Insights into Gregorian Chant

 

Insights into Gregorian Chant

Peregrinus

Introduction

Gregorian chant is at the heart of the Roman rite, it animates the prayer of the Church and beautifully adorns the texts of the Sacred Scriptures, the liturgy, and the sacraments. Because of its centrality in the life of the Church, these noble melodies have been passed on to us so that even now we can hear an echo of that obscure time when grace was poured abundantly on the early Church, when Rome ran red with the blood of the martyrs, and when knowledge illuminated the minds of our great doctors. Gregorian chant has been described as glowing “with living flame, with a clean, profound desire … deep beyond ordinary emotion,” and as “more inebriating than the imposing voices of the great waters of which the Scriptures speak.” Even those unacquainted with the mysteries that chant speaks of are moved by the beauty of this music. Albums which feature chant have often sold exceptionally well, and this ancient music receives heavy traffic on Youtube and Spotify daily. In one sense, this is a strange fact, as Gregorian chant is musically foreign to our ears and its spirit is alien to the modern experience: instead of harmony, there is pure melody; its scales are unfamiliar; the rhythm is free; and it flows from a sense of peace and repose rather than from action; and all of this is meant to adorn texts written in an ancient and clamorous language.

Despite chant’s foreign sound, the people are still interested in it, but since it is so unlike modern music, misunderstandings abound concerning its meaning and purpose. This is understandable, for when modern people encounter an art from a traditional society there will be confusion, as our modern equivalents to ancient forms are but shadows in comparison. So, I have set out – to the best of my ability – to illuminate the doctrinal aspect of chant that is hidden at its heart, and which is the source of its beauty. This source is the doctrine of the Unity of God which is expressed in a special way by the music of Gregorian chant.

Since Unity is the principle of all things, every particular discussed will be viewed in relation to this Principle at different points of reference, and it seems fitting to start at the highest reference so that all things may take their proper place in descending order. After establishing the abstract principles, we will be able to consider practical matters of chant; it is my aim to do this without feeding the fire of the liturgical controversy. This last point is why I will not discuss the practices of the new Latin missals, for I do not wish to enter into contemporary controversies that will divert us from the task of elucidating timeless principles. I hope that these insights will allow us to recover something of traditional knowledge and aid in the reestablishment of the art of Gregorian chant in the Latin Church.

Silence and Darkness

To begin, we situate ourselves at the highest point of reference, positioned at the summit of the metaphysical mount where God is principally described as “beyond being.” It is here that we understand God as entirely unconditioned and transcendent to such a degree that no names or even concepts begin to approach the truth. It is where God, by reason of his superabundant clarity, becomes as darkness to us because our dim eyes cannot comprehend his light. In the Western tradition, Dionysius is perhaps the most eminent representative of this apophatic point of view,[1] so it seems fitting to quote selected passages from him which succinctly demonstrate his approach. He says concerning our understanding of God that

“Indeed the inscrutable One is out of the reach of every rational process. Nor can any words come up to the inexpressible Good, This One, this Source of all unity, this supra-existent Being. Mind beyond mind, word beyond speech, it is gathered up by no discourse, by no intuition, by no name.”[2]

And that

“Someone beholding God and understanding that which he saw has not actually seen God himself but rather something of his which has being and which is knowable. For he himself solidly transcends mind and being. He is completely unknown and non-existent. He exists beyond being and is known beyond the mind. And this quite positively complete unknowing is knowledge of him who is above everything that is known.”[3] [4]

Concerning God himself he states that

“It falls neither within the predicate of nonbeing nor of being. Existing beings do not know it as it actually is and it does not know them as they are. There is no speaking of it, nor name nor knowledge of it. Darkness and light, error and truth – it is none of these. It is beyond assertion and denial. We make assertions and denials of what is next to it, but never of it, for it is both beyond every assertion, being the perfect and unique cause of all things, and, by virtue of its preeminently simple and absolute nature, free of every limitation, beyond every limitation; it is also beyond every denial.”[5]

