Pythagorean Silence

Pythagoras was much more than just the triangle-dude. From some accounts he was fully enlightened — possibly even an arahant — and may well have achieved Buddhahood. Some reports describe his ability to observe others’ past lives, a faculty that is attainable through advanced occult practices but also naturally available to a Buddha.

Pythagoras established a well-known esoteric order, and his teachings, shrouded in secrecy, endured for several generations — wrapped quite literally in silence. One of the central features of his school was a vow of silence: students were only deemed fit for entry after five full years of maintained silence.

This all seems rather mysterious until one understands how and why elective silence is profoundly useful for spiritual development.

Speech arises from coordinated muscular tension, breath control, and diaphragmatic pressure, producing vibrating resonance as we shape exhaled air. Yet, before any words are spoken, speech always begins with volition — a decision, born from a cluster of thoughts, to express something. Early on, this decision-making process is largely automatic; we simply say what we think. Over time, however, we learn to filter, control, and suppress speech when it is inappropriate.

We are bilateral creatures, possessing a midline symmetry with paired nerves and brain structures. When we incarnate — that is, when we begin to develop a self-identity — we typically develop lateral dominance, usually manifesting in our preferred writing hand. As we learn to write, we associate tactile memory with letters and numbers. This cognitive skill often becomes concentrated in one hemisphere, while the non-dominant side remains more intuitive and free from linguistic clutter.

When we make decisions, we may express them through speech or bodily action. In this sense, consciousness directly influences matter, albeit in very subtle ways. Each spoken word initiates small but tangible muscle contractions — the “earth element” manifesting through vocal mechanics. Initially, thought and speech are inseparable; many young children literally talk out loud to think. But as we mature, we learn to inhibit vocalisation, instead forming an inner dialogue. We silently “hear” our muted speech through subtle muscle tension in the tongue and throat — a habit that eventually allows for silent thinking.

This process may sound bizarre, but until we develop this trick, we instinctively vocalise in order to process thought. Essentially, the “self” is an illusion, constructed from interactions between two hemispheres — each capable of decision-making and expression.

Some thinkers, it seems, master this inner dialogue better than others. Perhaps this capacity separates two-rooted from three-rooted humans — those who develop deeper reflective thought versus those who remain more externally reactive.

Returning to Pythagoras: what would be the effect of prolonged silence? Likely, the first few weeks would be extremely challenging. But if one’s environment offered sufficient support, the compulsion to speak would diminish. Without this habitual vocalisation, the inner dialogue would begin to fade. Mechanically, this may lead spontaneously into second jhāna — a blissful, tranquil state of absorption where discursive thought quiets.

Of course, this is not the final goal, but rather an ideal foundation for profound insight meditation and transcendental development. As Alan Watts once observed, people who have completed several weeks of silence appear almost childlike — open, malleable, and remarkably suggestible — a fitting description for those temporarily suspended from habitual thinking.

“The fool who knows he is a fool is for that very reason a wise man; the fool who thinks he is wise is indeed a fool.”
— Dhammapada 63