A true mystic can break through the illusion of appearance and experience beneath-the-surface reality. And Pythagoras was just such a mystic. He had been able to pull back the veil and look past the façade of the physical world, where he discovered the underlying principles or structures of reality. Like a boy taking apart a watch, he was able to perceive the cogs and gears that made the watch tick.
What Pythagoras discovered was that the language of this implicate, unseen order of the universe was mathematics—the transcendent set of principles that could explain the relationship and structure of the innermost workings of the universe. The underlying level of reality couldn't be seen by the human eye, but it was accessible to the mind and intelligible to the human intellect via the transcendent principles of mathematics. Thus, mathematics not only made the universe tick, but also was—is—the language of God. Math is, in effect, the operating software of cosmic existence.
But as I've already mentioned, Pythagoras's idea of mathematics was very different from ours.
For example, what do you think of when I say the number one? Or two? Or three? We tend to view numbers as ways to quantify, or count, things. But for Pythagoras numbers were a living, qualitative reality that had to be approached experientially. Where we use numbers to represent things, for Pythagoras, numbers were universal principles.
Because Pythagoras also believed that science possessed a sacred dimension—a notion that would be considered quite radical today—numbers were not only seen as universal principles, but divine ones as well. And it was through the understanding of the universal principles of numbers that one could begin to understand—indeed, to conceptualize —the unity of the universe.
So, for example, one was not just a number (and not just “the loneliest number,” thank you very much, Three Dog Night); instead, one represented the monad, or unity. Thus, one represented the principle of unity and the causal source from which all things arose. In that relational sense, the idea of two, the dyad, represented duality, the emergence of subject and object, and the beginning of multiplicity. Are you beginning to see how this works?
Multiplicity for Pythagoras was the beginning of strife, the tension between two objects (as many a husband or wife would agree). Yet it was also the possibility of logos, the Greek concept of the relation of one thing to another. (Some have compared the Greek logos to the Asian idea of the Tao and the tension between two objects to yin and yang.)
And what about the number three? What was behind the relational idea of three, the triad? With the advent of the triad, the gulf of dualism was bridged through the joining together of the two extremes by the third in harmonia—harmony.
And harmony was very important to Pythagoras.
He believed that these universal ideas or concepts could be expressed musically. By sitting around and strumming on a lyre (the ancient Greek equivalent of a guitar), he discovered the interplay between ratios and harmonic frequency. He was able to figure out that if you half the length of a string, it would produce a note that was one octave higher. Today, in music theory classes, the mad, mystical Pythagoras is credited with having developed the theory of musical scales.
But Pythagoras went further.
He believed that these musical, mathematical, vibrational aspects weren't just limited to his lyre, but represented the essence of how the entire universe operated. In turn, he developed what has come to be called the Music of the Spheres, which is his description of the “cosmic harmony” of the universe.
This idea that the whole universe has a vibrational, mathematical, and, indeed, a musical aspect is not too far afield from modern super-string theory. As physicist Brian Greene, credited as one of the founders of super-string theory and author of the best-selling Elegant Universe (2004) describes it: “According to superstring theory, every particle is composed of a tiny filament of energy . . . which is shaped like a little string. And just as a violin string can vibrate in different patterns, each of which produces different musical tone, the filaments of superstring theory can also vibrate in different patterns.”
It seems that Pythagoras was on to something.
But as I asked before, how did this old philosopher—with-out the benefit of any modern equipment, such as computers, telescopes, or electron microscopes, but just sitting in a cave in ancient Greece over twenty-five hundred years ago—somehow intuit a sense of the universe that is very much in agreement with the discoveries of our most brilliant modern theoretical physicists?
Well, I'll tell you how Pythagoras believed that he did it. He believed that through his Bios Pythagorikos, individuals could purify themselves—in effect, retune themselves in order to be more in alignment with this universal harmony. If individuals were “in tune,” then they were healthy, happy, and balanced, since they were aligned properly with the Big Universal Harmony. And when one was aligned with the big beat of the cosmic harmony and had achieved what the mystics called mystical union (enlightenment), well, then, that's where all the answers live. Some Zen sticklers might chime in that there are no answers because there are no questions in that realm, but the point is, one would become one with (and thus aware of) everything.
As I've mentioned, Pythagoras claimed that he was actually able to hear this universal vibration—literally. He compared those of us unable to hear the universal vibration to blacksmiths in a noisy shop, where the loud clanging of metal interfered with the blacksmith's ability to hear anything else. If we could quiet the clanging, we could hear all sorts of other things, including the universe itself. I guess you could say that Pythagoras's idea of tuning into the universe was similar to what yogis or Buddhist monks say they're able to do through mediation—stop the chatter of their minds and thus become attuned to the universe or to the minute functioning of their own cells.
Some might find all this shocking to hear, because when most people hear “Greek philosophy,” they think of logic and reason. All of this stuff about hearing the universe vibrating and contemplations on music—well, it all sounds “illogical,” to quote our old friend Mr. Spock. But it wasn't so much illogical, or even irrational, as it was beyond logical and beyond rational.
Adding to the wacky fun, Pythagoras also strongly believed in metempsychoses, or the “transmigration of souls.” That's reincarnation to you and me. Not only did he believe in it, but he was allegedly able to vividly recall past lives and felt that the development of a strong memory was critically important so that a person could recall the lessons learned from past lives (see “Old-School Holistic: The Bios Pythagorikos” in chapter 10). It's this belief in reincarnation that's believed to have played an important role in his rather strict dietary prescriptions of semivegetarianism and his taboo against eating beans.