   These statements from Dionysius are captured in the experience of silence, for silence signifies God under his aspect of supra-existence: God who is above being and above the One.[6] The phrase Divine Darkness is a more common description of God’s transcendence, but could not silence convey the same meaning? For silence is a negation of sound as darkness is a negation of light. One can picture darkness mentally as blackness, but a similar image cannot be conjured in the case of silence, this may make silence a more effective image of what transcends being than the term “darkness.” In the Gospel, there is a sort of inverse correlation between heavenly and earthly things, this is notably seen in the parable of the mustard seed wherein this seed of exceptional smallness is likened to the Kingdom of Heaven which is – in comparison to all earthly things – vast and full of power.[7] In a similar way, silence likened to the Voice of the Lord which thunders in power.

It is interesting then, how this terrible silence underlies every noise and activity, for nothing but silence is ceaseless, and eventually all sound returns to it. It is not without significance that the Canon of the Mass – the highest part of the rite – is pervaded by silence, as its silence reflects the very heights of the metaphysics described by Dionysius, and it is through this silent action that this metaphysical doctrine is transmitted to those present. The silence of the Canon is definitely the most jarring part of the Roman rite, an hour of sustained Latin is easier for the modern to swallow than a mere ten minutes of silence, but this confrontation with silence and what it symbolizes is most likely the average person’s only contact with truths of order just described. Therefore, the silent recitation of the Roman canon holds a vitally importance place in the Western tradition.

Being and Light

The emergence of sound from primal silence expresses two things: the first is God as Being itself, subsistent, absolutely undetermined, and supremely one. Secondly, sound expresses creation and its relation to its source. We will start with the identification of sound with God, and then progressively descend to view creation in relation to pure being.

The monophony of our chant is a clear representation of the quality of oneness. The recto tono style of chant – the recitation of passages on one note – is as unified as the human voice can get, and so expresses unity in the most extreme fashion. From this radical oneness comes psalmody, which although is mostly chanted on a single reciting note, is adorned with simple phrases that start and end each verse. From psalm tones we have the ordinary parts of the mass, the multitude of antiphons of the office, the responsories with their strident leaps, and finally, the graduals and alleluias which contain the lengthiest and most complex of the Gregorian melodies. Throughout all these styles of chant, no matter how complex, the practice of monophony is adhered to absolutely. It can be said that this is the defining feature of liturgical music. Practical matters aside, the reason this was followed so strictly until the advent of organum is found in its expression of the doctrine of unity.[8] Unity of voice is an aural icon of the absolute unity of God as pure act, the perfect undivided unity. Just as how the silence of the Canon transmits the idea of God as beyond being, monophonic chant transmits to us the knowledge of God as pure being. Instead of darkness, the image we have recourse to here is light, and especially to fire.[9]

The same doctrine is seen in how chant uses the modes. A piece of chant will never change key or scale like in modern music; it will always remain in a single mode for the duration of the chant. This gives a constant underlying stability to every piece. Chant is a circular rumination with a single mode as its centre, we can start a melody at any point of its duration and the whole is still coherent because it redounds back into itself. We can quite easily identify this with the stability and self-knowledge of God. God knows particulars through himself, and in a similar way, nothing needs to be found outside of the scale, and it is almost always the case that not even the entire scale needs to be exhausted for the contemplation of very deep truths. Simplicity is the key to this music. The stability of the mode is like the centre of a wheel which rotates the whole but is itself unmoved; it is identified with the unmoved mover, the actionless action of the Far East, and the Sacred Heart.

Chant as a Wheel

The symbol of the wheel is primarily a symbol of the centre. The centre is a universal symbol that can be viewed under many aspects that we hope will illustrate the meaning of chant.

