Platonism and Classical music

[bwv 1080]

This may be somewhat of a strawman, but ITSM that there is a strand of platonic idealism (which as a skeptical sort of person I think is complete BS) running through classical music.  Defined as the concept that actual things are representations of ideal forms. This comes out both in the idea that there is some sort of ideal music that is superior to other types (i.e. Beethoven) as well as the notion that interpetations of a particular piece should be judged relative to the some perfect ideal realization that captures the composers singular abstract conception of the piece.

[Mark]

I can't claim to know a great deal about Plato and his work, but I've encountered some of his ideas through a lot of western mystery tradition literature. There certainly seems to be a common thread in all such literature which claims that the seen, physical world is but a pale, inexact 'shadow' or 'mirror' of some other level of reality, corresponding roughly to Plato's world of ideas. Given such a premise, it's said that music (and indeed, art in general), truth, love and so on all have higher correspondences which, the theory goes, all of creation is slowly evolving to make manifest more and more perfectly. Now, the extent to which I or anyone else subscribes to such notions is irrelevant, but it does make for interesting food for thought.

[Ten thumbs]

I presume that the Platonic notion is that all music exists since the universe began. All the skilled composer does is identify worthwhile constructs from this mass and write them down. Music develops because what is revealed inspires deeper exploration.

[bwv 1080]

Here is a good diatribe by Hume from his essay The Platonist

In vain, by pompous phrase and passionate expression, each recommends his own pursuit, and invites the credulous hearers to an imitation of his life and manners. The heart belies the countenance, and sensibly feels, even amid the highest success, the unsatisfactory nature of all those pleasures, which detain it from its true object. I examine the voluptuous man before enjoyment; I measure the vehemence of his desire, and the importance of his object; I find that all his happiness proceeds only from that hurry of thought, which takes him from himself, and turns his view from his guilt and misery. I consider him a moment after; he has now enjoyed the pleasure, which he fondly sought after. The sense of his guilt and misery returns upon him with double anguish: His mind tormented with fear and remorse; his body depressed with disgust and satiety.

I.XVII.2
But a more august, at least a more haughty personage, presents himself boldly to our censure; and assuming the title of a philosopher and man of morals, offers to submit to the most rigid examination. He challenges, with a visible, though concealed impatience, our approbation and applause; and seems offended, that we should hesitate a moment before we break out into admiration of his virtue. Seeing this impatience, I hesitate still more: I begin to examine the motives of his seeming virtue: But behold! ere I can enter upon this enquiry, he flings himself from me; and addressing his discourse to that crowd of heedless auditors, fondly abuses them by his magnificent pretensions.

I.XVII.3
O philosopher! thy wisdom is vain, and thy virtue unprofitable. Thou seekest the ignorant applauses of men, not the solid reflections of thy own conscience, or the more solid approbation of that being, who, with one regard of his all-seeing eye, penetrates the universe. Thou surely art conscious of the hollowness of thy pretended probity, whilst calling thyself a citizen, a son, a friend, thou forgettest thy higher sovereign, thy true father, thy greatest benefactor. Where is the adoration due to infinite perfection, whence every thing good and valuable is derived? Where is the gratitude, owing to thy creator, who called thee forth from nothing, who placed thee in all these relations to thy fellow-creatures, and requiring thee to fulfil the duty of each relation, forbids thee to neglect what thou owest to himself, the most perfect being, to whom thou art connected by the closest tye?


But thou art thyself thy own idol: Thou worshippest thy imaginary perfections: Or rather, sensible of thy real imperfections, thou seekest only to deceive the world, and to please thy fancy, by multiplying thy ignorant admirers. Thus, not content with neglecting what is most excellent in the universe, thou desirest to substitute in his place what is most vile and contemptible

[jochanaan]

Most performing musicians I know, including me, are too busy molding the music they make to concern themselves too much with ideals.  We recognize the ideal nature of the written music we play, and understand that we can very seldom realize this ideal; but we also know that music is a flame that only burns when it's being played and heard.  It is not some vague "ideal" that stirs our pulses and makes our spirits dance; it is the physical sounds of singers and instrumentalists pouring bodies, minds and spirits into a deeply real happening.