Music, Leisure, Education

Music, Leisure,
Education
Historical and Philosophical Perspectives

ROGER MANTIE

1
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 Preface

What has been will be again,

what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
—​Ecclesiastes 1:9 (New International Version)

As many academics in leisure disciplines are wont to point out, there is a degree
of irony in writing a scholarly book about leisure. Given the amount of time and
energy that could have been devoted to other things, such as time with my family
or playing my saxophone, I often found myself questioning my priorities. Research
and scholarship are part of the job, of course, but surely this might be accomplished
in ways other than spending the better part of ten years’ worth of evening and
weekend hours on a book about music, leisure, and education. In the end, I suppose
I would have to confess that, despite the trade-​offs (both personal and professional),
I found the experience personally fulfilling in the way that leisure, in the best sense
of the word, can be. I cannot guarantee that reading the book will be equally ful-
filling, but I do hope that readers will come away with something—​if only a slightly
different spin on an old tune. I make no claims to being revolutionary in this book,
but I do hope readers find the material interesting, compelling, and, more than any-
thing else, helpful. I would have had little motivation for completing this project if it
were not for the prospect that people would at least derive some sort of satisfaction
or edification from it.
At the risk of stating the blatantly obvious, people have been making music
non-​professionally since the very beginning of music making. To claim important
connections between music and leisure, then, would seem—​especially to non-​
academics—​to be much ado about nothing. Indeed, in the course of researching for
this book I had many moments of self-​doubt, wondering if everything I was writing
was just a little bit too self-​evident. Who really needs a book about music, leisure,
and education—​especially when we already have the Oxford Handbook of Music
Making and Leisure? (Wink, wink.) The answer to this question remains to be seen,
but I am hopeful that many people will find utility in a scholarly monograph on the
critical relationships that exist between music, leisure, and education.
viii Preface

The title Music, Leisure, Education is a faint homage to Christopher Small’s

(1977) Music, Society, Education,1 and perhaps a slight reaction against Keith
Swanwick’s (1988) Music, Mind, and Education. I studied Swanwick’s book
during my undergraduate years (and still vividly recall attending a fascinating
symposium at Brandon University with Swanwick, Peter Fletcher, and R. Murray
Schafer). The philosophical ideas of Swanwick and Bennett Reimer held sway
at the time (and still do for many music educators today).2 I attempted to em-
brace and enact many of the ideas of thinkers like Swanwick and Reimer in
my early years as an educator, but could never quite escape the nagging feeling
that the overwhelming emphasis on the mind failed to adequately account for
my own experience. Despite the inclusion of feeling(s) and emotion(s) in their
discussions, the value of music learning was invariably positioned “in the mind.”
Furthermore, everything was always about the music (i.e., music as object).
The intellectual aspects of music are no doubt important for some people. But
that didn’t seem to be the attraction for my mother and father. As a young child,
I witnessed my mother rehearsing in the living room with her Sweet Adelines
quartet.3 They seemed serious about what they were doing, but I would describe
it today as more of an embodied passion than some sort of “mind” exercise. Ditto
for my father. When he got together with his friend every Friday night to jam
on old-​time fiddle tunes (somewhat crudely and with questionable intonation),
it seemed to me to be more of a fun social time than some sort of “aesthetic ex-
perience.” In contradistinction to most of what I learned in my music educa-
tion degree, “the music itself ” did not seem to be what was most important to
those involved with my mother’s and my father’s music-​related activities. That
great works of music didn’t factor in their music making didn’t seem to lessen
their enjoyment or their “love of music.” Suffice it to say that when I encoun-
tered Small’s Music, Society, Education during my graduate studies, it was a rev-
elation. Although Small’s work does not factor directly in this book, his spirit
certainly does.
I confess I came close to abandoning this project several times over the years,
usually following encounters with people (disproportionately those from the
UK, though perhaps that is just a coincidence) whose negative reaction to the
word leisure was so strong and so visceral that I began to seriously doubt that

1 Small’s subtitle is An Examination of the Function of Music in Western, Eastern and African

Cultures with Its Impact on Society and Its Use in Education. I have certainly not attempted such an
ambitious scope!
2 Swanwick’s work is largely ignored in North America, where Bennett Reimer’s influence domi-

nated throughout the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s. Since the 1990s, his ideas competed with the so-​called
praxialists, thanks in large part to David Elliott’s (1995) Music Matters.
3 It is highly unlikely that the remote northern town of 3,500 people in which we lived at the time

knew anything of the race-​based Sweet Adelines–​Harmony Incorporated controversy. During a pe-
riod when most women worked primarily in the home, any opportunities for leisure and recreation
were probably welcome.
 Preface ix