To begin, we must first consider the centre point of the wheel, for the centre serves as the wheel’s principle. The centre is aptly described as a Euclidean point (“that which is without parts”), for the centre, even though it is represented spatially, is without any dimension and indivisible. Mathematically, it is identified as the monad which is the “non-spatial source of number” from which all numbers proceed but is itself not effected. The ancients did not consider the monad (or “1”) as a number like the others, it was regarded as their origin which “holds seminally the principles which are within all numbers.”[10] In this way the monad is itself above number but principally contains all of them. The origin of all things is boundless and contains all, but is absolutely simple in itself.

As the numbers proceed from the monad, and as the circle is filled by its centre, the entire world is produced by primal unity. The world (in the widest sense) is the radiation that comes forth from unity, and this is represented by the circumference of a circle. The circumference only has coherence in relation to the centre point. Symbolizing the circle as a wheel illuminates another aspect of this picture: that of stability and motion, or more precisely, act and potency. This same trait is described in theology when God is termed “pure act,” for that which is purely in actuality lacks nothing and is therefore unable to undergo the transition from potency to act that is motion. He is completely stable and unmoved. This is contrasted with created being – which by its nature – is moved by another, and therefore, has some degree of privation or lack. Consequently, created things are said to be in motion. The constant motion of created beings is why we can view the circle as a spinning wheel; the world revolves around the unoriginated centre, the unmoved axis. The revolution of the circumference also emphasises the power of God, as it is he who effects the motion of the wheel.

Transposing this into our musical point of view, the centre of the wheel becomes the mode, and the circumference becomes the melody. The melody arises from the mode and keeps it as its frame of reference, the melody moves up and down in pitch, but the mode never changes. Just as the world does not emanate at random, neither does the melody, it is a harmonious whole, therefore, to break the mode is to break the harmony of creation.[11] Just as the circumference of a circle is entirely dependent on the centre, the melody is dependent on the mode and is posterior to it. Now even though the melody is posterior to the mode, from the point of view of created being, it is the more particularized melody which strikes us first, but from the universal view, it is the mode – the principle – which is primary even though it is not as readily grasped. By picturing chant as a wheel, we can perceive how chant symbolizes three things: God as the principle of all things, creation as proceeding from and relying on the principle, and the subsisting relationship between created and uncreated being.

We will now view the world of particulars more closely, especially in relation to its final end. Firstly, it is seen that there is a unity to the particularized world that is created by God, and this is an image of metaphysical unity but on a lower plane. We can see this illustrated in the composition of the choir itself, for there is a unity to a group of men forming one unit and chanting one melody; this is like the composition of the world, which in its diversity of parts is united under its final end. This is also reflected in music itself, as a diversity of notes are united under one mode. The unity of particulars refers to the entire world as it is related to its immutable source. In an audible form, liturgical music expresses the relationship of all things to the principle.

Procession and Return

So far, we have viewed the centre itself as absolute unity and as the point of departure of all things, but it is equally the point of termination: as all things proceed from the principle, to it they return. This is why another symbol of the centre is the heart. In antiquity, the heart was regarded as the centre of man and the seat of intellect. The heart pumps blood throughout the body which vivifies it, and at the end of its course, the blood returns to the heart. This is why we can identify God with the heart without falling at all into anthropomorphism or idolatry, as the action of the heart is a symbol of the universal centre and of the procession and return of creation.

We can geometrically represent this by overlaying the cross atop the symbol of the wheel, the arms of the cross form rays that proceed from the centre. This shows the double action of procession and return from the centre, as the arms the cross can validly be envisioned both as coming forth from and terminating in the middle. The vertical beam of the cross denotes the uncreated principle to which the horizontal beam (representing humanity and the created states of being more generally) must align itself with at the centre of the figure. A horizontal arm at different points of the vertical beam denotes a different point of manifestation or mode of being. The meeting of the two arms of the cross also show the justice and equilibrium that is found at the centre; this is the meeting of creation with the eternal principle. This figure of the cross within a circle can be symbolized by the sun (which is associated with justice), which also brings us back to the image of light and fire.[12]

