No More Learning

"
As a matter of ct, the di erence between Aristo and the other Stoics b o r e p r e c i s e l y o n t h e v e r y n o t i o n o f " i n d i e r e n t . " F o r A r i s t o , t h a t w h i c h was indi erent was completely "undi erentiated,"52 and no element of daily life had any importance in and ofitself Such a view ran the risk of leading to a skeptical attitude such as that of Pyrrho, who was also indi erent to everything. Orthodox Stoics, while they recognized that the things which do not depend on us are indi erent, nevertheless ad­ mitted that we could attribute to them a moral value, by conceding the
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existence ofpolitical, social, and mily obligations, linked to the needs of human nature in accordance with reasonable probability. This was the realm ofthe kathekonta, or duties, ofwhich I shall have more to say later. Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus, allowed r the existence of this entire order ofobligations and duties, which Arista had denied. In ct, Marcus uses the technical term kathekon in the Stoic sense a total of ve times. 53 There can thus be no question of any in uence by Arista on Marcus as r as the doctrine ofindi erence is concerned.
Moreover, Arista rejected the physical and logical parts ofphilosophy as useless. 54 At rst glance, Marcus appears to incline toward a similar attitude; r example, he thanks the gods r not having allowed him to be carried away with resolving syllogisms or studying celestial phenom­ ena (I, 17, 22). Elsewhere, he admits that he no longer hopes to excel in dialectics or in the philosophy ofnature (VII, 67). Here again, however, the underlying sense is wholly di erent. For Arista, logic and physics are strictly useless. For Marcus, by contrast, it is the theoretical discourse oflogic and physics which is no longer a matter of concern. He did, however, intend to practice a lived logic (the discipline ofjudgment) and a lived physics (the discipline ofdesire). As he says explicitly (VIII, lJ):
Continuously, and, if possible, on the occasion of every repre­ sentation which presents itself to you, practice physics, pathology, and dialectics.
We are thus rced to conclude that there is no trace of Aristo's doctrines to be und in the Meditations ofMarcus Aurelius. 55
5
THE STOICISM OF EPICTETUS
The general characteristics of Stoicism
It is probably scarcely necessary to remind the reader that when we speak of the doctrines of a philosopher om the period we are studying, we must not imagine that we have to do with a system invented lock, stock, and barrel by the philosopher in question. Ancient philosophy had noth­ ing in common with our contemporary philosophers, who imagine that philosophy consists, r each philosopher, in inventing a "new discourse" or new language, all the more original the more it is incomprehensible and arti cial. In general, ancient philosophy was situated within a tradi­ tion, and attached to a school. Now, Epictetus was a Stoic; this means that r him philosophy consisted in explicating the texts of Zeno and Chrysippus, the unders of the school, and above all in practicing him­ self, and having his disciples practice, the way oflife peculiar to the Stoic school. This does not mean that Epictetus' teaching was devoid of its own characteristic features. These features, however, did not modi the ndamental dogmas ofStoicism, or the essential choice ofa way ofli . On the contrary, they are to be und within his rm ofteaching, in his way of presenting the doctrine, and in the de nition of certain speci c points ( r instance, the distinction between desire and impulse), or else within the particular color and tonality which permeate the Stoic way of life proposed by the philosopher.
By the time Epictetus taught, it had been some ur centuries since Zeno of Citium had unded the Stoic school at Athens. One can say that Stoicism was born of the sion of three traditions: the Socratic ethical tradition, the Heraclitean physical and "materialistic" tradition, and the dialectical tradition ofthe Megareans and ofAristotle. The Stoic choice of li was analogous to the Socratic choice of life, according to which moral good or virtue is the only value, to which everything else
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must be subordinated. As Socrates says in Plato's Apology (41d): "For a good man, no evil is possible, whether he be dead or alive. " "No evil is possible, " precisely because such a man, since he is good, is a stranger to moral evil. Since r him there is no other evil than moral evil, he believes that those things which appear to be evil in the eyes of men-death, illness, the loss of wealth, insults-are not evils r him. This transmutation ofvalues, however, can on be carried out by means ofan operation which is, at the same time, both intellectual and ethical: it consists in examining oneselfin a dialogue, a logos, or a process ofreason­ ing which one develops either with someone else or with onesel The spirit of Socratism is thus the a rmation of the absolute value of moral good, as discovered by reason; it is also the idea according to which the moral li is a matter ofjudgment and ofknowledge.
Prima cie, it does not appear that the physical tradition of Her­ aclitean "materialism" has anything to do with the Socratic ethical tradi­ tion. We shall soon see, however, that the originality ofStoicism consists precisely in the intimate and indissoluble sion of these two traditions. For the moment, it is su cient to emphasize the in uence of Heraclitus upon the Stoic vision of a universe in perpetual trans rmation, of which the original element is re, and which is set in order by a logos or Reason, in accordance with which events are linked by mutual necessity.
Finally, it is not surprising that Stoicism is situated as well within the dialectical tradition ofthe Megarians, but also within that ofthe Platonic Academy and ofAristotle. In this period, instruction in philosophy con­ sisted above in training r discussion and argumentation, and conse­ quently in dialectical exercises. Here again, we encounter a logos: this time it is human discourse, but one which is rational andjust, inso r as it imitates that logos which maintains the universe in order.
