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visible deeds of music
visible deeds of
m u s i ca r t and music from
wagner to cage

simon shaw-miller
yale university press
new haven & london
Copyright © 2002 by Yale University. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced,
in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by
Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press),
without written permission from the publishers.

Small sections of Chapter 1 appeared in the review essay ‘‘Sounding Out,’’ Oxford Art
Journal 20, no. 1 (1997), 105–9. A section of Chapter 2 appeared as ‘‘Skriabin and
Obukhov—Mysterium and La Livre de vie: The Concept of the Total Work of Art,’’ in
Consciousness, Literature and the Arts 1, no. 3 (December 2000; e-journal:
www.aber.ac.uk/tfts/journal/december/skria.html). An earlier version of Chapter 3 appeared
as ‘‘Instruments of Desire: Musical Morphology in the Early Work of Picasso,’’ Musical
Quarterly 76, no. 4 (Winter 1992), 442–64. An earlier version of Chapter 6 appeared as
‘‘Concerts of Everyday Living’’: Cage, Barthes and Fluxus: Interdisciplinarity and Inter-
Media Events,’’ in a special number of Art History, entitled Image-Music-Text 19, no. 1
(March 1996), 1–25. Music examples 5.3–5.8 were created by Robert Michael Weiss and first
published in the catalogue Josef Matthias Hauer, 80 Jahre Zwölftonmusik (Kulturamt der
Stadt Wiener Neustadt, 1999) for the J. M. Hauer exhibition in Wiener Neustadt, April 1999.
They are reproduced by courtesy of Josef Matthias Hauer Studio Robert Michael Weiss,
Vienna. Music example 5.12 was made for this publication by Robert Michael Weiss,
transcribed from the first recording made by Victor Sokolowski on LP Phillips 6599
333 (1973).

Designed by Nancy Ovedovitz and set in Times Roman with Meta types by Tseng
Information Systems, Inc. Printed in the United States of America by Edwards Brothers, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Miller, Simon, 1960–
Visible deeds of music : art and music from Wagner to Cage / Simon Shaw-Miller.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-300-08374-2 (alk. paper)
1. Art and music—History—19th century. 2. Art and music—History—20th century.
I. Title.
ML3849 .S47 2002
780'.07—dc21 2001008006
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

The paper in this book meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee
on Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated to a most harmonious sound:
‘‘LA!’’
(Lindsey and Aniella)
and a silence:
in memoriam
(John Raisin, 1938–1999)
contents
Preface ix

Acknowledgments xiii

o n e Ut Pictura Musica: Interdisciplinarity, Art, and

Music 1

t w o ‘‘Deeds of Music Made Visible’’: Wagner, the

Gesamtkunstwerk, and the Birth of the Modern 36

t h r e e Instruments of Desire: Musical Morphology in

Picasso’s Cubism 89

f o u r Quasi Una Musica: Kupka and Klee, Music, and

the Idea of Abstraction 121

f i v e ‘‘Out of Tune’’: Hauer’s Legacy and the Aesthetics

of Minimalism in Art and Music 163
s i x A Chorus of Voices: Seeing Music in Cage and
Fluxus, the Birth of the Postmodern 208

Notes 245

Index 283
preface

The absolute arts are a sad modern impertinence. Everything is falling apart.
There is no organization to foster all the arts together as Art.
—Friedrich Nietzsche

The relationships between music and visual art in the first half of the twentieth
century are the subject of this book. From Richard Wagner to John Cage, I ex-
plore a number of themes that emerge in the consideration of modernism on the
nexus of sight and sound, the spatial and the temporal. This work is not an at-
tempt to cover all instances of art and music’s interrelations in this extraordinary
period. Rather, it addresses the media bias of discussions of modernism through
consideration of a number of key moments—between c. 1860 and c. 1960, when
the purism of modernism (especially in the writings of Clement Greenberg and
Michael Fried), in terms of definition through media specificity, is contrasted
with the more hybrid and ‘‘theatrical’’ manifestations of practices that operate
under the ‘‘surface’’ of this paradigm of modernism.
Chapter 1 raises a number of issues in relation to interdisciplinary study and
aims to differentiate inter- from cross- and multidisciplinary research. It takes up
the philosopher Jerrold Levinson’s discussion of hybridity (into the categories
x
preface

‘‘juxtaposition,’’ ‘‘synthesis,’’ and ‘‘transformation’’). Through the filter of a num-

ber of discussions that use Gotthold Lessing’s Laocoön and his differentiation of
the arts on the basis of temporal and spatial characteristics, this chapter looks at
ways that art and music have been historically separated from each other. The
main argument can be summarized thus: (1) music operates as an exemplar of
autonomy for the visual arts within the paradigm of modernism; or (2) music con-
versely operates as an exemplar of connection for art practices within the para-
digm of postmodernism (and to an extent with premodern practice). In the first
statement, music is to be understood as mere sound, what has been called ‘‘music
alone.’’1 In the second, music is to be understood as a field of activities, a discourse
or discursive practice.
The contention is that notions of media purity in modernism are the histori-
cal exception. The conception of fluid boundaries between the sonoric and the
visual (as indeed also between the textual) is a closer reflection of artistic prac-
tices throughout history, than the seeking out and patrolling of borders on the
basis of time, space, or media alone.
Chapter 2 addresses Richard Wagner’s music and ideas at the time of Charles
Baudelaire’s definition of modernity. Wagner argues that each separate art form
tends to extend itself (its power) to its limits and cannot pass this limit without
losing itself in incomprehension. This move to, or beyond, the ontological limits
is the enterprise of modern art. The Gesamtkunstwerk, or art work of the future
as he most often expresses it, is a means of containing excess and safeguarding
meaning. Baudelaire’s response to Wagner was to recognize that here was an art
that truly threatened the long-affirmed supremacy of poetry: poetry becomes a
form of protomusic. The Gesamtkunstwerk is positioned as the ‘‘end of art,’’ in
as much as it is the unification and synthesis of all the individual arts (under, how-
ever, the banner of music). It is the most modern in its lack of an antique model.
Greenberg’s response to this same crisis was rather to build up each art’s de-
fensive barriers so that ‘‘each art would, to be sure, narrow its area of compe-
tence, but at the same time it would make its possession of this area all the more
secure.’’2
For Greenberg, then, the conditions of representation are central to artistic
practice, so that art becomes its own subject; this is not so much a stylistic shift
as a paradigmatic transformation. Art does this in order to arrest the drift that
Wagner identifies in the extension of the arts beyond their limits (into unintelli-
gibility). This act of purification, ironically, moves painting toward music (as it
conversely moves away from the sculptural and the literary). Although contrary
to Wagner and the conception of the Gesamtkunstwerk, Greenberg’s modernism
pursues a strategy of exclusion. The influence of Wagner’s aesthetic is briefly dis-
cussed in relation to Aleksandr Scriabin and Nikolay Obukhov, with a note on
 xi
preface

Olivier Messiaen. Consideration of these figures shows that at the birth of moder-
nity, one powerful strain of practices stands in antithesis to the purism of formalist
modernism, in its pull to achieve unification.
Chapter 3 considers a central defining plank of the modernist canon: cubism,
specifically the cubism of Pablo Picasso. Although for Greenberg, Edouard
Manet was the first modernist, cubism marks a fundamental shift in the develop-
ment of modern art. Greenberg discusses cubism in terms of formal innovation,
and it has been seen by many to mark a fundamental shift in the history of art:
from a perceptual to a conceptual emphasis. However, if we consider a contex-
tual understanding, focusing on music, we can show conceptual contact with a
wide range of cultural issues. Cubism’s concern with traditional subject matter,
as a vehicle for that formal innovation in technique, is important, but it is not
the whole story. Music and musical instruments, in Picasso’s cubist works, both
signify Idea, rather than the visible particular (indeed its invisibility gives music
its power), and through musical objects (instruments) other extravisual elements
such as touch and hearing, and physical bodies, are played on within the rules
of a complex game. The subject matter of these works is far from neutral. Such
corps sonores resonate outside the confines of the frame.
Greenberg’s ideas lead to (and from) abstraction, indeed were formulated in
the 1940s within the context of abstraction’s identification as avant-garde, and
as such form the elite vehicle that maintains superiority over kitsch or academi-
cism. Here music again acts as a powerful agent of meaning. Following Wagner,
this is achieved not via the mind but via the feelings, through the instinct of the
artist. It is apparent that music means something profound, but its significance
lies in the subject rather than the object. In Chapter 4, the role of music in the
work of František Kupka, a little discussed but important early abstract artist, is
contrasted with that of Paul Klee. Music for Kupka is a transcendental signifier,
a re-presentation of the will, the spirit, the idea. For Klee, music is to be under-
stood as an organic, and already cultural, metaphor of growth, creation, and the
forces of nature. For Klee music was principally seen as a way to emphasize the
dimension of time, and therefore change, in visual art, as against Lessing’s divi-
sions. Klee’s work does not pursue or reflect a simple teleology of modernism
but is a more circular, essentially an experimental rubric.
The Austrian composer Josef Matthias Hauer is the main focus of Chapter 5.
Like Klee, Hauer stands to one side of the modernist paradigm. Hauer’s music
and ideas have much in common with Greenbergian modernism, for example, in
the attempt to develop a new metamusical language. Yet if we look in detail at
his little discussed aesthetic, if we distinguish its specificity—in contrast to the
more familiar tactic of describing it as an inferior form of serialism—we find
not so much a minor modernist, but rather a challenging, somewhat anachronis-
xii
preface

tic figure, a figure whose aesthetic, by virtue of its deviance from this paradigm,
is conceptually close to minimalism, the first art movement to challenge Green-
bergian ideology in the 1960s. This chapter necessarily contains a good deal of
technical discussion due to the unfamiliarity of Hauer’s ideas, especially for the
English-language reader. The argument considers Hauer’s ideas in relation to the
developments from dodecaphony to Karlheinz Stockhausen’s notion of moment
form to minimalism, in both music and visual art. It relates Hauer’s aesthetic to a
concern with three basic categories, first employed by the musicologist Jonathan
Bernard in relation to minimalism: (1) the avoidance of aleatoricism, (2) the em-
phasis on surface, and (3) the concern with disposition rather than composition.
The final chapter brings back the idea of the Gesamtkunstwerk, but in the con-
text of John Cage’s work, which is in many ways antithetical to the idea in its
Wagnerian guise. Here the concern is with silence over amplification, coexistence
over synthesis; music does not sublimate the other arts (nor, in Greenberg’s terms,
provide them with a ‘‘notion of purity derived from the example of music’’).
Volume does not drown out the other arts’ voices. Rather, it is through Cage’s
aesthetic of silence that the other arts can be seen to be a part of the discourse
of music—textual, visual, and theatrical. They are already part of the fabric of
music, part of the chorus of voices that make up the concept ‘‘music.’’ This allows
us to relate back to the initial discussion of the separation of the arts and its empha-
sis in Greenbergian modernism. But in the face of a post-Cagian (postmodernist)
culture, we are made more aware of the blurring of disciplinary boundaries and
the necessity to rethink relationships.
acknowledgments

I should like to express my thanks to a number of individuals who have com-

mented on the contents of this book in its various states of development (who are
of course in no part responsible for its faults): Paul Binski, John Covach, Thomas
Crow, Jonathan Impett, James Lawson, Richard Leppert, Donald Mitchell,
Marcia Pointon, Antony Sellors, Peter Vergo. I also owe a debt of gratitude to
Alessio Antonielli, whose calm and conscientious approach to the drudgery of
bureaucracy saw the consolidation of the illustrative material through the later
stages. Thank you. Also to Suzanne Reynolds of Honeychurch Associates for
her care and interest. Sylvia Carlyle’s way with the Web helped me tie up some
last-minute bibliographic queries, for which I’m most grateful.
Any contemporary researcher on J. M. Hauer will at some point owe a con-
siderable debit to Robert M. Weiß of the Joseph Matthias Hauer Konservatorium
in Wiener Neustadt. I most certainly do, and I thank him for his help, patience
(when the technical details of Hauer’s approach took time to sink in), and gener-
ous friendship over the years.
To single out any of my colleagues in the School of History of Art at Birkbeck
would be inappropriate, as all of them provide a most supportive and intellectu-
ally stimulating environment in which to work (not least the School’s adminis-
trative and support staff ).
xiv
acknowledgments