This is seen musically when the mode and tonic note of a chant is viewed as the vertical beam of the cross, and the melody as the horizontal beam. The mode represents what is timeless and eternal for it does not change, while the melody with its changes in pitch brings us into time. Time is seen as an image of eternity, and in the same way, the melody is an image of the mode which contains all melodic possibilities simply in itself. The melody of a piece begins with and is sustained by the root of the mode, and it always collapses back into its point of origin. On a grander scale, this is seen by how time will run its course and collapse back into eternity, this is the end of the world or apocalypse, as “world” or “saeculum” refers specifically to “time” or to “age.” However, the phrase “end of the world” may be deceiving as this is not really an end, but a return to the beginning, to the principle which precedes all worlds. A piece of chant, therefore, mirrors the entire cosmic cycle.[13]

Related to the timeless quality of the mode, there is a primordial aspect to sound itself. We can think of the opening of Genesis where the creation is begun with the statement “fiat lux”; this light is the radiation from the centre which produces all things.[14] And this runs parallel with the start of St. John’s Gospel which reads “In principio erat Verbum,” here we can draw a correspondence between light and sound: they both represent that which fills the wheel of creation.[15] In addition to representing the emergence of creation, light and sound also symbolize the immutable source of creation, in this way the unity of all things as they relate to their source. This symbolism is why we can say that there is a primacy to sound, and especially to the human voice which is our closest approximation to the voice of the Lord, which is identified with the Logos or Word described by St. John. In this we can perceive why instruments have only been allowed in churches by way of concession, and if they are used, they are only to support the voice.[16]

Liturgical Practice

The principles and doctrines that chant symbolizes are channeled through the Roman liturgy. It is not only the music of chant that holds deeper meaning, but also the way it is performed, including stylistic and rubrical details. Since the liturgy and its chant are inseparable, we would only be giving a partial analysis by exclusively looking at the music.

Our return to God is foreshadowed in the liturgy, for liturgy – properly executed – is a destruction of the individual: a multitude of men become a seamless whole united by their end which transcends them.[17] We see this in how the ministers move, how they are veiled in vestments, the voice of the choir in unison; in short, any indication that clerics have a personality of their own is intentionally done away with – not even when the priest turns from the altar at the “Dominus vobiscum” are his eyes to meet the people, they remain downcast. The singers fit this mold as well. Since the choir is properly the place for clerics, the men who form it, even if they are laymen taking the place of clerics where necessary, are, ideally, to be vested when preforming this liturgical function.[18] A vested choir ensures a physical uniformity which matches the monophony of their singing. Their manner of comportment and dress match all the other ministers who serve the liturgy: their posture is erect, eyes downcast, movements graceful and together, hands folded at the breast.

I remember my first time chanting while vested in the sanctuary, we were wearing extremely large medieval style English cassocks and surplices which hindered all movement due to the excessive flow of the fabric. I’m sure that our small choir looked almost comical as we attempted to swim through the folds of this anachronistic clothing, but it struck me how even this contained a hidden meaning. The flowing nature of the clothing hindered all bodily actions, which reminded me that I was here to engage in contemplation and that this church was not a venue for the everyday traffic of the world which is so enamored with action. The excess of fabric also forces one’s movements to be more deliberate and graceful, which concentrates the mind and bodily faculties.

 The choir’s style of singing should match their physical uniformity, so that ideally, no individual voice should be able to be heard separate from the rest, all forms of idiosyncrasy are to be suppressed. This foreshadows man’s union with God when he will be integrated – as far as man is able – with that which is above not only the human, but above all conditioned states of existence.

We can picture the image of a postulant seated among Cistercian monks in choir, his dark clothes clearly mark him out as an outsider, but later that day, he takes the habit and becomes a novice. The next time the monks assemble in choir, it is as if that young postulant has disappeared, submerged under a sea of white, and from now on, the only thing that can mark him out as an individual are his imperfections. From our point of view this looks like a destruction, but more universally speaking, it is a transformation.