We can thus glimpse the extraordinary unity which held the parts of the Stoic system together. It is the unity of one single logos, or Reason, which permeates all things. In the words ofEmile Brehier:
It is one single, unique reason which, in dialectics, links consequent propositions to their antecedents; which, in nature, links together all causes; and which, in human conduct, establishes perfect con­ cord between acts. It is impossible that a good man should not be a physicist and a dialectician; it is impossible r rationality to be realized separately in these three areas; it is impossible completely to grasp the reason within the course of events in the universe with­ out, at the same time, realizing reason within one's own behavior. 1
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Stoicism is a philosophy of self-coherence, based upon a remarkable intuition of the essence of li . From the very rst moment of its exist­ ence, every living being is instinctively attuned to itsel that is, it tends to preserve itsel to love its own existence, and to love all that can preserve this existence. This instinctive accord becomes a moral accord with onesel as soon as man discovers by means ofhis reason that the supreme value is not those things which are the objects ofthis instinct r self­ preservation, but the re ective choice of accord with onesel and the activity ofchoice itse This is because voluntary accord with oneself coin­ cides with the tendencies of universal Reason, which not only makes each living being into a being in accord with itsel but makes the entire world as well a being in accord with itself In the words of Marcus Aurelius (IV, 23):
that is in accord with you is in accord with me, 0 World.
Human society, which is the society of those who participate in one single logos or Reason, also rms-at least in principle-an ideal City, whose Reason, which is the Law, ensures its accord with itself Finally, it is obvious that the Reason ofeach individual, in the mutual linkage ofits thoughts or speech, demands logical and dialectical coherence with itself
This coherence with oneself is thus the ndamental principle of Stoi­ cism. For Seneca,2 all wisdom may be summed up in the rmula: "Al­ ways want the same thing, and always re se the same thing. " There is no need, Seneca continues, to add the tiny restriction "as long as what one wants is morally good. " Why? Because, he says, "One and the same thing can be universally and constantly pleasing only if it is morally right. " This is nothing but the distant echo of the rmulas by which Zeno, the under ofStoicism, used to de ne the sovereign Good: "Live in a coherent way omologoumenos);3 that is to say, live in accordance with a rule oflife which is one and harmonious, because those who live in incoherence are unhappy. "
This coherence with oneself is, as we have seen, based on the self­ coherence ofuniversal Reason or Nature. The well-known Stoic theme of the Eternal Return is only one other aspect of this theme. Universal Reason wishes this world to be as it is: that is to say, arising om the original re, and returning to this original re, and there re having a beginning and an end. Nature's will, however, is always the same; and the only thing its continuous action can accomplish is the repetition of this world, with precisely this beginning, precisely this end, and the
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entire course of events situated between these two moments. Thus, this world returns eternally: "There will be another Socrates, a Plato, and every man with the same iends and the same fellow-citizens . . . and this renewal will not happen once, but several times; rather, all things will be repeated eternally. "4 This is why the sage, like universal Reason, must intensely wish r each instant: he must wish intensely r things to happen eternally exactly as they do happen.
I have just mentioned the gure of the sage. It was characteristic of Stoic philosophy to make of this gure a transcendent norm, which can only be realized in rare and exceptional cases. Here we encounter an echo ofPlato's Symposium (204d), where Socrates appears as the gure who knows that he is not a sage. Socrates' situation places him between the gods, who are wise and know that they are wise, and men, who think they are wise but do not realize that they are not. This intermediary situation is that of the philosopher: he who loves and aspires to wisdom precisely because he knows that he lacks it. It is also the situation ofEros,
who loves Beauty because he knows he lacks it; neither man nor god, Eros is there re a daimon, intermediary between the two. The gure of Socrates thus coincides both with that of Eros and with that of the philosopher. 5
Similarly, the Stoic sage is the equal of God, since God is nothing other than universal Reason, producing in self-coherence all the events of the universe. Human reason is an emanation or part of this Universal Reason. It can, however, become obscured and de rmed as a result of life within the body, owing in particular to the attractions ofpleasure. It is only the sage who is able to make his reason coincide with universal Reason. Such perfect coincidence, however, can only be an ideal, r the sage is necessarily an exceptional being. There are very few of them­ perhaps only one, or perhaps none at all. He is an almost inaccessible ideal, and, in the last analysis, more ofa transcendent norm than anything else, which the Stoics never tire ofdescribing, even as they enumerate all its paradoxes. Philosophy is not wisdom, but only the exercise of wis­ dom, and if the philosopher is not a sage, he is necessarily a non-sage. There is thus a contradictory opposition between sage and non-sage: either one is a "sage" or one is not, and there is no middle term. There are no degrees of unwisdom, relative to wisdom. As the Stoics used to
say, it doesn't matter much ifyou are one cubit below the surface ofthe water, or ve hundred thoms: you'll drown in the one case just as much as in the other. Since, then, the sage is extremely rare, all humanity is out ofits mind, and men su er om an almost universal corruption of
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77
or deviation om Reason. Yet the Stoics still urge people to philoso­ phize-that is, to train themselves r wisdom. They there re believe in the possibility of spiritual progress.
The explanation ofthis apparent paradox is that, although it is true that there is a contradictory opposition between wisdom and unwisdom, and there re that there are no degrees ofunwisdom as opposed to wisdom, it is nevertheless the case that, as in Plato's Symposium, there are two categories ofpeople within the state ofunwisdom itself those non-sages who are not conscious of their state-these are the olish ones-and those non-sages who are aware oftheir state, and who attempt to progress toward inaccessible wisdom. Those in the latter category are philoso­ phers.
Thus, om the point ofview oflogic, we have here a contrary oppo­ sition between the sage and the olish, who are unaware of their state. This opposition does, however, admit ofa middle tem1: the non- olish non-sages-in other words, philosophers. 6
The ideal sage would thus be one who could, at each moment and de nitively, make his reason coincide with that universal Reason which is the Sage that thinks and produces the world.
