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Reminiscences of Einojuhani Rautavaara (1928-2016)

Einojuhani ja Sini Rautavaara, 2011. Kuva Ari Korkala/Music Finland.

Einojuhani and Sini Rautavaara, 2011. Photo Ari Korkala/Music Finland.

The news about the passing away of the great Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara a few days ago quickly circulated throughout the musical world, yet it was also received as a surprise. That is, we had already started to consider him an ‘omnitemporal’ person who permanently existed in Katajanokka, Helsinki, but had had time to have many phases and successes in his long life. His departure feels almost the same as Jean Sibelius’s, as Rob Weinberg already stated.

Everyone may now remember the Rautavaara whom one was able to know during his life span. Although rather few met him directly any longer in the last years, memories of him live on.

First, many had him as a teacher at the Sibelius Academy even before he was named professor of composition in 1976. Ten years earlier, he was already a celebrity and had received the Wihuri Prize (the same as awarded earlier to a.o. Stravinsky, Shostakovitch and Messiaen). He was my examiner for my music theory exam. He sat at the piano and played a diminished seventh chord in a certain position. “What is this?” he asked. I recognized it: the opening of the finale of Beethoven’s Appassionata. “Great, you have been accepted.”

Later, Rautavaara classified teachers into the following categories: the famous, the nice and the schoolmasters. He himself belonged to the second category, the nice, and thanks to this, a certain kind of pluralism emerged in the music pedagogy of Finland as its main ideological principle. When I defended my thesis on Myth and Music in 1978, I met him at Finlandia Hall, where he said that he understood my topics. After I had become professor at the University of Helsinki, he came to my reception with his young wife Sini. The problem was that Sini had to get a master’s degree in musicology by studying Einojuhani’s music. My colleague Erkki Salmenhaara said that a composer’s spouse cannot study her husband’s music in a sufficiently objective manner. I disagreed, but then things went in another way.

At that time Rautavaara had already entered his opera period. We were able to be present at the premieres of numerous operas: Thomas, Vincent, Aleksis Kivi, Rasputin, The House of the Sun. In many of them the central roles had been written particularly for such singers as Jorma Hynninen and Sini. These operas formed a brilliant series of Finnish stage music, which received high international acclaim. Fortunately, we published from Rautavaara a diary of the creation of Vincent in the magazine Synteesi (for research in the interrelationships of arts) in a thematic issue on Suomalainen ooppera (Finnish Opera, 3/1987). It opens the door on the composer’s creative process in that period.

I notice that I have compared Rautavaara to Stravinsky in many of my earlier essays, with the Europeanity, the Finnishness, the Russianness and the Americanity as the background. He is of the nomadic composer type (also in the sense defined by Daniel Charles). Even the fact that the name of the young Rautavaara was connected via Olga Koussevitsky to Russo-American circles and hence, via Serge Koussevitzky, also to Sibelius – when considering Rautavaara’s A Requiem in our Time – provides him with a mythical glamour. Cantus arcticus made him a pioneer of zoomusicology in the line of Messiaen – François-Bernard Mâche.

But all these phases were preceded by dodecaphonics, as a result of which many intendents of orchestras started at one point to consider him the composer who emptied concert halls. Yet, an academic dissertation appeared to defend even this direction: the doctoral thesis of Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam at the University of Helsinki in 1997, which considered this phase even in the light of semiotics. It is quite crucial and conducive to elevating a composer’s profile when theses about the composer are published. Also, another doctoral thesis appeared about Rautavaara, the one by the Pole Wojciech Stępień at the University of Helsinki in 2010 on the ‘angels’ in Rautavaara’s output. The work was later reprinted by the American publisher Ashgate and achieved international fame.

