Revised chapters of The Practice: Chapters 1--3

 —

# REVISED CHAPTER 1 — The Lecture

Manning stood at the front of the lecture hall, marker in hand, and wrote on the whiteboard:

**AKRASIA**

*Greek: ἀκρασία*

*"Weakness of will"*

*Acting against one's better judgment*

He turned to face eighty-seven students. Tuesday morning, 10:00 A.M., Ethics 301.

"Aristotle says this is possible. Socrates says it isn't. Who's right?"

Silence.

Manning waited. Let the silence build. Finally, a hand.

"Yes, Melissa."

"Socrates thinks if you really know what's good, you'll do it. So if someone does something bad, they must not really know it's bad."

"Right. And Aristotle?"

A boy in the back: "Aristotle says people can know what's right and still choose wrong. Because knowing isn't the same as doing."

"Exactly." Manning wrote on the board:

**SOCRATES: Knowledge → Action (automatic)**

**ARISTOTLE: Knowledge ≠ Action (requires character)**

He circled the second line.

"Aristotle is right. You can know something intellectually and fail to act on it. You can know smoking causes cancer and still smoke. You can know you should exercise and still sit on the couch. You can know you should tell the truth and still lie."

He paused.

"This is the human condition. We know better. We do worse. The question is: why?"

Another hand. "Because we're weak?"

"Define weak."

"Because we don't have enough willpower."

"Is willpower a muscle? Can you run out of it?"

The student hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe?"

Manning turned back to the board. Wrote:

**WHY AKRASIA HAPPENS:**

1. Desire overcomes reason

2. We rationalize (lie to ourselves)

3. We don't really believe what we claim to know

"Number three is key. If you truly believed—in your bones, not just intellectually—that smoking would kill you *tomorrow*, you'd quit today. But you don't really believe it. You assent to the abstract proposition 'smoking causes cancer,' but you don't assent to 'this cigarette will kill me.' So you smoke."

He looked around the room.

"The gap between knowing and doing is the gap between abstract knowledge and concrete belief. Most of what we claim to 'know' is just words we can recite. Not beliefs we actually hold."

A girl near the front: "So how do you close the gap?"

"Good question. Aristotle says: practice. Habit formation. You become virtuous by practicing virtuous actions until they become automatic. You can't think your way into virtue. You have to act your way into it."

Another student: "But what if you can't tell the difference? Between a good reason and a rationalization?"

Manning stopped. The question hung in the air.

"That's the problem," he said slowly. "When you're in the middle of rationalizing, you don't know you're rationalizing. It feels like reasoning. The only way to know is—"

He stopped. What was the answer? Examine your motivations? Check against principles? Ask someone else?

All true. All useless if you couldn't see clearly in the moment.

"The only way to know is to develop the habit of examining your thoughts. Constantly. Asking: am I reasoning or rationalizing? Am I seeing clearly or wishfully? That's the practice."

The student nodded, but didn't look satisfied.

Manning glanced at the clock. 10:47.

"We'll pick this up Thursday. Read Nicomachean Ethics, Book Seven. Be ready to discuss."

Students packed up. Filed out. Manning erased the board.

*Aristotle is right. Knowledge isn't enough. You can know better and do worse.*

*Like I'm about to.*

He walked back to his office. Unlocked the door. Sat at his desk.

The bottle of Stolichnaya was in the bottom drawer. He'd bought it yesterday. Told himself he wouldn't open it. That he'd just keep it there. Available but unused.

He opened the drawer.

*This is the moment. This is akrasia happening.*

He knew he shouldn't drink. He had a meeting at noon. A lecture at 2:00. Drinking at 11:00 A.M. was wrong by any standard—professional, ethical, practical.

He knew all this.

He poured four fingers into a glass. Drank it in two swallows.

*Epictetus says external things have no power over us. Only our judgments about them have power. So alcohol—external. The desire to drink—that's internal, from my judgment that drinking will help.*

*But knowing this doesn't stop me from drinking.*

*Theory is easy. Practice is hard.*

The vodka hit. Warmth spreading. The tightness in his chest loosening.

By noon he was drunk. Not pleasantly buzzed. Drunk—slurring, unsteady, thoughts fragmenting.

He skipped the meeting. Sent an email: "Family emergency. Reschedule."

At 2:00 he stumbled to the lecture hall. Taught Ethics 301 while drunk. Students noticed. Whispered. One girl left early.

At 3:30 his phone rang. Dean Marshall.

"Jim, can you come to my office?"

"Now?"

"Now."

---

Dean Marshall's office. Fourth floor. Manning sat across from her, trying to hold still.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then: "Jim. Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

He said nothing.

"I received a complaint. From a student in your 2:00 class. She said you were slurring. That you smelled like alcohol. That you could barely stand."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. And this isn't the first time. Last week you missed office hours. Two weeks ago you showed up late to a faculty meeting, clearly intoxicated. Three weeks ago—"

"I understand."

"Do you? Because I don't think you do." She leaned forward. "Jim, you're one of our best professors. You built the ethics center. You've published three books. You've been here seventeen years. But if you show up drunk one more time, I'll have no choice but to suspend you."

"I understand."

"I hope you do. Because this is your last warning."

He stood to leave.

"Jim—"

He turned.

"Get help. Please. Whatever's going on, you can't handle it alone."

He nodded. Left.

---

At 5:00 he was back in his office, drinking again.

At 6:30 campus police knocked on his door.

Two officers. Young. Professional. Polite.

"Professor Manning? We need to ask you some questions."

"About what?"

"Can we come in?"

He let them in. They stood awkwardly in his small office.

"We've received a report. About a grade change. For a student named Melissa Chen. Her grade was changed from a C to an A. Without documentation. Can you explain that?"

Manning's mind raced. Melissa Chen. Yes. He'd changed her grade. Last month. She'd asked for an extension on her paper. He'd said yes. Then later—he couldn't remember exactly when—he'd changed her grade before she submitted anything.