As a dyslexic I am sensible of a second-hand relationship to language, that it

has passed through others’ minds on its way to me. I hope I have not misrepre-
sented them in my attempts to refashion and reapply them. That my thoughts have
achieved passable English is largely a result of a number of timely interventions.
My wife, Lindsey, who is always my first editor, mainly instigated these, with
patience and sympathy. She has shared my interests and in discussion helped to
form them into clearer prose. My ‘‘second’’ editor, Harry Haskell at Yale, has
likewise been most supportive and above all enthusiastic for this project since
he solicited its embryonic (and rather different) synopsis. The diligent and sym-
pathetic copyediting of Laura Jones Dooley saved me from many embarrassing
errors. Thank you for your care and for providing me with (at least on paper) an
American accent.
If I might borrow and rephrase the words of Michel Chion: this book might
not be complete, nor immune to criticism, but at least it exists!
one
ut pictura musica
i n t e r d i s c i p l i n a r i t y, a r t , a n d m u s i c

All art constantly aspires towards the condition of music.—Walter Pater

Comparing the resources of totally different arts, one art learning from
another, can only be successful and victorious if not merely the externals,
but also the principles are learned.
—Wassily Kandinsky

Novalis: ‘‘This is waking, that is a dream, this belongs to the body, that to
the spirit, this belongs to space and distance, that to time and duration. But
space spills over into time, as the body into the soul, so that one cannot be
measured without the other. I want to exert myself to find a different kind
of measurement.’’
—Penelope Fitzgerald, The Blue Flower

Our words for the practices of art and music have classical roots. The Greek word
technē and the Latin ars both originally related closely to notions of skill. Technē
included a specific form, mousike technē, which signified the ‘‘art of the Muses.’’
2
ut pictura musica

However, the word technē was often omitted in Greek usage, and mousike on
its own stood for ‘‘art of the Muses.’’ And although this is the root of our word
music, it was first a concept signifying any art form over which the Muses pre-
sided: poetry, song, dance, astronomy.1 Mousike did not, therefore, signify in a
narrow sense what we might now think of as ‘‘music’’; it is not used in Greek as
a term for a solely auditory art form until at least the fourth century b.c.
The visual arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, activities that can be
distinguished in part by their devotion to aesthetic issues above utility and craft,
appear not to have been thought of as a group before the fifth century b.c. In-
deed, in antiquity it would be more accurate to designate all such ‘‘visual’’ cultural
practices under the concept ‘‘craft’’ rather than art. Similarly, the artist had no
social status above other artisans, until in the fifth century art was developed as a
more distinct activity, although this was then a relatively subtle distinction. One
of the definitive contentions that emerged at this time was the relationship of the
arts to necessity and luxury. Painting and music were famously classified by Plato
(against the more hedonistic views of some of his contemporaries) as luxuries,
but with the proviso that elements of them could rise above this material status to
provide benefit to the soul; a link is made between beauty and moral worth: ‘‘ugli-
ness of form and bad rhythm and disharmony are akin to poor quality expression
and character, and their opposites are akin to and represent good character and
discipline.’’2 This statement is part of a general discussion of education in which
Plato is concerned to promote exposure only to the good. Both music and the
graphic arts share rhythm and harmony as the means to produce beauty.
For Plato, central to the classification and purpose of the arts was the con-
cept of imitation (mimesis), as this relates directly to his notion of the eidos, the
realm of suprasensible reality, which is distinct from the eidolon, which is the
impression of this reality based on likeness (eikon). The fact that the visual arts
might be more than mere imitation is not of concern to Plato, and indeed for him,
only certain types of music or musical modes (harmoniai ) were acceptable or
beneficial to the soul, and thus appropriate to education. In this it was impor-
tant to distinguish the intellectual principles of harmony, for example, and not to
surrender to their more sensuous elements. The close relationship between tone
and word (in mousike)—the invariable length and pitch of Greek syllables from
which the sound was related and developed—linked sound and meaning through
the medium of the word. However, music gradually became more independent
of the word. By the middle of the fifth century instrumental improvisations had
developed, often based on imitations of natural sounds rather than words, and it
was to this that Plato largely responded in his attempts to promote and prohibit
certain types of aesthetic development. The relationship between music and the
word is an issue we shall take up again in the next chapter.
 3
ut pictura musica

For Aristotle, all arts are arts of imitation. He wrote in the Poetics: ‘‘Epic and
tragic poetry, comedy too, dithyrambic poetry, and most music composed for the
flute and lyre, can all be described in general terms as forms of imitation or rep-
resentation.’’ Here music is in service to the word and aims to represent ‘‘men’s
characters and feelings and actions.’’3 Music is seen to function as a natural sign
system, one grounded in imitation. In The Politics, he characterizes rhythm and
melody as aesthetic elements best able to produce imitations of such passions as
anger, courage, and other qualities of character.
Neoclassical thinkers tended to think of music and imitation in narrower terms,
more suited to the visual arts alone, as representations in a medium that shares
properties in common with the thing represented. The medieval division of the
arts into the seven ‘‘liberal’’ arts consisted of grammar, logic, rhetoric, arith-
metic, geometry, astronomy, and music. In the fifteenth century the conceptual
separation or combination of art and science as two different activities would not
have been a part of the artist’s project. For Leonardo da Vinci, ‘‘art’’ referred to
something like skill and ‘‘science’’ meant something like knowledge.4
Until the seventeenth century ‘‘art’’ still included such varied activities as
mathematics, medicine, and angling, but then it came to signify a more special-
ized group of skills that had not before been formally grouped together—namely,
drawing, painting, engraving, and sculpture. Up to the eighteenth century it was
common to discuss painting and sculpture, music and dance but not to speak of
‘‘art’’ as a general term.5
Indeed, our common use of ‘‘art’’ did not come into being until the nineteenth
century, along with the distinction between art and craft, artist and artisan. Alex-
ander Gottlieb Baumgarten (1714–62) coined the word aesthetics in Reflections
on Poetry in 1735 and used the word slightly later as the title of his two-volume
work Aesthetica (1750–58). But in the reconsideration of music’s place in aes-
thetics that took place in the eighteenth century, Aristotle’s terms of reference—
music as the imitation of the passions or as the sonic signifier of the passions—
again emerged as important elements in the debate. Principal among these terms
was the notion of music as a natural sign system, as part of a general represen-
tational theory. Abbé Jean-Baptiste Dubos wrote early in the century: ‘‘Whereof
as the painter imitates the strokes and colours of nature, in like manner the musi-
cian imitates the tones, accents, sighs, and inflextions of the voice; and in short all
those sounds, by which nature herself expresses her sentiments and passions.’’6
The dominant tradition of aesthetics up to the eighteenth century was not one
that aimed to pursue generic differences, seeking out and patrolling the bor-
ders between the arts. Rather, it was primarily concerned with the issue of re-
semblance, that which was shared by art forms, the ‘‘sister arts.’’ Horace’s (65–
8 b.c.) phrase ‘‘ut pictura poesis’’ (as is painting, so is poetry) derives from the
4
ut pictura musica

Ars poetica (361). It was attributed to Simonides (556–468 b.c.) by Plutarch in

the form of ‘‘painting is mute poetry and poetry a speaking picture’’ (Moralia,
346). The analogy remained powerful, even when challenged, while the arts were
thought of as essentially imitative. But with the romantics the arts were thought
of more as expression than imitation, and this analogy was replaced by another,
what we can call ‘‘ut pictura musica’’ (as is music, so is painting).
I do not intend to provide a historiography of the concepts of music and visual
art. Here it is enough to stress that they are mutable concepts; not only have they
changed their meaning on the verbal level, but such surface changes of meaning
signify deeper underlying cultural movements and trends. For it is useful to con-
sider the difference between music and the visual arts as a matter of degree, not
of kind. In so doing we are forced to reflect on scholarly practice, to see the va-
lidity of traditional disciplinary premises as historical, ideological conventions,
not as natural unequivocal boundaries. This is not the same as saying that there
are no differences between art and music or that such distinctions are false. It is
the very power of these distinctions, to construct ways of seeing, that we need to
remember. The issue of difference is one of constant negotiation.
This might appear at first sight to be a rather ill-judged overstatement, but I take
support from W. J. T. Mitchell’s convincing arguments deployed against simi-
lar issues of difference in poetry and painting in his important work Iconology:
Image, Text, Ideology (1986).7
The historical material I deal with in this book takes the form of a series of case
studies within the period of history now commonly termed modernist (c. 1860–
1960). The theoretical characterization of this phase of history was marked by an
attempt to (re)establish the ‘‘essential’’ identity of each branch of cultural practice,
each art form. But more than this, a strong sense of censure was (is) attached to
the project: that through the ‘‘self evident truth’’ of the ‘‘natural’’ boundaries be-
tween the arts, the issue becomes as much a moral one—that the arts should only
‘‘concern themselves with certain formal characteristics’’—as it was a merely
neutral formal requirement—that they ‘‘can only express certain things within
these essential borders.’’ Yet as Mitchell points out, ‘‘There would be no need to
say that the genres should not be mixed if they could not be mixed.’’8 In other
words, the definition of modernism was as much an ideological tendency as it
was a ‘‘scientific’’ drawing of demarcation lines. Indeed, the very notion that a
‘‘scientific’’ method can be an appropriate explicatory model must be questioned.
Rather, we should consider music and art relations to be a result of particular
historical formations, dependent on relations of production, reproduction, and
sociopolitical forces, which are transformed within history. I do not simply wish
to oppose attempts at single unitary systems of thinking, such as certain notions
of modernism, that attempt to account for all similarities and differences. And I
 5
ut pictura musica

cannot hope to explore all the ideological issues that underlie the approaches I
discuss in these pages. Instead, in the following chapters, I argue that it is more
appropriate to see attempts at systemization and demarcation in the arts as his-
torically grounded, as part of a dialogue, one that questions at the level of both
theory and practice. I provide a series of case studies that complicate the concep-
tion of modernist art practice as grounded in unique, practice-specific essences.
In doing this I am aware that issues of class and gender, among others, could be
developed from the discussion, issues bound up with the social history of art. My
intention is to expose the intellectual basis of art and music relationships within
notions of modernism—a level of theory that is diminished within social and
political analysis—and to make sonoric concerns visible. In this way ideological
notions can become apparent and open to question, even if all social ramifications
cannot be exposed here.
So let us briefly explore the nature of the ‘‘essential’’ identity of music and
visual art. I begin with the premise that there is no single essential or sufficient
defining difference between them, although that is not to say that there are not
necessary characteristics.
We have seen that in antiquity the boundaries between the arts were not as
they now are. But one of the most famous accounts of demarcation, indeed per-
haps the first extended attempt to define distinctive and ‘‘appropriate’’ spheres
of action between art forms, a work that characterizes artistic medium and is
the source for modernist assumptions of the uniqueness and autonomy of the
individual arts, a work written in the eighteenth century but based on antique
practices, is Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s Laokoon: Oder, Über die Grenzen der
Malerei und Poesie (1766).9 Using the Late Hellenistic sculpture of Laocoön
and his two sons being attacked by serpents, Lessing follows Johann Joachim
Winckelmann in promoting the assertion that classical art is invariably tranquil
and static, concerned with the presentation of flawless beauty (fig. 1.1).10 The
display of strong emotion or impassioned movement would distort the purity of
form, he argues, and in the visual arts formal considerations must always control
expression. Poetry, by contrast, could display strong emotion without disrupting
form.Virgil’s evocation of the scream in his account of the death of Laocoön ‘‘has
a powerful appeal to the ear, no matter what its effect on the eye.’’11 Although
the Laocoön is concerned with poetry and painting, Lessing’s characterization
of poetry as a temporal art and painting as a spatial art can be applied equally to
music and painting (the ear and the eye). It was Lessing’s intention in the planned
second part of this work to consider music in relation to poetry, and in the third
part the relation of dance to music and the different genres of poetry, one with
the other. Both these further parts, however, remained incomplete at his death
in 1781.
 [To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]

