Veneration Through Sound: The Composer as Iconographer (Excerpts from Chapter 2)

Kurt Sander, D.M., Northern Kentucky University  © 1998 All rights reserved

 

2.0  The Nature of the Icon

            The late twentieth-century has witnessed the revival of an ancient aesthetic.  At a time when the possibilities for a new musical revolution seem exhausted, the tumultuous patterns of music history, perhaps as a concession to the mystery of sound, have in some areas achieved peace through a new and unapologetic austerity.  British composer John Tavener has best described his embrace of this unaffected style in what he terms the ≥musical icon.≤  This method of music composition, like the painted icon, could be crudely categorized as simple, for it assumes an austere and static posture, deliberately eschewing classical models of form and design; yet ≥simplicity≤ as a categorical label can only describe the salience of an art, a less than efficient indicator of the overall artistic intentions of its author.  For the icons of the Eastern Orthodox Church, simplicity is just the superficial product of the iconographerπs adherence to a much deeper artistic and hermeneutical goal, one that has as its primary tenet the representation of the spiritual world through symbol and color.  Many composers have exploited simplicity to evoke a meditative tone in their works, but is it possible to convey more?  If so, how much of the essence of the icon can translate into the world of sound, and how can the manifestation of this ancient discipline aid the writing of contemporary concert music?

            To answer this, it is first necessary to understand the nature of the visual icon.  The Orthodox Church in the 20th century still cultivates this art form, keeping the traditions and aesthetic principles consistent throughout the centuries.  While the West has roved the paths of artistic individualism, the icon remains humble, content to serve in anonymity.  Unique is its role in the lives of Orthodox Christians.  For them it is more than a decoration or holy picture; it is an indispensable tool for prayer, a ≥window into heaven≤ as many faithful would say.  Its entire purpose is dedicated to the creation of a visual environment suitable for prayer and veneration.  Through the veneration of an icon, the worshiper in essence venerates its archetype, the presence of which is seen by the faithful as something more than symbolic.

            To the inexperienced observer, the iconπs appearance is strikingly different from other forms of sacred artwork.  Its lack of depicted motion, and flat, seemingly two-dimensional construct might be misconstrued as at best, a rigid adherence to an archaic tradition, and at worst, as a simplistic crudityãan orphaned genre, unable to grow with its Western sibling into the naturalistic maturity of the Renaissance.  These erroneous interpretations fail to account for the iconπs independence from a preoccupation with natural or ≥external≤ beauty.  Through an age-old tradition, the iconographer  instead pursues sublimity, seeking not to portray the ≥physically≤ beautiful, but rather the transfigured appearance of an event or saintly person as it exists in the spiritual world.   

            There was a time when Rome and Constantinople shared these same artistic pursuits.  Thirteenth century Western masters like Duccio and Cimabue effectuated great spiritual power and sublimity in their works.  Beginning with Giotto in the late 13th century, however, Rome gradually moved away from  the representation of sublimity in favor of the beauty rooted in the natural world.  Artists began to cultivate the external model of the ideal man, physically perfect according to Classical standards of natural form and elegance, while forsaking those very devices that gave their sacred art its spiritual magnitude.  Figures 1a-1c on the following pages exemplify the division that took  place between Western and Eastern sacred art over the course of the Renaissance.  The differences are self-evident both perceptually and evocatively.

 

Bogoroditse ≥Vladimirskaya≤ Russian Icon 12th century	Madonna Enthroned Cimabue (13th century)	Sistine Madonna Raphael ca. 1513

 

            The Western artistic embrace of physical beauty necessitated a change in the role of its sacred art.  Disrobed of their metaphysical abstractions, the paintings in churches acquired an essentially decorative function.   Even those works that are today considered to be the great masterpieces of the West,  like Michaelangeloπs Creation of Man  or Mathias Gr¸newaldπs Crucifixion,  remain essentially ornamental at heart,  their deliberate embrace of naturalism making them ill-suited as vehicles for prayer and veneration.  As the conventions of Western sacred art were challenged, artists began to impose their own models of beauty, their reputations earned by their abilities to portray conventional images in new ways. Through this ethos, the artistic revolutionary was born and the creative enterprises of the Western world were thereafter charted with an explorerπs mentality.

