#Pythagoreanism

[pink-lemonade-rose]

In a well-known excursus in the tenth book of the Geography, Strabo explains the place of music in orgiastic ritual. He distinguishes types of festivals according to the role within them of divine possession, [mousike], and mystic elements. Mystic concealment, he argues, induces reverence, and [mousike] brings us in touch with the divine. Strabo goes on to speak of music as the foundation of education and also as a way of imitating the gods. The Muses themselves, he points out, are goddesses (10.3.10); and the Pythagoreans regarded all music as the work of the gods, teaching that the cosmos was constituted according to the principle of musical harmony. He asserts a common Greek association of "everything orgiastic, Bacchic, choric...and mystic," with Dionysus, Apollo, Hecate, the Muses, and Demeter; he notes choric activity as a feature common to all these cults [...].

Alex Hardie, "Muses and Mysteries"

[porphurios]

Tetractys-Decad and diagram of the harmonic scale intervals from the tablet beside Pythagoras in The School of Athens by Raphael

[omegaphilosophia]

The Philosophy of The Number One

The philosophy of the number one is a branch of philosophy that explores the nature and meaning of the number one, its role in mathematical and logical systems, and its relation to other concepts and phenomena. Some of the key questions in the philosophy of the number one include:

What is the nature of the number one? Is it a real object, a mental construct, or something else entirely?

How is the number one used in mathematical and logical systems? What is its role in these systems?

How does the number one relate to other mathematical concepts, such as zero, infinity, and negative numbers?

What is the significance of the number one in philosophical discussions of unity, identity, and existence?

What can we learn about the nature of reality by studying the properties and uses of the number one?

Philosophers have explored these questions through a variety of approaches, including logic, metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy of mathematics.

Some theories related to the philosophy of the number one include:

Monism: This is the philosophical view that everything in the universe can be reduced to a single substance or principle. In this sense, the number one can be seen as the ultimate unity that underlies all things.

Neo-Platonism: This philosophical system posits that there is a hierarchy of being, with the ultimate reality being a single, indivisible entity known as "the One." In this view, the number one is seen as a reflection or symbol of this ultimate reality.

Pythagoreanism: The Pythagoreans believed that numbers were the fundamental building blocks of the universe, and that the number one represented the origin and unity of all things.

Platonism: According to Plato, the number one is a perfect and eternal entity that exists outside of the physical world. It is the source of all other numbers and mathematical concepts.

Numerology: This is a mystical belief system that assigns spiritual or symbolic significance to numbers, including the number one. In numerology, the number one is often associated with new beginnings, independence, and creativity.

These are just a few examples of theories related to the philosophy of the number one. Other philosophical systems and traditions may have different interpretations or uses for the concept of unity and the number one.

[ciltilladeltilla]

A quasi-Pythagorean cult earns staying power, and mathematics enters common culture as a side-effect of standardized music. This produces a culture where we'd be looked at funny for supposing a difference between inventing and discovering something, one with instruments and wagers where we might expect theorems and conjectures, and where proving a statement is viewed as a quintessentially performative act.

The learned are expected to master something among the five classes of instrument, but apprenticeship gives way to dabbling and hybridization the more community pools in one area. For many this is simply aesthetic, a sign of one's pedigree. Skill level is marked by demonstrating certain facts with one's tools, analogous to how practiced musicians can execute études. The million-dollar, world-class proofs are sometimes kept secret entirely, just so the powerful can see when a prodigy is really walking in the footsteps of the Greats. If you managed to steal one of these safeguarded proofs and make sense of it, the composition would look like this.

Beneath this system, each class of instruments bears in it a certain outlook on patterns in the world and our capacity to find and understand them, and people who specialize in one lose some ability to 'speak the language' of the others. Certain combinations of these people are highly valuable because they're specialized across so many areas, but it's hard to make them gel; plenty of bright-eyed pupils attempt to form one only to learn how separate their social spheres really become as they specialize.

Additionally there are a small but consistent crop of outsider artists who dabble in nonclassical logics or half-baked combinations, and who try to weave the five competing system-types into a landscape, or the fingers of a higher-dimensional eschaton.

[croutoneater69]

restarting Pythagoreanism pls join

[h0bg0blin-meat]

Here's the link to the video

👏 SAY 👏 IT 👏 LOUDER 👏

[soulsinnerstatues]

According to Hierocles, when we encounter a position that we know is incorrect, we receive the benefit of being able to reflect on how we escaped the error.

Of course, when we reflect, there is a small chance that we will realize the other person was right and be embarrassed.

We've all been in both places.

Text reads: “We must be able to refute falsehoods and to do this without being vehement or haughty; rather we must pursue the truth with gentleness and refute falsehood with gracious methods of argumentation, ‘gently withdrawing’, as the poem says here. ‘And if some falsehood be told’, we should not concede that it is as said but listen without getting angry. For ‘take it lightly’ does not mean we have to assent to falsehood, but rather that we lend a tolerant ear and not be ‘perplexed’ if there are certain people who have fallen away from the truth to their harm.” Hierocles, Commentary on the golden verses of Pythagoras, trans. Hermann S. Schibli. Background is a keyboard, with hands typing.