An unexpected consequence of this Stoic theo of the sage is that Stoic philosophy-and I do mean Stoic philosophy; that is, the theo and the practice oftraining r wisdom-allows r a great deal ofuncer­ tainty and simple probability. A er all, only the Sage possesses a per ct, nece�sa , and unshakable knowledge of reality; the philosopher does not. The goal, project, and object ofStoic philosophy are thus to allow the philosopher to orient himself or herself within the uncertainties of daily li , by proposing probable choices which our reason can accept, even ifit is not always sure it ought to. What matters are not results or e ciency, but the intention to do good. What matters is to act out ofone motive alone, without any other considerations of interest or pleasure: that ofthe moral good. This is the only value, and the only one we need.
The Stoics on the parts ofphilosophy
By the time Zeno unded the Stoic school, the custom ofdistinguishing various parts ofphilosophy, and ofdetermining their mutual relationship, was already traditional within the teaching provided by the philosophical schools. Since the time of Plato, and especially since that of Aristotle, philosophers had been paying the most care l attention to questions
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concerning the di erent types of knowledge, and the various methods which characterize them. 7
We can presume that within the Platonic school, also known as the Old Academy, there was already a distinction between three parts of philosophy: dialectics, physics, and ethics. Dialectics was the noblest part ofphilosophy, inasmuch as, in the sense that Plato had given to this term, it corresponded to the discovery ofthe Ideas or Forms ( r example, the notion ofJustice or of Equality) . This discovery was brought about by a "dialectical" method of discussion; that is to say, r the Platonists, by means of rigorous argumentation. Physics, as the study of the visible world, was an in rior part ofphilosophy, but it did have as its object, to some degree at least, celestial phenomena, or the necessary, eternal movement ofthe stars. Ethics was lower still, inasmuch as its objects were the uncertain, contingent actions of mankind. Thus, the division of the
parts ofphilosophy re ects the hierarchy which the Platonists had intro­ duced among the various degrees of reality.
The Stoics, at the same time as they took up this division, trans rmed it completely. Their terminology appears to remain the same, but it no longer corresponds to the hierarchy of the Platonists, but rather to the dynamic, unitary conception of the world which was peculiar to the Stoa. Among physics, ethics, and dialectics, there was no longer any preeminence of one discipline over the others, r all three were related to the same logos or divine Reason. This Reason was equally present in the physical world, in the world of social life-since society is based upon the reason common to all mankind-and in human speech and thought; that is, within the rational activity ofjudgment.
Moreover, om the point of view of perfect action, which is that of the sage, these three disciplines mutually imply one another, since it is one and the same logos or Reason which is to be und within nature, the human community, and individual reason. This is why, to return once more to the remarks ofEmile Brehier, "it is impossible r a good man [that is, one who practices ethics] not to be a physician and a dialectician; it is impossible r rationality to be realized separately in these three areas, and, r instance, to grasp reason lly in the course of events in the world, without at the same time realizing reason within one's own con­ duct. "8 The perfect exercise ofany one ofthese disciplines implies that of all the others. The sage practices dialectics by maintaining coherence in his judgments; he practices ethics by maintaining coherence in his will, and in the actions which result om it; and he practices physics by behaving like a part which is coherent with the whole to which it
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belongs. For the Stoics, the parts ofphilosophy are virtues9 which-like virtues, in their view-are equal and mutually imply one another: to practice one of them is necessarily to practice of them.
Thus, om this point ofview, there is a sense in which logic, physics, and ethics are not really distinct om one another; no one of them precedes the others, and they are all mixed up together. The Platonic­ Aristotelian model ofa hierarchy ofknowledge and oflevels ofreality is thus replaced by the representation of an organic unity, in which there is complete compenetration. For the Platonists and the Aristotelians, the whole of reality is heterogeneous, and is composed of zones in which substantiality and necessity are completely di erent. For the Stoics, on the contrary, reality is homogeneous, and the sequence of events wholly necessa . The distinction between physics, as the science of the sensible world, and a science of the transcendent world of Ideas (that is, Platonic dialectics) or of the gods (theology) is completely abolished. Physis or nature, which, r the Platonists and the Aristotelians, was only a small part-and the lowest part at that-of the whole of reality, be­ comes all ofreality.
The word "dialectics" also changes its meaning. It no longer denotes, as it does r Plato, a method of reasoning which starts om notions common to all mankind, and rises, by means ofquestions and answers, to the discovery of those essences which make reasoning and language possible. Nor does it denote, as it did r Aristotle, a method ofreasoning which starts om notions which are common to mankind-and there re not scienti c-and makes possible, by means of questions and answers, the attainment of probable conclusions in every area of reality. Although Stoic dialectics also takes its point of departure in common notions, it is able to obtain true and necessary conclusions because it re ects the necessary interrelation ofcauses within the sensible world.
To be sure, r the Stoics, physics, ethics, and dialectics are- rmally at least-to be related to three di erent sectors of reality: the physical world, human conduct, and the nctioning of thought. Nevertheless, the Stoics did not consider these three parts as corpora of theoretical doctrines, but as inner dispositions and practical conduct of the sage, and hence of the philosopher in training r wisdom. From this perspective, the living exercise of physics, ethics, and dialectics, and the practice of these three virtues, in ct corresponds to one attitude: the single act of placing oneself in harmony with the logos, whether it be the logos of universal Nature, the logos of rational human nature, or the logos as it is expressed in human discourse.
