Peter Kivy 'The corded shell; reflections on musical expression
Princeton University Press, 1980
THE IDEA
Starting from theories of expression from the 17th and 18th century (the Camerata Fiorentina, Reid,
Mattheson...), Peter Kivy wants to demonstrate that 'some emotive predicates are applicable to music, and
why these are applicable intersubjectively' (p.11).
Peter Kivy thereby rejects the theory that music would be the expression of
some subject. He therefore makes a distinction between 'to express' and
'to be expressive of' (p.12): the face of a Saint-Bernard is 'expressive of sadness', but that
does not mean that the dog itself feels sad. Also music can be 'expressive
of', without being the expression of the composer. Peter Kivy also rejects the
theory that music would be expressive in the sense of 'eliciting emotions
in the listener': 'Sadness is a quality of the music, not of the power of the music to do
things to the listener' (p.23). He rather endorses the 'cognitive
speech theory' (Reid) which contends that 'music can resemble the passionate speaking voice'
so that we recognise the corollary emotion (p.23). But he wants to
extend this theory in two respects. To begin with, he states withMattheson
that music 'in its structure, bears some resemblance to the "emotive life"
' (p.39). Resemblance must hence be extended to 'the way we express (feelings) in gesture, facial configuration,
posture, and so forth' (p. 40). Music is not so much a 'speech
icon', as rather an 'emotive icon' 'resembling not the
vocal expression of sadness, but its expression in bodily gesture and
posture' (p.53). The 'resemblance' may be literal, but also 'synaesthetic'
or 'metaphorical'
(p.54). It does not suffice, however, to extend the theory from
expressive speech to expressive behaviour as such: next to resemblance ('contour'),
there is also a 'conventional' relation between music and expressive
behaviour'. Only seemingly is there thus introduced a second factor in the 'contour-convention' theory
(p. 113): 'all expressiveness
by convention was originally expressiveness by contour' (p.83). Such is
the central thesis of Peter Kivy's book. From this general perspective,
Peter Kivy deals
with particular problems like that of the precision of the expression:
according to him the 'expressiveness' is not general as with Hiller/Langer, nor
precise, but 'moderately indeterminate' (p. 198), whereby the text can
provide full determination.
MIMESIS?
Although Peter Kivy starts from old mimetic theories, he is profoundly
indebted to the nowadays prevailing semiotic-linguistic model, especially the
version of Susanne
Langer (Philosophy in a new Key, 1942) and Nelson Goodman (Languages
of Art, 1976)
That is already apparent form the distinction between 'to express' and
'to be expressive of'. Peter Kivy
cannot accept that 'music expresses
sadness', because 'only sentient beings
can have emotions' (p.6) - so that, if we nevertheless want to contend that 'this music expresses
sadness', 'the obvious candidate is the composer' (p.13), which,
according to Peter Kivy, is not
the case, were it alone for the fact that the composer need not be in a
sad mood when composing sad music. But, in my view, that is not a reason
to deny that
'music expresses
sadness'. It suffices to replace the example of the Saint-Bernard with
that of the Mona Lisa.
It is true that the smile of the Mona Lisa is not the
expression of da Vinci. But that does not imply that the smile would be
nobody's expression - that it is merely ''expressive of
...': it is rather the expression of the mood of the Mona Lisa.
Contending that the painting of the Mona Lisa is merely 'expressive of'
because it is not a 'sentient being', comes down to claiming that
there is only paint to be seen on the canvas, and not the Mona Lisa
herself. As soon as we accept that an absent being is presentified
before our eyes - as soon as we adopt the mimetic paradigm - it is no
longer nonsensical to contend that the Mona Lisa 'expresses' rather than
that the painting is 'expressive is of'. And, what applies to the
painting, applies even more to music (in so far as it is
mimetic, see below): also in music, we are dealing with the imitation of
beings that express their feelings in auditory expressions - just think
of Peter Kivy's own example: in Monteverdi's Lamento
d'Arianna, it is not just sounds that 'are expressive of', but Arianne
who expresses her grief. The lament thus only differs qua
sensory modality from the smile; and both are an expression of a 'sentient being' -
the Mona Lisa and Arianna.
As soon as we leave the semiotic paradigm for what it is, and begin to
think within the framework of the theory of mimesis, there is no longer
a problem with understanding music as an expression of feelings. That
becomes only a problem when we drop the idea of imitation, and get the
wrong impression that we only hear a lament without the concomitant
suggestion of a sentient being that is expressing itself through it.
The question then is no longer how a smile on a canvas or a lament sung
by a singer can be the expression of beings that are nowhere to be
seen, but rather how it is that a visual or audible configuration can be
expressive of an emotion. That question has nothing to do with painting
or with (mimetic) music, but rather with expressiveness as such: it
obtains to the lament of a real lover as well as to that of an imaginary
Arianna. Not otherwise than Nelson Goodman,
Peter Kivy unawares transforms an art philosophical question - how it is that
music is experienced as the expression of a being whose presence is
merely suggested by the performance of a lament - into a problem of
semiotics - how it is that a descending interval is experienced as a
lament. Assuming that - apart from the question whether the descending
interval is sung by a real person or by a singer that imitates the
lamenting Arianna - a semiotic theory could answer that question,
that would be a step forward in the development of a semiotic theory of
expression, but it would contribute nothing to our understanding of
the difference between a real woman in distress and Arianna, whose
presence is only suggested through the singing of her lament. To phrase it differently: the art philosophical problem of
(mimetic) music is not to understand why a given interval expresses a
given emotion, but rather how it is that when hearing that interval from
the mouth of a singer, we nevertheless have the impression of hearing
Arianna lament, and not the singer.
