The Anonymous Artist

The common, perhaps predominant, concept of the artist is someone who expresses himself in his art, both as virtuoso and an individual with unique ideas. The art, in turn, is a reflection of him. He is the star of his art, which reflects his ideas about the world, his character, his style, his theories, and so forth. Art is particular instead of universal.

In contrast to this conception, seen in a long-running trend but typified and exalted in Nietzsche, consider the thoughts of some of the twentieth century's great artists on the idea of the anonymous artist.

–

Glenn Gould, in conversation in
Glenn Gould: The Alchemist (dir. Bruno Monsaingeon, 1974)

A funny thing happened on the way to the 16th century, to put a bad pun on a musical from a few years back. Composers went in search of identity. And identity somehow became, by what we think of as the high renaissance, equated with system: my system versus your system. On the way to the 16th century there were some characters who preserved something of the pre identity-quest sense.

The thing about [Orlando] Gibbons is that he is not a completely individual composer, he sort of straddles the era of delicious anonymity that the pre-Renaissance knew about and explored and the era of really, almost total, exploitative individuality of the Early Baroque, which was about to come.

He's quite different from his contemporaries. Contemporaries like. . . William Byrd, for instance who. . . played Richard Strauss to his Mahler. . . was much more virtuosic, much more obviously composer-like, as opposed to a more spiritual entity. . . Byrd is marvelous, but every canon is there to be admired.

Ingmar Bergman
Four Screenplays of Ingmar Bergman (1960)

There is an old story of how the cathedral of Chartres was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Then thousands of people came from all points of the compass, like a giant procession of ants, and together they began to rebuild the cathedral on its old site. They worked until the building was completed — master builders, artists, labourers, clowns, noblemen, priests, burghers. But they all remained anonymous, and no one knows to this day who built the cathedral of Chartres.

. . .it is my opinion that art lost its basic creative drive the moment it was separated from worship. It severed an umbilical cord and now lives its own sterile life, generating and degenerating itself. In former days the artist remained unknown and his work was to the glory of God. He lived and died without being more or less important than other artisans; 'eternal values,' 'immortality' and 'masterpiece' were terms not applicable in his case. The ability to create was a gift. In such a world flourished invulnerable assurance and natural humility. Today the individual has become the highest form and the greatest bane of artistic creation.

T. S. Eliot
Tradition and Individual Talent, 1919

Poetry is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. . . significant emotion has its life in the poem and not in the history of the poet. The emotion of art is impersonal. And the poet cannot reach this impersonality without surrendering himself to the work to be done. And he is not likely to know what is to be done unless he lives not merely in the present, but in the present moment of the past, unless he is conscious, not of what is dead, but of what is already living.

Reflections on Political Moderation

In light of our recent discussion of political moderation in our look at Harry Clor's book On Moderation, it seemed prudent to try to apply, or at least consider, its role in current political discourse. Sven Wilson's article at Pileus and the recent discussions about pragmatism at Ricochet have prompted me so do go at both. For the most part here I just want to bandy the ideas around and see what turns up, so pardon my discursive rambling and lack of final answers.

First off we should consider definitions. We remarked that one aspect of political moderation is simply settling for less (with the factor of expediency being the tradeoff.) For example, you could consider the authors of the constitution of settling for less by signing a document that didn't address slavery and lacked a bill of rights. Passing it despite such flaws was a compromise, and with liberty of all things. They didn't know whether what they did would trend toward liberty or tyranny, but I think most people would suggest the outcome was reasonably positive for liberty. Yet not all compromise is inherently moderate. I'm sure much of the left considers recent healthcare initiatives as precursors to more comprehensive plans.

Such proposals, and many other contemporary ones, present a particular challenge because they present conflicts not just of administration or policy but of philosophy of government. You can debate and compromise about administration or policy rather easily if everyone agrees about certain fundamentals. The notion of government, and society in general, implies some type of accord. Federalism itself implies that everyone agrees on some things, most people agree on a larger set of things, and so on down to the local level. One of the political benefits of federalism and liberalism is that they allow people to get along without agreeing on everything. (It is the contention of many liberals, i.e. classical liberals and libertarians, that society trends toward centralization and consensus, creating a need to fight regularly and vigorously for individual rights. Even Aristotle, no libertarian, observed that the state was a naturally occurring construction.) Let us, though, consider political moderation specifically relative to liberty since I think it is the principle people would least like to compromise with.

