Individual chants were meant to mimic the sounds of nature and other animals and songs as emblems. The journey of musicologist Marius Schneider continues in the world of musical mythology and rituals.
My translation from the Italian edition of “La Musica Primitiva” by Marius Schneider, Adelphi Spa publisher, Milano, 1992:
Philosophers Include Music in their Cosmogonic Speculations (India, China)
The creation and conservation of the universe are a function of a continuous motion whose origin is an acoustic vibration. The idea of the vibratory unity of the world has led philosophers to create a cosmogony in which this homogeneity of the universe is expressed in a system of concordances. Originally there were only sounds, which gradually transformed into matter. But, thanks to the works and circular travels of the gods, this materialization occurred in different eras and levels. The sound emitted to the east was joyous to create space and spring. On the stellar plane, it caused the sun to rise; on the plane of time, the moon and the dawn; on the earth plane, moist soil. Therefore, the shout that creates spring is the sonorous essence of the morning sun, dawn, and young earth. And the first sound of a cosmic system is dominated by the rhythm of the seasons. In the imagination of primitive peoples, those sounds are shouts or songs. To demonstrate the origin and musical unity of the world, philosophers passionate about the idea of creating a real system of concordances between the different phenomena of nature did not use only the cries (creators of these different cosmic planes) but also of the five or seven sounds of the tonal system created by the great civilizations. A concordance between certain cries and sounds of a tonal system is found in the Näradaśikşā, in the Sangia ratnākara, and in some folk traditions which identify certain animal voices with the following sounds:
In Vedānta philosophy, we find the following series of concordances (see table opposite), the last line of which represents the five parts of the säman (ritual chant that begins with the part called hinkāra). The succession of sounds in the Chinese system (re, la, do, fa, sol) appears strange. But if you respect the way the Chinese enumerate the points cardinals, the problem is solved. From the north, it passed to the south and from the east to the west. Following this order, we get the formula:
This progression corresponds exactly to the story of creation. In the myths, the creator lives in the north, where death reigns, and “travels” east. His “adversary,” the transformer, resides to the south and travels west. The civilizing hero travels from east to south, while the road of the god of war leads from west to north. The four characters move following a svastika. This movement also determines the mystical position of musical instruments. The oldest materials (stone, sacrificial skin, and wood for lithophones, drums, and flutes) are found to the north and east. Specially prepared materials (terracotta for ocarinas and metal for bells) only appear in the west. In this classification, which Chinese philosophers have included in their system of concordances, each instrument corresponds to a certain subject. However, A. Schaeffner has drawn our attention to the fact that instruments also embrace the three kingdoms of nature. In the mouth organ, the reeds are made of metal, and the pipes and long gourds are obtained from the vegetable world; its shape mimics the pheasant’s wings, representing the animal kingdom. The Chinese zither symbolizes the universe. Fu-Hsi, the first mythical ruler and inventor of that instrument, took some Eleococcus wood and built the soundboard convex like the sky, the bottom flat like the earth. The total length corresponded to the three hundred and sixty-one celestial avenues; the thickness was two inches, so it was the emblem of the sun and the moon. The front was called “pheasant’s brow” and the bridge “mountain”. The central rose was “the dragon’s pond,” which acted on the eight winds with its eight inches wide. The rear rose, called the “pheasant pond,” measured four inches. The five strings represented the five elements; when Fu-hsi’s successors added two more strings, they corresponded to the seven celestial bodies.
Our correlation table also mentions the planets; therefore, it is probable that the music of the spheres was known. But it seems that the most important singing stars were the polar star (seat of the Almighty) and the two Bears (the concordances between sounds and planets in Arab theorists are certainly of Greek origin). The “little wagon” must be occupied by the creator and the first transformer. Its rudder touches the North Star. The great vehicle is the seat of the seven Rşi or of the civilizing hero and his rival, who, using the drum, arouse, repeat, and begin to materialize the thunderous voice coming from Ursa Minor. In some wall paintings in the tombs of the Han period, the god is depicted seated in the great chariot, beating the drum with all his strength.