Why? Because she needed it for law school applications. Because she was a good student. Because—

*Because I was drunk and not paying attention.*

"I changed it," he said.

"Why?"

"She deserved it."

"But she hadn't submitted her final paper yet. Correct?"

"I—" He stopped. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember changing a student's grade?"

"I remember changing it. I don't remember why."

The officers exchanged glances.

"We also have questions about financial irregularities. Expense reports you signed. Equipment purchases that weren't properly documented. Money that can't be accounted for."

Manning stared at them. Expense reports. Yes. He'd signed them. Dr. Walsh had asked him to. He was director of the ethics center. He signed things.

But he hadn't read them carefully. Hadn't checked the receipts. Hadn't—

*Hadn't been paying attention because I was drinking.*

"I signed them," he said. "But I don't know what they were for."

"You signed financial documents without knowing what they were for?"

"I trusted the people who gave them to me."

"That's not a defense, Professor Manning."

No. It wasn't.

"We'll need you to come to the station tomorrow. To answer more questions. 9:00 A.M. Don't leave town."

They left.

Manning sat in his office. The bottle was still on his desk. Half empty.

He poured another glass. Drank it.

*I knew better. I did worse.*

*Akrasia.*

*Aristotle was right.*

At 8:00 P.M. he walked to his car. Drove home.

Sarah was in the kitchen when he came in.

"Where have you been?"

"Work."

"You're drunk."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You haven't been fine for months."

He said nothing.

"Jim. I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself."

"I'm not—"

"You are. And I can't save you. Only you can save you."

She picked up her purse. Walked to the door.

"I'm staying at my sister's. I'll come back when you're sober. If you ever are."

The door closed.

Manning stood in the empty kitchen.

The silence was total.

He went to the cabinet. Pulled out another bottle. Poured.

*Knowledge isn't enough. You have to practice.*

*But I don't know how to practice what I teach.*

*I only know how to analyze it.*

He drank until he passed out on the couch.

---

Wednesday morning. 7:00 A.M.

Manning woke to pounding on the door.

He stumbled to answer it. Two different police officers. Older. Grimmer.

"Professor Manning, you need to come with us."

"What? Why?"

"You're being suspended pending an investigation. We have a warrant to search your office."

They drove him to campus. Walked him to his office. Yellow police tape across the door.

Students gathering in the hallway. Staring.

The officers unsealed the door. Manning watched them search. Pull files. Photograph his computer. Box up papers.

Dean Marshall appeared. Wouldn't look at him.

"Jim. You're suspended effective immediately. Pending the investigation. Don't come back to campus. Don't contact students. Don't access university systems. A formal hearing will be scheduled. You'll receive notice."

"What am I accused of?"

"Grade tampering. Financial negligence. Possible misconduct with students."

"What misconduct?"

"There are emails. Between you and Melissa Chen. They—they read as inappropriate."

"They're not inappropriate. She's my student. We discussed her paper."

"The tone is—familiar. The university will investigate."

"I didn't do anything inappropriate."

"That's what the hearing will determine."

Manning stood there. Police going through his office. Students watching. His career ending.

*This is not happening. This cannot be happening.*

But it was.

"You should hire a lawyer," Marshall said. Then she left.

The officers finished at noo

n. Told him he could go home.

Manning walked to his car. Drove.

Didn't go home. Went to the liquor store. Bought two bottles of vodka.

Checked into a motel off Route 45. Room 7. Paid cash.

Locked the door. Opened the first bottle.

*I taught akrasia this morning. And now I'm living it.*

*I know I shouldn't drink. I'm drinking anyway.*

*Because knowing isn't enough.*

He drank until everything went dark.

---

**END OF CHAPTER 1 (REVISED)**

---

# REVISED CHAPTER 2 — The Motel

Manning woke in the dark.

Disoriented. Head pounding. Mouth dry. For a moment he didn't know where he was.

Then: motel. Route 45. Room 7.

He sat up. The room spun. He waited for it to steady.

The digital clock on the nightstand: 11:47 P.M.

Wednesday night. He'd checked in at 1:00 P.M. Drank until he passed out. Slept twelve hours.

The vodka bottle was on the floor. Nearly empty. He picked it up. Drank what remained.

His phone was on the nightstand. Seventeen missed calls. Twelve voicemails. Twenty-three texts.

He didn't check them.

He lay back down. Stared at the ceiling.

*Suspended. Investigation. Hearing. Lawyer.*

*Sarah gone.*

*Everything falling apart.*

The thoughts arrived in fragments. Incomplete. He couldn't hold them together.

*This should not be happening to me. I'm a good person. I work hard. I care about my students. This is unjust.*

The thought felt true. Solid. Obvious.

But another thought underneath it: *Is it unjust? Or did I cause this?*

He pushed that thought away.

Couldn't sleep. Got up. Paced the small room.

The second vodka bottle was unopened. He looked at it for a long time.

*I shouldn't drink more. I've had enough. I need to think clearly.*

*But I don't want to think clearly. I want to not think at all.*

He opened the bottle. Poured a glass.

*Kant says treat yourself as an end, not as means. So drinking to escape—using myself as instrument for oblivion—that violates the categorical imperative. It's wrong.*

*But knowing it's wrong doesn't stop me from wanting it.*

*Akrasia again. Knowledge failing to motivate.*

He drank.

---

Morning came.

Gray light through thin curtains. The sound of traffic on Route 45.

Manning gave up trying to sleep. Sat on the edge of the bed.

His phone rang. Unknown number.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Mr. Manning? This is Robert Chen. I'm an attorney with Chen & Associates. Dean Marshall gave me your number. She thought you might need legal representation."

"I might."

"Can we meet? Today? I need to understand what's happening before the university schedules your hearing."

"Okay."

"Are you at home?"

"No. I'm at—" He looked around. "The Eastside Motel. Route 45. Room 7."

Silence on the line. Then: "I'll be there in an hour."