            In music too, innovation has been long been esteemed.  Numerous composers have acquired fame through a conscious rejection of convention. While innovation can be considered a meritorious artistic disposition, its excesses lead to the frenzied rejection of all attempts at the creative reinvention of past forms.  This present is but one moment in a fertile musical history profuse with ideas which have not yet been fully explored. There is much to be gained by looking back.   In the swiftly moving currents of stylistic change, composers often rush past eddies of tradition, not realizing that a whirlpool, while not linear, still contains a great circular force.  An art need not be revolutionary to be progressive, nor does its message need to be new to be germane.  

            In this chapter, I will translate the age-old artistic tradition of the icon into certain analogous forms that exist in the language of music.  While the limitations of this paper discourage the codification of a complete compositional process, I hope to distill those  elements that give the icon its spiritual power so that others may use these points to investigate this technique further. The musical icon defines itself on four distinct levels:

 

            1.  The simultaneous depiction of the beautiful and the sublime

            2.  The Transcendence of Time

            3.  The Relationship between Word and  Image

            4.  The use of both Pictorial and Structural Symbolism

 

With each point, potential analogs in music will be proposed either through examples found in the literature, or in conceptual similarities between music and the visual arts.  Since the icon cannot be divorced from its spiritual message, a principal starting point must address the issue of beauty, and its limitations in expressing the sacred.

 

2.1  The Beautiful and the Sublime

 

            Beauty in a work of art is often equated with its aesthetic worth. The concept of beauty is discussed at length by Panagiotis Michelis, a prominent 20th century Greek aesthetician.  He concludes that the West neglects the icon mainly because it judges it on its ≥beauty≤alone. Such a critique, Michelis points out, is theoretically unsound since the Byzantine philosophy of aesthetics considers beauty merely one aesthetic category of six; the others being tragedy, comedy, ugliness, gracefulness, and sublimity. In the mind of the Byzantine artist, the beautiful and the sublime are existing polarities, the remaining four categories serving to reinforce one of the two extremes.  The strength of the icon lies in its simultaneous integration of both the beautiful and the sublime, categories that are aesthetic polarities in Byzantine thought.  Michelis suggests that this integration is only possible when the sublime presides as the dominant expression.[1]

            Influenced by Michelisπ theories, Byzantine art scholar Constantine Cavarnos, further clarifies the distinction between the beautiful and the sublime suggesting that  beauty, unlike sublimity, refers solely to the natural world.  This would include those elements which through tangible form make an immediate impact on our senses.  Sublimity, on the other hand, is rooted in the incomprehensible.  It is not natural to us and therefore engages us with a sense of mystical wonder and amazement.  At times, it is even able to convey the mysteries of the Christian faith.[2] 

            If one accepts Cavarnosπ categorization of  beauty as  ≥natural,≤  it follows that beauty alone cannot depict what is supernatural.   Since the iconπs main function is the joining of the natural and the supernatural planes, the iconographer must not only capture beauty as we experience it in this world, but also sublimity, as it functions to convey the ineffable tenets of Christian dogma. The sublime creates in us an emotional resignation to the formless and the immeasurable.  Sublimity  evokes in us a sense of exaltation where the beautiful only instills delight.   It originates from what Cavarnos calls an ≥inner beauty,≤ uninfluenced by the external dimension of our physical surroundings. 

            Byzantine art cultivates sublimity in many ways.   Often, the intended subject is conveyed in a static fashion, its depiction free from a sense of motion.  This can be considered sublime in that it is strictly opposed to the dynamism of nature.   Also, one finds in Byzantine art an explicit use of visual symbols, tools for communication that help to convey the colossal dimensions of faith difficult to depict through natural means alone. 

