Andrew M. Cavallo

Is AI Incapable of Musical Philosophy?

As a young guitar student at Berklee, I remember getting many arpeggio ideas from Paganini. However, I must confess that I had written him off as little more than a showman: a virtuoso, to be sure—but not, perhaps, a figure of much musical depth. Recently, I learned a couple of things about Paganini that have rather increased my respect for him.

First, Clara Schumann’s father, Friedrich Wieck, who was himself an outstanding piano instructor, recalls Paganini playing an adagio that moved him more than any bel canto singer he ever heard.

Second, Paganini once attended the concert of a female vocalist. He described the show as rather dull, noting that the singer had a good voice and excellent technique but was lacking in “musical philosophy.” What a charming way of saying she lacked musicality!

But what does it mean to have musical philosophy? Paganini clearly wasn’t speaking about technical skill; the singer had that! So, what did he mean? I don’t pretend to have the definitive answer. However, it seems quite obvious, in an intuitive sort of way, when I encounter a player with true musical philosophy. Well, as if “musical philosophy” were not vague enough, I’ve gone and introduced a notion that’s even more obscure! As a matter of actual fact, my favorite ideas — truth, beauty, goodness, existence, spirit, et cetera — tend to be quite vague. I’ve also noticed that ideas of this splendidly vague ilk tend to have an interesting property, namely: when you attempt to rigorously define them, you only further obscure what they are. How delightful!

Now, “true musical philosophy” clearly involves the notion of truth — which, as I’ve said, I find incapable of precise definition. How, then, would one know if they were to stumble upon the truth? Actually, I don’t really think this is a very concerning problem. For example, although I have no idea what existence is, I nevertheless have no trouble identifying it! Or, at the very least, I feel I regularly encounter things that exist. Similarly, although I have no idea what truth is, I feel I regularly encounter things which are true! A more pressing question is: how can one get at the real truth of the matter? I have no idea! But I have a deep-seated intuition that only people who are a little crazy have access—or at least partial access—to the truth, because the truth is a little crazy! Can I prove this? Perhaps in a crazy sort of way, I could. Suffice it to say, I find much comfort in the old saying that “truth is stranger than fiction.”

Incidentally, could this notion of musical philosophy be a stumbling block for AI-generated music? A computer can, of course, generate and execute technically “perfect” music; but can it have musical philosophy? Now, I’ve never heard computer-generated music worth listening to, which is not the same as saying there is none. There may be, somewhere, AI-generated music that’s worth listening to — but I haven’t heard it. Or will listening to AI music always be, in some ineffable way, like listening to the boring but technically proficient singer that so disappointed Paganini?

Is musical philosophy ultimately something spiritual — something a machine could never grasp? This reminds me of the old debate: is man a machine? My answer is: Does it really matter? This may seem shocking coming from a Roman Catholic! But suppose, for the sake of argument, that man is a machine.¹ Many spiritually minded people would find that devastating. I, on the other hand, would say, “I never knew machines could be so splendidly spiritual!”

An afterthought: It strikes me that there’s something mystical about this notion of musical philosophy! I therefore wonder: “Can machines be mystical?” Like most of my favorite concepts, I don’t think it’s possible to rigorously define mysticism without further obscuring what it is. Nevertheless, I once heard a logician give the following charming characterization of mysticism: mysticism is the contemplation of propositions that are equivalent to their own negations.

“Rationalists” hold that the set of propositions equivalent to their own negations is empty. Mystics, so I’m told, hold that this set is empty if and only if it is not empty. Charming! Just charming! But I’m not a mystic (even if I want to be one), so I can’t say whether this characterization really holds—no matter how much I like it!

What do you think? Could a machine become mystical? Could a machine develop musical philosophy?

Footnote

1 I don’t really see any reason to suppose man is a machine. ↩

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