What could Pythagoras have learned in Babylon? He was familiar with her art and design, for Hera’s temple on Samos included many examples. He would have sought out the scribes. Writing and calculating were their primary activities. Some were part of governmental and temple communities, some worked for the military, others served private citizens or taught. Many freelanced, offering their services in the marketplace for people needing letters written, legal documents drawn up, calculations made. Besides the scribes, only the rare Babylonian could read, write, or calculate. At the top of the profession were the highest-ranking priests at the temple of Marduk, who had to be able to read the texts for the rituals they used. These texts were often written in ideograms, making them inaccessible to those not trained in this particular type of text, and they often included a warning that only the initiated should even see them. Such secretiveness might have seemed prudent to Pythagoras, who instituted it later in Croton.
Much of the information that modern scholars have about knowledge in ancient Mesopotamia comes not from this neo-Babylonian period but from the first great era of Babylon a millennium earlier (1894–1595 B.C.). Tablets that were school texts then show that teachers and scholars knew the value of pi, could calculate square and cube roots, and understood what is now known as the “Pythagorean” theorem. The system of mathematics they used was already fully developed and being taught routinely to scribal students. But was the “Pythagorean theorem,” which had made it into the textbooks in the second millennium B.C., still known in Babylon at the time of Pythagoras? Experts on ancient Mesopotamia think not; but, if it was, Pythagoras of course might have learned it from the scribes. If he carried away with him knowledge of their sexagesimal number system—based on sixes rather than on tens—nothing of that showed up in later stories about him or his followers.
Pythagoras would have encountered a sophisticated astronomy if he sought out Babylonians who studied the stars. “Early Greek science and natural philosophy” may have begun with Thales’ observation of the eclipse on May 28, 585 B.C. but Mesopotamian scholars had long known how to predict eclipses. Again, evidence is lacking whether the learning that had been so impressive, and that is so well documented on tablets originating a thousand years earlier, was still in the grasp of Mesopotamian scribes and astronomers at the time of Nebuchadnezzar. The fact that Babylonians set up a sacred kettledrum during an eclipse and beat on it to drive off the demons that were obscuring the moon is no indication that the earlier sophistication had been lost. It is difficult to imagine even a modern society giving up such spectacle and fun just because of a scientific explanation! Later, in the Persian and Hellenistic eras, a highly mathematical Mesopotamian astronomy used observational data that had been collected for centuries in the temples.
Pythagoras did not learn the doctrine of reincarnation in Babylon. A Babylonian—barring unusual circumstances that left him flitting around as a baleful ghost—died, went to a dismal netherworld, and stayed there.
THOUGH IAMBLICHUS CANNOT have been correct that Pythagoras spent about thirty-four years in Egypt and Babylon (no acceptable chronology allows that much time), he was probably right that when Pythagoras returned to Samos only a few inhabitants of his home island remembered him. Nevertheless, wrote Iamblichus, he made an excellent impression with the learning he had accumulated and the tales he could tell, and was publicly requested to share this knowledge with his countrymen. That seemed an excellent idea to many Samians, until they realized what mental effort it required. Pythagoras’ audiences dwindled, those who stayed were lazy, and soon no one was listening to him. Iamblichus believed that he did not take umbrage. He was still determined to give his fellow citizens a “taste of the sweetness of the mathematical disciplines” and concerned that his skills and learning would desert him as he aged. He adopted a fresh strategy: Rather than teach a multitude, he chose one promising disciple.
Iamblichus described Pythagoras’ choice as a poverty-stricken but talented young athlete, whom Pythagoras discovered playing ball in the gymnasium “with great aptness and facility.” They struck an agreement. Pythagoras would provide him with the necessities of life and the opportunity to continue his athletics, on condition that the young man would, in easy doses (at least by Pythagoras’ standards) allow Pythagoras to educate him. At first the youth seemed motivated mostly by rewards of three eboli for learning figures on the abacus. As time passed, Pythagoras observed that his interest became keener, so much so that Pythagoras suspected it would continue even without the eboli—even if he had to “suffer the extremity of want.” As a test, Pythagoras pretended to have had a catastrophic change of fortune, requiring the association to end. As Pythagoras had hoped, the youth declared that he could learn without rewards and would find a way to provide for both himself and Pythagoras. Iamblichus wrote that this young man, to honor his mentor, took the name “Pythagoras, son of Eratocles” and, alone among Pythagoras’ acquaintances on Samos, eventually moved with him to southern Italy. Iamblichus did not indicate where he got this information except to mention that “there are said to be” three books by Pythagoras, son of Eratocles, titled On Athletics, in which he recommended eating meat instead of dry figs. If he took this recommendation from his teacher, then the advice ran counter to information from other sources that Pythagoras was a vegetarian and required the same of his students and followers.
