Reading like a Heretic

      In one of his essays on Thomas Aquinas (alas, it was in a book I borrowed from the library long ago and cannot now remember the name of), Umberto Eco states that the worst thing to ever happen to Aquinas was being made a saint and a doctor of the church. It is important to remember that upon his death he was branded a heretic and his writings were forbidden for 50 years. And with good reason! Aquinas purported to expound Christian doctrine, while freely quoting pagan sources. He cites the ancient pagan Aristotle, Jewish philosophers like Moses Maimonides, and Muslim philosophers like Ibn Rushd (Averroes) and Ibn Sina (Avicenna). In being made a saint, Eco argues, Aquinas's philosophy was absorbed into an official interpretation that fundamentally obscures the originality of his thought. If you want to see this originality, you have to read him like he's a heretic.

Thomas Aquinas painting by Carlo Crivelli

     It is this official, Church approved interpretation of Aquinas that has made people like Bertrand Russell dismiss Aquinas’s philosophy wholesale as nothing more than apologetics. (See his section on Aquinas in his History of Western Philosophy.) But most serious philosophers who care to study medieval philosophy in depth, like Etienne Gilson, have come to radically different conclusions. Gilson's thesis is that Aristotelean philosophy was simultaneously considered heretical and also true science. The medieval university teachers were forced into a double life, teaching Aristotle in the classroom while simultaneously denouncing Aristotle to the Church. Aquinas broke this stalemate by claiming the two were compatible. It was inevitable that he would be branded a heretic for this action (while also being original in his thought, while also influencing Catholic doctrine). (Again, trying to find the book I read by Gilson containing this thesis. It's been a long time. I suck at citations.)

     My study of Aquinas convinced me, to a certain extent, that if you want to avoid the trite and simplistic interpretations like Russell's, you need to read Aquinas like a heretic. Don't assume he is writing with the approval of the Church. Don't assume his writings are the bulwark of Christian doctrine so much as their destruction. Only then does the originality of his thought flourish. I carry this same hermeneutic with me wherever I go and whomever I read. Look for the originality.

     In philosophical circles we have a saying that goes like this: “X was not an Xist/Xian.” "Immanuel Kant was not a Kantian." "Thomas Aquinas was not a Thomist." "Karl Marx was not a Marxist." Etc. (In the realest example of all, it would be accurate to say Christ was not a Christian.) Always draw a distinction between an individual's thought and the official interpretation of their thought. Do not assume that the school of thought which purports to faithfully interpret a thinker accurately interprets that thinker. Look with fresh eyes. Assume you are the first person to have ever read Aquinas when you read Aquinas. Assume you are the first person to have ever read Kant when you read Kant. Fill in whichever philosopher’s, or theologian’s, or economist’s, or historian’s, or critic’s, or politician’s name you want. Read them directly, and distinguish them from the movement they started.

     Now, none of this means you shouldn’t read secondary sources. You must read secondary sources. You must learn what the standard interpretations are. Indeed, failure to read the secondary sources can lead to intellectual travesties. (I am here reminded that Ayn Rand claimed that her philosophy was entirely gleamed from reading Aristotle and only Aristotle. Rand could have used some secondary sources.) You can learn from other people’s scholarship and gain from their hard work. But you must be wary of the opposite error. Never assume that your secondary sources reveal the complete picture. (Imagine the intellectual travesty of someone reading Ayn Rand and then supposing they understood Aristotle.)

     The next time you pick up a book, think about how you are going to read it. Are you reading it because you belong to some school of thought that has some agenda to set? Do you have preconceived views you are trying to find support for? (I know I sometimes pick up a book not because I genuinely want to learn from it but because I'm looking for information that will support my preestablished views.) Or are you going to try to have a one-on-one intellectual encounter with the author, an encounter with no preset agenda, with no "correct" interpretation, just an attempt to understand them? 

     Are you going to risk reading like a heretic? 

Post-Script: I have avoided taking up the specific issue here of reading the Bible. It seems impossible to talk about this subject in much depth without talking about Martin Luther. Perhaps that will have to be another essay for another day? Unfortunately, I cannot do this topic justice at present.

