ESSAY OF THE WEEK

Emblems of Mind
The Inner Life of Music and Mathematics
Passage from Chapter 4, "Theme and Variations:
The Pursuit of Beauty"
(pp. 163-168)

by Edward Rothstein

Times Books, 1995 (hardcover)
Avon Books, 1996 (softcover)

(Issue 3; posted March 6, 1997; archived April 18, 1997)


Editor's Note: In "Emblems of Mind: The Inner Life of Music and Mathematics," Edward Rothstein, cultural critic at large for the New York Times, attempts to reveal the deep similarities between music and mathematics. Even though one is a science, the other an art, one useful, the other seemingly decorative, there are profound similarities. Both create abstractions as they explore their chosen universes; both use those abstractions to create unexpected connections; both are concerned with beauty and proportion; and both teach us how we make sense of the world in art as well as in science.

he book has recently been published in paperback by Avon Books and was named one of the best books of 1995 by Publisher's Weekly and the New York Public Library. Writing in the Wall Street Journal, Hugh Kenner wrote :"Expect luminous rewards by the end - and exhilaration throughout the journey."

In this selection, Rothstein examines the notions of proportion and ratio, arguing that they are central to both mathematics and music and their attempts to discern beauty. Rothstein uses the Golden Ratio as an archetypal example of beauty. That ratio divides a line into two parts, so that the ratio between the two parts is the same as the ratio between the whole and one of the parts. It is a unique number, often represented by phi, which can be found throughout the natural world whenever growth maintains original shape. It can be found in the shape of the snail shell and in the arrays of seeds in a sunflower. Da Vinci used it in his paintings; so did Seurat.

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Essay

What is the relationship between the Golden Ratio and the idea of beauty we have been attempting to explore in music and mathematics? In The Geometry of Art and Life, Mattel Ghyka, before providing a subtle analysis of the Divine Proportion and other ratios, described the nature of ratio itself. Ratio, he noted, is different from proportion. It means that a comparison is being made. It is "the quantitative comparison between two things or aggregates belonging to the same kind or species." In other words, a ratio is an internal comparison within a given universe. It involves a mapping between two objects in that universe and a number. We can have a ratio between lines (measuring length) or spaces (measuring area); we can have a ratio between dangers (measuring probabilities of disaster); we can even have a ratio between sounds (measuring frequencies). These worlds of lines and dangers and sounds are mapped into the world of numbers. A ratio, then, requires a "space" of objects, and it requires a measure that we use to comprehend these objects.

Thus, establishing a ratio is already a sophisticated act of the mind. It requires comparison between one object and another, a measurement of their relationship, and an assessment of their differences and similarities. We can go further: it is no accident that creating a ratio is nearly the archetypal act of rationality. It is an act of reason that is not divisive but connective, showing relations between distinct objects.

Because creating a ratio means giving a number to these relations, it also allows us to compare different worlds, not just objects within a single world. We can identify ratios from different worlds through their numbers. The ratio of 2, for example, could apply to lengths of a line, populations in various countries, or the frequency of pitches on a piano. We can say that the ratio of the lengths of two lines is equivalent to the ratio of two frequencies of vibration, thus making a connection between the lengths of vibrating strings and pitch. When compared in this way ratio becomes something more profound; it is being treated as a proportion.

A proportion can show the similarities between different worlds; it can demonstrate similarities and relationships that are shared; in a sense, what we have been attempting to find in our explorations of music and mathematics are shared "proportions." The proportion, rhetorically, is an analogy, which has its roots in the word analogia, originally used to refer to proportion. As Ghyka pointed out, first the Greeks and Romans and then the Gothic and Renaissance builders used repeated proportions - analogies - in their architecture. A ratio between dimensions was never accidental and always echoed other ratios throughout the plan. Structures contained internal resonances, echoes, and repetitions. The term symmetry meant much more than simple mirror identity between two parts; it referred to repeated proportions.

Vitruvius, the great Roman theoretician of architecture, wrote, "Symmetry resides in the correlation by measurement between the various elements of the plan, and between each of these elements and the whole." Vitruvius compared the symmetry of building with the symmetry of the human body: "It proceeds from proportion - the proportion which the Greeks called analogia - [it achieves] consonance between every part and the whole." Proportion, he explained, "is a correspondence among the measures of the members of an entire work, and of the whole to a certain part selected as standard." A building built with proportion and symmetry in mind is generated by that standard. Vitruvius defined the aesthetic importance of such proportion: "When every important part of the building is thus conveniently set in proportion by the right correlation between height and width, between width and depth, and when all these parts have also their place in the total symmetry of the building, we obtain eurythmy."

This notion of symmetry and eurythmy is close to what we call, in other contexts, harmony. The Divine Proportion is a powerful example of eurythmy because of the clear relationship it displays between the whole and the parts. It may even have been a Pythagorean belief that the proportion extended from the human body (which, as the Renaissance artists and the ancients knew, tends to be divided into "divine" proportions by the navel) to the universe itself (which was supposed to have a structure like one of the five regular solids, the dodecahedron, itself suffused with divine proportions, like its two- dimensional relation, the pentagon). In later centuries, the analogies between parts and other parts, and between parts and the whole, became the foundation of mystical beliefs upon which the notion of magic depends. In magic, one object becomes an analogy for another (like a voodoo doll for the human body); act on part of one object, and the magic acts similarly on the other. "Metaphors for us, but not for Him" is how, we recall, one of the Jewish mystics explained the manner in which similarities and comparisons in the earthly realm are mirrors of divine equivalencies. Proportion, in these beliefs, can become a magical identification of parts and influence.