Therewith, the whole drama of every semiotic approach to the theory of
the image is summarised in a nutshell - and my criticism completed. But
it will prove illuminating to have a closer look at the false problems
that arise when the mimetic paradigm is replaced with the semiotic.
SEMIOSIS?
Let us first examine Peter Kivy's answer to the question why a particular
sequence of tones sounds like a lament. In a first phase, Peter Kivy finds the
explanation in the resemblance with speaking: music as a 'speech icon'.
This in principle correct insight - that a sung or played lament is
identical with a real lament -
cannot explain music that is not reducible to aural expression. As
mentioned above, Peter Kivy tries to solve the problem by extending 'resemblance'
in general. But such extension creates a new problem: 'We don't hear human posture and movement' (p.54).
Peter Kivy hence has to use the term 'resemblance' no longer in its
literal sense, but rather in an analog or metaphorical sense:
as 'emotive
icon'. But, according to Peter Kivy, even such 'speech icon' extended to 'emotive icon'
cannot explain the effect of chromaticism and major and minor scales.
To explain these phenomena, he contrasts 'emotive icon' (also called 'contour')
with 'convention'. He thus constructs a continuum icon/contour (motivated
signs) and
'convention' (see: mimesis and semiosis,
motivation),
whith, on the pole of the icon/contour, a subcontinuum of ''literal resemblance'
(speech icon) and
'metaphoric' or 'analog' 'resemblance' (emotive icon).
It is not difficult to see how this theory is a compromise between two
conflicting tendencies: the tendency to distance himself of mimetic
theories (speech icon) like those of the Camerata, and the tendency to
distance himself from representatives of the semiotic paradigm who do
not sufficient justice to the 'mimetic'. That is betrayed in the choice of the term 'resemblance' (which,
to Peter Kivy, can be used literally as well as metaphorically). The term
allows him to distance himself from Langer's 'isomorphism' and from
Goodman's 'move from resemblance to
symbol' (p.61) on the one hand, but, on the other hand, also from the
mimetic theory, that he dismisses as 'representation'. Music can be 'representational'
('resembling' in the literal sense, as with the lament of Arianna), but
that is not always the case (p.64).
On top of that, he rejects (in the wake of Wolheim's criticism of
mimesis) representation, because that implies the intention to imitate (p.64):
there can be resemblance without (the intention of) representation (p. 66).
The contradictory tendencies that lie at the roots of the choice of the
term 'resemblance' explain the arbitrariness in its use: now Peter Kivy is
talking about
'the musical line' 'as a kind of musical icon, resembling a piece of
human emotive expression' (p.20), then about the 'analogy to the
impassioned speaking voice' (p.27), again about ''analogue to rapid bodily movement' (p.69), 'formal analogy' (p.40), 'congruence' (77),
and finally about metaphor and synaesthesia (p.55-56). He would welcome
the term 'isomorphism' as well, were it not that Susanne Langer already
used it in the sense of a 'general symbol', which he rejects (p.60-61).
It speaks volumes that Peter Kivy refuses to provide an 'philosophical
analysis' of the term resemblance, and that he just sweeps the problem under the
carpet by stating that he will use the term 'in the ordinary
way'(p.66).
Be that as it may, Peter Kivy is constructing a variant of the familiar
'continuum between image and sign'. As I argued in'Semiosis
and mimesis', there is no such thing as a continuum between image and
sign, as rather an unbridgeable gap. On the other hand, there is
something like a continuum between different degrees of motivated and
unmotivated signs - a continuum of motivation of signs. Nevertheless, that continuum is readily invoked
by all those who want to construct a semiotic theory of the image, and
who can thereby not overlook the literal 'resemblance'
of many an image with the real world. It speaks volumes that Peter Kivy wants
to minimise the role of convention by stating that:'all expressiveness
by convention was originally expressiveness by contour' (p.83). Here as
elsewhere, we witness the return of the repressed mimesis under the
guise of the 'motivated sign'.
Of course, the question as to the relation between a real complaint and
the music of Monteverdi should be answered. But it should be clear that
the answer to that question - that the music is a monosensorial
duplicate of the imaginary complaint - is not an answer to the totally
different question how it is that the music of
Monteverdi is a 'representation' of the lamenting Arianna: for it is not
the lament that is being 'represented', but rather the lamenting
Arianna. The question is not what the relation is between a real bird
song and a recording of it - which is a plain monosensorial duplicate -
but rather how it is that when hearing that bird song, we have the
certain
impression of a bird singing, where there is only a loudspeaker emitting
the required vibration.
