soul to delimit and circumscribe themselves. On one occasion, he takes the trouble to describe this exercise in detail (XII, 3):
There are three things ofwhich you are composed: your body, your vital breath, and your intellect (nous).
The rst two are yours only inso r as you must take care of them. Only the third is yours in the proper sense of the term.
This is why, ifyou separate yourself om yourse
that is to say, om your thought (dianoia),
-everything that others may say or do;
-or again, everything that you yourself have said and done (in the past) , as well as the things which trouble you because they are still to come;
-and everything that happens to you, independently ofyour will,
The Discipline of Assent 1 1 3
because of the body which surrounds you, or your innate vital breath;
-and everything which stirs the waves of the violent sea which bathes you,
in order that
-raised above the interweavings ofFate, -pure,
- ee r itsel
the living intellectual power
-by doing what is right,
-by willing eve thing that happens,
-by telling the truth,
-if, I say, you separate om this guiding principle egemonikon) the things which have become attached to it, because it has become attached to them,
and if you separate om time that which is beyond the present and that which is past,
and ifyou make yourselflike the Sphairos ofEmpedocles, "a pure orb, proud ofitsjoy l uniqueness,"
and if you strive to live only what you live-that is to say, the present,
-then you will be able to live the time that is le to you, up until your death, untroubled, benevolently and serenely with regard to your inner daimon.
The exercise designed to circumscribe and delimit the sel then, be­ gins with the analysis ofthe components ofhuman beings: the body; the vital breath, or soul which animates the body; and the intellect. This last is equivalent to our culty ofjudgment and assent, our power ofre ec­ tion (dianoia) or guiding principle �iegemonikon). We encounter this de­ scription ofthe human being several times in Marcus (II, 2, l-3; II, 17, l-4; III, 16, l; V, 33, 6; VII, 16, 3; VIII, 56, l; XI, 20; XII, 14, 5; XII, 26, 2) . At other times, the only things mentioned are the soul and the body, with the soul being identi ed with the hegemonikon, as is clear om a passage like VI, 32, in which soul and dianoia-and there re hegemonikon-are synonyms.
Traditional Stoic doctrine made a distinction between the body and the soul, and rther, within the soul, it distinguished a superior part: the guiding part of the soul, in which the various psychic nctions were
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situated. Such a schema was purely dichotomous, in that it opposed soul and body. It is easy to understand, however, how the Stoic doctrine of the soul was able to evolve in the direction of the position we nd taken by Marcus Aurelius. The meaning ofthis evolution is well explained by a passage om the Skeptic Sextus Empiricus:10
Some Stoics say that the word "soul" is used in two ways: on the one hand, to designate that which holds together the entire mixture of the body [this is what Marcus calls the pneuma, or vital breath] , and on the other, in a more proper sense, the guiding principle. . . . In the division of good things, when we say that some things are goods ofthe soul, others ofthe body, and others are exterior, we are not re rring to the soul in its entire , but to that part of the soul which is the guiding principle.
Although we encounter this splitting up ofthe soul into vital principle and thinking principle in Marcus Aurelius, it does not seem that there is any trace of the trichotomy proposed by Marcus in the sayings of Epictetus as recorded by Arrian. It is, however, perhaps worth noting that Epictetus (II, 1, 17) does use terminology analogous to that of Marcus when he contrasts the body (designated by the diminutive term somation) with the vital breath (designated by the diminutive pneumation) .
The general principle which presides over the exercise ofthe delimita­ tion ofthe sel which I am now describing, was rmulated by Epictetus, and placed by Arrian at the beginning of his Manual: the di erence between the things that depend on us and the things that do not depend on us. In other words, it is the di erence between inner causality, or our culty of choice-our inner eedom-and external causality, that is to say, Destiny and the universal course ofNature.
The rst step in the delimitation of the ego consists in recognizing that, of the being which I am, neither the body, nor the vital breath which animates it, is mine in the proper sense of the term. I must, of course, take care of them: this is part of the doctrine of "duties" or "actions appropriate" to nature. It is both natural and in con rmity with my instinct r self-preservation that I care r my body and the pneuma which makes it live; but it is precisely this decision which I make con­ cerning these things which belong to me that belongs to a principle of choice, and this principle of choice does belong to me in the proper sense. The body and the vital pneuma are not completely mine, because they are imposed upon me by Destiny, independently of my will. It might be
The Discipline of Assent 1 1 5
obj ected that the hegemonikon is also " given, " but it is given as a source of my initiative, or an " I " who decides.