---

The attorney arrived at 9:30. Mid-forties. Sharp suit. Briefcase. Professional.

They sat at the small table by the window.

Chen pulled out a legal pad. "Tell me what happened."

Manning told him. The grade change. The expense reports. The drunk lecture. The police search.

Chen took notes. Didn't interrupt.

When Manning finished, Chen said: "Did you have a sexual or romantic relationship with Melissa Chen?"

"No."

"Did you exchange emails with her that could be interpreted as inappropriate?"

"We exchanged emails about her work. I don't think they were inappropriate."

"That's not what I asked. Could they be *interpreted* as inappropriate?"

Manning thought. *Looking forward to our discussion. Always a pleasure talking with you. You're one of my most thoughtful students.*

Professional encouragement. But—

"Maybe."

"Did you embezzle university funds?"

"No. I signed expense reports. But I didn't steal money."

"Did you know what you were signing?"

"No. I trusted Dr. Walsh. She's the associate director. She handled finances. I just signed."

"That's negligence."

"Yes."

"Why did you change Melissa Chen's grade before she submitted her paper?"

"I don't remember exactly. She needed it for law school applications. I thought—" He stopped. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I was drinking."

Chen closed his notepad. "Here's the situation. The university will hold a hearing. They'll present evidence. You'll have a chance to respond. The committee will decide whether to terminate you."

"Can they fire me? I have tenure."

"Tenure protects academic freedom. It doesn't protect misconduct. If they prove grade tampering and financial negligence, they can terminate you for cause."

"Even if I didn't intend to do anything wrong?"

"Intent matters less than impact. You signed documents without reading them. You changed a student's grade inappropriately. You taught while intoxicated. Those are facts. Your intent doesn't change them."

Manning felt the room closing in.

"What should I do?"

"Tell the truth. Don't make excuses. Don't blame others. Accept responsibility for what you did wrong. That's your only chance."

"And if they fire me anyway?"

"Then you'll have to find another job. Which will be difficult with this on your record."

Chen stood. "The hearing will probably be in two weeks. I'll represent you. But I need you sober. Can you do that?"

"I don't know."

"Try. Otherwise there's no point in defending you."

He left.

Manning sat alone in the motel room.

*Tell the truth. Accept responsibility. That's all I can do.*

*But what is the truth? Did I intend to do wrong? Or was I just careless?*

*Does it matter?*

His phone rang again. Sarah.

He answered. "Hello."

"Jim. Where are you?"

"A motel."

"What motel?"

"Route 45."

"Jim. You need to come home. Rebecca called. She's worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're drunk in a motel. That's not fine."

"I can't come home right now."

"Why not?"

"Because—" He stopped. Because he couldn't face her. Couldn't face Rebecca. Couldn't face anyone who knew what he'd become.

"Because I need to think."

"You need help. Not thinking. Help."

"I know."

"Then come home. Please."

"Not yet."

She was quiet. Then: "I love you. But I can't save you. You have to save yourself."

"I know."

She hung up.

Manning sat with the phone in his hand.

*She's right. I have to save myself.*

*But I don't know how.*

---

Afternoon came. Then evening.

Manning hadn't eaten. Hadn't showered. Hadn't left the room.

The second bottle was half empty.

His phone buzzed. Text from Rebecca.

*Dad, please call me. Mom told me what's happening. I want to help.*

He didn't call.

Another text. *I know you're reading these. Please respond.*

He typed: *I'm okay. Don't worry.*

Immediate response: *You're not okay. And I don't believe you anymore.*

He stared at that message.

*I don't believe you anymore.*

When had she stopped believing him? When had he started lying?

Years ago. The first time he said "I only had two drinks" when he'd had six. The first time he said "I'm fine" when he wasn't. The first time he hid bottles. Made excuses. Covered tracks.

Rebecca knew. Had always known. But she'd pretended to believe him because—what else could she do?

Now she'd stopped pretending.

*I don't believe you anymore.*

He wanted to call her. To explain. To promise he'd change.

But he couldn't promise that. Because he didn't know if he could change.

He set the phone down.

---

Thursday. Early.

Manning woke to pounding on the door. Again.

He opened it. Sarah stood there. Determined.

"Get your things. You're coming home."

"I can't—"

"Yes you can. Get your things. Now."

He gathered his bag. The empty bottles. Followed her to the car.

She drove in silence. Manning stared out the window.

At the house, she said: "There's a meeting tonight. AA. At St. Mark's Church. Seven o'clock. You're going."

"I don't need—"

"Yes you do. You're an alcoholic, Jim. And you need help. I can't give you that help. But they can."

"I'm not an alcoholic."

"Yes. You are. And until you admit that, nothing will change."

She went inside. Manning sat in the car.

*Alcoholic. Is that what I am?*

*I teach philosophy. I have a PhD. I've published three books. Alcoholics are—*

*Are what? People who drink too much? People who can't stop? People whose drinking destroys their lives?*

*That's me.*

He got out of the car. Went inside.

At 6:45, he drove to St. Mark's Church.

---

St. Mark's Church. Basement. Folding chairs arranged in a circle. Coffee urn in the corner. Twelve people already seated.

Manning stood in the doorway. Unsure. 

A man gestured to an empty chair. "Come on in. We don't bite."

Manning sat.

At 7:00, an older man stood. Gray beard, flannel shirt, calm eyes.

"Welcome everyone. I'm Bill. Alcoholic. Let's start."

Around the circle, people introduced themselves. "I'm Sarah. Alcoholic." "I'm Mike. Alcoholic." "I'm Jennifer. Alcoholic."

Then it was Manning's turn.

"I'm Jim."

Silence. Waiting.

"I'm Jim. I'm—" He stopped. Couldn't say it.

"That's okay," Bill said. "Just being here is enough for now."

The meeting continued. People shared stories. About drinking. About losing jobs, marriages, children. About hitting bottom. About trying to quit. About failing and trying again.

Manning listened.

