Pythagoras the Mathemagician

by Karim El Koussa

  On the top of this Great Mountain of Gebel, stood in magnificence two major temples; one in dedication to Astarte, the goddess of fertility; and the other to her lover Adonis, the god of resurrection.

  Tradition in Canaan-Phoenicia, and especially in Gebel, required from the families to bring their children to be blessed in these temples. The priestess of El, in the Temple of Astarte, would bless the female children, whereas the priests of Al would consecrate the male children in the Temple of Adonis. Later on, if wished so, those anointed boys and girls might choose to serve the sanctuary at an older age.

  On that particular morning of spring, in celebration of the sacred, the burning incense blended its scent and fumes with the candle lights inside the Temple of Adonis. Elated, Mnesarchus and Parthenis stepped in with deference and walked to the altar. Pythagoras, now one year young, cuddled in the arms of his father. On both sides of the aisle, twenty priests, clothed in white robes with hoods, sleeves and belts of blue color, bowed their heads in respect. Their hoods covered most of their faces. Their grave voices chanted to the god Adonis some hymns that resounded all over the sacred place.

  The ritual was about to start.

  Reaching the altar, Mnesarchus handed over his son to Parthenis, and they both turned to face the High Priest in expectation. Splendid in a white robe, he wore a golden cone hat on his head. He raised in a long moment of reverence the golden cup of wine in one hand and the piece of bread in the other.

  “Elim Shalam Likum,” he greeted them, paused for a moment of profound meditation to invoke the spirit of El upon him, then, addressed baby Pythagoras solemnly, “In the name of El, the Most High God, and in the power bestowed in me, I, Man-Ka-El, declare you blessed, my son, now and forever.”

  At that, he placed the wine and bread down on the altar and bowed in prayers for the manifestation of the mysterious moment of unification. He brought together the wine and the bread inside the sacred cup[11] then drank and gave to the parents and the child of prophecy to drink.

  Only then did Parthenis lower her son on his feet slowly and with caution. Under the proud looks of the father, and the tearful eyes of the mother, Pythagoras took his initial steps and made his foremost walk into his destiny.

  * * *

  Pythagoras grew up into a handsome and gentle child. Before he reached his seventh year of age, he started to accompany his father to the small isle of Samos where they owned a residence. Facing the city of Miletus on the Aegean Sea, Samos comprised the heartbeat of the Ionian culture and luxury, and stood out for its excellent wine and fine red pottery. With its strategic navigation location, Samos ensued as one of the most important commercial centers of all Greece. It imported textiles from inner Asia Minor and developed an extensive oversea trade.

  However, such wealth and prosperity did not withstand when a great famine ravaged the island. Eager to assist, Mnesarchus strove to bring in major corn supplies that eased down the predicament on the islanders. In appreciation of his humanitarian support, the authorities granted him citizenship when the isle recuperated some semblance of a normal life. Eventually, Pythagoras became a citizen of Samos. The majority in the isle called him the long-haired Samian but most people knew him as the son of Mnesarchus, the Phoenician trader.

  Even as a child, Pythagoras, with his alerted demeanor and brilliant eyes, reflected an acute intellectual curiosity. During a sea voyage to Greece, Pythagoras, only seven years young back then, stood with his father on board. His curious eyes wondered at the vast ocean. Mnesarchus held his small hand tightly and observed him discreetly.

  Like his mother before him, the strangeness of the sea seemed to fascinate him in a paradoxical sensation of dread and calmness. When the shadows of the night gloomed over, he drew closer to his father. Ignoring the lit torches around, his instinct impelled his attention to the source of light in the sky. Riveted on the stars, his eyes expressed puzzlement.

  He lifted his hand as if to touch them, frowned, then pointed his index at the sky and asked candidly, “Father? What are these shiny little things?”

  “We call them stars, son. Phoenician sailors rely very much on them to navigate ships like this one. A group of stars are called a constellation. Can you see this group of shiny points?” He pointed at that direction.