Rautavaara had entered his ‘angel’ period, which may, after all, have been neither spiritually nor technically so far afield from the Icons, composed long before during his time in New York; behind this piano suite we can note his teacher Vincent Persichetti’s diagrams of modes. They were also used by Eila Tarasti in her study on the Icons; in addition, she pondered Rautavaara as a synaesthete. This analysis has appeared in Synteesi but also in English many times, in, for instance, the anthology Musical Semiotics in Growth (1997) (this article will soon appear online on the pages of

The new meditative angel style expressed Rautavaara’s transcendental world view (see Tarasti 2013: 310 for Rautavaara’s position in the paradigm of musical world views of such composers as Sibelius, Mahler, Kalevi Aho, Erik Bergman, Erkki Salmenhaara, Magnus Lindberg, Harri Vuori).

The titles of his symphonies like Angel of Light and Angel of Dusk reflect this style period. In this manner the angel appears in the first mentioned symphony: “The radiance of light is emphasized by being juxtaposed with an equally strong darkening effect. In the third movement of Angel of Light a dark and somber motif ascends against a thick texture of strings in the upper register, as if rising from the depths of the orchestra” (Tarasti 2012: 325). I recall vividly that passage when Mikko Franck conducted the symphony at St. John’s Church in Helsinki. Furthermore, another conductor, David Pickett, commissioned and conducted one of Rautavaara’s symphonies with the Bloomington Symphony Orchestra in Indiana.

Angel of Dusk, a double bass concerto, was performed in turn by the Music Society of the University of Helsinki in a concert at the Solemnity Hall in 2003. As we could not get a full symphony orchestra, a version of the work for two pianos was performed, with Marja Rumpunen and Juha Ojala as skilful pianists. Our young friend, the Polish virtuoso Janusz Widzyk from the Berliner Philharmoniker, played as a double bass soloist. After the music, there was a dialogue with the composer in the darkened hall, the participants in armchairs, illuminated only by a big standing lamp to create the atmosphere. Thankfully, all this was recorded on video (the tape resides in the archives of the Department of Musicology at the University of Helsinki).

Another time I was able to arrange a Rautavaara event in the summer congress of the ISI (International Semiotics Institute) in Imatra, Eastern Finland. This took place in the famous Church of the Three Crosses designed by Alvar Aalto, a place of pilgrimage for all architects, in 1999. The composer himself provided accompaniment when Sini performed his Lorca songs. Eila Tarasti played the Icons. The conductor Kalervo Kulmala conducted the Academic Wind Orchestra, which played A Requiem in our Time. Then Markku Heikinheimo played on organ the concerto Annunciations. This became an impressive and memorable evening for semioticians and the rest of the audience.

But even before that event, we had heard that concerto in Minneapolis in St. Paul’s huge Cathedral as a part of a festival dedicated to Rautavaara. It lasted one week in the late winter of 1998 and was funded by the millionaire Aina Swan Cutler. I have commented on this week and Rautavaara’s speeches there in my diary Minnesota 1999 (see Tarasti 2004, but also the magazine Rondo; this report will likewise appear on the pages of

I was in collaboration with Rautavaara in those years when he still taught at the Sibelius Academy, in, for example, the lecture series on contemporary music, which he chaired. He also visited my Department. Rautavaara’s speeches about music were always incredibly witty, showing a remarkable erudition. He belongs to those writing composers in the line of Wagner, Busoni or Stravinsky. He had always something humorous and unusual but also profound to say. He argued, for instance, about Madetoja, Melartin, Kuula and others that in international comparison they fall in the same category as Sibelius but remain overshadowed by him. He related that he saw the opera Jephta’s Daughter by Väinö Raitio at the Finnish National Opera as a young man but remembered only one line: “Here we have the moon lights/but I have pain in limbs” (an untranslatable pun in Finnish: Täällä loistaa kuun valo/mutta minulla on luuvalo). When he once heard at our home the song Rise, Be Shining (Nouse, ole kirkas) by Helvi Leiviskä, the Finnish woman symphonist, he said: That is unbelievably heavy, to force the singer to rise from the depths in that manner.