In the passage quoted above, Marcus describes in a quite remarkable way the di erent circles which surround the ego or the " I , " as well as the exercise which consists in rejecting them one by one, as something reign to my sel(
The rst circle, and the most exterior, is the others. As Marcus says elsewhere (III, 4, r):
Don't waste the part oflife that remains to you in representations hantasiai) concerning other people, unless you relate them to something which bene ts the common good. Why do you deprive yourself of the opportunity of accomplishing another task . . . imag­ ining what so-and-so is doing, why he is doing it, what he thinks, what he is plotting and all those other questions which make you dizzy inside and turn you away om the attention which you should be paying toward your own guiding principle egemonikon)?
The second circle is that of the past and the ture. If we want to become aware ofour true selves, we must concentrate upon the present. As Marcus puts it, we must "circumscribe the present," and separate ourselves om that which no longer belongs to us: our past words and actions, and our ture words and actions. Seneca had already expressed this idea:1 1
These two things must be cut away: fear of the ture, and the memory of past su erings. The latter no longer concern me, and the ture does not concern me yet.
Thus, neither the past nor the ture depend upon me, and only the present is within my power.
The third circle is constituted by the domain ofinvoluntary emotions; these are caused by impressions received by the body, and by the soul considered as the principle of the body's animation, or "inborn vital breath. " In order to understand these involuntary emotions, let us recall the passage alluded to earlier om the lost fth book of Epictetus' Dis­ courses, as recorded by Arrian. In his Attic Nights, Aulus Gellius reports that, during a sea voyage, he had seen a Stoic philosopher grow pale during a storm, and when they arrived in port he had asked the philoso­ pher why he had experienced such a moment ofweakness. At this, the
II6 THE INNER CITADEL
philosopher had pulled Arrian's book out of his traveling bag, and pointed to the passage in which Epictetus explained that if the sage experienced a particula y strong and violent sensation, then he, too, despite his wisdom, would experience an involuntary emotion which would echo throughout the body and the rest of the soul. That, he explained, was why the color of the sage's ce might change, but, as Epictetus had put it, "The sage does not give his assent to this emotion. "
What this means is that when our rational consciousness or guiding principle translates such an emotion into its inner discourse, and an­ nounces that " This is terrible and appalling, " then the guiding principle immediately re ses to give its assent to this value-judgment. Let us note in passing that this testimony is the more interesting in that it lets us glimpse how Epictetus, in those books written by Arrian which have since become lost, spoke of themes very di erent om those which are dealt with in the rst ur books. In the Discourses which have come down to us, there does not seem to be any allusion to the sage's involun­ tary movements.
In any case, Marcus Aurelius returns in another passage to the relation between the guiding principle and involuntary movements (V, 26, 1 ) :
Let the sovereign and directing part ofyour soul remain unaltered in the presence ofmovements, whether gentle or violent, which are produced in the esh. Let it not be mixed with them, but let it delimit itself and circumscribe these a ections within the parts of the body.
The guiding principle draws a border, as it were, between sensitive emotions and its eedom ofjudgment, by re sing to consent or give its assent to judgments which would attribute a positive or negative value to the pleasures or pains that occur within the body. This border does not prevent the guiding principle om perceiving everything that goes on within the body, and thereby it ensures the unity of consciousness of the entire living being, just as, within the cosmic living being, everything goes back to the single consciousness of the guiding principle of the universe (IV, 40). From this new perspective, Marcus continues, we cannot prevent sensations om penetrating within the guiding principle, since they are natural phenomena; nevertheless, the guiding principle must not add its own value-judgments concerning them.
