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Music, Criticism, and the Challenge of HistoryShaping Modern Musical Thought in Late Nineteenth Century Vienna$

Kevin Karnes

Print publication date: 2008

Print ISBN-13: 9780195368666

Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2008

DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780195368666.001.0001

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Music, Criticism, and the Challenge of History

Kevin C. Karnes

Oxford University Press

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter offers a substantial reevaluation of Hanslick's work by situating it at the center of late 19th-century debates about the future of the discipline he helped to found. Hired by the University of Vienna in 1856 to advance an empiricist movement in art-historical study inspired by the work of the philosopher Johann Friedrich Herbart, Hanslick veered sharply from the Herbartian path within a decade of his appointment. Giving up his attempts to expand his formalist treatise On the Musically Beautiful into a systematic aesthetics in the 1860s, he determined to dedicate himself to the study of cultural history in the post-Hegelian tradition of August Wilhelm Ambros, as evidenced in his second book, History of Concert Life in Vienna (1869). The chapter concludes by arguing that it was Hanslick's abandonment of Herbartianism, rather than his early formalism, that defined his reputation among university colleagues during the final quarter of the century.

Keywords:   Ambros, cultural history, Hanslick, Hegel, Herbart, History of Concert Life in Vienna, On the Musically Beautiful, University of Vienna

If we wish to understand the radical transformations in musical thought that accompanied the institutionalization of musicology in the second half of the nineteenth century, we must begin at the start of that period, with a book that sparked a revolution in the learned discourse on the art. “Epoch‐making,” was the term used by the philosopher Robert Zimmermann in 1885 to describe Hanslick's On the Musically Beautiful (1854), the first polemical tract on music aesthetics to reach far beyond the walls of academe, and the first such book to suggest that neither the language of feeling nor the arguments of metaphysics can account for music's meaning and beauty.1 In the century and a half that has followed its publication, the arguments advanced in Hanslick's book have been widely regarded as constituting the writer's definitive contribution to the discipline. They have been subjected to extensive critique and dissection, with the verdicts of most commentators corroborating Joseph Kerman's evaluation of nearly thirty years ago. Hanslick, it is generally held, was a formalist, who boldly prepared the philosophical ground for a century of structuralist analysis and positivist historical inquiries to come.2 As we will see in the first part of this book, however, such a picture of Hanslick's legacy does not correspond to the views of his work held by many of his late‐century peers. Indeed, from the perspective of his colleagues at the University of Vienna, where he taught from 1856 until 1895, Hanslick's contributions to his nascent discipline were, as a whole, disappointing.

(p.22) To be sure, many of the arguments advanced in On the Musically Beautiful were both formalist and revolutionary. But we must not forget that this was only the first of more than a dozen books that Hanslick published over the course of his career. And though this fact has been all but forgotten in the century that has passed since his death, the pioneering formalist publicly rejected the tenets of his epoch‐making treatise little more than a decade after its publication. In the 1860s, shortly after he had been tenured by the university on the strength of the empiricist positions elaborated in his 1854 volume, Hanslick abandoned his attempts to write the systematic aesthetics for which he had called at the start of his career. Instead, he turned attention in a new and very different direction: toward the study of cultural history and, eventually, toward an ambitious attempt to pioneer a new approach to historical writing that placed the subjective impressions characteristic of journalistic criticism at the center of the historical narrative.3

But although Hanslick spent his final decades searching for alternatives to positivist scholarship, there was, in the end, a significant dose of irony in his efforts. For in turning his back on the empiricist movement in Austrian academe, he sparked a chain of responses that did more to solidify the place of positivist scholarship in the academy than his formalist treatise ever did. Among those responses must be counted that most famous of positivist disciplinary manifestos, “The Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” penned in 1885 by the young Guido Adler, a onetime student of Hanslick himself. Those responses culminated a decade later, when the university named Adler to Hanslick's newly vacated post and opened a scientifically oriented Institute for Music History (Musikhistorisches Institut) under Adler's direction. Before taking a close look at Hanslick's forgotten, critical historiography of music, we must examine the institutional structures and ideological currents that fostered his empiricist beginnings and rejected his subjectivist conclusions. To this end, there is perhaps no better place to start than at the end of Hanslick's story, with his retirement from the university in 1895 and with the discussions that ensued among his colleagues about his ambivalent, uncertain legacy.


When Hanslick retired from the University of Vienna after occupying, for nearly forty years, the institution's first and only professorship in the history and aesthetics of music (Geschichte und Aesthetik der Tonkunst), he unwittingly granted his colleagues a historic opportunity to reconsider the question of how the study of music should be undertaken at the institution. To be sure, the esteem accorded to Hanslick's feuilletons published in Vienna's Neue freie Presse and other dailies was beyond the doubt of even his most committed detractors. And On the Musically (p.23) Beautiful was among the most widely read aesthetic treatises ever published in German‐speaking Europe. But notes taken by the philosopher Friedrich Jodl during meetings held by the committee charged with naming his successor reveal that the bulk of Hanslick's academic work had left many of his colleagues deeply unsatisfied. As Jodl remarked in a note of October 27, 1896, Hanslick “is not,” in spite of his academic title, “simultaneously a writer on aesthetics [Aesthetiker] and a scholar [Gelehrter], but rather the former only.”4 In the minutes of a committee meeting held four days later, Jodl elaborated upon this point:

Inherent in the lectureship granted to Hanslick “on the History and Aesthetics of Music,” there seems to be a combination of demands that, considering the present state of knowledge, is not entirely impossible to satisfy, but is satisfied only rarely and with difficulty. This is not a reproach against any particular individual. But we must take note of the fact that, as a result of the changed scientific climate, just as with Prof. Hanslick the critic and writer on aesthetic subjects overshadowed the historian, with most younger talents the historian overshadows the writer on aesthetics. Without question, the university, as an abode of learned research, has above all the right and the need to assure that the study of music history is undertaken by the faculty according to the same methods as those used in every other historical discipline—that is, that the researcher will have the capacity to penetrate the sources on his own and to interpret the monuments of earlier musical epochs. This assumes not only a great deal of paleographical knowledge, since our present‐day system of notation is only a very recent invention, but also, since the music of every century is constructed according to more strict laws than any other art form, a comprehensive and penetrating familiarity with those laws—i.e., with music theory and its transformations through the centuries.5

(p.24) Immediately striking in Jodl's statements is an overlapping pair of opposed terms: scholar versus writer on aesthetics, and writer on aesthetics versus historian. To take the latter opposition first, Hanslick was, obviously enough, an accomplished writer on aesthetics. But to say that he was not also a historian seems odd. After all, On the Musically Beautiful was his only original statement on aesthetic topics, and he had gone on to publish over a dozen volumes that were, to his mind at least, historical studies: the two volumes of his History of Concert Life in Vienna (1869–70), the nine volumes of his Modern Opera (1875–1900), and a handful of other books.6 However, Jodl's other pair of opposed terms, of writer on aesthetics (Aesthetiker) versus scholar (Gelehrter), clarifies his meaning. For as Carl Dahlhaus has observed, this latter opposition was of central concern to many historians working in a variety of fields throughout much of the nineteenth century.7 While Hanslick's studies from the 1860s onward indeed considered historical topics, Jodl charged, the approach that Hanslick took to those topics was more like a writer on aesthetic questions than a true “scholar” of music's history. In framing his conception of Hanslick's legacy in these polemical terms, Jodl made clear that he saw more at stake in his committee's work than the evaluation of individual candidates vying for Hanslick's post. Indeed, Jodl and his colleagues faced nothing less than a choice between two vastly different paradigms of music research that had coalesced during the preceding decades.

With respect to work in the emergent field of musicology, the opposition of Aesthetiker versus Gelehrter received a seminal treatment in a lecture of 1883 by one of the leading music historians of the age, Philipp Spitta. And significantly, the relevance of Spitta's work to the committee's deliberations did not go unnoticed by contemporary observers. One such observer, Eusebius Mandyczewski—librarian and archivist at Vienna's Society of Friends of Music (Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde), an aspirant to Hanslick's recently vacated post, and a careful follower of the committee's progress—noted as much in a letter penned to Brahms in the summer of 1895. “Since work in the field of music history has, under Spitta's magnificent influence, seen an upswing and an expansion that was almost unimaginable twenty‐five years ago,” Mandyczewski noted, “today one expects a completely different kind of knowledge from someone who occupies a pulpit like the one on which Hanslick stood.”8 Spitta's lecture on the issue weighed by Jodl and his colleagues, entitled (p.25) “Art and the Study of Art” (“Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst”), was published three years prior to the beginning of the committee's deliberations.9

Having completed the first volume of his monumental biography of J. S. Bach in 1873 and cofounded the Leipzig Bach Society shortly thereafter, Spitta was recruited two years later to assume the first‐ever professorship of music history and musicology (Musikgeschichte und Musikwissenschaft) at the University of Berlin. Spitta detested the prospect of life in that city. But he was attracted to the institution by its promise of support for the advancement of his emergent discipline within an academic environment that had already shown great enthusiasm for the application of philological and scientifically inspired modes of research to the study of history, literature, and the visual arts.10 It was this concern, how best to secure for the study of music a permanent and respected place within the academic community, that motivated Spitta's writing of “Art and the Study of Art.” If his goals for his field were ever to be realized, Spitta argued in his lecture, one would first need to learn to distinguish between two distinct and ultimately incompatible approaches to the study of the arts. The first, which he called the historical (geschichtliche) and the scientific (wissenschaftliche), was that which characterized the work of the scholar, the Gelehrter. The second, in Spitta's view, was an approach rightly embraced only by practicing artists themselves: the aesthetic.