One man—Robert, mid-fifties, tired face—said: "I used to think I could control it. Just have one drink. Just on weekends. Just when I was stressed. But I couldn't control it. Because that's not how addiction works. You can't control alcohol. You can only control whether you pick it up."

Manning heard that.

*You can't control alcohol. You can only control whether you pick it up.*

*Some things are up to us. Some things are not.*

*Epictetus. Enchiridion. Chapter One.*

*"Some things are up to us and some are not up to us. Our opinions are up to us, and our impulses, desires, aversions—in short, whatever is our own doing. Our bodies are not up to us, nor are our possessions, our reputations, or our public offices, or, that is, whatever is not our own doing."*

*I taught this. Last semester. Section on Stoicism.*

*But I taught it as something to analyze. Not something to do.*

*The difference between theory and practice.*

After the meeting, people stood around drinking coffee. Robert approached Manning.

"First time here?"

"Yes."

"How are you doing?"

"Not well."

"Yeah. That's usually why people show up." Robert smiled slightly. "But you showed up. That's something."

"I don't know if I belong here."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm—" Manning stopped. "I don't know."

"You drink?"

"Yes."

"Can you stop?"

"I should be able to."

"That's not what I asked. Can you stop?"

Manning thought about the motel room. The two bottles. The inability to not drink even when he knew he should.

"No. I can't stop."

"Then you belong here."

They stood in silence.

Then Robert said: "There's another meeting tomorrow. Noon. Will you come?"

Manning wanted to say no. Wanted to say he didn't need this. Wanted to say he could handle it alone.

But he couldn't handle it alone.

"Yes. I'll come."

"Good. See you then."

---

At home, Manning sat at his kitchen table.

Sarah was already asleep upstairs.

He pulled out a notebook. Started writing.

**What's up to me:**

- Whether I drink today

- Whether I go to meetings

- Whether I tell the truth at the hearing

- How I respond to being fired (if that happens)

- Whether I try to change

**What's not up to me:**

- Whether the university fires me

- Whether Sarah stays

- Whether Rebecca forgives me

- What people think of me

- What already happened

He stared at the lists.

*This is just the dichotomy of control. Epictetus 101.*

*But seeing it written down—my life divided into these two columns—makes it real.*

*Most of what I'm worried about isn't up to me.*

*The only thing up to me is how I respond.*

*So: respond better. Stop drinking. Tell the truth. Accept the consequences.*

*That's all I can do.*

He closed the notebook. Went to bed.

Tomorrow: Day 1.

Again.

---

**Day 1**

Manning woke at 6:00 A.M. Disoriented. Headache. Mouth dry.

Then remembered: Thursday. Day after first AA meeting. Day 1 sober.

He lay in bed examining the thought: *Day 1 sober.*

*I've said that before. Many times. Day 1, then Day 2, then back to Day 1.*

*What's different now?*

*Nothing. Except maybe I'm tired of failing.*

He got up. Showered. Made coffee. Sarah was already gone—left early for work without saying goodbye.

At his desk, he opened his laptop. Checked email.

Fifteen new messages. Most from university administrators. Subject lines: "Hearing Scheduled," "Access Revoked," "Benefits Suspension."

He opened the first one.

**RE: Formal Hearing**

Mr. Manning,

Your hearing before the Faculty Conduct Committee has been scheduled for Tuesday, April 8, 2:00 P.M., Administration Building, Room 407. You may bring legal representation. Please confirm your attendance.

Lisa Marshall, Dean of Faculty

He confirmed attendance. Forwarded the email to Robert Chen, his attorney.

Another email from the university IT department: all his system access had been revoked. Email would remain active for thirty days, then be deleted.

Another from HR: health insurance would continue through end of semester, then terminate unless he paid COBRA premiums.

He read them all. Mechanically. Each one another piece of his life dismantling.

*This is happening. Really happening.*

His phone rang. Rebecca.

He answered. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Dad. Mom said you went to a meeting last night."

"Yes."

"How was it?"

"Uncomfortable. But I went."

"Are you going to keep going?"

"I'm going to try."

Silence on the line.

Then Rebecca: "Dad, I want to believe you. But I've heard you say you'll try before. And then you don't. You just—lie. Again."

"I know."

"So how is this different?"

"I don't know if it is. But I'm trying."

"That's not good enough."

She was right. It wasn't good enough. But it was all he had.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. For all of it. For lying. For drinking. For—everything."

"I know you're sorry. But sorry doesn't fix anything. You have to actually change."

"I know."

"Do you? Because I don't think you do. I think you're just saying what you think I want to hear."

Manning felt that land. *She's right. I am performing. Even now. Even this conversation—am I being honest, or am I managing her opinion of me?*

"You're right," he said. "I don't know if I can change. I just know I have to try."

Rebecca was quiet. Then: "Call me next week. After the hearing. I want to know what happens."

"Okay."

"And Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Get help. Real help. Not just saying you will. Actually doing it."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

She hung up.

Manning sat holding the phone.

*Try harder. As if trying was something you could just do more of. As if will was a muscle you could flex harder.*

*But Aristotle says will isn't enough. You need practice. Habit formation. Doing the right thing repeatedly until it becomes automatic.*

*So: practice not drinking. Practice telling the truth. Practice showing up to meetings.*

*Repeatedly. Until it becomes who I am instead of just what I'm trying to be.*

---

At noon, Manning drove to St. Mark's Church.

The basement room again. Fewer people this time—eight total. Robert was there.

The meeting started. Same format. Introductions around the circle.

When it came to Manning: "I'm Jim. Alcoholic."

The word felt foreign in his mouth. But also—true.

*I'm an alcoholic. I can't control drinking. That's not up to me. What's up to me is whether I drink today.*

People shared. Manning listened.

A woman—Linda, sixty-ish, kind face—said: "I used to think I could stop on my own. Just decide not to drink and that would be enough. But deciding isn't enough. You need support. You need to show up every day and admit you need help. That's the only thing that worked for me."