On one hand, the guiding principle ensures the unity ofliving beings, so that the sensations and emotions which I perceive are mine, since I perceive them om within. On the other hand, however, the guiding
The Discipline of Assent 1 1 7
principle considers these sensations and emotions as somehow alien to itself, inso r as it re ses to acquiesce and participate in the disturbances which they introduce into the body. And yet, shouldn't the sage be completely impassive, and the complete master of his body and of his soul? This is how the Stoic sage is usually conceived. In ct, however, the Stoic sage, as Seneca points out, 12 is r om being insensitive:
There are mis rtunes which strike the sag ithout incapacitat­ ing him, of course-such as physical pain, in rmity, the loss of iends or children, or the catastrophes of his country when it is devastated by war. I grant that he is sensitive to these things, r we do not impute to him the hardness ofa rock or ofiron. There is no virtue in putting up with that which one does not feel.
This initial shock of emotion is the same movement, independent of our will, ofwhich Marcus Aurelius speaks. Seneca is quite miliar with it, too:13
This is how passions are born, develop, and become excessive. First of all, there is an initial involuntary movement; a kind of prepara­ tion r and threat ofpassion. Then there is a second one, accompa­ nied by a desire which we are still able to reject: to wit, the idea that "I have to get even because someone has done me wrong. . . . " Finally, there is a third movement which can no longer be mastered . . . we must have revenge at costs. The rst shock to the soul cannot be avoided with the help of reason, any more than other re ex movements which happen to the body, such as yawning . . . reason cannot vanquish them, but perhaps habit and constant atten­ tion may attenuate them. The second movement, which arises om ajudgment, can be suppressed by ajudgment.
According to the Stoics, then, even the sage himself cannot escape these rst involuntary movements. As Seneca puts it,14 he always els appear­ ances or "shadows ofpassions. "
The urth circle, a "rushing tide which bathes you with its waves," is that of the course of events; in other words, it is the course of Destiny and ofthe time in which Destiny unveils itself(IV, 43):
A river of events, a violent current: that is what eternity is. No sooner has each thing appeared than it has already passed; another comes along, and it too will be swept away.
II8 THE INNER CITADEL Elsewhere, Marcus writes (V, 23):
Think o en ofhow quickly beings and events pass and disappear; r substance is like a river in perpetual ux.
I Marcus adds, we can recognize that this ux of things and events is alien to us, then we will be "raised above the tangled web ofDestiny. " To be sure, our body and our vital breath are swept along by this ux, and both our representations ofthings which are received into the body and our vital breath belong to this ux, because they are produced by causes outside ofus. Yet the selfbecomes aware ofthe ct that, thanks to its eedom ofjudgment-which also implies eedom of desire and of the will-it stands apart om this ux. The sel then, identical with the guiding principle, is raised above the web ofdestiny.
When the self thus becomes aware of its eedom, it acts only by making its reason coincide with the Reason ofuniversal Nature. It wants that which happens; in other words, it wants what universal Nature wants. The self now tells the truth, both inwardly and outwardly: in
other words, whenever a representation presents itself to the guiding principle in order to obtain its assent, the self restricts itself to what is. It holds st to the objective representation, without adding value-judg­ ments to things which have no moral value. Finally, the self now does what is right: that is, it acts in accordance with Reason, in the service of the human community. Here (XIII, 3, 3) we recognize Epictetus' three exercise themes (topoi), which, as we have seen, were taken up again by Marcus Aurelius. To circumscribe and delimit one's self thus means to practice the llowing exercises:
(r) in the area ofassent, it means not approving those value-judgments which may be in uenced by the body and the vital breath, which are something other than mysel
(2) in the area ofdesire, it means recognizing that everything that does not depend upon my moral choice is indi erent; and
(3) in the area ofaction, it means going beyond the egoistic concern r my body and my vital breath, in order to rise up to the viewpoint of Reason, which is common to all human beings; thus, it means willing that which is bene cial to the common good.
A er he has arrived at this culminating point, Marcus returns to the theme ofthe delimitation ofthe sel in order to clari certain aspects of the process. The e ort of concentration must make us aware of the ct that things have become attached to us, and are no longer distinguishable
The Discipline of Assent 1 1 9
om us. Our self has become con sed with such things, because we have attached ourselves to them. Epictetus is nd of this theme of our alienation toward things to which we attach ourselves (IV, 1 , 1 1 2) :
Puri your judgments, so that nothing that is not "yours" may become attached to you or become connatural with you, so that you do not feel any su ering ifit is snatched away om you.
