Noctes Atticae

The reply of a certain philosopher, when he was asked why he turned pale in a storm at sea.

WE were sailing from Cassiopa [*](A town in the north-eastern part of Corcyra, also called Cassiope.) to Brundisium over the Ionian sea, violent, vast and storm-tossed. During almost the whole of the night which followed our first day a fierce side-wind blew, which had filled our ship with water. Then afterwards, while we were all still lamenting, and working hard at the pumps, day at last dawned. But there was no less danger and no slackening of the violence of the wind; on the contrary, more frequent whirlwinds, a black sky, masses of fog, and a kind of fearful cloud-forms, which they called typhones, [*](Typhon, according to Hesiod, was a son of Typhoeus (see note on xvii. 10. 9) and father of the winds; but by later poets he was identified with Typhos or Typhoeus. His name was given to the violent storms called typhoons.) or

typhoons,

seemed to hang over and threaten us, ready to overwhelm the ship.

In our company was an eminent philosopher of the Stoic sect, whom I had known at Athens as a man of no slight importance, holding the young men who were his pupils under very good control. In the midst of the great dangers of that time and that tumult of sea and sky I looked for him, desiring to know in what state of mind he was and whether he was unterrified and courageous. And then I beheld

the man frightened and ghastly pale, not indeed uttering any lamentations, as all the rest were doing, nor any outcries of that kind, but in his loss of colour and distracted expression not differing much from the others. But when the sky cleared, the sea grew calm, and the heat of danger cooled, then the Stoic was approached by a rich Greek from Asia, a man of elegant apparel, as we saw, and with an abundance of baggage and many attendants, while he himself showed signs of a luxurious person and disposition. This man, in a bantering tone, said:

What does this mean, Sir philosopher, that when we were in danger you were afraid and turned pale, while I neither feared nor changed colour?

And the philosopher, after hesitating for a moment about the propriety of answering him, said:

If in such a terrible storm I did show a little fear, you are not worthy to be told the reason for it. But, if you please, the famous Aristippus, the pupil of Socrates, shall answer for me, [*](Frag. Phil. Graec. ii. 407. 16.) who on being asked on a similar occasion by a man much like you why he feared, though a philosopher, while his questioner on the contrary had no fear, replied that they had not the same motives, for his questioner need not be very anxious about the life of a worthless coxcomb, but he himself feared for the life of an Aristippus.

With these words then the Stoic rid himself of the rich Asiatic. But later, when we were approaching Brundisium and sea and sky were calm, I asked him what the reason for his fear was, which he had refused to reveal to the man who had improperly addressed him. And he quietly and courteously replied:

Since you are desirous of knowing, hear

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what our forefathers, the founders of the Stoic sect, thought about that brief but inevitable and natural fear, or rather,

said he,

read it, for if you read it, you will be the more ready to believe it and you will remember it better.

Thereupon before my eyes he drew from his little bag the fifth book of the Discourses of the philosopher Epictetus, which, as arranged by Arrian, undoubtedly agree with the writings of Zeno and Chrysippus.

In that book I read this statement, which of course was written in Greek [*](Frag. 9, p. 408, Schenkl., L.C.L. II. 448 ff.) :

The mental visions, which the philosophers call fantasi/ai or 'phantasies,' by which the mind of man on the very first appearance of an object is impelled to the perception of the object, are neither voluntary nor controlled by the will, but through a certain power of their own they force their recognition upon men; but the expressions of assent, which they call sugkataqe/seis, by which these visions are recognized, are voluntary and subject to man's will. Therefore when some terrifying sound, either from heaven or from a falling building or as a sudden announcement of some danger, or anything else of that kind occurs, even the mind of a wise man must necessarily be disturbed, must shrink and feel alarm, not from a preconceived idea of any danger, but from certain swift and unexpected attacks which forestall the power of the mind and of reason. Presently, however, the wise man does not approve ' such phantasies,' that is to say, such terrifying mental visions (to quote the Greek, 'he does not consent to them nor confirm them'), but he rejects and scorns them, nor does he see in them anything that ought to excite fear. And they say that there is this difference between

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the mind of a foolish man and that of a wise man, that the foolish man thinks that such ' visions ' are in fact as dreadful and terrifying as they appear at the original impact of them on his mind, and by his assent he approves of such ideas as if they were rightly to be feared, and 'confirms' them; for prosepidoca/zei is the word which the Stoics use in their discourses on the subject. But the wise man, after being affected for a short time and slightly in his colour and expression, 'does not assent,' but retains the steadfastness and strength of the opinion which he has always had about visions of this kind, namely that they are in no wise to be feared but excite terror by a false appearance and vain alarms.

That these were the opinions and utterances of Epictetus the philosopher in accordance with the beliefs of the Stoics I read in that book which I have mentioned, and I thought that they ought to be recorded for this reason, that when things of the kind which I have named chance to occur, we may not think that to fear for a time and, as it were, turn white is the mark of a foolish and weak man, but in that brief but natural impulse we yield rather to human weakness than because we believe that those things are what they seem.

That of the five senses of the body two in particular we share with beasts; and that pleasure which comes from hearing, sight and smell is base and reprehensible, but that which comes from taste and touch is the most shameful of all, since the last two are felt also by beasts, the others only by mankind.