To judge a work of art from the aesthetic standpoint, Spitta argued, is to consider solely “the finished, self‐contained work itself.” For one inclined to such an orientation, “the degree to which the creation of a work was shaped by the individuality of its creator, by his age, by his nation, or by any other kind of external circumstances might be of interest to a certain extent.” However, “such considerations will never be of decisive importance to him.” Instead, the attention of such an observer “is always directed toward….the most beautiful and the highest, toward that which lifts life upward beyond the stars.” Grounding his judgments in metaphysical, presumably Hegelian assumptions about the nature of art and its significance, the aesthetically inclined individual regards the artwork as a manifestation of “the idea” (das Idee). He assesses its effectiveness and worth accordingly, by striving to ascertain whether it embodies the idea “wholly or in part.” “That,” for Spitta, “is what determines the worth of an artwork” for the Aesthetiker.11

To consider a work of art from the historical or scientific perspective, on the other hand, is to endeavor to describe the objects of one's studies in as objective a (p.26) manner as possible and to eschew all attempts at aesthetic judgment in favor of the simple pleasures of empirical discovery. Spitta left no doubt as to where his own sympathies lay. “The man of science” (der Mann der Wissenschaft), he proclaimed, “recognizes no absolute and final goal toward which his work advances. Our knowledge is incomplete, and will always remain so.” For Spitta, “the essence of the life of a scholar is simply the search for truth. He is fascinated by the part, not the whole—by that which is certain rather than that which is uncertain. For this reason he longs to know not what the artwork and its creator (the artistic personality) are, but how they came to be.”12

To Spitta's mind, it was of the utmost importance that the scholar or Gelehrter take care to approach his work without lapsing, consciously or otherwise, into the mindset of the Aesthetiker. The scholar must endeavor to practice his craft by employing exclusively the “established methods” of the discipline, “acquired through extensive practice founded upon solid, positive knowledge” (bestimmten positiven Wissens). Above all else, the scholar must strive never to allow his emotional or sensual experience of an artwork to cloud his perception of it. “An energetic personality”—an artist or anyone else invested in questions of aesthetic worth—“will always be in danger of unconsciously introducing itself, a foreign element, into the artwork under consideration.”13 In order to avoid this situation, Spitta argued, scholars “must ignore beauty in all its abundance, as it can find no place in their system.”14 In Spitta's view, a person who seeks to understand and record the history of art must do everything within his power to bar his subjective impressions from intruding upon his investigations. He must strive to erase all traces of his personality from his writing, and he must overcome his inclinations to cast judgments that cannot be verified via empirical observations. In short, Spitta argued, the historian of art must endeavor to present its history, in Leopold von Ranke's famous yet perplexing words, “as it actually was” (wie es eigentlich gewesen).15

(p.27) While the dozen volumes that Hanslick published from 1870 through the end of the century did indeed consider historical subjects, they were decidedly not, in Jodl's view, the work of a Gelehrter as Spitta had described it. In those volumes, Hanslick had not striven to separate himself from the objects of his research. In the manner of Spitta's derided Aesthetiker, Hanslick made no attempt to disguise the fact that his historical narratives were peppered throughout with subjective impressions of the value and meaning of individual artworks. With this situation in mind, it is important to recall that Spitta's arguments, no less than Jodl's, were disciplinary, even political in nature. In raising them, the pioneering historian responded to a question broached two decades earlier by his fellow historian of music, Friedrich Chrysander: how to bestow academic respectability upon the study of an art that was widely deemed “too vague to be subjected to the strictest demands of science” (Wissenschaft).16 In Spitta's view, the doubts expressed by late‐century academics about the merits of music study were not prompted by music's “vagueness” but by the lack of methodological rigor with which writers on the art had typically approached their work. Historians and scholars of music, Spitta held, had simply failed to behave like their colleagues working in other disciplines. Rather than adopting an empirical, objective stance toward the objects of their studies, they had approached their material like artists, or like writers still in thrall to the idealist philosophies and speculative modes of inquiry that had long ago ceded their once‐central place in German academe to the natural sciences and scientifically inspired modes of research. While students of the visual arts had made great strides explaining problems of style, transmission, and perception by way of empirical observation and inductive modes of investigation, scholars of music still occupied themselves with such unscientific pursuits as speculative aesthetics and hermeneutic analysis. What his colleagues needed to do, Spitta felt, was to focus upon the description rather than the evaluation of artworks and events. They needed to approach their work in a methodical fashion, to engage in painstaking study, and to strive to separate themselves, as observing subjects, from the objects of their research. Picking up on Spitta's arguments in his “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology” of 1885, the young Guido Adler went one step further in his own attempt to delimit the boundaries of acceptable music scholarship. In his now‐famous tabular representation of the musicological field, Adler exiled aesthetic theorizing (Aesthetik der Tonkunst) to the discipline's “systematic” (Systematisch) branch (Figure 1.1). In doing so, he signaled its genetic separation from what he considered the other, more essential side of music research, the “historical” (Historisch).17



Figure I.I. Guido Adler's tabular survey of Musikwissenschaft, from his “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” 1885 (Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft,” 16–17).

(p.29) To Jodl and his colleagues at the University of Vienna, pondering the future of music study at the turn of the twentieth century, Hanslick's work, however he had defined it, epitomized the working methods of the hopelessly unscientific Aesthetiker. Adler, in contrast, seemed to them a Gelehrter through and through. In the spring of 1898, after a protracted search by Jodl's committee, Adler was named Hanslick's successor. And with this, Jodl and his colleagues believed, an era had come to a close. No longer would the university provide a forum for debate about such vague aesthetic categories as the “the musically beautiful.” With the establishment of the university's Institute for Music History under Adler's supervision in the fall of that year, the institution seemed newly poised to become a major center for empirical, scientifically oriented music research. Finally, Jodl and his colleagues hoped, the University of Vienna would play a leading role in directing the course of music study in a modern, scientific age.

But as we will see, the story behind the institutional revolution signaled by Adler's appointment was not as simple as one might suppose. For Hanslick, roundly dismissed as insufficiently scholarly at the time of his retirement in 1895, had begun his career as Austria's leading advocate for a scientifically inspired approach to music study. Having considered the reception of Hanslick's work at the end of his long career, we may now return to its beginning—to revisit the promise of his early work as regarded by his imperial employers and to pinpoint the ways in which they felt that that promise was unfulfilled.


When Hanslick declared, in the second edition of On the Musically Beautiful (1858), that if the search for musical understanding “is not to be wholly illusory, it will need to approach the methods of the natural sciences,” he had a disciplinary point to prove.18 Two years earlier, he had been appointed unpaid lecturer or Privatdozent at the University of Vienna, where he was charged with offering the institution's first‐ever courses in music appreciation. Before he was awarded that post, he had earned his living as a clerk at the Imperial Ministries of Finance and Education and by writing reviews for Die Presse, one of Vienna's leading daily papers. Reflecting upon his life before academe in his autobiography of 1894, he recalled spending his nights at the Imperial Library, poring over volume after volume on music aesthetics. Over the course of his self‐directed studies, he became aware that nearly all who had previously written on the subject had “posited the nature of music to consist in the ‘feelings’ aroused by it.” Finding such positions curious at first and then increasingly troubling, he became deeply agitated by the (p.30) popular enthusiasm for Wagner's music and aesthetic theorizing that exploded shortly after mid‐century. Finally, he took up his pen. “At that time,” Hanslick wrote, “there arose noisily the first enthusiastic voices trumpeting Wagner's operas and Liszt's program symphonies. I allowed my own ideas about the subject to develop and mature within me until they took shape in the well‐known pamphlet, On the Musically Beautiful.”19 Thus, simply, he recounted the writing of his soon‐to‐be‐famous book, whose first edition appeared in 1854.

In On the Musically Beautiful, Hanslick laid out a program for listening to and discussing music that stood in deliberate contradistinction to the idealist modes of musical inquiry that reigned throughout most of mid‐century German‐speaking Europe. Taking aim at a broad array of writers—from Hegel to Wagner—whom he posited to represent prevailing attitudes toward his subject in his society, Hanslick urged his readers to focus their critical attention not upon any feelings aroused by hearing a work or upon any extra‐musical ideas that it might conjure in the imagination but upon what he called, in a notoriously enigmatic turn of phrase, its “sounding form in motion.” The latter, he argued, typically understood to denote the formal parameters of a composition, constituted music's “sole and exclusive content and object.”20 Hanslick pleaded for a reasoned, dispassionate discourse on the art that focused upon the empirical description of musical structures rather than abstract philosophizing about music's supposedly inherent qualities. And he implored his contemporaries to avoid confusing their subjective responses to the musics they heard for universally valid critical judgments.21

At the time he was drafting On the Musically Beautiful, filled with frustration over Wagner‐inspired developments, Hanslick's work at the Ministry of Education afforded him a unique perspective on another aspect of Austrian culture in the midst of rapid change. In the wake of the uprisings of students, workers, and intellectuals that had swept through the Empire in 1848, the government (p.31) of the newly enthroned Emperor Franz Joseph had embarked upon a program of radical reform in the Habsburg Empire's leading institution of learning.22 Beginning in 1849, the Ministry of Education, under the direction of the philosopher Franz Exner and the Count Leo Thun‐Hohenstein, undertook to wean the university's philosophical faculty from centuries of control by the Catholic Church. Enlisting the help of one of Hanslick's childhood friends, the philosopher Robert Zimmermann, Exner and Thun‐Hohenstein endeavored to refashion the faculty's curriculum, encompassing both the liberal arts and the natural sciences, in such a way as to rival the great universities of Berlin, Heidelberg, and Leipzig. They sought, however, to revise this curriculum along distinctly Austrian lines. Significantly, all three of these figures were devoted followers of the Bohemian philosopher Bernard Bolzano (1781–1848), who espoused a peculiar, Leibniz‐inspired brand of anti‐idealist metaphysics that devalued the experience of the perceiving subject and defined as the central goal of philosophical inquiry the search for permanent, objective truths. Long before the revolutionary year, Bolzano had become engulfed in political scandal, and as a result his work could be admired only from afar. But Exner, Zimmermann, and Thun‐Hohenstein found a surrogate in the Saxon philosopher Johann Friedrich Herbart (1776–1841). Herbart shared Bolzano's dedication to the quest for absolute objectivity, and he preached a vision of static social harmony that readily found official support in a society where Hegelian idealism was widely associated with the political ideologies that had fueled the revolutions of 1848 and 1789.

