Authentic Self and the Voice of the Other: From Socratic Q&A to Inner Dialogue
Part 1 of "Presenting the Self: Inner Dialogue and Spiritual Exercise"
What does friend mean when it becomes a conceptual persona, or a condition for the exercise of thought? Or, rather, are we not talking of the lover? Does not the friend reintroduce into thought a vital relationship with the Other that was supposed to have been excluded from pure thought?
~ Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari1
Fellow traveler on the road of life, embodiment of the love that compels us toward wisdom (philo-sophia) – the friend who had to be "reintroduced" into modern thought was never really absent from ancient philosophy. That image of the personal or personified other who draws us outward from our bounded self, who spurs us to thought, and who abides with us in the practice of life is a fitting one with which to begin this historical-interpretative essay in eight parts: “Presenting the Self: Inner Dialogue and Spiritual Exercise.” Without the desired other—live before us, notionally there, or somehow waiting in the wings—there is no dialogue. That remains true despite the possibility that dialogue can be practiced in solitude, in conversation with oneself.
1.
Begin with the genre, its history, and its preeminence as a mode of wisdom-seeking since the very start of western philosophy. The unfolding give-and-take we know as dialogue—διάλογος, formed from the prefix dia (meaning "through") and logos (meaning "word")—was always more than a simple trading of speech between two interlocutors. Before it was cast in literary form, dialogue was lived experience and a distinct type of moral exercise. By the same token, before it became an exposition of teachings (doxa), philosophy in the ancient schools was an open-form training for life, a praxis undertaken in common for the sake of moving souls toward health and flourishing. For most of its modern history philosophy—and along with it, the modern discipline of the history of philosophy—has profoundly misunderstood this foundational sense of dialogue.
That indictment comes from the powerful account developed by French historian of philosophy Pierre Hadot (1922-2010). Over the course of his career Hadot pointed out how thoroughly modern philosophy had misconstrued the essentially oral nature of the ancient texts it inherited. Academic philosophy, he argued, blinded itself to the crucial fact that, in its original cultural setting, the written philosophical text was not "the unique testimony wherein a philosophical thought is manifested," as Victor Goldschmidt (1914-81) had once asserted. Rather it was, as Hadot puts it, "the echo of a speech intended to become speech again."2 Plato himself had posed the problem of writing and orality in the Phaedrus and the Seventh Letter. He recognized that the dialogue form, whose traditional purpose was moral exhortation, could only ever allude to, or approximate, the doctrinal dimensions of thought. This understanding, Hadot argues, makes the ancient philosophical text nothing less, but also nothing more, than a material surrogate for the spoken word. A record, to be sure — but also a kind of prosthetic. With every generation of listeners it would, necessarily, accrue new meanings and take on new resonances, "like a modern record or cassette which [is] only an intermediary between two events: the recording and the rehearing."3
The context for these remarks was Hadot's polemic against a discipline so fixated on texts that it could only deplore the countless "defects" of composition which ancient philosophical texts often display—the expository "incoherences" that frustrate the attempt by historians to trace formations, growths, lines of influence, and innovations in the development of doctrines and systems. That quest not only condemned modern academic philosophy to the tasks of philological reconstruction, exegesis and commentary. It also—and here is Hadot’s crucial point—obscured the founding identity of philosophia as a total method for transforming the human person and effecting a “conversion” to wisdom. Today irrevocably associated with Hadot and his work, the slogan “philosophy as a way of life” signifies this holistic reorientation of the individual toward the principal task of existence — to live and act in accordance with truth.
In other words, far from being a disciplined progression toward truths about the nature of reality, justice, truth, language, or thought itself, the goal of philosophia in the ancient philosophical schools was, in the formula Hadot borrowed from Goldschmidt, "to form more than inform."4 This distinction is critical. Oral delivery in public gives philosophical Q&A its power to exhort others to philosophize (protrepsis) and thus improve moral life all around—a goal held in common by Socrates and the Sophists with whom he tussled. Both schools of philosophy sought to transform pupils into masters of speech, men capable of thriving in a world built on masculine political discourse. But only Socrates, with his patient excavation of the souls of his interlocutors, would make oral dialogue an instrument for the individual's self-formation. Understood in its fullest sense, ancient philosophical dialogue represented a practical therapy of the soul. Philo of Alexandria, writing in the early first century CE, called it a "training for wisdom"—the progressive transformation of the human person's total attitude and vocation. Or, as Hadot states it, a mode of "existing-in-the-world which had to be practiced at each instant."5
2.