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Although physics, ethics, and dialectics are practically merged together into a single act when it comes to the concrete exercise ofphilosophy, they must nevertheless be well distinguished when it comes to teaching them. Philosophy must be set rth and described be re the disciple. Thus, philosophical discourse introduces a temporal dimension which has two aspects: there is the "logical" time of the discourse itsel and then there is the psychological time which the disciple requires to assimi­ late what he or she is being taught. Logical time corresponds to the inner requirements of theoretical discourse: there must be a series of argu­ ments, which must be presented in a speci c order, and this is logical time. All expositions of doctrine, however, are addressed to an auditor, and the auditor introduces another component: the stages ofhis spiritual progress; and here we are dealing with a time which is purely psycho­ logical. Until the auditor has assimilated a given doctrine inwardly and spiritually, it is either useless or impossible to speak to him or her about anything else. There is, moreover, a kind of con ict between these two times, r it is often di cult to safeguard the logical order while still taking the auditor's spiritual state into account.
Thus, om the point ofview ofthat discourse which transmits philo­ sophical instruction, the Stoics distinguished very sharply and clearly between the three parts ofphilosophy, and tried to establish among them not only a logical order, but also a pedagogical one. There was much discussion on this topic within the school, r there was no agreement on the order which was to be established between physics, ethics, and logic or dialectics. We know that the Stoics used to compare the parts of philosophy to the parts oforganic totalities such as an egg, a garden, or a living being. However, although logic was always presented in these comparisons as the part which ensures self-defense and solidity, the in­ nermost and most precious part was sometimes presented as ethics, and sometimes as physics.
In his treatise On Stoic Se Contradictions, Plutarch10 reproaches Chrysippus with having sometimes placed physics as the end-point of philosophical instruction, as ifit were the supreme initiation which trans­ mitted teachings about the gods, and at other times placing physics be­ re ethics, since the distinction between good and evil was only possible on the basis of the study of universal Nature and the organization of the world. In ct, these hesitations correspond to the various types of educa­ tional program which could be chosen. According to the logical order of exposition, physics should precede ethics, in order to give it a rational undation. According to the psychological order of education, however,
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physics must llow ethics, because it is by practicing ethics that one prepares oneself r the revelation of the divine world, that is, of univer­ sal Nature.
It was in order to get past these di culties that some Stoics, while continuing to pro ss their own theory concerning the ideal priority ofa given part ofphilosophy within the overall educational program, urged that the parts ofphilosophy be presented simultaneously within the con­ text of instructional philosophical discourse: " Some Stoics held that no part of philosophy had any priority, but that they were all mixed to­ gether; andtheymadetheirteachingmixed, too. "11 Thepartsofphiloso­ phy were "inseparable. "12 How, indeed, could one wait until one nished the complete program r one part, be re beginning the study of another? Above all, how could one wait to practice philosophy itsel in all its three aspects? Chrysippus himself seems to have recommended this type of "mixed" instruction, r he writes: "He who begins with logic must not abstain om the other parts, but must participate in the other studies, when the opportunity arises. "13 In ct, the method of teaching must be integral at each ofits moments, since we are not trying to acquire three distinct theoretical bodies of knowledge, separate om one another, but rather to train ourselves r that unique act of wisdom which is, indissolubly, the practice ofphysics, ofethics, and oflogic.
In view of the preceding considerations, we are now better able to understand how the Stoics distinguished between philosophy and dis­ course conce ing philosophy. They a rmed that lo c, physics, and eth­ ics-which up until now I have been calling, in accordance with com­ mon usage, the parts ofphilosophy-were not in ct parts ofphilosophy prope y so called, but parts of discourse concerning philosophy. 14 The only time physics, logic, and ethics appear as distinct, separate, and per­ haps even successive, is within the context ofthe philosophical teaching discourse.
It is this teaching discourse which requires a theoretical exposition of logic, in the rm of an abstract study of the rules of reasoning. It also requires a theoretical exposition ofphysics, that is to say, an abstract study of the structure and coming-to-be of the cosmos. Finally, it requires a theoretical exposition of ethics-in other words, an abstract study of human behavior, and of the rules which it ought to obey. Chrysippus used to say explicitly that these were the " three kinds of theoremata proper to philosophy. "15 In philosophy itself, by contrast, understood as the exercise of wisdom, physics, ethics, and logic are mutually implicated within and interior to one another, in that act-at once multiple and
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uniqu w hich is the exercise of physical virtue, ethical virtue, and logical virtue. At this point, we are no longer conce ed with producing abstract theories of logic-that is, theories of the art of speaking and writing well; rather, we are conce ed with speaking and writing well in reality. We no longer construct abstract theories of ethics, or of acting well; instead we are concerned about whether we are in ct acting well. Finally, at this level we are no longer interested in developing abstract theories about physics, in order to prove that we are a part ofthe cosmic All; rather, we try to live as a true part ofthe cosmic .
These three exercises mutually imply one another, and in ct they constitute one single act or disposition, which is di erentiated only inso­ r as it is oriented toward the three aspects of reality: the Reason of human discourse, the Reason of human society, and the Reason of the cosmos.
Thus, logic, physics, and ethics are distinguishable when we talk about philosophy, but not when we live it.
The three acts ofthe soul and the three exercise-themes according to Epictetus
From Zeno (3 3 2-262 B. c. ) and Chrysippus (c. 28 1-204 B. c. ) to Epictetus (died c. 125 A. D. ), the rmulation of Stoic doctrine evolved-particu­ larly as a result of its polemics with other philosophical schools-and sometimes the rigor of the positions of the school's unders was some­
what attenuated. Yet its ndamental dogmas never changed.