Rautavaara was a very well-liked social personality; many were able to experience this. I remember when he moved to Brändö in Helsinki, close to our home, to the home of Armi Klemetti, widow of the famous choirmaster Heikki Klemetti, and Rautavaara changed the interior completely since he did not like any traditional furniture. He attended receptions organized by the Music Society of the University of Helsinki in such places as the Embassy of Japan due to the Japanese Music Week we had arranged. He was a central figure in the legendary dinner at the home of Einari (Kurre) Marvia and Liisa Aroheimo-Marvia in 2003, with his cousins, the soprano Aulikki Rautavaara and Gunnel. He had much to tell about his famous singer cousin, an opera star favoured by Richard Strauss and also a film star in Germany in the 1930s. This party was to remain her last. I also remember Einojuhani and Sini at a dinner at our home in Laajasalo on a bitingly cold winter day, together with the Marvias and professor Matti Klinge and his wife Marketta, when we spoke about European music and its values.

So we have to take farewell from one phase in Finnish music history and, above all, from a person whose impact was so overwhelming and whom we recall with emotion as a charming, intellectual and sensitive man. In all that he composed, wrote or spoke, his identity, his ‘Moi’, and his style were present. Their radiance will not fade in our minds.

— Eero Tarasti


Einojuhani Rautavaara 1987. “Työpäiväkirja (Diary) V/86 – V/87”, Synteesi 3/87: 2-9.

Anne Sivuoja-Gunaratnam 1997. Narrating with twelve tones : Einojuhani Rautavaara’s first serial period (ca. 1957-1965). Helsinki: Suomalainen tiedeakatemia. Suomalaisen tiedeakatemian toimituksia. Humaniora; vol. 287.

Wojciech Stępień 2010. Signifying angels : analyses and interpretations of Rautavaara’s instrumental compositions Helsinki: University of Helsinki, Department of Philosophy, History, Culture and Art Studies ([Tallinn] : printed in Tallinna Raamatutrükikoda, [2010]). Studia musicologica Universitatis Helsingiensis; vol. 20.

Eero Tarasti 2004. “Minnesota 1999”, Pariisin uudet mysteerit ja muita matkakertomuksia. Imatran Kansainvälisen Semiotiikka-Instituutin julkaisuja nr.2. pp. 75-123.

Eero Tarasti 2012. Semiotics of Classical Music. How Mozart, Brahms and Wagner Talk To Us. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.



Review: Émilie – The Female Faust

Kaija Saariaho’s opera Émilie at the Finnish National Opera, Helsinki, Monday, April 6, 2015.

Saariaho’s opera takes the spectator/listener immediately into its network and texture of music, image, colour and stage. To stay 1h 20 min inside this sound bath is pleasant. One is as if floating in an oniric state. Yet, here the narrative is definitely Europe in the 18th century. Amin Maalouf has utilized original texts and sources, but made a dramatic arrangement. The historical time is indicated by a harpsichord from beginning to end, an instrument which the real Émilie du Châtelet played. But as to the stage, it is true what the director Marianne Weems says, namely that the elegant and complex composition of Saariaho calls for a design beyond the boundaries of backdrops and set pieces. This is namely an opera of a human mind, not necessarily woman or man, transgressing the boundaries of the empirically observable world. So it is transcendental.

Saariaho is fascinated by protagonists with some obsessional ‘project’ to be filled – like in Simone’s passion. Here Émilie’s passion is to get immersed into the universe dominated by the beauty of mathematical, geometrical, eternal and rational laws. In the climax of the opera she sings high pitched about Principia mathematica (in monk Latin pronouncing prinsipia and sisero) as an extatic declaration. The feminist rhetoric gesture is less convincing. She is united with the whole macrocosm. Unfortunately her microcosm is limited by and bound with triviality: biological processes of her body. Here is the inner conflict of the whole opera. Is is a great narrative, strong enough to captivate the interest of the audience during the whole performance.