1.1 Hagesandros, Athenodoros, and Polydoros of Rhodes, The Laocoön Group, c. 175–
150 b.c., height 242 cm. Museo Pio Clementino, Vatican. Monumenti Musei e Gallerie
Pontificie, Rome
 7
ut pictura musica

LAOCOÖN

Taking up the antique view that music is seen to function as a natural sign system,
one grounded in imitation, a useful starting point for our discussion is the work
of the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn (1729–86, grandfather of the composer
Felix). He was a contemporary and close friend of Lessing, whose ideas had an
impact (negative in the case of music) on Lessing’s formulations. Mendelssohn’s
essay ‘‘Hauptgrundsätze der schönen Wissenschaften und Künste’’ (On the main
principles of the fine arts and sciences) of 1757, revised in 1771, is in part an at-
tempt to separate the arts on semiotic grounds.12 What Lessing and Mendelssohn
share is a particular conception of mimesis. In the case of painting, a highly mi-
metic art, there are certain physical properties, such as color and contour, which
it shares with the original. However, for precisely this reason its efficacy is re-
duced, for it partakes of the physical nature of the original and therefore incurs
the same restrictions as the original. A more effective mimesis, a representation
to the imagination of ideas, would be one of ideas itself, where materiality is left
behind. This is a major reason for the supersession of poetry and its use of meta-
phor over the visual arts: if painting adopts a similar strategy—allegory—it is
merely an inferior form of poetry, what Lessing calls a ‘‘speaking picture.’’13
Both Lessing and Mendelssohn’s work was part of a more general interest in
systematizing the arts; their work aims to provide a theoretical structure of aes-
thetics as a hierarchy of rules. They tend toward a definition of the ‘‘essence’’ of
each art form in order to make artistic communication more autonomous, more
transparent. The purpose of art was characterized as the presentation to the imagi-
nation (or soul) of an intuitive representation of the object, to elicit pleasure. The
arts can then be compared in terms of the means to this end, characterized in
terms of the different semiotic media they employ. Music, for Mendelssohn, is a
natural semiotic, as opposed to language, which is an arbitrary one:

The signs by means of which an object is expressed can be either natural or arbitrary.
They are natural if the combination of the sign with the subject matter signified is
grounded in the very properties of what is designated. . . . Those signs, on the other
hand, that by their very nature have nothing in common with the designated subject
matter . . . are called arbitary. . . . The fine sciences [arts], by which poetry and rheto-
ric are understood, express objects by means of arbitrary signs, perceptible sounds,
and letters.14

According to Mendelssohn, both the visual arts and music are natural sym-
bols, or sign systems, as opposed to poetry, which employs arbitrary symbols.
The arts are further distinguished by the sense organ to which they appeal, which
separates music from the visual arts. In turn, the visual arts can be subdivided
8
ut pictura musica

according to the arrangement of their parts—in time or space (the only temporal
visual art for Mendelssohn is dance). This focus on media-based rules separates
aesthetic experience, as we have seen, from other experiences aiming to facilitate
transparency between aesthetic object and the subject.
The understanding of how the arts combine, having been separated by such a
taxonomy, follows similar structural lines. Mendelssohn argues that there must
always be a dominant partner, for if this were not the case a clash between ‘‘es-
sences’’ could occur, causing confusion. For example, in song, music must always
take second place to poetry; in opera, to drama. Wagner, as we shall see, took a
rather different view.
According to the notes for the planned second volume of Laocoön, Lessing,
while sharing many ideas with Mendelssohn, differed in his view of music. For
these notes suggest that music is, at least in part, an arbitrary sign system, as
it, too, frees the imagination.15 This view, which allies music and poetry, was to
become dominant by the end of the century.
Autonomous music, separated from poetry, was viewed at first as something
of a loose cannon. The mimetic view of music was, throughout this time, pro-
gressively diminished, which led to music’s assuming a different place within the
aesthetic hierarchy. One of the clearest examples of this change, toward the end of
the century, is to be found in British rather than German theorizing. The Scottish
thinker Adam Smith sees music as a primarily expressive medium: ‘‘The effect
of instrumental Music upon the mind has been called expression. . . . Whatever
effect it produces is the immediate effect of that melody and harmony, and not
of something else which is signified and suggested by them: they in fact signify
and suggest nothing.’’16
For Smith there is a decided break between music as a signifier and its (natu-
ral) signified, although for him this is not necessarily a good thing. Moreover,
seen in such terms there was an inherent (Platonic) danger: music free of the con-
trol of words was music free of morality. Legislation was needed to contain this
influence. As Lessing put it in the Laocoön:

We laugh when we hear that among the ancients even the arts were subject to the
civil code. But we are not always right when we do so. Unquestionably, laws must
not exercise any constraint on the sciences, for the ultimate goal of knowledge is
truth. . . . But the ultimate goal of the arts is pleasure, and this pleasure is not indis-
pensable. Hence it may be for the lawmaker to determine what kind of pleasure and
how much of each kind he will permit.17

But not all eighteenth-century minds saw music in such Platonic terms. Some
saw the origin of music in the divine (Orpheus, Apollo, or his biblical counter-
 9
ut pictura musica

part David), but whether music was seen as a nature-derived phenomenon or as

a supernatural gift, both accounts were dependent on mimesis. The view that
music was intimately related to the word or poetry, however, also underwent a
further variation, which acknowledged a trace of the Ursprache. This is an idea
that was later taken up and modified by Arthur Schopenhauer, Friedrich Nietz-
sche, and Richard Wagner. Here music is not so much a mimic of speech and
natural sounds as an original or fundamental mode of communication that existed
prior to language.18
As the imitative view of music underwent transformation, to a point where ex-
pressive theories replaced mimetic ones, music became an even more effective
paradigm for the other arts. In Germany, with such writers as Jean Paul Richter,
Ludwig Tieck, Wilhelm Wackenroder, and E. T. A. Hoffmann, within the emer-
gent aesthetic of romanticism, instrumental music became fundamental precisely
because of its arbitrary, suggestive nature. Music was seen now as the least imi-
tative of the arts, and its status was raised to a point where all other arts were re-
quired to aspire to its imprecisely suggestive condition. But this again is a species
of ‘‘sister arts’’ criticism, a focus on commonality, a drawing together of the arts,
and it would be incorrect to give the impression that modernist criticism explic-
itly acknowledged such common ground. Rather, it sought difference, addressing
itself to the ‘‘essential’’ nature of each medium. Here Lessing provided the ground
rules. His essay is of seminal importance, for in a reworking of its central argu-
ments by the American critic Clement Greenberg, in his essay ‘‘Towards a Newer
Laocoon’’ (1940), the essence of modernist art is defined.19 But here first is Less-
ing’s initial discussion and its division of the arts on the basis of the categories of
space and time:

I reason thus: if it is true that in its imitations painting uses completely different
means or signs than does poetry, namely figures [bodies] and colours in space rather
than articulated sounds in time, and if these signs must indisputably bear a suitable
relation to the thing signified, then signs existing in space can express only objects
whose wholes or parts coexist, while signs that follow one another can express only
objects whose wholes or parts are consecutive.
Objects or parts of objects which exist in space are called bodies. Accordingly,
bodies with their visible properties are the true subjects of painting.
Objects or parts of objects which follow one another are called actions. Accord-
ingly, actions are the true subjects of poetry.20

Interestingly, Lessing next acknowledges that such distinctions are not as cut-
and-dried as this would lead us to believe. ‘‘However, bodies do not exist in space
only, but also in time. . . . On the other hand, actions cannot exist independently,
10
ut pictura musica

but must be joined to certain beings or things.’’ What appears therefore to be

an essential difference—differences of kind—turns out instead to be differences
only of degree or focus.
The need to consider the fundamental differences between the arts, here poetry
and painting,21 is for the purpose of criticism and judgment. The fact that, in Less-
ing’s view, followers of the ut pictura poesis tradition have failed to acknowledge
the fundamental difference between art forms has led to a ‘‘mania for description’’
in poetry and ‘‘a mania for allegory’’ in painting, which attempts ‘‘to make the
former a speaking picture, without actually knowing what it could and ought to
paint, and the latter a silent poem, without having considered to what degree it is
able to express general ideas without denying its true function and degenerating
into a purely arbitrary means of expression.’’22
Lessing’s project is to contain as much as it is to explain. He conflates, in other
words, evaluative issues with ontological ones. From the nature of the medium
springs the possibility of certain subjects; what can be expressed is intimately
related to ‘‘how,’’ the vehicle of expression. This assumption tends to think of
the ‘‘how’’ as fixed, for a change in ‘‘how’’ could lead to a change of subject.
The ‘‘how’’ of his particular historical moment leads Lessing to value poetry
over painting: ‘‘poetry has a wider range . . . there are beauties at its command
which painting is never able to attain,’’ a valuation that, as Mitchell argues, is
tied up with ideology, particularly at the level of gender. Painting as a silent,
beautiful art, a natural sign system, made for the eye and from bodies in space—
these are all qualities associated with femininity. Opposed to this is the eloquent,
sublime discourse of poetry, an arbitrary sign system, addressed to the ear and
mind in time—values associated with masculinity.23 In fact, Lessing’s analysis is
implicitly binary, one that cannot help but become evaluative and hierarchical,
privileging one side (poetry) over the other (painting). Value and restrictions are
inferred from the spatiotemporal distinction. The border between art forms thus
characterized must not be transgressed. Lessing condemns paintings that attempt
to present the passage of time: ‘‘It is an intrusion of the painter into the domain
of the poet, which good taste can never sanction, when the painter combines in
one and the same picture two points necessarily separate in time,’’24 and likewise
for the poet who transgresses this ‘‘natural’’ border, but in the opposite direction.
There are many such examples throughout the Laocoön, developed from the root
characterization and division of the arts on spatiotemporal lines, presenting the
distinction as not only permanent and rightful but unassailable if value is to be
maintained.
Before we return to the legacy of Lessing’s Laocoön, it is worth exploring the
issue of ‘‘essential’’ defining character in the arts, especially in music and the
 11
ut pictura musica

visual arts. The philosopher Jerrold Levinson’s essay ‘‘Hybrid Art Forms’’ is a
useful starting point in this endeavor.25

HYBRIDITY AND PURITY IN ART FORMS

As is implicit in the discussion above, and as Levinson argues in ‘‘Hybrid Art

Forms,’’ a hybrid is primarily a historical phenomenon that emerges out of exist-
ing artistic conventions and fields of activity. From antiquity different media and
modes of communication have been in dialogue, conjoining and separating as the
dictates of society and culture allow; mousike is a good early example. As Levin-
son argues, a hybrid art form should not be thought of as a structural category,
not simply a medium-derived phenomenon. It is a consequence of history. From
this he concludes that so-called pure (what he calls thoroughbred) art forms can
only be so defined as a nonhybrid (nonessential): ‘‘two things are immediately
evident. One, the notion of a thoroughbred art form is logically secondary to that
of a hybrid. . . . Two, the ordinary categorization of an art form as thoroughbred
or nonhybrid will usually be a relative or limited one, not positing an absolute
purity reaching back to the dawn of Western art.’’26
He goes on to characterize hybrid art forms under three headings: (1) juxta-
position, (2) synthesis, and (3) transformation.
We can supplement this by using terms that describe appropriate forms
of analysis, so that (1) would be multidisciplinary, (2) interdisciplinary, and
(3) crossdisciplinary. To give examples:

Juxtaposition: Multidisciplinary
At its simplest, a juxtapositional hybrid art work would be where one art form is
accompanied by another but where the elements can be perceived as distinct and
do not merge into a third term. However, there are also more complex examples
in what are sometimes called multimedia performances, where commonly more
than two art forms are brought into play. Levinson mentions the example of Philip
Glass and Robert Wilson’s collaborations on Einstein on the Beach (1976), but a
more radical example might be the American composer John Cage’s ‘‘circuses,’’
works that have their roots in Cage’s early 1950s experiments at the Black Moun-
tain College and that lead to the explosion of ‘‘Happenings’’ in the 1960s. The
circus pieces, unlike happenings, are all on a large scale. Cage’s first was pre-
sented at the University of Illinois Stock Pavilion, a large space used for showing
cattle, on 17 November 1967 between 8:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. The performance
was a culmination of a number of issues that Cage had been pursuing to that
point, among them chance and indeterminance, performance ritual, the work of
12
ut pictura musica

Henry David Thoreau and Marshall McLuhan, collaboration, and simultaneity.