  “Yes,” he dragged his answer in wait for more.

  “These are the Stars of the Chariot…”

  “Stars!” Pythagoras snapped, impeding his father to continue his explanation. “Stars look very nice, father,” he commented with a grin. “But, I want to know what they really are. What they are made of. You understand, Father? I want to know their nature, and why they shine so beautifully at night. Do you know why, father?”

  Mnesarchus gawked at his son in awe and went speechless for a while. He then scrutinized the stars in a new perspective, wondering about their nature for the first time in his life.

  “Well, father?” Pythagoras insisted, pulling him by the sleeve to draw his attention back to him.

  Mnesarchus stared back at him, his eyebrows lifted with a mixed feeling of amusement and embarrassment. The fact was that his well-known education did not include Astronomy. Then, his work and travels had never granted him much time to tackle such studies. To his knowledge, only two people could answer such a question; Thales and Pherecydes! Maybe, if his son prevailed in such direction, he might find him good tutors to help him delve into that mysterious world.

  “Honestly, son, I don’t really know what to tell you,” he finally answered. “But don’t you worry. Your uncle Pherecydes and our friend Thales could educate you in this matter in due course.”

  His curious child gave him a hopeful grin and his eyes brightened in expectation. Luckily, he did not insist further that night.

  Yet, Mnesarchus guessed that this incident might ensue as the start of many quests to come. His son had just given him a flicker of the ingenious mind that would probably develop and expand with age. Mnesarchus witnessed the dim glimmer of an aura evolving out of the inner realm of his child.

  Such sagacity needed nurturing, thus the loving parents never objected to any of his educational endeavors. On the contrary, they highly encouraged their son by cultivating this spirit in him in all the ways and by all the means they could afford. His father initiated him on ships, trades, and the geography of the Mediterranean Sea. Pythagoras proved enthusiastic interest in all these matters, except for trading.

  At fourteen, he convened a few times with Pherecydes who strove to protect the sacred prophecy. At a later stage, his uncle afforded him several encounters with some of his erudite friends. Pythagoras impressed them all with his modest attitude, his serene voice and his words full of wisdom. In time, he succeeded in surpassing all the other young disciples in the comprehension of the divine wisdom.

  * * *

  Pythagoras lived through the blessing of brotherhood when his parents brought to life two more sons. When he turned eighteen, he experienced the acute grief of losing his father. Peaceful and painless, death snatched Mnesarchus in his sleep while far from his homeland.

  The sad news hit Saydoun with deep sorrow. Heartbroken, Parthenis wailed and sobbed in excruciating pain over the loss of her husband. Her two other sons[12] wept loudly. Pythagoras, however, shed but silent tears.

  Abiding to the will of Mnesarchus, the family undertook to bury his body in Sur, his homeland, there where his Ancestors rested. Thus, his last navigation ever, took him on a journey, for a week, towards his last dwelling.

  A profound sadness reigned over the funeral ceremony. Pythagoras froze in coldness when the inert body of his beloved father was placed inside a white marble sarcophagus. The priests covered the leaden face with a golden mask. Several villagers approached the coffin then to lower it inside a deep crypt in the earth. A moment of deferential farewell impelled them into stillness before they pulled over the white marble stele. The final habitat of Mnesarchus embraced him forever.

  Pythagoras closed his eyes tightly t
hen opened them to read on the marble above the burial the name of his departed father. The Phoenician inscription marked also some words of tribute, “Mnesarchus, the notorious wealthy trader”. On top of the marble, a fine sculpture of Mnesarchus stood to remain there for the posterity.

  The authorities of Sur presented their final tributes to Mnesarchus. As in a horrible nightmare, Parthenis heeded their speeches. Such tragic moments brought her crashing down to her knees in lamentation. Her head between her hands and her moans unrelenting, she deplored the loss of her beloved. Her sons surrounded her to bestow on her some comfort. Yet, at that dark time of great grief, nothing could console her.

  How would she?!