From his post at the Ministry of Education, Hanslick could sense that the climate at the university might be amenable to an unprecedented addition to its curriculum: a course in music appreciation. Moreover, he felt that he himself would be the ideal person to teach it. After all, he already wrote about music for Die Presse. And the university had, in 1852, made its first‐ever hire of an art historian, Rudolf Eitelberger.23 But Hanslick also knew that his proposal would not be approved if it did not appear to be a natural fit with the broader plans of (p.32) Exner and Thun‐Hohenstein. Eitelberger, at the time of his appointment, had professed himself a Herbartian.24 And Thun‐Hohenstein's petition to Emperor Franz Joseph on behalf of Eitelberger's candidacy had made clear the Count's belief that Eitelberger would contribute to the “Herbartization” of a field still in thrall to speculative traditions of aesthetic inquiry. “It is a matter of urgent necessity,” Thun‐Hohenstein wrote, “that the study of aesthetics be set upon a new foundation—namely, the rules of theory—and that this be developed from out of a penetrating study of the monuments of art themselves. The evaluation of these monuments must not follow, as has previously been the case, from the application of a theory arrived at by following an abstract path.”25 What Thun‐Hohenstein called for, in Gustav Fechner's terms of two decades later, was an ästhetik von unten, an aesthetics “from below.” No longer, the count argued, should scholars of art allow themselves to be guided in their work by a preconceived theory of artistic meaning and beauty—by an ästhetik von oben, one imposed “from above.” Henceforth, and with Eitelberger's guidance, they must begin their studies by examining, in an empirical manner, the objectively verifiable characteristics inherent and unique to individual works of art.26

In Thun‐Hohenstein's view, and in Eitelberger's as well, such an approach to the study of art had the potential to distinguish the work of Austrian scholars from the idealist traditions of art‐historical inquiry that still reigned under the Hegelian Friedrich Vischer and his colleagues in the North.27 When Hanslick drafted his own letter of application for a university post in 1856, he took pains to align himself with Thun‐Hohenstein's program.28 He argued that the establishment of a lectureship in music history and aesthetics was a logical next step after the recent founding of such a chair in the visual arts. And he assured the ministry that, in his own scholarship, “I keep my distance from discussions of a purely metaphysical sort. I stand closest to the philosophical system of Herbart.”29 (p.33) In the first edition of On the Musically Beautiful, and without any reference to Herbart himself, Hanslick had staked out a position clearly in line with Thun‐Hohenstein's Herbartianism. In his letter of application to the university, in an obvious reference to the Habilitationsschrift or book that would qualify him for the position he sought, he made clear that a revision of that book, the “imperfection” of which he readily acknowledged, was already well under way. His appointment was quickly approved.

Once he had embarked upon an academic career in the autumn of 1856, Hanslick immediately undertook a modest revision of his 1854 treatise. As Dahlhaus has observed (he has recently been joined by others), the bulk of Hanslick's revisions consisted of altering or removing those statements that had, in the first edition of his volume, most clearly revealed the idealist underpinnings of many of its central arguments.30 He deleted his earlier reflections about music as the “sounding image of the great motions of the universe,” about musical works revealing to the listener “the infinite in works of human talent,” and about art as a “reflection of the great laws of the world.”31 He also revised his statements about the need to model the study of music after the empirical and inductive “methods of the natural sciences,” already present in the first edition of his treatise, into a virtual credo.32 But as Christoph Landerer has recently suggested, we have good reason to doubt the sincerity of many of Hanslick's gestures. First, in spite of its author's assertions to the contrary, On the Musically Beautiful was, at its heart, a deeply idealist work. Second, Hanslick's reference to Herbart in his letter of application was his first mention of the philosopher's name in any of his surviving writings. And third, statements like Hanslick's about “the methods of the natural sciences” were ubiquitous in Austrian texts of the period. In addition to making clear one's (p.34) ostensible allegiance to the Herbartian movement in art‐historical scholarship, they also—and no less importantly—signaled one's employability in the culture of post‐1848 Austrian academe.33

After Hanslick was promoted to the salaried, tenured rank of associate (außerordentlicher) professor in 1861, he set to work upon the project at which he had hinted in his letter of application: to expand the arguments advanced in On the Musically Beautiful into a systematic, Herbartian aesthetics of music. Soon after he embarked upon that task, however, he grew disillusioned in his work. As we will see in chapter 2, he quickly became frustrated in his efforts to identify objective criteria by which musical beauty can be judged. In the mid‐1860s, feeling worn out by the exercise, he veered sharply from his original path, disavowing the Herbartian movement and turning instead to the study of cultural history. In 1869, Hanslick completed his second book‐length study, History of Concert Life in Vienna, in a strongly Hegelian vein. And almost immediately after that, he made another, more radical turn. In his third book, From the Concert Hall (1870), he elaborated a novel and self‐consciously subjective history of Viennese musical life whose documentary sources consisted entirely of his own previously published critical essays. Thus he arrived at the project that would occupy him until the end of his career.34

With Hanslick's abandonment of the Herbartian path, Thun‐Hohenstein's hope that the university's new chair in music would become a bastion of scientifically inspired research faded. Indeed, the center of gravity with regard to the empirical study of musical phenomena seemed to shift outside the faculty of music altogether when the physicist Ernst Mach took up the cause of Hermann von Helmholtz's psychoacoustic theories of music perception in 1863. Declaring his intention to elucidate for the public “Helmholtz's theory of music, which grounds the laws of music in the simple laws of physics and psychology and ties together acoustics, music theory, and aesthetics,” Mach all but announced his intention to seize from Hanslick's grasp the vanguard of the Herbartian movement.35 Soon, the pioneering work of Mach and Helmholtz would be complemented by the psychoacoustic research of Gustav Fechner in Leipzig and Carl Stumpf in Prague. Given Hanslick's continuing failure to produce a “scientific” study of his own, these developments could only have made matters worse in Thun‐Hohenstein's view.

(p.35) To be sure, Hanslick's failure to complete his promised Herbartian aesthetics was seen by some as a sign of more spectacular failings: of the University of Vienna and the Ministry of Education to foster a revolution in music study comparable to that already well underway in other fields of humanistic inquiry. But Hanslick's work as a philosopher, limited though it was, was wildly successful in other ways. For as Rudolf Schäfke was first to observe almost a century ago, the simple language and lively style of On the Musically Beautiful succeeded in drawing legions of readers from diverse backgrounds into aesthetic debate.36 Inspired by the frequent reprinting of Hanslick's text, generations of writers, from August Wilhelm Ambros in the 1850s to Heinrich Schenker in the 1890s, sought to make their mark upon the musical world by challenging Hanslick's formalist assertions in aesthetic tracts of their own.37 Moreover, despite—or, in many cases, because of—the fact that Hanslick had implored his readers to proceed empirically and “from below” in their investigations, many of his detractors framed their rebuttals in avowedly speculative, even subjective terms. This too, ironically, became an enduring part of Hanslick's intellectual legacy.

One such response to Hanslick's volume, particularly revealing of the disciplinary conundrums posed by this polemical trend, came from Friedrich von Hausegger, a philosopher and music critic who taught aesthetics at the University of Graz. In a volume entitled Music as Expression (Die Musik als Ausdruck, 1885), Hausegger confronted one of the cardinal concerns of contemporary aesthetic inquiry: the source and nature of the listener's sense of musical coherence. Like many writers of his generation, Hausegger was inspired in his work by his doubts about Hanslick's formalist arguments.38 Significantly, two decades before Hausegger published his book, Helmholtz, in his On the Sensations of Tone (1863), had identified by way of empirical observation and described with mathematical precision the “tonal relationship” that provides an essential, psychoacoustical basis for our sense of musical coherence.39 Hausegger, however, was as unconcerned with harmony as he was with empirical investigations generally. Writing in the second edition of his book, published in 1887, he argued that the coherence of a work owes its origins to a phenomenon he called the impulse: a (p.36) psychological stimulus that provides the impetus for artistic creativity. “Unity of form,” Hausegger explained, “is perceived as an organizational scheme that can be traced back to a single, indivisible, dynamic impulse. That is, a pattern is apparent in the collection of tones that we can recognize as the product of a single stimulus.”40 As listeners, he argued, we recognize this property of a composition when it arouses in our own minds and bodies the physiological symptoms of its composer's emotional state at the moment of its genesis. This sense of unity, Hausegger explained, was something intuitively felt but ultimately impervious to empirical description or analysis. He wrote:

It does not suffice that the parts of the form appear to the examining eye as a symmetrical construction. Just as we place higher demands on the perfectly correct melody, if it should appear to us as an artistic product, we also demand from musical form that it satisfy more than our sense for symmetry and harmonic ordering. We want to feel the unity and beauty of form. In the sympathetic vibrations of our body it becomes clear to us that the form has sprung from similar bodily vibrations, which have arisen as the necessary result of an arousing impulse, and thus as an inclination toward expressive motion.41

In contrast to Helmholtz, Hausegger made no attempt to support his assertions with objectively verifiable data. Indeed, he provides no indication that his theory is founded upon empirical research of even the most informal kind. At its foundations, Hausegger's theory is literally subjective; it is, in the words of Andrew Bowie, “grounded in ourselves.”42

Hausegger was not, however, interested in the problem of coherence merely for the sake of philosophical exercise. Rather, he published Music as Expression in order to elaborate, in general and abstract terms, theories about music's structure and meaning that might be relevant to the study of real‐world musical problems. When confronted with the lapses of coherence that he detected in Bruckner's symphonies, for instance, he invoked his theory of the impulse in order to account for his impressions and to defend the value of the composer's work in spite of such occasional problems. Writing in the Grazer Tagblatt in 1895, he observed:

If [Bruckner] appears, in the midst of his massive themes, suddenly overcome by their power—as it were, abandoning himself to their flow—so the master gains control over them—contrary to his genius—in contrapuntal or developmental (p.37) passages. Then, at times, the unity of form is lost beneath the artful folding of the gown. It is not as if his artistic skill overpowers the impulse entirely. Indeed, the impulse is always felt. That is what makes Bruckner a great symphonist. But his artistic skill does get the upper hand at times.43

With Bruckner, Hausegger argued, the unconscious functioning of the creative impulse assures the coherence of most of his work. Only when the composer attempts, consciously and unwisely, to direct the spontaneous outpourings of his imagination does the unity of his music suffer.