Pax vobiscum!

Why The Mandalorian's Music is so Great!

      I continue to be impressed with the quality of music found in today's entertainment. I want to give so many examples to drive home the point that our TV shows, movies, and video games are full of great, classically based music; but I'll limit myself to one for right now. Today, I'm going to focus on the music written by Ludwig Göransson for the Mandalorian, in particular, his piece simply titled A Friend, which plays during the season two finale when Luke Skywalker shows up to rescue the good guys from the dark troopers.

     Oh, uh, spoiler alert.

     This piece of music is extremely well crafted to set the mood of the scene. You want tension to reflect the danger and uncertainty of the scene, but you also don't want dread. This is, after all, a good guy coming to the rescue, so you want the music to signify hope and security. So how does Göransson do this? The short answer is through a dark minor feeling, angular movement, and open melodic structure.

     First, the simple observation that the piece is in a minor key, which is generally going to have a darker sound to it. There's a couple devices at work at the beginning to immediately set the mood. For one, there is a part played by the synthesizer that is set almost to the quality of a human voice. This part alternates between two notes, creating tension on the upper note and release on the lower note. This constant pulsing between tension and release gives the piece a dark sound, but since the release is so prominent, it also makes the piece feel like it will come to a restful resolution. The main part you hear at the beginning outlines a C sharp minor chord, but you actually don't hear a C sharp note at first, making the peace sound uneasy. 

     But the bread and butter of this piece is the melody, which sharply twists and turns, with sudden changes in direction. This type of melodic movement that changes suddenly in direction is often referred to as "angular." This angular movement builds tension. There's nothing smooth about this melody. It's not relaxing. The tension is pulpable. 

     But here's where the final feature comes in. The melody spands a very wide range, and it doesn't move in short melodic steps, but rather jumps and leaps in wide intervals. This "open" style of melody creates a feeling of space. The composer Aaron Copland is very famous for using open melodic patterns to represent space, splendor, and grandness. Consider his Fanfare for the Common Man. Here it is for your listening pleasure.

     Copland's use of wide melodic range is a distinctive feature of the musical style he developed. This style became emblematic of the American frontier. This same technique is present in Göransson's music for the Mandalorian. The theme for the Mandalorian begins with these open leaping sounds, reminiscent of westerns. However, these techniques carry far beyond a western genre. A Friend is in no way reminiscent of a western, but it uses this same technique. But before we get to A Friend, here is the theme for the Mandalorian. Pay attention to the 2:15 mark. This sounds like it could have come directly out of Copland's music. 

     By using this open melodic style in a happier music setting, Göransson can create a sense of frontiersmanship and adventure. In contrast, by using this open feeling in the context of a dark piece of music like A Friend, the darkness of the music is given breathing room. It's not claustrophobic. It's as if there's all this room for potential, for resolution. Instead of descending into a dark place, it's more like being lifted up out of a dark place.

     So let's listen to A Friend, which I have posted here. Pay attention to 1] the darkness of the minor key, 2] the sudden changes in direction in the melody (angular movement), and 3] the huge gaps or leaps the melody takes (space). 

     Now lets do a comparison from classical music, because A Friend immediately reminded me of a piece by J.S. Bach which I did an analysis on while studying for my B.A. in music. 

     The piece I am reminded of is the Agnus Dei from J.S. Bach's Mass in B minor. His Agnus Dei is full of similar angular movement and utilizes large gaps and leaps to create a sense of space. The melody spans a huge range, so that even though it has lots of tension, it offers a lot of breathing room. 

     Bach, like Göransson, had a particular emotion he wanted to convey. Bach wanted his church audience to experience the tension that exists in that moment when you ask for forgiveness. You feel both the weight of your wrongdoings (tension) but also the hope of being forgiven (openness). You feel this tension in the angularity of his piece, as well as in his use of diminished chords, which is off the charts. At the same time, the melody leaps up and down creating wide melodic space. Just for example, at the very end when Bach goes from the leading tone to the tonic, instead of going up a half step (the shortest possible interval) which would be expected, he drops the melody down a major seventh (the largest possible interval within an octave). These types of large leaps are buried throughout the piece.