anyone would want to read this book. In the end, I came to accept the inevi-
table: there will be those who reject leisure as offensive regardless of the context
or discussion. For some people, the word is just plain wrong. Period. I would
hope, however, that those offended by the word leisure do not similarly object to
the underlying Classical principle it can represent. Surely the objectors do not
seriously believe that the purpose of people’s lives is to labor in service of the state
or “the economy”? Surely they believe there is a point to living beyond labor or
mere existence? (I suspect the objection to leisure is not to the concept itself, but
to the associations the word has acquired for some people.)4 If the musical activ-
ities of my mother and father weren’t leisure, what were they?
What I recognize in the critique of leisure is the impossibility of accounting
for all people at all times and places. No matter what the discussion in this book,
one can always object that I have inadequately addressed “X.” (What about dis-
ability? What about the Global South? What about Indigenous perspectives?
What about LGBTQI2? What about the environment? What about [insert issue
here]?) No doubt there will be charges that what is offered here is too Western,
too white, too male, too heteronormative, too ableist, too privileged—​all of
which is unfortunately true. What I hope is not lost in all the critique, however,
is the power and potential of leisure for all people regardless of circumstance
or positionality. I hope readers can see beyond this book’s many shortcomings
and open up conversations around meaningful living in the twenty-​first cen-
tury—​conversations that have been too often squelched by power brokers whose
interests lie in self-​aggrandizement at the expense of, and often with the consent
of, the majority (under a condition Antonio Gramsci presciently described as
hegemony).
We all write from our own experience. Mine consists of growing up in Canada
(specifically Manitoba) and subsequently working as a music teacher and pro-
fessor in Canada and the United States. Part of my motivation for writing about
leisure arose from my background as a school music teacher. I am in no posi-
tion to judge how other schoolteachers conceptualize their work, but I could
never fully escape the nagging need to understand why I was teaching what I was
teaching. To what end was I teaching people to play the clarinet? To what end was
I rehearsing music for the next concert, year after year ad nauseam? Why was
music (or rather, a very narrow version of it) in the school at all?
I have attempted to embrace global sensitivity throughout the book, but the
perspective here is undeniably Western (primarily North American) and anglo-
phone (i.e., I do not adequately account for Quebec or Mexico): the conception
of leisure employed here is Western and the scholarship is solely that published

4 Green, Hebron, and Woodward write, “Leisure has a chameleon-​like quality, changing its skin in

relation to surroundings, context, and the seriousness of its competitors” (1).

x Preface

in English, mostly by male writers. Readers from outside Canada and the United
States will also note how my historical examination concentrates primarily on
American experiences and examples. What I hope is not lost is that the historical
discussion is intended to inform conceptual thinking; it is not offered as histor-
ical research qua historical research (something I am not qualified to undertake).
Hence, the main points in this book should be largely applicable, if perhaps in
modified form, to a number of contexts beyond Canada and the United States
(though no doubt mostly contexts of the Global North5), even if most of the illus-
trative examples happen to be American.

Why Leisure?

Many languages (e.g., Japanese) do not have an equivalent word for leisure. It is
believed that all cultures have some version of the concept, however (Purrington
and Hickerson 2013). This is not to suggest that leisure as understood in the
Global North is universal. The Classical Greek roots of Western leisure tend
to favor individualism over collectivism, for example, and, as the product of
Ancient Greek society, leisure still has masculinist residues. Nevertheless, the
ideal of leisure encourages reflection on what matters in life, at least as situated
within a given cultural context. What is surprising to me, and what led me to
write this book, is that leisure does not typically factor into the concerns of the
academic music community. Neither leisure nor recreation, for example, appears
in Merriam’s (1964) oft-​cited “functions of music”—​despite arguably being the
way most people in the world involve themselves in music.6 Today’s justifications
for the teaching and learning of music, or explanations of the importance of
music, almost never mention leisure. I suspect this is because the mere men-
tion of leisure in connection with music is perceived by music’s power brokers as
somehow devaluing or degrading its status. As Small reminds us, however, music
is too important to be left to the musicians!
I confess I stumbled on the idea of leisure quite by accident. It was a fortuitous
stumble, however, as it has opened a world of literature not typically encoun-
tered by most people in the formal music learning and teaching world (which
is why I originally suspected others might find interest in a book such as this).
While my concerns with lifelong music participation are what motivated me to
pursue graduate studies, my investigations in this area have revealed that the
field of music education tends to approach lifelong musical involvement as either

5 I allude here to the generalized sense of the Global North, which typically includes geographi-

cally southern countries like Australia and New Zealand.