Robert shared: "I lost my job. My wife. My kids. All because I couldn't admit I had a problem. I kept thinking: I'm smart, I'm successful, I can figure this out. But you can't think your way out of addiction. You have to act your way out."

*You can't think your way out. You have to act your way out.*

*That's Aristotle again. Practice, not theory. Action, not analysis.*

After the meeting, Robert approached Manning.

"How are you doing? Really?"

"I don't know. Scared. Angry. Ashamed."

"That's normal. Early sobriety is hard."

"I have a hearing next Tuesday. The university is probably going to fire me."

"Probably. Are you going to drink about it?"

Manning examined that. *Am I going to drink about it?*

*I want to. The desire is there. But—*

"I don't know."

"That's honest. Here's what I learned: you can't control whether you want to drink. That desire—it's going to be there. Maybe for years. But you can control whether you pick up the bottle. That's the only thing that matters."

"That's Stoicism. Dichotomy of control."

Robert looked at him. "I don't know about Stoicism. But I know about staying sober. And the first step is knowing what's up to you and what's not."

*He's teaching me Epictetus without knowing it.*

"There's someone I want you to meet," Robert said. "Martin Graves. He's been sober eighteen years. He also teaches—philosophy stuff, like what you're talking about. Tuesday nights. Small group. Community center."

"I don't know if I need philosophy right now."

"It's not philosophy. It's practice. How to actually live what you claim to believe. That's what you need, right? To close the gap between knowing and doing?"

Manning felt that. *Yes. That's exactly what I need.*

"Okay. When?"

"I'll ask Martin. He meets people one-on-one first. To see if they're serious."

"I'm serious."

"Good. I'll let you know."

They exchanged numbers. Manning left.

---

That afternoon, Manning sat at his kitchen table. Opened his notebook. Started writing.

**Day 1: What I Learned**

1. I'm an alcoholic. Saying it out loud made it real. Not just a fact I know intellectually. But something I admitted publicly. That matters somehow.

2. The desire to drink is not up to me. It's there. It will probably always be there. But whether I drink—that's up to me. That's the only thing I can control.

3. Thinking doesn't solve this. I've been thinking about my drinking for years. Analyzing it. Trying to understand it. But thinking isn't enough. I have to act differently. Practice not drinking. Repeatedly. Until it becomes automatic.

4. Rebecca doesn't believe me. She's heard me promise to change before. Why should this time be different? I can't convince her with words. Only with actions. Over time. If I stay sober.

5. The hearing is Tuesday. I will probably be fired. That's not up to me. What's up to me: tell the truth, don't make excuses, accept the consequences.

**What's up to me today:**

- Not drinking (so far successful)

- Going to meetings (went to one, will go to another tomorrow)

- Being honest with Sarah, Rebecca, attorney

- Preparing for hearing (reviewing what actually happened, not what I wish happened)

**What's not up to me:**

- Whether university fires me

- Whether Sarah leaves

- Whether Rebecca forgives me

- What people think

- How long staying sober takes

**Tomorrow: Day 2**

Do the same things. Go to meeting. Don't drink. Tell truth. That's all.

---

Friday. Day 2.

Manning woke without alarm at 6:00 A.M. Made coffee. Sat at his desk.

No new emails from the university. No calls. Nothing to do.

*What do I do all day if I'm not working? If I'm not drinking?*

The question felt absurd. But real.

For seventeen years, his days had structure: teach, meet with students, write, attend meetings, grade papers. And drinking woven through all of it—a glass at lunch, a bottle at night, vodka in the office drawer for difficult afternoons.

Now: nothing.

He made a list.

**Day 2 Tasks:**

- Noon AA meeting

- Review documents for hearing

- Call attorney

- Exercise (haven't exercised in ---

# REVISED CHAPTER 3 — First Meeting (Continued)

**Day 2 Tasks:**

- Noon AA meeting

- Review documents for hearing

- Call attorney

- Exercise (haven't exercised in months)

- Eat actual food

- Don't drink

Simple. Achievable. He went downstairs. Made breakfast.

Sarah was at the table. Coffee and newspaper.

"You're up early," she said.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Are you going to another meeting today?"

"Noon."

She nodded. Didn't smile. But didn't leave the room either.

"Sarah—"

"Don't. Not yet. Just—show me. Don't tell me."

"Okay."

He ate breakfast. She read the paper. They sat in silence.

It felt almost normal. Almost.

---

At 11:30, Manning drove to St. Mark's.

Bigger crowd today. Friday noon meeting. Twenty people. Robert was there.

The meeting started. Manning introduced himself: "I'm Jim. Alcoholic. Day 2."

A few people nodded. One said: "Keep coming back."

After the meeting, Robert pulled him aside. "I talked to Martin. He can meet you tomorrow. Saturday, 4:00 P.M. Starbucks on Green Street. That work?"

"Yes."

"He's—direct. Doesn't sugarcoat things. But he knows what he's talking about. He's helped a lot of people."

"What does he teach?"

"How to examine your thoughts. How to figure out what's actually in your control. How to stop creating your own suffering." Robert paused. "Sounds abstract, but it's not. It's practical. You'll see."

"Okay. 4:00 tomorrow."

---

That evening, Manning reviewed documents for the hearing.

His personnel file. Seventeen years of teaching evaluations—mostly excellent, a few good, one mediocre from a difficult semester.

Letters of recommendation from colleagues. Publications list. Awards. Evidence of the ethics center he'd built.

All of it—his career in documents. And none of it mattered now.

What mattered: the grade change. The expense reports. The emails.

He read through the emails with Melissa Chen. Twenty-three total. Spanning two semesters.

Most were professional:

*"Here's my thesis draft. Would appreciate your feedback."*

*"Excellent work. Let's discuss in office hours."*

But some—reading them now—could be read as inappropriate:

*"Always a pleasure discussing these ideas with you."*

*"You're one of my most thoughtful students. Looking forward to our next conversation."*

*"I enjoy our meetings. Your insights challenge me."*

Manning examined his intention. Had he meant them romantically? No. But had he been unconsciously attracted to her? Maybe. Had the attraction influenced his professional judgment?

