Post-cagean musical thought proposes a fundamental and normative radicalization of the difference between the two forms of mimesis, that have — at least since Plato — been assigned to music. These 'modes' of mimesis share a common pythagorean ground, according to which the movements of the tones are mathematically analogous to the movements of the soul and of the kosmos alike. These two analogies are the seeds of our two mimetic registers. Without completely ignoring the common ground, I would like to draw a sharper distinction between the two positions, to investigate whether it would be meaningful to formulate some sort of prohibition of idolatry (Bilderverbot) with respect to music. Furthermore, to examine to which of the two mimetic registers this prohibition would be directed.
The monotheistic prohibition of idolatry dictates that man distance himself from the pretence of having the ability to create a reliable or adequate representation of something — no, as the word already indicates, it prohibits such practice. To understand the meaning of the prohibition, it helps to apprehend it as a warning. According to the Dutch writer Frans Kellendonk, the old-testamentic second commandment presents us with the question 'How do we deal with the unknown?' For my present goals, I will subscribe to a definition of the Bilderverbot as a safeguard for the human awareness of our limited understanding en the necessity to respect — and thus keeping at a polite distance — some kind of mystery, some enigma. In the domain of the arts, this comes down to a rejection of any form of imitation that takes the notion of the communicability of this mystery (let's call it 'Truth') as a starting point.
In my opinion, the supposition — expressed by many contemporary musicologists — that the numerical relation between music and the cosmos is mimetic by nature, is plainly false. Music is more of a parallel manifestation of the harmony that also governs the kosmos. The numerical relations are to music what the projector light is to the cinema.
At this point, our initiatory distinction proves to be meaningful and correct: The singular imitation that the prohibition of idolatry must be applied to is to be found in the 'imitation of the soul'. This second form, which depends on the association of the movements of music with the movements of the soul, is to be called 'demagogic'.
In the last few centuries, composers have perfected the art of affects — 'what works' and 'what is touching' in momentary experience. It is exactly this manipulative, saturating audience satisfaction that the philosopher Plato — and the prohibition of idolatry, which is highly present in his thought — warns us against in his dialogues Republic and Laws. In an often misunderstood passage, dedicated to the classification of musical scales, in Republic, the philosopher rejects a musicianship that is aimed at directly evoking certain emotions. Music should rather be like a man who will acquiesce in the reaction of the person he is trying to tell something.
Making music conform to (and thus confirm) the taste of any particular audience, chains it to coordinates that exist within the situation. Plato calls this situation 'theatrocracy'. My hypothesis is that in such a situation, it is impossible to be truly touched, this cannot be the place of a revelation. Against the disguishably voiced character of the affective tone-declaration, I posit an indistinguishable act in time, that is as of yet unvoiced. The act of declaration will then become an act of sharing. The logic of this unvoiced act is explained by Plato in his short dialogue Io. Socrates explains how the inspiration that moves from the composer to the musicians and from the musician unto the listener, is fed by a common, uniforming source — a magnet of sorts — that is constructed under the word 'Muse'.
What is shared, is an intimate enigma in which the listener knows it is meant — Antoine Beuger reminds us of the etymologic relation between 'meinen' [to mean] and minnen [to love]. This is that precarious mystery, that we must approach as heedfully but filled with expectation as we approach our lovers. It is a delicate possibility, that exists as long as the composer does not annex the listener, or the tones and acquiesces to simply build 'a house'. At this house, as long as one is faithful to the mystery, a touching may occur — unnamably, indistinguishably.
The piece of music as a place of preparation. Nothing but a place.
The German composer Karlheinz Stockhausen once asked his American colleague Morton Feldman about his secrets. The master responded with: "I don't push the sounds around."
That is a very fine slogan for what I just tried to say.
Amsterdam, viii '09
Translated from the Dutch