            While these constitute some important techniques in conveying the sublime, one should not make the inference that beauty itself is considered fruitless in Byzantine art.  In fact, its formal and sensuous qualities contribute greatly to the sacred experience of the Orthodox faith.   In the Orthodox Divine Liturgy, attempts are made to access all five senses in the course of the service:  sight through sacred art and architecture,  hearing through liturgical chant, smell through the use of fragrant incense

, taste through the partaking of the liturgical gifts, and touch through the physical veneration of icons and sacred relics.  But these all are only attendant to the sublime; in other words, they are the raw ingredients in a larger spiritual depiction.

            This is no less true in the creation of the Orthodox icon.  External beauty, or the beauty of the world is never portrayed as an end in itself.   Rather, it directs the attention to loftier contemplations.  The iconographer might even go so far as to distort the attributes of natural beauty in order to direct the viewerπs thoughts to more spiritual matters found in the sublime.  Artistic devices such as perspective, physical attractiveness, and various postures are all subject to mutation so that this goal might be sustained.  Facial ugliness is not always avoided, but sometimes employed to direct the attention away from physical attributes and more toward inner saintliness.  Natural depictions of color, and proportion are also open to change (see left).

 In such cases, the distortions act to repel us momentarily, then allow us to engage the more important elements within the image, free from a critical preoccupation with realism or sensuality:

            The dichotomy between natural beauty and the inner sublime is not limited to Byzantine thought.  Kant has dedicated considerable effort to clarifying differences between the two aesthetic categories.   According to Kant, the beautiful, unlike the sublime, ≥reveals to us a technic of nature that allows us to present it as a system.≤  The sublime on the other hand is produced by a momentary inhibition of natural law. 

            One of the first to investigate Kantπs idea of the beautiful and the sublime in music was Christian Friedrich Michaelis, a music theorist of the late Classical period.  He suggests some possible applications of the sublime in music:

 

≥Music can ... arouse the feeling of sublimity through inner structure. ..  [It] is achieved by the use of unconventional or striking harmonic progressions.  Supposing, let us say, the established tonality suddenly veers in an unexpected direction, supposing a chord is resolved in a quite unconventional manner, . . . then astonishment and awe result and in this mood, the spirit is profoundly moved and sublime ideas are stimulated or sustained.≤[3]

 

Kantπs definition of the sublime as an undermining of a natural system is apparent here. And while all aspects of sublimity are not necessarily spiritual, the method of disruption that Michaelis proposes here could be considered allied with aims of the iconographer in that both distort natural beauty in order to convey the higher aesthetic goal of the sublime.  In iconography, it is essential that both be present.  Just as the eye uses light to determine degrees of darkness, oneπs reason requires a reference of the natural to determine what is supernatural. 

            Since there is no clear musical analogue to natural depiction in the visual arts (no way, for example, to convey imagery with the same clarity as in a painting), the composer is dependent on the listenerπs formation of a different kind of ≥naturalness.≤  In other words, if that which is natural is essentially that which is familiar to us in the natural world, a musical model of this naturalness would have to contain material that is similarly bounded and, as Kant says, ≥exhibits a purposiveness of form.≤  A musical passage exemplifying åbeautyπ should adhere to Kantπs belief that it must be pre-determined for our power of judgment and interpretable and digestable as a whole in a manner similar to our interaction with and understanding of nature.  Conversely, the sublime must contain material that is contradictory to our reason.   Essentially, it is foreign to the natural world in that it presents systems that cannot be assimilated by reason.