6 Admittedly, leisure is not necessarily a function of music, but I would argue, semantically, that

music does not have functions except as implied by the way people use music.
 Preface xi

a learning problem (i.e., lifelong learning) or a relevance problem (i.e., teaching

the wrong kind of music).7
I “discovered” leisure thanks to my first academic position at Boston
University, an institution with a long historical connection with music educa-
tion. One of the many notable figures who spent time at BU was Max Kaplan.
I had known about Kaplan’s work since my undergraduate days because of his
book, Foundations and Frontiers of Music Education, a rather stunning volume
that was (and is) regrettably overlooked by music educators. What I did not know
as an undergraduate student (because the internet was not yet a thing) was that
Kaplan had published Leisure in America: A Social Inquiry in 1960, six years prior
to Foundations and Frontiers. It was only when I started working at BU in 2009
that I discovered the Kaplan-​BU connection8 and his rather interesting back-
story as a formally trained sociologist (studying with Florian Znaniecki), an am-
ateur violinist, and a pioneering leisure studies scholar (founding and directing
the Institute for Studies of Leisure at the University of South Florida).9
My initial fascination with Kaplan’s leisure studies work led to the discovery
of a world of scholarship previously unknown to me as a music educator. There
are many excellent sources on leisure. Some I have found particularly helpful
in researching this book include (in no particular order): Chris Rojek, Susan
M. Shaw, and Anthony James Veal (eds.) (2006), A Handbook of Leisure Studies;
Chris Rojek (1985) Capitalism and Leisure Theory; Tom Winnifrith and Cyril
Barrett (eds.) (1989), The Philosophy of Leisure; John Verduin and Douglas
McEwen (1984), Adults and Their Leisure: The Need for Lifelong Learning; Richard
G. Kraus (1971), Recreation and Leisure in Modern Society; Josef Pieper (1952),
Leisure: The Basis of Culture; Gerald S. Fain, Kimberly A. Gillespie, and Victor
Kestenbaum (eds.) (1991), Leisure and Ethics: Reflections on the Philosophy
of Leisure; Sebastian de Grazia (1962), Of Time, Work, and Leisure; Joffre
Dumazedier (1974), Sociology of Leisure; John Neulinger (1981), The Psychology
of Leisure; John Trevor Haworth and Michael A. Smith (eds.) (1975), Work and
Leisure: An Interdisciplinary Study in Theory, Education and Planning; Charles
Kestner Brightbill (1963), The Challenge of Leisure; and Karl Spracklen, Brett
Lashua, Erin Sharpe, and Spencer Swain (eds.) (2017), The Palgrave Handbook
of Leisure Theory.
As I dug deeper into some of the historical aspects of music and leisure in the
United States, I discovered early ties in the first decades of the twentieth century
between those who founded Music Supervisors National Conference (today’s

7 I have explored these topics in Mantie (2012) and Mantie (2013).

8 In the early 1960s, Kaplan was director of the Arts Center of Boston University’s School of Fine
and Applied Arts. Along with Mark Rabin, he helped found the Greater Boston Youth Symphony
Orchestra, one of the first youth orchestras of its kind.
9 For more on Kaplan, see Krikun (2010) and McCarthy (2016).
xii Preface

National Association for Music Education) and those who founded what would
become the National Recreation Association. Many (though certainly not all)
of the actors involved saw great synergy in the idea of “community music” as
a form of civic participation and healthy recreation. In contrast to today, rec-
reation centers in the early part of the century weren’t just for sports and ath-
letics. Instead, arts and crafts were considered part of a community conception
of leisure and recreation. Harmonica bands and ukulele bands were common-
place, and schools were, at least for some social leaders at the time, conceived as
community centers, not just buildings for academic learning. Why had I never
learned this history? A subsequent research study (Mantie 2015) revealed that the
word leisure was in fact a frequent part of music learning and teaching discourses
prior to the 1960s, but somehow fell off the radar of music education.10 One does
not find leisure mentioned in any of the canonical American music education
texts of the late 1950s onwards.
Leisure is not without its problems, of course (as so many of my academic
colleagues seem quick to point out). Like too many other areas of the academy,
leisure studies is overwhelmingly white (Spracklen 2013; Rojek, Shaw, and
Veal 2006; Mowatt et al. 2016). As a result, much of the discussion of leisure is
framed by and refracted through a white lens. It is also masculinist in many of
its assumptions. That leisure also carries class connotations, however, is the issue
that seems to rile up most people. For those who associate leisure with class (per
Thorstein Veblen’s The Leisure Class), there can be no redemption for leisure.
I find this narrow interpretation of leisure regrettable, because it sells short what
leisure in its fullest sense can represent: the opportunity to dream, to seek, and
to live in ways not dependent on one’s station in life (provided one does not con-
ceive of leisure primarily in terms of consumption).
The values expressed in this book find many of their origins in the thoughts
of writers such as Aristotle, John Stuart Mill, Max Weber, John Dewey, Hannah
Arendt, Pierre Bourdieu, Michel Foucault, Robert Stebbins, and Robert Putnam
(an odd list, I realize), and other thinkers who have focused on the way we live
our lives, both individually and collectively.11 As Weber observed over a cen-
tury ago, the prevailing precept guiding our lives has become living to work.
Much of my own thinking has revolved around the ethics of how we live (indi-
vidually, collectively). More specifically, I have always been fascinated (in truth,
frustrated) by how our thinking is formed. Is it family? Is it schooling? Is it the