Sometimes he is preceded by the god of the wind, from whose mouth comes a tree branch, which symbolizes the sound of the wind. Those drums are now suspended from a canopy, standing on one foot. According to Wang Chung, the thunder lord drags tied drums (clouds) with his left hand and wields a hammer in his right hand. When the sound of thunder is a long rumble, it is the sound of a bunch of drums tied together and banging against each other. When thunder breaks out suddenly, like a laceration, it sounds like a hammer blow. The Chinese zodiac seems to correspond to the chromatic scale. However, the sacrificial animals listed in our correlations table coincide with neither the sounds nor the zodiac signs. They follow the order of the pentatonic scale, indicated by the intervals Kung, Shang, chüeh, Chih, and Yü:
These terms do not indicate certain notes but the sequence of intervals: second, second, third, second, which can be transposed to any register. During the eleventh moon, it was: fa, sol, la, do, re; for the twelfth moon, it was transposed to F sharp, G sharp, A sharp, C sharp, and D sharp. This scale was transposed every month, so the music was always in harmony with the fundamental sound of nature, which varied from month to month. The fundamental position of this sound of nature was the F – roughly corresponding to our current F sharp – the sound of the north, the land of the dead, the springs of the Yellow River, or the voice that speaks without passion. These terms do not indicate certain notes but the sequence of intervals: second, second, third, second, which can be transposed to any register. During the eleventh moon, it was: fa, sol, la, do, re; for the twelfth moon, it was transposed to F sharp, G sharp, A sharp, C sharp, and D sharp. This scale was transposed every month, so the music was always in harmony with the fundamental sound of nature, which varied from month to month. The fundamental position of this sound of nature was the F – roughly corresponding to our current F sharp – the sound of the north, the land of the dead, the springs of the Yellow River, or the voice that speaks without passion.
The Li Chi (Memoirs on Manners and Ceremonies) says that clear and distinct sounds represent heaven, the loud and mighty sounds, and the earth. The relationship between these two worlds is equivalent to a harmonic interval. This idea was particularly dear to the ancient Chinese, and Ssu-ma Ch’ien, in his Historical Memoirs, never tires of repeating it to us. The “great music” produces the same harmony of heaven and earth. With harmony, various beings come into the world without losing their nature. Music is none other than the substance of the harmonic relationships that must reign between heaven and earth. When there is unity and harmony, all beings obey the civilizing action of the Son of Heaven.
For this reason, the ancient kings made music an instrument of order and good governance. The songs of a happy age are loud and quiet. They have the right size. Exciting and unrestrained chants characterize revolutionary times. The music of a decaying state is sentimental, corrupt, and morbid. The kings also created a strict hierarchy in the tonal system to symbolize order in their states. Kung represents the prince, shang the ministers, chüeh the people, Chih the business, and Yü the objects. “When kung is distorted, the sound is messy, meaning the prince is arrogant. When Shang is altered, the sound is heavy, meaning the ministers are corrupt. When chüeh is altered, the sound is restless; it means that the people are sad. When Chihe is altered, the sound is painful; it means business is bad. When yü is altered, the sound is haunted; it means that assets are squandered. When the five sounds are altered, the categories cross into each other, called insolence. If this is the case, the loss of the kingdom will come in less than a day.’ Ideas are found in the organization of the Hindu tonal system. In India, the ladder is a “village”. The keynote is likened to the state’s ruler, whose ministers are consonant intervals, while the enemies represent dissonance.
The Individual Chant
To increase the regulating influence of music on human society, the Chinese kings multiplied musical pieces, also adapting them to people’s abilities so that the relationships between the noble and the humble, the eldest and the youngest, man and the woman took the form of alternating songs. These symmetrical oppositions manifested themselves in the performances of the spring festivals with the formation of two antagonistic choirs (men and women) separated by a river. Crossing it, the two groups began to mingle, preparing for the collective hierogamy that concluded the festivities. Following the example set by the civilizing hero (the mockingbird), giving each man a song appropriate to his trade and character was also necessary. More generally, this type of song appears as an emblem of a family, a professional organization (corporate songs), or a political unit. But in its purest form, personal singing is always individual. If this melody could be “seen”, it would immediately fulfill any wish expressed. The Tändya Mahã Brāhmana narrates that Sindhukşid was long dethroned, but one day, he saw the melody that bore his name, he took possession of it and firmly regained the power. However, since men can no longer see the songs, it is necessary that they see, at least in dreams, the dead ancestor who had inspired them with that melody; for this chant to be effective, it is indispensable that it be absolutely “true and pure”. The melody of a story is not “true” if the singer has not participated in the events reported. Even the narration of an authentic story learned, however, only from a witness of those events, is not “true” because the singer has not seen it with his own eyes nor heard it with his ears. The essence of an event can only be reproduced by those who have directly participated in its sound light. Very often, musical emblems are also manifested in the choice of instruments.