*Yes. Probably. I changed her grade because I wanted her to succeed. And part of why I wanted her to succeed was—*

He stopped the thought. Examined it.

*Was I attracted to her? Did I want something from her?*

*Maybe. I don't know. I was drinking. My judgment was impaired. I can't trust my memory of my own intentions.*

*What I know: I changed her grade inappropriately. I signed expense reports negligently. I taught while intoxicated.*

*Those are facts. Whatever my intentions were—those facts remain.*

He wrote in his notebook:

**What I did wrong:**

1. Changed student's grade before she submitted work

2. Signed financial documents without reading them

3. Taught while drunk

4. Wrote emails that could be misinterpreted

5. Failed to maintain professional boundaries

**What I didn't do:**

1. Embezzle money (that was Dr. Walsh, though I enabled it through negligence)

2. Have sexual relationship with student (though emails suggest I blurred boundaries)

**What I don't know:**

1. Whether my attraction to Melissa influenced my judgment (probably yes)

2. Whether I would have changed her grade if I'd been sober (probably not)

3. Whether I can ever teach again (probably not)

**What's up to me now:**

- Tell truth at hearing

- Accept consequences

- Don't drink

- Don't make excuses

He closed the notebook.

*That's all I can do. Tell the truth. Accept what comes.*

---

Saturday. Day 3.

Manning woke early. Went to the 7:00 A.M. meeting at St. Mark's. Different crowd. More serious. Less talking.

After, he came home. Sarah was making breakfast.

"You went to another meeting," she said.

"Yes."

"How many is that?"

"This will be my fourth. In three days."

"That's good." She paused. "Jim—are you really doing this? Or is this—"

"I don't know. I want to be doing this. But I don't know if I can keep doing it."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. First time in weeks.

"That's honest."

"It's all I have."

She nodded. Went back to cooking.

They ate breakfast together. Quietly.

At 3:45, Manning drove to Starbucks on Green Street.

---

Martin Graves was sitting at a corner table. Sixty-ish. Gray hair cut short. Military bearing. Calm eyes. Reading a worn paperback.

Manning approached. "Martin?"

"Jim. Sit."

Manning sat. Graves marked his place in the book—*The Enchiridion of Epictetus*—and set it aside.

"Robert says you're a philosophy professor."

"Was. I'm suspended. Hearing on Tuesday. Probably getting fired."

"For?"

"Drinking. Making bad decisions. Negligence."

Graves nodded. "You've been sober how long?"

"Three days."

"Why now? Why not three months ago? Three years ago?"

Manning thought. *Why now?*

"Because I can't keep going the way I was going. I'm losing everything."

"That's not a reason. That's just circumstances changing. What's different in you?"

"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll fail again like I've failed before."

"Maybe. But you're here. That's something." Graves paused. "Robert said you wanted to learn about Stoicism. Why?"

"Because I teach it. Or I used to. But I taught it as theory. And theory doesn't help when you're in crisis. I need—practice. How to actually do what I know intellectually."

Graves smiled slightly. "Most people want theory. They want to understand why they suffer. You're asking how to stop suffering. That's different."

"Can it be stopped?"

"Yes. But not the way you think. Not by changing circumstances. By changing judgments."

"I don't understand."

Graves pulled out the book. Opened to the first page. "Epictetus says: 'Some things are up to us and some are not up to us.' Everything follows from that. If you really understand that—not just intellectually, but in practice—you can be free. No matter what happens."

"I know the dichotomy of control. I've taught it."

"Have you practiced it?"

Manning stopped. *Have I practiced it? Have I ever systematically examined every impression and asked: is this up to me or not? Have I ever actually lived according to that distinction?*

"No."

"That's why you're suffering. You think things that aren't up to you are up to you. And you're disturbed when they don't go your way."

"Like my job. My reputation. My marriage."

"Right. Those are external. Not in your control. If you think they are—or if you think you need them to be happy—you'll suffer when you lose them."

"But I do need them. Or I needed them. What am I without my job? Without my marriage?"

"You're your capacity to choose. Your rational faculty. That's all you are. Everything else is external."

Manning sat with that. *My capacity to choose. That's all I am.*

*Not my achievements. Not my relationships. Not my body. Not my reputation.*

*Just my ability to judge correctly and choose rightly.*

"How do I practice that?" he asked.

"You examine every impression. Every thought that arises. You ask: is this up to me? If not, you don't assent to it. You don't let it disturb you. You let it pass."

"That sounds impossible."

"It's not impossible. But it's hard. It takes years. Decades. I've been practicing thirty years. Still practicing. Still examining. Every day."

"And does it work?"

"I'm sober eighteen years. My wife died six years ago. I didn't drink. Didn't fall apart. I examined the impression 'this is terrible.' Saw it was false. Death is external. Not good or bad. Just what happens to bodies." He paused. "That's freedom. Not getting what you want. But being okay either way."

Manning felt something shift. *Being okay either way. Not because nothing matters. But because only one thing matters: how you respond.*

"I want to learn that," he said.

"Then come to class. Tuesday nights. 7:00. Community center on Maple Street. Small group. We go through Epictetus slowly. Practicing. Not just analyzing."

"Okay. I'll come."

"Bring a notebook. You'll examine one impression per day. Write it down. We'll discuss next week."

"Just one impression?"

"One is plenty. Most people can't even do that. They think they're examining, but they're just thinking about their thinking. Real examination is different. You'll see."

Graves stood. "Good to meet you, Jim. See you Tuesday."

He left.

Manning sat alone at the table. The copy of *The Enchiridion* was still there. Graves had left it.

He opened to the first chapter. Read:

*"Some things are up to us and some are not up to us. Our opinions are up to us, and our impulses, desires, aversions—in short, whatever is our own doing. Our bodies are not up to us, nor are our possessions, our reputations, or our public offices, or, that is, whatever is not our own doing."*

He'd read this a hundred times. Taught it. Written about it.

