October 24, my wedding anniversary, is Pythagorean Theorem Day. Can you imagine thinking numbers explain the entire universe? I get it. My husband’s an engineer, and those Greeks sure loved their triangles: Pythagoras’s obsession led to his beloved theorem for the right ones, a² + b² = c². Of course, he never understood the irrational ones. The ones that operated outside of his simple formulas. I mean, what would happen if a² + b² = something dull-witted? Something not right. Obtuse even.
Ah, yes. Greeks and their triangles. The temples of Poseidon, Aphaia and Hephaestus were, architecturally speaking, triangles. Sacred triangles, they say. But hardly equilateral. Poseidon and Hephestus were card-carrying members of the band of twelve. They were Olympians, the upper esch. Contemporaries, one might say. Aphaia, well, she was just a deity. Not a particularly well-known one either. Her admirers were limited to the farmers of Aegina. I suppose that makes the triangle isosceles; two sides of equal value, one side a nobody.
Ptolemy discovered the constellation Triangulum, which served as the basis for maritime navigation through… triangulation. His math-bro, Hipparchos, noted that it was a long, thin triangle and contained hundreds of galaxies within it. It wasn’t until Hypatia noted that there was a smaller triangle within Triangulum, mirroring exact proportions, that the men were forced to call their finding Triangulum Majus, and hers Triangulum Minus.
Oh, how Greeks love their triangles. Scylla and Charybdis are both females. Approaching Scylla on one side and Charybdis on the other represents a situation with no desirable outcome. It also happens to be a triangle: Sylla, Charybdis and some beefcakey ship making the three points. Just as one might find themselves between a rock and a hard place, under attack even, so that in the end, no one gets what they want. Typical.
And what about those love triangles? All that betrayal, passion and jealousy. Let’s not forget the power struggles, the wars, the vengeances. How many women did Zeus bed exactly? Why weren’t the mathematicians concerned about the infinite notches on his godly bedpost? Scalenus triangles, those ended up being. Two Gods and a mortal female; two alphas and an acute. Was she enamored by his godly hypotenuse? I somehow doubt it.
My husband loves a good triangle. Those precise, man-made entanglements. Sometimes his consists of straight lines and harsh angles, but he’s also quick to stray when curves are around. Circles, ovals, the occasional polynomial— the patterns this foolish man constructs, the wicked symmetry.
Here’s some fun math:
Given – initial velocity (measured in m/s); – fall time (measured in seconds); and – free fall acceleration (expressed in m/s²), and with the slightest amount of air resistance, an average man would keep accelerating by 9.80665 m/s² every second, from say, a romantic dinner atop my apartment building, to its concrete bottom, approximately 2,917 meters. Now, say, the man weighed roughly 175 pounds, without the weight of his secrets, and then, let’s apply the Kinematic equation, accounting for terminal velocity, and given that his wife could easily make it look like an accident, then the man would hit the ground at 135 mph. Now, let’s suppose said man’s life insurance would more than cover an early retirement in Aphaia-worshipping Aegina, and said wife, after an acceptable, highly visible mourning period, could finally remove one point of a triangle, a wretched little triangle, then yes, I agree— all of life can be reduced to numbers.
Happy Anniversary, honey.
Candi Joneth is a writer; living, researching and writing from the cold coast of Maine. She is a master’s candidate in Creative Writing and Literature from Harvard. She has published over 200 news articles, over 50 features, for three newspapers. She uses humor to release tension and engage humanity.