There are not many operas about science and scientists. Oswald Spengler has said that science dies if it does not become an experience to anyone. For Émilie, her science of mathematics is indeed a deeply felt personal issue, even more important than life itself. Of course what comes first to one’s mind is Faust. The Germans never got their dream: a Faust composed by a German composer, a Mozart, Beethoven or Wagner. Faust is at the beginning somewhat in the same situation as Emilie: Habe nun, ach! Philosophie, Juristerei und Medizin und leider auch Theologie durchaus studiert, da steh ich nun ich armer Tor, und bin so klug als wie zuvor! (I have studied all sciences and here I stay as stupid as before.) Then comes Mephisto with his offer which Faust accepts. There is a remarkable difference, however, since Émilie never doubts her science, erudition and wisdom. They remain her major aspiration and belief until the end of the opera. She imagines how her great work would appear posthumously. It is important because she wants to be remembered and ‘eternalized’ . Even at the risk of what Jean Cocteau said later: C’est mieux d’être l’homme vivant et l’artiste posthume que le contraire. Emilie’s Mephistos are Voltaire and thereafter her lover Saint-Lambert. However, she does not abandon herself totally to worldly temptations, but keeps her passion for science.

In music, the comparison points would be Schoenberg’s Erwartung or Poulenc’s La voix humaine. As Émilie sings the tragedy and death always loom in the finale. Yet, if one likes, one could recall Luonnotar of Sibelius, a work about the myth of the creation of the world, not far afield from Emilie’s visions albeit in the Age of Reason. True, Saariaho’s music has a fateful atmosphere as if anticipating a personal tragedy, but it also has an exaltation of orchestral effects apt to portray the universe. If Émilie’s own microcosm approaches its end because the principles of mathematics did not reach it, this is one version of the destiny of the universe. This reminds me of a lecture by Nobel prize winner in physics, professor Saul Perlmutter last November at the University of Aix-Marseille: The universe has three alternatives: 1) if everything started with the Big Bang it will also end the same way: so, not so nice, 2) everything is getting faster and faster and so at the end we will disappear: neither a good idea 3) everything is getting slower and slower and so the universe will never end: this sounds good! Saariaho’s musical universe is somewhat an analogy with the idea of an unending nature. Fortunately so as I said, and so the experience of listening to it is analogous to a Japanese Nô theater. Nevertheless, the music also has its dramatic moments. Variety is created by adding a duetto voice of Voltaire or a child but it more or less duplicates the soprano voice. Visually the most impressive is perhaps the fourth one, Rays. Camilla Nylund mastered her role with much devotion, style and vocal splendour. The orchestra performed skillfully under André de Ridder, who kept the global form in his hands and built dynamic highlights convincingly. The harpshichordist distinguished herself as well.

— Eero Tarasti

Music-space and time

Atso A. Eerikäinen
Professor at Metasciences Academy
Music is the most universal phenomenon. It is sounding everywhere, but what is music? David Butler defines it in Encarta encyclopedia: “Music is artful arrangement of sounds across time.” On the one hand, this definition is obviously very broad, but not sufficiently broad. On the other hand, the narrower one would exclude too much essential, as caricaturist Kari Suomalainen’s definition concerning string music: “It is rubbing of pig’s intestine with horse tail hair.” The concept “time” in Butler’s definition is the most essential in music. Time and its two variables open up us the breathtaking view into music, when we listen to it and when it is performed publicly at concert halls or privately at home for own pleasure.

One cannot progress very far in answering the questions concerning music without considering the riddle of time. Time may be the most enigmatic of all metaphysical, philosophical, and physical problems, and it must be resolved in order to understand reality, which is filled by music.