No score was made and no instructions were given; instead, Cage invited various
performers to participate. As he later described it himself,

There were: the composer Salvatore Martirano, who, like the others, used a group of
performers and gave a program of his own; Jocyde Olivera (Carvalho), who gave a
piano recital including Ben Johnston’s Knocking Piece, music by Morton Feldman,
etc.; Lejaren Hiller; Herbert Brün; James Cuomo and his band; another jazz band;
David Tudor and Gordon Mumma; Norma Marder giving voice recital sometimes
accompanying a dancer, Ruth Emerson; mime Claude Kipnis, who responded with
a whole sound environment; . . . In the center of the floor was a metallic construction
[by Barney Childs] upon which the audience could make sounds. . . . No directions
were given anyone. I connected contact mikes to the light switchboard, changing
lights and, at the same time, producing sounds of switches. At either end of the Pavil-
ion but beyond the screens, were places to buy apple cider and doughnuts, popcorn,
etc. (A reference to Ives.) Ronald Nameth arranged the play of films and slides. And
also obtained dark, light and large balloons. . . . The various musics each had a stage
or platform near the bleachers so that the floor was free for use by the audience. The
general sound was of a high volume, though not everything was amplified. Loud-
speakers were high up around the perimeter. The general shape of the building is
rectangular but with rounded ends.27

Approximately five thousand visitors participated in this free event, Cage’s in-
tention being that they did not hear anything but, rather, that they hear everything.
No unique sonoric source or, for that matter, any aesthetic element was privileged
over another. The audience members were free to move around in the space, en-
countering the parts in their own way, according to their own agendas, to make up
an individual whole. Such an individualized encounter was part of Cage’s interest
in democratic, nonhierarchical art experiences: a loose aesthetic structure, with
no primary focus, encouraging or requiring audience participation, that models
a utopian social and political structure. His intention was not an overt critique of
society at the level of politics, nor was it an attempt by art to solve social prob-
lems, so much as it was an attempt to make us aware of problems and issues,
to alert us to circumstances beyond the ‘‘concert hall.’’ However, such notions
of an effect on society cannot, of course, be realized absent from the social and
political conditions that would be required to maintain them.28
The use of dance, film, slides, lighting effects, and varied sound sources was
not in any way coordinated, save that everything took place under one roof at
approximately one time. Each element was therefore distinct and separable from
the others, and the overall experience for each member of the audience varied
tremendously. Cage’s intention was not to merge or dissolve the differences be-
tween media, nor was it to control perimeters; his role was one of facilitator rather
 13
ut pictura musica

than author. Such works are not written, they are generated. In this way, at least
to an extent, Cage’s synthetic circus works escape Theodor Adorno’s critique of
the Wagnerian Gesamtkunstwerk, where Adorno argues that no individual can
renounce the divisions of labor on which bourgeois identity is founded, nor can
one individual possess all the specialist skill necessary to bring about a true Ge-
samtkunstwerk. Adorno quotes Wagner’s own admission:

No one can be better aware than myself, that the realization of this drama [the Ge-
samtkunstwerk] depends on conditions which do not lie within the will, nay, not even
within the capability of the single individual—were this capability infinitely greater
than my own—but only in the community, and in a mutual co-operation made pos-
sible thereby: whereas, at the present time, what prevails is the direct antithesis of
both these factors.29

Although Wagner may have hoped that the historical development of the con-
cept of the ‘‘Art Work of the Future’’ would eventually meet such conditions, in
fact, these ‘‘factors’’ are no more present now than they were when Wagner wrote.
However, Cage’s aesthetic could be seen as having reconceived this project in at
least more participatory, more democratic terms—the result being a juxtaposi-
tional rather than synthetic hybrid.
Cage organized a number of ‘‘circus’’ events. By their very nature, the works
are hard to define as simply ‘‘music’’ or ‘‘theater’’ or ‘‘visual spectacle.’’ They
attempt to resist the scientific notions of cause and effect, and although at their
best they are always more than the sum of their parts, they yet resist definition
into anything other than multimedia events.30

Synthesis: Interdisciplinary
In many ways this form is the opposite of the juxtapositional hybrid art work,
for here the elements are brought together in order to mix, so that they are sub-
merged into a third term. The elements do not have a parallel existence in the same
temporal-spatial environment; they are not, so to speak, sounded together but
heard as separate. Once combined, their individual identities have been modified
and forged into a new whole.
An obvious example, as Levinson mentions, is Wagner’s conception of the Ge-
samtkunstwerk, at least in terms of the synthesis of song and drama. Yet Wagner
explicitly saw his art work of the future in terms of synthesis (interdisciplinarity)
rather than ‘‘mere’’ coexistence ( juxtaposition or multidisciplinarity): ‘‘He who
can only conceive the combination of all the arts into the Artwork as though one
meant, for example, that in a picture gallery and amidst a row of statues a romance
of Goethe’s should be read aloud while a symphony of Beethoven’s was being
played, such a man does rightly enough to insist upon the severance of the arts.’’31
14
ut pictura musica

Wagner aimed to achieve sung drama, not a drama with songs. But it is debat-
able whether Wagner ever realized a full synthesis in the terms outlined above.
For example, dance conceived of as a visible temporal art form (‘‘the most realis-
tic of all the arts’’)32 is seldom fully integrated into Wagner’s music dramas, and
singers are not required to link vocal and gestural expression in a way that can
be regarded as synthetic. Wagner argued that music and word are synthesized at
the level of tone and that through rhythm and melody ‘‘ensouled by Tone, both
Dance and Poetry regain their true essence.’’33 In practice, while the melody and
rhythm of the libretto can, at least in part, be seen to flow into melody, dance as
an abstract form of gestural expression never flows successfully from the nature
of the drama. Similarly, the integration of painting, and specifically landscape
painting, is justified as a reproduction of nature, not ‘‘man’’ (which is the concern
of sculpture), for following Lessing’s characterization of painting as a spatial art,
the living ‘‘man’’ is achievable more fully in the temporal art of drama. Painting
then provides a natural backdrop to the unfolding action on stage and as such co-
exists, shares the stage space, but is not synthesized in the way that musicality of
speech fuses word and tone. The true integration of the visual arts is, however,
implied by Wagner when he argues that art must appeal to the eye: ‘‘Without ad-
dressing the eye, all art remains unsatisfying, and thus itself unsatisfied, unfree.
Be its utterance to the Ear, or merely to the combining and mediately compen-
sating faculty of Thought, as perfect as it may—until it makes intelligible appeal
likewise unto the Eye, it remains a thing that merely wills, yet never completely
can; but Art must can.’’34
This is an argument for the embodiment of art, seeing the body as a site of
art. The nature and visible presence of the body in music making, for example,
is explicitly a part of Cage’s aesthetic—that the presentation of music is a priori
visual (see Chapter 6)—but such a notion finds no effective, explicit vehicle in
Wagner’s work, in spite of such hints at the level of theory. This is obviously the
case in Wagner’s placing of the orchestra out of sight, in a pit, below the stage in
his theater at Bayreuth. A fully integrated Gesamtkunstwerk was, however, at-
tempted by Aleksandr Scriabin, which involved gesture, sound, word, sight, and
even smells.
Another synthetic hybrid mentioned by Levinson is the shaped canvas. In the
work of Frank Stella, for example, the boundaries between painting and sculpture
are thrown into question. Such paintings draw attention to the literal boundaries
of themselves as objects, and the frame, the dividing line between painting and
the outside (wall), becomes a point of focus. Rather than aspiring to the state of
a window, aiming at transparency, such works instead announce themselves as
constructed objects. The work of English artist Jeremy Moon (1934–73) was in-
 15
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.2 Jeremy Moon, Blue Rose, 1967, oil on canvas, 218 x 251 cm. Tate Gallery, London, 2000

fluenced by these developments in painting. The simple geometric patterning of

his Blue Rose of 1967 (fig. 1.2) is the direct result of the overall shape of the can-
vas. The angles at the top right and left and center bottom of the canvas produce a
series of chevrons that meet and thus form the center of the work. In this way, the
work is addressed to its own ‘‘objecthood.’’35 A later, more elaborate example of
this hybridity is Stella’s Queequeg in His Coffin of 1989 (fig. 1.3). The title is a lit-
erary reference to Herman Melville’s novel Moby-Dick. In addition to the literary
quotation, the painting ‘‘quotes’’ from modernist art by mixing gesture with the
geometrically hard-edged forms of abstraction. As an object it explodes through
the confines of its ‘‘frame’’ into sculpture. But because the relief elements are
wall mounted, however, they resist simple definition as sculpture, and their an-
choring inside the etiquette of the image, if anything, brings the work closer to
an abstract bas relief.
Levinson also mentions collage and assemblage as examples of synthetic hy-
bridization. In the work of Pablo Picasso, however, where diverse elements co-
16
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.3 Frank Stella, Queequeg in His Coffin, 1989, mixed media on magnesium and aluminum,
289 x 471 x 122 cm. Private collection. © ARS, New York, and DACS, London 2000

exist within the picture frame, there is often a deliberate play on their varied
natures. In this way the elements tend to resist synthesis, calling attention to and
contrasting the conventions they bring with them from their different sources.
The integration of a range of image sources is an element of the works of Robert
Rauschenberg, which make reference to collage without being papier collé com-
positions, more often using the techniques of silk-screen printing and homoge-
nizing the images at the level of facture.
The case of collage is complex and is found in music and poetry as well as
the visual arts.36 Collage is deployed for diverse reasons and is best considered
case by case in this context. In some musical instances, for example, particu-
larly in contemporary practice, it would be better to think of musical collage
as ‘‘style juxtaposition’’ ( juxtapositional hybridity). This is the case in Cage’s
William’s Mix of 1952 and Fontana Mix of 1958, which both employ recordings
of street, country, electronic, manually produced, wind-produced, and small am-
plified sounds. One of his most elaborate examples is his ‘‘opera’’ Europera of
1988, which uses individual pages from standard-repertory operas chosen at ran-
dom (the costumes, too, are chosen in a similar way). The use of collage in the
work of the Russian composer Alfred Schnittke is entirely different. In Schnittke,
 17
ut pictura musica

musical elements may quote diverse musical sources (Antonio Vivaldi and Nic-
colò Paganini are two examples), but the parts are woven together to produce a
homogeneous whole. I return to this point when we consider these categories in
relation to the paradigms of modernity and postmodernity.
An example from the diverse work of the artist Robert Morris provides a final
example of synthetic hybridization—an oeuvre that Rosalind Krauss has called
‘‘sculpture in the expanded field.’’37 In 1961, Morris produced Box with the Sounds
of Its Own Making, a cube-shaped box containing a tape recorder. It plays a tape
loop of over three hours’ duration of sounds recorded during the construction of
the box, including the artist leaving the studio. The work explicitly takes to task
Lessing’s definition of visual art as spatial and nontemporal: duration and tempo-
rality are constituent elements of the art work. It refers the ‘‘viewer’’ beyond the
space and time of their perception to the ‘‘present’’ history of the development
(making) of the object. This history is sonorically present but visually absent; the
labor of construction is not hidden in the crafting of the box but contained within
it in the form of sound. Sculpture and sound are tangibly linked and interrelated.
This might lead us to consider the piece under the heading ‘‘sound sculpture,’’
but in fact, that is found under the final hybrid category Levinson proposes.

