Draft 3.1 October 25, 2011 [email protected]

The Story of the Fox and the Moon Alone of the great apes, we make music. Music and dance are found in all human societies.1 The same is true of language. The same is true of symbolic thought. In my view, music, language and cognition evolved together. They have adaptive value: individuals and social groups who are better at these skills than their neighbors will survive better and reproduce better.2 Imagine an ancestor – your great-great-great grandfather – 2000 “greats” – 50,000 years ago in East Africa –– walking toward his troupe’s campsite at the end of the day. He has spent the day scouting for game. He is humming a song about rabbits – one of his children’s favorites and one of his when he was small. Hippity-hoppity-hoppity-hop. He is tired but content –carrying a pair of rabbits over his shoulder that he trapped this morning. His name is Og. Though heading home, he is still keeping his eyes open for game. Og remembers that last year when they were in this part of the world, he and a troupe-mate (Jo-Jo, wasn’t it?) encountered a family of

pigs in a thicket behind that ridge – the ridge where Grandfather broke his leg so long ago. But last year he and Jo-Jo were carrying those pink stones for the shrine, so they could not hunt the pigs. Maybe he should invite Jo-Jo and Big Top to go hunting tomorrow (if he can get Big Top off his ass) and some of the older boys. Maybe try to bring some of the dogs along – the dogs that hang out near the camp, eating scraps, and barking at intruders. He heard an odd song from another tribe about dogs helping on the hunt. Maybe they should try. If we are successful in the hunt, Og thinks, there will be a feast tomorrow night and everyone will praise us. The troupe will dance in front of the shrine. The moon is nearly full, so maybe we will enact The Story of the Fox and the Moon. That would be a good thing. Og prides himself on his fine voice. Lulu will look at him with shining eyes and maybe give him that sly half-smile of hers. Oh, yes. Og reaches the campsite and the children come running to him. (Whether Og’s pride in his voice was justified is another question. Your ancestor was smart and brave and kindly – but vain.) Og and his troupe-mates have no trouble remembering events of the past, anticipating or planning events in the future – and they have no trouble communicating these thoughts to others in the troupe. In Og’s imagination,

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various places and things and people are represented by images and mental symbols. He can put these symbols together into a sequence and alternative sequences. Og has a good grasp of cause and effect. These imaginative sequences are stories – a series of events strung together into a coherent sequence. They may be set in a real or imagined past, or present, or future, or in some make-believe time and place. They are a way – maybe the most important way – of making sense of the world. As one of the elders of the Fox Clan said, “The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms.” 3 Stories are a kind of knowledge.4 Og can tell these stories to his troupe-mates, if he chooses, and maybe discuss them. Maybe somebody will make a suggestion about the dogs. Og and others will use language for the discussion, since language is good for efficient communication. But they will also use gesture and pantomime. So do you. What is The Story of the Fox and the Moon? It is one of many stories passed down from generation to generation. It tells how the Fox, the tribe’s totem, outwitted the Moon. The Fox was lonely and sad because the Vixen was indifferent to him. He wanted to woo the Vixen – but in those days the Fox and other animals, and people, too, had no words, only meaningless

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barks and snorts and hoots. The Moon kept a sack in her cave. It was filled with all the words and she guarded it vigilantly. (How she came by the sack is another story.) Since words have great power and can be dangerous, the Moon wanted to keep them away from foolish mortals, especially the troublesome foxes and the almost-as-troublesome human beings. She wanted all creatures to keep silent, as she herself was silent. But the wily Fox, disguised as a wandering old woman, persuaded the Moon to invite him into her cave. He hummed a lullaby that put the Moon to sleep. The Fox then searched her cave and found the sack of words, which he brought back to the Middle Land – the place where all animals and people live. He shared it with the other foxes (who actually do speak among themselves and only pretend not to have language when people are around. They are afraid that people will enslave them.) And the Fox shared the words with his human friends: the Fox Clan, Og’s clan. (How human beings and the Fox came to be friends is another story. So is how other clans came to have language. So is how the Fox wooed and finally won the Vixen.) When the Moon discovered her loss, she was angry – but there was nothing she could do. The words had escaped into the world and could never be recaptured. She howled. (You can see her howling face to this day.) Then the Moon