            Through Michaelisπ musical example of unexpected tonal resolution, the composer momentarily disrupts the uniform beau

ty of the harmonic language in much the same way that the iconographer distorts the natural laws of perspective, proportion and color.  Michaelis further clarifies his thoughts on musical sublimity:

 

≥The feeling of sublimity is aroused when the imagination is elevated to the plane of the limitless, the immeasurable, or the unconquerable.  This happens when the emotions that are aroused either completely prevent the integration of oneπs impressions into a coherent whole, or when at any rate they make it very difficult.  The objectification, the shaping of a coherent whole, is hampered in music in two principal ways.  Firstly, by uniformity so great that it almost excludes variety: by the constant repetition of the same note or chord, for instance; by long pauses holding up the progress of the melodic line, or which impede the shaping of a melody, thus undermining the lack of variety.≤[4]

 

Here again we find a disruption of what is ånatural.π  Like the iconographer who deliberately eschews the naturalness of realistic depiction, the composer breaks with this model to evoke sublimity.   Such examples are commonly found in the literature.  In looking at the work of John Tavener, a composer who embraces the concept of a musical icon, we find a relevant passage in his composition Ikon of Light.  According to Tavener, there are two elements at work in this piece: a double choir, which sings a sacred text, and a string trio, which symbolizes ≥a soul searching for God.≤ 

            In the example below, one can see the manifestation of Michaelisπ ideas, not only in the way the  Eb major sonority slowly builds in the strings, but also in the unexpected interruption of the crescendo with a dramatic silence:

 

            Excerpt from John Tavenerπs Ikon of Light

 

After the moment of brief silence, the choir enters with a forceful proclamation of the word phos, Greek for ≥light.≤   The greatest moment of sublimity is in this choral proclamation.  Not only is the dynamic component similar to Michaelisπ example of unexpected disruption, but the presence of the tenor A in an otherwise pure Eb sonority can also be considered to be a disruption of the ≥naturalness≤ of the harmonic stasis on Eb.   This is one way to convey the sublime in music.  But as Michaelis mentions, there is a second way in which sublimity is achieved through the opposite effect; that of extreme diversity:

 

  ≥[Sublimity also occurs] when innumerable impressions succeed one another too rapidly and the mind being too abruptly hurled into the thundering torrent of sounds, or when . . . the themes are developed in so complex a manner that the imagination cannot easily and calmly integrate the diverse ideas into a coherent whole without strain.≤[5]

           

Tavener exemplifies this concept in the Last Sleep of the Virgin, a concerto-type work, where a solo cello line cannot be fused harmonically into the texture of the contrasting strings.  As a result, one hears the cello line and the bass as one entity, and the staccato string statements as another, neither ever quite agreeing on a stable sonority and essentially unable to be fused by reason.  The listenerπs knowledge of each element as a unique entity is essential in this case.  Unlike highly complex serial music, sublime music is dependent on the listenerπs knowledge and perception of distinct, infusible musical ideas. 

            The concept of the sublime as an aesthetic moment outside of the limits of natural law reveals a great deal about how it can be used in music.  It must be said, however, that sublimity alone does not constitute the essence of the iconographic method.  By itself it cannot safeguard a work of art or a musical composition against the ego.  Our museums and concert halls feature numerous romantic creations which are also quite sublime.  To acquire a better understanding of how sublimity functions in this study, it is important to investigate how it is governed by the other aspects of the icon.

 

2.2 Icons and the Transcendence of Time

 

            Icons are frequently referred to as timeless, a somewhat elusive adjective that says little when used out of context.  But if we recall what we know about the distinction between natural and spiritual phenomena as they appear in the beautiful and the sublime, åtimelessnessπ suddenly becomes much more pertinent in discussing the nature of the iconic image.

            It is important to understand that time in the Orthodox Church is considered a creation of God, its linear design distinctly natural and of this world.  Since the prime objective in Orthodoxy is union with God, its liturgical practice deemphasizes the importance of a worldly continuum, much in the way the sublime deemphasizes natural law. 

            The Divine Liturgy of the Orthodox Church possesses what the Greeks call kliros, or ≥liturgical time,≤ manifesting itself as an eternal present divorced from the trichotomy of past, present, and future.  Those historical events from Scripture that are recalled through icons, or related through the course of the liturgy are not merely considered episodes in a linear history, but  are also celebrated as living phenomena which are always present and in every moment are eternally significant.  Consistent with this belief, the iconography of the Church effectuates such an atemporal state through an abstention of implied motion and through a relatively barren environment surrounding the depicted subject.