  How would she ever cope without Mnesarchus at her side? She missed him already! Memories of their moments together flashed in her mind; scenes of love, scenes of laughter and scenes of support and care. Her body trembled, the cold of despair numbed her hands, the air seemed to lack in her lungs, and something hard and heavy caught her by the throat. In an instinct of survival, her head snapped up as she strove to breathe.

  As if sensing her internal misery, Pythagoras grabbed her by the forearms, lifted her to him and enfolded her tightly in his arms. He caressed her hair and murmured soothing words of comfort. A kind of peace invaded her. Calmness subdued her into a state of total numbness despite the loud weeping of the friends and family around her.

  Mnesarchus, the loving father and husband would be certainly missed, but so would the caring friend and the supportive neighbor that he had always been to everyone.

  On Parthenis befell now the heavy burden of raising her three sons all by herself. Yet, she knew that, for being the eldest son, Pythagoras would have to assume the major part of the family responsibilities, notwithstanding the vacancy left by his father.

  The gentle voice of the Priest of Baal-Melkart broke through her apathy, “This stele represents Beth-El, the House of God. It stands in watch over the dead body of our beloved Mnesarchus while leading his spirit through its final journey. In truth, my fair lady and dear people, take comfort in the fact that death is only a passage into another stage of existence.”

  At that sentence of conclusion, Pythagoras stiffened as in alert. Parthenis felt it and a particular thought brought her tears back. Mnesarchus would have commented that such a strong statement would dwell in the acute intellect of their son for as long as it would take him to find his own answer.

  Mnesarchus! Her heart screamed in ache. Her vision blurred and she felt uncannily feathery as she drooped into vacuity.

  * * *

  Grief would not wane with the months that followed. Yet, her pledge to her husband concerning Pythagoras kept her moving on with more determination than ever. She visited Ionia and Phoenicia for the appropriate experts who could lead her son all through his primary formation. Her efforts ensued successful as they agreed to grant Pythagoras access to the writings of the most significant issues of life.

  Hermodamas, the nephew of Creophylos of Samos, taught him music, poetry and the Homeric epics; both the Iliad and the Odyssey. These various subjects of interest constituted important and preliminary studies into the sacred knowledge.

  That was but the beginning of the cultivation of his educational zest.

  Parthenis never ceased to provide him with all the requirements for him to quench his thirst in the pursuit of wisdom.

  * * *

  The early sunrays spread smoothly over the land of Ancient Loubnan. Dusk faded and silence waned at the melody of the birds praising the glory of sunrise. They, among themselves, could only understand the hidden expressions of their musical communication.

  Pythagoras heeded them in his sleep. He woke up to their call and rushed out in response. Somehow, he fathomed the code of the secret chants of these creatures of the air. He observed their quick fly from a tree to another and then up towards the realm of the sky. With his extraordinary sensitivity, he deciphered their songs as a message of freedom.

  He beamed with joy then began to whistle, driven by an instinct, an unconscious behavior, not to imitate them, but to reach such state of unfeasible freedom. Wings he had none, he sneered at himself and headed to the fields that stretched out in front of him. Sauntering north now, he entered Bustan el-Sheikh, the Garden of the Sheikh. Fragrance of orange fruits flooded the atmosphere. The drone of the cascading river resounded from nearby the majestic Temple of Eshmun[13].

  He halted in a moment of hesitation then decided to enter the sanctuary. He stepped inside in time to witness the scene of a curative ceremony that a minister performed on a sick child. On the wall, behind the Priest, a golden plate illustrated the engraved image of Eshmun; the god of healing. He appeared standing with all his glory, holding in his hand a scepter entwined by a red serpent.

  Pythagoras observed the parents of the child with some emotion. They seemed to believe that the god would soon cure their son. The father carried his offering of gratitude; a statue of marble representing their sick child. The priest grabbed the infant gently by his tiny feet and immersed him in a pool of holy water, drawn from the sacred spring close by. He repeated the ritual immersion seven times then handed over the kid to his parents. The mother prompted a large towel around him to dry him up. The ritual ended there. To a grateful father and a hopeful mother, the priest announced that the divine medical art would take effect in the coming few days.