Furthermore, chant is by nature passionless and impersonal because it represents something beyond any individual, and truly, something beyond the human state altogether. So, if a singer inserts something of his own into the chant, he does a disservice to the liturgy and to those who hear it, for he obscures the meaning of the chant by imposing his limitations upon it. This is why chant is a truly universal art. Modern music cannot claim universality because it operates under a different creative process: that of originality.[19] We see this in how modern compositions are identified with the composers: classical composers show a part of themselves in their music and are praised for originality and innovation in sound. By claiming their music as their own, they link themselves to it and take ownership of it. Contrast this with anonymity of the composers of chant, they and other artists of antiquity wished to remain anonymous because they knew that their art transcended them as individuals; their music is not an expression of unique personality but is chiefly a transmission of higher truths that belong to all.[20] When music is primarily a sentimental and passionate experience it becomes less universal, as it is then tied to a particular human experience bound by space and time.[21] This is why Gregorian chant is truly Catholic music in the full meaning of the term.

The lack of passion also enables chant to become a better support for contemplation. For in our state, we need supports that allow us to rise higher. The absence of passion allows us to perceive truths with a clear mind. In this way, chant and its performance becomes an image of the ideal of man, as contemplation is highest fulfilment of man’s possibilities. Chant makes no emotional demands, one does not have to feel something to understand it. The lack of metrical rhythm – and especially the absence of syncopation – also has an effect conducive to contemplation, as metrical rhythm links us to the animal much like the passions do, while melody is identified with the intellect which is pure and unmixed with the body.[22] This gives the mind a degree of freedom from the body.

Context and Modern Music

Contrast this contemplative vision with classical music which achieves its effects through the art of tension and release, the skillful shifting of keys that created a drama of harmony and discord that ends in resolution. Modern music’s movement is linear and climactic, there is a finality to the action. But the movement of chant is circular, without beginning or end; because of this, the attention is not diverted to many objects at once or in succession. Chant places no emotional burden upon the listener, and this is why it can be sung and heard for hours at a time without the exhaustion that comes with listening to modern music.

It is only in the centuries wherein the vision of unity became obscured that we find chant fragmenting into multiple voices and parts. The 16^th century is significant in this regard as it is then that modernity truly begins, when Western man becomes fundamentally distinct from his ancestors, as here the material view begins to predominate and knowledge of a higher order becomes lost.[23] It is during this time that we saw the greatest developments of a new style of music that flowered into classical music and all of its developments. From this point of view, we can say that classical music is a symptom of the West’s intellectual degeneration despite being an expansion of certain musical possibilities.[24] The simultaneous expansion of material possibilities and the narrowing of intellectuality is not restricted to music and can be seen in nearly every Western development that has taken place in the last centuries.

Despite my apparent callousness, I do not condemn classical music, for I hold that God, in his providence, has ordered all things of the world to serve him and show forth his glory, so that even the lowest of all created things have a legitimate place in the world. Therefore, I wish to state that all kinds of music – even the most vulgar pop music – has a proper place in the world. We do not criticize the artistic merit of lower and modern styles of music, but merely assert that they shouldn’t be where they don’t belong. Modern man needs modern music because it reflects what we are and the world that we live in, and the need for this music also necessitates a proper context for its existence.

I do not advocate for an aesthetic revivalism, as this would ultimately be an empty venture unsuited to our time; such a thing would be the pasting together of forms without knowledge of how they work as a whole. The practice of chant today, instead, is not an empty form of revivalism because it is an art with unbroken transmission, and I believe that the spiritual meaning of Gregorian chant can be apprehended by modern singers if they approach it with the knowledge of principles.