10 Osbourne McConathy (1933) wrote, for example, “It is our affair to study every element in the

relationship of music and leisure time. Our contribution to the new social order must be to make
music serve humanity in ways richer, finer, and broader . . . [The goal is to] find the best way of
making our country better and happier through music” (5–​6).
11 I am aware that all but one of these names are male, white, Western, and privileged. This has no

doubt colored many aspects of my thinking. I will attempt to do better in my next book.
 Preface xiii

manipulative forces of “discourse”? Is it some sort of conspiracy perpetrated by

those with power and authority? How have so many people become convinced
that, in contrast to earlier eras, the purpose of life is to work in service of. Why do
so many people today define themselves according to their vocation, and why
do so many subscribe to the belief that their duty is to work, often in jobs that
do not offer the remotest possibility of genuine life satisfaction and that benefit
their employers or the state more than themselves? Can this really be attributable
to Luther’s thesis, by way of Weber, of “a calling” (or some sort of contemporary
equivalent)? To what extent can we consider ourselves “free” if we are essentially
obligated to work, work, work? Is this really what life is all about?
Or were the Ancient Greeks on to something? For the ancients, life was not
about working, it was about leisure—​which for them was about neither con-
spicuous consumption nor idleness. This is not to romanticize the ancients.
Leisure, like participation in the polis, was available to only a small percentage
of the population and was possible only due to slavery and oppression; leisure
was certainly not available to all! In terms of its exclusiveness, Ancient Greek lei-
sure can be considered to differ little from leisure in contemporary life. In terms
of its form and ideals, however, Ancient Greek leisure was vastly different be-
cause it spoke to the issue of how one ought to live. Even though their concep-
tualization depended, unfortunately, upon oppression for its realization, leisure
was part of a teleology that saw human life in terms of virtue and beauty, not in
terms of utility, production, and exploitation for profit. The existence of leisure
as an ideal serves as a reminder that the “art of living” (or “aesthetics of exist-
ence,” as discussed by Foucault) was ethical and mindful; life was not about “the
economy” or ensuring the nation’s global superiority, it was about self-​fulfillment
and social participation.
It obviously doesn’t hurt my purposes that, at least for Aristotle, music and
contemplation were the only two activities that qualified as leisure in the fullest
sense of the word. Oddly, for me at least, this aspect of Ancient Greek thinking
has not been capitalized upon by those involved with the music teaching and
learning enterprise. If fact, the “leisurely” aspects of music, so often celebrated
in the first half of the twentieth century, have been downplayed if not shunned
by the music education establishment. One of the big takeaways from the work
of Foucault is that, by demonstrating how the present is in many ways arbitrary
rather than inevitable, there is hope for change. Because things were once dif-
ferent from today, they can be different in the future. My hope is that, by pro-
viding a narrative that reminds us of music and leisure’s deep and rich historical
and philosophical connections, people interested in matters related to music
and education can center living rather than learning as their primary matter of
concern.
 Acknowledgments

To be overly dramatic, I could claim that this book has been a lifetime in the
making. In a more direct sense, it has been about ten or eleven years—​a length
of time that would surely test the patience of many a publisher and editor.
Fortunately for me, I had Norm Hirschy on my side. The importance of Norm’s
patience and guidance cannot be overstated. Attempting to complete a pro-
ject of this size while changing institutions (Boston University to Arizona State
University to University of Toronto) was stressful but made manageable thanks
to Norm’s support and understanding.
And then there is the support and understanding of family. I began this pro-
ject (more or less) when my daughters Adeline and Ellamay were two and seven.
They have never known a time when their father was not working on his book.
My wife Angela does remember a time before the book, but she (along with my
mother and my in-​laws) probably cannot recall a time when I wasn’t working on
some “important” project or other, whether it be running an educational jazz fes-
tival, working as a semi-​professional musician in addition to my school teaching
job, completing my master’s thesis while teaching full-​time, pursuing doctoral
studies, or researching article after article as an aspiring professor. She reminded
me constantly of the irony of me writing a book on leisure. All this is to say that
my family has paid a heavy price for my scholarly pursuits. The only defense for
my familial neglect is that, at the risk of possible conceit, I would like to think
I have become a better husband and father as the result of this project, and that
what I have lacked in time devotion I have made up for in other ways (though
I cannot be the judge of that).
Beyond those who have patiently endured and supported my slow, self-​indul-
gent passion for wanting to write on music, leisure, and education are those re-
sponsible for inspiring the content and ideas in this book. As academics, we are
all heir to various intellectual lineages. As an alumnus of Brandon University,
a small (in global terms, very small) undergraduate school on the Canadian
prairies, I would only later come to realize how fortunate I was to have been so
thoroughly immersed in a world of ideas not usually included in many under-
graduate music programs. While my grasp of the complex ideas to which I was
exposed may have been (and still is) somewhat limited, those complex ideas
provided a critical backdrop against which my experiences as a school music
teacher were understood—​experiences that ultimately led to the decision to
pursue graduate studies. At the University of Toronto, I was similarly fortunate
xvi Acknowledgments

