Two sided conversations (in music and life)
Exploring the sonata form
In my last post I talked about democracy as the ultimate non-political expression of humanity. Here I want to talk about the problem that the idea of “two sides” presents in music, conversation, and politics, and how music suggests that we solve it.
When we listen to music, we hear silence and we hear notes. Without the silence we would not be able to hear the notes. And without the notes, there would only be silence. The “two” seem so different from each other. As at odds as closing your eyes and ears and finding silence is with opening them and seeing and hearing the world. So in this sense, music and life are not so different.
If you look more closely at music or sound, you notice that silence is a note like any other. Then taking a step back, you see or hear that the particular arrangement of all of these notes (silence and sound) is and has always been a single movement. In life there is a tendency to try and escape sound by seeking silence. There is also a counter-tendency to escape silence by seeking sound. But there is no escape from movement; what we are seeking is in fact what we are avoiding.
To relate this to everyday conversations or politics (larger conversations), when we engage each other we blindly accept that there are independent movements where there is one versus or relative to the other, even in non-adversarial conversation. There is “me” talking to “you.” There are “liberals” and “conservatives.” If I am talking to you and we disagree, I and my beliefs are over here and you and your beliefs are over there. We are quite separate. If on the other hand we agree, in English we say something interesting—that we connect. But to only connect conditionally is problematic.
It would be easy to blame beliefs as the issue, but can beliefs connect without us? What I suggest is that the false and separate movements of “you” and “me” that we take at face value dictate or create the way we approach and engage in the conversation, and that this is the root problem. We have not committed to understanding—connecting with—each other but rather forcing what we know out. This is a disservice to “us,” as you and I both walk away with nothing gained but disharmony.
This seems to be a timeless and hopeless problem (at least for me), but, returning to music, the compositional structure of the sonata form offers a very practical and promising solution. A composer that writes music in this format picks two themes that seem to be in disharmony or at odds and tirelessly explores or develops the movement of the piece until it is painstakingly obvious that these “sides” are and have always been the same movement. In other words, the solution comes from the composer’s unwavering commitment to find the one in the other in totality—a full rejection that two sides could ever be anything more than an illusion and the will to see it. And for many, listening to a well-written sonata composition is nothing short of a spiritual revelation, as two disharmonious “sides” are brought into their natural whole state.
As someone who is no stranger to awkward or frustrating conversations with family, friends, and coworkers, it is quite easy for me to see that this same issue is reflected back on a larger, more intense scale in politics and in the world. At this point in time, I can think of no greater calling than embracing the sonata form, not as a musician but as a composer in everyday life. After all, finding the one in the other is what makes us whole.