Time as metaphysical problem

Two opposite views of time have been clashing from the dawn of Western thinking. Heraclites (ca.540-480 B.C.) thought that the basic feature of reality is “becoming,” that is, time is a “flux” or perpetual change. As such, time is something physical: measurable, countable, and computable, that is, a posteriori. Parmenides (ca. 515-445 B.C.), in turn, thought there is no change in the universe, because the permanent forms of reality are motionless and mathematical. The universe is timeless and hence, it is something eternal: immeasurable, uncountable, and incomputable, that is, a priori.

Western metaphysicians have mainly argued in favor of Heraclites. There have been three paradigmatic topics concerning time in philosophical enquiry: change, causation, and modality.

Time as change. It is commonly accepted that only time, not space, is the variable of change. The genuine change involves temporal variation in the properties of things, also sounds, when time “passes.” Time is the changing process, where the future is becoming the present, and the present is changing into the past. It is just the change that goes on in the event while it is occurring. The presentness of an event is its happening, as opposed to its having happened or being about to happen. The present is a factual point in the flux of time or a number of motions, which separates and unifies the past and the future, or earlier and later, as Aristotle (384-322 BC) thought. From the ontological difference between the past and the future follows that the past expands in the flux of time: more facts are added to the totality of facts. Changing time can be very long or very short but never zero. In other words, time t is always > 0.

J.M.E. McTaggart showed in his famous paper concerning the unreality of time (in Mind, 17/1908:457-474) the movement of time consists in the fact that later and later terms pass into the present, or that the present passes to later and later terms. In other words, the so-called “B series” of time is sliding along a fixed “A series” of time, or A series of time is sliding along a fixed B series of time. In the first case, time presents itself as a moment from the future to the past. In the second case, time presents itself as a moment from earlier to later. The events seem to come out of the future, while we ourselves move towards the future. B series of time runs backwards, whereas A series of time runs forwards, that is, the future has been, the present is, and the past will be, and vice versa.

Time as causal relation. The main point in the causal theories of time is that time, as a temporal becoming, is asymmetric, deterministic, and continuous. If A causes or is among the causes of B, then B does not cause or is not among the causes of A, and A is sufficient cause for effect B. The asymmetry of time entails that time has a direction because causation has a direction. Asymmetric time is the variable of causality.

Yet within physical time, we cannot affect the past, because it is determined. The future, instead, is not yet determined. There is no present fact about whether A will exist tomorrow, so anything we do or happens now can make a difference for the future. If there is no ontological difference between the present and the future, then future-tense statements must have a determined truthvalue. Hence, the rejection of temporal becoming means a rejection of indeterminism, that is, free will.

The flux of time seems to be continuous. The changing things in time exist continuously. Kant (1724-1804) proposed in his principle of contradiction that a thing cannot be itself and something else simultaneously. If one state exists, the other cannot exist simultaneously. One cannot be both existing and non existing, or neither existing nor non-existing simultaneously. Reality is a continuity of the temporal states.

Time as modal relation. Finally, time can be described in modal terms. “Necessarily p” means that p is true in all possible worlds, and “possibly p” means that p is true at least in some world. The future is just a set of possible worlds, so the flux of time is the passage from the possible to the necessary.

Kant located time into the mind as a pure form a priori of sensible intuition. As such, time has no physical status. Whereas Euclidean space is the formal a priori condition of outer experiences, time is the formal a priori condition of appearances. If this subjective condition of sensibility were removed, time would be nothing at all. Thus, space and time are given a priori, whereas everything that is given in them is a posteriori.

Time as physical problem

In classical mechanics (CM) of Newton (1642-1724), time is absolute, true, and mathematical, which of itself and from its own nature, flows without relation to anything external. Material bodies move through Euclidean space along predictable paths, subject to forces that accelerate them in accordance with strict mathematical laws. The universe is a gigantic clock-like mechanism, predictable in every detail by universal and absolute time. Time is simply there, and nothing can affect it. Newtonian time is absolute calculus: the precise and continuous succession of the present moments.