[389]

Scientific future by Valentino Bellucci

[shalomniscient]

jingliu angst where she only tolerates you cus u remind her of baiheng sjjahagsab im dead

[nsft utc]

tw. mentions of vomiting (?), unhealthy/toxic dynamic, identity loss

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

it began back on your home planet, ravaged and carved by interastral powers of all its resources, leaving behind a gnawing, gaping hole in the ground and the hearts and bellies of its people. you once mourned your more normal childhood—but the hunger in your stomach and in your soul consumed that too. your meals were few and far between, snatched from the hands of other starving husks, and it was the only joy you ever had as a child. the trickery and the thrill. it’s the only joy you get to keep into adulthood, a twisted elation that grants you a place in the cosmic court of jesters; the masked fools.

it’s—predictably—fun. trickery and thrill are the bread and butter of the fools. your mask affords you many, many opportunities for both, and though you have never had your belly achingly empty since, that hunger in your soul is not so easily sated. now, what you crave is the rush, the adrenaline, the oxytocin. and so you dance on marble floors with a different face each time, with partners who either wish you dead or in their beds, the space between you measured in an unfathomable amount of risk which you exchange for an unfathomable amount of thrill. you scamper along the length of this cosmic ballroom like a starving, feral fox in tall grass, the red of your fur as inviting as the white of your teeth are sharp. you hunt and you haunt, seeking something to fit between your aching teeth, something that will burst on the sharp point of your canines and smear your lips with pure elation and maybe satisfy that abyssal hunger in your psyche.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

and you have never seen more tantalizing a meal than a devil with a coffin and a woman who seeks to kill a god. she holds the tip of a ice-hewn blade beneath your chin the first time you meet, nicking the delicate skin of your neck, just above your pulse. you swallow. let out a laugh that sounds like a barking fox, and the woman’s sword falters. surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to convince her to let you tag along on her fool’s errand. it’s almost poetic. you learn of her name—jingliu. it’s pretty. rolls off your tongue. jingliu doesn’t bother to learn yours, but she calls you fox. you don’t mind the scrap of attention. after all, you’ve spent your whole life living off scraps.

travelling with jingliu (and by extension, luocha) does not lack for excitement. the road to deicide is paved with elation, even if your blue-haired companion refuses to see it. through battle and through the long travel between star systems in pursuit of the great fleet, you get somewhat closer to jingliu. it doesn’t take very long for you to slip into her bedroll (or cot, depending where you are). mara, you find, though cannot be cured can certainly be sated; much like the permanent hunger that curls in your belly. jingliu fucks you until neither of you are coherent enough to feel much of anything, madness or hunger. it’s an arrangement you find yourself enjoying. and as a by-product of such intimacy, you learn more about jingliu. her mannerisms, her illness—her past. she doesn’t tell you any of this, of course, but you can put two and two together from the things she lets slip deep in the throes of some nightmare after fucking you senseless. she gets many of those. the pattern is always the same. at first, she’ll sleep relatively soundly. but then, her brow creases, and her lip curls, and she angrily mutters a few names under her breath; a certain dan feng and yingxing. she curses them, then almost makes a noise like a sob, and something else leaves her lips— another name, but this time spoken with heartache and longing.

baiheng.

it doesn’t take much to infer that this baiheng was someone jingliu cared very much about. though when you ask luocha more about her, he reveals a little detail that makes her moderately more interesting—baiheng was a foxian. in some ways, that makes you similar to her, even though foxian you are not. the thought amused you once, as you looked back upon jingliu’s restless, sleeping form. perhaps jingliu saw her lost lover in you. how… quaint. the assumption never bother you, not really—until she starts to call for baiheng while she’s fucking you.

you’re no stranger to casual sex. even before jingliu, you never lacked for partners eager to share a bed with you. no, the fucking itself isn’t the problem—it’s how she’s fucking you. it isn’t with the detachment and pure lust like you’re used to. instead it’s almost like she cares, hands gentle on your hips as she drives her cock in and out of your greedy cunt. she fills you like she never wants for you to want for anything anymore, and even though you know it isn’t you this affection is for, that jingliu is barely even aware that you’re you and not baiheng, you can’t help but devour it feverishly every time.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and like this, with jingliu’s cock filling your pussy as she deliriously presses the shape of a dead woman’s name against your neck, you finally feel full.

and it makes you sick.

you crawl out of her embrace and spill your guts every time she falls asleep. your body utterly rejects the feeling—you’ve been so used to starving that the sensation of being full turns you ill. and yet, you can’t seem to push her away. you always come back, always relax under her touch, always pliant for her just to chase that brief, beautiful high you’ve never been able to find anywhere else only to bleed it once she’s done. your heart’s a pythagorean cup; a little too much and you’re spilling over. but you’re so greedy for it, still greedy for her. of all things it is affection that’s the most potent drug you’ve ever tasted, beyond the cheap thrill of oxytocin and adrenaline—even if none of it is meant for you, even if it’s just scraps. but that’s fine.

after all—you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and if that means wearing the face of a dead woman and letting the hunger finally devour you whole, then so be it.

[zytes]

9.16.24 / 9.17.24 - september supermoon

[seattlewalls]

[dissociache]

[freakbill]

Bill x Pythagoras /j

"get your hand of my base you 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴"

[official-lucifers-child]

welcome to the next instalment of “i already learnt this topic in my past physics class so i am going to daydream after finishing the packet” today we’re starting on force vectors in 2 directions at the same time, instead of just 1 direction. big news for 2-D individuals worldwide!!

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Fyodor Andreyevich Bronnikov (Russian, 1827-1902) Pythagorean hymn to the rising sun, 1869 State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[locusfandomtime]

thoughts?