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sickened, growing smaller and smaller. But when at last she got back to her husband, the Sun, he gave her light [impregnated her with light, according to some tales] and she grew and grew until she was full. But then she remembered how the Fox had tricked her. She grew sad and started to lessen again [or gave birth to ____.] We try to console her with songs – but only the Sun can heal her. The story is told through music and dance around the evening fire. Everyone in the troupe participates – some with song, some with dance, some with percussion, some with all three, and even one with something he calls a flute. A pair of exceptionally good dancers are painted as the Fox and the Moon and they wear appropriate finery. The music is traditional – but the troupe often improvises around it. At tense points in the story, the music is tense – at sad points, sad – and so on. Musically the story begins with a sad lament by the lonely Fox – then moves into the comic as the Fox reviews all the sounds other animals make – then a sweet crooning lullaby puts the Moon to sleep – then a delicious fear as the Fox sneaks about the Moon’s cave – then triumph as he seizes the sack and brings it to earth. The Story of the Fox and the Moon is unusual in that it uses no words – only music, dance and gesture – until the Fox brings

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the sack to Earth. Then there is a great profusion of words, sung in intertwining lines. In some renditions, the moment is comic – the flood of words being a flood of nonsense. But the story returns to the Moon. She is angry at the Fox. She sings a lament, complaining that her sack of words had been changed to a sack of sadness. The story ends with the troupe singing to the Moon of their gratitude and trying to console her for her loss. The story is especially popular with the children since it involves a lot of a creeping about and noise-making. The children love making the noises of the animals. The story educates the children about who and what the Fox Clan is and why the fox is sacred to it – Fox the Trickster, Fox the Glib, Fox the Thief. It explains the value of language – especially important to the Fox Clan, which is renowned for its songs and stories. But it also shows how they can get by without words. 5 The story explains why some creatures have language, others do not, and still others, like the Moon, make no sound at all. It teaches the children (and reminds the grown-ups) that sadness and fear and anger and joy all have their place. It teaches them they are not alone in feeling sad or afraid sometimes. And it teaches them how to handle those emotions when they come. It encourages the people to be cunning,

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resourceful, brave, generous and grateful. It explains why the Moon waxes and wanes. And since people benefit from the Moon’s loss, they are taught to remember her with kindness. Death is a character in many stories – but not this one. The story is enacted by the whole troupe. The story binds the troupe and the clan together through singing and dancing. The story reminds everyone just who they are and what place they have in the world – they are the people of the Fox Clan! One might call the enactment of the story a form of social control through which the individual members of the clan are brought into emotional and mental alignment – and therefore into political alignment. I prefer to think of it – at least at this tribal level – as a more benign binding-together. Stories are imitations of life. They use symbols and words and sounds and movements in place of the real thing. You cannot bring the real Moon onto the stage – and, for that matter, why should you? A dancer with a moon mask will do perfectly well. The stories are designed, at least in part, to help us make sense of life. Since a story is about real things and real feelings and is meant to educate the tribe about the real world and to reinforce the tribe’s identity and values, it must not be a piece of fluff.

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Though sometimes comic, it must be serious at heart. It must include a range of good and bad events and the emotions appropriate to them. We encounter loss and disappointment in real life, so they must be present in the story. Some of those emotions – like sadness and fear – are not pleasant in themselves – but they have their place in the larger scheme of which the individual and the tribe are a part. The emotions are not suppressed – but they are – through the collective effort of the story – put into their proper place. Everyone finds this satisfying. They love these stories. They feel sadness with the Fox who misses his Vixen. They are afraid with the Fox as he creeps about the Moon’s cave – but they also enjoy the shivery feeling of fear because they know it is only a story. They know that in the present reality – not the make-believe of the story – they are sitting by the fire surrounded by their parents, their children, their friends, their familiar rivals in the troupe and maybe some visitors from another clan. The various emotions evoked by the story are understood and integrated into the self of each member of the tribe from the toddler to the oldest great-great-aunt. They take pleasure from it all. The story floats on music and is carried by music – music made by the tribe for the tribe. It is beautiful. It is joyous and fearful and

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funny and sad. It sings to the mind and the heart and the whole body down to your toes. Nowhere is the unity of mind and body plainer than in music. Nowhere is it plainer that life is with people.