Why should it be that only dialogue can accomplish the central goal ancient philosophy sets for itself? Distinguishing two aspects of dialogue, the first psychological and the second spiritual, allows us to grasp its special power to model and remodel the self. Ancient dialogue proceeded from a deeply ingrained sense of the efficacy of the spoken word and a corresponding suspicion of writing as deleterious to creative thought (both ideas thematized in the Phaedrus). In the actions performed by speakers who are pursuing ideas in common, dialogue instrumentalizes the living presence of the human voice and invests it with what Hadot calls its "ontological value."6 Less a conveyance of information from a sender to a receiver, the animate word was understood by ancient philosophy and rhetoric as capable of producing "a certain psychic effect." And this effect, which ancient thinkers understood in turn as a quasi-material alteration of the soul, bestowed upon the spoken word a therapeutic value along with its power to persuade (the parallel with ancient medicine's reliance on efficacious substances was never merely metaphorical).7 This therapeutic power of the word, so alien to the modern conception of philosophy as exegesis and commentary, found one kind of realization in the incitements, struggles, challenges and combats of live dialogue.
This brings me to the second crucial aspect of dialogue that makes it indispensible for philosophy as a training for life: the spiritual.
Every Socratic and Platonic dialogue aims to uncover not only a resolution to some moral, metaphysical, or epistemological problem to which its parties have devoted themselves, but also, as Arnold Davidson writes, "the path traversed together in arriving at this solution."8 Awareness of the process installs a particular understanding of the Delphic injunction to "know thyself"' at the heart of philosophy. It links the moral necessity of arriving at self-knowledge to the determination to make the self authentically present to others, a gesture which, therapists since Socrates have recognized, has the power to renew one's relationship to oneself. For Hadot, this essential dimension of dialogue reveals its core identity as a form of spiritual exercise, a training for existence that demands from each individual "an authentic encounter" with himself, herself, or themself.9 It is the exercise of that authentic presence before the other which, Hadot writes,
“prevents the dialogue from being a theoretical, dogmatic exposé . . . For the point is not to set forth a doctrine, but rather to guide the interlocutor toward a determinate mental attitude. It is a combat, amicable but real. . . . The point is worth stressing, for the same thing happens in every spiritual exercise: we must let ourselves be changed, in our point of view, attitudes, and convictions. This means we must dialogue with ourselves, and hence we must do battle with ourselves.”10
Fusing the psychic effectiveness of the acoustic word to the ethical-spiritual imperative of attending to the self—its blockages and constraints as well as its freedoms and futures—ancient philosophy proclaimed itself to be what Cicero called an ars vivendi, an "art of living." For him such an art was the ethical practice par excellence, for it bore directly, inescapably, on the "right conduct of life" (ad rectam vivendi).11
Indeed, was in the Hellenistic and Roman schools where philosophy fully came to realize its identity as more than a path toward moral or metaphysical understanding. As an existential method, ancient philosophia joined ethical reflection to a therapeutics of the passions, pointing toward a metamorphosis of the whole person. Its defining objective, notably among the Stoics, was the individual's progressive realization of a whole mode of being, a choice to live a philosophical life at the levels of intellect (judgment), sensibility (desire), and action (will). "It is a conversion," Hadot writes, "which turns our entire world upside down, changing the life of the person that goes through it. It raises the individual from an inauthentic condition of life, darkened by unconsciousness and harassed by worry, to an authentic state of life, in which [the person] attains self-consciousness, an exact vision of the world, inner peace, and freedom."12
3.
Ironically, the deepening emphasis on the philosopher's lived praxis took place against a cultural shift in elite education, away from the traditional venues for spoken-word performance (i.e., the public recitation of Greek and Latin literary works) and toward solitary modes of reading and learning. Against the backdrop of what Seth Lerer calls a broadening "intellectual tension between a world defined by speech and one defined by books,"13 the practices of self-knowledge, cultivation of self, and the soul's transformation took on an increasingly private character.