Epictetus himsel at any rate-perhaps because ofhis teaching meth­ ods, which obliged him to explicate the works ofthe unding thers­ went back to the origins. As Brehier used to say, Epictetus cannot be too highly recommended to anyone wishing to understand the Old Stoa. 16 Already in 1894, in two remarkable studies devoted to Epictetus, A. Bonho er had reached similar conclusions. 17 It can be said that Epictetus subscribes to the most orthodox Stoic tradition: that which, beginning with Chrysippus, apparently continues through Archedemus and Antipater;18 he makes no allusions to Panetius or to Posidonius. Through Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius was able to go back to the purest Stoic sources, and the llowing exposition of the Stoicism of Epictetus
may consequently be regarded as a preliminary sketch of the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius.
It is true that, in the sayings of Epictetus as recorded by Arrian, we
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nowhere nd a systematic exposition ofthe totality ofStoic doctrine; the reasons r this have been explained above. The subjects ofthe Discourses were inspired by occasional circumstances, such as the questions raised by his students, or the visit of a speci c personage. Epictetus' sayings are essentially anecdotal; but it is all the more precious to be able to observe within them the presence ofa highly structured theme, which equently recurs and can be said to summarize the essential points ofStoicism.
There is one highly structured theme that integrates right at the outset something which, it would seem, Epictetus is the only one within the Stoic tradition, besides Marcus Aurelius, to distinguish: the three activi­ ties or operations of the soul. These are the desire to accumulate that which is good, the impulse to act, andjudgment on the value ofthings.
Basing his view on the traditional and ndamental Stoic distinction between those things which do not depend upon our will and those which do, Epictetus enumerates these three psychological operations as llows :
What depends on us are value-judgments ypolepseis), impulses toward action orme), and desire (orexis) or aversion; in a word, everything which is our own business. What does not depend on us are the body, wealth, honors, and high positions in o ce; in a word, eve thing which is not our own business. 19
Here, we can glimpse one ofthe Stoics' most ndamental attitudes: the delimitation of our own sphere of liberty as an impregnable islet of autonomy, in the midst of the vast river of events and of Destiny. What depends on us are thus the acts ofour soul, because we can eely choose them. We can judge or not judge, or judge in whatever manner we please; we can desire or not desire; will or not will. By contrast, that which does not depend on us-Epictetus lists our body, honors, riches, and high positions of authority-is eve thing that depends upon the general course of nature. Our body, rst: it is true that we can move it, but we are not completely in control of it. Birth, death, sickness, invol­ untary movements, sensations of pleasure or of pain: all these are com­ pletely independent ofour will. As r wealth and honors: we can, to be sure, attempt to acquire them, yet de nitive success does not depend upon us, but upon a series ofhuman ctors and events which are exte­ rior to us; they are imponderable and do not depend upon our will. Thus, the Stoic delimits a center ofautonomy-the soul, as opposed to the body; and a guiding principle (hegemonikon) as opposed to the rest of
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the soul. I t is within this guiding principle that eedom and our true self are located. It is also there, and only there, that moral good and evil can be und, r the only moral good and evil are voluntary good and evil.
The soul or guiding principle thus has three ndamental activities. In the rst place, as it receives the images which come om bodily sensa­ tions, it develops an inner discourse, and this is what constitutesjudgment. The soul tells itselfwhat a given object or event is; in particular, it tells itselfwhat the object isfor the soul, that is, what it is in the soul's view. Here we have the central node of the whole of Stoicism: that of inner discourse, or judgments expressed on the subject of representations. As Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius never tire ofsaying, everything is a matter ofjudgment. It is not things themselves that trouble us, but our repre­ sentations of these things, the ideas we rm of them, and the inner discourse which we rmulate about them. Desire and impulses to action are the necessary results ofthis inner discourse: ifwe desire something, it is because we have told ourselves that the thing in question is good; likewise, ifwe want to do something, it is because we have told ourselves that it was a good thing.
As is well known, the Stoics held that only those representations should be accepted into the mind which they called kataleptikai, a term which is usually translated as "comprehensive. " This translation gives the impression that the Stoics believed a representation to be true when it "comprehends," or seizes the contents ofreality. In Epictetus, however, we can glimpse a wholly di erent meaning of the term: r him, a representation is kataleptike when it does not go beyond what is given, but is able to stop at what is perceived, without adding anything extrane­ ous to that which is perceived. Rather than "comprehensive repre­ sentations," then, it would be better to speak of "adequate repre­ sentations. "
Here is a translation-slightly paraphrased, in order to make it more comprehensible-of a vital passage om the Discourses of Epictetus. It shows in action the inner discourse, or the soul's dialogue with itsel on the subject ofrepresentations (III, 8, 1-2):
In the same way as we train ourselves in order to be able to ce up to sophistical interrogations, we ought also to train ourselves to ce up to representations hantasiai), r they too ask us questions.
For example, let's say we rmulate within ourselves the contents of the representation: "So-and-so's son is dead. "
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This representation is asking you a question, and you should reply: "That does not depend on the will, and is not something bad. "
"So-and-so's ther has disinherited him. What do you think of that? " Reply: "That doesn't depend on the will, and is not some­ thing bad. "
"He was very hurt by it. " Reply: "That does depend on the will, and is something bad. "
"He put up with it bravely. " "That depends on the will, and is something good. "
Epictetus continues:
Ifwe acquire this habit, we will make progress; r we will give our assent only to that ofwhich there is an adequate ataleptike) repre­ sentation.
It is quite remarkable that Epictetus here is representing moral li as a dialectical exercise, in which we engage in a dialogue with events, as they ask us questions.