Transformation: Crossdisciplinary
This category of hybrid art form is characterized by an unstable relationship be-
tween its constituent elements. Unlike synthetic hybridization, where there is
parity between elements, here there is a movement in the direction of one art,
so that the identity of this element tends to overshadow its coparticipants. In this
way it reminds us of Moses Mendelssohn’s comparative semiotics of the arts in
combination, where structural dominance must occur, where one art must define
the priorities of compositional organization, in order for the essential nature of
each individual art form not to lead to incoherence and illegibility. The relation-
ship is always, therefore, one of dominant and subordinate, in any combination. If
in a juxtapositional hybrid, the art forms share a temporal and spatial location but
remain in other ways distinct, and if in a synthetic hybrid each art form moves to
a middle ground somewhere between their respective individual positions, then
in a transformational hybrid, one art form crosses over into the territory of the
other(s).
The example Levinson gives is kinetic sculpture, which he defines as ‘‘ordi-
nary sculpture modified in the direction of dance.’’38 While retaining its identity
as sculpture, kinetic sculpture incorporates characteristics of dance—movement
in space and time—though not so much that it can be called a species of dance
(although it might be metaphorically referred to in this way): it is terpsichorean
18
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.4 Alexander Calder, Antennae with Red and Blue Dots, 1960
(mobile) aluminum and steel wires, 111 x 128 x 128 cm. Tate
Gallery, London. © ADAGP, Paris, and DACS, London 2000

sculpture, not sculptural dance. Of particular interest in such sculpture is that the
formal elements are subject to constant change within a limited set of possibili-
ties. Interaction and reconfiguration, dependent on ambient conditions beyond
the artist’s control, takes place within a precomposed whole. Each installation
produces a subtly different ‘‘performance.’’ Alexander Calder’s mobile sculpture,
developed in the 1930s, was a direct influence on a number of composers (fig. 1.4).
Earle Brown wrote Available Forms I and II in the early 1960s because of his
interest in Calder’s kinetic art. Available Forms II is an ‘‘open-form’’ work for
two groups, each with a conductor, in which the order and combination of ele-
ments is left to the conductors in performance, through hand signals. The score’s
notation involves a range of complex graphic elements, intended to stimulate im-
provisational responses in the performers (ex. 1.1). Such ‘‘graphic scores’’ can
also be considered in this category of transformational hybrids.
Although all scores are the result of written textual activities, achieved in the
process of visualization, graphic scores are a particular case. For example, tran-
scription is much more difficult. Although they can be reproduced through photo-
graphic means (as a painting can), they do not allow simple transfer into another
format (as conventional notation can be written out in another hand). The West-
ern musical tradition has been predicated on, and developed through, notation:
the creative reflection on sounds through a visual medium, in terms of both the
 [To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]

1.1 Earle Brown, Available Forms II, 1962. Reproduced by permission of Universal, London
20
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.5 Tom Phillips, Last Notes from Endenich, 1974, charcoal and conté on paper,
75 x 150 cm. Published by permission of the artist. © Tom Phillips 2000. All rights
reserved, DACS

organization of the large and complex forces that make up orchestral and choral
works in the processes of composition itself and the understanding of the tradi-
tion to which composers turn in order to effect their work in relation to history.
Even improvisational practices that have developed within the Western tradition
depend implicitly, if not explicitly, on written musical custom. If, for many, this
scored tradition has become so commonplace as to appear ‘‘natural,’’ or a trans-
parent route to a composer’s intentions, graphic scores remind us that all scoring
is a code. Such scores explicitly make visible the processes (and problems) of
communication and organization; script and score are not allowed to remain an
‘‘invisible’’ medium.
The artist Tom Phillips (b. 1937) has produced a number of graphic scores,
among them his Four Pieces for John Tilbury and Music for n Players (both 1966).
In addition, his already hybrid text-graphic book, A Humument (published in 1966
but continually reworked; the second revised edition was published in 1997) has
been used to generate Irma—An Opera (1969). A later work, Last Notes from
Endenich of 1974 (fig. 1.5), was ‘‘a score not intended for performance,’’ but in
collaboration with Jean-Yves Bosseur a performing version (with added trans-
parencies) was developed. Cornelius Cardew’s large work Treatise (1963–67) is a
compendium of graphic indications but cannot quite escape the sequential stave
elements of conventional scoring (ex. 1.2). The range of graphic pyrotechnics
grows out of the stave structure and takes place above a constant countersubject
in the form of a double-stave ‘‘accompaniment’’ (ex. 1.3). In the work of Syl-
 21
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.2 Cornelius Cardew, Treatise, 1967. © 1967 by Gallery Upstairs Press USA © 1970 as-
signed to Hinrichsen Edition, Peters Edition Limited, London. Reproduced by permission
of the Publishers

vano Bussotti, his Five Pieces for David Tudor of 1959, for example, the elaborate
use of graphic elements, distorting and overwhelming conventional musical sym-
bols, reduces their role as signifiers of specific musical events (in pitch and time)
and produces a set of more tenuous connections with improvisation—the score
is then unbalanced in the direction of graphics and visual art (ex. 1.4). For Bus-
sotti, musical results, whatever they may be, flow directly from the visual. The
22
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.3 Cornelius Cardew, Treatise, 1967. © 1967 by Gallery Upstairs Press USA © 1970 as-
signed to Hinrichsen Edition, Peters Edition Limited, London. Reproduced by permission
of the Publishers

ear plays no part until the work is performed. One final example from the period
of greatest experimentation in this area, the 1950s and 1960s, is the wonderfully
jokey and evocative score Roberto Zamarin drew for Cathy Berberian’s Strip-
sody (1966).39 This score is composed as a strip cartoon, a temporal arrangement
of characters (Tarzan and Superman, among others) and onomatopoeic sounds
in approximate pitch (‘‘oink,’’ ‘‘zzzzzz,’’ ‘‘pwuitt,’’ ‘‘bang,’’ ‘‘uhu,’’ ‘‘kerplunk,’’
 23
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.4 Sylvano Bussotti, Five Pieces for David Tudor, 1959. Reproduced by permission of
Casa Ricordi, Italy

and so on), as a cue for Berberian’s vocal gymnastics (timbre is an area that con-
ventional notation systems have been less able to accommodate, often resorting
to verbal instructions). Although the score forms a magnificent visual document
for private consumption, the performance of the work is no less visually signifi-
cant in public. The instructions to the performer explain, ‘‘The score should be
performed as if [by] a radio sound man, without any props, who must provide all
24
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

1.5 Cathy Berberian, Stripsody, 1966. Edition Peters no. 66164 © 1966 by C. F. Peters
Corporation, New York. Reproduced by permission of Peters Edition Limited, London

the sound effects with his voice.’’ In addition, certain ‘‘scenes’’ (in the score lines
enclosed by bars) are to be acted out: ‘‘whenever possible, gestures and body
movements should be simultaneous with the vocal gestures.’’ The silence on page
10, for example, is represented by a drawing of a child with its thumb in its mouth
(to silence the voice) and its hand cupped to its ear (to visualize or draw attention
to the sound’s absence), a pose that the performer is to emulate (ex. 1.5).
Other examples of transformational hybrids are what have been called sound
sculpture and its twin concept, ambient music. Sound sculpture can be defined
as the sonic exploration of objects, ambient music as the sonic exploration of
spaces and environments. Although both objects and spaces are elements of con-
ventional music (musical instruments and concert halls, for example), in sound
sculpture and ambient music the emphasis is placed on the visual aesthetics of
the objects and the specific nature of the site, rather than on the abstracted con-
sideration of music as pure sound.
A practitioner who has executed work in related fields is Max Neuhaus.40 After
a successful career as a virtuoso percussionist, at the tender age of twenty-eight
 25
ut pictura musica

[To view this image, refer to

the print version of this title.]

