The Dangerous Flute:

In the sixth book of the Stromata, Clement of Alexandria uses a small and seemingly innocent musical metaphor in his discussion of gnosis (γνῶσις), a kind of special knowledge available only to those properly qualified. The metaphor relates inexperience in gnosis to inexperience in music, using the lyre and the flute as examples. Although at first glance the choice of instruments appears arbitrary, since both were among the common instruments both of the Classical period and of Late Antiquity, a closer inspection suggests a deep significance in the selection of both instruments, which appears appropriately characteristic of such a skillful and arcane writer as Clement. The line in question runs:

Καθάπερ οὖν τοῖς ἀπείροις τοῦ λυρίζειν λύρας οὐχ ἀπτέον οὐδέ μὴν τοῖς ἀπείροις τοῦ αὐλεῖν αὐλῶν, οὔτως οὐδὲ πραγμάτων ἀπτέον τοῖς μὴ τὴν γνῶσιν εἰληφόσι καὶ εἰδόσιν ὄπως αὐτοῖς παρ’ὄλον τὸν βίον χρηστέον.

[Then, just as those unpractised in lyre-playing should not touch a lyre and those unpractised in flute-playing should definitely not touch flutes, in the same way those who have not thoroughly embraced gnosis and seen how they ought to live their entire lives should not touch such matters.]1

The first hint of the possible significance of the specific instruments chosen occurs in the small particle μήν (definitely), which emphasises that flutes, even more than lyres, are certainly not to be touched by the inexperienced. This could easily be interpreted as referring to practical considerations, since by the nature of each instrument a beginner is able to play notes on a lyre the first time he touches it but cannot produce sounds (at least not melodious ones) on a flute without instruction. The phrase could also, however, be understood with regard to the moral and spiritual qualities associated with the flute and the lyre in Greek culture. In support of this interpretation, an earlier passage in Book VI of the Stromata that briefly discusses music contains some parallels to passages from Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Politics, both of which specifically mention both flute and lyre and show a definite distrust of the flute and its connotations.’

In his earlier discussion of music, Clement mentions several of the common musical modes of classical antiquity and refers directly to different forms of the lyre in a positive context. The passage combines Christian and pagan sources in typical Clementine fashion:

Furthermore, let David provide an example of music by singing and prophesying at the same time, praising God in song melodiously. Indeed, the enharmonic genre is very well suited to the Dorian mode and the diatonic to the Phrygian, as Aristoxenus says. Now, you see, the harmony [or mode] of the barbarian psaltery [a kind of lyre], revealing the solemnity of that sort of melody, happens to be very old [here to demonstrate he quotes a fragment of Terpander, a poet of the seventh century BC]....Now according to the primary signification, let the kithara [another form of lyre] be interpreted allegorically by the Psalmist as the Lord, and according to the secondary [signification let it be] those who prayerfully strum their souls with the Lord as their conductor.2

This passage not only presents the deep-rooted place of the lyre and string instruments in ancient classical ritual, but it also connects them to Christianity. The reference to the prophet David and the Psalms (a scriptural text with an etymologically musical name) is an obvious connection, but the metaphorical interpretation of the lyre as Christ and the souls of the faithful is Clement’s own idea and is characteristic of his imagination. Having Christianized the lyre, he continues later in the passage:

Well, now, we must touch upon [ἀπτέον, the same word used in the first passage] music for the adornment and bedecking of character. Undoubtedly, during drinking parties we drink each other’s health in song, commemorating in song that which we desire and glorifying God for his unstinting gift of human enjoyments and nourishments for the growth of both body and soul that are eternally being supplied.3 Atonal [περιττή] music, on the other hand, is to be spit out since it binds souls and throws them into various moods [ποικιλίαν], sometimes sorrowful [θρηνώδη], sometimes licentious and pleasure-loving [ἀκόλαστον καὶ ἡδυπαθῆ], sometimes Bacchic and manic [ἐκβακχευομένη καὶ μανικήν]. 4

While flutes are not explicitly mentioned in the passage, the characteristics of modern music (περιττὴ μουσική) that Clement describes are related to certain stereotypical aspects of “new music,” characteristics that Plato and Aristotle reject and associate with flutes.

Plato accepts both the Dorian and Phrygian modes―the same two that Clement mentions―but rejects the others on the grounds of corruption of character. He expels the Mixolydian and Syntonolydian for being “sorrowful harmonies” (θρηνώδεις ἀρμονίαι) and the Ionian and Lydian for being “soft and revelling” (μαλακαὶ καὶ συμποτικαί), descriptions that resemble Clement’s similar complaints about music that is “sorrowful…[and] licentious and pleasure-loving.”5 With regard to instruments, Plato retains in his ideal city only the lyre and the kithara, specifically rejecting the flute on account of its tendency towards all of the modes.6 Later in the work, he specifically associates flute-playing with drunkenness and luxury, scorning those who follow the fashions and sometimes are found “drunken and abandoned to the pleasures of the flute” (μεθύων καὶ καταυλούμενος).7 A similar juxtaposition occurs in the Symposium, which is an intentional reversal of the usual phenomena of symposia; in Plato’s version, rather than being an occasion for the indulgence of physical pleasure, the dinner-party is subverted into an occasion specifically designed to exalt intellect above pleasure. To this end, the guests send away the flute-player in order to have an intellectual discussion, one of them suggesting: “I propose next that we allow the flute-girl who just arrived to leave; she can go and play the flute to herself, or, if she wishes, to the women inside, but we should instead spend our time today in conversation.”8 This further strengthens the connection between flute-playing and luxury as well as the dichotomy between flute-playing and rational, intellectual formation.