to have been exposed to ideas and thinkers I would subsequently learn are not al-
ways encountered in PhD studies in music education. My academic journey has
been a blessed one thanks to the care, concern, and intellectual rigor of so many
teachers and professors who were able to overlook my many shortcomings and
see potential beyond my lack of training, pedigree, and cultural capital.
In addition to my mentors have been the many kind, generous, and supportive
colleagues and students I have had the pleasure of working with over the years,
both directly at Boston University, Arizona State University, and University of
Toronto, and indirectly through many collaborations and interactions. Helping
to produce two Oxford handbooks, for example, delayed the completion of this
book by many years, but afforded me the opportunity to work alongside two
amazing co-​editors, Gareth Dylan Smith (Oxford Handbook of Music Making
and Leisure) and S. Alex Ruthmann (Oxford Handbook of Technology and Music
Education), and the opportunity to interact with dozens of contributing authors
from various parts of the globe. It is impossible to quantify the impact all these
people have had on me and my thinking. It is also difficult to quantify the impact
Stephanie Pitts has had on my thinking. Although she is cited less often in this
book than she should be and our interactions are less frequent than I would like,
her work has impacted my thinking immeasurably.
I have always been reluctant to directly name people in giving thanks for
fear of omitting some. It is so difficult to create a cut-​point, given the wide-​ran-
ging generosity from which I have benefited. Nevertheless, I would be remiss if
I did not single out a few names. Lee Higgins and I were both hired at Boston
University in 2009. This began a friendship that has witnessed squash games,
heavy metal concerts, shared challenges of international living, and countless in-
tellectual (and non-​intellectual) discussions, usually over a few pints. Lee’s influ-
ence and impact on my thinking (and on my life) cannot be overstated. Neither
can the influence of the late Susan Conkling, whose intelligence, care, and com-
passion have inspired countless students and colleagues. Among many other
things, Susan helped to show me that it was possible to have a life in academia
without losing one’s soul. It is no overstatement to say that I would not have sur-
vived at Boston University if it were not for Susan. Although she may no longer
be with us, I am reminded of her every week because she introduced me to my
long-​running collaborator, Brent Talbot, with whom I shared a regular video
chat and writing session for the better part of the past ten years. Brent’s influ-
ence has been more oblique, but no less important. That our co-​authored book
(Education, Music, and the Lives of Undergraduates: Collegiate A Cappella and
the Pursuit of Happiness) was written in tandem with this book no doubt slowed
the progress of both projects but, in my opinion, made both of them significantly
stronger. Lastly, my thinking continued to evolve while at Arizona State thanks
 Acknowledgments xvii

to the friendship of the inimitable Evan Tobias, whose energy, passion, and bril-
liance (and shared love of beer flights) were both inspiring and intimidating.
One’s learning, ideas, and influences are not the sole province of academics, of
course. The leisurely gatherings over the years with Mark and Shelly, Julian and
C.J., Lynn and Tim, Lee and Michelle, Susan and Tim, Julian and Peter, Heather
and Jason, Evan and Jen, Gayle and David, and many others have enriched life’s
journey immeasurably and made it so enjoyable along the way—​as did the many
“pre-​academic” relationships with countless friends and colleagues in Manitoba.
And finally, I extend my thanks not only to the anonymous reviewers for their
excellent and spot-​on commentary that led to marked improvements in the
text, but also to Seth Adams, Mallory Alekna, Cathy Benedict, Deb Bradley, Lee
Higgins, Tim Nowak, Jared O’Leary, Joe Pignato, Bryan Powell, Jesse Rathgeber,
Gareth Dylan Smith, Brent Talbot, and Matt Warner. These generous individ-
uals were kind enough to make time in their lives to read early drafts of various
chapters in this book. Their thoughtful and insightful feedback has strengthened
the book tremendously. The responsibility for failing to adequately address their
comments and concerns rests solely with me.
 About the Book

