B. A. G. Fuller (essay date 1923)
SOURCE: B. A. G. Fuller, "Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans," in History of Greek Philosophy: Thales to Democritus, Henry Holt and Company, 1923, pp. 103-17.
[In the following essay, Fuller summarizes the contributions of Pythagoras to the fields of music, mathematics, medicine, and astronomy. He notes the influence of the Pythagorean ideas of duality and their distinction between the concepts of "form" and "matter" on later philosophical thought.]
There is no figure in the history of philosophy so mysteriously shrouded in the phosphorescent mists of legend as the person of Pythagoras. Revered by his more immediate followers as a superior being, he acquired among later disciples the majesty of a demigod. He was variously reputed to be the son of Apollo in his present existence, and to have been the child of Hermes in a prior incarnation.
Like the Bodhisattvas on the threshold of Nirvana and Buddhahood, he was said to possess through the grace of his parent, Hermes, the memory of all his past existences. As for his teachings, they were derived straight from his other father, Apollo, through the lips of the Delphic oracle. And it was reported that in the flesh he had descended into Hades. He was also credited with other scarcely less distant but more mundane journeyings which had acquainted him at first hand with all the lore of the Phoenicians, the Chaldeans, the Magi, the Hindoos, the Arabians, and the Egyptians.
It is highly improbable that, even in an age when supernatural fathers were plentiful and direct confabulation with the divine was frequent, a commonplace personality could have attracted to itself so many and so flattering legends. It is true that Pythagoras' own adherence to mystical beliefs and rites like those of the Orphics and the votaries of the Delian Apollo, made his exaltation by his followers almost a bit of routine. In them transmigration, the partial incarnation of the divine in human nature, and ecstatic union with the deity through mystical sacrament and ritual, were a matter of course. Still, the myth suggests that Pythagoras was a remarkable and distinguished man, and such historic fact as we can gather goes to bear out this assumption.
He was born at Samos, probably in the last half of the Sixth Century. His dislike of the rule of Polycrates, who became tyrant of Samos in 532 B.C., caused him to emigrate to southern Italy, where at Croton he gathered about him a company of disciples and formed them into a religious order. This Order soon became powerful and influential and, like many later religious foundations of which history readily reminds us, tried to take a hand in politics and interfere in the government of the state. The School became a target for political abuse and disorder, so much so that the Master himself had to leave Croton, and take refuge in the city of Metapontium, where he died. By the middle of the Fifth Century the political activities of the Pythagoreans had become so obnoxious that the opposition rose, burned their lodge or monastery, killed many of them, and drove out the rest. Thus the Order became diffused through Magna Graecia and Greece proper.
As we have said, the Pythagoreans were a religious community, drawing their inspiration and doctrine from the mystical side of Greek religion. Their interest centered in the purification and the redemption of the soul from the taint of the physical and the prison of the body, in her final release from the wheel of transmigration and rebirth, and her reunion with the Divine. To effect these ends the Pythagoreans offered the old mystical means of ceremonial purgations and abstinences, the avoidance of certain food and clothing, and the performance of certain ritual acts. Among them, as among the adherents of all religions, there were many doubtless who stopped with the dead letter of observance, but there were doubtless many also who reached the spirit which gave them a new and deeper life.
The exact source of the Pythagorean religious mysticism is somewhat in dispute. It has been argued that just as the Orphics reformed and purified the older cult of Dionysus out of which they sprang, so the Pythagorean Society might be regarded as essentially a reformed branch of Orphism, which sought to correct and supplement the tendency towards mere ritualism and formalism in the parent body by emphasizing the need of a real rule of life, not only in outward observances, but in thought and meditation.1 But it has also been suggested that the fountainhead of Pythagoras' religious beliefs lay not so much in Orphism as in the worship of the Delian Apollo, who had become, like Dionysus, the center of a "religion of redemption" with mystical rites of purification dating back it may be to Minoan Crete.2
However that may be, the Order, in addition to enjoying the practice of a formal ritual of purification, like the Orphics and the Apollonian worship, also divided the sheep from the goats on broader and more spiritual lines than that of mere church membership. They distinguished three types of men in general; the lovers of pleasure and gain, the lovers of practical activity, competition, worldly success, and honor, and, best of all, the lovers of contemplation and wisdom, who were devoted to the knowledge of the highest and deepest things of life. In fact, the term "philosophy" or "love of wisdom" is reported to have been first used by Pythagoras. And it was perhaps this third way of life, inspired and devoted to the philosophic interest, rather than any mere routine of ceremonial abstinences and participation in sacraments, which he regarded as religion pure and undefiled, making clean the heart within and preparing the spirit for mystical salvation and reunion with the Godhead. Such a view receives support from the fact that for Plato, as we shall soon see, who was much influenced by Pythagorean ideas, philosophy had precisely this high and solemn office.
But whether the interest in scientific and philosophical investigation and speculation had in the eyes of the Pythagorean this religious value and function, or was simply, like the modern Jesuit's occupation with similar interests, additional and subsidiary to a central and separate religious life and experience, the fact of that interest is undoubted. Like the most distinguished and learned of modern religious orders, the Pythagoreans, also, were preëminent in their application to the problems of science—particularly of music, mathematics, medicine, and astronomy—and of philosophy.
