Music’s Role in Early Civilisations: The Soundtrack to Society
As humans evolved from cave-dwellers into city-builders, music remained a crucial part of daily life. Whether it was the Egyptians, the Greeks, or the Romans, music was everywhere—woven into the very fabric of society. From religious ceremonies and royal celebrations to education and public performances, music was seen as more than just entertainment. It was a way to connect with the divine, express the inexpressible, and bind communities together. In many ways, music was the cultural glue that held society intact.
Think of it like this: if life in early civilisations was a film, music was the soundtrack that told you how to feel. It was the booming drum in the background of royal processions, the haunting flute in moments of mourning, and the cheerful lyre that accompanied festivals. Even the most practical societies understood that life without music would be like a film without a score—dull and emotionally flat.
The Egyptians: Singing Their Way to the Afterlife
For the Egyptians, music was a sacred gift from the gods. It played an important role in both religious and secular life, and they weren’t shy about making a fuss of it. The goddess Hathor, who presided over music, dance, and joy, was often depicted holding a sistrum—a type of musical rattle. If you were Egyptian, the sound of music was everywhere, from the temples to the fields. Farmers would sing as they worked, hoping to ensure a good harvest, and musicians played at religious ceremonies, helping souls journey to the afterlife. After all, who wants to make that trip in silence?
Music wasn’t just something to listen to; it was something to experience. And the Egyptians took it seriously—so seriously, in fact, that they believed the right kind of music could make the gods themselves smile favourably upon you. For the ancient Egyptians, music wasn’t just a form of entertainment or a background noise to a royal feast. No, it had real power—a kind of magical force that could influence everything from the success of a harvest to the journey of a soul into the afterlife.
Imagine the scene: a grand temple, its walls adorned with hieroglyphs, incense wafting through the air as priests perform sacred rites. And there, in the middle of it all, musicians playing delicate tunes on harps and flutes. This wasn’t just for ambience. The Egyptians believed that music was a direct line to the divine—a way to connect with the gods and ensure their favour. Get the music right, and you might just ensure a bountiful harvest or smooth sailing for a pharaoh’s soul into the next life.
Ian Shaw, in his Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, describes how tomb paintings often depict musicians playing instruments not just for the living but for the dead. You see, for the Egyptians, death wasn’t the end; it was just a transition into another existence. And what better way to ease that journey than with a beautiful melody? Tombs, particularly those of pharaohs and nobles, often included depictions of musicians playing lyres, harps, and flutes, ensuring that the deceased would be well-entertained in the afterlife. After all, nobody wants an eternity of silence!
And it wasn’t just any music that made it to the tombs—it had to be the right music. The Egyptians were fastidious about their rituals, and that extended to the tunes that accompanied them. Different ceremonies required different musical arrangements. A funeral procession? Expect a solemn, measured rhythm. A celebration of a new temple? Cue the joyful flutes and lively percussion. For the Egyptians, music was as essential to religious life as the priests performing the rites or the incense burning in the air.
In fact, even the instruments themselves had symbolic significance. The sistrum, a kind of rattle associated with the goddess Hathor, was believed to have protective powers. When shaken, it was said to ward off evil spirits and bring harmony to the world. It wasn’t just an instrument—it was a tool for maintaining cosmic balance. Hathor herself, often depicted holding a sistrum, was the goddess of music, dance, and joy. So, next time you find yourself shaking a maraca, just remember—you’re practically performing an ancient Egyptian rite.
The Egyptians took their music to the grave—literally. But they didn’t just see it as something to be enjoyed by the living. They believed that music could transcend the mortal world, accompanying souls as they journeyed into the afterlife. If you think about it, they were really ahead of the curve. Long before Spotify or MP3 players, they’d figured out the ultimate playlist—one that would keep you company not just on the way to work but all the way to eternity.
So, whether you were praying for the gods’ favour, celebrating a new temple, or planning your soundtrack for the afterlife, music was an indispensable part of Egyptian life. In a world that revolved around the divine, music was the universal language that spoke to both humans and gods. And clearly, they thought that even in the afterlife, a bit of music couldn’t hurt.
The Greeks: More Than a Song—A Way of Life
The Greeks, as with most things, took music and gave it a good philosophical pondering. For them, music was more than just a pastime—it was a tool that shaped the soul and, potentially, the state. They believed that music could influence a person’s character, and they didn’t leave this to chance. Different modes of music (think of these as ancient musical scales) were thought to inspire different emotions and behaviours. Plato wasn’t just interested in what kind of tunes made you dance; he was worried about how they could corrupt or elevate your very being.
In his famous work The Republic, Plato didn’t just talk politics—he had quite a bit to say about music too. He suggested that music had the power to shape who you were. Depending on what you listened to, music could make you brave, thoughtful, or even virtuous. Yes, according to Plato, the right tune could put some moral backbone into your day, making you a better citizen and human being. But, true to form, Plato wasn’t about to let people pick their own playlists.