Let us consider the non-political, though, for a moment. Internally we compromise even with liberty. For while in the political sense we may free to do what we wish so long as we harm no one, we must curb certain desires in order to preserve the ability to do certain things even though we would wish to do everything we wanted all the time if possible. Perhaps there is a philosophical question we must address in the difference between a hierarchical organization of values and one that is based on imperatives. Compromise is certainly more amenable to the former.

Most people compromise somehow, but perhaps the more interesting question is whether the compromise leads to an unraveling of the value. Is the current illiberality (as perceived by libertarians) of the U.S. simply the result of previous compromises with liberty? It would seem so, at least to a large extent. How else could it have come about? Unfortunately, though, taking a "hard line" might not actually bring about the idea, as much as it preserves the integrity of the person holding the idea.

Does one compromise in the case of emergencies? (Rand's "The Ethics of Emergencies" comes to mind.) What if the alternative is globally catastrophic? I recall not too long ago there was a discussion by mainstream libertarians (it might have been at The Volokh Conspiracy) where the question was if you would violate property rights to save the world somehow. Is this "extreme?" If not, what is? On the other hand the left frequently labels Ron Paul as an extremist. Perhaps in order to be moderate one has to be aware of the most absolute extremes and then see where a given proposal lies. Such was Clor's contention and it seems a prudent, even necessary, measure in order to recognize the moderate position. 

Is there a hierarchy of values, though? Are some more important or at lest more generally agreed upon than others? A prohibition of murder is quite common amongst societies. It is safe to say if one person believes you can kill and steal, that he can't live with anyone else. But how many values are there which require accord? Very few, libertarians would say. On the other hand there are people who believe it is acceptable to pass extensive laws protecting (or that they think will protect) the environment. Can these two groups live together?

Ought either side compromise? The answer seems to be rather obvious, that people agree on some things and not others. Federalism would seem a force of help here for any number of parties. Perhaps living together is only possible within some federalist-libertarian framework in which initiating force is not permitted and people tend to live and move to jurisdictions with laws they favor. For example, one might have strong or even extreme ideas but not don't claim the right to exercise them over anyone else. Is this plausible, utopianism, or simply libertarianism? Do permanent institutions like states mandate bonds among people, bonds which force accord and thus compromise? If this is so, then one's opinion of the legitimacy and/or necessity of the state might dictate whether compromise is a necessity. If the state is necessary, then you have to compromise with it lest you prevent it from completing its necessary function.

Now if there is a hierarchy of values then to be "completely" free, intelligent, et cetera, one might have to sacrifice much else and be completely lacking in other things to accomplish such consistency in one part of your life. Is this desirable? Even if the situation is moderated, who wants to be "half-free" or "half-loved?" Perhaps the missing element is the role of choice and hence (in part) why liberty has found so many adherents. Everybody does, as we said, make compromises, but everyone wants to make them themselves. Still this approach does not seem to help in a situation of hierarchical values.

In that situation perhaps one may only compromise with a value if one thinks the compromise will benefit that same value somehow later. Perhaps it is only acceptable to jeopardize it temporarily if you hope by that means eventually to strengthen it. As we said, in the manner of Aristotle, these situations are too many to foresee. We observe though that imperatives are not so amenable to compromise. Is to have one, then, even "to be moderate" itself immoderate?

Perhaps this is a case of over-thinking an issue. Many people, even people who believe strongly in a cause, recognize limits to it in some circumstances.

One thing seems clear, though. As Mr. Wilson said, compromise is not a virtue in itself, only doing something good is (regardless of whether or not compromise is involved.) Moderation is a good not insofar as it splits the difference but as it achieves some particular good.

Glenn Gould on the Goldberg Variations

Pianist Glenn Gould in conversation on his 1981 recording of J. S. Bach's Goldberg Variations.

Part I | Part II | Part III

Book Review: On Moderation

On Moderation: Defending an Ancient Virtue in a Modern World
by Harry Clor. 2008.

In everything it is no easy task to find the middle. . . therefore goodness is both rare and laudable and noble. –Aristotle

I have tried to imagine a reader who would not benefit from Harry Clor's On Moderation, to find someone for whom this volume is of no use. Surely this book must be redundant for the philosophically literate? No. Too esoteric for the layman? No. Too long? Certainly not, at 120 pages. On Moderation has enough of tempered sagacity to earn the trust of the old and enough challenges to common suppositions to stir the youthful. It is neither sententious nor witless, chastising nor therapeutic. It neither overwhelms with footnotes nor suffers from a lack of references. On Moderation is for everyone. Perhaps it is a banal, even hokey, compliment to say that a book titled On Moderation is itself of moderate proportions but such is quite a feat. How might we fare weaving the thread of one of Western Civilization's oldest ideas throughout all of its history? And not just through its treatment at the hands of philosophers but by authors and in the lives of political figures?  And then presenting it in a clear and useful form for any reader? Quite a feat.