The philosophy of the Pythagoreans is largely indebted to the Milesian School. Pythagoras is said to have been in his youth, before he left Samos, a pupil of Anaximander, and he was a contemporary of Anaximenes. Like Anaximander he believed that the substratum of all things was the Unlimited, but he seems to have characterized this Unlimited as Air, and like Anaximenes to have conceived the world as supported and animated by the inbreathing of this Air in the midst of which it floated.
Pythagorean science was also in part sprung from Milesian sources. The so-called "Pythagorean" proposition in geometry had already been debated in Miletus, and some of the astronomical ideas of the Order suggest the influence of Anaximander's theories.
The important and original contribution to philosophy comes, however, in connection with the Pythagorean answer to what we have called the Second Commandment of philosophy to show by what means and process all the richness and variety of the manifold and parti-colored world arises from the simple and undifferentiated World-Substance. Anaximander had suggested a process of separation of pairs of opposites, Anaximenes, one of condensation and rarefaction. The Pythagoreans hold in a way to Anaximander's notion of opposites, but these opposites are not conceived by them as eventually and secondarily produced within and by the Unlimited, like successive or even simultaneous births of dissimilar and quarrelsome twins. On the contrary, the opposition is a fundamental and eternal one, of one primary World-Principle with another. From all eternity, so to speak, the Unlimited finds itself confronted and conjoined with another Principle, that of Limit and Determination, which exists outside and beside it. It is only through the action of this Principle upon the Unlimited that the interminable vacancy and monotony of the latter can be broken up, and mapped, and plotted, and specified out into a world of separate, distinct, individual things, each fenced within the bounds of its particular and specific self. The world, then, is the result of the interaction of these two factors. In a word, the Universe is a measuring out or off of the Unlimited by the Limited.
But this is very vague. It leaves two questions pressing for an answer. In the first place, is there any rule for determining how much of the Unlimited must be measured out in order to make definite objects? And secondly, how can different kinds of objects all be composed of one and the same indeterminate stuff? What is the difference, for instance, between a receipt for a cat and that for a dog?
An answer to the first question was suggested to the Pythagoreans by their studies in music and medicine. They knew when they played the lyre that musical notes were vibrations imparted to the air by the quivering strings; and they were also familiar by experiment with the fact that those intervals in the scale which struck their ears as melodious and concordant were always associated with invariable arithmetical proportions in the length of one string to another. Further scrutiny showed them that the four perfectly concordant notes of which the lyre was capable were in such proportion that the two middle notes stood in the relation, also, of arithmetical means to the two extremes. The means, then, might be regarded as mixtures, according to an invariable arithmetical formula, of the extremes.
This notion of the mean as a balanced and harmonious mixture of opposites was reinforced by the Pythagoreans' medical theories. The body was obviously a combination of opposite qualities of dry here, and moist there, of heat in one place, and coolness in another. When these qualities were harmoniously balanced, when there was a "happy" mean of hot and cold, etc., the body was healthy and perfect and in a state of well-being. If there was a disturbance of the balance and one opposite upset the proportion by excess or deficiency, then there was disease.
The application of these studies in music and medicine to the philosophical situation was obvious enough. It was but a short, easy step to say that all sound, solid, clear-cut things owe, like healthy bodies, their definite and articulate nature to a harmony and balance of the factors which compose and sustain them. Every object was a correct and shapely mean between extremes of possible lopsidedness and deformity in one direction or another. The Universe, then, was the stable and well ordered, the neatly mapped and plotted and fenced affair it was, because to each of its component parts, to each cat, and dog, and tree, and blade of grass, "just enough" for that particular kind of thing, and not "too much" or "too little" had been allotted.
We should by this time be almost prepared for the answer which the Pythagoreans gave to the second question—the question which asks by what principle that balanced and happy "middle term" which means the lithe and purring cat, is differentiated from that golden mean which manifests itself in the faithful, barking watch-dog. The reply might almost rise to our lips unprompted. The measure of the one is different from the measure of the other. Each thing is a specific number, a specific amount, of the Indeterminate. Every kind of object has its own particular, mathematically expressible receipt or formula. The differences between things are then essentially differences in amount and number. In a word, the Limited, the Principle of Determination which divides up and lays out the Unlimited as an ordered and definite Universe is Number, and different things are, if one looks beyond their faces into their hearts, really nothing but different Numbers.
Before relegating this doctrine to the realm of fantastic and incomprehensible theories, let us stop and ponder it a moment. When we think of a number we generally have in mind simply the Roman or Arabic numeral by which we sum it up and symbolize it. For instance, if we think of the number "eight" there comes before our eyes simply the figure 8, or VIII. But this figure is nothing in itself. It stands for something, for eight something, or at least for eight anything. It means among other things the ability to point your finger at a line of objects and count them out. This line may be a line of all sorts of things, or, if one is abstractedly minded, it may be simply a line of plots or positions in empty space which things might occupy. But in any case the plot of space occupied by the series is the sum, so to speak, of the plots occupied by each member of the line.
Or, again, any one of the plots occupied by any member of the series may be subdivided into smaller plots that shrink eventually into...
(The entire section is 5455 words.)