But, indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philosophy, either in fact or name? For it acquired this excellent name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the origin and causes of everything, both divine and human.
Thus those seven Σόφοι, as they were considered and called by the Greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise men by us; and thus Lycurgus many ages before, in whose time, before the building of this city, Homer is said to have lived, as well as Ulysses and Nestor in the heroic ages, are all handed down to us by tradition as having really been what they were called, wise men; nor would it have been said that Atlas supported the heavens, or that Prometheus was bound to Caucasus, nor would Cepheus, with his wife, his son-in-law, and his daughter have been enrolled among the constellations, but that their more than human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred their names into an erroneous fable.
From whence all who occupied themselves in the contemplation of nature were both considered and called wise men; and that name of theirs continued to the age of Pythagoras, who is reported to have gone to Phlius, as we find it stated by Heraclides Ponticus, a very learned man, and a pupil of Plato, and to have discoursed very learnedly and copiously on certain subjects with Leon, prince of the Phliasii; and when Leon, admiring his ingenuity and eloquence, asked him what art he particularly professed, his answer was, that he was acquainted with no art, but that he was a philosopher.
Leon, surprised at the novelty of the name, inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, and in what philosophers differed from other men; on which Pythagoras replied:
“That the life of man seemed to him to resemble those games which were celebrated with the greatest possible variety of sports and the general concourse of all Greece. For as in those games there were some persons whose object was glory and the honor of a crown, to be attained by the performance of bodily exercises, so others were led thither by the gain of buying and selling, and mere views of profit; but there was likewise one class of persons, and they were by far the best, whose aim was neither applause nor profit, but who came merely as spectators through curiosity, to observe what was done, and to see in what manner things were carried on there.
“And thus,” said he, “we come from another life and nature unto this one, just as men come out of some other city, to some much frequented mart; some being slaves to glory, others to money; and there are some few who, taking no account of anything else, earnestly look into the nature of things; and these men call themselves studious of wisdom, that is, philosophers: and as there it is the most reputable occupation of all to be a looker-on without making any acquisition, so in life, the contemplating things, and acquainting one’s self with them, greatly exceeds every other pursuit of life."
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.3
Along with the general disdain for philosophy, there is also a common assumption that folks in the past were woefully ignorant. While our progress in the natural sciences, and therefore also in technology, is readily apparent, it does not follow that the ancients were clueless about the depths of human nature. If anything, I sometimes wonder if our material prosperity actually tempts us to become philosophically lazy, therefore putting us in greater danger of being morally adrift.
I now see why my best teachers joked about how the Greeks had already worked out most everything I ever needed to know concerning the true, the good, and the beautiful, such that anything which came afterwards was just a footnote. I hardly subscribe to the belief that people were somehow “better” in the old days, but I do recognize why we all stand on the shoulders of giants. It is remarkable, and frustrating, how every generation has to relearn those very same lessons, over and over again.
Just as it is difficult to improve on the Ten Commandments, I am hard-pressed to find more solid guidelines for daily living than the sayings of the Seven Sages, or the collected insights of the Delphic Maxims. Such wisdom springs forth organically from the best of any primal culture or tradition, as a consequence of the simple fact that a rational animal is defined by the pressing need for meaning and purpose.
In this sense, for example, I will claim that truly appreciating the Iliad—as distinct from merely reading the words—can prepare a young mind for most any struggle that life is sure to bring. It isn’t true just because it’s old, yet it is perennial because our distant ancestors were fulfilling that most human basic calling to unravel the reasons why.
I have always been a bit baffled by Pythagoras, since I like my philosophy as clear as possible, and his thoughts had so much mystery about them. I suppose that is exactly as he wished it, however, a sort of blend between a philosophical school and a religion of secrets. From what little I can claim to understand, I am intrigued how the order of the Universe is expressed in the harmony of numbers, to be examined across the board, in the study of mathematics, music, astronomy, or ethics.
And the response given by Pythagoras to Leon is worthy of a genuine sage, from any time or place: some people want to be admired, and other people want to get rich, but the philosopher is content simply to understand. Though we become instinctively engrossed in the means, and so we believe we must constantly be acquiring more, the lover of wisdom is focused on the ends, and so he looks behind the immediate impressions.
It is that way at the games, and it is that way in the marketplace, and it is that way in all walks of life. When I went to college, I noticed how the vocal majority viewed their studies as instruments for fortune, or for fame, or for some combination of these two, and only a silent minority did not give much thought to such diversions, committed first and foremost to the improvement of their souls.
You can imagine who was regularly accused of being “useless”, but the beautiful irony is that it takes the judgment of a philosopher, who explores the roots of the causes, to discover whether celebrity and money will actually bring us benefit or harm. We should be careful about what we assume, especially when the direction of a whole life depends upon it.
Along with the general disdain for philosophy, there is also a common assumption that folks in the past were woefully ignorant. While our progress in the natural sciences, and therefore also in technology, is readily apparent, it does not follow that the ancients were clueless about the depths of human nature. If anything, I sometimes wonder if our material prosperity actually tempts us to become philosophically lazy, therefore putting us in greater danger of being morally adrift.
I now see why my best teachers joked about how the Greeks had already worked out most everything I ever needed to know concerning the true, the good, and the beautiful, such that anything which came afterwards was just a footnote. I hardly subscribe to the belief that people were somehow “better” in the old days, but I do recognize why we all stand on the shoulders of giants. It is remarkable, and frustrating, how every generation has to relearn those very same lessons, over and over again.
Just as it is difficult to improve on the Ten Commandments, I am hard-pressed to find more solid guidelines for daily living than the sayings of the Seven Sages, or the collected insights of the Delphic Maxims. Such wisdom springs forth organically from the best of any primal culture or tradition, as a consequence of the simple fact that a rational animal is defined by the pressing need for meaning and purpose.
In this sense, for example, I will claim that truly appreciating the Iliad—as distinct from merely reading the words—can prepare a young mind for most any struggle that life is sure to bring. It isn’t true just because it’s old, yet it is perennial because our distant ancestors were fulfilling that most human basic calling to unravel the reasons why.
I have always been a bit baffled by Pythagoras, since I like my philosophy as clear as possible, and his thoughts had so much mystery about them. I suppose that is exactly as he wished it, however, a sort of blend between a philosophical school and a religion of secrets. From what little I can claim to understand, I am intrigued how the order of the Universe is expressed in the harmony of numbers, to be examined across the board, in the study of mathematics, music, astronomy, or ethics.
And the response given by Pythagoras to Leon is worthy of a genuine sage, from any time or place: some people want to be admired, and other people want to get rich, but the philosopher is content simply to understand. Though we become instinctively engrossed in the means, and so we believe we must constantly be acquiring more, the lover of wisdom is focused on the ends, and so he looks behind the immediate impressions.
It is that way at the games, and it is that way in the marketplace, and it is that way in all walks of life. When I went to college, I noticed how the vocal majority viewed their studies as instruments for fortune, or for fame, or for some combination of these two, and only a silent minority did not give much thought to such diversions, committed first and foremost to the improvement of their souls.
You can imagine who was regularly accused of being “useless”, but the beautiful irony is that it takes the judgment of a philosopher, who explores the roots of the causes, to discover whether celebrity and money will actually bring us benefit or harm. We should be careful about what we assume, especially when the direction of a whole life depends upon it.
—Reflection written in 2/1999
IMAGE: Pythagoras
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