In what was perhaps the earliest attempt at censorship, Plato proposed banning certain kinds of music altogether. His concern was that some music might stir up the wrong kinds of emotions—too much excitement or rebellion, particularly among the youth. He feared that the wrong kind of music could weaken their resolve, make them too emotional, and distract them from their duties to the state. Plato was deeply worried that music might give the young Athenians ideas—and not the good, philosophical kind.
Now, picture this: Plato, the ultimate philosopher king, walking into Athens’ ancient version of a record shop (OK, maybe more like a lyre shop) and shaking his head disapprovingly at the latest hits. “Too much emotion,” he’d mutter, vetoing a particularly catchy tune. “This one will cause chaos in the polis.”
In fact, Plato argued that music should be so carefully controlled that only specific types—those that promoted discipline and rationality—should be allowed in the city-state. "Let me make the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes its laws,” Plato might have said, had he been a bit less philosophical and a bit more of a control freak. He believed music had the power to either uphold or unravel society itself. And in his ideal world, the wrong type of music was as dangerous as bad governance. It seems the world’s first music critic didn’t care much for artistic freedom.
But let’s not get too caught up in Plato’s slightly overbearing tendencies. The bigger point here is that for the Greeks, music wasn’t just an art form; it was a vital part of life and learning. It wasn’t just something you played in the background at dinner parties—music was philosophy, it was science, and, as Aristotle would later explain, it was also medicine for the soul.
Aristotle, Plato’s student and occasional philosophical sparring partner, believed that music had the power to provide catharsis—a way to release emotions. He argued that the right kind of music could help you process feelings and restore emotional balance. If you’ve ever belted out your favourite song after a rough day or felt tears well up during a particularly moving melody, you’re doing exactly what Aristotle said you should. Music, he thought, allowed people to experience and then purge emotions in a healthy way, preventing them from being bottled up.
Aristotle also classified music into different modes (ancient musical scales), which he believed could elicit specific emotional responses. The Dorian mode, for example, was considered calming, ideal for inspiring courage and self-discipline, while the Phrygian mode was more intense and passionate, perfect for stirring up excitement. Aristotle would probably be very interested in today’s Spotify algorithms. Imagine him curating a “Chill Vibes” playlist, carefully choosing each track to keep your mind calm and focused.
The Greeks treated music with an almost scientific reverence. They understood that it wasn’t just sound; it was something much deeper—a force that could influence your thoughts, emotions, and even your character. It was no accident that music was an essential part of a well-rounded Greek education. They believed it was just as important as mathematics or rhetoric. Plato and Aristotle didn’t just see music as a pleasant diversion—they saw it as a crucial tool in developing a virtuous, balanced individual.
So while today we might think of music as something we listen to on the way to work or to unwind, for the Greeks, it was nothing short of a moral compass. The right melody could steer you towards virtue, while the wrong one could leave you adrift in a sea of emotion and chaos. And, much like in Plato’s Athens, the debate over what music does to us—whether it uplifts or distracts—still echoes today.
Romans and Their Love for a Spectacle: Music for Every Occasion
Then there were the Romans. Pragmatic as ever, the Romans saw music as something to whip the troops into shape and keep the people entertained. Music played a key role in their military might, with trumpeters and horn players signalling commands on the battlefield. In a way, you could say the Roman army had its own marching band—just with a bit more at stake than winning a football match.
But it wasn’t just for war. The Romans, ever the masters of spectacle, loved a good show, and music was the beating heart of their public performances. From gladiatorial contests to dramatic theatre and even the chaos of chariot races, music was always there, stirring the crowd into a frenzy or, at the very least, keeping them entertained between bloodier moments. You wouldn’t exactly find the deep philosophical pondering of the Greeks here—no, this was about the thrill, the adrenaline, the spectacle. And, let’s be honest, a good soundtrack never hurts when you’re trying to keep an audience on the edge of their seat.
Gladiators battling to the death? Cue the horns and drums. Chariot races thundering around the Circus Maximus? Time for some triumphant trumpet blasts to heighten the drama. It wasn’t the reflective, soul-searching music of Plato’s Athens, but it sure got the crowd going. In a way, it was Rome’s version of the blockbuster movie score—big, loud, and guaranteed to keep you engaged.
Despite the often harsh realities of Roman life (what with all the invading, conquering, and occasional backstabbing), music wasn’t just a public pastime. It was also considered an important part of education for the wealthy. Roman children—at least those lucky enough to have well-off parents—were taught to play instruments and sing as part of their broader education. It wasn’t enough to know your Virgil and your Latin rhetoric; a bit of musical knowledge was essential for rounding off your cultural credentials. Music, after all, was thought to refine the soul and demonstrate one's sophistication—because what better way to prove you’re civilised than by plucking a lyre after a nice debate about Stoic philosophy?
As Cicero, the great Roman orator, once said: “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” But if Cicero had thought it through, he might have added, “And maybe a lute player to set the mood.” After all, what’s a peaceful afternoon in the garden without a little background music?