Why attempt it, though? Why be moderate? To answer this question we obviously must define the idea and Clor divides the task into three categories: What does it mean to practice, 1) political moderation, 2) personal moderation, and 3) philosophical moderation. In each Clor seeks out the the proponents and examples of moderation and issues which seem to present challenges to moderation, i.e. people and problems who urge or seem to require some more extreme course of action. Present throughout is the author's own moderation. In particular Clor is always attentive to the alternative sides of an argument, the limits of what one may know of particular circumstances, the potential to gain insight from a position that seems generally wrong or unreasonable, and lastly that there exists a multitude of goods and one may not always attain them all.



Political Moderation

Clor begins discussing political moderation with a frank question. "Isn't political moderation just splitting the difference?" This is depressingly plausible, isn't it? We don't seem to be off to a great start. He then continues with an inviting and elucidating anecdote:

Once while teaching a course on the American Founding I thought it appropriate to stress the virtues of political moderation. An outstanding student (and congenital debunker) responded with a challenge: "So you would have been against the American Revolution or you would have looked for some compromise to avoid it!" At the time the question threw me embarrassingly off balance. [Clor, 11]

First off, anyone who has taught for any duration can spare a chortle for his experience. More to the point, though, Clor (citing the late Martin Diamond's amusingly-titled essay, "The Revolution of Sober Expectations") observes that the revolution was moderate as far as revolutions go. Unlike the French and Bolshevik ones it did not seek to overthrow all of society, to change man's nature, or to attain a massive list of rights. No one marched in the streets chanting, "We will have equality or we will destroy civilization," as in the French Revolution. Clor uses this example to demonstrate how moderation in political life consists in part of putting up with defects or limiting aspirations in order to bring about some good (presumably enough so that the defects are bearable.) Some may find this approach unsatisfying and tantamount to a revisionist approach in which certain events are demonstrated really to be moderate, yet another of the author's points provides a corrective to this criticism: that perspective and an impersonal distance are required for political moderation. One must step away and examine the issue, and its extreme positions, in order to perceive the moderate position.

Another aspect of political moderation Clor identifies is that of acknowledging a multiplicity of principles. Not mere conflict and strife, he points out, but multiple values deserving of your attention and which must be balanced, though preserving one may damage the other. Similarly, Clor identifies the principle of proportionality as appropriate to political moderation, finding it in the American system of government which achieves the balance of "constituted representative democracy" in contrast to "radical populistic democracy." Applying Burke's words to the American system, one may say that it "tempers together those opposite elements of liberty and restraint in one consistent work."

In contrast to the aforementioned principles of moderation Clor finds the so-called "value pluralism" unpersuasive as a force of moderation, for while its toleration is preferable to polarized struggles for control of the state, "tolerance by itself does not produce the sense of community on which it depends." [Clor, 20] That is, toleration is really only plausible when some underlying fundamentals, often unspoken, exist. Too, value pluralism, extolling diversity itself as a virtue, requires one to praise all walks of life and actions as good without recourse to any particular understanding of a "good life." Well how can they all be good?

One of the most important aspects of political moderation Clor picks up from Aristotle, who argued that we "ought not expect more precision from our study than the subject matter permits." This means not that there are no universal truths but that prescriptions to bring them about or abide by them may only be offered in outline because particular instances are variable. A few obvious examples follow, namely the two which philosophers have wrangled with and tried to, once and for all, proclaim as evil: lying and murder. Are they not sometimes the lesser of evils, for example if they prevented mass devastation? Too, does power really "always corrupt" or is it sometimes necessary as a force to counter evil? Clor infers two points from Aristotle's observation: 1) do not attempt to turn politics into an exact science, and 2) don't turn ethics into a body of categorical imperatives. Do so, and every political decision you make becomes an intractable one without any hope of negotiation. If all issues are moral ones, then no societies are possible except for ones in which everyone agrees about everything or about nothing. Most societies reach some degree of moderation, permitting some things and forbidding others.

A "moderate" political citizen then, with these "situational ethics" in mind, has much to observe in trying to negotiate what is and is not acceptable. Yet what happens when something is finally decided upon? It is usually made into some kind of law. How useful is this? Clor, again channeling Aristotle, notes that on the one hand laws are made by fallible men and thus may be biased and imperfect, and on the other they are still more dispassionate than any human judgment would be on the spur of the moment by virtue of their distance from the event in question. Again, on the one hand the law provides an impartial standard for a situation and on the other there are times when a "judgment call" is needed. It is hard to foresee every circumstance. Sentencing someone to life in prison for violating a rule which has been superseded or rendered defunct would be "excessive legalism." The rule of law itself, then, is a moderator in need of moderation.