Such objects are not "ours," Epictetus reminds us, not only because they are di erent om us, but above all because they belong to Destiny and to God, who are ee to take them back a er they have given them to us (III, 24, 84):
When you become attached to something, do not do so as to an object that cannot be taken away om you, but as ifit were some­ thing like a pot or a glass cup, so that, if it is broken, when you remember what it was, you will not be disturbed . . . Remember that what you love is mortal, and that nothing of what you love belongs to you in the proper sense of the term. It has been given to you r the time being, not rever or in such a way that it cannot be taken away om you, but, like a g or a bunch of grapes, at a particular season of the year. If you get a craving r them during the winter, then you're stupid.
Marcus Aurelius then returns to the importance ofconcentrating upon the present moment. This indissoluble link between the delimitation of the self and the delimitation of the present moment is extremely sig­ ni cant. It is only when I am active, either within myself or upon the outside world, that I am truly myself and at liberty; and it is only in the present moment that I can be active. Only the present is mine, and the present is all that I live.
When the selfhas thus isolated and returned into itself, says Marcus, it can be compared to the Sphai s of Empedocles. For Empedocles, this term denoted that uni ed state of the universe when it is dominated by Love, as opposed to the state ofdivision it is in when dominated by Hate. While in its state ofunity, the universe is perfectly round, delighting in its
joy l immobility. In the philosophical tradition, Empedocles' Sphairos had become the symbol of the sage, "completely within itsel well­ rounded and spherical, so that nothing extraneous can adhere to it, because of its smooth and polished surface, " in the words of Horace. 15
120 THE INNER CITADEL
Such an image corresponds to the ideal of the inner citadel, invincible and impenetrable (VIII, 48, 3), which represents the selfthat has delim­ ited itsel
At the end ofthis passage, Marcus alludes to our inner daimon, which, r him, is identical with the sel the guiding principle, or the culty of re ection. I shall return below to this notion ofthe daimon.
As we can see, this delimitation of the self is, in the last analysis, the ndamental exercise ofStoicism. It implies a complete trans rmation of our self-consciousness, of our relation toward our body and toward external goods, and of our attitude toward the past and the present. It calls r concentration on the present moment, an asceticism of detach­ ment, the recognition ofthe universal causation ofDestiny, in the midst ofwhich we are plunged, and the discovery ofthe power we possess to
judge eely, that is, to give things whatever value we wish to give them. Thus, the process ofthe delimitation ofthe selfbrings about a distinc­ tion between two elements. On the one hand, there is what we believe to be our true self our body, but also our soul-the vital principle­ together with the emotions that it feels. On the other hand, there is our power to choose. That which we think is our true selfis imposed upon us by Destiny, but in ct our genuine selfis situated high above Destiny. This opposition between our two " selves " appears quite clearly in a passage where Marcus Aurelius confesses that he is slow-minded. This trait, he writes, is inborn in him; it belongs to his character and his physical constitution, and there re does not depend upon him, any more than do his size or the color ofhis eyes. What does depend on him,
by contrast, is his eedom to act in a moral way (V, 5):
So it's not likely that they're going to admire your quick-witted­ ness. So be it! But there are many other matters about which you cannot say that you are not gi ed; these are the things that you must display, because they are completely within your control: avoiding duplicity; being serious; putting up with su ering; having contempt r pleasure; not complaining about Destiny; having few needs; being ee, benevolent, and simple; avoiding idle chatter; possessing greatness of soul. Can't you el how many things there are which you are capable of displaying, and r which the absence of talent and natural capacities can no longer serve you as an excuse?
Two things are opposed in this passage: the awareness by means of which one discovers one's psychological sel with its qualities and its defects, and such as it is determined by Destiny. Over and against this, we
The Discipline ofAssent 121
see the awareness ofone's selfqua guiding principle, and there re capa­ ble of acceding to the sphere of morality. We thus have to do with two aspects of the culty of reasoning and thinking. Although reason is inherent in every human being, it is only equally present in all human beings in its role as a culty ofjudgment and ofmoral decision-making.