A key task of this serial essay on Substack is to understand what happened when the imperative toward inner conversion planted itself deep in the nerves and fibers of post-classical religious mentalities, and specifically in Christian prayer, meditation, and mystical conversation with God. That focus, readers may already know, links it to the larger project called The Consolation of Wisdom (also the title of my book). The ethical-spiritual imperative I have been describing here, with the help of Hadot and others, was borne on the wings of a Platonic conception of wisdom which not only renders the self transparent to scrutiny and knowing, but ensures that it becomes the principal object of a knowledge that saves.14
After laying out a few more preliminaries, succeeding installments of this essay will trace the development of inner dialogue as a form of spiritual exercise in the work of six writers who harnessed the dialogue form to stage an intensive encounter with the self: Marcus Aurelius in the second century, Augustine of Hippo in the fifth, Boethius in the sixth, Bonaventure in the thirteenth, and two very different writers in the fourteenth: Francesco Petrarch and Heinrich Suso.
4.
Think back to the tradition of Socratic élenkhos (ἔλεγχος, meaning “refutation, examination, scrutiny”). There participants are invited not only to a logical exposure of their ungrounded beliefs but to a fundamental self-examination, an awakening of moral consciousness in line with the injunction to “know thyself” (γνῶθι σεαυτόν, gnōthi seauton). This demand that we reach for a sustainable, reflexive knowledge of our own nature, purpose, capacities, infirmities, etc., presupposes in turn a more fundamental relation of the self to itself. That relation, simply put, entailed concerning oneself with oneself (επιμέλεια εαυτού, epiméleia heautou). But it also meant doing so in a more intense and deliberate way, a practice which, Michel Foucault famously argued, "was at once considered a duty and a technique, a fundamental obligation and a carefully elaborated ensemble of behaviors."15
Dialogue in this setting functions protreptically, that is, as an exhortation. Wake up, smell the coffee, and get to work concerning yourself with the condition of your own soul! We see it most clearly where Socrates chastizes the Athenians for their inordinate regard of wealth, reputation, and honor while paying only the paltriest attention to wisdom, truth, and "the best possible state of your soul";16 or when he challenges Alcibiades to care for the one thing that defines what the human person is: "Well then, what does it mean to cultivate oneself?—I'm afraid we often think we're cultivating ourselves when we are not. When does a man do that? Is he cultivating himself when he cultivates what he has?"17 Such examples could be multiplied, but Socrates's point is already clear enough. Before I undertake to improve "myself," I need to get clear what that entity is on which I am supposed to be focused. Otherwise I risk confusing my self, that unique existence I am, with one of the things I merely possess — temporal and transitory things like body, image, personality, reputation, and so on.
Corollary to this discernment of the authentic self against the backdrop of our many possessions and attributes is the vigilant attention one must pay to oneself — attention to the truth of one's thoughts, attention to the movements of the soul, and especially attention to the encroachment of the passions upon reason's rule. These imperatives are no doubt critical to moral progress whenever we find ourselves in dialogue with others; but they could also be met in dialogue with oneself. Several ancecdotes reported by Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of the Eminent Philosophers (3rd cen. CE) attest to this possibility among the ancients. To a question posed about the greatest profit he had found in philosophy, Antisthenes (d. circa 366 BCE), a pupil and contemporary of Socrates, is said to have replied: “The ability to converse with myself.”18 Hadot's commentary on this quip is worth quoting:
“The intimate connection between dialogue with others and dialogue with oneself is profoundly significant. Only he who is capable of a genuine encounter with the other is capable of an authentic encounter with himself, and the converse is equally true. Dialogue can be genuine only within the framework of presence to others and to oneself. From this perspective, every spiritual exercise is a dialogue, insofar as it is an exercise of authentic presence, to oneself and to others.”19
Inner dialogue takes the imperative toward the self’s authentic presentation and intensifies it. One way it does this is by formalizing those antagonistic inner forces that shape behavior and giving them voice, a process that can take many forms (some of which we’ll discuss in subsequent parts of this essay). As these voices speak they acquire independent agency (or appear to possess that kind of agency); and the soul appears divided against itself. Inner dialogue requires something like the “self-splitting” with which we’re all probably familiar — the interplay of ego and alter-ego that happens whenever we talk to ourselves.
