Pyrrhiad Book I

Sing me, muse, of two men who lived as gods.
So many were the lands through which they passed,
So many were the minds from which they learned,
While they adventured far away from Greece
To Egypt, Persia, even India;
For of these two one wished to rule it all,
Whereas the other ever yearned to know.
First Alexander, King of Makedōn,
Whose fame will last as long as men shall live.
Just as a huge wave crashes on the shore
And smashes all before it when the earth
Afar is shaken by Poseidon’s rage:
So Alexander broke upon the East,
Forever changing all within his wake.
Then, second, sing me too of one who lived
Unknown, yet rivalled Zeus for happiness.
Although he conquered nothing in his path,
His path led him to conquering within,
To mastery of no one but himself.
From Elis, the Epeians’ land, he came;
Son of Pleistarchos, Pyrrho was his name.

O muse, come be my ally, for I doubt
The texture of the tale I dare to tell:
Its warp and woof are lost within the past,
Beyond recovery, uncertain, dim;
By now its dappled details cannot be
Defined with clarity; so, uninclined
To this interpretation or to that,
I flow within the stream of what has been
And joy to tell the story of a world
Now past in which such giants dared to tread.
Dread goddess, Zeus’ daughter, let us start
When Pyrrho first in youth took mind to heart.

Before then art had been his sole pursuit:
His skill lay in the work of paints and forms
To please and fool the eye with semblances
Of what is real. His hero in the art,
Zeuxis of Heraclea, once portrayed
Some grapes so true to life that hungry birds
Flew down to forage in his studio.
Though Pyrrho, too, had wished to walk that road,
The love of wisdom proved a stronger goad.

Democritus of Abdera it was
Who fired within his soul the drive to know.
Far north in Thrace lay wealthy Abdera,
Upon the main across from Thassos fair.
The town grew rich from trade along the coast,
With Makedōn, with Persia to the east,
With all the isles, with kingdoms to the north.
Gold, timber, kine, and olive oil passed
Through its twin harbors, off to far-flung lands.
The family of Democritus found wealth
There, too, along with fellow Adberites.
The town gave lavish host to Darius
When he invaded Greece, and then when he
Returned to Persia after he had lost:
He shamed them twice, and double did it cost.

To such great wealth Democritus was heir.
He could have spent it all on pomps and shows,
On pleasures, and on influence with kings.
Instead he traveled far and wide to learn
All that he could: with priests of Egypt he
Conferred, astronomers in Babylon,
Wise magi at the Persian court, and great
Philosophers throughout the Grecian lands.
Yet know that most of these stayed put at home,
To hone whatever wisdom they knew best;
Democritus, by contrast, came to them
Alone to research, study, and converse,
To gain whatever knowledge he could glean
About the things we see and things unseen.

Inspired by far-famed Democritus -
His books, thoughts, journeys, and sagacity -
Young Pyrrho went to see the one he knew
In Elis to be wise, the only friend
Of Socrates still looking on the sun:
Phaedo, who had been present in his youth
When Socrates was made to drain the cup
Of hemlock and to thereby end his life
Of questioning both others and himself.
When all the friends of Socrates then fled
From Athens, Phaedo came back home again
To know the good and form the best of men.

So Pyrrho ventured forth to Phaedo’s house
And searchingly he spoke in winged words:
“O best of men and wisest here by far,
I come to share in thought and seek advice.
Pleistarchos is my father - dear to me,
And dear as well to all in Elis here,
Whose line for generations stretches back
To when Diores, shepherd of the people,
Led forth the men of Elis to the shores
Of windy Ilion - when all of Greece
Adventured north to bring back Helen and
To sack the sacred citadel of Troy,
And thence to gather everlasting fame.
Thus far our line; and Pyrrho is my name.”

Then Phaedo answered with both thought and care:
“O Pyrrho son of Pleistarchos, well met.
You speak with insight far beyond your years,
And yet you say you come in wisdom’s need.
Many are those from whom I too have learned
Among the friends of Socrates and from
The man himself, who turned me to the path
Of wisdom when I once was near your age.
So long philosophy has been my task;
And I will try to answer what you ask.”

