So far we proceed on conjecture. As to the vestiges of the Pythagoreans, though I might collect many, I shall use but a few; because they have no connection with our present purpose.
For, as it is reported to have been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a more abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs and musical instruments; so Cato, a writer of the very highest authority, says in his Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that poems and songs were then composed for the voice.
And, indeed, it is also clear that poetry was in fashion from the laws of the Twelve Tables, wherein it is provided that no song should be made to the injury of another.
Another argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments before the shrines of their Gods, and at the entertainments of their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Caecus, which Panaetius commends so much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to Quintus Tubero, has all the marks of a Pythagorean author.
We have many things derived from the Pythagoreans in our customs, which I pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look upon ourselves as the inventors of.
But to return to our purpose. How many great poets as well as orators have sprung up among us! And in what a short time! So that it is evident that our people could arrive at any learning as soon as they had an inclination for it. But of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as I have already often done.
For, as it is reported to have been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a more abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs and musical instruments; so Cato, a writer of the very highest authority, says in his Origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that poems and songs were then composed for the voice.
And, indeed, it is also clear that poetry was in fashion from the laws of the Twelve Tables, wherein it is provided that no song should be made to the injury of another.
Another argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments before the shrines of their Gods, and at the entertainments of their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the sect I am speaking of. To me, indeed, that poem of Appius Caecus, which Panaetius commends so much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to Quintus Tubero, has all the marks of a Pythagorean author.
We have many things derived from the Pythagoreans in our customs, which I pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look upon ourselves as the inventors of.
But to return to our purpose. How many great poets as well as orators have sprung up among us! And in what a short time! So that it is evident that our people could arrive at any learning as soon as they had an inclination for it. But of other studies I shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as I have already often done.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.2
I cannot speak with any confidence on the Pythagoreans, who always appeared quite perplexing to me, though I imagine that was a very part of their method. At first, I assumed my confusion arose from my incompetence at mathematics, but after many years I was finally taught geometry in the proper way, and I began to appreciate how the order of numbers reveals the order of the Universe.
No, it turned out that what left me frustrated was the whole “mystery religion” vibe, complete with levels of initiation into the depths of secret knowledge. As someone who finds comfort in the clarity of reason, despite my odd romantic tendencies, I struggle when truth is expressed in purely symbolic terms, and I seek out the bare-bones argument. While this is healthy up to a point, I am doing myself no favors if I shut out the instinctive and creative aspects of my nature.
This chapter helped me to understand more about the Pythagoreans in particular, and also more about philosophy in general. Cicero observes how both the Pythagoreans and the early Romans would employ music and poetry to provide peace of mind while reflecting upon profound principles, a practice which suddenly made sense to me.
In my own peculiar way, Mahler helps me to put grief in its place, and Gregorian chant brings me closer to my Creator, and the verses of the Iliad are always an aid in learning about justice and compassion.
It had somehow not directly occurred to me why the exercise of art is actually a medium for the pursuit of philosophy, grasped beyond the formal into the realm of the experiential—it offers a concrete framework to an abstract form, grounding the theoretical in a corporeal beauty.
There is no need to oppose the left and the right side of the brain, for they are both cooperating in the same task, even if they do so by different means; each one supports and strengthens the other.
Here was yet another of those proofs of why I should stop seeing contradictions, where there is absolutely no opposition at all. The Pythagoreans were “studying” philosophy in their songs, just as the Romans were also honoring the true and the good by playing music to praise their heroes and to worship their gods.
I do not know if the Romans learned this from the Pythagoreans, and I don’t suppose it ultimately matters: what does matter is that such customs, whether original or borrowed, are signs of someone who is thinking while he is feeling, and so is just as philosophical, if not perhaps more so, than the scholar at his lectern.
I cannot speak with any confidence on the Pythagoreans, who always appeared quite perplexing to me, though I imagine that was a very part of their method. At first, I assumed my confusion arose from my incompetence at mathematics, but after many years I was finally taught geometry in the proper way, and I began to appreciate how the order of numbers reveals the order of the Universe.
No, it turned out that what left me frustrated was the whole “mystery religion” vibe, complete with levels of initiation into the depths of secret knowledge. As someone who finds comfort in the clarity of reason, despite my odd romantic tendencies, I struggle when truth is expressed in purely symbolic terms, and I seek out the bare-bones argument. While this is healthy up to a point, I am doing myself no favors if I shut out the instinctive and creative aspects of my nature.
This chapter helped me to understand more about the Pythagoreans in particular, and also more about philosophy in general. Cicero observes how both the Pythagoreans and the early Romans would employ music and poetry to provide peace of mind while reflecting upon profound principles, a practice which suddenly made sense to me.
In my own peculiar way, Mahler helps me to put grief in its place, and Gregorian chant brings me closer to my Creator, and the verses of the Iliad are always an aid in learning about justice and compassion.
It had somehow not directly occurred to me why the exercise of art is actually a medium for the pursuit of philosophy, grasped beyond the formal into the realm of the experiential—it offers a concrete framework to an abstract form, grounding the theoretical in a corporeal beauty.
There is no need to oppose the left and the right side of the brain, for they are both cooperating in the same task, even if they do so by different means; each one supports and strengthens the other.
Here was yet another of those proofs of why I should stop seeing contradictions, where there is absolutely no opposition at all. The Pythagoreans were “studying” philosophy in their songs, just as the Romans were also honoring the true and the good by playing music to praise their heroes and to worship their gods.
I do not know if the Romans learned this from the Pythagoreans, and I don’t suppose it ultimately matters: what does matter is that such customs, whether original or borrowed, are signs of someone who is thinking while he is feeling, and so is just as philosophical, if not perhaps more so, than the scholar at his lectern.
—Reflection written in 1/1999
IMAGE: Salvator Rosa, Pythagoras Emerging from the Underworld (1662)
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