MEN have five senses, which the Greeks call ai)sqh/seis, by which mental or bodily pleasure is

evidently sought: taste, touch, smell, sight, hearing. From all of these the enjoyment of any immoderate pleasure is regarded as base and reprehensible. But excessive pleasure from taste or touch in the opinion of philosophers is the basest of all things, and those in particular who have given themselves up to those two animal pleasures the Greeks call by terms of the gravest reproach either a)kratei=s or a)ko/lastoi; we call them either incontinences (incontinent) or intemperantes (intemperate); for if you should desire to have a closer translation of a)ko/lastoi, the equivalent will be too unusual. But those two pleasures of taste and touch, namely, gluttony and venery, are the only ones common to man with the lower animals, and therefore whoever is enslaved to these beastly pleasures is regarded as in the number of brutes and beasts; the remaining pleasures proceeding from the other three senses seem to be peculiar to man alone.

I have added the words of Aristotle the philosopher on this subject, [*](Problemata, xxviii. 7.) in order that the authority of that renowned and illustrious man might turn us from such shameful pleasures:

Why are they called incontinent who indulge to excess in the pleasures of taste and touch? For both those who are immoderate in venery and those who are immoderate in the enjoyment of food are such. But of the latter, some find this gratification in the tongue and others in the throat, and it was for that reason that Philoxenos prayed to have the throat of a crane. Is it because the pleasures derived from such sources are common to us with the other animals? And being thus common they are the most dishonourable and more than the other pleasures, or alone, objects of

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reproach, so that we censure a man who is addicted to them and call him incontinent and incorrigible because he is enslaved to the meanest of pleasures. Now, there being five senses, the other animals are gratified by the two which have been mentioned only, but from the others they either enjoy no pleasure at all, or they merely experience it incidentally.

Who, then, having any human modesty, would take pleasure in those two delights of venery and gluttony, which are common to man with the hog and the ass? Socrates indeed used to say that many men wish to live in order to eat and drink, but that he ate and drank in order to live. Hippocrates, moreover, a man of divine wisdom, believed of venery that it was a part of the horrible disease which our countrymen call comitialis, or

the election disease

; [*](See note on xvi. 4. 4.) for these are his very words as they have come down to us:

that coition is a brief epilepsy.

That it is more disgraceful to be praised coldly than to be accused bitterly.

FAVORINUS the philosopher used to say that it was more shameful to be praised faintly and coldly than to be censured violently and severely:

For,

said he,

the man who reviles and censures you is regarded as unjust and hostile towards you in proportion to the bitterness of his invective, and therefore he is usually not believed. But one who praises grudgingly and faintly seems to lack a theme; he is regarded as the friend of a man whom he would like to praise but as unable to find anything in him which he can justly commend.

Why the bowels are loosened by sudden terror; also why fire provokes urine.

THERE is a work of Aristotle, entitled Physical Questions, which is most delightful, and filled with choice knowledge of all kinds. In this book he inquires [*](xxvii. 10; vii. 3.) why it happens that those who are seized with sudden fear of some great catastrophe commonly suffer at once from looseness of the bowels. He also inquires why it happens that one who has stood for some time before a fire is overtaken with a desire to make water. And he says that the cause of the loosening and discharge of the bowels because of fear is due to the fact that all terror is cold producing, or yuxropoio/s, as he calls it, and that by the effect of that cold it drives and expels all the blood and heat from the surface of the skin and at the same time causes those who fear to grow pale, because the blood leaves the face.

Now this blood and heat,

he says,

being driven inwards, usually moves the bowels and stimulates them.

For the frequent urinating caused by nearness to a fire he gave this reason:

The fire dissolves the solid matter, as the sun does snow.

A statement from the works of Aristotle, that snow-water is a very bad thing to drink; and that ice is formed from snow. [*](This is not what Aristotle said, but that water formed from ice was unwholesome, see § 5 and 9. See crit. note 1, p. 362.)

IN the hottest season of the year with some companions and friends of mine who were students of

eloquence or of philosophy, I had withdrawn to the country-place of a rich friend at Tibur. There was with us a good man of the Peripatetic school, well trained and especially devoted to Aristotle. When we drank a good deal of water made of melted snow, he tried to restrain us and rather severely scolded us. He cited us the authority of famous physicians and in particular of the philosopher Aristotle, a man skilled in all human knowledge, who declared that snow-water was indeed helpful to grain and trees, but was a very unwholesome drink for human beings, and that it gradually produced wasting diseases in the body, which made their appearance only after a long time.

This counsel he gave us repeatedly in a spirit of prudence and goodwill. But when the drinking of snow-water went on without interruption, from the library of Tibur, which at that time was in the temple of Hercules and was well supplied with books, he drew out a volume of Aristotle and brought it to us, saying:

At least believe the words of this wisest of men and cease to ruin your health.

In that book it was written [*](Frag. 214, Rose.) that water from snow was very bad to drink, as was also that water which was more solidly and completely congealed, which the Greeks call kru/stallos, or

clear ice

; and the following reason was there given for this:

That when water is hardened by the cold air and congeals, it necessarily follows that evaporation takes place and that a kind of very thin vapour, so to speak, is forced from it and comes out of it. But its lightest part,

he said,

is that which is evaporated; what remains is heavier and less clean and wholesome,

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and this part, beaten upon by the throbbing of the air, takes on the form and colour of white foam. But that some more wholesome part is forced out and evaporated from the snow is shown by the fact that it becomes less than it was before it congealed.

I have taken a few of Aristotle's own words from that book, and I quote them:

Why is the water made from snow or ice unwholesome? Because from all water that is frozen the lightest and thinnest part evaporates. And the proof of this is that when it melts after being frozen, its volume is less than before. But since the most wholesome part is gone, it necessarily follows that what is left is less wholesome.

After I read this, we decided to pay honour to the learned Aristotle. And so I for my part immediately declared war upon snow and swore hatred against it,1 while the others made truces with it on various terms.