Finally, then, the politically moderate man must be able to balance the demands of various principles, to calculate reasonable goals, to admit a degree of uncertainty to the situation, to refrain from moralizing, to be diligent about obtaining the facts, and maintain capacity for disinterested examination. Too, he must remember that all men are subject to passions and that even reason may find itself passion's instrument.



Personal Moderation

Nietzsche contest with the ancients for man's nature is at heart of this chapter. For both parties man may be of two natures, of reason and chaos, but in which does his ideal state exist? The former sees in  chaos the will to create and the latter in harmony the happiness of man. Does reason reveal the path to prosperity or does it simply saddle and devitalize one's passions and inner drive? After laying out the arguments for passion and reason, for order chaos and order, Clor makes a recommendation for moderation all the more powerful and sensible for its brevity: Are we not reasoning and social creatures, do we not carry various imperatives and entertain different claims upon us? Is an energetic or happy human really one in which many of these claims lay undeveloped? Relax control, maybe here and there, but only if you have a moral constitution as the norm. Clor concludes, "the demands of rationality may be relaxed by a mind in which reason retains a prominent voice." [Clor, 58] Such moderation feels almost like a relief from the extreme claims.

The author begins his discussion of love without much hope that he will find room for moderation. Who wants to be loved moderately? To recommend a "temperate ecstasy" is to invite parody. Yet if moderation has no place here than its overall usefulness to us is considerably less. Clor weaves through the extremes, though, noting, "if you don't want happiness and unhappiness to be a kind of lottery, you had better be in some position to judge the qualities of the person you consider giving yourself to and cherishing." [Clor, 60] As in political moderation, self-restraint and a rational consideration of character are called for. Yes, the act is the act regardless of whether it is good, but it cannot be fitting for man or you without some deliberation about life, self, and other. Love requires both dependency and independency. Love requires dedication, but general happiness requires investment in many pursuits, of which the attachment of love is but one. Clor finds in Freud just such a sort of pragmatic injunction for moderation. "Any choice that is pushed to an extreme will be penalized by exposing the individual to the dangers which arise if a technique of living that has been chosen as an exclusive one should prove inadequate." [Clor, 63]

While discussing man's capacity for passion Clor makes an interesting stop to discuss compassion. Yes, of course it maintains certain personal and social benefits. Yet is it somehow overrated? Perhaps, but perhaps one simply ought to distinguish more finely just what it is.  Sometimes compassion is simply rooted in a fear that the same thing could happen to you. Second, you may feel pity and empathy for someone's suffering but such is not the same as persistent concern for his well-being. Neither of these instances of "compassion" are quite so laudable as we might think. Lastly, one may indeed be deserving of compassion but also of anger or indignation. Compassion is not a virtue, something that refines a passion toward some good end, but a passion itself. As such, it requires guidance and consideration of goods since it can be properly or improperly directed.

Concluding Clor's discussion of the nature of man's passions he asks: are they wholly benevolent or do they need to be vigorously squelched? On the one hand we may consider if they are wholly benevolent, a position which Clor finds supported in some modern psychologies in which in which one needs to "grow" and "be oneself" and be "open to possibilities." In this thinking one must forge "contacts" through which the self will reconfigure and very little can be seen to be determinedly wrong. Though clearly unpersuaded by this immoderate approach, Clor, persistently moderate, accords gestalt psychology its due noting that, "the idea that personality develops through the experience and incorporation of connections with others is a sensible one as far as it goes, but the other side of wisdom is full recognition of the fact that not all contacts are good ones."[Clor, 74]

Yet if some passions are moderated, how is this accomplished? It seems foolish to think that one can "temper impetuous impulses by remonstrating with them." To Aristotle, one's habits and dispositions, the ways in which the passions are incorporated into one's disposition, moderate otherwise unrestrained desires. Repeatedly choosing an action, under whatever guidance or communal pressure, slowly makes that way of dealing with the passion part of who you are. Personal moderation, like political moderation, would seem to require much of the individual. In fact it requires nothing less than an awareness of self and society. It requires rationally choosing values but also understanding those which one has unconsciously acquired through habituation. It requires building a character but also understanding the values one has inherited as an individual in a particular family and country and even those one has by chance. It requires measured introspection and accordingly corrective action, not dogmatism or unlimited "openness" to any outcome. It requires having a character, which necessitates the ability to perceive a situation and reason what the right thing to do is, and then the will to temper oneself. One might say it requires both wisdom and virtue.