Neuhaus reconceived his identity as a sculptor, but one who works with sound
rather than color and form. It is significant that he started out as a percussion-
ist, because this range of instruments, perhaps more than any other, is diverse in
material and scale. Percussion provides the greatest visual impact within a con-
ventional symphonic environment, ranging from the very small Chinese bells to
the very large bass drum, from the noise-producing cymbal to the polyphonic
piano, and from the use of skin in the drum and wood in the block to strings in
the piano and metal in the bells.
Neuhaus described his career shift as follows: ‘‘In terms of classification, I’d
move the installations into the purview of the visual arts even though they have
no visual component, because the visual arts, in a plastic sense, have dealt with
space. Sculptors define and transform spaces, I create, transform, and change
spaces by adding sound. That spatial concept is one which music doesn’t in-
clude.’’41
Later he redefined his oeuvre as ‘‘sound works,’’ his ‘‘broadcast works’’ as
‘‘networks,’’ and his ‘‘installations’’ as ‘‘place works.’’ The ‘‘networks,’’ such as
Public Supply I–IV of 1966–73 and Radio Net of 1974–77, are phone-in ‘‘pieces’’
in which he asked radio listeners to phone in sounds (whistles, for example). Neu-
Exploring the Variety of Random
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forces operating in nature. More stress has been laid upon the
explanation of some of these forces than upon others, but this is
only by way of illuminating the subjects most obscure and heretofore
very bewildering to geometers and natural philosophers. We need
not here dwell on the theory of molecular forces — surface tension,
capillarity, cohesion, adhesion, etc. — because we have shown that
all these phenomena depend on wave-action. And we have even
explained the tenacity and hardness of bodies by the wave stresses
in the sheath of aether at the boundaries of bodies. In the same way
chemical affinity and vital forces, depending on chemical processes
in connection with capillarity, osmosis, etc., are naturally explained
by wave-action. The wave-theory is shown to be identical with A?
npire's theory, proposed about a century ago to account for
magnetism, by the hypothesis of elementary electric currents
circulating about the atoms. Now we see all atoms vibrating and
emitting waves which are flat in the planes of their equators. And as
this simple theory is useful in magnetism, so also in chemical
phenomena
 123 5140 I 24 and the processes involved in vital forces, all
of which depend on chemical action. As the power of a galvanic
battery depends on chemical changes, it is inevitable that chemical
affinity and vital forces should be referred to electric action. In the
battery there are groups of vibrating atoms acting in concert and
thus the changes go on in an oscillatory character and the current
carried along a wire is nothing but a series of waves in the aether,
resistance of which develops heat and light. All chemical actions
involve changes of temperature, which is another indication of the
electric basis of chemical affinity. The support of animal heat by
combustion of hydrocarbons with oxygen is another proof of the
same proposition. One of the most beautiful of the investigations of
molecular forces relates to the globular figures of liquid drops, which
are minimal surfaces, and easily explained by the wavetheory under
least action. Nothing could be more wonderful than the results here
brought to light; and the power which may be attained by wave-
action is impressively illustrated by the new theory of lightning and
of explosive forces. The wave-theory was partially developed about a
century ago by the mathematical analysis of Fourier and Poisson. As
now extended and applied to all classes of physical phenomena, it
may justly claim the attention of geometers and natural
philosophers; so that the modern investigator can understand the
remark of Plato: 0 Qeog del ysw/iizgei. The conclusion that the Deity
always geometrizes is very much like the remark of Kepler that, in
discovering the geometrical laws of planetary motion, he was only
thinking God's thoughts after Him. Kepler's researches led to the
greatest advance of physical astronomy in his time, and one of the
greatest advances of all ages. In the same way if Plato's principle
that the Deity always geometrizes — all the forces of nature being
due to wave-action, — and geometrical figures such as minimal
surfaces therefore resulting from least action of the whole system of
waves be applicable to the most varied natural phenomena, as we
have endeavoured to show — then we cannot doubt that a great
and lasting advance in natural philosophy should follow the
development of the wave-theory. The wave-theory will enable the
modern geometer to think God's thoughts after Him ; for it gives an
insight into the true laws of nature, and we are saved from the
endless groping in the dark heretofore unavoidable. Accordingly, we
have merely to remark: 1. Waves in the aether following the laws we
have explained will account for universal gravitation, — the
amplitude A = kjr resulting from unhindered expansion of the waves
in free space, and yielding the required law of force established by
Newton, 1 6 8 6 : / = ^ - = /^V/-2. The planetary paths curve
incessantly under the action of central forces equivalent to the
breaking strength of millions of immense cables of the strongest
steel. There must be a medium called the aether capable of
sustaining the immense stresses for holding the planets in their
orbits. 3. Theaetherisshowntohavean elasticity 68932 1600000 times
greater than that of air in proportion to its density. And as air alone
is observed to be given such rotatory motion and stress in the
central path of a cyclone as to exert the most F= Mjr =^^^[[x-x'y-
+ {y-y\ amazing destructive power over all natural objects, we can
easily understand how the power of the aether waves may
accumulate near great bodies to any required extent through the
mere form of the expression for the potential, the waves from the
separate atoms being of average wave amplitude klr, and the whole
of the independent effects being superposed in the triple integral: X
(T d.x djv dz . (80) 4. The cause here assigned fulfills the required
geometrical laws, and is sufficient to explain the accumulated stress
in the aether called gravity. No other explanation of gravitation is
known, yet one is so urgently required that Einstein has been led to
mere mathematical abstractions devoid of physical basis. For he
denies the existence of an aethereal medium for sustaining the
planetary forces. Thus Einstein's speculations are of no value,
because contrary to physical experiments, which show that
centrifugal motion must be balanced by central tension, if we are to
have steady orbital motion of the heavenly bodies. 5. The wave-
theory postulates aether stresses depending on each atom, with
amplitude appropriate to its distance; and the triple integral sums up
these effects at any point of space, so that the gravitational potential
fulfills Laplace's celebrated differential equation for external space:
9«F/8„T2-4-82F/9/-t-82F/8/^ = o . (81) And for points within the
mass Laplace's equation becomes Poisson s celebrated differential
equation: 82 F/0a;2+92 F/S^s+Sz J7/8a2 - \n a . (82) 6.
Discontinuity in the wave-phenomena at the boundary is also implied
in Poisson' s equation of wave motion: 82(D/8/2 = a} [d^W/dx^-
^d^W/dy^-hd-^W/dz^) (83) of which the Fourier-Poisson solution
is: -+-00 V 'y ' / =nnn e^^'^^^^^^- ' • ^t nv^^] d? d^ dc d^ d^
dr . (84) — 00 Since the wave-theory rigorously fulfills all
geometrical and physical requirements, and no other tenable
hypothesis has been proposed, we hold that it assigns the true
cause of univer.'jal gravitation. (iii) Concluding remarks on the cause
of gravitation. 1. In 160Q it was established by the researches of
Kepler, from the planetary observations of Tycho Brake, that the
radius vector of a planet drawn to the centre of the sun sweeps over
equal areas in equal times. 2. In composing the Principia, 1686, Sir
Isaac Newton showed clearly that Kepler's law of areas indicates that
the force which gives us the motions of the planets is central; and
that it is only the incessant action of this central force which
operates to curve the path of the planet at every point of its orbit.
This led Hiiyghens and Newton to«i valid theory of curvilinear
motion, and thus marks an epoch in the science of natural
philosophy. 3. During the three centuries since the discovery of the
law of areas by Kepler and its mechanical and physical interpretation
by Newton, it has been shown by all manner
 125 5140 I 26 of researches that this law of areas is a
fundamental law of nature. Not only is it verified minutely in the
motions of the planets and satellites of the solar system, by the
most refined comparisons of theory with the most precise
observational criteria which the state of modern astronomy affords;
but also by researches on the orbits of nearly 100 visual double
stars, and on the motions of an even greater number of
spectroscopic binaries. 4. For more than a century the orbits of
double stars justly have been regarded as affording the desired
objective demonstration of the operation of the law of gravitation in
sidereal systems. Having myself calculated about 60 orbits of known
double stars and compared the results of gravitational theory with
observation over long periods of time, I have not been able to detect
the smallest deviation from the Kepkri&n law of areas or the
N'ewioma.n law of attraction in the motions of these stellar systems.
5. In two cases, indeed, namely: 70 Ophiuchi and t. Herculis, there
is some evidence of disturbance of the Xepler\&n law of areas, as if
due to a third body not yet detected by telescopic observation. Yet
just as in the past history of astronomy, we had two analogous cases
in the well known disturbed proper motions of Sirius and Procyon, —
the companions of which have since been discovered by Clark a.nd
Schaeberle; — so also in this case the indications point to the
triumph of the law of Newton. Thus the universality of the law of
gravitation continues to be minutely verified by the most refined
researches of modern astronomy. 6. In more than two centuries of
the most recondite researches of astronomers and geometers not
the slightest doubt has arisen that gravitation is a central force
accurately directed to the centres of the revolving bodies. In the
case of the motion of the moon about the earth, and of the earth
about the sun we have calculated the strength of the stupendous
cables of steel that would be required to hold these bodies in their
orbits. All these calculations are easily verified. 7. The cause of
universal gravitation is now definitely traced to wave-action in the
aether, which is 689321600000 more elastic than air in proportion to
its density. Wave-action directed to the sun in the foci of the conic
sections described by the planets and comets alone will explain the
central forces which hold these bodies in their orbits. And in stellar
systems everywhere we see the same wave-action at work to fulfill
Kepler's law of areas and Newton's law of force directed to the foci
of the ellipses described by the stars. Thus we have developed a
definite and absolute proof of the cause of gravitation, which is
referred to waves in the aether, traveling with the velocity of light. 8.
We have found that the geometrical theory of the equipotential
surfaces, about two attracting masses, points unmistakably to the
cause of gravitation. Vector composition for the forces observed to
exist in the gravitational field about two equal stars shows that the
aether is under tension between the bodies, and under increased
pressure beyond them. Nothing but the wave-theory, with forces
directed to the two centres occupied by the stars, will account for
the observed form of the equipotential surfaces as shown in figure
15, which originally was drawn by Thomson and Tait for their
celebrated Treatise on natural philosophy, 1873, yet unfortunately
not utilized by Maxwell in his attempt to explain gravitational
stresses (Treatise on electricity and magnetism, 1873, chapter V,
sections 103— 1 1 1). g. As Maxwell wSiS misled into the conception
of pressure in the direction of gravitational force, and tension at
right angles thereto, instead of the reverse arrangement, the
mathematical theory of this subject was given an unfortunate start;
and the errors thus begun have been handed down by English
writers, and the whole scientific world thus misled in a matter
essentially simple. Nor is the difficulty diminished, but on the
contrary notably increased, by the recent exploitation of the theory
of relativity. Perhaps in time the valid dynamical theory of the
Principia will again restore British science to a position worthy of the
country-men of Newton. 10. That gravitation is propagated with the
velocity of light is a necessary consequence of this wave-theory of
physical forces. Under the vision of the physical world thus unfolded
to our contemplation, the beauty and order of the universe appears
truly remarkable; and we see that the new theory of the aether is a
necessary path of exploration in attaining one of those summits near
the stars. This sublimest portion of human knowledge still is only
partly explored, but in rendering it more accessible to those who
have long admired the marvelous geometry of the heavens, we have
labored to extend the researches of Sir Isaac Newton. 11. It is well
known that Maxwell was the first natural philosopher to attribute
physical forces to stresses in the aethereal medium, but as he had
not developed a theory of wave-action, as the mode of propagation
for these forces he left the origin of the aether stresses quite
obscure, as we see by the discussion in the closing section of his
celebrated Treatise on electricity and magnetism, 1873. »We have
seen that the mathematical expressions for electrodynamic action
led, in the mind of Gauss, to the conviction that a theory of the
propagation of electric action in time would be found to be the very
keystone of electrodynamics. Now we are unable to conceive of
propagation in time, except either as the flight of a material
substance through space, or as the propagation of a condition of
motion or stress in a medium already existing in space. In the theory
of Neumann, the mathematical conception called potential, which we
are unable to conceive as a material substance, is supposed to be
projected from one particle to apother, in a manner which is quite
independent of a medium, and which, as Nemnann has himself
pointed out, is extremely different from that of the propagation of
light. In the theories of Rieman7i and Betti it would appear that the
action is supposed to be propagated in a manner somewhat more
similar to that of light. « »But in all of these theories the question
naturally occurs: If something is transmitted from one particle to
another at a distance, what is its condition after it has left the one
