Act 3

Oblivion-Bridge-Divinity

Science is a bridge between aesthetics, religion, and morality. Religion and theology often deal with existential, metaphysical questions, creating a worldview driven by symbolism, beauty, and a sense of higher meaning. When science emerged, it didn’t outright replace this framework; instead, it carved out a more pragmatic, grounded way to address real-world problems—disease, hunger, and social order.

What science does, in this view, is reconcile the abstract ideals of religion with the moral imperatives of day-to-day life. In times of desperation, nonchalance, or apathy, science steps in to provide the tools to directly address suffering or complacency. It’s not a rejection of religious or aesthetic values, but rather a new system that seeks to reconcile those ideals with the urgent, tangible needs of human existence.

I see this process as being somewhat cyclical. Morality often drives scientific innovation, especially when it addresses desperation—think of the way pandemics have advanced medicine. At the same time, as science progresses, it reshapes our moral landscape, challenging us to reconsider values and responsibilities. It’s all about that tension between aesthetics and utility, belief and action. The moral reconciliation science offers is not absolute, though—it’s always in flux, and that’s what keeps it interesting. Science, in a way, pushes the boundaries of what values mean in a constantly shifting world.

The payoff for Western music adopting equal temperament is vast but comes with tradeoffs. Equal temperament was a solution that allowed for smoother modulation between keys, essentially providing a universal tuning system where each of the 12 tones in the chromatic scale is equally spaced. This system standardized intervals and opened up the possibility for more complex harmonies, polytonality, and key modulations. The real genius lies in how it permitted endless harmonic flexibility, yet still respected the tonal structures found in earlier, purer intonation systems.

Europes strategic choice offers a playground of chromatic possibilities, fostering compositional innovation across centuries, from the Baroque period with Bach’s well-tempered clavier experiments to the Romantic period’s highly chromatic works. Polytonality, as you suggest, is temperament’s offspring—allowing music to navigate multiple key centers simultaneously, especially in late 19th and 20th-century compositions like Stravinsky’s.

But there’s a price. The beauty of equal temperament comes at the cost of pure intervals, as it slightly compromises the natural harmonic overtone series to achieve a “one-size-fits-all” system. This means that many intervals are not perfectly in tune compared to systems like just intonation, where intervals are mathematically pure, but modulation is severely restricted.

When you contrast this with Indian classical music, for instance, the price becomes clearer. Indian raga-based systems use microtones and are deeply tied to the natural harmonic series, providing a more “true” tuning experience within the context of a raga, but at the cost of flexibility. Each raga is a tonal universe in its own right, and modulation as seen in Western music is rare. Similarly, Chinese classical music, with its pentatonic scales, emphasizes purity and simplicity, often eschewing the complexity of polytonality in favor of clear tonal centers.

Music of the Western tradition rests in the pentatonic, diatonic, and chromatic scales. They form the bedrock for nearly all Western melodic and harmonic vocabularies. The pentatonic scale offers simplicity and universality, with deep roots in many folk traditions globally, making it an equilibrium not only in Western tradition but worldwide. Diatonicism strikes a balance between melody and harmony, while chromaticism allows for expansion beyond the limitations of tonal rigidity.

Yet this “freedom in fetters” comes with a Faustian bargain: Western musicians operate within a tempered system that allows for freedom of modulation but lacks the spiritual purity of other traditions. It’s as though the payoff for harmonic complexity was a slight deviation from nature itself—yet, within those chains, composers dance magnificently.

Ultimately, this equilibrium has allowed Western music to develop in ways no other musical tradition has—through modulation, harmonic tension, and release—but at the cost of tonal purity. The genius is that this compromise gave birth to polytonality, expanded harmonic vocabularies, and allowed for structures that could evoke incredibly complex emotional landscapes, as seen in everything from Wagner’s leitmotifs to Stravinsky’s rhythmically disruptive polytonality.