Philosophical Moderation

We have several times spoken of reason and therefore must defend it as legitimate. We must defend reason if we are to justify the habituation, education, and self-discipline that moderation calls for. A defense of reason is necessary, as Clor puts it, because, "one who has no respect for reason is ill-disposed to listen to argument, entertain viewpoints differing from those one currently holds, and cultivate that capacity for deliberation that is part and parcel of a self-controlling character." [Clor, 86]

Clor takes on a number of the postmodernist attacks on reason and his first is surprisingly simple. If it is so that "everyone is coming from somewhere" and that no one can escape his influences and circumstances, why bother with structures of any kind? Why bother with a liberal education, for example, if reason and debate are meaningless? Why bother with structures for legislative deliberation if it is really just a contest of wills? Clor makes an excellent and subtle observation about Plato's Republic

The persons Socrates encounters in the Platonic dialogues assert opinions that reflect their (diverse) personalities, backgrounds, or aspirations, and the encounters are designed to show the attentive reader both who difficult it is to make them entertain challenges to their received opinions and that it is sometimes possible to do so. Platonic dialogues recognize that everyone is coming from somewhere, but that where you are going is, at least on occasion and with the right person, open to effectual discussion. [Clor, 87]

Indeed, postmodernist anti-reason ideologies do not promote questioning traditional thought so much as they "render the injunction 'know thyself' virtually meaningless." [Clor, 88] Such attacks on rationality of course also affect all norms and standards, which "are dissolved under the acids of a critique that pronounces them to be groundless if not fraudulent." Clor refers to this as an "ultra-libertarianism," quoting Dostoevsky's disapproving observation, "everything is permitted." The postmodernist position also unravels society by rendering all lifestyles equal. Clor makes less than he could of the disconnect between these postmodernist ideas and the positions of some contemporary liberals that "equal respect is a categorical imperative." (Never to us a straw man, Clor uses Dworkin's 1977 Taking Rights Seriously as an example.) As with political moderation, there must be some recourse to values which transcend particular circumstances lest the whole enterprise of moderation be equally relativistic. Using Clor's example, a terrorist leader who compromises amongst the extreme demands of his followers cannot be considered a moderate.

At last Clor tackles Nietzsche's epistemology. If we take Nietzsche's philosophy to be true, with its conclusion that  philosophy is not reasoned inquiry but creativity driven by the will to power, then what do we make of it? If we do believe it, how can we believe it? Clor seems slightly offended by Nietzsche's own response to the question, that if you realize this conundrum, "So much the better." So much the better?" asks Clor. Truly? Yet Clor's moderation restrains him and he seeks a moderate view of Nietzsche, culling from the bluster that from Nietzsche's perspectivism we learn that our understanding is often only partial, that seeking the truth is not precluded but rather no one can presume to have grasped the whole of it.

Despite such observations about epistemology, which Clor, perhaps with tongue-in-cheek, calls "contributions to moral relativism," Nietzsche's philosophy itself praises something and discourages others. It affirms zeal over enervation and struggle over complacency. In Nietzsche Clor does not find the philosopher of "anything goes" but of "a demanding spiritedness." "What is to be admired is "energetic commitment, which is, at its pinnacle, self-creative." [Clor, 93] Whether or not one agrees with this reading of Nietzsche, it certainly is allows a moderate person to learn something from the philosophy without committing to its extreme prescriptions. It also casts considerable doubt upon it as anything workable on its own.

Perhaps the most novel attack on reason, though, comes not from Nietzsche but from Rousseau, who argued that reason (and imagination) produce desires which are distinct from our natural, necessary, inclinations. "Sensual desires are inflamed into lusts. . . thought makes possible egoism." [Clor, 99] Nature's impulses are simple, inescapable, and able to be sated. Appetites rooted in thought may not be. Clor counters:

Without thought, "know thyself" is impossible, and it is even quite doubtful that without thought you could come to have a self at all. . . Rousseau's original man has no ego about which to be egotistic. Who among us would want to trade places with that "man" and pay that price? [Clor, 100]

There is in this a bit of a challenge to the Rousseauian, Nietzschian, and post-modernist programs: if you want to live like that, go ahead, but you'll end up tempering it with something anyway.