A story about another pupil also conflicts with Pythagoras’ reputation as a strict vegetarian. Eurymenes was also an athlete, but he was small. It was the custom to eat only moist cheese, dry figs, and wheat bread while in training for the Olympic games. Pythagoras instead advised Eurymenes to eat meat. He also taught him not to go into the games for the sake of victory but for the exercise of training and the benefit to his body. Diet and Pythagorean sports psychology worked wonders. Eurymenes, in Porphyry’s words, “conquered at Olympia through his surpassing knowledge of Pythagoras’ wisdom.”*
According to Porphyry, these two athletes were not Pythagoras’ only pupils during this period. Porphyry had read of another in On the Incredible Things Beyond Thule, the book he used for information about Pythagoras’ father, insisting that its author had “treated Pythagoras’ affairs so carefully that I think his account should not be omitted.” Porphyry did not say it should necessarily be believed. On a trading journey, Pythagoras’ father, Mnesarchus, discovered an infant under a poplar tree, lying on its back, looking unblinkingly at the sun and sipping dew falling from the tree through a reed pipe in its mouth. This struck Mnesarchus as divine activity, and he arranged for the child to be fostered by a friend and native of that country, later paid for his education, named him Astraeus, and reared him with his own sons. Pythagoras took this younger adopted brother as his pupil. Porphyry also mentioned a fourth pupil, Zalmoxis of Thrace, who “some said” also took the name Thales. Though not an Olympian, he must have had an impressive build, for barbarians mistook him for Hercules and worshipped him.
On the Incredible Things Beyond Thule listed the qualities Pythagoras looked for in those who came to study with him. Its author had learned (his source is not known) that Pythagoras did not agree to teach everyone who came, nor were his choices based only on intelligence or kinship. He observed a candidate’s facial expressions, body language, and disposition. He looked for modesty, ability to keep silent being more important than readiness to speak. He observed whether the prospective pupil was moved by any immoderate desire or passion, how anger affected him, whether he was contentious or ambitious, inclined more to friendship or to discord. After a candidate passed those tests, Pythagoras took note of his ability to learn, memorize, and follow rapidly what was said. Of primary importance was how strongly a youth was motivated by temperance and love. Natural gentleness and “culture” were essential; ferocity, impudence, shamelessness, sloth, and licentiousness were distinct negatives. Pythagoras expelled pupils “as strangers and barbarians” if they failed to live up to his expectations.
IN 535 B.C., when t
he tyranny that had wrenched control from the Geomoroi had ruled for several decades, the most infamous of the tyrants, Polykrates, came to power in Samos. At first he ruled with two brothers, but he soon disposed of them. Samos continued to grow in power and wealth, but not in popularity among her neighbors, for Polykrates became a much hated and feared player in the politics of the eastern Mediterranean. Depending on who described it, his fleet was either one of the most superb navies of the ancient world or a supremely successful band of pirates. Polykrates traveled in person to other countries to seal new agreements and forge connections with rulers like the pharaoh Amasis, but such agreements had little meaning, for he made and shattered alliances with ruthless abandon.
Under Polykrates, Samos reached the pinnacle of her fortunes, not only in terms of economic and rather ugly political prominence, but also in art, literature, and engineering feats. For a time it was the most powerful of all the Greek city-states. Pythagoras lived on Samos for only part of this period, but long enough to experience the excitement and intellectual stimulation that characterized Polykrates’ otherwise deplorable reign. Polykrates was the patron of the poet Anacreon and engaged the engineer Eupalinos to construct a new harbor and a water tunnel that was one of the most astounding engineering achievements of the ancient world. It brought water from alpine springs through the mountain above the city of Samos, ending any shortage of water there no matter how dry the summer.* The fleet grew to a hundred ships, each manned by a thousand archers. In spite of Polykrates’ widespread unpopularity and long absences, no one unseated him until finally, in 522—after Pythagoras had left Samos—a Persian governor of Sardis trumped Polykrates’ treachery. He invited him for a state visit and, when he arrived, had him crucified.
