Perfection of Understanding

 “Perfect understanding intuits the emptiness of all phenomena and thus recognizes the primacy of the imagination in making the world as we find it and as it could otherwise be.” 

 

I am presently on the final chapter of Norman Fischer`s book, The World Could be Otherwise. I would highly recommend this book if expanding your awareness by simple means is something on your mind. In my quest to draw a parallel between my music experiences and philosophy, I have learnt so much from Buddhism en route, especially from personal accounts of respected artists like Herbie Hancock, that when I chanced upon this book I thought I would give it a fair try. I generally do not finish a book if it does not hold my attention, but I kept going. And before I knew it, I had finished it. 

The book runs much deeper than most of us can handle, so I am, in all humility, going to try to frame my thoughts in the simplest way I know how. The last chapter dug up a few personal memories for me.  

Fischer speaks of the insufficiency of language to explain the (Perfection of Understanding) emptiness teachings of the Prajñāpāramitā. Language is symbolic, he says, “the words we use do not actually correspond to the thing we refer to in any direct way. Unlike hieroglyphics in ancient Egypt, which often did have a literal relationship between the written symbol and the object being referenced, the symbols used in modern languages look nothing like the object or idea to which they refer.”  

Further on, understanding the triangle of meaning as a model of communication amongst a thought, its symbol and referent highlights the indirect relationship between a symbol and its referent, which is where most misunderstandings occur. The author states that being aware of this indirect relationship is why we seek clarification.  

Let`s apply this concept to a music score. Assuming the score (in the Western music tradition) is a collection of symbols used universally by composers from different backgrounds and nationalities. In spite of its “universality” the relationship between its referent and interpretation is never quite as straight-forward.  Would a Bach-ian arpeggio differ from a Beethoven-ian arpeggio? Certainly, the compositional intent and context would be worlds apart. How easy, conversely how difficult is it to justify the sounds you produce at your instrument?  

This manifested itself at my lesson once when I said, “ …but the lady at the masterclass asked me to play it this way…”.  

The ill-informed and un-opinionated me deserved an answer that went: “Well, … yes and no.” 

Yes and no. 

For a person used to seeing the world in black and white, these words opened up a whole new portal.  

In an arts education, everything you presume you know from music scores to rules of composition turns out to be provisional. That your experience of the same symbol on the page will turn into something profoundly different once you have completely understood it. So, the representation of music as notes in a score is like that of words used in language. The symbol may be the same but what still remains inaccessible is the composer`s thought. The thought and its somewhat loose connection to the referent sound, being represented by something rather concrete like its symbol. 

I believe this is what artists attempt to grasp throughout their careers and sometimes despite their best efforts, it can still remain elusive. A substantative amount of research and academic work can get us closer to what the composer intended, the ultimate thought of the composer in question is, however, still unknown. Performances of the same works constantly get paradigmatically distorted over time. 

And it does not stop at that. Thinking paradigmatically applies to almost everything. Take teaching for example. It is most deceiving to think a student has “understood” a composition based on their performance of it. They may not have grasped its pitch relations or emotional essence at all. So, when you do decide to go deeper to the root of their misunderstanding you realize what an abyss you have landed yourself in. Then follows the sequencing, the cognitive scaffolding, the technique and finally, the highest goal of them all, that all-encompassing spiritual and emotional blanket.  

Likewise, perfection of understanding is elusive. Even more elusive are the words to describe it. 

The highest meaning is no meaning.  

Concentration is no concentration. When you reach the core of concentration, there is indeed no concentration.  

Meditation is no meditation.  

 

What has an arts education inspired in me? The open-ended nature of things. The paradoxical nature of things. The various shades of grey between the pillars of black and white. The “yes-andno” of things. The acceptance of not knowing. 

  

“Causality is complex and entangled. And truth is only a possibility.”   

“Everything is and is not. There are no tips and tricks to practice the perfection of understanding. And yet there is no way we cannot practice the perfection of understanding.”  

I, for instance, in my naïve attempts to grasp the “truth” about music had reached a juncture of making everything about it cognitive. I was not content to leave it an art form, with matters unanswered. Of course, that can only get you so far. Leaving questions unanswered or attending to complexity may seem overwhelming at first. However, gradually the more you let go the easier it gets. 

The performing arts are all too known for the contention that exists between conscious and subconscious learning and performance. To lose control, artists argue that you must first learn to control. Too much control and you can lose its essence. Just this awareness can make us more human.  

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So, could I have made my point? 

Well, yes and no.