The style and performance of chant is entirely subordinate to metaphysics: how we sing directly flows from what the music means. When aesthetics become prioritized, when chant is treated as only an ornament to the liturgical action, doctrine becomes obscured, and the liturgy loses its meaning. Chant is the highest form of music because it most closely resembles the principle, so any deviation from this music will be lower than the chant. Lower representation is certainly not wrong, but lower forms cannot reach the heights of Gregorian music. This fact is important only because of the context of the music. In the concert hall, there is no problem with the fact that the music is passionate or that it has a base subject; this is because it has an entirely different function than sacred music. Non-sacred music of all styles should be allowed to express themselves fully within their proper places. Issues arise when lower styles enter the context of the Church, because the church is the place where the transmission of doctrine takes place. So, when lower styles take root in the sacred places, the teaching of true doctrine, which occurs through the liturgical action, is sidelined for the sake of sentimentality, and the lower starts to be mistaken for the higher. This works both ways, as it is not only problematic when non-sacred music enters sacred space, but it is also harmful when liturgical music is sung outside if its context, for then the liturgical song is degraded by becoming as vulgar music, it is disrespectful to strip it of its liturgical character and to use it for profit.[25]

Conclusion

Finally, it must always be remembered that the Word has primacy in liturgical singing, the immediate purpose of singers to say the words clearly and with good pronunciation. It is humbling to know that chanting is a simple job, it does not profit us to get bogged down in technical details, musical minutiae, or novel and innovative sounds, it is enough to simply do as the tradition prescribes, and if this is done faithfully, all other things will fall into place. A musician will quickly realize that there is a depth of subtlety to the interpretation of chant, we can spend years refining the execution of this music, its simplicity emphasizes the finer elements of musical performance such as breathing, intonation, pronunciation, and tone.

 Knowledge of the symbolism behind the chant is not necessary for most people, as ritual ensures that dogma will be passed on even if people are not consciously aware of it, even clerics do not have to be fully aware of the meaning of the rituals that they perform. The necessity of rituals to transmit doctrine is firstly a result of our human nature which needs aids to ascertain higher things, and secondly, it is a special help to us living in this last age, which is an age chiefly characterized by obscurity and ignorance. Even though truth – for it is a transcendental – can be accessed by anyone at any time, humanity, in its present state, cannot be relied upon to spontaneously grasp doctrine without external helps.

Even if the meaning of a rite is forgotten, its mere existence will always allow those who can receive its doctrine to assimilate what it teaches, this is why no ritual can truly be called “empty.” This last point explains why the Roman rite is of such importance to us at a time when it may seem strange and foreign, this strangeness is only due to the darkness of the times in which we live, for the rite itself is luminously clear. Our unfamiliarity with this rite does not decrease its relevance, and it may be said that it is the most important link between Western man and tradition. We can easily dismiss any accusations that our attachment to this rite is only due to aesthetics, historicism, ideology, or any such things. Some well-meaning advocates of the old Roman rite argue exclusively from the point of view of personal piety and reverence, this is commendable but ultimately misses the point, because a rite, in its words, symbols, music, and actions transmits doctrine at the highest level, and this is our chief concern because the doctrine of God is the source of our religion. Therefore, it is a work of great importance and merit to seek to preserve our chant and ritual so that its power may be felt by modern men who are sorely in need of it.

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[1] I use the term “point of view” or “reference” because the more common term of “school” implies in our minds an incompatibility with other “schools,” but the truth admits of no incompatibility or competition. Doctrine is validly approached from multiple angles that may seem contradictory, but these contradictions are only the fault of interpreters, unless of course we are dealing with theories that contradict basic principles (i.e. heresy).

[2] Dionysius, Divine Names.

[3] Dionysius, Letter One.

[4] To achieve contemplation, the soul’s faculties are drawn inward and discursive reasoning ceases (ST.IIa-IIae. Q. 180. A. 6). From our view this looks like darkness, but in reality, it is a contemplation of intelligible light. This is why this order of knowledge is called “unknowing.”

[5] Dionysius, Mystical Theology.

