Pherekydes the Syrian, son of Babys,
was a fabulous theologian but a lousy man.
In fact, they say that towards the end of his days
Pythagoras came back to visit his teacher
who would only speak to him from behind a door.
“Are you sick, father of my soul, and if so is it something
that can be cured by geometry or melodic singing?”
“Judge for yourself,” came the feeble voice,
followed by the man’s finger, eaten to the bone by lice.
“Tetraktys!” Apollo’s blessed swore,
and emptied his belly all over the philosopher’s door.
“How on earth are you still living?”
A wet, rattling laugh and then he answered,
“Poorly. Very poorly. Would you like to know why?”
Pythagoras nodded, “More than I crave political power or beans!”
Pherekydes cleared his phlegmy throat and intoned:
Hearken to my words as I proclaim that there is
a renowned way
of the goddess,
which leads the man who knows through all the towns.
On that way was I borne along; for on it did the wise steeds carry me,
drawing my car, and maidens showed the way.
And the axle, glowing in the socket—
for it was urged round by the whirling
wheels at each end—gave forth a sound as of a pipe,
when the daughters of the Sun, hasting to convey me into the light,
threw back their veils from off their faces and left the abode of Night.
There are the gates of the ways of Night and Day,
fitted above with a lintel and below with a threshold of stone.
They themselves, high in the air, are closed by mighty doors,
and Avenging Justice keeps the keys that fit them.
Her did the maidens entreat with gentle words
and cunningly persuade to unfasten without demur the bolted bars
from the gates. Then, when the doors were thrown back,
they disclosed a wide opening,
when their brazen posts fitted with rivets and nails
swung back one after the other. Straight through them,
on the broad way, did the maidens guide the horses and the car,
and the goddess greeted me kindly, and took
my right hand in hers, and spake to me these words:
Welcome, O youth, that comest to my abode on the car
that bears thee tended by immortal charioteers!
It is no ill chance, but right and justice that has sent thee forth to travel
on this way. Far, indeed, does it lie from the beaten track of men!
Meet it is that thou shouldst learn all things,
as well the unshaken heart of well-rounded truth,
as the opinions of mortals in which is no true belief at all.
Yet none the less shalt thou learn these things also,—how passing right
through all things one should judge the things that seem to be.
With this knowledge thou shalt make thyself immortal.
Pherekydes coughed, and concluded,
“Immortal, aye. But the goddess said nothing of youth or vitality.”
And before he could finish,
Pythagoras fled in terror,
taking up residence in Italy,
and vowing never to return to Ephesian soil.