A stonecutter’s chant must contain passages that mimic the sounds of the stone. A pearl seller plays the conch, a shepherd uses an animal horn, the drum reflects the chieftain’s power, and the gong of a Buddhist monastery must be clearly distinguished from that of another convent. In China, the bronze drum and the bell become the lords, the lutes and guitars, the high priests; the earthenware drums the people. It is also necessary to use men according to their anatomical conformation: the hunchbacks will carry, bent forward, the sounding stones, while the beings with concave backs, bent backward, will ring the bronze bells.
The Social Rank of the Musician
Given the cosmic importance of music, it is quite evident that the musician who, according to the Vedic tradition, carries luminous music in his heart also occupies a leading position in social life. He represents Agni, the canonical singer of the gods or the morning star on earth. Mythologies, therefore, attribute extraordinary births to the first musicians. Nine musicians vomited from the song of the volcanoes. Mitra and Varuņa, born of the sacrifice, cast (sang) their seed together in the vase. From the center of that vase, Vasişțha arose and extended; Vasişțha, the first singer, is the one who “stands upright in a vase” (sound cave). The first musicians are often opponents whose rivalry manifests itself in artistic competitions. The two singers, one of whom is generally an artist. At the same time, the other represents nature (often in the form of an animal), and reproduces in their struggle the relationship we have already observed between the creator or civilizing hero and the two transformers. The artist is the creator or civilizing hero. The musician donkey, whose sexual instinct is proverbial, symbolizes the Coyote or the god of war. Competitions only serve to highlight the nature of the true musician. According to Ssuma Ch’ien, the true musician is a sage: “Thus those who know the sounds, but do not know the notes, are animals; those who know the notes, but don’t know the music, are ordinary men; only the wise can know music”. For this reason, musicians are very often divided into two different castes. From the former come the musicians-priests and king’s advisers; to the second belong the almost despised musicians who devote themselves to the amusement of men. Their profession is often hereditary; in any case, one does not become a musician by free choice. The Lakutis say that the obsession with spirits that a musician suffers from is the same that the shaman suffers from. The musician is forced to sing. However, while the shaman pays for his strength with health, the musician pays for it with the loss of happiness. He is an unfortunate man because he constantly attracts the attention of spirits. So he never lets his friends listen to the songs he feels most deeply: he knows all too well that those melodies would bring them more pain than joy.
This contact with the supernatural world makes the musician always mysterious to those around him. In normal times, men try hard to avoid it; instead, they look for him when they need his ability to intervene with the spirits. Everyone asks the Dholas of the Bhils (Asia) for advice, but no one would dare to sit down with them. For the celebrations, it is preferable to call the musicians of the nearby village, who have no contact with the dead relatives of the banquet organizers. To the extent that the musician loses his priestly position, the respect shown to him diminishes or changes in character. Still, the idea that he is in contact with the dead and the fear of his instability (dualism) remain.
A family man organizing a ceremony in his own home will not hesitate to give great honors and rich gifts to the musician who has created the union of souls during the celebration; however, it would be difficult to decide to give him his daughter in marriage. Only with complete desacralization does this fear of the musician gradually fade away. Despite everything, the two castes continue to exist without the law sanctioning them. The great virtuosos are celebrated beyond measure, and the poor, not blessed with fortune, is almost despised.
The Symbolism of Musical Instruments
As Li Chi conceived, the musician is a sage who knows the deep sources of life. His voice and thoughts are not manifestations of a more or less original individual but objective echoes or mirrors of all life. They reproduce the full range of human thoughts and feelings. Even musical instruments have this totalizing character. The body of instruments symbolically represents the world, but in its cave, the sonic essence of the “whole world” resonates. Some ethnologists have tried in vain to attribute a specific sexual character to them. Such an interpretation does not in the least correspond to the reality of the facts. Suppose there is a predominant human plane to which musical instruments correspond. In that case, it is precisely the part between the stomach and the belly, i.e., the navel region, the fetus, and probably the solar plexus. But the cult instrument intended to create the sound bridge between heaven and earth has the same function as the speaking tree (the region from the navel to the head), which, according to ancient mythologies, sprouts from the navel of the world and touches the polar star. This mystical position also explains the custom of hanging some tools from cult trees. This ritual act takes place above all after the death of the instrument’s owner because the latter can host the deceased’s soul when he crosses the mythical mountain to pass on to the other world. Like the leaves, the instruments are the sound vehicles of the souls that populate the tree of life and death. In the mythical landscape, they form now the trunk, now the crown of that tree. The trunk corresponds to the world’s axis, and the crown to the Milky Way.
