Despite the rationality and love of precision possessed by the Ancient Greeks,
there was one distinction they failed to make. Due to an accident in
terminology, both Homer and Pythagoras were said to have practiced the same
profession: the art of music. For music, as is clear from The Republic, went
far beyond the system of pitched sound that we identify with the art today; upon
reading The Republic, one might think that the poetry, not the notes, were
primary, while the music was secondary.
Ah, that the philosopher might be king, Plato moans (and then proceeds to train
them so that they are anything but philosophers; his system would make them into
inhumane illiberal eugenicists, but that is, unfortunately, beside the point).
He did not moan that the philosopher might be musician, for not only would he
consider this an inferior role for such a person, but it had already been done.
Pythagoras, philosopher, mathematician, and musician, had embodied such a
person, blessed with a vision of truth to enhance his artistic beauty.
And the result was quite good, to say the least. For Pythagoras discovered the
basics of what we now term “Tonality,” the system of rules embedded in the very
nature of music by which our principles of harmony function. Every note was
governed by a ratio, and these completely rational mathematical principles
produced a music that was perfect, proportionate, sonorous, truthful, and
beautiful. What has Homer produced to compare with it: an over-long, rambling
duet of poems about stupid humans and stupider gods using, of all things, the
imperfect medium of language? How does this compare to the perfection of
Pythagoras?
And what is the perfection of Pythagoras? Hammers in a prescribed size ratio
banging simultaneously on an anvil! Oh joy.
Perhaps a king would be better as a philosopher, but there is one thing that is
absolutely needful for a musician: he must be a poet, for poets are human. The
commonsense of humans assents to Pythagoras’ theory, even if it does not
understand it. Yet, simultaneously, it recognizes that art can, and (to save
itself from itself), must have other aims besides it. Why do we remember the
Iliad, but not a single music of Pythagoras? Because Homer was trying for mere
perfection (whether he achieved that is debatable), but was willing to risk the
chance of losing perfection for the sake of making something besides another
perfect fifth. Why do we remember the Preludes and Fugues of Bach, but not the
musical works of Pythagoras? Because mere perfection is a paltry and easy
target: just as one might become a sinless saint by dying directly after
Baptism. The later philosophers of music recognized this, and seeking
philosophical perfection but being unwilling to find it in the system of
tonality, denied it and true musical perfection along with it. The earlier
musical poets, by accepting Pythagoras but preserving their poetry, were able to
become both Pythagoreanly perfect and everything else as well.
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9 comments:
Um, what does this mean? I know it has something to do with greek music, or something...
Try trying to paraphrase what I said, perhaps one sentence at a time. I am not writing metaphysics here, so it shouldn't be hard to understand.
Alternatively, you could tell me what you wish to know, or what you don't understand.
Rather Chestertonian. Not so much about Greek music, I deem, but about true musicianship and humanity--perhaps it makes sense because I am surrounded at times by musicians who are not poets.
Glad to finally hear from you, Pulchritudo Musicae. I was wondering when you'd come out of the dark. :-) Now if we could just get the rest of the contributors to comment....
I suppose I just saw the words Greek and music together. I only skimmed through it. I'm not a poet either.....
Yes, it is Chestertonian. I would have to say that my main 'source' was The Gods and the Philosophers from 'The Everlasting Man.' That might not be my favorite chapter in the book, but it's the one I think about most often.
Oh, Pulchritudo (hee hee) musicae,
did you see my post about "The Masterful Monk?" The post is called "Religious Fiction: Preaching and Preaching."
I don't understand what you're trying to say. It seems like you touch on the music of the spheres, which is more of what Pythagoras and Plato dealt with in their time because audible music was considered the lowest form of music.
Whether a tonality built on the simple ratios of Pythagoras is perfect or not is debatable, as the syntonic comma makes some keys totally unusable.
Why we don't remember the musical compositions of Pythagoras has to do with the fact that what music we have from that time, if any exists, is useless because no one now knows how to read it. Music during medieval times was passed down through aural tradition by monks for centuries and was only later notated as their music became more complex and harder to remember.
My post is pointing out the limitations of the "music of the spheres" idea and its relatives in audible music, limitations that would exist in theory whether or not we accept the approximation of the idea in sandard, equally tempered, audible music. I am of the persuasion that it is good to use the ratios in the composition of music, the question is how we do it, a question that all the praises of the virtues of the pure, unspoilt perfect fifth will never answer.
Your reason for not remembering Pythagoras' pieces is very good. What I should have said is that we don't remember any piece that pythagoras WOULD have composed, the reason for this loss of memory would be that every piece composed by Pythagoras would have been along the lines of hammers banging on an anvil a perfect fifth apart.
Ok, cool. Thanks for clarifying.
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