            The image in an icon is usually divorced from an extremely detailed environmental setting.  Only those necessary elements which aid in the recognition of an event or figure are depicted.   For example, most icons of saints are shown against a flat, gold background, one that gives no indication of a specific historical or environmental location.  If there is a background, it is sparse and very much secondary to the subject itself.   Out of this philosophy emerges a freedom from the confines of a specific place and time; a freedom that enables the spectator to become more than a passive observer of a time gone by.  We are not encompassed by ordinary or unnecessary historical props, as is often the case in Western art. The image seems, instead, to supersede the natural laws of time and space and even matter, appearing to us as eternally present.  Byzantine Iconologist Peter Kalokyris explains it in the following way:

 

≥Byzantine iconography is connected with this meaning of time as it is understood in Orthodox worship.  This connection makes the relationship of worship and iconography even greater. . . [it] looks toward worship which is not limited to the static remembrance of the sacred persons or events, but rather underlies their living presence . . . [Eastern] iconography raises the religious persons and events to one continuous present by releasing them from the unnecessary iconographic elements which would have characterized and emphasized only their past significance.≤ [6]

 

This sense of timelessness is further strengthened by the static posture of the depicted image.  Motion, like time, follows specific physical laws of linearity which are inherently ≥of this world.≤  To portray it effectively requires the illusion of kinetic energy suggesting a previous initiation of the depicted action and its future consequence.  The implied cause and effect of this portrayed motion can only be interpreted by the viewer in chronological terms under a strong implication of past and future events bracketing the image, much in the way a photograph is construed as a ≥slice≤ of time.  In Eastern iconography, figures are not shown in a course of motion or with strained balance like the Western serpentina  or contrapposta  poses.  Instead, they are portrayed passively in what is known as ≥inverted perspective,≤ often appearing unnatural to the viewer.   It is this static posture that gives the icon its power to convey eternity .  Since there is no motion depicted, one senses no previous event that might have acted upon the current image.  Nor does one construct a future event resulting from the image since we automatically assume that a body at rest will tend to remain at rest.

            In making a translation of this idea to the musical domain, the experience of linear time becomes much more difficult to suppress.  Music, more than visual art, is a time-dependent entity.  Whether derived by chance means, or indicated by the composer, events are rationed to the listener in a data stream governed purely by the laws of chronological or ≥worldly time.≤  Even so, it is erroneous to suggest that a sense of timelessness is unobtainable in music.  Theorist/composer Jonathan Kramer addresses this subject in his book The Time of Music.  Kramer suggests that oneπs temporal perception is distorted when oneπs expectations are consistently and continually fulfilled by the events of a musical work, and no longer seeks a sonic goal.  He calls this music ≥vertical music≤ in that it does not convey a linear goal-directed motion, nor does it created deliberate expectations to fulfill or deny.  Rather, it extends the present and minimizes oneπs temporal orientation:

 

≥[Vertical time] gives us the means to experience a moment of eternity, a present extended well beyond oneπs normal temporal horizons. . . It is important to distinguish the feeling that time has slowed to a standstill.  Time frozen temporarily as an eternal present is not an exaggeration of time slowed.  People who have not cultivated the ability to enter deeply into vertical music tend to experience the latter: time slowed down, the time of boredom.  They become acutely aware of time, as it seems to imprison them.≤[7]

 

Twentieth-century composer Olivier Messiaen considered the idea of suspended time essential in conveying thoughts of eternal life.   He found in music a great medium for this technique.  Musicologist Paul Griffiths describes Messiaenπs process in the following way:

 

≥Messiaenπs music is most frequently tied to a pulse, which insists that all moments are the same, that the past, the present, and the future are unidentifiable.  Sometimes the pulse is so slow that causal links are sufficiently distended not to be felt: in the extreme adagios, the possibility of eternity becomes actually present in the music.  But Messiaenπs presti toccatas can equally be removed from any progressive experiences of time.≤[8]

 

Griffithπs words are strikingly close to Michaelisπ description of the sublime in music, where the extremely exaggerated tempos, on account of their sheer incomprehensibility, create a sense of the illimitable or the eternal.