In initiation rites, the horizontal position (Milky Way) is emphasized by the seated posture assumed by the candidates on the drum tree. But when it is in the position that symbolizes the world’s axis, the drum is placed or hung vertically, with a slight inclination corresponding to the earth’s. Now, the tree which holds up the sky and the Milky Way has no phallic character; it is the backbone of the cosmic giant of dual nature, whose sacrifice is a commonplace of mythology. From the dismemberment of female nature, mountains (bones), vegetation (hair), and waters (blood) arose. From the male side, he mainly took the vertebral column and made it the pillar of the celestial vault. In that world, the civilizing hero and his rival began their work digging canals and tunnels to encourage the free flow of winds and stagnant waters. According to a Chinese myth, that chaos was a shapeless, swollen wine bottle without orifices.
He was killed by piercing its walls. The Uitotos say that at the beginning of creation, there was only one moon that was always full: inert chaos with no exchange of forces. That moon had no anus. Then one was made for him by opening a channel through a tree. The moon died and turned into a drum or a black moon. But, thanks to that sacrifice, it was the first dead and could constantly renew itself with the monthly repetition of the sacrifice. The channels or tunnels the civilizing heroes dig reappear in the Upanişads as respiratory and food channels, from which “sacrifice rises in the form of the syllable OM” (Maitrāyana Upanişad). They represent the interior of the spinal column or the whole human (or cosmic) resonance cave that extends from the head to the coccyx. The center is located in the solar plexus or navel region. With all their ramifications, those channels form the organs that nourish man’s psychic and physical life, both the spiritual life and the vegetative or sexual one. The central channel is indicated by the longitudinal fissure of the drum shaft, which is hollow and anthropomorphic. Since the slit of that drum runs from the neck to the lower abdomen and often widens at both ends (and sometimes elsewhere as well), it is evident that it indicates the totality of the resonating body. The fissure, widened in several places by circular openings, also suggests the spinal column along which the yogis place the various Kundalinī forces. Either way, it’s impossible to interpret that long slit and the wand’s drum as symbols of the vagina and the virile member. They indicate the vital functions: the voice, vegetative life, and sexual strength. This triple use manifests itself equally clearly in rites. The drums, like the rhombuses, are the voices of the god of thunder that serve both in initiation or rain, vegetation or medicine ceremonies, and during a funeral or sexual rites. The flutes that the victims of the sun sacrifice broke at each step of the stairs leading to the Mexican altars were perhaps phallic: but no documents confirm this.
They may have equally well symbolized the totality of human existence sacrificed to the sun god. On the other hand, the flute is very often a holder of mystical knowledge. The first adviser to the king of Baule (Africa) wears it as an emblem of his great intelligence. Yama, the god of death, plays the flute; the whirling dervishes accompany their prayers with the sound of that instrument. The rhombuses, which primarily represent the mystical bodies of the ancestors, are not specifically phallic but exercise a fertilizing action on all levels of life. The rattles are never phallic but sometimes represent the breasts; much more often, however, they are divine hands. In Egypt, the sistrum is found on the night boat of the sun. The shell resonates in the funeral or agricultural ceremonies or calls to prayer. The shells of Šiva and the great Manitou are used to take possession of space.
One would try in vain to reduce the ideology implicit in musical instruments to exclusively sexual criteria. In reality, the three floors coexist. You can distinguish between them in a hierarchical order determined by the historical development of creation. According to myths, the first stage was exclusively acoustic; the second brought to earth and food to men who did not yet know procreation. The sound sacrifice is, therefore, primarily spiritual. The other two plans are realized only after the partial materialization of the original sound. But even this materialized world draws its strength from the pure sound from which it was born. Consequently, music and its instrumental incarnations are primarily manifestations of the spirit. For the staunch defenders of the sexual interpretation, one can only recall the art contest in which the gods pitted their harp, their song of light against the chalumeau, or the scream of donkeys in a rut. And since the ancestors decided to give the crown of Victory to the gods, why do we want to put it on the donkey’s head today? Perhaps because the crowning glory of our age would be the crowning of the donkey?
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