Plato similarly emphasizes the important influence of music on education, insisting that traditional forms of music be retained and innovation be spurned. He states that the guardians of his ideal city must be vigilant in guarding against the introduction of new forms of music:

[The guardians] must preserve this, namely that there be no innovation in gymnastics and music contrary to proper order, but rather that they protect them as much as they can, being suspicious whenever anybody says that men think most highly of the song “which flutters around newest among singers,” lest anybody suppose that the poet is not referring to new songs but rather to a new type of singing and is praising that. One must neither praise such a thing nor suppose it to be meant. For one must be very wary of changing to a new form of music as of a thorough peril, because musical forms are never altered without the greatest changes in political laws.9

Clement’s reference to music for “the adornment and bedecking of character” is not quite as profound and direct as this, but it still presents the same notion, viz. that music is a central part of human formation and character.

Aristotle expresses the same idea in Book VIII of the Politics; he mentions the same modes as Plato and Clement and attributes similar characteristics to them:

In melodies themselves there are imitations of character; this is clear since plainly the natures of harmonies differ, so that those who hear them are disposed in different ways and do not have the same affection from each of them, but rather some make them mournful and sullen, such as that which is called Mixolydian; others put them in a softer state of mind, such as those unrestrained modes; and most of all another one makes them moderate and calm, such as the Dorian, which alone among harmonies seems to produce this effect, while the Phrygian makes them enthusiastic.10

Like Clement and Plato, Aristotle considers the Mixolydian mode to be overly melancholy and the Dorian to be the most commendable, but he is less fond of the Phrygian than they are. He even specifically criticizes Plato for allowing Phrygian as well as Dorian in his ideal city. Significantly, his reason for excluding Phrygian is that it is too closely related to flute-playing:

The Socrates of the Republic does not do well when he permits as the only modes Phrygian as well as Dorian, especially since he has rejected the flute among instruments, since the Phrygian has the same power among harmonies as the flute among instruments; both are orgiastic and emotional. Poetry makes this clear, since all Bacchic verse and all of that sort of motion is particularly characteristic of flutes, among all instruments, and they also take their appropriate harmonies from Phrygian melodies, just as the dithyramb seems to be by all accounts Phrygian…while, about the Dorian, everyone admits that it is very stable and has the most manly character.11

One of Clement’s objections to modern music (περιττὴ μουσική) is that it could be “Bacchic and manic,” qualities which Aristotle explicitly links with the flute. On account of these properties, Aristotle considers that the flute is not safe to be used in education:

Moreover, the flute is not an ethical instrument but rather an orgiastic one, so that it should be used at those times in which the experience is for the sake of purification rather than education. We may add that besides this there is a further opposition to education, namely that flute-playing prevents the use of speech. Therefore those in earlier times rightly rejected its use [i.e., that of the flute] by the young and the free.12

This further emphasizes the dangers of flute-playing, especially for the young and unformed; Aristotle points out that not only are the emotional connotations of flute-playing opposed to rational discourse but also the very activity itself is physically incompatible with it. This suggests that the flute is unsuitable for those who do not yet have a solid rational formation and can be injurious to them by simultaneously arousing their emotions and hindering the full use of their rational faculties.

Returning to the original statement from the Stromata, it seems likely that the underlying meaning is that, first of all, those inexperienced in gnosis should not try to participate in things which are good in themselves but for which they are not yet ready, as symbolized by the lyre; moreover, they should especially (μήν) not participate in things which are dangerous and can arouse passions, as symbolized by the flute. Whether all of these implications would have been clear to Clement’s audience, they are certainly quite plausible given his characteristic depth and fondness for employing different levels of meaning. In employing such a rich and often arcane writing style, Clement obviously chooses his words carefully, and the connotations of even the smallest particle in a simple and apparently casual metaphor can be deeply significant. Hence, far from being accidental, the musical examples that Clement employs allow for a more nuanced and meaningful understanding of the passage and contribute to its profundity.

Notes

1. Clemens Alexandrinus, Stromata Buch I-VI, VI. XIV, ed. OttoStälin (Leipzig: Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1906), 112, 1. [Translations mine.]

2. Ibid., VI. XI, 88, 1-3.

3. The word for “supply,” ἐπιχορηγέω, is etymologically related to the word for chorus, suggesting a further musical reference.

4. Clemens, VI. XI, 89, 4-90, 2.

5. Plato, Republic, Book III, 398e, 399a, ed. P. Shorey (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1937), 246.

6. Ibid., Book III, 399d, 248.

7. Ibid., Book VIII, 561c, 300.

8. Plato, Symposium, 176e in Lysis, Symposium, Gorgias, ed. W.R. M. Lamb (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1925), 96.

9. Republic, Book IV, 424b-c, 330-32.

10. Aristotle, Politics, 1340a39-b5, ed. H. Rackham (London: Heinemann, 1932), 658.

11. Ibid., 1342a33-b12, 672-74.

12. Ibid., 1341a21-28, 664.