It is reasonable to believe, with Iamblichus, that Pythagoras did not remain on Samos without interruption during the years before he finally moved to Croton in Italy, but visited oracles, spent time at Delphi, and went to Crete and Sparta to learn their laws, which were different from Samos’. Iamblichus first mentioned Pythagoras’ taking an interest in public affairs at this time. Porphyry also believed that Pythagoras left Samos briefly to undergo an initiation ceremony on Crete: The supplicant seeking initiation to “the priests of Morgot, one of the Idaean Dactyls,” was purified with a meteorite (“the meteoric thunderstone”), lying at dawn face down on the seaside and at night beside a river, crowned with a wreath of black lamb’s wool. Then, wrapped in black wool, he descended into the Idaean cave and remained for twenty-seven days. After that, he made a sacrifice to Zeus and was allowed to see the couch the priests made up every year for Zeus. Pythagoras, having gone through the initiation, inscribed an epigram on the tomb of Zeus, which began “Zan lies dead here, whom men call Zeus”—implying, it would seem, that he knew or had known this god on a more personal basis than other men did.
As time passed, Pythagoras’ renown spread, learned men came from abroad to confer with him, potential students flocked to him. He also served Samos in an administrative capacity, as was expected of important scholars in this era in the Hellenic world. However, he often retreated to a cavern outside the city for discussions with a few close associates. Samians today identify a cave on the steep, wooded slopes of Mount Kerketeas, the island’s highest mountain, as Pythagoras’ cave. Nevertheless, as public responsibilities increased, it became impossible for Pythagoras to continue his studies. Furthermore, Porphyry observed, he saw “that Polykrates’ government was becoming so violent that soon a free man would become a victim of his tyranny,” and “that life in such a state was unsuitable for a philosopher.” Involvement at a court like Polykrates’ was dangerous for a man who spoke honestly. Also motivated by a failure of the Samians in all things relating to education, Pythagoras departed for southern Italy. He had heard, said Iamblichus, that in Italy “men well disposed towards learning were to be found in the greatest abundance.”
CHAPTER 3
“Among them was a man of
immense knowledge”
530–500 B.C.
AT THE BEGINNING OF THE seventh decade of the sixth century B.C., a vessel with Pythagoras on board sailed across the waters west of Tarentum toward the toe of the Italian boot and the port city of Croton. The date is the best established in Pythagoras’ life. One of the most reliable of the earliest sources, Aristoxenus of Tarentum, gave it as 532/531 B.C.* Just short of a promontory where Croton’s men and women worshipped at their own sanctuary of the goddess Hera, the ship came into harbor. The passengers disembarked at docks bustling with other voyagers, slaves, sailors, and craftsmen and laborers from the shipyards, for Croton was a major port and shipbuilding center in this region of the Mediterranean. Goods traded or transferred there came from up and down the coasts of the Italian peninsula, not only from the Greek cities but also from the Latin communities farther north and from numerous other regions of the Mediterranean.
There have been few archaeological excavations within the city of Croton proper. Modern Crotone covers the ancient Croton of Pythagoras, and frustrated archaeologists have to content themselves with sporadic work during the excavation of foundations for new buildings. Nevertheless, enough is known to allow for an idea of the arrangement of the city as Pythagoras found it.1 Behind the harbor the ground rose steeply to a hill where Achaean settlers had first built their homes two centuries before his arrival. This hill had later become an acropolis until Crotonians began lavishing more attention on the temple of Hera on the promontory. Sixth-century B.C. Croton apparently included three large blocks of houses oriented perpendicular to the coastline with a divergence of 30 degrees between them, an impressively geometrical layout but not unusual in its time, as evidenced by the Geomoroi. Pythagoras walked in narrow streets precisely aligned and crossing at right angles with narrower lanes isolating individual houses. Crotonians had constructed these buildings of rough blocks of stone, sometimes unbaked bricks, roofed with tile, with large pieces of pottery and tiles protecting the wall footings. They lived in rooms clustered around courtyards, with almost no windows facing the streets and lanes. A man who had also experienced Babylon would have drawn the impression that the people of Croton were more trusting and friendly than those who lived in similar houses there, for entryways in Croton opened straight into the courtyard.