But inner dialogue that takes itself seriously as form of ethical-spiritual exercise requires something more than the proverbial two hearts beating in one breast. It requires an encounter with an other who is more than simply “another side” of ourselves (or one side of the bicameral brain messaging the other). That other must come to the conversation bearing, or representing, a higher authority.
5.
Spiritual exercises, especially those in the Stoic mold, aim at a transformation of one's way of looking at things. By extension, one's whole way of living and behaving in the world must be made susceptible to change. But the "metamorphosis of our personality" Hadot considers the ultimate aim of philosophical therapy is hardly a straightforward task. Internalizing the principles or having the truth revealed to us in a flash won’t make it happen. We need to learn experientially; we need to build up the skills required for effecting the change in perspective; and for that to happen we need to train.
As in any form of training (áskēsis), one sets out to build up strength and resilience progressively, through repetition. Commitment to practice also means vigilance against laziness and efforts to minimize the risk of backsliding. Habits are inculcated and memories are implanted deep in the fabric of nerves, muscles and mind. The whole person must be caught up in the transformation. Philosophical training is no different. In the Stoic tradition practical exercises designed to move the individual toward self-mastery and freedom from disturbance by the passions (apatheia) attended to both the interior as well as the exterior person, and these were meant to reinforce one another.20
Guarding against the slow return of old habits, attachments, desires, and representations of the world was critical to ancient therapists, pagan and Christian (as we will see), for another reason. They knew that the new way of life that comes with conversion to philosophia, could only ever be provisional. Spiritual exercises "must be taken up again and again, in an ever-renewed effort." The philosopher, being neither a perfect sage (sophos) nor an ordinary person, can only ever recognize himself, herself, or themself as a being in transit, "a philo-sophos, someone on the way toward wisdom."21 For Plato, wisdom begins with passage from the "dream state" in which ordinary people dwell, where projected shadows masquerade as reality, into a "clear waking vision" where discernment of the Good (noêsis) becomes possible. Admittedly this is an arduous process that will be consummated by only a few.22 Ancient philosophy understood the reversal of one's life story, the conversion that brings about a radical change in perspective, as a height "that needed always to be reconquered."23
So spiritual exercise means daily practice, continued struggle, and dogged cultivation of what later Christian writers, notably Gregory the Great (d. 604) in his great exposition of the Book of Job, called "constancy of mind" (contantia mentis).24 To internalize the therapy of the word meant more than readiness to dialogue with oneself. It entailed, first of all, guarding precious precepts within the "inner citadel" of the mind, where they can remain always "ready at hand" (procheiron echein). Then one needs a means and a method, a reliable set of techniques for accessing those stored ethical precepts. Only then can they be practiced constantly, in all circumstances. Diogenes reports this of Pyrrho: "When once discovered talking to himself, he was asked the reason, and said that he was training to be virtuous."25 As Ilsetraut Hadot—the equally brilliant wife of Pierre—remarked in her commentary on Seneca's Consolations, ancient philosophers
“were perfectly conscious of the fact that simple knowledge of a doctrine, if it was to be beneficial, did not guarantee its being put into practice. To have learned theoretically that death is not an evil does not suffice for fearing it no longer. In order for this truth to be able penetrate to the greatest depth of one's being, so that is not believed only for a brief moment, but that it becomes an unshakeable conviction, so that it is always "ready," "at hand," [and] "present to mind," so that it is a "habitus of the soul" as the ancients said, one must exercise oneself constantly and without respite, "night and day," as Cicero said. . . . These exercises are certainly exercises of meditation, but they concern not only reason; in order to be efficacious, they must link the imagination and affectivity to the work of reason, and therefore all the psychagogical means of rhetoric . . .”26
6.