     Here is a great visualization of the Bach's Agnus Dei. Notice how much movement the violin part has, going up and down and utilizing all sorts of leaps creating space for breathing. Again, pay attention to 1] the darkness of the minor key, 2] the sudden changes in direction in the melody (angular movement), and 3] the huge gaps or leaps the melody takes (space).

     You see, fundamentally, Bach and Göransson both want the same effect. Their music is weighty but also signifies a pathway forward to a happy resolution. They both use a minor key, angular movement, and open melodies, creating tension while also offering ample breathing room. Both of them execute this perfectly. So, when I say that A Friend is a great piece of music, I'm not just making this up. And gosh darn it, what else am I going to use my degree in music for if not to back up my musical opinions with facts and logic? 

Where did the Classical Music Go? (Or Why the Mandalorian's Music is Great!)

     Why is there no more good classical music being written today? Why are modern "classical composers" all writing weird, atonal, post-modern nonsense? Why has classical music lost its cultural footing? Why are forms of music like rap elevated above classical music?

     Why is Cardi B. more popular than Beethoven?

     In my last post, I discussed some ways in which the classical music world has alienated its audience. In many ways, the diminution of classical music in the public sphere is the fault of classicists. But let's not revisit that now. In this post I want to make a completely different point. The fact of the matter is, classical music is alive and strong in modern culture. It's everywhere in fact. It's just not consumed as music. Let me explain.

     Classical music has always had a strong connection with story-telling, and musical development goes hand-in-hand with story telling tactics. The mode of story telling was usually captured by the titles used to describe the music. An opera is a staged performance of a story that is both sung and acted, as in Mozart's Don Giovanni or Beethoven's Fidelio. An oratorio is a story told through music but not acted, as is the case with Handel's Saul or Messiah. A cantata is music specifically written to accompany the Bible readings from Sunday liturgy, focusing on whatever stories or parables were preached that day. The majority of J.S. Bach's career was devoted to accompanying Sunday worship. 

     This role of music as a mode of story-telling has its theoretical roots in the early 1600's, at which time there was a great musical debate between two schools of thought. Claudio Monteverdi had established a new set of principles for writing music, and this style he termed the second practice (seconda practica), to distinguish it from the older style or first practice (prima practica). More traditional composers, led by Giovanni Artusi, insisted upon the older style. Monteverdi's school of thought won, and this new school is generally considered to be the start of the baroque period in music history. The baroque period is generally dated as 1600-1750, from around the start of Monteverdi's new school to the death of J.S. Bach.

     The animating principle behind the second practice was to allow the music to be dictated by the story being told. To quote Grout's History of Western Music, "in the first practice music dominated the verbal text, while in the second practice the text dominated the music. In the new style, the old rules could be broken and dissonances used more freely to express the feelings evoked in the text." (Grout, 6th ed., pg. 255) In this new school, musicians, and artists in general, operated under the assumption that art's purpose was to convey the emotions--which they referred to as affections--which were appropriate to the story being told. With this new theory, opera came to dominate the music scene. The experience of opera was more fully immersive than traditional story telling. Not only could you follow the story, and see the actors acting it out, but you could be immersed in the emotion of the story through the musical setting.

     In large part, the humanist movement brought about by the Renaissance allowed for secular stories to find a place in the baroque landscape. As beautiful as church chant can be, when music is centered around prayer or formulaic creeds, there is little need to express a wide rage of emotions in one's music. Humanism allowed for ancient stories to be retold, as in Monteverdi's L'Orfeo (the first "serious opera") or for new stories to be told for the first time, like Pergolesi's La Serva Padrona (the first "comic opera"). In each case, the music served as a means of immersing the audience in the story. 

     It is important to remember that opera was originally written in the language of its audience. Today, American audiences have a difficult time relating to the central story-telling of opera. It's more music than story, because it's more Italian (or French, or German) than English. At the time, however, these languages were themselves the "vulgar" languages of the people. In fact, there are English operas, such as Purcell's Dido and Aeneas, and Handel wrote most of his oratorios in English, often barrowing music from his Italian operas.