Beans? Semivegetarianism? I know, I know, I've got some ’splaining to do. Being a semivegetarian meant that Pythagoreans rarely ate meat, and when they did, it was usually related to a sacrificial ritual, in which case there were prescriptions against eating certain parts of the sacrificed animal. Sure, it might seem a little contradictory to not kill animals due to a belief in reincarnation while then slaughtering the occasional lamb or goat on the sacrificial altar. But hey, religion, philosophy, and science were all intertwined back in those days; occasionally, those strange bedfellows would make for odd and inbred outcomes like animal-sacrificing vegetarians. Cosmically aware metaphysicians or not, the Pythagoreans still had to offer the Olympic gods their sacrificial props once in a while.
Even though I think that most people today get the reasons behind the vegetarianism (although the sacrificial thing might be a bit of a stretch), the bean prohibition might raise a few eyebrows. I mean, really, what's the harm in eating a few beans, one might justifiably ask? Well, according to Pythagoras's brand of reincarnation, beans sometimes have the life force as well, so eating them was a no-no.
Some historians have also speculated that perhaps Pythagoras was anti-bean for health reasons. This might be a valid explanation, since Pythagoras was consumed (no gastronomical pun intended) with dietary habits that helped keep a person clear-headed and alert. Indeed, it was for those clear-headed reasons that he was opposed to drinking alcohol or eating foods that could make one sluggish. So in addition to perceiving beans as soul-bearing vessels, given Pythagoras's emphasis on a healthy diet, it's possible that he was anti-bean because of beans, um, rather gaseous gastronomical effects, which can make people sluggish and less than nimble on their feet.
Most historians have attributed these reincarnation and dietary beliefs to Pythagoras's time spent traveling and studying in Egypt and Babylon. One can easily see in many of the Pythagorean customs the ways of the ancient Egyptians and Babylonians, including their belief in reincarnation, their refusal to eat beans, and their belief in the purification of the soul through rigorous intellectual and ethical practices.
While it's quite plausible that Pythagoras did indeed absorb these exotic esoteric beliefs during his many travels, he shaped these ideas and beliefs into a system that would become distinctly his own. And this distinctly flavored Pythagoreanism would, in turn, greatly influence one of the most important people that have ever walked the earth: Plato.
This contemplative exercise deals with the Music of the Spheres, Pythagoras's notion that the vibrational aspect of the universe actually created a form of cosmic music. For this exercise, you will be asked to go to the website “World Science” (www.world-science.net), which features information about asteroseismology, a branch of astronomy that actually detects and records the imperceptible-to-the-human-ear “music” that various stars or galactic bodies make.
Astronomer Donald Kurtz from the University of Central Lancashire in Preston, U.K., explains how during the 1970s, astronomers discovered that “the sun and other stars do actually ‘sing.’” According to Kurtz, stars produce a ghostly whistling, drumming, humming, or rumbling sound through their frequencies, or speeds of vibration, but those sounds must be artificially boosted to bring them into human hearing range.
“Stars have natural vibrations that are sound waves, just as musical instruments do,” Kurtz explains. “In the case of an instrument such as a horn, the cause of the vibrations is the musician blowing on the horn and buzzing his or her lips at a frequency that matches the natural vibrations of the horn. For the star, the vibrations start by changes in the passage of energy from the nuclear inferno in the heart of the star on its way to the surface, and escape into space.”
In 2005, researchers published a paper noting that a massive quake had left a neutron star vibrating like a bell, creating a note corresponding to what we would designate as F sharp. Early in 2006, scientists reported that not only do stars vibrate musically, but the entire Milky Way is also oscillating in a manner very similar to a drumhead.
For this meditation, you must first go to the website “World Science,” (www.world-science.net/othernews/060809_spheres.htm), and listen to the first three very brief (only several seconds each) asteroseismological downloads produced by the website and England's Sheffield Hallam University. If, for any reason, you cannot access this website, do a Google search for “astereseismology” and access any available downloads of interstellar sounds. If it is not possible to find asteroseismological music, then simply listen to any gently rhythmic or repeating music (tribal or New Age can work well).
If you have been able to access the “World Science” website: The first download is a recording of HR3831, a new class of star with a powerful magnetic field that pulses every 11.7 minutes. The second is a recording of Xi-hydrae, an old star in the constellation Hydra that creates a sound very reminiscent of African drumming. The third recording is of a “dead” white dwarf star fifty light years away from earth, in Centaurus.
Next, sit in quiet, meditative repose, as you have done in the earlier contemplations, while you play the final download, called Stellar Music No. 1 by Jenõ Keuler and Zoltán Kolláth. It is the first piece of music ever composed for stellar instruments. (If you have not been able to access the “World Science” stellar music, then play whatever rhythmic music you were able to obtain.)
As you listen to this galactic music, try and visualize—or, more appropriately, try and experience —the vibration of the music of the spheres. As you sit and become aware of the music, try to use your higher mind to visualize or conceptualize the music as the infinitesimal vibrations of string theory described by Brian Greene.
As you continue to listen to this cosmic symphony, try and listen or feel the harmony and vibration within your own body. Feel the vibrations of the body's tens of billions of cells, which are comprised of an almost infinite number of atoms that are themselves comprised of tiny vibrating little filaments, all coming together to create the symphony that is uniquely you.
Next, turn your attention outwards. As the music continues to play, try and actually feel the vibration of not only your own being, but also of the entire universe. Try, in fact, to entrain these two frequencies —that is, try and attune your own vibration with that of the larger cosmic rhythm.
When you're done, sit for several more moments and become aware of how you feel. Now look around the room again; do you experience it any differently? Feel free to write down any of these initial thoughts and feelings, as writing them down will help you to process this experience.