A Few More Words about the Fox Clan The Fox Clan, like all others at that time, were hunter-gatherers and nomads. They lived in east Africa, which had a variety of landscapes – savannah, forest, some rain forest, some desert, and ocean shore – and the Fox Clan was at home in all of them. The Fox Clan consisted of four tribes, each with 200 or so individuals. All the tribes gathered together once a year, near the winter solstice, at the foot of the Great Falls. There was also the Fish Tribe, that was sorta, kinda affiliated with the Fox, but stayed close to the shore, and also had some sort of affiliation with the Owl Clan. Each of the four Fox tribes divided into half a dozen or so rather fluid bands or troupes of about 40 or 50 individuals each. In the preceding story, Og’s band and another Fox band had accidentally arrived at the same place at the same time, and so joined together for a few weeks, making a group of nearly a hundred. Game abounded. The gathering was jolly.

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There were a number of other clans in east Africa – but fewer than you might expect. Homo sapiens had passed through a population bottleneck only a few millennia before. The human population of the entire planet was only 100,000 or so, mostly in Africa. In Africa Homo sapiens was the only human species around. Homo, like its closest relative Pan (bonobos and murderous chimpanzees), can be shockingly violent – but at the time of this story the clans led mostly peaceful lives. Their population was small relative to the abundance of food available to clever nomadic primates – and there were few other clans to fight, even if there had been something to fight about. When they did fight, they celebrated victory with a cannibal feast. They almost never committed murder within the clan – and even then only adolescent and young adult males were involved. The Fox Clan tried to avoid quarrels with other clans – though they would stand their ground if they had to. The Owl Clan, though usually an ally and trading partner, would sometimes try to take advantage of the peaceable Foxes – and then the Foxes would remind them (quite forcefully) of the need for tranquility and trust. The Foxes preferred trade to war. (They did not recognize trade as trade – they considered it to be mutual gift-giving.)

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Some scientists, historians and anthropologists of the 20th century considered pre-historic and present-day hunter-gatherers to be “primitive” and their religions to be “crude” and naively animistic. The scientists saw these half-clothed and often dark-skinned people as not-very bright creatures who were trapped in their superstitions. Nothing could be further from the truth. They were just as intelligent and sophisticated as any scientist. In fact, on average their brains were slightly larger than ours. If anyone was trapped, it was the 20th century scholars who were often as naïve and parochial as could be, and then some. The truth is that the Fox Clan, though it faced dangers and hardships of many kinds, was a rather cheerful lot. And they were clever enough to make a good living without metal, without agriculture, and without permanent settlements. They thought of the sun and the moon and the winds and the animals and even rocks as alive in much the same way that human beings were alive. Of course they knew that some of these beings were immortal – and so were “gods”. But the attitude of the Fox Clan toward the gods was surprisingly casual. They believed that the sun and the moon and the animals, etc., shared the world with people. It was both prudent and friendly to treat these other beings with respect, even affection. Sometimes

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it was necessary to ask them for favors, propitiate them, cajole them – and sometimes it was necessary to rebuke them. The Fox Clan considered these immortal neighbors to be useful, but sometimes dangerous, sometimes amusing, and usually flawed. The gods often bumbled, or misbehaved, or just had other things on their minds besides the welfare of people. And people had other things on their minds, too. So the Fox Clan was respectful of the gods, but not terrified. Neither were they locked into any dogma or orthodoxy. They were not even especially interested in the gods, except when necessary – e.g., when a good supply of game was needed. They understood that their communal stories, while true in many ways, were stories, after all. Only a fool or a four-year-old would think the Moon really had a cave somewhere. And how could you really “hold” words in a leather sack? Stories are meant to tell the truth in some way (a memorable and entertaining way, if possible) – not to be the truth. Also, the stories were not, as we would say, set in stone. They might be changed or new stories invented. This informal attitude toward the gods might strike some as arrogant – but it was not. It was the opposite of arrogant. Like most hunter-gatherer societies, the Fox Clan was rather egalitarian. There were some divisions – such as between men and women