[6] This is a formula used by Garrigue-Lagrange in his work Predestination.

[7] Recall the sayings “the first shall be last” and “he who humbles himself shall be exalted.”

[8] It is interesting to note here that it is in France where organum first turns into full fledged polyphony in the 13^th century immediately following the momentous reign of Philip the Fair. France would prove herself to be at the centre more readily apparent degenerations in the following centuries.

[9] Dionysius identifies the angels with fire in their imitation of pure being, and in the same way I believe that fire is an eminently suitable symbol of chant. From primal darkness our chant arises as a still flame, and it admirably imitates its archetype.

[10] See The Theology of Arithmetic by Iamblichus.

[11] This music’s attachment to creation is further seen when we remember that the modes have specific correlations with astrology and the elements; moreover, it was believed by the ancients that the modes used in our chant have physical effects on those who sing and hear them.

[12] Note here the hymn sung at Lauds during Lent: O Christe Sol Justitiae, in the hymn, the sun is identified with justice, and the physical sun is taken as an image of Christ the true sun. On the symbolism of the sun, think of the ritual orientation of our Churches: they are always built facing East, and the priest is made to face the same way. It is not without reason then that the mass is only permitted to be said in the morning, facing the rising sun. 

[13] Even in the simple act of respiration (which is becomes measured and unified in chanting) we can perceive the course of the whole world cycle, its coming to be and passing away throughout many ages and generations. Recall the ending of the Gloria Patri: “et in saecula saeculorum.” Respiration is cyclical like time; exhalation is followed by inhalation: procession and return.

[14] The sun is an image of the first light, remember that the sun is created after the creation of light.

[15] This can also be symbolized in chant with the introduction of a single droning note; this note is the underlying unity from which all things spring; it forms the beginning, the middle, and the end of the entire piece, and symbolizes that which has neither beginning nor end. The symbolism of the drone is completely intact even in its absence, as the mode itself holds the same meaning. The drone is not commonly used in the West, firstly, because of the previously mentioned rationale behind absolute monophony, and secondly, because it is not suitable musically in every mode and with every phrase.

[16] St. Thomas simply acknowledges that no instruments are used in Church, saying: “The Church does not make use of musical instruments such as harps and psalteries, in the divine praises, for fear of seeming to imitate the Jews” and that “musical instruments move the soul to pleasure rather than create a good disposition within it. In the Old Testament, instruments of this description were employed, both because the people were more coarse and carnal—so that they needed to be aroused by such instruments as also by earthly promises—and because these material instruments were figures of something else” (ST.IIa-IIae. Q. 91. A. 2).

[17] This “destruction” is merely apparent, as it is more truly an image of transformation.

[18] The liturgical nature of chant is the first of many reasons why women are excluded from the schola.

[19] By Modern music I am referring to all western styles originating from the 16^th century onwards.

[20] The transmission of higher truths – i.e., metaphysics – is the true meaning of the word “tradition.”

[21] Metaphysics is beyond everything in the created order.

[22] The rhythm of the drumming in Eastern forms is entirely different from Western meter and is therefore not subject to the same criticism.

[23] The men of this time were conscious of a break with the past, and this animated the efforts of the Renaissance.

[24] I say “certain” because the harmonic possibilities that widened in this period had the effect of limiting melodic expression due to the dominance of what became known as the major and minor keys. Instead of two scales, chant makes use of eight.

[25] The prohibition against singing chants in profane settings is the subject of the first papal declaration on music that we have a record of. St. Clement of Rome writes: “In the pagan festivals, let us not sing the psalms, and let us not read the Scriptures, for fear of seeming like the wandering minstrels, singers and tellers of tales of high adventure, who perform their art for a mouthful of bread. It is not fitting that thus we sing the canticles of the Lord in a strange land.” The reasons behind this legislation were made very clear to me the night I was forced to participate in a drunken recitation of Compline at a bachelor party.