particle and before it has reached the other? If this something is the
potential energy of the two particles, as in Neumann's theory, how
are we to conceive this energy as existing in ' a point of space,
coinciding neither with the one particle nor with the other? In fact,
whenever energy is transmitted from one body to another in time,
there must be a medium or substance in which the energy exists
after it leaves one
 127 5140 128 body and before it reaches the other, for
energy, as Torricelli remarked, ,is a quintessence of so subtile a
nature that it cannot be contained in any vessel except the inmost
substance of material things'. Hence all these theories lead to the
conception of a medium in which the propagation takes place, and if
we admit this medium as an hypothesis, I think it ought to occupy a
prominent place in our investigations, and that we ought to
endeavour to construct a mental representation of all the details of
its action, and this has been my constant aim in this treatise.* 12.
Accordingly, Maxwell held that we ought to endeavour to construct a
mental representation of all the details of the action of the aetherial
medium in producing the chief phenomena of nature. In the
Electrodynamic wave-theory of physical forces, developed by the
writer since 19 14, we have attempted to construct this
representation, for problems heretofore utterly bewildering to
philosophers, and we venture to hope, with no inconsiderable
success. Nevertheless, in spite of our utmost effort, and the
unexpected illumination thrown upon some of the greatest problems
of transcendental physics, it is of course realized that the new theory
of the aether remains in a very considerable degree incomplete. In
conclusion, it is a great pleasure to record the steadfast support lent
to these researches by Mrs. See, and by Mr. W. S. Trankle, who have
so lyally seconded our best efforts, which only too often seemed
feeble and unequal to so daring an enterprise. It is only by departing
from the beaten paths, in the pursuit of a valid theory of the
luminiferous aether, that we hope to find the way towards light,
more light! In this sustained effort, which has now extended over
seven years, the author's labors often have been relieved by the
sympathetic reception accorded the results by several eminent
colleagues who have confirmed the steps in this development.
Commander Leonard M. Cox, Civil Engineer, U.S. N., Ca\)ta.\-a.
Edward L. Beach, U.S.N., Commandant at Mare Island, and Mr. Otto
von Geldern, the eminent Civil Engineer, Vice-President of the
California Academy of Sciences, San Francisco, have each shown
such clear grasp of the new points of view as the work advanced,
that it would be difficult to overrate the extent to which their
enlightened interest has contributed to the final results. Starlight on
Loutre, Montgomery City, Missouri, 1921 May6. T.J. J. See. Addition.
Since concluding the above discussion my attention has been
directed to a paper on certain physical experiments described at the
General meeting of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia,
April ig-23, 1921, by Dr. Chas. F. Brush of Cleveland, in which
different gravitational effects were found for different substances.
Brush'?, careful measurements are in marked contrast with those of
Baron E'otvds of Budapest who found almost no variation of effects
for different substances. In this connection I call attention to the
extraordinary negative gravitational measurements made by
Professor Francis E. Nipher of Washington University, St. Louis,
about two years ago. From his careful experiments Nipher concluded
that the gravitational property of a body depends upon its state of
electric charge, and that up to the present time we know next to
nothing of the potential of the earth's magnetic field. In a postscript
to the Third paper, (AN 5079, p. 301-2) I have directed attention to
Majorand% remarkable experiments at Turin, 1919, showing loss of
gravitational power when a body is screened by a layer of mercury.
The three experiments here cited may be interpreted in the light of
the wave-theory, but I cannot see any other way of reconciling such
unexpected experimental results, which run counter to all the old
theories, and yet must be acknowledged as furnishing proof that
gravitation is a phenomenon which may be experimentally modified,
as by absorption, apparently of wave-action, by electric charges or
other physical agency. Accordingly all these new researches confirm
the wavetheory experimentally and open up gravitation to physical
investigation and experimentation. But in order to obtain new light
on this difficult subject it is necessary to devise experiments which
are conclusive. 192 1 May 12. T.J. J. See. First postscript. In order to
establish the error of a new theory it often iS sufficient to show that
it contradicts a more general and fundamental theory. In the present
case we shall adopt in order to demonstrate the error of the Einstein
theory the doctrine of the conservation of energy as the most
general and fundamental principle of modern physical science. 1.
Recently, in Astron. Nachr. No. 5115, Dr. Grossmann of Munich has
examined anew the whole question of the motion of the perihelion
of Mercury, according to NewcomV% work, and finds that the
assumed value of 8'^ = +43" per century for the observed
outstanding difference is not justified. Correcting the result by the
equations for the meridian observations, the precision of which
Newcomb distrusted, and bringing his result into accord with the
definitive elements of the sun, by raising it 7''3 5, Grossmann
concludes that the observed outstanding motion of Mercury's
perihelion lies between 29" and 38", and thus in no case would
attain the value of 43" demanded by Einstein. In his researches on
the observational material. Dr. Grossmann takes no account of the
theoretical reduction, by Weber's Law, 9nJ := -\-ii^".c„ which would
make the outstanding motion still smaller, and more out of harmony
with' the Einstein requirements. Thus when tested by the best
available data for the motion of Mercury the Einstein-\.\\tor] does
not satisfy modern astronomical observations. 2. In the , Treatise on
electricity and magnetism', section 856, MaxweWh&s, successfully
defended the validity of Weber's law, of which the potential is V = k''
mm' ■ ilr-{i-[jlc'')[drlAtY] . (i) The second term gives the effect due
to motion in a wave-field, the work of transforming the potential
energy changing like the kinetic energy, with the square of the
planet's velocity relatively to the sun. If drjdt =^ o, as in circular
orbits, the Newtonian law follows; but more generally the velocity in
the direction of the radius vector 6r/di yieldsa term for the effect of
induction, and dV/d/^ gives the term.
 1 29 5140 I30 for the change of the induction, under
motion in the wavefield. Thus Weber's law is the fundamental law of
nature, and from (1) we have: /= -dVldr = = k^' mm' ■ ijr' ■ [^ -
[-.Ic^] [irldtY- + [2rl^) d-'rldt^} (2) For it is well known in the
theory of energy, that a planet may move from perihelion to
aphelion, and vice versa, yet the whole energy in the conservative
system remains absolutely constant. Thus we always have: T-^V= T-
Mmjr = C or r+ F= V2'« [[dxlAtY+{dylAtY+[dzldtY] + -Mm[{x-
x'Y^[y-yY+{z-z'Y]~'l'= C. (3) As the sun moves, as well as the
planet, when the mass of the planet is sensible, we may write the
more general expression for the kinetic energy of orbital motion
about the centre of gravity of the system: ^l2M[mrl[M-^m)Y
n''^^l^m[Mrl[M+m)Y ii^ = T. (4) In equation (3) the negative term
is the potential energy. When kinetic energy changes, in a way
depending on v^, a corresponding change must occur in V, the
potential energy, otherwise the sum of the two energies could not
remain constant. 3. The following diagram represents the energy
changes in the planetary motion, substantially as given by Professor
Kundi, in his lectures on physics at the university of Berlin, according
to Hehtiholtzs doctrine of the conservation of energy, 1847. Fig. a.
We see by this diagram that the time flows on continuously as the
planet oscillates from perihelion to aphelion, and the curve extends
along the axis (t). Meanwhile when the potential energy is a
maximum at aphelion, V ^ V-^^/V, the kinetic energy is a minimum,
T' = T~ zIT, because ^IT is negative at aphehon, and numerically
just equal to JV, which is then positive, as shown in the diagram. At
perihelion, on the other hand, the kinetic energy is a maximum, the
potential energy a minimum, for corresponding reasons. The
diagram, with two superposed sine curves, JT = Xsin®, and /IV=
Xsin(®-l-7r), everywhere exactly neutralizing each other, because
differing in phase by n, will therefore correctly represent the
oscillations of kinetic and potential energy in planetary motion,
under a conservative system, free from collisions. 4. Returning now
to the Gerber formula, in comparison with the Weber formula, for
the potential, we perceive that the Weber formula is correct, while
the Gerber formula is incorrect. In the work of transformation the
potential energy changes like the kinetic energy, with the square of
the planet's velocity, relatively to the sun. Unless we admit this to be
true we have to deny the conservation of energy; for no other result
is possible by the first equation of (3). Accordingly, the formula for
the potential, under Weber's law V =^ k:" mm' ■[ilr){i-[ilc'')[drldtY\
(5) is valid and undeniably admissible. On the other hand, Gerber'&
formula for the potential V={Mlr){,l[i~[ilc)[drlAt)Y} (6) is invalid and
wholly inadmissible, because it violates the principle of the
conservation of energy. The Gerber formula being thus inadmissible,
Einstein's theory, built upon it, necessarily falls to the ground. Thus it
is definitely disproved, and can no longer be maintained by those
who admit the conservation of energy. 5. If we seek to inquire into
the nature of the wavefields about two attracting bodies, we shall
need to have recourse to the discussion in part II of the sixth paper
on the New Theory of the Aether, where the whole problem is
treated in some detail, and illustrated by figures showing the tension
between the masses and increase of pressure beyond them. This
argument is established by necessary and sufficient conditions. Such
wave-fields ') and nothing else will explain the straight line action of
the forces which govern the motions of the planets in their orbits. It
is needless to point out that as the aether is a kinetic medium, the
physical basis of all forces, and nothing finer underlies it, it is the
source and ultimate reservoir of all energy. Hence we see the
physical basis of the conservation of energy. The kinetic theory of
the aether thus leads to the conservation of energy, and any result
in violation of this great principle must be unreservedly rejected.
Accordingly we have a definite demonstration of the erroneous
character of the Einstein theory. 192 1 Oct. 28. T.y.y.See. Second
Postscript. Since finishing the body of this paper, in May, I have been
impressed with the desirability of obtaining additional light on the
forces which sustain the equilibrium of the molecules of an elastic
solid. Heretofore this problem has not oflfered to investigators any
very accessible point of attack. On December 10, however, it
occurred to me how this problem could be solved, by a method of
the required mathematical rigor, which at the same time conforms to
the present state of our knowledge of experimental physics. Hence
we add a brief outline of this new method in the hope that it will be
of interest to the readers of this series of papers on the new theory
of the aether. By way of extending the argument given in the fifth ^)
Since finishing the sixth paper, I have obtained new and most
abundant observational proof that mass movements in the sun do
send powerful wave disturbances to the earth, and by the resulting
inductions thus produce the aurorae, earth currents and similar
disturbances in the earth's wave-field.
 J3I 5140 132 paper, AN 5130, p. 330, and in the sixth
paper above, equation (7), we notice: 1. The refractive action [n^ —
i) depends on the density of the solid a, and the changing wave-
length X, and thus on some unknown function n (ff/l). But in a fixed
mass the •density varies inversely as the cube of the distance of the
molecules, as in the formula for a sphere : m^=^j^TC dr^ a =
^j^m/nr^ = C/r^ . (a) Hence we may take tt (a/V) as • a function
of the molecular distance (Di [r) = Cjr^ = u. 2. As regards the
violence of the incessant bending of the wave-front, for waves
coming from all directions, (p [fi), we notice that this effect likewise
is a function of the density, and of the elasticity or rigidity, and thus
of the atomic distances r; yet as we do not know the nature of this
dependence we simply write for y(/S) an unknown function
(I>.2{r)=v. 3. In reference to the violence of the incessant dis[n^- i)
7t{a/X] cp{^) ip{d) xM HQ-epersion of these incident waves, rp [6],
it appears that from the action of diamond on light this effect must
depend mainly on the rigidity or hardness, and thus on some
function of the radius of atomic action, Og [r) = w. 4. The crystalline
arrangement and the forces involved in giving compactness to atoms
combined in a way to be most effective, depend also on the atomic
distances, or radii of molecular activity, and hence on some function
of the distance (D4 (r) = u'. 5. The power of reflection of waves
depends on the smoothness and rigidity of the reflecting mass, and
thus on the atomic distances and the forces by which the structure is
rendered rigid and impenetrable to the wave agitation. We may take
this unknown function as O^ (r) = v'. 6. Accordingly, it appears that
the first five elements of the integral for i2, in equation (108) of the
fifth paper, or equation (7) above, reduce to r) ■ 0} {r) ■Oi{r)-0--,
{r) =^ u-vwu'-v' = U (/J) The partial differentiation of this function
of five variables relative to the three coordinates {x, y, z) yields: d
CA = (9 U\(iu ■ duldx+dujdv ■ dv/dx-hdu/dw ■ dj^/dx-hd U/du' ■
du'/dx-hdu/dv' ■ dv'jdx) dx -i-(9 uj^u ■ du/dy-i-d[//dv ■ dv/dv-i-d
uj'dw ■ dw/Sy+du/du' ■ du'/dy-hd/jjdv'-dv'/dy) dy -^{dl7/du-
du/dz+dU^/dv-dv/dl-hdU^/dw-dt^/dz-hdl7Jdu'-du'/dz-hdl7/dv'-
dv'/dz)dz . ir) 7. To effect the required quintuple integration we
should have to derive successively d^U, d^d, d^U, d^l7; and if the
last function, or any one of them, was known, we could then, by the
reverse process of integration, calculate U, and finally Si.
Unfortunately the finite expressions of these successive differentials
are quite unknown; and thus it is useless to develop these
differential coefficients. Apparently the only way we can attack this
problem successfully is to deduce the function U, for the action of
the molecular forces, direct from the data supplied by the dynamical
theory of gases. This happens to yield an integral expression, the
law of molecular repulsion being sensibly / = /J//r^, and hence we
have a tangible mode of approach; and fortunately the theoretical