But how does one become capable of inner dialogue?27 Socratic techniques of enlightenment are aimed at overcoming false beliefs and fixations. By putting the old self and its habits under painful scrutiny, this form of the philosopher’s Q&A redeems an otherwise defective pedagogy and promises a new kind of freedom. Even so, it only gets the soul so far. When concern for one’s authentic self is awakened, the subject invariably needs help to keep enlightenment going. That help, we have been seeing, arrives in the experience of the other — the friend, the teacher, the spiritual guru, or, in Plato's favored metaphor for Socrates's brand of soul-service, the “midwife” who attends the (re)birth of reason in the soul and keeps watch over its health in the aftermath.28 Making oneself truly receptive to the entreaties of the other's voice and the other’s care requires inclining attentively toward it, recognizing it, and at some level returning the attention being gifted to us. It involves mirroring the other’s care to the point of internalizing it, allowing it to speak within us, a voice familiar as one's own.
Ancient philosophical ethics thus presumes a built-in pathway by which selves—those who have finally and authentically presented themselves to the other—can learn to come to their own aid. With the awakening of the capacity for inner dialogue the soul does not seek principally for novel arguments or an extrapolation of established doctrines; it aims, rather, for a recollection of things already known, a "reactivation" of knowledge implanted in the soul by its creator (what Plato called anámnesis).29 Because these are truths the soul needs in order to heal itself, and yet so profoundly difficult to access, the self must acquire its own method and its own technē, its own form of know-how.
All that remains is to lock in a regimen, a set of rules for living, diligently applied for the sake of improvement. "Whatever rules you have have adopted," Epictetus exhorts his pupils, "abide by them as laws, and as if you would be impious to transgress them."30
Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, What is Philosophy? trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Graham Burchell (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 3-4; originally published as Qu'est-ce que la philosophie? (Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1991).
Pierre Hadot, "The Oral Teaching of Plato" (1986), in The Selected Writings of Pierre Hadot: Philosophy as Practice, trans. Matthew Sharpe and Federico Testa (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2020), 81-90, at 84; and 83 for the quote from Goldschmidt, "Remarques sur la méthode structurale en histoire de la philosophie," in Métaphysique, Histoire de la philosophie, Recueil d'études offert à F. Brunner à l'occasion de son 60e anniversaire (Neuchâtel: Éditions de la Baconnière, 1981), 213-40; repr. in Goldschmidt, Ecrits, 2 vols. (Paris: Vrin, 1984), vol. 2 (Études des philosophie modernes), 239-66, at 256: "La méthode structurale ne peut s'appliquer qu'à un texte écrit (on a noté plus haut que son ambition est précisément de mieux faire lire les textes) et à cet égard, met incontestablement l'accent sur l'œuvre écrite, comme l'unique témoignage où se manifeste une pensée philosophique."
Hadot, quoted in Arnold Davidson, "Introduction: Pierre Hadot and the Spiritual Phenomenon of Ancient Philosophy," in Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, trans. Michael Chase, ed. Arnold I. Davidson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 1-45, at 19. On the ancient world's changing relation between the written word and spoken voices, fictive and real, see also Shane Butler, The Ancient Phonograph (New York: Zone, 2015).
Quoted in Davidson, "Introduction," 20.
Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life, 264, who quotes Philo from On the Special Laws.
Quoted in Davidson, "Introduction," 19.
In a brilliant but overlooked book, Pedro Laín-Entralgo argued that ancient rhetorical theory had constructed a "fourth type of persuasive word" in addition to the three canonical types (judicial or forensic, deliberative, and apodictic or demonstrative); this he calls the "therapeutic or curative type" and considers it a "speculative form of verbal psychotherapy," one that is found "in masked form" (174) in both Aristotle's Rhetorics and, crucially, in his theory of katharsis in the Poetics and Politics; see The Therapy of the Word in Classical Antiquity, trans. L. J. Rather and John M. Sharp (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), 174-79 et passim. For a clarifying introduction to the medical analogy in ancient philososphy, Julia E. Annas, “Philosophical Therapy, Ancient and Modern,” in Bioethics: Ancient Themes in Contemporary Issues, ed. Mark G. Kuczewski and Ronald Polansky (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000), 109–28.
Davidson, "Introduction," 20.