In short, even in a society known more for its conquests than its introspection, music played a significant role in daily life. It wasn’t just something to enjoy at a festival—it was part of the very fabric of Roman culture, both in public life and in the private education of the elite. And, much like today, music was used to create atmosphere, set the tone, and, occasionally, drown out the screams of a particularly unfortunate gladiator.
Music as a Cultural Necessity: Nietzsche and the Modern Echo
What’s clear from these ancient societies is that music wasn’t just a way to pass the time. It was woven into every part of life—from birth to death, from the battlefield to the banquet hall. It wasn’t a luxury; it was essential. Music was part of what it meant to be a citizen, a soldier, a student, or a leader. To say that the Greeks or Egyptians treated music as a "nice extra" would be like saying they thought food was a hobby.
Even as we fast-forward through history, this view of music as a cultural necessity lingers. Long after the days of gladiators and Greek philosophers, the 19th-century thinker Friedrich Nietzsche came along, never one to mince his words. He famously declared: “Without music, life would be a mistake.” And Nietzsche wasn’t talking about missing out on your favourite playlist or that feeling of dread when you realise your phone’s run out of battery on a long train journey. No, he was getting at something much deeper.
Nietzsche understood music’s unique ability to elevate the human spirit. He saw it as more than a form of entertainment—it was a means of expressing the profound, the ineffable, the emotions that words alone simply cannot capture. In many ways, Nietzsche was echoing the same understanding that civilisations as far back as the Egyptians had: music is essential. It’s a force that connects us to something larger than ourselves, a way to experience life in a way that’s raw, emotional, and ultimately human.
For Nietzsche, life without music wasn’t just dull—it was unthinkable. He knew that music had the power to tap into the very core of human existence, to express the things we can’t always say with words, whether it’s the joy of victory or the depths of sorrow. As he saw it, without music, we’d be missing a crucial part of what makes us, well, us.
Civilisations throughout history have recognised this. From the Egyptians, who believed music could influence the gods, to the Greeks, who saw it as a moral compass, to the Romans, who used it to whip crowds into a frenzy, music has always been more than just a pastime. It was—and still is—a fundamental part of our cultural DNA.
So maybe Nietzsche was right. Perhaps we’ve forgotten the importance of music, sidelining it in favour of more “practical” pursuits. But civilisations from ancient Egypt to modern Europe have understood that music is more than just noise—it’s a way to connect to something deeper. It’s a reminder of who we are, what we feel, and why life is worth living.
Maybe it’s time we remembered that too.
Today: A Bit Less Trumpet, A Lot Less Plato
And yet, here we are. Thousands of years after the Greeks sat around discussing the moral consequences of musical scales and the Romans used trumpets to send gladiators into battle, we’ve managed to reduce music to a 30-minute session in schools—if we’re lucky. It’s squeezed between spelling tests and times tables, and you can almost hear the collective sigh of relief when it’s over. Instead of shaping our character or lifting our spirits, music has become an afterthought, something we’ll “get to” if time (and budget) allows.
Imagine Plato wandering into a modern classroom. He’d take one look at the curriculum, glance at the dusty corner where the tambourines are kept, and probably faint on the spot. After a dramatic recovery, he’d likely sit down and furiously compose a new syllabus, one where music is taken as seriously as it was in ancient Greece—where every melody is analysed for its ability to make students brave, reflective, or possibly virtuous. Plato wouldn’t have time for our “optional extra” approach to music. No, he’d be horrified to see that we’ve relegated the very thing that could keep us emotionally and morally balanced to a half-hearted sing-along.
And Aristotle? He’d take one look at our stress levels and tell us we’ve got our catharsis priorities all wrong. You can picture him now, peering over his glasses (I know, he didn’t have glasses, but bear with me), shaking his head as he explains that music isn’t just a nice distraction; it’s how we release pent-up emotions. It’s how we restore balance to our lives. He’d probably recommend a healthy dose of Dorian mode to get us back on track.
After all, we’re trying to make it through the school day, not run an empire, right?
The truth is, ancient societies didn’t just include music in their lives—they elevated it. They saw it as something far more powerful than we give it credit for today. Music wasn’t just background noise; it was a force that shaped individuals and connected communities. Whether it was used to communicate with the gods, inspire warriors, or mould the minds of young philosophers, music was seen as an essential part of life.
Fast forward to today, and we seem to have forgotten that. Somewhere along the line, in our pursuit of higher test scores and academic achievement, we’ve managed to push music to the periphery. But here’s the thing: music has always been about more than just sound. It’s about expressing what we can’t put into words, about connecting with something deeper, and, in many ways, about understanding who we are.
So maybe it’s time we took a leaf from the scrolls of our ancient ancestors. If music was good enough for the gods, gladiators, and Greek philosophers, it’s probably something worth fighting for. After all, it’s been shaping civilisations for thousands of years. What’s a little more time and effort to make sure it’s still part of our children’s education?
The next time someone suggests cutting music from the curriculum, just remind them: if it weren’t for music, we might still be grunting at each other in caves
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