            The sublime, since it has no point of reference in our natural environment, carries with it the possibility for confusion.  The tradition of iconography has acknowledged this.  As a result, it has consistently made clear the inseparable relationship between the transcendent qualities of the sublime in the icon image, and the explicit qualities of Scripture as the Orthodox Church interprets it.

 

 

2.3  The Image and the Word

 

            According to the Nicean Church Council of 869-70, ≥What the Gospel proclaims to us by words, the icon also proclaims and renders present for us by color.≤  This link between word and image clearly manifests itself in Orthodox worship.  Iconic images, like words in prayer, are tools that facilitate correspondence between God and worshiper.  The icon itself exemplifies the symbiotic relationship between word and image in its inclusion of a written transcription always appearing above the depicted image.  This transcription identifies the portrayed person or event and ensures veneration of the appropriate archetype.  Boris Usspensky, in his treatise, The Semiotics of the Russian Icon, informs use that these transcriptions are a necessary inclusion:

 

≥It is important to note . . . that the inscriptions on an icon act as an essential component of the icon-painting representation.  According to the doctrines of sacred aesthetics, the inscription expresses the archetype no less, if no more, than does the actual representation.  Without the identifying transcription, there can, in general, be no icon, just as there can be no icon without the representation:  worship is directed both to the image and the name≤[9]

 

It might be said that the congeniality of this relationship succeeds not only because both word and image have the ability to represent one another, but that the inherent weaknesses of each are compensated by the strengths of the other.   For example, Fig. 3a shows an icon of the Dormition (also referred to as the Assumption, or the bodily taking up of the Virgin Mary into heaven after her death).  In this icon, Christ is depicted as holding the soul of the Virgin in His hands in a pose similar to that of the Nativity icon  in Fig. 3b;  except, here the roles are reversed. Christ now assumes the parental posture.   Through the depiction of that which cannot be (a son cradling his ≥childlike≤ mother) not only is the Dormition of the Virgin Mary depicted, but also the mystery of Godπs incarnation.  There are few better examples in Orthodox iconography of saying more with less.

 

Figure 3a Icon of the Dormition	Figure 3b  Icon of the Nativity

 

Of course the characteristics of saints and biblical events are more immediately conveyed through pictures than through musical tones.  Even here, however, Usspensky speaks of the necessity of the written transcription in a visual icon.  This requirement exists precisely because of the nebulous features in the image that carry the potential for misidentification or misinterpretation.  If we recall the words of the Council, ≥What the Gospel proclaims to us by words, the icon also proclaims and renders present for us through color,≤ we see that the function of the icon is two-fold.  In one sense it is narrative, describing through pictures the various facets of Church dogma, but in a different sense, it renders them ≥present≤ through color, or in the larger sense, through an aesthetic dissemination of symbol and spiritual beauty.  This gives the composer hope, for music communicates with the same immediacy as a visual image.  In it, there is an immediate manifestation of the word through aural color.  In this case, both music and image communicate through a circumvention of the word.

             It seems appropriate, then, to establish a connection between the iconic transcription and a compositionπs title.  The title of a musical work, like the textual transcription in an icon, provides an interpretive anchorãa clear framework for the presentation of a theological idea in a secondary medium.    If we look to those composers who are most interested in presenting Christian ideals through music, we find that the use of a programmatic title is essential to the process.  Messiaen has produced works entitled LπAsension (The Ascension) and La NativitÈ du Seigneur  (The Nativity of the Savior).  Tavener has given titles to his work such as The Last Sleep of the Virgin (referring to the feast of the Dormition), or Thunder Entered Her (referring to the Annunciation). 