Pythagoras may not have been a complete stranger here, for Croton’s harbor and shipyards were on the coastal sea route from Greece to the Strait of Messina, Sicily, and the Tyrrhenian Sea, and there were stories connecting his merchant seafarer father with the Tyrrhenian coast. The climate in Croton was magnificent and the region famous for being particularly healthful. The sea was not the opaque cobalt of Pythagoras’ native waters, but a transparent, cheerful blue, and the coastline seemed infinitely long, for every rise in the terrain revealed curving bays and coves and headlands as far as the eye could see. Forests clothed the low hills and some of the headlands and the shores of coves near the city, and grew thickly in the mountains on the northern and western horizons. Trees were one of Croton’s most valuable economic resources, as they were for Samos, providing timber for the shipyards.
Pythagoras surely knew that his new city had produced at least one amazing athlete and a fine medical man. Croton’s Olympic successes made her the envy of the Greek world, and no young Greek, no matter how sequestered in intellectual pursuits, could have escaped knowing about this athletic preeminence. Every four years, the city’s athletes voyaged east to Olympia in mainland Greece to compete, and from about two decades before Pythagoras’ birth had enjoyed a continuous spate of triumphs. Milo of Croton won the wrestling competitions in six Olympic games, covering a span of at least twenty-four years—a long success streak for any athlete, ancient or modern—and at six Pythian Games, a similar competition at Delphi.* Everyone had heard how he had hoisted an ox onto his shoulders and carried it through the stadium at Olympia. In the field of medicine, Democedes of Croton had practiced in Athens and become physician to Samos’ tyrant Polykrates. Such was
Democedes’ reputation and success that he would later be employed by the Persian Darius the Great. However, if Pythagoras had indeed heard—as Iamblichus reported—that in Croton men were “disposed to learning,” that must have meant they were “ready to learn,” for Croton was not yet renowned for scholarship or thought.
Croton’s most important religious site, Hera Lacinia, was situated on a promontory at the end of a peninsula that jutted out into the sea near the town. When Pythagoras first arrived, major construction at the temple had only barely begun, if it had begun at all, but soon the buildings at Croton’s temple of Hera would rival Samos’ temple to the same goddess. The treasures would include one of the most beautiful items still surviving anywhere from the ancient world, a diadem of exquisitely worked golden flowers, now in a glass case in Croton’s museum. Pythagoras may have seen it wreathing the head of the goddess’ statue. Crotonian donors to the temple were wealthy, cosmopolitan citizens who venerated her, the mother of Zeus, as the protector of women and all aspects of female life, and as Mother Nature, who looked after animals and sea travelers.
Crotonians ruled their city in a manner that must have seemed blessedly old-fashioned to a man accustomed to living under Polykrates. The government was an oligarchy, as Samos’ had been before the tyranny. They called themselves the Thousand, and all of them claimed descent from colonists who had come two centuries before Pythagoras from Achaea, on the Greek mainland. The population there had outgrown the arable land in narrow mountain valleys and, led by a man named Myskellos, had taken ship to the west to try their luck around the gulf between the toe and the heel of the Italian boot.2 They were not “colonists” in the sense of remaining subservient and connected to a mother country. What was true for many Greek cities—though no definition fit all—was true for Croton and her neighbors: “hiving off,” as happens with bees, was a better descriptive word than “colonization.” Greeks of the independent maritime cities of southern Italy and Sicily had done well to leave their tight mainland valleys and were likely, in Pythagoras’ time, to be as rich and cosmopolitan as those who lived in Athens. Archaeological finds show that Myskellos’ settlers were not the first people to live at Croton, but had pushed the earlier inhabitants into the hinterlands and mountains.
The Music of Pythagoras Page 4