Conclusion

On Moderation is a terrific and spirited read. It makes the task of living the good life, navigating its extremes, seem challenging, rewarding, and even noble. The text starts with simple examples using famous political figures like Franklin Roosevelt and Churchill and eases the reader into more complex discussions of Rousseau and Nietzsche. It is judiciously footnoted with a short suggested reading list of recommendations ranging from Jane Austen to George Will. Clor is so consistently even-handed and concerned with useful learning over proving, the book is as much a model for moderation as a discussion of it. One may tire of the many "what ifs" and "on the other hand" but such scrutiny and even-handedness, such work, well that's moderation.

Vivaldi's Women

The documentary "Vivaldi's Women" on BBC Four presented the story of an extraordinary creative partnership between one of history's great composers–Antonio Vivaldi–and an all-female orchestra and choir. In the early 18th century, Father Antonio Vivaldi was a violin teacher, musical director, musical instrument procurer and in-house composer for a Venetian institution called La Pietà, a home for children who had been abandoned at birth.

The institution had its own all-female orchestra and choir who provided sacred "entertainment" in the church for the visiting "Grand Tourists". The unique creative relationship that Vivaldi formed with these women resulted in what many believe to be one of the finest performing groups of all time.

Further Vivaldi reading:

Antonio Vivaldi and His Sacred Music, by William Peter Mahrt [PDF]
Vivaldi: Voice of the Baroque, by H. C. Robbins Landon [Amazon]

Tovey, Cello Concerto in C, op. 40

Cello Concerto in C Major Op. 40 written in honour of Pau (Pablo) Casals by his friend, Donald Francis Tovey.

Rondo-Allegro giocoso

Pau Casals, Cello; BBC Symphony Orchestra; Sir Adrian Boult, conductor
Queen`s Hall. 1937.

D. F. Tovey

Sir Donald Francis Tovey (17 July 1875 – 10 July 1940)

Still over 135 years after his birth, few, if any, have written about music with as much love, sagacity, and good humor as Donald Francis Tovey. His modestly titled "Essays in Musical Analysis" is in fact a six-volume collection of his program notes for the concerts under his baton at the Reid Orchestra in Edinburgh. Since publication in the thirties they have become the model for concert notes aiming to do what they ought to: prepare as quickly as possible anyone who picks them up to appreciate the piece. With them Tovey aimed not to "vex with grammatical minutiae" but rather be "counsel for the defence," to tell you what a work is trying to do and suggest it is successful enough that you ought to keep your seat.

Their author suggested they don't make for good continuous reading and he's probably right, but they are fine preludes to any pieces Tovey deigned to comment on. I say deigned for these notes brim with his character. First, the reflections themselves bear out his taste, a taste moved by Schubertian songfulness as Bachian contrapuntal density. In his mind and character there was room for the Olympian and the urban and throughout these notes one sees as much love for a spiky chord of Beethoven as a chattery piece of Mozart. On the one hand we have sober appraisals like, "The vulgar popular author often does not know that literature and art contain higher thoughts than his own" and on the other, old world parables: "the centipede whose inspiration was paralyzed by a malicious snail, who asked him which leg he put down first."

Tovey's love and reverence for this music is today sometimes seen as uncritical. Arthur Hutchings, whose admiration and reverence for Tovey is clear from his own notes, hit the correct note when he said that to Tovey, to mention weakness in one of the classics was to be "perky."  What a compliment. Should you find a misplaced phrase, a clunky line, thin plots, cheats, or stock bits, do make note and, in the fashion of a good gentleman scholar, enjoy the rest. Must one comment on such trifles? What will doing so teach about, say, Mozart? Yet Tovey's softness is overstated. He can call a phrase trivial, point out (often contra common suppositions) who owes what to whom, and so forth. Yet there is a disposition rooted as much in classical education as humane perspicacity and cultivated by years of pruning away thorny habits from a genteel deportment, that yields a pious, and grateful, temperament. By all means criticize this phrase from Beethoven, or Shakespeare for that matter, but to remember their successes is to see how small the imperfections.

We mentioned a "classical education" and seldom have the joys which spring from it and only it been on fuller display. What else would have permitted analogies between the 18th century Viennese music and Aristophanes, be it likening the croaking chorus of the Frogs to a phrase from Mozart or seeing in Haydn's treatment of a theme the debt-ridden, sleepless Strepsiades: I'm being bitten through the bed clothes by a b-b-b-b-b-bailiff.

Deficiency would mark this essay if we passed over Tovey's charming turns of phrase, turns Wikipedia impenetrably refers to as "Humpty-Dumptyish." Regardless, if saying that, "Haydn never produced a more exquisitely bred kitten" doesn't crack you a smile, then perhaps Papa H. isn't for you in the first place.