Epictetus then goes on to give the llowing examples, in which representations ask us questions. "Her son is dead" is an inner repre­ sentation which we rmulate, and it asks us the question: "What hap­ pened? " This could lead us to enunciate a value-judgment, of the type " a great mis rtune," but we must reply: "Her son is dead. " The repre­ sentation, however, is not satis ed; it asks "Nothing more? " to which the soul responds: "nothing more. " Epictetus then continues along the same lines:
" His ship sank. " "What happened? " " His ship sank. "
"He was sent to prison. " But ifyou add the proposition "a terrible thing happened to him, " then that is coming om you.
What Epictetus means is that the idea according to which a certain event is a mis rtune-as well as the consequences that such a repre­ sentation may have on the desires and tendencies of the soul-is a repre­ sentation which has no basis in reality; rather, it goes beyond an adequate vision of reality, by adding to it a lse value-judgment. Such a repre­ sentation can arise only in a soul which has not yet assimilated the
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ndamental dogma of Stoicism: happiness is only to b e und in moral good, or virtue; and mis rtune is only to be und in moral evil, in ults and in vice.
If the only good is moral good, and the only evil is moral evil, how can the Stoic live his daily life, in which there are many things which are morally neither good nor evil, but are "indi erent," to use a term om the Stoic vocabulary? A person must, after all, eat, sleep, work, raise a mily, and l ll his or her role within the community. The Stoic, too, must act; and he or she has an impulse-both instinctive and rational-to act. Thus, the second of the soul's proper nctions, coming after the activity of representations, judgments, and assent, must be just this im­ pulse to act, as well as action itself The domain ofthe latter includes what Epictetus and the Stoics call the kathekonta; that is, those actions which, in all probability and r good reason, may be considered as "appropri­ ate" to human nature. These are the actions which con rm to the deep-rooted instinct which urges rational human nature to act in order to preserve itself Thus, both the active impulse and action itselfwill be exercised above all in the domain of society, of the state, of the mily, and ofrelations between human beings in general.
Human action cannot, however, hope to be completely e ective; it does not always attain its goal. Mankind is, there re, reduced to hoping and to desiring that what suits him actually happens, and that that which he fears does not. Desire is thus the third activity proper to the human soul, and its domain is not that which one does onesel but rather that which happens-in other words, the events which happen to us by virtue of Destiny, and the course of universal Nature. He who desires does not act, but is in a certain disposition of waiting. As was the case
with the impulse to action, desire depends on us, and the soul is ee either to desire a given object, or not to desire it.
The philosopher, then, must train himself in these three domains of activity: judgment, impulse toward action, and desire (III, 2, 1-2) :
There are three domains in which he who would become perfect must train himself
-the domain concerning desires and aversions, so that he may not nd himself frustrated in his desires, and may not encounter that which he was seeking to avoid;
-the domain concerning active impulses and repulsions, and in general, the domain which concerns what is appropriate (kathekon) r our nature, so that he may act in an orderly way, in accordance
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with rational probability, and without negligence;
-the domain in which what matters is to preserve oneself om error and insu cient reasons; and, in general, that which concerns the assent [which we give to j udgments] .
If we gather together all the indications concerning this theme con­ tained in Epictetus' sayings, we can present this_ theory of the three rms or domains20 ofphilosophical exercise as llows:
The rst domain is that of desires and aversions. Humans are unhappy because they desire things which they consider good, but which they may either il to obtain or else lose; and because they try to avoid things which they consider as evils, but which are o en inevitable. The reason is that these apparent goods and evils-wealth and health, r example, or on the contrary poverty and sickness-do not depend on us. Thus, the exercise of the discipline of desire will consist in gradually renouncing these desires and aversions, so that we may nally desire only that which does depend on us-in other words, moral good-and may avoid only that which depends on us-in other words, moral evil. That which does not depend on us is to be considered as indi erent, which means that we are not to introduce any preferential order among such things, but accept them as willed by the will of universal Nature, which Epictetus some­ times designates by the term "gods" in general. To " llow the gods" means to accept their will, which is identical with the will of universal Nature (I, 12, 8; I, 20, I5). The discipline ofdesire thus has as its object the passions athe), or the emotions which we feel when events present themselves to us.
The second domain ofexercises is that ofimpulses to action. As we have seen, it is the eld ofthose actions which are "appropriate" (kathekonta) to our rational nature. These are actions-and there re something which depends on us-that have an e ect on things which do not de­ pend on us, such as other human beings, politics, health, mily life, and so rth. ofthese areas are, in themselves, "indi erent" in the Stoic sense of the term; but they may, in accordance with a rational justi ca­ tion or reasonable probability, be considered as corresponding to reason­ able nature's instinct r self-preservation. Since such actions are directed exclusively toward other people, and have their undation in that com­ munity of reasonable nature which unites humankind, they must be guided by our intention to place ourselves in the service of the human community, and bring about the reign ofjustice.
The third domain of exercises is that of assent (sunkatathesis). Each
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representation hantasia) which presents itselfto us must be subjected to criticism, so that our inner dialogue and the judgment we enunciate with regard to it may not add anything "subjective" to that which, within the representation, is " adequate " to reality; only thus will we be able to give our assent to a true judgment. We have already seen the importance of this theme in Stoicism, r which good and evil are not to be und anywhere else than in our culty ofjudgment.