The world changes. I am reminded of this every time I watch an episode from a
1990s television sitcom I remember viewing when it originally aired. Just as I now
cringe at some of the jokes in 1990s sitcoms, I found—​during the late stages of
editing—​some of my prose from years ago somewhat dated. And then, just when
I was finishing the final two chapters, COVID-​19 unleashed devastation on the
world. Outside of a few brief insertions, I did not attempt to re-​write large quan-
tities of text to better account for how the arguments might morph in relation to
a worldwide reset of values and daily living practices. (What does leisure mean
under conditions of social distancing? What does it mean for the increased per-
centage of people who were and are forced to, or desire to, work from home? etc.)
More text likely could (or should) have been altered, but at a certain point one
has to accept that all words are the product of a particular time and place, and at
a certain point one needs to stop writing (especially for a book that has already
taken over ten years to complete).
Some will likely accuse me of casting too wide a net in this book, a charge to
which I freely admit my guilt. Readers coming from the fields of leisure studies
and leisure sciences will find some parts old hat. My hope for such readers is
that the connections made between leisure, music, and education are of interest.
Readers coming from music-​related fields, especially those connected to learning
and teaching, will, I hope, encounter a narrative and conceptualization different
from what is typically received in university music study. Surprisingly—​shock-
ingly in my opinion—​leisure has been not only overlooked, but in fact shunned
by the mainstream music teaching and learning establishment over the past fifty
to seventy years. I dare say that Kaplan’s work, so important to the field of leisure
studies, never did succeed in connecting with music teachers and leaders, who
perhaps viewed his ideas as at once radical, somewhat impenetrable at times,
and lacking in potential for the legitimization they sought. My modest hope is
that I may be able to rekindle some thought and interest in the idea of connecting
music learning with the idea/​ideal of leisure. My goal is not to prescribe or offer
simple answers, but to thoroughly interrogate and problematize the messiness
of leisure and living, leaving readers to come away with their own conclusions
based on the narratives and arguments I have assembled.
The book has a three-​part structure. Chapters 1 and 2, which make up Part
I, provide background and context. While the material in the first two chapters
may be well known to some readers, its inclusion helps (I think) to situate the
xx About the Book

perspective that informs the rest of the book. Chapters 3–​5 constitute Part II—​
what might be considered historical perspectives on music, leisure, and educa-
tion. To be clear, these are not historical in the comprehensive sense, but rather,
selective and purposeful. Chapters 6–​9 constitute Part III: the philosophical
perspectives. Taken together, these provide what I hope is a thorough and co-
herent picture of what music, leisure, and education might mean in the twenty-​
first century. Although the book is intended to be read from cover to cover, most
chapters can, to some extent, stand on their own.
The more informational aspects in Chapter 2 are these days readily available
through online sources. I make no claims to offer anything new or profound
here (and those in leisure studies may find it overly simplistic or reductionist).
The chapter provides, for less-​acquainted readers, some of the basics of leisure,
especially as they potentially relate to music and education, thereby providing
an overarching framework for the book. Many of these concepts and issues are
revisited in various forms in subsequent chapters.
Chapters 3–​5 provide an historical examination of various writings and events
from the first decades of the twentieth century, a period sometimes referred to
as the Progressive Era. On the surface, these decades may appear a somewhat
arbitrary choice. There are good reasons, however, for concentrating on the
early twentieth century. Among many other things, it is the period during which
(a) widespread immigration in the United States (which began in the late 1800s)
focused public attention on cultural behavior and social issues; (b) the settle-
ment movement arising in the late 1800s gave birth in the 1900s to community
music schools (known today under the umbrella organization National Guild for
Community Arts Education); (c) compulsory K–​12 schooling became universal
in the United States; (d) American school music in its present form took shape;
(e) the majority of today’s voluntary organizations, including those in music and
in leisure, came into existence; (f) the effects of automation and collective bar-
gaining brought to the fore widespread considerations of, and concerns about,
leisure time; (g) groundwork was laid for today’s structural orientation of work
(e.g., the forty-​hour workweek and retirement); (h) technological changes in
transportation and communication gave rise to “mass society” and dramatically
altered leisure patterns; and (i) technological change in the form of mechanical
reproduction and broadcasting dramatically altered the paradigm of musical
production and consumption. A close look should reveal a narrative arc whereby
the moral control of conduct (Chapter 3) gives way to the scientific management
of conduct (Chapter 4), which then gives way to the problem of educating for the
“proper” use of leisure (Chapter 5).
Part III delves more deeply into the ethical issues that arise from Part II.
Chapters 6 and 7 are perhaps the least overt in their discussions of music. The
chapters examine, respectively, the interrogative, How should one live?, and the
 About the Book xxi