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and between adults and children – but these divisions were not terribly rancorous. There was no privileged class, exactly – but some tribal members, like Og, were rather more esteemed than some other members and were rather more favored by women. Their music, like their hunting and gathering and trading and the raising of their children, usually involved the whole group. There was no private property beyond a few personal possessions. Shamans were coming into vogue in some other clans – supposed “experts” on the gods – but not here. This idyll was interrupted from time to time by conflict with other clans. Also, there were sometimes a few discontented souls who made trouble and were expelled – or who, more often, chose to go off on their own, sometimes alone and sometimes with a small family group. When people encountered these ‘wanderers’ from other clans, they were treated with wary friendliness. Sometimes the wanderers settled in. More often they moved on. The egalitarian/communal style of society broke down completely and irrevocably about 10 or 12,000 years ago with the coming of permanent settlements and agriculture. Society divided into rulers and ruled, priests and laity, “free” men and slaves, and other classes. The bigger gods swallowed the smaller, or killed them, or drove them away – so the gods

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became fewer but more powerful. People became more numerous but weaker. Sometimes the priests found it convenient to have only one God – a bloodthirsty God with a monopoly on power. This God demanded valuable offerings from the people – offerings delivered (believe it or not) to the priests. Priests and rulers were tight with each other. Music divided, too. It was still, in a sense, communal (as, indeed, it is to this day) but not universal. Music was the expression of one class or group or another – sometimes shared with some other group, sometimes not. It became a class marker, something like the accent people spoke with. Music explained the world to this or that group and marked their identity. For instance, “The Horst Wessel Song” was popular among some. Also, music remained part of the religious rituals of all cultures – a useful tool for priests. 6 The few hunter-gather societies left in the world today are on their way to extermination. The hunter-gatherer “life-style” may sound attractive to you – but we cannot return to it.

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Post-Script: An Idiosyncratic Speculation on Vox Humana A long time ago – maybe 50,000 years ago when Og was in his prime, maybe 200,000 years ago when anatomically modern humans appeared, maybe a great deal earlier than that – modern language developed among our ancestors. There is no agreement among scientists and scholars about how and why and when this happened. 7 Nor is there agreement among scientists and scholars about how and why and when modern cognition developed – or even what it is. In my opinion language emerged from the vocalizations of early humans – vocalizations that were neither language nor music but were a variety of sounds that early humans generated for a variety of purposes (starting with the expression of emotions) and which later developed into music and language. Steven Brown, who calls himself a “cognitive neuroscientist and neuroartsologist” (!), named these early vocalizations musilanguage. 8 I am enthusiastic about the idea of musilanguage – but I am compelled to say it sounds too much like “mucilage.” I prefer to use the term Vox Humana – or just Vox.9 Whatever it is called, I take the existence of Vox Humana as a working hypothesis. (I

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discuss Vox Humana in more detail in another paper called “Music as Play”.) I also take it that cognition and Vox were intimately intertwined and evolved together, perhaps through a process of “internal co-evolution” (if that makes sense). In my view there must have been considerable overlap between the neural structures that were the substrate of cognition and the neural structures that were the substrate of Vox Humana. Vox Humana would have been most useful and pleasant to our ancestors. Undoubtedly they needed to soothe their babies with cooing sounds – they needed to shout threats or warnings – they likely exchanged sounds while greeting or grooming each other, or wooing. They likely expressed some emotions with sounds, very useful in social interchanges of all sorts. Vox was surely used for communal activities – sitting around the fire of an evening and making rhythms, or dancing, or otherwise making a bit of noise – all of it useful in binding the group together. To be sure, Vox was short of language – but it was useful in itself – and it turned out to be the main precursor of language or a simpler form of language called proto-language. At some point – though the “point” may have spread over millennia – the brains of our ancestors became capable of creating mental symbols and

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manipulating those symbols. At the same time – or as part of the same process – they found a need to convey information from one to another. When their need for language became acute, our ancestors rummaged through Vox Humana for neural structures that could be pressed into the service of language – such as the ability to make and analyze sounds (which we now study as phonology) and the ability to arrange meaningful sounds into meaningful sequences (which we now study as syntax). And of course they created one or more new neural structures for connecting sound to referent (which we now study as semantics). With language, our ancestors could easily and unambiguously (a) refer to anything in the world (linking arbitrary sounds to referents) and (b) make an infinite number of statements (using the ability to arrange words into patterns, including hierarchical and recursive patterns that were themselves meaningful in a more or less arbitrary way) – statements such as commands, questions, and what are called propositional [i.e., true or false] statements. And most important, they could tell stories. The ability to make referential and other statements and to connect them in causal sequences would greatly enhance the ability to think – that is, language would have enhanced cognition and vice-versa. These two, now linked,