            Perhaps the best example of the incorporation of word and music is found in the work of Baroque composer Johan Kuhnau.  Kuhnauπs most famous work consists of a collection of six pieces for harpsichord called the Biblical Sonatas.  In this work, theological ideas are portrayed musically.  To ensure proper min

9dset when performing the work, Kuhnau places written transcriptions above the corresponding musical passages.  His concerns that music alone might not communicate clearly enough the concerns of the Orthodox iconographic tradition; both utilize the inclusion of an identifying transcription to function as a symbolic anchor.

            Kuhnauπs work brings to mind the inevitable question of musicπs ability to represent theological ideas.  History records that this has been a undertaking in almost every period.  One could conclude that Kuhnauπs transcriptions were, for most part,  verbal  translations of  musical symbols.  But the symbol is an inseparable element of the icon. What begs for exploration is not only how it manifests itself in music, but also how it is able to convey aspects of spirituality.

 

2.4    Musical Symbolism

 

Words, like images in an icon, or musical notes on a page are symbols for expressing ideas.  But the way in which words access our thoughts is almost always insufficient for conveying the totality of meaning. Alternate symbolic languages  are sometimes better suited for expressing ideas or emotions.  It has been shown, for example,  through the icon of the Dormition of the Virgin Mary that visual images in the form of symbols can be used more efficiently than words alone in conveying ideas of faith.  In the icon, two types of visual symbols are employed for this purpose: the pictorial symbol and the structural symbol.   The former manifests itself on the surface of the image in the form of objects and colors, the latter, in the less immediate aspects of proportion, perspective, and shape.

            Pictorial symbols are the most easily recognized, even if their meaning is not always apparent to the viewer.  Since the icon uses only those things that are essential for conveying the message of the icon, most elements in the icon have a symbolic meaning.  The halo is an indication of holiness, the cross, a symbol of martyrdom, the scroll, a symbol of prophesy.  These are immediately recognizable to the viewer and are essential elements for a clear understanding of the image.

            The other type of symbolism that is employed in iconography is a structural symbolism.  This type of symbolism is less apparent to the viewer since it manifests itself in the geometric and proportional aspects of the icon.  Many icons for example, can be divided horizontally into three or more distinct sections.  Such a division allows the viewer to interpret the image on many different spiritual levels, the top symbolizing the spiritual realm, the middle symbolizing the depicted event, and the lower symbolizing how the event impacts humanity.   This is just one form of structural symbolism that can be detected in the icon.  Others can be found in the way the iconπs environment draws the eye to those things that are most important.  Figure 4 is a picture of the famous Holy Trinity icon of Anton Rublyov.  The geometric lines show a calculated use of both the Cross and the number three, symbolizing the holiness of the three persons of the Godhead, depicted here in the form of Angels.  Even more intriguing is Rublyovπs use of inverted perspective in the depiction of the table and cups that are on it.  Not only does this distortion in perspective reveal the relatively unimportant stature of the table, but it directs the eyes outwards to each of the three Angels through a triangular shape.

 

            Music, like iconography, utilizes various types of symbols. At different times in musicπs history, composers attempted to communicate

through music ideas that are less effectively stated in words.   In searching for such examples, we find that not all composers resemble the iconographer, in either philosophy or practice.  Although the Romantic period is well known for its debate on the feasibility of musical allegory, its detachment from theological ideas make it somewhat less relevant to this study.  To find a more pertinent form of symbolism in music, we should to look to the Baroque era, where  the distance between artistic disciplines was considered narrow, and the possibilities for junctures between them rich.  Many examples of spiritual depiction are found in this period.  One immediately thinks of Heinrich Biberπs Rosary Sonatas, a work in which the composer prefaced each variation with an engraved disk of wood showing an event in the life of Christ.  The intent of the music was to convey the pictorial image.

The successes of Biberπs work, for our purposes, are less important than the impact his effort had on composers who followed him.