  On their way out, the parents beamed with hope. Their expressions reflected appreciation and faith in their god Eshmun, the divine healer. The Saydounians had declared him as such after his many healing miracles.

  Pythagoras smiled, sharing their optimism that their child would be freed from his disease. Yet this particular concept dwelled in his mind as he left the Temple. He halted in the shadow of an orange tree to meditate. He embraced the reality that what humans basically sought was total freedom from what weakened them. And so, some prayed to the one God, others prayed to the many gods. Yet, all prayed for their salvation.

  How many yet would find salvation, remained a major question in his head. Would the sick baby make it? Pythagoras wished he could be of help. A sense of distress and discomfort engulfed him at realizing his incapacity. The feeling followed him all the way back home.

  He entered the kitchen where his brothers had already started their mid day lunch.

  His mother, her face in angst, exclaimed, “Goodness, Pythagoras, where have you been? You can’t possibly run out of the house so early in the morning without leaving a notice!”

  “Good morning to you too, mother!” He greeted her teasingly, to calm her down.

  “Pythagoras!” She admonished with a look meant to shame him, yet he knew that her anger was only based on her anxiety.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.” He edged closer and kissed her cheek. “You’re right.” He grabbed her to him by the shoulders in a pleasant way and winked at his brothers.

  But she would not let it go. “Where have you been all this time?”

  “I went for a morning walk, Mother, and visited the temple of the healing god,” he said with an even tone and took his seat at the head of the table.

  When he glanced again at her, he met the surprise in her eyes that hooked his for a while. A current of understanding passed between them, and she sighed. She of course knew him well enough now to comprehend his true nature. His spiritual curiosity and aspirations were nothing new to her.

  They ate in silence for a while. Pensively, Pythagoras savored the warm stew of lamb meat and vegetables. His mother placed in front of him some steamed rice and green salad.

  “In my childhood, mother… I was sick sometimes, wasn’t I?” He broke the silence, then paused, unsure on how to phrase his question.

  “Well, yes, son, like all children do, here and there. Why do you ask?”

  He fiddled with his napkin for a moment. “Did you ever take me to the temple and pledge to the god Eshmun to cure me?”

  “Oh… No my dear! Your father never accepted such a thi
ng. It’s not that he was not a believer, on the contrary. But, he always stated that these rituals were not certain. See, he would not jeopardize the health of any in our family. We once called in the best doctor in the country. That, I recall well.” Parthenis extended her hand to grab his, over the table, and smiled to him before declaring, “You were rarely sick anyway, son, and it was never dangerous.”

  He smiled back in relief and his respect for her increased. In the silence of his heart, he thanked his late father for making the right decision on that particular matter.

  While his mother cleared the table to set the dessert, he pondered over the sick baby in the temple. “Too bad, really…,” he murmured in a sad tone. “Those parents I saw at the temple today… I’m sure they didn’t have much of a choice.”

  Parthenis halted with the plate of fruits in her hands. She looked at him with puzzled eyes. His brothers gawked in confusion and waited.

  He sighed inwardly then explained, “I mean… they looked poor… don’t seem to have the financial capabilities to have their child treated by a doctor. Oh the irony of fate!” He added with fatality, his tone broken with emotion. Before he bent his head to hide his tearful eyes, he noted the seriousness in which his family stared at him. He kept silent…

  * * *

  Sunset colored the beach of Saydoun. Under a palm tree, Pythagoras delighted in the game of the sea waves and the music of his lyre. Having studied the science of music for some time now, Pythagoras became well versed in its use.

  As per the legend, Hermes-Enoch had invented this musical instrument with four strings upon the four elements of Nature. It remained unknown who exactly added the fifth and the sixth strings. Terpandres of Lesbos, a Greek musician, introduced the seventh string at a later stage.