Significantly, Hausegger's statements on Bruckner and his symphonies touched upon a number of issues that also figured prominently in the scholarly investigations of Adler, Spitta, and their scientifically inspired colleagues: questions about musical form, the compositional process, and a host of biographical issues. And it was in this fact, from the perspective of the latter group, that the danger of work such as Hausegger's resided. In an age that had seen the dominant methodologies of research in almost every other academic discipline shift from the philosophical to the scientific, they wondered, could the study of music continue to be dominated by subjective investigations and metaphysical philosophizing? Would music study ever be taken seriously within the academic community if it remained invested in speculative aesthetics and subjective criticism, those very modes of musical inquiry that Hanslick's work had, ironically, encouraged? The answer, Adler reasoned, was no.

As Spitta and Adler were well aware, neither Hausegger's work nor that of his critic‐cum‐aesthetic‐philosopher peers had engendered much respect for music scholarship among the physicists, chemists, and other natural scientists who had risen to the top of German academe over the course of the preceding half‐century. Surely, Adler felt, there must be a way to approach the study of music's history, structure, style, and meaning that would approximate the methodological rigor foreseen by the Herbartians and that had been exemplified in Helmholtz's investigations of harmony.44 If the study of music, in all of its aspects, was ever to attain a respected place in the universities of German‐speaking Europe, its practitioners would have to take seriously the challenge that Hanslick set forth in 1858 but had abandoned shortly thereafter. The field as a whole, Adler reasoned, would have to become a science.


Although Hanslick's break from the Herbartian movement was complete by 1870, the reforms underway at the University of Vienna that had led to his appointment continued unabated in their course. In 1874, the university's philosophical faculty was joined by Franz Brentano, a bold, even audacious anti‐idealist who preached to his students—Adler among them—that “the true method of philosophy is nothing other than that of the natural sciences.”45 One year earlier, another empiricist had been appointed to the faculty of art history: Moriz (also Moritz) Thausing, an Eitelberger student who sought to codify in lectures and writings what his mentor had been teaching for years.46 In the seminal lecture Thausing delivered to inaugurate his appointment, he strove to cast off, once and for all, all associations that art‐historical study might still seem to have with speculative aesthetics. “It is with great injustice that one heaps these two fields of study [Wissenschaften] together,” he argued, “since they are completely different with respect to their methods and the problems they consider.” In the published version of his lecture, entitled “The Status of Art History as a Science” (“Die Stellung der Kunstgeschichte als Wissenschaft”), Thausing explained:

Art history has nothing in common with aesthetics as a philosophical discipline, or at least nothing more than political history has with moral philosophy, physiology has with psychology, or natural history [Naturkunde] has with metaphysics. That is, it supplies aesthetics with the materials required [by the latter] for philosophizing. But whatever comes of this has no bearing whatsoever upon the study of art history. In turn, art history is absolutely forbidden from reaching over into the territory of philosophy and appropriating from it any kind of system, and also from making use of such a system in its presentations. Art history has nothing whatsoever to do with deduction, with speculation. Its charge is to trade not in aesthetic judgments but in historical facts, which can serve as material for inductive research…. The question, for instance, about whether a painting is beautiful is, for art history, unjustified. And a question about such an issue as whether Raphael or Michelangelo, Rembrandt or Rubens achieved greater perfection in their work is an art‐historical absurdity. For me, the best history of art is one in which the word beautiful never appears.47

In Thausing's lecture, there is a great deal that resonates with Spitta's “Art and the Study of Art” considered at the beginning of this chapter. Most importantly, both authors sought to draw an unbridgeable line of separation between “historical” (p.39) and “aesthetic” approaches to art‐historical research. And there is also much in Thausing's essay that anticipates Adler's “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology.” For the art historian as for the musicologist, the question of his discipline's academic legitimacy hinged upon his colleagues' embrace of the spirit of “the most real [realsten] of our sciences, the natural sciences.”48 And this, as both writers repeatedly emphasized, meant adopting empirical and inductive approaches to the study of one's material. Indeed, it is possible that Adler drew more than a little inspiration from Thausing's polemic as he sat down to record his own scientifically inspired vision of the future of his discipline. In the opening paragraph of the published version of Thausing's inaugural lecture, which appeared two years before Adler's essay, Thausing declared his intention to outline the “scope, method, and problems of art‐historical research” (Umfang, Methode und Probleme der kunstgeschichtlichen Forschung). Toward his lecture's end, he, like Adler, turned to a consideration of his discipline's “goals” (Ziele).49

By the time he began drafting his manifesto in the early 1880s, Adler had become painfully aware that although Thausing's notion of a scientific approach to the study of the visual arts had been widely embraced by contemporary academics, the idea of an analogous “science of music” was still widely regarded as laughable. We have already considered Wagner's joking response to such a proposition in the mid‐1870s, as recorded in Adler's memoirs.50 A decade later, when Adler moved to Prague to assume a professorship in music history at that city's German University, he found that the very idea of a science of music was mocked by none other than his dean. In his autobiography, Adler recalled that (p.40) the dean, himself an art historian, greeted the young professor with the dismissive quip, “What shall the piano‐player do for us?”51 Adler's appointment in Prague, however, had come not at the urging of the dean but at the behest of Stumpf and Mach, both of whom, as natural scientists, occupied influential positions on the university's faculty and were themselves engaged in empirical research into a variety of musical phenomena.52 Moreover, by the time he began lecturing at his new university, Adler already felt that he had a good idea about how the sorry state in which the musicological field had languished might, with his help, be improved.

Adler's plan, as he had begun to frame it over the course of the preceding years, was to do for music study precisely what Eitelberger and Thausing had done for the study of the visual arts. He would polemicize tirelessly on behalf of a scientific approach to music research and do whatever he could to galvanize those members of the musicological community who shared his views and concerns. His first step was to found a periodical that would serve as a mouthpiece for his colleagues and himself.53 In Spitta, whose “Art and the Study of Art” echoed Thausing's inaugural lecture in many of its central points, he found an eager cofounder for his journal. He found his other collaborator in Friedrich Chrysander, an independent scholar from the Hanoverian town of Bergedorf who had attempted, single‐handedly and with little success, to launch a similar periodical in the 1860s. Writing in the inaugural issue of his short‐lived Jahrbücher für musikalische Wissenschaft (Yearbooks for the Science of Music) in 1863, Chrysander observed:

If doubts have been expressed about whether the study of music [musikalische Wissenschaft] will ever attain the profundity and thoroughness attained by the study of the visual arts, that view may well be confirmed, even if unconsciously, by the various difficulties it faces. We understand this misjudgment quite well. Nonetheless, we shall permit ourselves to reveal as a misconception the primary reason generally adduced: that music is in essence far too vague to be subjected to the strictest demands of science [Wissenschaft].54

In answer to skeptics, Chrysander declared: “We use the word SCIENCE in the strictest and fullest sense. We are publishing these yearbooks with the title (p.41) for the science of music’ [für musikalische Wissenschaft] in order to make it clear that it is the territory of science that we are entering, that we submit to the strictest claims of science, and that we intend to serve it, to the best of our powers, on the widest possible scale.”55 When the first issue of Adler's cooperatively edited journal, the Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft (Quarterly Journal of Musicology), appeared in January 1885, he, Spitta, and Chrysander announced in their prefatory essay that the new periodical would “take up again the experiment first attempted by the Jahrbücher für musikalische Wissenschaft.” “The single purpose” of the Vierteljahrsschrift, they announced, would be “to serve science.”56

In his lead article for the Vierteljahrsschrift, “The Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” Adler laid out his vision for the future development of his discipline. And although he did not address directly the question of musicology's institutional legitimacy in the published version of the essay, a manuscript draft reveals that this was indeed among his primary concerns when he wrote it.57 In the spirit of Thausing's inaugural lecture and Thun‐Hohenstein's Herbartian declarations, Adler argued that the scholarly study of music cannot begin with philosophical speculation but must proceed from a careful, objective, and empirical look at documentary sources—at individual musical works preserved in their unique and various ways.58 To this end, he outlined a four‐stage procedure, proceeding “from below,” by which such source studies should be undertaken. First, the historian must make sure that he or she understands the notational system in which a work has been preserved.59 Second, he or she must describe its formal construction: its rhythmic, harmonic, and polyphonic structures; the relationship between music and text; and its orchestration. Third, he or she must make comparative observations about the form, style, and genre of the work in relation (p.42) to others that appear to be constructed similarly. Finally, the scholar may attempt to assess the effectiveness of the work according to aesthetic criteria. This latter stage, Adler explained, was that aspect of the scholar's task that had all too often been considered the “the only element, the Alpha and Omega of critical analysis.” In his view, however, it was just one of four stages of the musicologist's charge, to be attempted only after an empirical, objective analysis of the musical artifact was complete.60 Together, Adler argued, these four stages represent, “in general outline, the objectives of musical research. From these, the henceforth firmly established, systematic procedures of this science will be constructed.”61

Echoing Thausing's remarks about the inductive mode of investigation as the cornerstone of scientific method, Adler elaborated upon the relationship between music study and the methods of the natural sciences. Identifying scholars of music with historians of the visual arts and charging both with uncovering the “laws” that determine the manifest character of their objects of study (the very activity that lay at the heart of Wilhelm Windelband's “nomothetic” understanding of Naturwissenschaft),62 he explained:

In order to complete his primary task, namely the study of artistic laws of different periods and their organic connection and development, the art historian will make use of the same methods as the natural scientist [Naturforscher]: in particular, inductive methods. From a number of examples he will separate what each has in common with the others from that which is unique, and he will make use of this abstract, giving preference to some features while leaving others to the side. The making of hypotheses is certainly permitted. To give further reasons for this would require a special essay, but the most important point regarding this issue consists in the analogy between the methods of art study and those of the natural sciences.63

