Epictetus enumerates these three psychological operations as follows ...

 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 activities or operations of the soul. These are the desire to accumulate that which is good, the impulse to act, and judgment on the value of things.

Basing his view on the traditional and fundamental Stoic distinction between those things which do not depend upon our will and those which do, Epictetus enumerates these three psychological operations as follows:

What depends on us are value-judgments (hypolēpseis), impulses toward action (hormē), 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 office; in a word, everything which is not our own business.19Here, we can glimpse one of the Stoics’ most fundamental 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 of our soul, because we can freely 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 everything that depends upon the general course of nature. Our body, first: it is true that we can move it, but we are not completely in control of it. Birth, death, sickness, involuntary movements, sensations of pleasure or of pain: all these are completely independent of our will. As for wealth and honors: we can, to be sure, attempt to acquire them, yet definitive success does not depend upon us, but upon a series of human factors and events which are exterior to us; they are imponderable and do not depend upon our will. Thus, the Stoic delimits a center of autonomy—the soul, as opposed to the body; and a guiding principle (hēgemonikon) as opposed to the rest of the soul. It is within this guiding principle that freedom and our true self are located. It is also there, and only there, that moral good and evil can be found, for the only moral good and evil are voluntary good and evil.

The soul or guiding principle thus has three fundamental activities. In the first place, as it receives the images which come from bodily sensations, it develops an inner discourse, and this is what constitutes judgment. The soul tells itself what a given object or event is; in particular, it tells itself what the object is for 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 of saying, everything is a matter of judgment. It is not things themselves that trouble us, but our representations of these things, the ideas we form of them, and the inner discourse which we formulate about them. Desire and impulses to action are the necessary results of this inner discourse: if we desire something, it is because we have told ourselves that the thing in question is good; likewise, if we 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 katalēptikai, 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 of reality. In Epictetus, however, we can glimpse a wholly different meaning of the term: for him, a representation is katalēptikē when it does not go beyond what is given, but is able to stop at what is perceived, without adding anything extraneous to that which is perceived. Rather than “comprehensive representations,” then, it would be better to speak of “adequate representations.”

Here is a translation—slightly paraphrased, in order to make it more comprehensible—of a vital passage from the Discourses of Epictetus. It shows in action the inner discourse, or the soul’s dialogue with itself, on the subject of representations (III, 8, 1–2):

In the same way as we train ourselves in order to be able to face up to sophistical interrogations, we ought also to train ourselves to face up to representations (phantasiai), for they too ask us questions.

For example, let’s say we formulate within ourselves the contents of the representation: “So-and-so’s son is dead.”

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 father has disinherited him. What do you think of that?” Reply: “That doesn’t depend on the will, and is not something 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:

If we acquire this habit, we will make progress; for we will give our assent only to that of which there is an adequate (katalēptikē) representation.

It is quite remarkable that Epictetus here is representing moral life 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 following examples, in which representations ask us questions. “Her son is dead” is an inner representation which we formulate, and it asks us the question: “What happened?” This could lead us to enunciate a value-judgment, of the type “a great misfortune,” but we must reply: “Her son is dead.” The representation, however, is not satisfied; 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 if you add the proposition “a terrible thing happened to him,” then that is coming from you.

What Epictetus means is that the idea according to which a certain event is a misfortune—as well as the consequences that such a representation may have on the desires and tendencies of the soul—is a representation which has no basis in reality; rather, it goes beyond an adequate vision of reality, by adding to it a false value-judgment. Such a representation can arise only in a soul which has not yet assimilated the fundamental dogma of Stoicism: happiness is only to be found in moral good, or virtue; and misfortune is only to be found in moral evil, in faults 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 “indifferent,” to use a term from the Stoic vocabulary? A person must, after all, eat, sleep, work, raise a family, and fulfill 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 functions, coming after the activity of representations, judgments, and assent, must be just this impulse to act, as well as action itself. The domain of the latter includes what Epictetus and the Stoics call the kathēkonta; that is, those actions which, in all probability and for good reason, may be considered as “appropriate” to human nature. These are the actions which conform to the deep-rooted instinct which urges rational human nature to act in order to preserve itself. Thus, both the active impulse and action itself will be exercised above all in the domain of society, of the state, of the family, and of relations between human beings in general.