     So why am I telling you all of this? Well, what's important to note is that the theoretical setting of music established at the start of the baroque era holds true today. At that time, music thrived when it took on the role of conveying the emotional qualities of stories. Music flourished when the stories come first. The height of opera is also a height in story telling. 

     And herein lies the problem with "modern classical" music. Concert halls were never the primary stage for music performance. Opera houses and musical theaters were. The problem is, the theater/opera is no longer our primary means of telling stories. If you want to see where the classical music has gone, you need to look to where our stories are being told. Today, our primary means of telling stories are electronic. Here, I am thinking of movies and video games.

     I continue to be impressed with the quality of music found in today's entertainment. I want to give so many examples to drive home the point that our TV shows, movies, and video games are full of great, classically based music, but space dictates I focus on just one.  For this reason, I'm going to focus on the music written by Ludwig Göransson for the Mandalorian, in particular, his piece simply titled A Friend, which plays during the season two finale when Luke Skywalker shows up to rescue the good guys from the dark troopers.

     Oh, uh, spoiler alert.

     This piece of music is extremely well crafted. It creates both tension and breathing room at the same time. The tension is achieved through its use of a minor key and a melody which sharply twists and turns, outlining dissonant chords. This type of melodic movement that changes suddenly in direction is often referred to as "angular," and it is the key to getting this music to achieve this affect. This angular movement builds tension, but at the same time, the melodic leaps allow for the melody to have such a wide range that nothing feels claustrophobic. It creates a sense of wide open space, which translates into more breathing room. Ergo, tension and breathing room at the same time. This is a perfect effect you want for this piece of music. You want the tension to reflect the danger and uncertainty of the scene, but you also don't want dread. This is, after all, a good guy coming to the rescue, so you want the music to signify hope and security. And the music has to carry the scene since there is extremely little talking. Göransson pulled this off perfectly.

     To illustrate what I am talking about, take a listen to A Friend, which I have posted here. Pay attention to 1] the darkness of the minor key, 2] the sudden changes in direction in the melody (angular movement), and 3] the huge gaps or leaps the melody takes (space). 

     Now lets do a comparison from classical music.

     One famous piece of music that utilizes these same exact technics comes from J.S. Bach's Mass in B minor. His Agnus Dei it full of similar angular movement and utilizes large gaps and leaps to create a sense of space. The melody spans a huge range, so that even though it has lots of tension, it offers a lot of breathing room. Bach wanted his church audience to experience the tension that exist in that moment when you ask for forgiveness. You feel both the weight of your wrongdoings but also the hope of being forgiven.  Here is a great visualization of the Bach's Agnus Dei. Notice how much movement the violin part has, going up and down and utilizing all sorts of leaps creating space for breathing. 

     Again, pay attention to 1] the darkness of the minor key, 2] the sudden changes in direction in the melody (angular movement), and 3] the huge gaps or leaps the melody takes (space).

     You see, fundamentally, Bach and Göransson both want the same effect. Their music is weighty but also signifies a pathway forward to a happy ending. They both use a minor key, angular movement, and leaps to create the tension while also offering ample breathing room. Both of them execute this perfectly. So, when I say that A Friend is a great piece of music, I'm not just making this up. And gosh darn it, what else am I going to use my degree in music for if not to back up my musical opinions with facts and logic? 

     A Friend is the music that you get when you decide to make story-telling the central purpose of your music. Star Wars has always been one of the great movie franchises are integrating music into the story, from the main theme, to the Imperial March, to the Duel of the Fates. Sadly, I feel their music slipped away in episodes 7, 8, and 9, (I wonder if that has anything to do with their poor story-telling?) but I feel it coming back in the Mandalorian. 

     

     Let me bring this back around to my original point. Classical music is closely tied to story telling. If you want to know where the great classical music has gone, you need to look to where we are telling our stories. The reason today's "music industry" does not support classical music as much as rock, or rap, or hip-hop, or country, or whatever Billy Ray Cyrus decides he's doing next, is because classical music has never been about music, and certainly not about the music industry. Classical music is about telling stories, and so when you want modern classical music, watch a movie, or a show, or play a video game. It's not like you can go the the concert hall nowadays anyway.