SEMIOSIS AND MIMESIS
Apart from that, it matters to point to the fact that the answer to the question
whether music is expressive depends on the kind of music we are dealing
with. For there are many kinds of music, and a distinction between them
is only possible when we make a clear distinction between mimesis and
semiosis.
To begin with, there are the many kinds of mimetic music (see: 'Auditory
mimesis and music.
Monteverdi's 'Lamento d'Arianna' is an example: by duplicating the
lament of an imaginary Arianna, the singer imitates a lamenting Arianna.
Next to the many kinds of mimetic music, there is also music which is a
pure sign. For, it seems to have escaped Peter Kivy's attention that many
movements are audible indeed: just think of the movements of working people, and
especially of the movements of musicians who produce the signs that command, structure and synchronise the movement
of workers or dancers (see 'Movement
conjuring signs'). To these signs, the
continuum of different kinds of motivation is fully applicable: the
signs are sometimes motivated by auditory identity (think of the drone
of soldiers boots), but more often with analogy (as when the sergeant
uses 'high' and 'low' as an analog sign added to the words 'left' and
'right'). How much Peter Kivy thinks in terms of dance music, is apparent from
his suggestion to read the aria from the second part of the first Brandenburg concerto 'as a
choreography of
expression. Think of the motions a player or conductor might make in performing it;
or the way a dancer might move to it' (p.52).
Next to dance music, there is also music in which mimesis and semiosis
are combined: image conjuring music (think
of some forms of 'tone painting' and of program music') whereby the
movement conjuring signs are used to conjure images in the mind, as when
ascending and descending scales are used to 'represent' waves. These
three kinds of music may be combined in diverse ways.
It is rather impossible to make statements that apply equally to these three
kinds of music. Whoever wants to contend something about 'musical expression',
has first to make it clear about what kind of music he is talking. With
dance music, it is not so much the music which is expressive, as rather
the - by the way: visual - expression of the movement of the dancers.
Only with what we call
speech music
and with many kinds of mimetic music (the Lamento d'Arianna as
well as many absolute music) are we dealing with sounds that are the
expression of (mostly imaginary) beings.
MUSIC AND EMOTION
Only when the necessary distinctions are made, can we properly tackle
the problem of the relation between music and emotion.
To begin with, it should be stressed that not only music, but
practically the whole world is 'expressive'. Granted, not of every of
these realities can it be said that they 'express' something: it might
be more appropriate to speak of 'being expressive of'. The problem of
the Saint-Bernard is, hence, just like the question why a particular
musical motive expresses grief, not a problem of music theory, but - as is already
apparent from the example of the Saint-Bernard, a problem of the real
world as such.
A problem that is a genuine problem of music theory - or of art
philosophy in general - is the question whose emotions are expressed in
music. It is apparent, then, that in the Lamento d'Arianna, it is the
feelings of Arianna that are expressed, not those of Monteverdi or
those of the singer. And, in the 'Vorspiel' to
'Das Rheingold', it is the 'mood' of primordial waters that is rendered,
not those of the composer or the musicians.
It is interesting to note that this question, that continues to
haunt the philosophy of music, is not at all a problem in the
visual arts: everybody will agree that it is the Mona Lisa who expresses
her feelings and not da Vinci, or that it is from the landscape that the impression of the sublime arises, and not
from Kaspar David
Friedrich. It should be noted that the problem can only arise in art: in
the real world the emotions are always those of whoever shows them. In
non-mimetic speech music, it is undoubtedly the lamenters who express their feelings in the music. And that goes also for
the visual
expressions of (non-mimetic) dancers. But, precisely because Peter Kivy does
not distinguish mimetic from non-mimetic music, he cannot possibly
conceive of cases where a lament would be expressive of the feelings of
the lamenter himself.
Next, there is a problem that has to do with (mimetic or non-mimetic)
music in particular. As a rule, music is combined with movement conjuring signs. These
signs invite the dancers to communally execute the same movements, or the singers to
communally sing the same song, so that all of them come to share the same mood (see:
sympathetic mimesis).
The same holds true for mimetic music. That is why our reaction to the lament of Arianna is fundamentally
different from our reaction to the smile of the Mona Lisa: when hearing
Arianna's lament, we cannot but feel compelled to join her singing and hence to
feel ourselves equally miserable as Arianna, whereas nobody feels
inclined to take the posture and the expression of the Mona Lisa. In
combination with the theory that music is the expression of the singer
or the composer, this leads to the erroneous impression that music would
be able to directly mediate feelings from one soul to another.
Let us, finally, remark that the problem of 'feelings without
object' that continues to haunt music philosophy ever since Hanslick
introduced it, is a false problem. From the Mona Lisa we do not know what
prompted her expression, and we will never know what prompted
the Scream on Munch's famous picture. Nevertheless, nobody has ever
experienced this as a problem, quite the contrary. Whoever would concoct a story that would
explain these expressions, would rather destroy their expressiveness -
for the same reason that the weeping of child moves us all the more when
we do not know what the cause of the weeping is. Hence, full
determination by a text is possible (as in songs or arias), but not at
all necessary.
Stefan Beyst, june 2012, translated june 2012.