Humor aside, the essays brim with scholarship and for their variety demonstrate a surprising interconnectedness. Yes, Tovey can speak about the "Beethovenian sonata" because he has in fact been through every bar of every Beethoven sonata but it is not so much overt research and arguments that come through, or even his lively literary characterizations of the musical gestures but the, often rather oblique, discussions of style. This phrase or development is very Mozartian insofar as. . .  Such and such could never have written this. . . Whose style anticipates whose, who had whose procedures in mind, whose subject resembles whose, who perfected his use of the orchestral ritornello. . . Nearly every essay is littered with throwaway observations and comparisons. Observations and comparisons which could only be made by someone who spent a lifetime studying, playing, and loving music. Many such observations could be turned into volumes of their own and the dutiful student will be rewarded by pulling out scores and following Tovey's prompts to follow up a discussion. 

So cast aside the flashy irreverence of modern criticism and the gobbledygook of contemporary scholarship. Too cast aside Tovey's own modesty about these enlivening and invaluable volumes and seek them out. Born before the premier of Parsifal, Tovey was of the musical tradition he wrote about. For someone who heard Joachim himself play those famous cadenzas to the Beethoven Violin Concerto Tovey is more approachable, more near to us, than we could ever expect. He bridges the world between the living culture of classical music and today. We may only look back at, but he would be happy, delighted, to introduce you to the "elaborate mystifications" of Carnaval and the "eternal laughter of Mozart," though you'll make a few stops, and jokes, along the way.

Some Classic Tovey

On Mozart's Piano Concerto in B-flat, KV.450

The raillery is continued even more quizzically. But soon Mozart, though refusing to leave the tonic chord, plunges into the usual forte theme which comes to the usual half-close. Then, thinks the usual theorist, we have the usual second subject. But, as we have seen before, it is impossible to tell which, if any, of the themes of a Mozart tutti is going to belong to the second group. Another tutti theme, beginning with a conspirator's crescendo, leads to the cadence-figure of the whole ritornello. On the state this would imply a ribald gesture addressed to deluded husbands. See Figaro, Act IV, No. 26 'gia ognuno lo sa'.

On Verdi's Requiem

The language of the theater was Verdi's only musical idiom; and our musical culture, resting secure on its foundation on Bach and Beethoven, can derive nothing but good from realizing that to object to the theatricality of Verdi's Requiem is about as profane to point out that Beethoven lacked the advantages of a university education.

On Haydn's The Creation

Asbestos is not in common use as material for writing or printing, and so I cannot express my opinion of the cuts sanctioned by tradition in performances of Haydn's Creation.

 On Bach's Jesu, Meine Freude

The ninth movement, the fifth verse of the chorale, is oneo f Bach's great choral variations; not, this time, in the free declamatory style that so effectually disguises the structure of hte third verse, but in a stupendously complete and clea rform which only Bach has achieved, though his examples of it are so numerous that they are believed to be normal specimens of academic music. (The first chorus of the Matthew Passion is one.) The essence of this form is that, while one voice or part sings the chorale phrase by phrase, with pauses so long between each as to stretch the whole out to the length of a long movement, the other parts execute a complete design which may or may not have some connexion with the melody of a chorale, but which in any case would remain a perfectly solid whole if the chorale were taken away. . . we may confidently say that before Bach it was hardly known, and that it has never been attempted since. 

Around the Web

Long-Overdue Edition

1) Celebrating the Art of Italy: A show in Turin reflects on 2,000 years of cultural heritage

2) This is Your Brain on Art

3) Interview: Frank Gehry

4) Interview: David McCullough

5) A 40 Megapixel 360 Degree Panorama of The Strahov Philosophical Library

6) But Is It Art?

7) My Uncle, Oscar Hammerstein

8) Off With Their Coattails: Investigating the mysterious origins of the tuxedo

9) Hayek versus Habermas

10) Rango: A Libertarian Spiritual Epic

11) On The Leopard, A Lyric, Elegiac Lament for a Lost World

12) The Philosophy of Insomnia

13) Jacket (Not) Required

14) The Tyranny of Science

15) The Fine Art of Living

16) Out of the Miasma of Bardolatry, a Masterpiece

17) Exposing Shallowness: On Margo DeMello's Bodies of Inscription

18) Harold Bloom by the Numbers

19) The Corrupted Treasures of This World: On the Selected Poems of Anthony Hecht

20) Clientelism on the Defensive

21) Why the Art World is a Disaster

22) The Unintended Consequences Of The Welfare State

23) Jane Jacobs: Libertarian Outsider

24) Why Catholic Schools Matter

25) Can Conservatives Be Libertarians?