Human action cannot, however, hope to be completely effective; it does not always attain its goal. Mankind is, therefore, 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 oneself, 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 free 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 find 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 (kathēkon) for our nature, so that he may act in an orderly way, in accordance with rational probability, and without negligence;

—the domain in which what matters is to preserve oneself from error and insufficient reasons; and, in general, that which concerns the assent [which we give to judgments].

If we gather together all the indications concerning this theme contained in Epictetus’ sayings, we can present this theory of the three forms or domains20 of philosophical exercise as follows:

The first domain is that of desires and aversions. Humans are unhappy because they desire things which they consider good, but which they may either fail to obtain or else lose; and because they try to avoid things which they consider as evils, but which are often inevitable. The reason is that these apparent goods and evils—wealth and health, for 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 finally 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 indifferent, 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 sometimes designates by the term “gods” in general. To “follow the gods” means to accept their will, which is identical with the will of universal Nature (I, 12, 8; I, 20, 15). The discipline of desire thus has as its object the passions (pathē), or the emotions which we feel when events present themselves to us.

The second domain of exercises is that of impulses to action. As we have seen, it is the field of those actions which are “appropriate” (kathēkonta) to our rational nature. These are actions—and therefore something which depends on us—that have an effect on things which do not depend on us, such as other human beings, politics, health, family life, and so forth. All of these areas are, in themselves, “indifferent” in the Stoic sense of the term; but they may, in accordance with a rational justification or reasonable probability, be considered as corresponding to reasonable nature’s instinct for self-preservation. Since such actions are directed exclusively toward other people, and have their foundation in that community 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 of justice.

The third domain of exercises is that of assent (sunkatathesis). Each representation (phantasia) which presents itself to 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, for which good and evil are not to be found anywhere else than in our faculty of judgment.

It is tempting to compare the three acts of the soul as distinguished by Epictetus—rational activity of judgment and assent, impulse to action, and desire—with the three parts of the soul recognized by the Platonists. Following Plato, they distinguished between the rational part of the 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 therefore, 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 of desire. In Plato’s Republic, justice is the inner harmony of the individual as well as of the state, and it consists in the union of three elements: the first 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 “choleric” and impulsive part; whereas within the state it pertains to the class of warriors. Finally, that temperance which is to be found within the soul reigns over the “desiring” part; whereas within the state it must be the characteristic of the lowest class: that of the artisans.21In spite of these analogies, however, the schemes of Plato and of Epictetus are radically and completely different. For Plato, there is a hierarchy among the parts of the soul analogous to that which is established between the classes of society in the Republic: rulers, warriors, and artisans. The philosopher-kings impose their rule upon the warriors and artisans, who are their inferiors. 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 difference of level between rational activity, impulses to action, and desire. Impulses and desire are located within the rational soul itself; and this is all the more true in that impulse and desire, even if they do have affective 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 can be either good or bad, according to whether it emits true or false judgments, which then determine conduct. A passage from Plutarch22 provides a good summary of Stoic doctrine as we find it in Epictetus:

For the Stoics, virtue is a disposition of the ruling part of the soul… or rather it is reason when the latter is coherent with itself, firm, and constant. They do not believe that the passionate and irrational parts of the soul differ from the rational faculty by means of a natural difference; but that it is the same part of the soul, which they call dianoia and hēgemonikon (the faculty of reflection and the directing principle) which changes and is completely transformed in the passions and the transformations 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 faculty, but it is called irrational when, owing to excessive impulses, it becomes very strong and triumphant, and is consequently led to something inappropriate and contrary to the choice of reason. Passion, thus, is reason, but reason which is vitiated and depraved, and which, owing to the effect of bad and perverted 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 individual does not necessarily coincide with it. For Epictetus, by contrast, as for the Stoics in general, the essence of mankind does consist in reason, the principle of freedom, 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 freedom. For this reason, they are on the same level as the rational faculty of judgment and of assent. Obviously, however, judgment, impulse, and desire are not interchangeable. Each impulse and each desire has its foundation and its origin in a judgment. It is as a function of its inner discourse that the soul feels a certain impulse to action, or a certain inner disposition of desire.

The Inner Citadel

The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius

PIERRE HADOT