In the spirit of Fechner's “aesthetics from below,” Adler argued that scholars of music must proceed methodically in their research, from observations of particulars through increasing levels of abstraction, until the “central point” of their (p.43) endeavor is reached: “the study of artistic laws [Kunstgesetze] of different ages.”64 And above all else, he declared, his discipline “must restrict itself to focusing upon the obvious task that lies before it”: achieving “mastery” of its methods.65 In laying out his program for musicological study in his “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” Adler attempted nothing less than to respond to the challenge posed to his discipline by Hanslick a quarter‐century earlier. He sought to define a mode of music research that approached, as nearly as possible, the “methods of the natural sciences.” In doing so, he hoped to correct the wrong turn that his discipline had taken with Hanslick's abandonment of the Herbartian path, and to redirect the course of music study in the Habsburg Empire and Europe as a whole. And in doing that, he sought to position himself to attain a goal he had coveted since his earliest years as a university lecturer: to succeed his former teacher in what seemed to him a university chair held for far too long.66

As important as Adler's essay was in making plain his disciplinary ambitions, his position was further clarified, as Kurt Blaukopf has pointed out, by the critique to which the disciplinary status quo—represented in the work and person of Hanslick—was subjected in a number of essays chosen for publication in the first volume of the Vierteljahrsschrift.67 In a review of On the Musically Beautiful published in the Vierteljahrsschrift in 1885, Robert Zimmermann remarked that “if one were to lodge a single complaint” about the treatise, “it would be that its author has thus far failed to found, in a systematic way, an organic science of aesthetics upon his own principles.”68 And in another Vierteljahrsschrift essay from that year, Carl Stumpf, whose support for Adler had been crucial to the latter's appointment in Prague, likewise chided Hanslick for abandoning the challenge that he had posed to his colleagues at midcentury: to relinquish speculative approaches to music study in favor (p.44) of scientifically oriented ones. “Unfortunately,” Stumpf wrote, “Hanslick himself has not once attempted to complete his task”—to outline a course of research “from below”—“within the boundaries that he himself identified as appropriate.”69

In the decade that followed the launch of Adler's Vierteljahrsschrift in 1885, the University of Vienna emerged as one of Europe's leading centers for empirical, source‐based studies of the visual arts. With the hiring of Alois Riegl in 1889, one even began to speak of a “Viennese School” of art‐historical research.70 In sharp contrast, this same decade saw the center of gravity for music research shift decisively outside of the Austrian capital. While Hanslick occupied himself with an ambitious attempt to dissolve the boundaries between historical research and critical reporting, empirical, inductive, and source‐based approaches to music study were taking hold throughout much of the rest of the German‐speaking world. In Leipzig, members of the Bach Society (Bach‐Gesellschaft), dedicated to publishing critical editions of all of J. S. Bach's works, were unwittingly answering Thun‐Hohenstein's call to historians to focus upon empirical studies of the “monuments” of art. In Hanover, Chrysander single‐handedly launched a similar project dedicated to the work of George Frederic Handel. And the German University in Prague, which boasted Adler and Mach among its faculty, had emerged as the uncontested center of cutting‐edge, scientifically oriented music research in the Austro‐Hungarian Empire.

In the spring of 1895, however, change was in the air. With Hanslick's retirement at the age of sixty‐nine, the University of Vienna was finally freed to change its course. That May, Ernst Mach moved from Prague to Vienna, and by the following year he had made his way onto the committee charged with naming Hanslick's successor. In 1896, the ethicist Friedrich Jodl likewise moved to Vienna from Prague and was immediately appointed the committee's recording secretary.71 Convinced that they recognized what ailed the faculty of music at their new institution, Jodl and Mach also believed that they knew how the situation might be remedied and who would be the right person to do it. With the hiring of Adler in 1898, the migration of Prague's musicological minds to the Austrian capital was complete, and the transformation of the university's curriculum officially got under way. In the field of Musikwissenschaft, it seemed, a new age had finally dawned.

In a pair of pencil sketches made in the Austrian resort town of St. Gilgen during the summer of 1889, the Viennese painter Julius Schmid, on a holiday visit (p.45) with Adler, recorded an image of the historian and his mentor that would have resonated with many in their day.72 In the first of these sketches, preserved in Adler's estate (Figure 1.2a), a youthful Adler, head held high, strides forward confidently, as if on a mission of historical import and inevitable, necessary outcome. The only obstacle in his path is a tottering, aged Hanslick, eyes downcast and seemingly oblivious to the train of history about to run him over. In Schmid's second sketch, the moment of overcoming has arrived (Figure 1.2b). Adler literally overtakes his former teacher, leapfrogging Hanslick and, in the process, pushing him to the ground. The caption of this caricature reads “Guido and his predecessor” (Guido und sein Vorgänger).73 Though still nearly a decade away at the time when these sketches were completed, the changing of Vienna's musicological guard already seemed, to the painter and his musicologist friend, a virtual fait accompli.

Recounting the story of the rise of positivism in Austrian academe from the perspective of the present day, it would be easy to dismiss Hanslick and his legacy as Schmid, Jodl, and many others did. But I would argue that to regard


Figures 1.2A, 1.2B Julius Schmid, pencil drawings of Eduard Hanslick and Guido Adler, 1889, captioned “Guido and his predecessor.” Courtesy of the Hargrett Rare Book and Manuscript Library/University of Georgia Libraries.


Figure 1.2B

(p.47) Hanslick as an old‐fashioned, even sentimental foil to Adler and his scientifically inspired contemporaries would be neither fair nor accurate. For as we will see, Hanslick became, in the final quarter of the century, a powerful, indeed prescient antagonist of the intellectual movement he had helped to pioneer. When he distanced himself from Herbartianism and the attempt to transform musicology into a science, Hanslick did not retire from disciplinary debate, and he did not put down his pen. He spent the remaining decades of his life publishing volume after volume—a dozen in all—of what he would eventually call a “living history” (lebendige Geschichte) of Viennese musical life. In those volumes, he strove not only to describe the events that comprised the historical unfolding of musical life in his contemporary society but also to recount the impressions made by those events upon the mind of the listener. In doing that, he engaged in a provocative critique of the positivist movement and issued a prescient diagnosis of its risks. And most disturbingly, from the perspective of his detractors, Hanslick issued this new challenge to his discipline from within the halls of the university itself.


(1.) Robert Zimmermann, “Ed. Hanslick: Vom Musikalisch‐Schönen,” Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft 1 (1885), 251.

(2.) See Joseph Kerman, “How We Got into Analysis, and How to Get Out,” Critical Inquiry 7, no. 2 (1980), 311–31, repr. in Write All These Down: Essays on Music (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1994), 12–32. Kerman's arguments are echoed and elaborated in, for instance, Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music, 6 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 3:441–42; Daniel K. L. Chua, Absolute Music and the Construction of Meaning, New Perspectives in Music History and Criticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 224–34; and Fred Everett Maus, “Hanslick's Animism,” Journal of Musicology 10, no. 3 (1992), 273–92.

(3.) On the practice and character of journalistic criticism in Hanslick's Vienna, see especially Sandra McColl, Music Criticism in Vienna, 18961897: Critically Moving Forms, Oxford Monographs on Music (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996); and Leon Botstein, “Music and Its Public: Habits of Listening and the Crisis of Musical Modernism in Vienna, 1870–1914” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1985), esp. 863–926. This topic will be considered in detail in chapter 2.

(4.) Cited in Theophil Antonicek, “Musikwissenschaft in Wien zur Zeit Guido Adlers,” in Studien zur Musikwissenschaft 37 (1986), 176. Further accounts of the committee's deliberations are provided in Gabriele Johanna Eder, “Eduard Hanslick und Guido Adler. Aspekte einer menschlichen und wissenschaftlichen Beziehung,” in Kunst, Kunsttheorie und Kunstforschung im wissenschaftlichen Diskurs. In memoriam Kurt Blaukopf (19141999), ed. Martin Seiler and Friedrich Stadler, Wissenschaftliche Weltauffassung und Kunst, no. 5 (Vienna: ÖBV/HPT, 2000), 118–21; and Eder, Alexius Meinong und Guido Adler. Eine Fruendschaft in Briefen, Studien zur österreichischen Philosophie, no. 24 (Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi, 1995), 16–21.

(5.) Cited in Antonicek, “Musikwissenschaft in Wien,” 176–77: “…daß in dem s. Z. an Prof. Hanslick erteilten Lehrauftrage ‘für Geschichte und Aesthetik der Tonkunst’ Forderungen verknüpft erscheinen, welche in dieser Vereinigung durch die heutige Entwicklung der Wissenschaft nicht gerade unmöglich, aber wenigstens überaus selten und schwierig geworden sind. Nicht als ein Vorwurf gegen Personen, sondern als ein Ergebnis veränderter wissenschaftler Strömungen soll es ausgesprochen werden, daß ebenso, wie in Prof. Hanslick der Aesthetiker und Kritiker den Historiker, umgekehrt bei den meisten jüngeren Kräften der Historiker den Aesthetiker überwiegt. Unzweifelhaft hat die Universität, als eine Stätte gelehrter Forschung, ein erster Linie das Recht und das Bedürfnis, die Geschichte der Musik in der Weise u. mit den Methoden im Lehrkörper vertreten zu sehen, wie jede andere historische Disciplin, dh. daß der Studierende in den Stande gesetzt werde, selbständig in die Quellen einzudringen u. die Monumente älterer Musikperioden zu interpretiren. Dies setzt nicht nur eine Summe von paläographischen Kenntnissen voraus, da ja unsere heutige Notenschrift einer sehr jungen Vergangenheit angehort, sondern zugleich, da die Musik aller Jahrhunderte auf einer strengeren Gesetzmäßigkeit aufgebaut ist, als irgendeine andere Kunst, eine vollkommene und eindringende Vertrautheit mit dieser Gesetzmäßigkeit dh. mit der musikalischen Theorie und ihren Wandlungen durch die Jahrhunderte.”