            To find the best example of musical iconography, one can turn to the music of Johann Sebastian Bach.  Bach believed that art could ornament the faith through aesthetic means, and proclaim it through symbolism as well.  Consequently, he became the ultimate musical architect of form, planting musical symbols throughout his compositions.  These symbols, like the symbols of the icon, manifest themselves on two levels, the pictorial, and the structural.  

            As the pictorial symbols in the icon can be detected without much effort, so too, can the pictorial symbols in Bachπs music.  In a movement from his Orgelbuchlein, entitled Old Adamπs Fall, Bach uses a descending sequence of uneasy diminished sevenths while a slithering theme in the alto line symbolizes the snake in Paradise. Another example can be found in the St. Matthewπs Passion.  In all the statements of Christ throughout the work, Bach accompanies the vocal line with the sounds of a string quartet creating the effect of a halo.  At the moment of Christπs crucifixion, the halo suddenly disappears, indicating the human side of His suffering.  The halo device has since been adopted by Penderecki in his Passion of St. Luke  and most recently in Tavenerπs We Shall See Him As He Is  in which the halo is depicted as an choral echo of the words of St. Paul.  Such devices, while significant and frequently perceived, are not the only symbolic elements at work in Bachπs music.

            An important type of symbolism has been suggested by Bach scholar Eric Chafe.  Chafe proposes that  Bach establishes a type of tonal allegory in the various movements of his music.  He comments on the use of this technique in the St. Matthew Passion: 

 

≥The tonal allegory of the St. Matthew Passion, in conjunction with the overall tonal planning, relates countless details to broad theological issues. ..In it the composer presents a set of tonal relationships in alignment with what we must view as a form of musical hermeneutics; the tonal plan is an index to the theological intent of the work.≤[10]

 

Chafe suggests that Bach uses key areas to enhance symbolically the dramatic narrative.  For example some of the key areas at ends of the flat/sharp continuum introduce an acknowledgment of sin in the narrative, others symbolize redemption.  The dualism in the key relationships represent  the two theological ideas that make up the primary message in the Passion.

            We often dismiss this type of symbolic structure as mere ≥compositional process,≤and not intended for the listener.   It would be presumptuous, however, to assume that all symbolic structures are completely removed from our perception.   Just as the structural symbolism in Rublyovπs Holy Trinity icon affects us, if on a less immediate level, we must at least acknowledge that structural symbolisms in music can have a subconscious impact on our experience of the work. 

 

2.5  Conclusions

 

            Symbolism, together with the other three aesthetic means discussed in this paper, are basic and necessary ingredients  in the icon, but they may not be the only ones.  Additional analysis may reveal other ways in which the visual icon can find application in contemporary concert music.  Since the icon is rooted in tradition, however, such study should be carried out under its influence.  In all cases, the spiritual element must be acknowledged.  The icon has no meaning apart from that which it symbolizes.  To ignore this, in essence, ignores the very strength of the aesthetic.  

In conclusion, it seems appropriate to acknowledge the understanding that systems cannot fertilize a barren inspiration, only purpose can.  Interestingly enough, the iconographic method hold answers to this problem as well.  According to Orthodox composer John Tavener, ≥We live in an age when man has lost belief not only in God, but also in himself.  Metaphysics has been completely split from the world of the imagination.≤  If this is true, then the musical icon should be seen as the means to replenish such a belief and restore the meaning and mystery that has abandoned our art.  At a time when music, like humanity, is becoming more self-referential, the icon, like an anonymous messenger, delivers a new purpose to the creative process.  It provides the composer with a perennial challenge, one that mirrors the very struggle of our own human natureãthe calling to emulate a perfection found only in God.  All works of art, like the lives we live, have elements of failure in them; but as most composers acknowledge, it is upon these failures that new works are built.  The process of creating the musical icon, like the Christian struggle for salvation, is driven by a vision of perfection.  With such a vision, the process of creation becomes itself an icon, the quest for artistic perfection symbolizing the greater human quest for Divine perfection.