imperative, How one should live. Chapter 6 takes as its focus the issue of well-​
being in relation to the problem of living. Human happiness is situated in rela-
tion to quality-​of-​life, eudaimonia, hedonism, and the tension between the right
and the good—​issues homologous to those revealed in the differences between
the reformers and the professionals in the Progressive Era examined in Part II.
Chapter 7 tackles the perennial problem of work (writ large) and leisure, espe-
cially in relation to the problem of living.
Although music takes somewhat of a back seat in Chapters 6 and 7, the
chapters provide the foundation for the arguments articulated in Chapters 8 and
9. The penultimate chapter, for example, lays bare how the ethical seeking funda-
mental to most conceptions of leisure cannot (or at least should not) be reduced
to libertarian forms of individualism. I argue that the inequalities of leisure do
not disqualify its value, but in fact strengthen the case for making leisure a cen-
tral concern for all people. The final chapter is my attempt to sketch an argument
for reconceptualizing the enterprise of music learning and teaching as some-
thing I call music education as leisure education. Admittedly, there are pitfalls to
the sloganizing implicit in this kind of catchphrase, one that deliberately invokes
and critiques the mantra of music education as aesthetic education popularized
by figures such as Charles Leonhard (who, ironically perhaps, published a book
called Recreation through Music in 1952) and Bennett Reimer. My worry is that
music education as leisure education may be too easily reduced to a conception
of leisure as recreation intended to placate, entertain, and amuse rather than a
conception of leisure as life-​affirming ethical seeking that advances human wel-
fare through music participation and engagement. My hope is that readers can
appreciate that every book is necessarily partial and incomplete, and that every
author must eventually stop researching and writing and revising and submit the
manuscript to the publisher.
 1
Music, Leisure, and Education

Tell me what you do in your free time and I’ll tell you what kind of
person you are.
—​Charles Brightbill

The grand concerns of this book revolve around the “art of living.” Specifically,
I consider, from various vantage points, how “recreational” and “avocational”
(i.e., amateur, non-​professional) music making may (or may not) factor into
the art of living, an idea I attempt to capture through an exploration of leisure.
By “music making” I mean all forms of singing, playing, or movement (alone or
with others), along with any act of creation (e.g., composing, songwriting, beat
making)—​with or without technological mediation or co-​creation. I seek in this
book to examine, both historically and philosophically, people’s involvement
with the activity (i.e., production rather than consumption) of music as part of
their volitional choices about how to live their lives. In particular, I am inter-
ested in how the decision to make music during “free” or “leisure” time squares
with today’s formative discourses that disparage avocational activities and reify
“work” (and vocation in general).
As an educator, I have long struggled with how society’s glorification of “work”
is to be reconciled with the learning and practice of non-​professional music
pursuits that are essentially recreational and “nonproductive.”1 Slogans such as
“music makes you smarter” and practices oriented toward such things as “arts
integration” (when the arts are subserviently instrumentalized) only seem to re-
inforce the widespread belief that what really matters in schooling (and educa-
tion, since the distinction between the two seems to have vanished) is vocational
preparation. What really matters in life is service to one’s job (and by extension in
many cases, one’s country); any learning not serving the end of “gross domestic
product” and the goal of international economic superiority is not just a friv-
olous luxury, but is in fact suspect. One might even go so far as to say that any
learning that does not serve the goal of global supremacy is unpatriotic. (“We

1 Yes, there is a production-​consumption aspect to non-​professional music making, as the annual

National Association of Music Merchants (NAMM) show makes clear. Discourses of “work-​focused
education,” however, grow stronger by the day.

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0001
4 Context

are falling behind!” You need to stop practicing your cello and start studying a
STEM2 subject this instant!)
It is not as though lifelong “amateur” (avocational) music makers do not exist,
of course. While it is no doubt true that the number of people with skills devel-
oped through school music participation far exceeds the number who remain
musically active throughout their lives—​a phenomenon with which professional
music educators have never sufficiently reconciled—​some people do continue
to make music recreationally of their own volition. Exact figures are impos-
sible to come by, but several indicators suggest the number of people who con-
tinue to make music beyond the secondary school years is substantial (even if as
a percentage of the population the figure is still low).3 In the United States, for
example, many college marching bands comprise non-​music majors. Many of
these ensembles often number in the hundreds of participants. At these same
colleges are non-​music majors who play or sing in “all-​campus” bands, choirs,
and orchestras, collegiate a cappella groups, or who get together informally to
make music. Many of these recreational music makers do not receive any kind of
credit or recognition that might somehow help them in their vocational careers,
yet they often devote five to ten hours per week (or more) to their music making
when they could be doing things with their time that many people (likely in-
cluding their parents in some cases) would deem “more productive.”
Some of my own research into the college-​age population suggests that only a
fraction of collegiate recreational music makers continue being musically active
upon graduation and entering the “real world.” Other interviews I’ve conducted
with community band members, however, suggest that some older adults return
to recreational music making after a period of what Stephanie Pitts (2016) calls
“lapsed participation.”4 This finding is consistent with the healthy growth of or-
ganizations that cater to those wishing to resume (or take up) music making later
in life (e.g., New Horizons International). It is also consistent with what Ruth
Finnegan (1989) described, in her study of Milton Keynes (UK) as the “hidden
musicians”—​all those getting together to make music “under the radar.” Such
people seemingly resist dominant discourses that dismiss “nonproductive” ac-
tivities like music and choose to incorporate regular music making into their
adult lifestyle.