26) Religious Alternatives to the Public Sector

27) Are Artists Liars?

28) The Handwriting Is On the Wall

29) Middle Earth in LEGOs

30) A Lego Bedroom

Music

31) A Magical 'Flute' Without the Fanfare

32) Sounds Unfamiliar: Concert halls should take a chance on lesser-known composers

33) Reentering Opera’s Lost World

Economics

34) WWII Did Not End the Depression

35) Is Inflation Harmless or Even Good?

36) Our Unaccountable Fed

37) The Moral Issues of Money

Book Reviews

38) The Use and Abuse of Literature by Marjorie Garber

39) No Regrets: The Life of Edith Piaf by Carolyn Burke

40) Great Soul: Mahatma Gandhi And His Struggle With India by Joseph Lelyveld

41) Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia by Michael Korda

42) The Long Goodbye by Meghan O' Rourke & A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis

43) Quantum Man: Richard Feynman's Life in Science by Lawrence M. Krauss

44) Modigliani: A Life by Meryle Secrest

45) Tolkien and Beowulf

46) Brothers, Rivals, Victors by Jonathan W. Jordan 

47) Bismarck: A Life by Jonathan Steinberg 

48) The Invention of Murder by Judith Flanders

49) Moral Combat: Good and Evil in World War II by Michael Burleigh 

50) The 125th Anniversary of the Death of King Ludwig II

51) The Quantum Story by Jim Baggott

52) James Levine: 40 Years At the Metropolitan Opera

53) The Enchanter: Nabokov and Happiness by Lila Azam Zanganeh

54) The Bourgeois Virtues: Ethics for an Age of Commerce by Deirdre N. McCloskey

55) The Enigma of Capital and the Crises of Capitalism by David Harvey

56) How to Write a Sentence and How to Read One by Stanley Fish

57) Sacred Trash by Adina Hoffman and Peter Cole

58) The Tribal Imagination: Civilization and the Savage Mind by Robin Fox

59) Chasing Aphrodite by Jason Felch and Ralph Frammolino

60) Montaigne and Being in Touch with Life by Saul Frampton

61) The Secret Knowledge: On the Dismantling of American Culture by David Mamet

62)  When the World Spoke French by Marc Fumaroli

Fin ch'han dal vino Sing-off

Nine great Don Giovannis sing the famous Champagne aria. Only one will emerge victorious. . .

A fun treat, enjoying as we do comparisons amongst versions of a piece. (Always interesting to see what they do what that rising bassoon phrase, amongst other features.)

Fin ch'han dal vino calda la testa. . .

Taste, Character

One of the many throw-away jewels in T. S. Eliot's 1961 essay To Criticize the Critic is a distinguishing between fashion and taste. The point is worth developing particularly because of the trope that "taste varies." Let us begin as Eliot does, distinguishes between fashion, "the love of change for its own sake" and taste, which "springs from a deeper source." The former seems a sensible definition since fashion varies according to life's many vicissitudes. Fashion trends and without any regard for anything. To be fashionable one must simply change from something to something else. Before tackling taste I would posit another category, style. Style rather simply is some particular convention, but in particular it exists without any special regard for the reason behind the convention. It is simply a protocol, of greater or lesser specificity. Thus with this definition one does not have style per se but rather uses a particular style. This may seem an arbitrarily limited usage of the term but it leaves a some necessary room for defining taste.

Indeed taste springs from a deeper source, but more importantly I would suggest taste is unique insofar as it springs from any source at all, because in contrast to fashion and style as we have defined them, taste is a personal attribute. Taste is the reason for some style or blend of styles. Taste requires the active choosing and rejecting of certain styles according to some principles. Whereas style may be principled, accidental, or incidental, taste is always chosen. Taste is always cultivated, that is, taste requires character. To have a particular taste requires an awareness of possibilities and a preference for one way of thinking, of doing, of being. It is unique to the curious blend of influences upon a particular person and the way in which the individual synthesizes them. One might, for example, write in the style of, say Bach or Shakespeare, but one cannot in fact write actual Bach or Shakespeare. Taste then is in fact a component of character, themselves both essentially creative acts though admitting certain variables, namely that does not have control over what he is exposed to.

One is, as we have mentioned before, by nature, of a certain place and time and passing through. By our definition of taste then, to possess taste requires a sense of time and place, of one's tradition, of combining influences in the present, and all towards some future state of being.

To possess taste then is no small feat, requiring as it does a sense of self and other, of principled preference, and of tradition.