“O Phaedo,” said the younger man, “although
Your words do honor me far in excess
Of any worth I have, they swell the heart
Within my breast that reaches out to know.
The city fathers have entrusted me
To paint a mural on the walls of our
Gymnasium; it happens that last week
I overheard some students there recite
Out from a book Democritus once wrote
And then converse about what they had heard.
It seems he thought that, in reality,
All that exists is atoms and the void,
Whereas it’s by convention that we say
A thing is sweet or bitter, hot or cold.
I marvel at these puzzling statements, too,
And wonder if indeed they can be true.”

Then Phaedo said: “My mentor, Socrates,
Would often say that wonder is the start
On any road that leads to wisdom’s love,
And so your journey seems quite well begun.
Now, as to understanding what is true,
I can attest that it’s a lifelong quest.
Indeed Democritus himself once said
That neither skill nor wisdom can be had
Unless you learn. And yet that learning is
But half the race, for what you come to know
Must be applied in action and in thought,
Else you will never gain what you have sought.”

Yet Pyrrho, all aflame for learning truth,
Pressed forward in his zeal and spoke again
In winged words: “O Phaedo, well I know
That of Eleans you are thought most wise.
Instruction in the truth is what I seek,
A teacher who can give me answers, clear
My doubts, and wash away all youthful fear.”

Then gently redirecting Pyrrho’s zeal,
Old Phaedo spoke again with thought and care:
“I wish it were as easy as you think:
Not even Socrates could teach such truth!
Young Pyrrho, you may be aware that there
Are certain tiny animals that, though
They sting us, leave no mark upon the skin;
It’s only in the swelling of the flesh
That we can know their bite, so subtle and
Deceptive is their power. Just so is our
Experience when dealing with the wise:
You will not know precisely when or how
The benefit from being with them came,
But slowly you will know it in the end.
You do not need a teacher, but a friend.”

So Phaedo said, but Pyrrho wondered why:
“I fail to see how that can be enough:
The dearest friend can bring the greatest pleasure,
But what we seek is wisdom beyond measure.”

With understanding Phaedo gave reply:
“A teacher teaches you to be like him;
A friend befriends you since you are yourself
And guides you to become more what you are.
Here Socrates can help us see the way.
For many were his friends in thoughtful speech,
And many are the schools he helped to birth.
The first of these in fame is Plato’s group,
Which gathers at the grove of Academe.
The man himself is known throughout all Greece
For dialogues that feature Socrates,
Although the words that he ascribes are not
The words of Socrates himself; instead
They all too often represent ideas
That Plato had on justice, knowledge, beauty,
The nature of the good, and most of all
His theory of the forms beyond this world.
Though Plato has been dead for several years,
Speusippus now still treads upon his path
And keeps the school alive, assisted by
Xenocrates and others of like mind.
Consider, then, another of the friends
Of Socrates: Antisthenes, far-famed
For the simplicity with which he lived.
Not given to such flights as Plato took,
He emulated Socrates more in
The manner of his dress and of his speech.
He lectured just outside the city walls,
Especially before the lower sort
Who trained there near the grounds of Herakles.
Diogenes, that doglike man, who lived
Upon the streets of Athens and who mocked
Alike the leaders and the citizens,
Drew inspiration from Antisthenes,
But took it farther than most think he ought.
Then third among the schools my mentor spawned
Is that of Aristippus. Pleasure is,
He said, the goal of life, which Socrates
Contested to the end, and yet remained
His friend. Though Aristippus now is gone,
It’s said his daughter Aretē maintains
The school he started far across the sea
Upon the eastern coast of Libya.
Then yet another school of thought was formed
In Megara by Euclid, who so yearned
To learn from Socrates that after dark
He’d sneak across the border into Athens
Dressed as a woman, in those days when men
From Megara were strictly disallowed.
He held the good to be unchanging, one,
Eternal, like Parmenides of old.
Though Euclid, too, has passed away, his school
Continues there in Megara, where men
Like Ichthyas, Thrasymachus, and Stilpo
Pursue together still his line of thought.
And then there is the group that friends and I
Have grown in Elis here for many years.
As with all of the others we pursue
A life of greater wisdom and explore
The nature of the world in which we live.
For us, we try to follow on the path
That Socrates laid down when first he held
That what is good is that which is most true.
Amazing though it seems that Socrates
Could help to bring so many ways of thought
Into the world, it’s no surprise to those
Who knew him, for his mother Phainarétē
Was well-respected there in Athens as
A holy priestess and a doctor who
Would minister to women, safely bringing
Their children from the womb into the world.
And is this not what Socrates did, too?
His greatest skill was not to teach, but reach
In each of his friends’ souls with thought and care
To help bring forth divinest wisdom there.”