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must have progressed quickly. Note also that since cognition and emotions are tightly intertwined, our ancestors’ statements would, in addition to conveying information, have had at least some emotional flavor or color. Now our ancestors were talkers, talkers, talkers. Where did that leave Vox Humana? Well, it left it more or less where it was before. All of the functions of Vox still had to be performed. Babies still had to be soothed – and you do not need much in the way of semantics and syntax to do that. Intruders still had to be scared off with shouts. Quite a number of important social interchanges still had to be carried out – but without a great need for semantics. To this day a great deal of social exchange uses no words at all [think of spooning lovers – think of people fist-fighting or shooting at each other] or uses words in ways that are formulaic [think of friends greeting or parting]. One of the original uses of Vox Humana would have been the group activities or rituals designed for pleasure and reinforcement of group identity. Emerging language might have been of some use here – but I suspect dancing and singing are better than lecturing when it comes to group activity. Note, too, that music is associated with religious or supernatural rituals is all human societies. Language probably picked up some of the functions of Vox Humana – but some remained. There was no adaptive

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value in discarding Vox Humana. Making non-referential sounds would still have been useful and pleasant.10 In my view, music is a remnant of Vox Humana. I am an admirer of Steven Pinker – but his assertion that music is a mere “spandrel” and “auditory cheesecake” is absurd. Music in the form of Vox Humana is as old as the human genus. Language is the newcomer. When you listen to music you are not necessarily thinking about anything, or anything that can be put into words. Music has no semantic content. Some people have argued that music refers – not to anything in the world – but only to other music.11 I believe that is not correct. It is true that music does refer to, or depend on, other music – and it is true that music makes almost no direct reference to the world and cannot make propositional statements. But does that mean that music is a limited, self-referential system? No. Music can and does evoke emotions like anger and joy that have their own meaning in our lives – a meaning that is independent of the merely auditory. The structured evocation of emotion may be music’s chief business. Consider, too, that much art proceeds without language even today. The words of an opera or a religious ceremony may be in a language we do

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not understand -- but the meaning of the piece is clear to us. And there are art pieces that have no words to begin with – a ballet or a painting. These also have meaning. And (so I contend) does a piece of instrumental music. An art piece without semantic content cannot be translated effectively into words – but the meaning is there in the flow of emotions and thoughts that carries us along. When we hear a piece by Bach, we are thinking Bach’s thoughts and feeling Bach’s feelings – a very good thing, indeed, though it cannot be reduced to words. Unless you are committed to the view (which I am not) that all meaning must be in words, then we can be moved by and learn from the non-semantic arts. Paintings and music and dance cannot be easily translated into words – but likewise words cannot be easily translated into painting or music. Each form of expression has its own value.

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1

Bruno Nettl, The Study of Ethnomusicology (New Edition) (Univeristy of Illinois 2005), page 47. Professor Nettl’s informal list of musical universals is fascinating. He says, for instance, “In the vast majority of cultures most musical utterances tend to descend at the end, but they are not similarly uniform at their beginnings. All cultures make some use of internal repetition and variation in their musical utterances. . . [etc.]” And he notes “the ubiquity of distinct repertories of children’s music.” Id., at pages 46 and 47. The last fact or factoid about children’s music is something that I never thought of but struck me as obvious once I read it. It suggests the roots of music are ancient, indeed – going back, maybe, to the beginning of our genus two million years ago.

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Some of these assertions are in dispute. Even if I could argue with the arguing experts, this would not be the place to do it. Let me point out a few of the many areas where, for the time being, scientists do not agree among themselves. (1) Steven Pinker believes that music did not arise through natural selection but is a mere “spandrel” – an accidental and purposeless by-product of other developments. He calls music “auditory cheesecake.” How the Mind Works (1997, Norton paperback 1999), pages 528 and 534. He is quite, quite wrong. (2) Many scientists reject the notion of group selection altogether. W. Tecumseh Fitch, The Evolution of Language (Cambridge 2010), pages 42 – 44. They are wrong, too. And (3) some scientists believe that other great apes have linguistic and cognitive abilities not entirely different from our own. The issue is, I think, a matter of opinion or taste. Chimpanzees, for instance, do vocalize to each other, but with only a small number of sounds – so communication among themselves must be rather limited. (For samples, see http://www.wjh.harvard.edu/~mnkylab/media/chimpcalls.html.) Some apes have indeed been taught to converse with people, after a fashion. But most of their spontaneous statements are things like “I want a banana,” “Tickle me,” “Give me some fruit.” In other words, as conversationalists they leave a lot to be desired. Evolution of Language, supra, at page 168. Maybe music, not language, is the great difference between human beings and the great apes. My view is this: The difference between human beings and the great apes – and, indeed, the whole rest of Creation – is the ability to tell stories.