It is tempting to compare the three acts ofthe soul as distinguished by Epictetus-rational activity ofjudgment and assent, impulse to action, and desire-with the three parts ofthe soul recognized by the Platonists. Following Plato, they distinguished between the rational part ofthe soul, its "choleric" part, which is the seat of action, and the "desiring" part, which is the principle of pleasure and of passion. This comparison is all the more attractive in that Plato, like Epictetus, based his system of virtues, and there re, in a sense, his "ascetic" system, on his distinction of the parts of the soul. For Epictetus, as we have seen, there is a discipline of the soul's intellectual activity, a discipline of impulses and tendencies to action, and a discipline ofdesire. In Plato's Republic, justice is the inner harmony of the individual as well as of the state, and it consists in the union ofthree elements: the rst is wisdom, which, in the soul, reigns over the rational part, and in the state is the characteristic of the philosopher-kings. Within the soul, courage reigns over the "chol­ eric" and impulsive part; whereas within the state it pertains to the class ofwarriors. Finally, that temperance which is to be und within the soul reigns over the "desiring" part; whereas within the state it must be the characteristic ofthe lowest class: that ofthe artisans. 21
In spite of these analogies, however, the schemes of Plato and of Epictetus are radically and completely di erent. For Plato, there is a hierarchy among the parts of the soul analogous to that which is estab­ lished between the classes ofsociety in the Republic: rulers, warriors, and artisans. The philosopher-kings impose their rule upon the warriors and artisans, who are their in riors. In the same way, good reason imposes its law upon the inferior parts of the soul.
For Epictetus, by contrast, both active impulse and desire are acts of the rational soul, or the "guiding principle" within each human being. There is thus no opposition or di erence oflevel between rational activ­ ity, impulses to action, and desire. Impulses and desire are located within the rational soul itsel and this is all the more true in that impulse and desire, even if they do have a ective repercussions upon the soul, are, according to Stoic teaching, essentially judgments made by the rational soul. Reason is not essentially good; rather, like impulses and desire, it
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can be either good or bad, according to whether it emits true or lse judgments, which then determine conduct. A passage om Plutarch22
provides a good summary of Stoic doctrine as we nd it in Epictetus:
For the Stoics, virtue is a disposition ofthe ruling part ofthe soul . . . or rather it is reason when the latter is coherent with itsel rm, and constant. They do not believe that the passionate and irrational parts ofthe soul di er om the rational culty by means ofa natural di erence; but that it is the same part of the soul, which they call dianoia and hegemonikon (the culty of re ection and the directing principle) which changes and is completely trans rmed in the pas­ sions and the trans rmations which it undergoes, either in its state or in its dispositions, and that it becomes vice or virtue. In itself, however, there is nothing irrational about this culty, but it is called irrational when, owing to excessive impulses, it becomes very strong and triumphant, and is consequently led to something inap­ propriate and contrary to the choice of reason. Passion, thus, is reason, but reason which is vitiated and depraved, and which, owing to the e ect of bad and pe erted judgment, has acquired strength and vigor.
For Plato, we can say that the essence of human beings resides in reason; and reason is necessarily right, but the life of the concrete indi­ vidual does not necessarily coincide with it. For Epictetus, by contrast, as r the Stoics in general, the essence ofmankind does consist in reason, the principle of eedom, and the power to choose. Precisely because it is the power to choose, however, it can be either good or bad and is not necessarily right.
Impulse and desire are thus located within the "directing principle," or center of the human soul's eedom. For this reason, they are on the same level as the rational culty ofjudgment and of assent. Obviously, however, judgment, impulse, and desire are not interchangeable. Each impulse and each desire has its undation and its origin in ajudgment. It is as a nction ofits inner discourse that the soul feels a certain impulse to action, or a certain inner disposition ofdesire.
The three exercise-themes and the three parts ofphilosophy
For the Stoics, as we have seen, there is not only a discourse about logic, but a lived logic. Likewise, there is not only a discourse about ethics, but also a lived ethics; there is not only a discourse about physics, but also a
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lived physics. In other words, philosophy, inso r as it is the conduct of li , is indissolubly logic, ethics, and physics. We can recognize this lived logic, ethics, and physics in the three exercises of Epictetus which we havejust examined.
It is worth noting that, in order to designate these exercises, Epictetus23 uses the word topos, a term traditionally used by the Stoics-at least since the time ofApollodoros ofSeleucia, who ourished at the end ofthe second century B. C. -to designate the parts ofphilosophy. 24 When the Stoics spoke of the parts of philosophical discourse, they were prob­ ably using the word topos in a rhetorical and dialectical sense, in which it signi ed a thesis, or a "general question which is put up r discussion. "25 In the same way as a rhetorical or dialectical topos was a theme r exercises in the area of discourse, so Epictetus' three topoi are three themes of intellectual exercise, which correspond to the three parts of philosophical discourse. At the same time, however, they are also three themes oflived exercise, which put the principles rmulated in philo­ sophical discourse into action, in the area oflife.
It is obvious that, r Epictetus, the discipline ofjudgment and of assent corresponds to the logical part ofphilosophy, while the discipline of impulses corresponds to the ethical part of philosophy. This equiva­ lence comes out clearly in a passage in which Epictetus opposes logic, on the one hand, as a part of theoretical discourse, and on the other the discipline of assent, as a lived logic. He then goes on to contrast ethics, as a part of theoretical discourse, and the discipline of impulses, as a lived ethics. The context is a section ofthe Discourses (IV, 4, rr-18) in which Epictetus is criticizing the lse philosopher, who is content merely to read theoretical discourses about philosophy. Epictetus reminds his audi­ ence that "Life is made up of other things besides books," and then proceeds as llows:
It is as if, in the domain (topos) of the exercise of assent, when we are in the presence ofrepresentations ofwhich some are "adequate" (kataleptikai) and the others are not, we were to re se to distinguish the ones om the others, but pre rred to read treatises entitled On Comprehension. What, then, is the reason r this? It is because we have never read, and we have never written, so as to be capable, in a context of action, to use the representations which actually do present themselves to us in a manner in con rmity with nature. Rather, we have con ned ourselves to learning what is said, and being able to explain it to someone else; we've learned how to resolve a syllogism and how to examine a hypothetical argument.