Newton’s conception of absolute time was rejected 150 years later by Einstein’s (1879-1955) flexible time. Time became Riemann’s non-Euclidean “metric” space or at least an inseparable part of it. Euclidean and “phenomenalistic” SR needs observers and their time depending on how they are moving, whereas non-Euclidean and “realistic” GR does not need any observers. Strictly speaking, Einstein’s GR does not describe time but gravity, which has some important implications concerning time. On the one hand, gravity is not a mysterious mechanical force operating at a distance but a warping of space-time by the mass and energy on it. On the other hand, it is an acceleration that depends on the curvature of space-time. So to say, mass tells space-time how to curve, and space-time tells mass how to move. In fact, Einstein’s space-time as a Riemannian field is simply there, like Newtonian absolute time, but as relative, because it depends on motion of mass and energy on it.

At the quantum level of reality, there is, however, a basic limit that introduces an irreducible fuzziness to the notions of speed, rate, and time: Werner Heisenberg’s (1901-1976) uncertainty principle. The size of the wave function at a point gives the probability that the particle will be found at that point, and the rate at which the wave function changes from point to point gives the probability of different velocities. One can have a wave function that is sharply peaked at a point. This corresponds to a state in which there is a little uncertainty in the position of the particle. However, the wave function varies rapidly. It means that there is a lot of uncertainty in the velocity. Similarly, a long chain of waves has a large uncertainty in position, but a small uncertainty in velocity. One can have a well defined position or a well defined velocity but not both at the same time. This would seem to make complete determinism impossible. If one cannot accurately define both the positions and the velocities of particles at one time, how can one predict what they will be in the future? Even if time is absolute Newtonian clock-time in QM, there is no absolute clock in QM, because all physical clocks are subject to quantum uncertainty. Hence, also time itself may be subject to quantum effects.

What is Now?

Einstein was seriously worried about the question: “What is now”? He concluded that the “now” has no physical status, and hence, it was a metaphysical question that lies beyond scientific physics. Instead, Sir Arthur Stanley Eddington (1882-1944) thought (in The Nature of the Physical World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1929, p. 97) that our impression of “becoming” is so powerful and central to our experience that it must correspond to something in the objective world. He thought: “If I grasp the notion of existence because I myself exist, I grasp the notion of becoming because I myself become. It is the innermost Ego of all which is and becomes. It seems that we experience time in two distinct ways: externally through the senses and internally within the mind.”

Although Plato (c. 428-347 BC) was obviously the first discoverer of “self” (soul, mind) in Western thinking, it was Aristotle who first put the mind into the center of changing reality. For him time was a measure of change, and as such, a number of motions in connection with earlier and later. There is no time without motion, and there is no present without the mind who realizes it. In this sense, Einstein’s SR is only a novel variation of Aristotle’s metaphysics. But what is the now? Is it only something physical: changing, measurable, countable, and computable, as Heraclites thought or; only something eternal: unchanging, immeasurable, uncountable, and incomputable, as Parmenides thought; or something physical and eternal absolutely simultaneously?

Physical and eternal time

A German theologian Karl Heim (1874-1958), who’s thinking I have researched in my dissertation Time and Polarity (Yliopistopaino: Helsinki 2000) and its expanded version Two Dimensions of Time (Peter Lang: Frankfurt a.m. 2003) defined time ontologically.

There are two variables of time inseparable from each other: physical and eternal or timeless. In entire reality, there are limitless or infinite objectifiable spaces (Räume). The objectifiable consciousness-spaces of my-, your-, and their combination, our-space construct the objectifiable, physical aspect of reality: G-reality (Geworden). In other words, there is an objective reality constructed by “many worlds.” This objective G-reality is relative, physical time. It is impossible to talk about time in general, but only time of individual observers: “my-time” of my-space, “your-time” of your-space or “our-time” of our-space depending on how we are moving through space-time.