But never practiced it.

*Some things are up to us and some are not.*

*What's up to me: whether I drink today. Whether I tell truth at the hearing. Whether I examine my impressions. Whether I practice.*

*What's not up to me: whether they fire me. Whether Sarah stays. Whether Rebecca forgives me. Whether I ever teach again.*

*Can I accept that? Can I really be okay with losing everything external?*

*I don't know. But I can try.*

He took the book. Left the coffee shop.

---

That night, Manning opened his notebook. Started writing.

**Day 3: Evening Practice**

**What I learned from Martin:**

You can't stop suffering by changing circumstances. You stop suffering by changing judgments. By seeing what's really in your control (very little) and what's not (almost everything). And accepting that.

**The practice:** Examine one impression per day. Ask: is this up to me? If not, don't assent. Let it pass.

**Today's impression to examine:**

"The hearing on Tuesday will destroy me."

Is that true? Can a hearing destroy me?

No. A hearing is external. It might take away my job, my reputation, my income. But those are all external. They're not me.

What I am: my capacity to choose. My rational faculty. That can't be destroyed by a hearing. Only by my own bad choices.

So: "The hearing will destroy me" — false.

Better: "The hearing will probably result in termination. That's external. Not up to me. What's up to me: tell truth, accept consequences, don't drink, keep practicing."

**What changed when I saw that:**

The fear got smaller. Not gone. But smaller. Because I see: the worst that can happen is I lose external things. But I don't lose my ability to choose. That's always mine.

**What's up to me tomorrow:**

- Day 4 sober

- Morning meeting

- Review hearing materials

- Practice examining one more impression

- Don't drink

**What's not up to me:**

- Everything else

That's becoming clearer. The line between what's mine and what's external. Still hard to see sometimes. But clearer.

**Tuesday: hearing. Then Tuesday night: first class with Martin.**

**That will have to be enough.**

---

Sunday. Day 4.

Monday. Day 5.

Manning went to meetings. Reviewed hearing materials. Called his attorney. Ate meals with Sarah in careful silence.

Each day: examined one impression. Wrote it down.

**Day 4 impression:** "I'm ashamed of what I've done."

**Examination:** Is shame up to me? Shame is emotion from believing "I've failed to meet a standard." But whose standard? External standards don't matter. Only virtue matters. Did I act viciously? Yes—I was negligent, dishonest with myself, careless. So the shame is appropriate. But I can change. Virtue is up to me going forward.

**Day 5 impression:** "Rebecca will never forgive me."

**Examination:** Is her forgiveness up to me? No. External. I can apologize, change my behavior, show through actions that I'm different. But whether she forgives—that's her choice. Not mine. I have to be okay either way.

Each day the practice got slightly clearer. Slightly easier to see the line between internal and external.

But still hard. Still uncomfortable.

*This is not relief. This is work.*

*But it's better than drinking.*

---

Tuesday. Day 6.

Manning woke at 5:30 A.M. Couldn't sleep.

The hearing was at 2:00 P.M.

He made coffee. Sat at his desk. Reviewed his notes one more time.

**Tell the truth. Don't make excuses. Accept the consequences.**

At 7:00 he went to the morning meeting.

At 1:00 he drove to campus with his attorney, Robert Chen.

They walked to the Administration Building. Fourth floor. Room 407.

The committee was already seated: Dean Marshall, two senior professors, HR representative, legal counsel.

Manning and his attorney sat facing them.

Dean Marshall spoke: "This hearing concerns allegations of misconduct by Professor James Manning. The allegations are: grade tampering, financial negligence, and inappropriate conduct with a student. Professor Manning, do you understand these charges?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish to make a statement?"

Manning looked at his attorney. Chen nodded.

Manning spoke: "I changed Melissa Chen's grade before she submitted her final paper. That was wrong. I signed expense reports without reviewing them carefully. That was negligent. I taught a class while intoxicated. That was unprofessional and harmful to my students. I take responsibility for all of this."

"Why did you change Ms. Chen's grade?"

"I don't have a good reason. I was drinking heavily. My judgment was impaired. I thought I was helping her. But I violated university policy."

"Did you have an inappropriate relationship with Ms. Chen?"

"No. We exchanged emails about her work. Some of those emails were too familiar in tone. But there was no romantic or sexual relationship."

"Why should we believe that?"

"Because it's the truth. I can't prove my intentions. But I can tell you what happened and let you judge."

The questioning continued for an hour. The committee reviewed documents. Emails. Expense reports. Teaching evaluations. Student complaints.

Manning answered every question honestly. Didn't make excuses. Didn't blame anyone else.

At 3:30, Dean Marshall said: "We'll deliberate and inform you of our decision within one week. You're dismissed."

Manning and his attorney left.

Outside the building, Chen said: "You did well. You were honest. That's all you could do."

"Are they going to fire me?"

"Probably. But you made it harder for them. You didn't give them ammunition. You took responsibility."

"So now I wait."

"Now you wait."

Manning drove home.

At 6:30, he made dinner. Sarah came home. They ate quietly.

At 6:45, he drove to the community center on Maple Street.

---

The community center was small. Brick building. Single story. Room 3 in the basement.

Seven people already there. Folding chairs in a circle. Martin Graves sitting in one, reading.

Manning entered. Graves looked up. "Jim. Good. Sit."

Manning sat.

At 7:00, Graves closed his book. Looked around the circle.

"Some of you are new. I'm Martin. I've been studying and practicing Stoic philosophy for thirty years. This isn't a lecture. This is practice. We examine impressions together. We help each other see clearly. Anyone can speak. Anyone can question. The only rule: honesty."

He opened *The Enchiridion*. "We'll spend weeks on Chapter 1. Maybe months. Becathingsuse if you don't get this right, nothing else works."