Then quiet, pensive, Pyrrho gave reply:
“O Phaedo, you have given much upon
Which to reflect - for this you have my thanks.
For now I think that I must ponder well
Upon the generous words that you have shared.
I see things aren’t as simple as they seem,
And that the path to wisdom might be long.
I hope that when I’m ready we may speak
Again to find the insight that I seek.”

So Pyrrho spoke, and Phaedo gave reply:
“Well met I say again, young friend, well met.
Whenever you may think that it is best,
Come back and then be hosted as my guest.”

When the light of the flaming sun went down,
Then all of Elis slept the whole night long;
And yet the dream-sweet ease of sleep came not
To Pyrrho, deeply troubled in his heart.
As ocean waters swell when western winds
Contend against the shore in sudden squalls;
The winds whack wave on wave to wicked whitecaps,
The breakers rage and roar with foam untold:
So thought on thought came crashing in his mind
And roiled the glassy surface of his soul.
The Pleiades had set, deep in the night,
When in the end sleep overcame his eyes.
Then images began to form and move
Within his mind, concocting vivid dreams.
The goddess both of wisdom and of war,
Athena spoke to him in winged words:
“O Pyrrho, if it’s wisdom that you seek,
Then you will need to venture far from home.
In many lands are those who worship me,
And under many guises, many names.
No one of them has nearly all the truth,
For I have scattered that which can be known
As widely as the farmers sow their seeds
Of barley and of wheat when in the spring
They plant and work for harvests in the fall.
Consider too that father Zeus who rules
All earth and sky below his golden seat
Upon the highest peak of great Olympos
Rains not in equal portions everywhere:
To some at times he brings the scalding heat
That parches crops before they can be reaped,
To others floods that wash away the soil,
To others bitter cold when seedlings freeze.
Just so it is when wisdom is the plant
That humans cultivate: no city of
Mere mortal men can be the perfect place
In culture, people, schools, or governance
To harvest all that men can come to know.
Thus hard and distant travels are your fate,
If wisdom is the way of life you choose.
And yet be reassured that on your path
One goddess will be always at your side
To guide your feet and counsel you in mind.
But now farewell: choose wisely and choose well.”
And so it was the grey-eyed goddess spoke
In dreams to Pyrrho while his body slept;
Yet when he woke her words came back in full
To pull him forward from the life he knew
Toward a quest whose path was ever new.

When Dawn once more her golden throne did mount,
Then Pyrrho rose, all stirred within his soul.
He straightaway set out for Phaedo’s house,
Endeavoring to settle, as he went,
The thoughts that came unbidden to his mind.
Because his family’s home lay in the hills
Outside of town, the walk afforded him
Much time to contemplate within his heart
The journey that Athena had proposed:
“I wonder now what will become of me;
For surely nothing keeps me from the search
For wisdom here with Phaedo and his friends,
Since all of them seem well disposed to truth.
Yet still, why does my heart debate these things?
Athena made it clear to me that, of
The cities where great knowledge is pursued,
No one of them has nearly all the truth.
Thus hard and distant travels are my fate.
But just as when an army ventures forth
To battle far from home with distant foes,
I too must train in instruments of thought,
Becoming skilled in dialogue so I
Can benefit from other, wiser men.
Thus here in Phaedo’s school will I prepare
Myself before I travel far away.”
So weighing in his mind the merits of
These thoughts, he, finding balance, then resolved
To spend the time remaining in his youth
On training in the search for ageless truth.

[work in progress, to be continued]