Physical time as temporality is the variable of the measurable, countable, and computable change. It is an ever-changing process. The future of possibility and potentiality is becoming the present of actuality, and the presence is changing into the past of necessity. The relative flux of time as a “secondary becoming” or a process is an irreversible sequence of successive present moments (t1, t2…tn). Thus, physical time does not start at to, but at t1, because physical time can be infinitely long or infinitely short but never zero, that is, G > 0. It means that we can observe only the past of time. The events we observe lie on what is called our past light cone.

Physical time is relative space or at least inseparable from Riemannian metric space and gravity in it. The crucial difference between Einstein’s and Heim’s thinking was the question concerning the now. The “now” was, for Einstein, the mysterious question beyond physics. He was right, but because he did not want to answer this crucial question, his conception of time was like Schubert’s unfinished symphony. According to Heim, this “mysterious something” is W-reality, which as non-objectifiable and eternal time is beyond science, as Einstein clearly understood.

Thus, there are also limitless or infinite non-objectifiable spaces, which are incomputable. The non-objectifiable mind-spaces of I-, You-, and their combination, We-space construct the eternal aspect of reality: W-reality (Werden). It is the absolute “now”: nunc aeternum, that is, W = 0. W-reality is the pure nonobjectifiable, emerging, and energetic state within G-reality. Heim argued that W-reality does not include only human minds but also non-objectifiable “minds” of the whole biosphere and the material world. For example, the core of electron seems to be such a mental property. In other words, eternal Wreality is panpsychic.

Eternal time is the variable of the “primary becoming” or transition. It is a certain “imaginary zero-point,” where the “secondary becoming” or process appears into existence. In other words, “not yet become” potential reality becomes “already become,” that is, logically necessary actual reality. Entire reality is a dynamic interaction and an information exchange of physical and eternal time. Eternal W-reality of the minds or knowing, willing and evaluating subjects (I-, You-, and We-space) is the perspectival and energetic center of physical Greality (my-, your-, and our-space) of the objects. Eternal time is absolutely simultaneous with all moments of physical time, as St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) thought. Or in other words, at its deeper level, reality is a sort of “super hologram,” in which the past, present, and future exist simultaneously, as for instance, David Bohm has proposed.

Even if spaces are limitless, there are boundaries within and between spaces. The boundary of contents prevails within a space. If the number of dimensions in a space is n, then the number of dimensions in the boundary of contents is n-1. Instead, the dimensional boundary is the constant velocity of light = c between spaces of W- and G-realities. It means that within a black hole, from where light cannot escape, or within the singularity of Big bang, G-reality of physical time merges into W-reality of eternal time, and hence, W + G = 0.

Except the boundaries, there prevails also the polarity, that is, the absolute simultaneity between W- and G-realities and their spaces. The law of double polarity: A<>B<>AB (indifference condition), as Schelling defined it, is neither a causal (cause-effect) nor logical (premise-conclusion) relationship but is obvious immediately. Since Aristotle, philosophers have concluded that if there is no entity that is purely “in itself” and “through itself” (AB), then there is no secondary and dependent thing imaginable, and all actuality as a whole dissolves into illusion. The polarity implies that there is no physical time without eternal time, and no eternal time without physical time. The polarity holds physical and eternal time together. In other words, reality is not dualistic but monistic totality combined by objectifiable and non-objectifiable aspects of reality. Practically, the polarity means, for instance, that “here” and “there” is absolutely simultaneous in eternal time of I-space but relative in physical time of my-space. I can be “here” and “there” absolutely simultaneously in the eternal now of I-space (the mind) but not in the physical now of my-space.