There have been many attempts to describe or identify the beauty of different types of eurythmy. Ghyka and other writers have made a distinction between ratios based on irrational numbers like or and ratios of rational numbers like 2 or 3. The rational ratios, while ostensibly simpler and more elegant, offer fewer possibilities for internal echoes and analogies. The irrational ratios offer greater complexity on the surface but more profound similarities below. Even the Greeks understood that those irrational relations created more dynamic shapes, with greater interaction between parts and whole. Because the irrational proportions are not easily divisible into simple compartments, because their ratios imply an infinite sequence of relations, the eye and the mind are pulled to their geometric representation (which suggests that beauty may sometimes require a more profound simplicity than one presented on the surface).

It is possible to analyze a form to determine what "types" of proportions and ratios are displayed within it. One scholar established a typology of architectural forms in ancient and Renaissance architecture, an attempt to articulate basic "themes" of relationship and proportion that underlie much of Western art. It resembles the attempt by Heinrich Schenker to find the fundamental melodic line underlying Western tonal music, those archetypal descents 3-2-1. These themes are based on properties of geometric ratios - ways in which rectangles or other shapes can be divided, ways in which parts relate to wholes.

Ghyka calls these, and other diagrams of relations, "harmonic analyses" that show the "thematic" consistency of such "symmetric" and "eurythmic" figures. Here, for example, are a few such "harmonic analyses" for rectangles with sides of length 1 and , and 1 and ratios of and reappear inside the rectangles' divisions.

These notions resonate with our experience of mathematics. In mathematics we create patterns that make sense out of what we are presented; we create constellations that are abstract organizations of details. Each constellation represents a multitude of cases within it; and the constellations are, in turn, gathered into still more abstract entities. We speak of beauty in mathematical argument when those constellations show us relations we have never seen before, when we have found in them repeating and resonating essences and forms. In doing mathematics we are, at least metaphorically, finding proportions, identifying ratios, creating mappings between different instances of the same fundamental rational pattern, linking different worlds by finding their similarities.

Gauss, in this way, essentially found a harmonic analysis of arithmetic series. Euler found a kind of harmonic analysis linking π and e and i, as if the essences of these numbers and their relations were being revealed, a hidden proportion found. Mathematics is always using analogy and proportion in its argument. In fact, when faced with a form - whether it is musical or mathematical or even in the physical world - we attempt to make analogies among the form's parts. We find in these analogies and internal mappings the fundamental proportions governing the form. This is how we memorize telephone numbers, looking for patterns even in randomness; it is how theories are constructed; and, as we have seen, it is how we come to understand music as well.

Ghyka called this process the principle of analogy; it is, he noted, "common to Art and Science. Analogia itself, the geometric proportion (A is to B as C is to D), was the capital tool of Euclidean Mathematics." Analogy, he explained, is at the base of eurythmy and modulation, in music and in physics. It is also part of the art of literature, which depends for its power on metaphor, which is a "condensed and unexpected analogy." He quoted Aristotle: "The greatest thing of all is to be a master of the metaphor. It is the only thing which cannot be taught by others; and it is also a sign of original genius, because a good metaphor implies the intuitive perception of similarity in dissimilar things."

This quest for the appropriate metaphor, for proportions and analogies governing the structure of nature and art, for mappings which reach the essential elements of the objects we study - this quest deals not only with objects but with processes. In coming to understand something or make sense of it, we must be attentive to "proportion" and analogy in their most general sense. We must create metaphors as we work, exercising, in Aristotle's phrase, the "intuitive perception of similarity in dissimilar things." This is, in essence, the activity of mathematics.

That activity also has something to do with our experience of beauty itself. It touches on the mechanism by which we come to know beauty and "feel" the aesthetic. What we "feel" at such moments is the analogy of part and whole, object and other object, relation and relation. This is one reason that in moments of aesthetic transport we assert the universality of the beautiful: we are feeling something not inchoate but precise and seemingly beyond contradiction. This is also why we feel something similar when coming upon the beautiful in art (or music) and the beautiful in nature (or mathematics). As Schopenhauer asserted, "Aesthetic pleasure is essentially one and the same, no matter whether it is evoked by a work of art or immediately produced by the contemplation of nature and life." Beauty is experienced as a form of knowledge because it is through the archetypal rational act - that of analogy and metaphor - that we come to know the beautiful.

Edward Rothstein is cultural critic at large at the New York Times.

Endlinks

The Golden Ratio appears quite a bit on the Web, as well as in the natural world. A series of pages defining the ratio and exploring its qualities can be found at http://galaxy.cau.edu/tsmith/KW/golden.html. A general essay on how proportion is used in creating the notion of a cosmos can be found at http://www.cosmopolis.com/df/what-is-a-cosmos.html. And an archive of Rothstein's bi-weekly essays about Technology in the New York Times can be sampled at the Times web site (after registration) :http://www.nytimes.com/web/docsroot/library/cyber/techcol/indextechcol.html.

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