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Muriel Rukeyser, “The Speed of Darkness” (1968) found at: http://www.wisdomportal.com/PoetryAnthology2/Rukeyser-SpeedOfDarkness.html

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To me – a retired litigator – the charm of the common law is that it literally consists of stories. As Germanic tribes emerged from prehistory a thousand years ago, their earliest writings were “sagas” that recounted the deeds of ancestors. What these ancestors chiefly did was engage in feuds about dowries and divorces and wergild and the like, and prosecute lawsuits against one another, as in the Njalssaga. Since earliest times to the present day, English and American law has consisted of a huge collection of court rulings in millions of lawsuits spread out over many centuries – sometimes supplemented by statutes which themselves are interpreted by the courts. These court rulings tell the reader

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who the parties are, what the circumstances were, what happened, who said what to whom, what happened next, and so on. The ruling then says what rules the judge is going to apply, and announces a judgment for this or that party. The ruling is quite literally a story. It then becomes yet another part of the enormous structure of the common law. To find “the law,” you must explore these old stories and find the ones that pertain (you think) to the present situation. To argue a case to a judge or jury you must (in addition to providing evidence) tell a story of your own in the form of a brief or jury argument, hoping your story is more compelling and closer to the evidence than your opponent’s is. It also helps if your story reinforces the judge’s personal and political beliefs or commitments – but it sometimes takes a shrewd lawyer to do that. 5

It is an odd thing, but even though the Fox Clan took pride in its music and poetry, it also esteemed silence. Elders often rebuked children for talking too much. They had no fewer than 16 separate words for “blabbermouth”. The Fox Clan believed that speech came from two different birds – the clever magpie and the gentle thrush – two voices flowing together – words for things and tone of voice for feelings. These people may have believed in the magic of foxes – but they were a very long way from stupid.

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Nettl, supra at note 1.

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W. Tecumseh Fitch, The Evolution of Language (Cambridge University Press 2010) is a good survey of the field for a lay audience.

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Steven Brown, “The ‘Musilanguage’ model of music evolution” in The Origins of Music, Wallin, Marker and Brown, eds. (MIT Press 2000), pages 271 – 300. I comment on the term in an unpublished letter to Tecumseh Smith, August 1, 2011. [To be rewritten some day as an essay called “Music as Play”.]

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See unpublished letter to Tecumseh Smith, supra at note 8.

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Let me also point out that much of our daily life is wordless. As we stroll along, or are absorbed in our work, or are eating our dinner, we are not necessarily using words – not even for cognition (assuming cognition is the right word for what happens as we sit on the dock of the bay). Not everything in life has to go through the great meat-grinder of language.

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The famous Jerry Fodor conceived of mental modules – largely self-contained neural structures that perform particular functions in the brain. Apparently Fodor “agrees that music processing requires. . . a [vertical] module. By accepting this idea, one accepts that musical reasoning is unique and not dependent upon or influenced by other forms of reasoning and problem solving. That is, musical patterns are ‘about’ other musical patterns. . . They do not share the cognitive processes involved in non-musical forms of reasoning. Instead, music cognition is understood to be an encapsulated, domain-specific enterprise limited to processing tonal-rhythmic information.” Fiske, Music and Mind

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(Edwin Mellen Press 1990), page 20. See also, I. Peretz and Max Coltheart, “Modularity of music processing”, Nature Neuroscience, July 2003, page 688. I cannot do battle with the great Professor Fodor. But I do disagree with him on this point. My notion of the pleasure of music requires that some musical and cognitive structures be shared. In my view, cognition and Vox Humana were intertwined for millennia and developed many neural structures together. See unpublished letter to Tecumseh Smith, supra at note 8. Vox Humana today (now called Music) continues its history of broad and numerous connections with cognition and the emotions. If there is a “music module”, it must be massively interconnected with other modules. So I say. My idea is subject to disproof. The contest will be settled when neurologists have instruments powerful enough to see and follow many individual neurons at once.

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