Thus, eternal time is bound in certain locations in physical time, which can be described by using Boolean algebra. Eternal time is like the Boolean duration between two measurable “clock-ticks” of clocks. The Boolean non-numerical, uncountable duration and the countable duration in physical time are always in the polar relationship: (?) 1< ?>2< ?> 3…< ?>n (?) ?0. Because eternal time exists within physical time, time as a dynamical unity of physical and eternal must be a continuum. Thus, time is both physical and eternal simultaneously. In physical time, all changes are successive, and in eternal time, all happens at once. Time is in eternity, and eternity is in time

Music-space and two variables of time

If Einstein’s relativity theories are unfinished, also the definitions of music based on them are helplessly unfinished and insufficient. As a harmony of two variables of time, music cannot be only “artful arrangement of sounds across (physical) time.” Music is not but “The W-reality of the composer’s mind becoming the sounding G-reality,” that is, “from eternity into temporality.”

We usually experience reality as a three dimensional space, to where time somehow belongs. Einsteinian odd four-dimensional space-time is more difficult to understand. According to the so-called “super-string theories,” there are not only four dimensions but at least 11 or 12 in reality. Those seven or eight additional dimensions are completely invisible. Also music-space is physically at least 11-dimensional. In other words, the sound can be heard from somewhere (three dimensional places), as a time-duration, as some thickness (strong or weak), as some colorfulness, at some height of brightness and sonority, as some kind of tonality, fullness, and intimacy. We could say that what is invisible in reality is audible. The 11-12 dimensional reality is the vibration of strings in different frequencies. The entire universe is like music.

When I listen to music, the sounds come into my ears as waves of air. With help of the eardrums and hear bones, those sound-waves transfer into the liquid of my internal ear, where they change electro-magnetic waves entering into my brain, and I can hear sounds and their composition, music. In other words, when the artist plays music, it transits from his/her W-reality into my G-reality, from my G-reality into my W-reality, and back into my G-reality as a permanent or soon forgetting memory. The at least 350, 000 different kinds of tones of music-space open up me with many variations or not. Namely, the new space opens up always passively as a paradoxal gift, if it opens up at all. We cannot take it, only receive it. Schubert said in his last words: “Music in my name is not mine but received as a gift from eternity.”

When music is performed, it is the transition from eternal W-reality of the composer into physical and temporal process of G-reality. When a pianist plays the Moon Light Sonata of Beethoven, s/he and Beethoven, who has gone long ago, exist in W-reality absolutely at the same time. The pianist must become Beethoven, if s/he likes to interpret what Beethoven aimed in his music. Regrettably, only very few even famous artists realize that the music they are playing is not their own but some one’s else. If the artist do not want to change or is not able to metamorphose, that is, to become for example Beethoven, it would be better that s/he plays only his/her own compositions than raping other’s ones with peculiar and egoistic manner.

If music were only “artful arrangement of sounds across time,” that is, only a phenomenon in G-reality, a robot could be technically the best virtuoso. Such kinds of robots are constructed in Japan, where there are already lots of socalled “artists,” who play mechanically like robots. As a rhythm of two variables of time, music is, however, completely different: the harmony of W- and Greality, that is, from eternity to temporality, and vive versa.

The metamorphose, that is, the most complete unification of the composer and artist, has been know in Buddhist thinking, especially in Zen, for thousands of years. The meeting of two Zen-masters lets to suspect, what it is:

Ky?zan Ejaku asked Sansh? Enen: “What is your name?”
Sansh? said: “Ejaku!”
“Ejaku!” replied Ky?zan, “that’s my name.”
“Well then,” said Sansh?, “my name is Enen.”
Ky?zan roared with laughter.

In other words, two persons exist absolutely simultaneously and as the same person in eternal variable of time, but they are, however, absolutely different persons and relatively temporal in physical variable of time.

In the Western music world, only very few artists have drawn from the Eastern metaphysical wisdom. Menuhin was one of them, and from Finnish musicians only Ralf Góthoni. If the music heard in concerts were authentically the harmony and rhythm of two variables of time, and not only temporarily onedimensional technical and mechanical performance, it could give the listeners much more broadening and unforgettable experiences for better life. The metamorphose does not change the musicians chameleons whose original egoism gets dressed different kinds of cloths, but on the contrary, less egoistic, altruistic, humble, and really great artists.