(6.) Eduard Hanslick, Geschichte des Concertwesens in Wien, 2 vols. (Vienna: Wilhelm Braumüller, 1869–70); Die moderne Oper, 9 vols. (Berlin: A. Hofmann & Co. and Allgemeiner Verein für Deutsche Litteratur, 1875–1900); Suite. Aufsätze über Musik und Musiker (Vienna and Teschen: Karl Prochaska, 1884); and Concerte, Componisten und Virtuosen der letzten fünfzehn Jahre. 18701885 (Berlin: Allgemeiner Verein für Deutsche Litteratur, 1886). A complete list of Hanslick's book‐length publications is provided in Table 2.1.

(7.) The history and historiographical implications of this opposition are a central concern of Dahlhaus's Foundations of Music History, trans. J. Bradford Robinson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). See also Dahlhaus, Esthetics of Music, trans. William W. Austin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 69–73; and Rudolf Heinz, Geschichtsbegriff und Wissenschaftscharakter der Musikwissenschaft in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Philosophische Aspekte einer Wissenschaftsentwicklung, Studien zur Musikgeschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts, no. 11 (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1968), 14–42.

(8.) Cited in Antonicek, “Musikwissenschaft in Wien,” 173.

(9.) Philipp Spitta, “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst,” in Zur Musik. Sechzehn Aufsätze (Berlin: Gebrüder Paetel, 1892), 3–14.

(10.) Spitta's colleague, Heinrich Bellermann, and his predecessor, Adolf Bernhard Marx, had been professors of, simply, Musik. For a detailed account of Spitta's life and work during this period, see Wolfgang Sandberger, Das Bach‐Bild Philipp Spittas. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Bach‐Rezeption im 19. Jahrhundert, Beihefte zum Archiv für Musikwissenschaft, no. 39 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1997), 27–56.

(11.) Spitta, “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst,” 4–5: “Das Urtheil, welches ein Künstler über ein Kunstwerk hat, wird entscheidend bedingt nur durch die fertige, in sich abgeschlossene Ereshcinung. Er kennt nur absolute Maßstäbe. Inwieweit der Schöpfer eines Werkes durch seine Individualität, seine Zeit, seine Nation, durch allerhand äußere Umstände gebunden war, das mag ihn gelegentlich mehr oder weniger interessiren. Durchschlagende Bedeutung mißt er solchen Erwägungen niemals bei. … Sein Augenmerk richtet sich auf jene ‘bildende Kraft, die,’ wie es in Mignons Requiem heißt, ‘das Schönste, das Höchste, hinauf über die Sterne das Leben trägt.’ Die Idee, welche in der Phantasie des Schaffenden aufgegangen ist, soll von ihm zur sinnlichen Erscheinung gebracht werden. Ob dies ganz, oder bis zu welchem Grade es gelungen ist, darnach richtet sich für ihn der Werth des Kunstwerks.”

(12.) Spitta, “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst,” 5 (emphasis added): “Der Mann der Wissenschaft kennt kein absolutes Endziel seiner Arbeit. Unser Wissen ist Stückwerk und wird es immerdar bleiben. … Der Inhalt des Lebens eines Gelehrten ist nur das Suchen nach Wahrheit. Ihn fesselt der Theil, nicht das Ganze, das Bedingte und nicht das Unbedingte. So will er auch gegenüber dem Kunstwerke und seinem Schöpfer, der Künstlerpersönlichkeit, nicht sowohl wissen, was sie sind, als wie sie geworden sind.” As Dahlhaus's work suggests, Spitta's essay was, with respect to these arguments, representative of a broader trend. “In the latter part of the nineteenth century,” Dahlhaus writes, “following the collapse of Hegelianism, the ‘being’ of a work was regularly consigned to aesthetics and its ‘becoming’ to history” (Dahlhaus, Foundations, 127).

(13.) Spitta, “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst,” 7: “Ein energisch ausgeprägte Individualität wird stets in Gefahr sein, sich selbst unbewußt einen fremden Zug in das vorhandene Kunstwerk hineinzutragen.”

(14.) Spitta, “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst,” 9: “Gelehrte…müssen eine Fülle von Schönheit ignoriren, weil sie in ihr System sich nicht einfügen läßt.”

(15.) Cited in R. G. Collingwood, The Idea of History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1946), 130.

(16.) Friedrich Chrysander, “Vorwort und Einleitung,” Jahrbücher für musikalische Wissenschaft 1 (1863), 10; trans. in Bojan Bujić, ed., Music in European Thought, 1851–1912, Cambridge Readings in the Literature of Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 345–46.

(17.) Guido Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft,” Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft 1 (1885), 16–17. The outline is reprinted, with translation, in Bujić, Music in European Thought, 354–55. Adler cites Spitta's “Kunstwissenschaft und Kunst” as inspiration for his work on pages 19–20 of his essay (353 in Bujić's volume). The secondary status of the systematic branch is made clear in Adler's prose description of his outline, where he observes that the systematic branch “depends” or “is founded upon” the historical branch: “Der zweite Haupttheil der Musikwissenschaft ist der systematische: er stützt sich auf den historischen Theil” (11). Gabriele Eder has plausibly suggested that Adler's division of his field into historical and systematic branches might have been influenced by discussions with his friend, the philosopher Alexius Meinong; see Eder, Alexius Meinong und Guido Adler, 37–41.

(18.) Hanslick/Strauß, 1:22. For an alternate translation, see Hanslick/Payzant, 1. Historical and ideological contexts for Hanslick's statement are considered in the introduction to the present volume.

(19.) Hanslick, Aus meinem Leben, 2 vols. (Berlin: Allgemeiner Verein für Deutsche Litteratur, 1894), 1:236–37.

(20.) Hanslick/Strauß, 1:75; Hanslick/Payzant, 29: “Tönend bewegte Formen sind einzig und allein Inhalt und Gegenstand der Musik.” The translation I have adopted here is from Mark Evan Bonds, Music as Thought: Listening to the Symphony in the Age of Beethoven (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 107. For helpful discussions of Hanslick's complicated statements on music's form and content, see also Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, trans. Roger Lustig (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 108–13; and Dahlhaus, “Eduard Hanslick und der musikalische Formbegriff,” Die Musikforschung 20, no. 2 (1967), 145–53.

(21.) Hanslick's arguments remain deeply controversial with respect to both their author's intentions and their implications for music study, and the literature on his treatise is vast. For critiques of Hanslick's essential argument, see those studies cited in footnote 2 above. For more sympathetic readings of Hanslick's assertions, see, for instance, Geoffrey Payzant, Hanslick on the Musically Beautiful: Sixteen Lectures on the Musical Aesthetics of Eduard Hanslick (Christchurch, New Zealand: Cybereditions, 2002); Robert W. Hall, “Hanslick and Musical Expressiveness,” Journal of Aesthetic Education 29, no. 3 (1995), 85–92; Christoph Khittl, “Eduard Hanslicks Verhältnis zur Ästhetik,” in Biographische Beiträge zum Musikleben Wiens im 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Friedrich C. Heller, Studien zur Musikgeschichte Österreichs, no. 1 (Vienna: Verband der wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaften Österreichs, 1992), 81–109; Peter Kivy, “What Was Hanslick Denying?” Journal of Musicology 8, no. 1 (1990), 3–18; and Payzant, “Hanslick on Music as Product of Feeling,” Journal of Musicological Research 9, nos. 2–3 (1989), 133–45.

(22.) The historical and philosophical contexts of these reforms are elaborated in Kurt Blaukopf, Pioniere empiristischer Musikforschung. Österreich und Böhmen als Wiege der modernen Kunstsoziologie, Wissenschaftliche Weltauffassung und Kunst, no. 1 (Vienna: Hölder‐Pichler‐Tempsky, 1995); and William M. Johnston, The Austrian Mind: An Intellectual and Social History 1848–1938 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1972), esp. 274–96. A recent examination of the political background is provided in Karl Vocelka, Geschichte Österreichs. Kultur – Gesellschaft – Politik (Munich: Wilhelm Hayne, 2000), 198–220. My discussion in this paragraph is based upon these sources. For further consideration of Hanslick's relationship to this reform movement, see Christoph Landerer, “Ästhetik von oben? Ästhetik von unten? Objektivität und ‘naturwissenschaftliche’ Methode in Eduard Hanslicks Musikästhetik,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 61, no. 1 (2004): 38–53; Landerer, “Eduard Hanslicks Ästhetikprogramm und die Österreichische Philosophie der Jahrhundertmitte,” Österreichische Musikzeitschrift 54, no. 9 (1999), 6–20; and Payzant, “Eduard Hanslick and Robert Zimmermann,” in Hanslick on the Musically Beautiful, 129–42. A valuable consideration of this movement in relation to Austrian art‐historical study is provided in Michael Gubser, Time's Visible Surface: Alois Riegl and the Discourse on History and Temporality in Fin‐de‐Siècle Vienna, Kritik: German Literary Theory and Cultural Studies (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2006).

(23.) On Eitelberger's appointment, see Blaukopf, Pioniere, 105–8; Gubser, Time's Visible Surface, 106–7; and Martin Seiler, “Empiristische Motive im Denken und Forschen der Wiener Schule der Kunstgeschichte,” in Kunst, Kunsttheorie und Kunstforschung, ed. Seiler and Stadler, 53–58.

(24.) Seiler, “Empiristische Motive,” 55.

(25.) Cited in Seiler, “Empiristische Motive,” 54: “Dringend erforderlich sei daher, das Studium der Ästhetik ‘auf neue Grundlagen zu stellen, nämlich die Regeln der Theorie und einer eindringlichen Betrachtung der Denkmale der Künste selbst zu entwickeln, und nicht wie bisher eine auf abstraktem Wege gewonnene Theorie zur Würdigung der Kunstdenkmale anzuwenden.’”