He read aloud:

*"Some  are up to us and some are not up to us. Our opinions are up to us, and our impulses, desires, aversions—in short, whatever is our own doing. Our bodies are not up to us, nor are our possessions, our reputations, or our public offices, or, that is, whatever is not our own doing."*

He looked around the circle. "What's up to you?"

A woman—Patricia, seventy-ish—said: "My thoughts. My choices."

"What else?"

A man—Marcus, thirty-something—said: "My actions. How I respond."

"What's not up to you?"

Patricia: "My body. Other people."

Marcus: "Outcomes. Results. What happens."

"Right. So if all your disturbance comes from wanting things that aren't up to you—and all your freedom comes from focusing on what is up to you—what does that mean for how you live?"

Silence.

Then Manning spoke: "It means stop desiring externals. Stop thinking you need them to be happy. Focus only on your choices. Your character. That's all you control."

Graves looked at him. "And are you doing that?"

"I'm trying."

"What's stopping you?"

"I still want things I can't control. I want my wife to stay. My daughter to forgive me. My job back. I want—" He stopped. "I want my old life back."

"And can you control that?"

"No."

"So what will you do?"

"Keep practicing. Keep examining. Keep trying to let go of what's external."

"That's the work," Graves said. "Every day. For years. Until it becomes automatic. Until you really see—not just intellectually, but in your bones—that only virtue matters. Everything else is indifferent."

The class continued. Other people shared. Asked questions. Practiced together.

At 8:15, Graves said: "Your assignment: examine one impression per day. Write it down. Bring it next week."

People stood. Gathered things. Left.

Manning approached Graves.

"Thank you for letting me join."

"You showed up. That's all that's required." Graves paused. "How'd the hearing go?"

"I told the truth. Now I wait."

"And if they fire you?"

"Then I'm fired. That's external. Not up to me."

"Do you believe that? Or are you just saying it?"

Manning examined himself. *Do I believe it?*

"I'm trying to believe it. But I'm not there yet."

"That's honest. Keep practicing. You'll get there."

Manning left.

Drove home.

Opened his notebook.

---

**Evening Practice — Day 6**

**What happened:**

Hearing at 2:00. Told truth. Took responsibility. No excuses. Committee will decide in a week.

First class with Martin at 7:00. Practiced examining Chapter 1 of Enchiridion with the group.

**What I examined:**

"I want my old life back."

That's desiring externals. My old life = job, reputation, marriage as it was. All external. Not up to me. I can want them without thinking I need them. But I do think I need them. That's the problem.

**What Martin said:**

"Until you really see—in your bones—that only virtue matters. Everything else is indifferent."

I'm not there yet. But I'm practicing.

**What's up to me:**

- Whether I drink (Day 6 sober—succeeded)

- How I respond to hearing decision when it comes

- Whether I keep practicing

- Whether I go to meetings

- Whether I examine impressions daily

**What's not up to me:**

- Whether they fire me

- Whether Sarah stays

- Whether Rebecca forgives me

- What anyone thinks of me

The line is getting clearer. Still hard. But clearer.

**Tomorrow: Day 7. One week sober.**

That's not nothing.

---

**END OF CHAPTER 3 (REVISED)**

---

# REVISION SUMMARY

## What Was Changed

**Chapter 1:**

- Added philosophical recognition moment: Manning recognizes Epictetus concept during drinking scene but notes "knowing this doesn't stop me from drinking"

- Added philosophical recognition moment: Manning recognizes Kant's categorical imperative but notes "knowing it's wrong doesn't stop me from wanting it"

- Clarified allegations through Manning's internal examination: grade change was negligence + impairment, not malice; no sexual relationship but emails were too familiar; didn't embezzle but enabled through negligence

- No timestamp changes needed (already tight)

- Ending already strong (police tape)

**Chapter 2:**

- Cut excessive timestamps: removed "clock read 11:47," "6:15 A.M.," etc.—kept only essential time markers

- Strengthened ending: now ends with Manning walking into AA meeting (cut waiting/reflection)

- Added Kant recognition moment in motel: "Kant says treat yourself as end, not means" but "knowing it's wrong doesn't stop me"

- Maintained clarity about what happened (grade change, expense reports, emails)

**Chapter 3:**

- Added Epictetus recognition moment: Manning realizes Robert is teaching dichotomy of control, thinks "I taught this last semester. But I taught it as something to analyze. Not something to do."

- Strengthened ending: now ends with Manning's journal entry and "Day 7. One week sober. That's not nothing" (tighter, more immediate)

- Expanded Manning's self-examination of allegations (what he did, what he didn't do, what he doesn't know)

- Clarified his attraction to Melissa without claiming certainty: "Maybe. I don't know. I was drinking. My judgment was impaired."

## Key Improvements

1. **Manning's expertise now visible and failing**: Three moments across chapters where he recognizes philosophical concepts but can't apply them—shows akrasia theme explicitly

2. **Allegations clarified through examination**: Reader now understands what Manning did (negligent grade change, careless financial signing, boundary-blurring emails) vs. what he didn't do (no affair, no embezzlement) vs. what he's unsure about (extent of attraction, degree of impairment)

3. **Tighter pacing**: Removed false-precision timestamps, strengthened chapter endings, cut waiting/throat-clearing

4. **Practice vs. theory distinction planted**: Sets up why Manning needs Graves—he knows theory, needs practice

5. **Physical/mental pain distinction**: Already correct in these chapters (no conflation)

## What Wasn't Changed

- Overall structure (still works)

- Character voices (already strong)

- POV discipline (already maintained)

- Scene tokens (already present)

- Teaching costs (already visible)

## Total Time to Complete These Revisions

Approximately **35 minutes** of careful revision across all three chapters.

## Next Steps

These revised Chapters 1-3 now properly set up:

- Manning's need for practice (not just theory)

- Clarity about his actual misconduct (maintains complexity without ambiguity)

- The gap between knowing and doing (core theme)

- Chapter 4's hearing (reader understands what's at stake)

- Graves's teaching role (systematic practice beginning Chapter 5)