Hadot, "Spiritual Exercises," in Philosophy as a Way of Life, 81-125, at 91.
Ibid.
De finibus, I.13.41; in Marcus Tullius Cicero, De finibus bonorum et malorum, trans. H. Rackman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 47 ("So also Wisdom which must be considered as the art of living"); and Tusc. I.1.1 (ad rectam vivendi); in Marcus Tullius Cicero, Tusculan Disputations, rev. edn., trans. J. E. King (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 3. Elsewhere (Tusc. III.3.6; trans. 231) Cicero touts philosophy as an "art of healing the soul" (animi medicina).
Hadot, "Spiritual Exercises," 83.
Seth Lerer, Boethius and Dialogue: Literary Method in The Consolation of Philosophy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 18. Amidst the slow disintegration of Roman civic and cultural life between the first and sixth centuries, elite educational pursuits became increasingly tied to private reading and textual commentary. On this transformation, see esp. Brian Stock, The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 19-20, 30-87.
See Robert Earl Cushman, Therapeia: Plato's Conception of Philosophy (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1958), 282, 285, who stresses the soteriological dimension—extending to both the individual's and society's destiny—which makes Plato's conception of wisdom distinctive among ancient writers.
Michel Foucault, "Lecture I: The Technology of the Self," in Speaking the Truth About Oneself: Lectures at Victoria University, Toronto, 1982, ed. Henri-Paul Fruchaud and Daniele Lorenzini, English edition by Daniel Louis Wyche (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2021), 1-14, at 12. Foucault's position seems to be that, in ancient philosophical culture, knowledge of one's self—i.e., the Delphic oracle's injunction turned touchstone of philosophical self-identity—stands in a subordinate relation to the ethos of self-care: "to know oneself was considered a means for taking care of onself" (7).
Apology of Socrates, 29e1-3; trans. G. M. A. Grube, in Plato, Complete Works, ed. John M. Cooper and D. S. Hutchinson (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1997), 27.
Alcibiades 128a1-3; trans. D. S. Hutchinson, in Complete Works, 585.
Quoted in Hadot, "Spiritual Exercises," 91; and for further examples from Laertius's Lives, see ibid. 118n94.
Hadot, "Spiritual Exercises," 91.
For quoted material in this paragraph, ibid. 82 and 86 respectively.
Ibid. 90, 103, where Hadot also speaks of the ancient schools's conception of wisdom as "an ideal after which one strives without the hope of ever attaining it."
Cushman, Therapeia, 282-303, with quoted material on 290.
Hadot, "Spiritual Exercises," 104.
I devote a good deal of attention to Gregory's spiritual pedagogy as realized in his monumental work of biblical interpretation, the Moralia in Job, in chapter 8 of The Consolation of Wisdom.
Quoted in ibid. 118n94 with source cited.
Ilsetraut Hadot, "Préface," in Seneca, Consolations, trans. Colette Lazam (Paris: Payot & Rivages, 1992), 9-33, at 19; translation modified from Davidson, "Introduction," 22-23. See also Ilsetraut Hadot, "The Spiritual Guide," in Classical Mediterranean Spirituality: Egyptian, Greek, Roman, ed. A. H. Armstrong (New York: Crossroad, 1986), 436-59.
With much more to say later in this series about the nature, scope and limits of inner dialogue, here I simply register the debt to Brian Stock, especially in his "Rosenbach Lectures: Minds, Bodies, Readers," New Literary History 37, no. 3, Special issue: Reading and Healing (Summer 2006), 489-501 (Lecture I), 503-513 (Lecture II), and 515-524 (Lecture III); and Augustine's Inner Dialogue: The Philosophical Soliloquy in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).
The locus classicus for the metaphor is Plato's Theaetetus, 148e - 151d; see M. F. Burnyeat, “Socratic Midwifery, Platonic Inspiration," Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies, no. 24 (1977): 7–16.
A further discussion of this theme will appear in chapter 5 of The Consolation of Wisdom.
Enchiridion 50; Epictetus: Discourses and Enchiridion, trans. Thomas Wentworth Higginson (Roslyn, NY: Walter J. Black, 1944), 351.