(26.) Fechner coined these terms in his Vorschule der Aesthetik (1876), after which they quickly found their way into discussions of aesthetic texts extending back to Hanslick's work of the 1850s. See, for instance, Arthur Seidl, “Zur Aesthetik der Tonkunst,” Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17 (1886), 273–75, 287–88, 303–4, 318–21. For a recent consideration of Hanslick's ideas in light of such discussions, see Christoph Landerer, “Ästhetik von oben.” On Fechner's use of these terms, see Bujić, Music in European Thought, 275–76.

(27.) For more on Vischer's work, and for a selection from his Aesthetik oder Wissenschaft des Schönen (1857), see Bujić, Music in European Thought, 82–89. For Eitelberger's views on Vischer, see Blaukopf, Pioniere, 105–6.

(28.) The text of Hanslick's letter is transcribed in Hanslick/Strauß, 2:143–45. Further discussion of this document is provided in Blaukopf, Pioniere, 94–95; Payzant, “Eduard Hanslick and Robert Zimmermann,” 136–37; and Khittl, “Eduard Hanslicks Verhältnis zur Ästhetik,” 90.

(29.) Hanslick/Strauß, 2:145 (italics in the original): “Mein Prinzip, die aesthetischen Grundsätze einer Kunst aus deren eigenster, spezifischer Natur zu gewinnen, hält mich von rein metaphysischen Erörterungen fast gänzlich fern. Am nächsten stehe ich jedoch dem philosophischen System Herbarts.”

(30.) Dahlhaus, The Idea of Absolute Music, esp. 27–30 and 108–13; Dahlhaus, “Eduard Hanslick und der musikalische Formbegriff,” 145–53; and Dahlhaus, Esthetics, esp. 52–57. Other studies that examine the idealist underpinnings of On the Musically Beautiful include Landerer, “Ästhetik von oben”; Mark Evan Bonds, Music as Thought, 108–11; Mark Burford, “Hanslick's Idealist Meterialism,” 19th‐Century Music 30, no. 2 (2006), 166–81; Yoshida Hiroshi, “Zur Idee der musikalischen Öffentlichkeit: Eine erneuerte Interpretation der Musikästhetik Eduard Hanslicks,” Aesthetics [Japan] 10 (2002), 87–94; and Bonds, “Idealism and the Aesthetics of Instrumental Music at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 50, nos. 2–3 (1997), 387–420.

(31.) These passages are found in Hanslick/Strauß, 1:75 and 171. They are translated in Bonds, Music as Thought, 109–10; and Bonds, “Idealism,” 414–15.

(32.) The change in Hanslick's tone is evident, for instance, in his prefatory statements about “the methods of the natural sciences.” In the first edition of his treatise (1854), Hanslick implored his readers “to make way for an upswing of science [Wissenschaft] in the treatment of aesthetic questions as well,” and he predicted that, “in time,” one would see, in music research, both “a powerful influence and the upper hand granted to an orientation directed toward the inductive method of the natural sciences rather than metaphysical principles.” In the second edition (1858), he asserted bluntly that “the longing for knowledge that is as objective as possible, which is, in our time, felt in all areas of inquiry, must necessarily make itself felt in the investigation of beauty as well.” And he insisted that if the significance of such inquiry is not be “wholly illusory, it will need to approach the methods of the natural sciences.” For the original texts, see Hanslick/Strauß, 1:21, 22.

(33.) Landerer, “Ästhetik von oben.” As Payzant has observed with respect to this issue, “if one sought a teaching position in Austria, philosophical or otherwise, one had to be, or profess to be, a Herbartian” (Payzant, “Eduard Hanslick and Robert Zimmermann,” 131).

(34.) It should be noted that although Hanslick published ten editions of Vom Musikalisch‐Schönen during his lifetime, he made few substantial changes to the text after the publication of the second in 1858. The text of all ten editions is provided in Hanslick/Strauß, vol. 1.

(35.) Ernst Mach, Einleitung in die Helmholtz'sche Musiktheorie. Populär für Musiker dargestellt (1866); cited in Blaukopf, Pioniere, 112. A photographic reproduction of an advertisement for Mach's University of Vienna lectures on Helmholtz's work from the 1863–64 academic year can be seen in John T. Blackmore, Ernst Mach: His Work, Life, and Influence (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1972), first photographic plate after page 202.

(36.) Rudolf Schäfke, Eduard Hanslick und die Musikästhetik (Leipzig: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1922), 3–4.

(37.) The most thorough consideration of contemporary responses to Hanslick's work remains Schäfke, Eduard Hanslick, esp. 32–47.

(38.) Friedrich von Hausegger, Die Musik als Ausdruck, 2d ed. (Vienna: Carl Konegen, 1887). On Hausegger's life and work, see Joachim Danz, Die objektlose Kunst. Untersuchungen zur Musikästhetik Friedrich von Hauseggers, Kölner Beitrag zur Musikforschung, no. 118 (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse, 1981). On Hausegger's book as a response to Hanslick, see also Schäfke, Eduard Hanslick, 40–42. Further consideration of the relationship between the aesthetic positions of these figures is provided in Stephen McClatchie, Analyzing Wagner's Operas: Alfred Lorenz and German Nationalist Ideology, Eastman Studies in Music (Rochester: University of Rochester Press,1998), 34–41.

(39.) Hermann von Helmholtz, On the Sensations of Tone as a Physiological Basis for the Theory of Music, trans. Alexander J. Ellis (New York: Dover, 1954). A summary of Helmholtz's arguments regarding the “tonal relationship” is provided on pages 246–49. Its aesthetic implications are considered on pages 362–71; the term itself appears on page 364.

(40.) Hausegger, Die Musik als Ausdruck, 197: “Die Einheitlichkeit der Form bekundet sich in einer Eintheilung, welche sich auf einen einheitlichen Bewegungsimpuls zurückführen läßt, so daß sich in der Gruppirung der Tonmassen eine Gliederung erkennbar macht, welche sich als Ausfluß eines Anstoßes kennzeichnet.”

(41.) Hausegger, Die Musik als Ausdruck, 197–98: “Es genügt nicht, daß die Theile der Form dem prüfenden Auge als ein symmetrischer Aufbau erscheinen. Genau so, wie wir an die vollkommen correcte Melodie noch eine höhere Anforderung stellen, wenn sie als künstlerisches Product wirken soll, verlangen wir auch von der musikalischen Form, daß sie mehr vermöge, als unsere Sinne für Symmetrie und harmonische Anordnung zu befriedigen. Die einheit und Schönheit der Form wollen wir empfinden. In den Mitschwingungen unseres Körpers wird es unserer Empfindung klar, daß die Form ähnlichen Körperschwingungen entsprungen ist, welche sich als die nothwendige Folge eines erregenden Impulses, demnach als eine Inclination zu Ausdrucksbewegungen ergeben haben.”

(42.) Andrew Bowie, Aesthetics and Subjectivity from Kant to Nietzsche, 2d ed. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003), 2.

(43.) Hausegger, “Anton Bruckner,” Grazer Tagblatt (February 8, 1895); repr. in Gedanken eines Schauenden. Gesammelte Aufsätze, ed. Siegmund von Hausegger (Munich: F. Bruckmann, 1903), 243: “Erscheint er aber in seinen wuchtigen Themen unmittelbar erfasst von ihrer Gewalt, sich gleichsam willenlos hingebend ihrem Flusse, so gewinnt in den kontrapunktischen Durchführungen nicht selten an Stelle des Genius der Meister Herrschaft über sie. Die Einheit der Gestalt verliert sich dann zuweilen hinter der kunstreichen Faltung des Gewandes. Nicht als ob die Kunstfertigkeit den Impuls dann ersetzen würde; der Impuls ist stets zu spüren, und dieser ist es ja, welcher Bruckner zum grossen Symphoniker macht. Die Kunstfertigkeit übermeistert ihn aber zuweilen.”

(44.) Adler made this point explicitly in a pair of unpublished drafts of his “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” possibly delivered as lectures. See his “Das Studium der Musikwissenschaft” (undated manuscript), 7; and “Das Studium der Musikwissenschaft auf der Universitaet” (dated, apparently in Adler's hand, “?1881 1885”), 9. Both are preserved in the Guido Adler Papers (MS 769; hereafter cited GAP) of the Hargrett Rare Book and Manuscript Library/University of Georgia Libraries, box 1, folder 16. Later in life, Adler recorded his disparaging views of Hausegger's work in letters to his friend Alexius Meinong; see Eder, Alexius Meinong und Guido Adler, 31–32 and 157.

(45.) Blaukopf, Pioniere, 119: “…die wahre Methode der Philosophie keine andere als die der Naturwissenschaften sei.” On Brentano's work and influence at the university, see pages 118–21 and 140–42 of Blaukopf's study; and Johnston, The Austrian Mind, 290–307.

(46.) For a valuable consideration of Thausing, a neglected figure, see Gubser, Time's Visible Surface, chapter 6.

(47.) Moriz Thausing, “Die Stellung der Kunstgeschichte als Wissenschaft,” in Wiener Kunstbriefe (Leipzig: E. A. Seemann, 1884), 5; also cited in Seiler, “Empiristische Motive,” 62: “Sehr mit Unrecht wirft man diese beiden Wissenschaften zusammen, denn dieselben sind in Methode und Problem von einander völlig verschieden. Mit der Aesthetik als philosophischer Disciplin hat die Kunstgeschichte nichts gemein, oder doch nicht mehr, als etwa die politische Geschichte mit der Moralphilosophie, die Physiologie mit der Psychologie, die Naturkunde mit der Metaphysik, d. h. sie liefert der Aesthetik wohl einen Theil ihres Stoffes zur weiteren philosophischen Verarbeitung, ob aber diese davon Gebrauch macht oder nicht, das tangirt die kunstgeschichtliche Forschung keineswegs. Die Kunstgeschichte ist jedenfalls nicht berechtigt, auch ihrerseits in das philosophische Gebiet hinüber oder hinauf zu greifen und ästhetische Formeln oder Ausdrücke irgend eines Systemes zu ihren Zwecken und in ihrer Darstellung zu verwerthen. Sie hat nichts zu thun mit Deduction, mit Speculation überhaupt; was sie zu Tage fördern will, sind nicht ästhetische Urtheile, sondern historische Thatsachen, welche dann etwa einer inductiven Forschung als Materiale dienen können. … Die Frage z. B., ob ein Gemälde schön sei, ist in der Kunstgeschichte eigentlich gar nicht gerechtfertigt; und eine Frage wie: ob z. B. Raphael oder Michelangelo, Rembrandt oder Rubens das Vollkommenere geleistet haben, ist eine kunsthistorische Absurdität. Ich kann mir die beste Kunstgeschichte denken, in der das Wort ‘schön’ gar nicht vorkommt.”