conclusions are confirmed by experiments, which are adopted by the
best authorities in the dynamical theory of gases. 8. Accordingly, our
mode of integration reduces to o = J^^^^^e d^ Udr dr dr dr dr J
C7 (0,) d w (d) dejdw -dw-^ de/du' ■ du' h9^/8«-dw} ii) where f ^
68932 1600000 the amount by which the elasticity of the aether
exceeds that of the air in proportion to its density. 9. It will be
shown below how the function U for the first five integrations may
be obtained, in the integral form, corresponding to the repulsive
forces actually observed in the theory of gases / = fi/r^, and the
terras giving attraction at greater distances may be added. The sixth
integral, for the central pressure due to the integration for the
steady action of the enclosing sheath of partially disrupted waves of
the aether, leads to the elastic constant of the aether, and thus
presents no difficulty. = I7^€)^{ai)dw = U'U^e/du-du-^8e/dvdv-+ -
hds/dv'-dv'= U^de = Ut 10. In 1866 y)/a.r?^// concluded from
certain researches in the dynamical theory of gases, (Scientific
Papers 2.32), that in the collisions of molecules the molecular forces,
at very short range of action, are repulsive, and vary inversely as the
s'*" power of the distance, / = filr^ In the present writer's
researches on the physical constitution of the sun and planets, (AN
3992, 4053, 4104, 4152), it is shown that gases and solids are
closely related, through internal heat developing high elasticity and
great effective rigidity, under the enormous pressure to which matter
is subjected in the interior of the heavenly bodies. 11. In speaking of
the effect of increasing temperature as we descend into the sun's
interior, Newcomb long ago remarked (Encycl. Amer., article Sun,
1904) that two oppositely directed and very powerful forces were at
work: »an inconceivable degree of heat, such that were matter
exposed to it on the surface of the earth, it would explode with a
violence to which nothing within our experience can be compared «;
and on the other hand the tremendous pressure due to the
superincumbent layers, confining the matter which otherwise would
expand with stupendous explosive violence. Owing to the high
effective rigidity acquired by confined gaseous matter — the sun
having an average effective rigidity from 2000 to 6000 times that of
nickel-steel, — we have a valid point of attack for solids, as we shall
now proceed to show in some detail. 12. It was long ago recognized
by Mossotti, (Sur les forces qui regissent la constitution interieure
des corps, Turin, 1836) that at small distances the repulsive forces
become more powerful than the attractive forces. Hence, in order to
deal satisfactorily with molecular forces, we must have a function
composed of several terms which becomes negative at very small
distances, positive at greater distances, — all the distances
remaining small absolutely, about the order of wave-lengths of light.
This function, when integrated relatively
 33 5 HO 134 to the distances, should bring into play both
attractive and repulsive forces, mutually balancing each other, and
thus yielding the rigidity noticed in an elastic solid. 13. We therefore
take the molecular forces to be re presented by a potential of the
form: W= [{h-rY-klr^X\ . [S) Hence at such small distances the
forces become /=d W/dr = [r-A-h^/r^Xl (,) =^[{r-r,){r-r,){[r-{a +
ii)][r-{a-zl>)]}Yr% (x) 14. We are concerned only with very small
distances, and therefore we introduce the condition that when r =
ri=l, /=o; then we have to investigate the biquadratic between the
distances ri to r^ : -Ar^-hk = = [r-n) [r-r^] {[r-{a+id)] [r-{a-t6)]} =
o . (A) If any of the roots are real, which we here assume, it can be
shown that the equation has two real roots, namely, ri, a maximum,
at which the attractive forces vanish, /= o, and ^9 a smaller value at
which the attractive forces are a maximum, as shown by the
following diagram. The constant k is to be so adjusted that r^ falls
on the axis (r) making f^o. The condition for these two roots is the
maximum and minimum of the potential W in (1^), dlV/dr== o, as
in equation (I). Fig. a. Illustration of the curve of molecular forces
dWldr=f, the unessential parts outside the limits r-^-r^ being
indicated by pointed lines. 15. As a solid body is the result of the
equilibrium established between attractive and repulsive forces, we
have to get the effect of these equilibrated forces by integrating the
equation («) between proper limits: /e = ^dWJdr-Ar+c ^ ^ {r* —
/ir^-hk) dr-hc =^ o . (p) The nature of this integration is indicated
by the above fig. a. 16. This equation {/j,) contains the whole theory
of the equilibrated forces in a solid body. The integral is '■1
/s=^dW/dr-dr+c= [^/-y"-'^U/ir^-hkr]',\-hc = o [v) '4 which is an
equation of the fifth degree in r, the variable distance over which the
molecular forces act. The nature of the curve to be integrated in fig.
a depends on the value of A, a coefficient of hardness or rigidity. If
this constant k is small, but not below a certain limit /iq,
corresponding to fluidity, the body will have slight tenacity, and tend
to crumble, like stone, chalk or similar substances. If below ^0, the
body is fluid, and not solid at all. As A increases above Aq, we get a
series of bodies of increasing hardness, as shown in Fig. b. Fig. b.
17. In his celebrated memoir on the dynamical theory of gases,
1866, (Scient. Pap. 2.32) Maxwell remarks that the coefficient of
rigidity =/, the pressure. He designates the elasticity by £ and the
density by q. »This rigidity, however, cannot be directly observed,
because the molecules continually deflect each other from their
rectilinear courses, and so equalize the pressure in all directions. The
rate at which this equalization takes place is great, but not infinite;
and therefore there remains a certain inequality of pressure which
constitutes the phenomenon of viscosity.* »I have found by
experiment that the coefficient of viscosity in a given gas is
independent of the density, and proportional to the absolute
temperature, so that if £T be the viscosity, ET'^^pjq. « «But E = p,
therefore T, the time of relaxation, varies inversely as the density
and is independent of the temperature. Hence the number of
collisions producing a given deflection which take place in unit of
time is independent of the temperature, that is, of the velocity of the
molecules, and is proportional to the number of molecules in unit of
volume. If we suppose the molecules hard elastic bodies, the
number of collisions of a given kind will be proportional to the
velocity, but if we suppose them centres of force, the angle of
deflection will be smaller when the velocity is greater; and if the
force
 135 5140 I ^6 is inversely as the fifth power of the
distance, the number of deflections of a given kind will be
independent of the velocity. Hence I have adopted this law in
making my calculations.* 18. The problem of attractive and repulsive
forces has been ably discussed by Boltzmann (Vorlesungen iiber
GasTheorie, i8g6, p. 160-161), who concurs in Maxwell's, reasoning.
Boltzmann finds his equations much simplified by taking « = 4, and
then the repulsion between two molecules f = Klr^^'^, becomes of
the inverse 5'*" power. He adds that his law appears to hold
accurately for compound gases, (water vapor, H^O, carbonic acid,
CC2), but not so satisfactorily for common gases (oxygen, hydrogen,
nitrogen). Experience is too limited, he thinks, to make known the
exact law in most cases. » Wir sind daher weit entfernt, behaupten
zu woUen, dafi sich die Gasmolekiile wirklich wie Massenpunkte
verhalten, zwischen denen eine der fiinften Potenz der Entfernung
verkehrt proportionale Abstofiung wirksam ist. Da es sich hier aber
blofi um ein mechanisches Modell handelt, so nehmen wir jenes
zuerst von Maxwell eingefiihrte Wirkungsgesetz an, fiir welches die
Rechnung am einfachsten ist.« In a footnote he adds: »Auch die
Annahme einer der fiinften Potenz der Entfernung proportionalen
Anziehung gestattet eine ahnliche Vereinfachung der Rechnung (vgl.
Wien. Sitzungsber. 89.714, Mai 1884). Doch mufi man dann
annehmen, dafi fiir Entfernungen, die noch klein gegen die Distanz
sind, bei der schon starke Wirkung stattfindet, die Kraft ein anderes
Gesetz befolgt, nach welchera die Anziehung endlich bleibt oder in
AbstoBung ubergeht, well sonst die MolekUle beim Zusammenstofi
sich nicht mehr in endlicher Zeit trennen. Im Texte wollen wir jedoch
immer eine der fiinften Potenz verkehrt proportionale Abstofiung
annehmen. » The latest researches by Chapman and Jeans
(Dynamical theory of gases, 1916, p. 235-237, 256) leave the
conclusions of Maxwell and Boltzmann unchanged, namely, in
molecular collision the repulsive force \%f=fj,lr^- We are therefore
justified in holding that the wave-theory gives rise to both attractive
and repulsive forces, which are intelligibly united into a continuous
mode of action only by a function of the kind dealt with above. By
means of the above function, however, we have an adequate theory
of molecular forces. It accounts for solids of various degrees of
hardness, with the other physical properties relating to molecular
action and structure. ig. In the above equation [v) we may divide
through by r^ and obtain ['k-'Uhlr+klr^-^clr%= o . (?) Now the
arguments put forth by Maxwell, Boltzmann, Jeans, and others that
for gases the repulsive forces, when the molecules are in collision,
vary as fjojr^, would lead us to select the term cjr^ as that which
becomes very large when r is very small — the other terms being
relatively insensible at the time of collision. The term kjr^ would also
become large, yet not so large as the last term depending on the
inverse 5'** power of r. In order to perceive why there is both
attraction and repulsion, we divide [v) by r^ only, and then we have:
Vkr^—'Uhr+klr' + clr%\ = o . (0) This function is positive between
^landr^, but negative between ^3 and r^, as we see by the form of
the curve in Fig. a. The last term of (o) corresponds to the density
function in equation (a) above. 20. In my researches on the internal
constitution of the heavenly bodies, (AN 3992, 4053, 4104, 4152) I
have shown that the sun's matter internally is under tremendous
explosive forces, yet held in equilibrium by the gravitational pressure
of the outer layers. If the pressure could be relieved, from this
matter at the temperature of millions of degrees, it would, (as
Newcomb remarked in 1904) explode with a violence surpassing that
of dynamite or any known substance. Hence in confinement the
matter is kept rigid by pressure; and in AN 4104, I have calculated
that the average rigidity of the solar matter may be from 2000 to
6000 times that of nickel-steel. Now the property of rigidity acquired
by the sun's matter, as thus confined under tremendous pressure, is
analogous to the rigidity of an ordinary solid, — with this difference,
that in the ordinary solid heat is largely absent and the molecules
thus come so close together that collisions are incessant, under the
short waves pervading nature, and the Maxwellian repulsive forces
thus arising balance and overcome the attractive forces. These two
oppositely directed forces, both very powerful at the small distances,
r^—r^, bind the molecules together into a solid, with hardness or
rigidity depending on the coefficient h. If we heat a solid, the long
heat waves cause the molecules to oscillate beyond the range of
action r-^-r^, and liquefaction and vaporization takes place. This
transformation of the equation (108) of the fifth paper, equation (S)
above, makes it conform to the experience of Maxwell, Boltzmann,
Jeans, and others in the dynamical theory of gases; and as we pass
directly from the theory of a gas to that of a solid, by virtue of the
researches on the constitution of the sun, we now have a theory of
molecular forces which is concrete, and experimentally valid,
namely: In virtue of the changes in r, the elastic force of the aether
may be positive or negative and has the variation which generates
the observed forces, or wave-stresses exerted by the aether upon
matter, which usually is most powerful at the boundary owing to the
changes of wave-action defined by Poisson's equation (t>=f[x,y,z,t).
' (q) In conclusion it only remains to add that the present
developments in mathematical theory and in physical interpretation,
are the outcome of many years of research, in which I have labored
to give both a true and a sufficient explanation of the most varied
natural phenomena. Doubtless very much remains to be done in the
way of improvement, as shown also by the additions as the work
progressed; but this refinement could not be entered upon till the
first outline of the new theory of the aether was presented in
continuous form.
 37 SHO 138 In view of the vast extent of the field of
research thus opened up to investigators, may we not hope that
others will join in extending the discoveries here merely traversed in
briefest outline? The daring hope originally entertained by Mossotti,
1836, of analytically connecting the molecular forces directly witli
those of universal gravitation was long ago abandoned by
investigators, chiefly because, as had been so strongly emphasized
by Laplace, the molecular forces are sensible only at insensible
distances, whereas the gravitational forces act with unbroken
continuity over the immensity of the celestial spaces. Maxwell was
equally daring, and more fortunate in his physical conceptions, —
when he emphasized the theory of the aether and concluded that all
the forces observed in nature are due to stresses in this medium —
but the theory of stresses never was completed, owing to the
premature death 1921 Dec. 10. of this eminent mathematician at the
early age of 48. In fact Maxwell had not formulated any modus
operandi as to how such stresses in the medium could arise, nor had
he examined the elastic constant of the aether 6 = 689321600000.
In our new theory of the aether we have examined the character of
this medium more critically than Newton and Maxwell \i'i.dih&&n
able to do, and thus formulated a general theory of physical forces
due to wave-action. This reduces the theory of aether-stresses to
concrete form, and the procedure has the recommendation of
simplicity. It also conforms to the undulatory theory of hght and
heat, and thus is a necessary step in the doctrine of continuity as
applied to the physical universe. The subject is therefore inviting,
and will appeal strongly to the geometer as well as the natural
philosopher, who may now perceive a new physical basis for the
geometrical forms observed in nature. T. J. J. See.
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Theory of the Aether. I Fii?. 3. a, b, c, d, c. Kcgna-ult'i theory of the
geometrical arrangement by which the atoms give the molecules the
property of infinitesimal elements for building up crystals. ic. Sclinidt,
luhaber Gcorg Ohcim, Kiel.
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Theory of the Aether. ill I ^. ^ wM ,1* '■ ■ !«|lii'«ll'«:^>%'''4kl 11^
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