The Stoicism ofEpictetus 9 1
As we can see, Epictetus is here opposing two kinds oflogic; theoreti­ cal logic, as it is contained in treatises with titles like On Comprehension, gives us only a theoretical knowledge and technical skill in argumenta­ tion, which bears no relationship to reality. Opposed to this stands lived logic, which consists in criticizing, and entering into dialogue with, the representations which actually do present themselves to us in the course of everyday life. Simila y, Epictetus goes on, we should not be con­ cerned with reading treatises entitled On Impulses, in order to nd out what people have to say about impulses, but rather we should get busy and act. Here, the theoretical ethics contained in treatises on impulse and-Epictetus adds-on duty is placed in relation to the exercise ofthe discipline ofimpulse.
The correspondence between lo c and the discipline ofassent, then, can be easily admitted; as can that between ethics and the discipline of impulses. What, however, shall we say about the discipline ofdesire? The structure of the Stoic scheme of the three parts of philosophy seems to require that it correspond to physics. Is this possible? Seemingly not; in the rst place, Epictetus makes no allusion to any particular relationship between physics and the discipline ofdesire in the passage quoted above, although he does relate the discipline ofjudgment to logic, and the discipline of impulses to ethics. Instead, he merely speaks of theoretical treatises entitled On Desire and Aversion, which seem to be ethical trea­ tises. If it is true, however, that the abstract theory of "desire" itsel inso r as it is an act of the soul, is situated within the domain of ethics, nevertheless the lived practice of the discipline of desire implies, in the last analysis, a speci c attitude toward the cosmos and nature. I have already hinted at this point in my account of the content of the three disciplines, but must now be more speci c. The discipline ofdesire has as its goal to bring it about that we never desire things of which we might be ustrated, and that we never ee that which we might undergo against our will. This discipline there re consists in desiring only the good which depends upon us-the only thing that is truly good, r the Stoics-and just as much in eeing only moral evil. As r that which does not depend on us: we are to accept it, as willed by universal Nature (II, 14, 7):
Here is approximately what we think the philosopher's task is. He must adapt his own will to events, in such a way that, among all events which occur, there may be none which occur when he did not want them to occur, and that, ofall events which do not occur, there may be none which does not occur when he wanted it to
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happen. The result, r those who have undertaken this task, is that they are not frustrated in their desires, and that they are not rced to undergo that r which they have an aversion.
The continuation ofthis passage still describes the task ofthe philoso­ pher, but now with regard to his relations with others. We have here, then, a very clear linkage between the discipline of desire and the con­ sent willed by destiny. Such consent presupposes that mankind recognize himself as a part of the , and that he understand that events are necessarily linked to one another by the will of universal Reason. What­ ever happens, Epictetus recommends, one should not become irritated
against the events that have been disposed by Zeus himself [that is to say, by universal Reason]; he has de ned them and placed them in order in cooperation with the Moirae [i. e. , the Fates], who were present at your birth and have woven your destiny. Don't you know how tiny a part you are, compared to the ? (I, 12, 25).
Elsewhere, Epictetus writes in the same vein (II, 17, 25):
Let your desires and your aversions become attached to Zeus, and to the other gods; give them to them, let them govern them, and let this desire and this aversion be ranged in accordance with them.
Consent to destiny and obedience to the gods-the essential compo­ nents of the discipline of desire-presuppose that man become aware of his place within the , and consequently that he practice physics. "The consent to Destiny," writes A. -J. Voelke,26 "requires rst ofall that the universe be understood, thanks to an e ort ofthought in which intellec­ tual power bases itself upon sense-representations. . . . The result of this methodical elucidation is that, little by little, we arrive at the rational certainty that we are living in a cosmos which is good, and set in harmo­ nious order by a supreme Providence. " We shall see later that, in the
writings of Marcus Aurelius, this theme of the link between the disci­ pline ofdesire and physics lived as a spiritual exercise is orchestrated even more richly than in the sayings of Epictetus which have come down to us. 27
Sometimes Epictetus places the three disciplines on the same level, but he also sometimes seems to establish a hierarchy among them. Conse­ quently, he sometimes enumerates the three disciplines without estab-
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lishing any determinate order among them, as r example when he begins with the discipline of assent (I, 17, 22; IV, 4, 14 IV, 6, 26). Elsewhere, by contrast, he speaks of rst, second, and third themes of exercise (topoi): the rst being that ofdesires, the second that ofimpulses, and the third that of assent. In Epictetus' view, this order corresponds to di erent phases of spiritual progress. From this perspective, it is the discipline ofdesire, and then that ofimpulses, which must come rst and which are the most necessary (I, 4, 12). The discipline of assent now comes only in third place, and is reserved r those who are making progress (III, 2, 5; III, 26, 14; IV, IO, 13), since it ensures them rmness in their assenting. Nevertheless, we can sense that r Epictetus, the disci­ plines of desire and of impulse are sed together into the discipline which criticizes representations, and there re in the discipline ofjudg­ ment and assent. After all, r Epictetus, who is here being entirely ith l to Stoic orthodoxy, the cause of our passions-that is to say, of our desires-as well as of our actions-that is, of our impulses-is noth­ ing other than representations hantasiai in other words, the ideas we rm of things. the tragedies and dramas in the world are the simple result of the false ideas of events that the heroes of these tragedies and dramas have rmed r themselves (I, 28, rn-33). Ifthis is true, how­ ever, the exercise-theme which has as its object the criticism ofrepre­ sentations and judgment ought to come rst.
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.