(48.) Thausing, “Die Stellung,” 11: “Vielmehr ist es nur ein Weg genauer Prüfung und fortwährender Vergleichung, ähnlich demjenigen, den die realsten unserer Wissenschaften, die Naturwissenschaften einzuschlagen pflegen.”

(49.) Thausing, “Die Stellung,” 1; also cited in Seiler, “Empiristische Motive,” 61. Thausing discusses the goals of art‐historical study on pages 13–14. Along these lines, it is interesting to note that two drafts of Adler's “Scope, Method, and Goal of Musicology,” one of which may have been written as early as 1881, bear the title “The Study of Musicology (“Das Studium der Musikwissenschaft”). It is possible that Adler devised the final title for this essay only after encountering the published version of Thausing's lecture, which first appeared in the journal Oesterreichische Rundschau in 1883. These drafts are preserved in GAP, box 1, folder 16.

(50.) See Adler, Wollen und Wirken. Aus dem Leben eines Musikhistorikers (Vienna: Universal Edition,1935), 15–16. This exchange is discussed in detail in the introduction to the present study.

(51.) Adler, Wollen und Wirken, 35: “Was soll uns der Klavierspieler?”

(52.) See Adler, Wollen und Wirken, 35–36; and Eder, Alexius Meinong und Guido Adler, 7–10. The peregrinations of Mach and Stumpf can be confusing and merit reviewing. Mach moved from the University of Vienna to the University of Graz in 1864, and from there to the German University in Prague in 1867, where he served as rector in 1883–84. He returned to the University of Vienna as a full professor (ordinarius) in 1895. Stumpf taught at Prague's German University, where he served as dean of the philosophical faculty, until the 1884–85 academic year.

(53.) For Adler's account of the founding of the journal, see Wollen und Wirken, 28–33.

(54.) Chrysander, “Vorwort und Einleitung,” 10: “Hat man bezweifelt, dass die musikalische Wissenschaft an Höhe und innerer Vollendung je an die der bildenden Künste hinan reichen werde, so wird das Urtheil, wenn auch unbewusst, durch derartige Schwierigkeiten mit bestimmt sein. Wir begreifen eine solche Verkennung sehr wohl; nur den gemeinhin angeführten Hauptgrund, die Musik sei geistig viel zu unbestimmt als dass in ihrem Gebiete eine den höchsten Anforderungen entsprechende Wissenschaft entstehen könne, erlauben wir uns für eine Täuschung zu erklären.” For an alternative translation, see Bujić, Music in European Thought, 345–46.

(55.) Chrysander, “Vorwort und Einleitung,” 11; trans. in Bujicć, Music in European Thought, 346: “WISSENSCHAFT nennen wir dies im ächten und vollen Sinne; und um es anzudeuten, dass wir hier in ihren Kreis eintreten, uns ihren strengsten Anforderungen nicht entziehen und ihr nach Kräften in ihrem ganzen Umfange dienen möchten, lassen wir die Jahrbücher unter dem Titel ‘für musikalische Wissenschaft’ ausgehen.”

(56.) Chrysander, Spitta, and Adler, “Vorwort,” Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft 1 (1885), 3: “Die Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft will einen Versuch wieder aufnehmen, welcher zuerst mit den ‘Jahrbüchern für musikalische Wissenschaft’ gemacht… Die Unterzeichneten täuschen sich nicht über die Schwierigkeiten des Unternehmens, hoffen jedoch, daß es bei dem immer entschiedener hervortretenden Bedürfnisse und in der nunmehr gewählten Form leichter gelingen wird, dieselben zu überwinden und ein lebenskräftiges Organ zu schaffen, dessen einziger Zweck sein soll, der Wissenschaft zu dienen.”

(57.) Adler, “Das Studium der Musikwissenschaft auf der Universitaet,” esp. 11–12; preserved in GAP, box 1, folder 16. In this version of the essay, Adler frames his discussion around the question of whether the emergent discipline can best be fostered in universities or in conservatories. He concludes that it must be fostered in both.

(58.) For Thausing's remarks on source studies, see “Die Stellung,” 8–10.

(59.) My choice of pronouns is deliberate. In his autobiography, Adler insisted that musicological research should be carried out by women as well as men, and he remarked proudly about the number of women who had attended his lectures and graduated from the University of Vienna's Musikhistorisches Institut under his supervision. Of course, however, academic appointments remained out of reach for women throughout Adler's lifetime. See Adler, Wollen und Wirken, 34 and 37–38.

(60.) Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel,” 6–8; trans. in Bujić, Music in European Thought, 349–50.

(61.) Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel,” 8 (this passage is not included in Bujić's volume): “Dies sind in allgemeinen Umrissen die Untersuchungsobjecte der musikwissenschaftlichen Forschung. Daraus wird das nunmehr festzustellende System dieser Wissenschaft aufzubauen sein.”

(62.) Wilhelm Windelband, “Geschichte und Naturwissenschaft” (1894), in Präludien. Aufsätze und Reden zur Philosophie und ihrer Geschichte, 6th ed., 2 vols. (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1919), 2:144–46. Adler's notion of Kunstgesetze and its relationship to Windelband's theory of historical knowledge is considered in the introduction to the present study.

(63.) Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel,” 15; trans. in Bujić, Music in European Thought, 351: “Zur Erreichung seiner Hauptaufgabe, nämlich zur Erforschung der Kunstgesetze verschiedener Zeiten und ihrer organischen Verbindung und Entwicklung wird sich der Kunsthistoriker der gleichen Methode bedienen wie der Naturforscher: vorzugsweise der inductiven Methode. Er wird aus mehreren Beispielen das Gemeinsame abheben, das Verschiedene absondern und sich auch der Abstraction bedienen, indem von concret gegebenen Vorstellungen einzelne Theile vernachlässigt und andere bevorzugt werden. Auch die Aufstellung von Hypothesen ist nicht ausgeschlossen. Die nähere Begründung des Gesagten sei einer speciellen Abhandlung vorbehalten, das Schwergewicht der Betrachtung liegt in der Analogie der kunstwissenschaftlichen Methode mit der naturwissenschaftlichen Methode.”

(64.) Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel,” 9 (this passage is not included in Bujić's volume): “Den höchsten Rang nimmt die Erforschung der Kunstgesetze verschiedener Zeiten ein; diese ist der eigentliche Kernpunkt aller musikhistorischen Arbeit.”

(65.) Adler, “Umfang, Methode und Ziel,” 19; trans. in Bujić, Music in European Thought, 352.

(66.) As Eder has documented, Hanslick confided to his friend Alexius Meinong his desire to inherit Hanslick's post as early as 1883, and also his annoyance at Hanslick's apparent lack of inclination to retire as he approached his sixtieth year. See Eder, Alexius Meinong und Guido Adler, 8; and Eder, “Eduard Hanslick und Guido Adler,” 116–17.

(67.) Blaukopf, Pionere, 121–23. Significantly, Adler himself did not partake in open criticism of Hanslick, under whose guidance he had earned his doctorate. As Leon Botstein has observed, Adler remained, throughout his career, a professed admirer of his teacher despite the many differences that existed between the two; see Botstein, “Music and Its Public,” 1368–71. In turn, Hanslick remained a firm supporter of Adler and his research in spite of the latter's polemics about the discipline. Hanslick even wrote a letter of recommendation on Adler's behalf when he was preparing to retire from the University of Vienna in 1895. In this letter, Hanslick praised Adler's achievements as a scholar, his facility as a writer, and his inauguration of the Monuments of Music in Austria (Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich) series of critical editions. He did not, however, mention Adler's attempts to reform the musicological field. A photocopy of this letter, dated February 7, 1895, is preserved in GAP, box 22, folder 29.

(68.) Zimmermann, “Ed. Hanslick: Vom Musikalisch‐Schönen,” 252; also cited in Blaukopf, Pioniere, 122: “Wenn man eines beklagen darf, so ist es, daß dem Verfasser bisher nicht vergönnt war, seine Prinzipien in systematischer Weise als Ausbau einer organischen Wissenschaft der Ästhetik der Tonkunst zu gestalten.”

(69.) Carl Stumpf, “Musikpsychologie in England. Betrachtungen über Herleitung der Musik aus der Sprache und aus dem thierischen Entwickelungsproceß, über Empirismus und Nativismus in der Musiktheorie,” Vierteljahrsschrift für Musikwissenschaft 1 (1885), 345; also cited in Blaukopf, Pioniere, 122: “Leider hat Hanslick selbst die Aufgabe nicht einmal innerhalb der Grenzen, in denen er sie für ausführbar hält, zu lösen unternommen.”

(70.) On Riegl and the Vienna School of Art History, see Gubser, Time's Visible Surface; Seiler, “Empiristische Methode”; and Margaret Iversen, Alois Riegl: Art History and Theory (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1993).

(71.) Antonicek, “Musikwissenschaft in Wien,” 174 and 176.

(72.) These sketches are preserved in GAP, box 71A, folder Familienbilder. The context in which they were apparently drawn is insightfully discussed Eder, “Eduard Hanslick und Guido Adler,” 107–13.

(73.) Eder notes that this caption appears to be in Adler's hand rather than Schmid's, and she remarks as well on Adler's curious misspelling of Schmid's name (as Schmidt), given the closeness of their relationship and Schmid's reputation in late‐century Vienna. See Eder, “Eduard Hanslick und Guido Adler,” 113.