DIFFERING EVOCATIONS OF BUDDHISM IN TWO WORKS BY ROBERT MORRIS AND JOHN CAGE ROB HASKINS HE VARIOUS INTELLECTUAL PURSUITS of Robert Morris are—like his music—wide-ranging and complex. A glance at the index in a recent collection of his essays shows the names of a number of scholars working in philosophy, mathematics, and religion.1 And indeed Morris ’s own scholarly writings have explored a broad range of topics, from the conceptualization of interactions between pitch and pitch class and various types of compositional spaces, to the analysis of South Indian music and the phenomenology of musical time.2 Much of his work, however varied it may be, speaks to a singular interest that has surfaced a number of times in both his writing and music: the core concepts in various traditions of Buddhism and their relevance to much contemporary music. For Morris, Buddhism encourages listeners to cultivate undivided attention as music unfolds T 346 Perspectives of New Music from moment to moment; the attending listener notes events as they pass, but is not caught by particular feelings or thoughts, nor does she indulge the familiar temptation to reify the music as a semi-rigid object whose trajectory—expressive, structural, or rhetorical—remains more or less the same from one performance to the next. Indeed, Morris proposes that, through sheer attention, a listener can develop new ways of perceiving time, not only to “perceive a thing-in-itself but to become one with it.”3 Any mention of Buddhism and twentieth-century music inevitably recalls the compositions of John Cage, who famously attributed much of his work from 1950 until his death in 1992 to his encounter with the Japanese philosopher Daisetz T. Suzuki. Cage’s well-known compositional methods employed various kinds of chance operations through which he believed he could remove, or at least seriously attenuate, his own authorial agency and, in so doing, liberate sounds so that they could be appreciated simply as sounds and not as the intellectual byproducts of compositional theory and practice. Cage’s approach could not, on the surface, be more different from Morris’s: much of Morris’s music pioneers new approaches to twelve-tone array composition, first theorized by Milton Babbitt. In contrasting his own Buddhist-informed aesthetics with Cage’s, however, Morris points to an essential difference between them. Cage’s use of chance procedures, Morris maintains, primarily are meant to challenge the autonomy of a reified musical work: Cage’s techniques guarantee the absence of “a syntax that would undercut the perception of the sounds in and of themselves.”4 However, Cage’s frequent admonitions to listen to sounds for their own sake may or may not imply the heightened quality of attention that Morris emphasizes in some of his writings. From the preceding, one might surmise that Morris’s exploration of Buddhist ideas might apply principally to the act of audition. And it is true that few composers or theorists have contributed as much as he has to the understanding of the listener’s experience of post-tonal music as opposed to its theory or practice.5 In particular, Morris has pointed out that the complete, undivided attention he considers ideal can be short-circuited by one’s past knowledge (for instance, once we know how a fugue goes, we may pay less attention to the particular sounding flow of a specific fugue). However, if we can develop the ability to attend to the character of musical sounds in their particularity, before assigning some label to them—to appreciate, as Morris says, the “suchness” of the sounds—then our minds are liberated to perceive kinds of music that convey the sensibility of flux or confusion, and the addition of knowledge and skill enhances our Differing Evocations of Buddhism 347 experience rather than forecloses it.6 A number of his works have also consciously evoked Buddhist ideas in their titles, for instance the three solo piano pieces Wabi (1996), Sabi (1998), and Yügen (1998) (the names refer to the concepts of transience, imperfection, and mystery), and the more modest piano solo Still (2000), whose title evokes not only the abstract expressionist painting of Clyfford Still but...