2Science, Technology, Engineering, Math.

3One only need attend the annual NAMM Show in Anaheim, California, to be reminded of the
scale of music making. Although some NAMM commercial activity is targeted at the professional
market, much of it is clearly intended for enthusiastic amateurs.
4 I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge from the outset the importance of Pitts’s work. In

addition to her other published scholarship, her books, Valuing Musical Participation (2005) and
Chances and Choices: Exploring the Impact of Music Education (2012), were early influences on my
thinking.
 Music, Leisure, and Education 5

Here is the problem: what truly matters in the art of living seems to have fallen
prey to agendas, beliefs, and practices that fail to place individual and collective
welfare at the center of our existence. Educators, who arguably have tremendous
potential to “right the ship,” instead too often unwittingly participate in agendas
that, for example, treat the learning of music as simply another knowledge do-
main or celebrate musical creativity because of its importance to “the economy.”
Putting it baldly, I would submit that, although one can view avocational (rec-
reational) music making historically as having always possessed something of
an ambivalent “outsider” status straddling frivolity and respectability—​at least
in the Global North of the past few hundred years5—​contemporary educational
discourses represent a distinct break from the past, positioning pretty much
all avocational activities (including music) as superfluous. Beginning with the
Cold War and extending through the global neoliberal tides of the 1970s and
1980s, trends in education have moved farther and farther from the kinds of
Classical ideals (Plato and Aristotle through Dewey) that consider education as
a kind of noble, open-​ended search related to ethical questioning about how one
should live—​the kinds of ideals that consider life in its totality. Instead, today’s
international competitiveness, high-​stakes testing, and teacher accountability
discourses, especially prevalent in the United States but common to many coun-
tries, all reinforce a view that treats individuals as mere human resources of
the state.
The remainder of this chapter is intended to lay out some basic context in
order to make better sense of the rest of the book. Essentially, the purpose of
Chapter 1 is to lay out the basics of “where I am coming from” right from the
get-​go rather than having to keep re-​explaining or providing contextual setup in
every chapter. The next five sections, for example, are aimed at specific audiences
interested in the process and approach of the study. Not all readers may be in-
terested in such things, but some probably are (since “method” is often an ob-
session for some scholars). The purpose of the four sections after that (Social
Construction, Emergence, Necessity, Philosophies) may not be immediately ob-
vious and might, at first gloss, appear superfluous or overindulgent. Their inclu-
sion is intended to provide a contextual backdrop against which the remainder of
the book can be understood (again: saving me from having to keep re-​explaining
in every chapter). The question of context is always subjective and relative. Some
readers may find this chapter (and the next one) overkill, whereas others may
find it superficial and perfunctory. Those wishing to just “jump right in” may
want to skip ahead to Part II (but take heed that many arguments in the book
originate in the first two chapters).

5 Many sources could be cited here. See, for example, the work of Richard Leppert (1988, 1993).
6 Context

Do People Study Leisure?

To be concerned with people’s daily activities—​what I am describing as conduct

and the art of living—​demands an approach that considers the wider contexts
of people’s attitudes and behaviors. I realized when I began this project that my
training and education, with its heavy focus on music studies and educational
literature, would be insufficient for the task at hand. Somewhat serendipitously,
I happened upon the idea of “leisure” as a way of making sense of what I had
previously been thinking of as “lifelong learning,” a term I found wanting be-
cause (a) it seemed to play into the hands of the neoliberal agenda; and (b) life-
long learning—​at least as so often discussed in the literature—​seemed to have no
point. To what end should everyone become lifelong learners, I wondered? I per-
sonally enjoy many things in life without regarding them as a form of learning,
let alone lifelong learning. In the concept of leisure, however, I found a life prin-
ciple that could help interrogate a range of issues, from learning, participation,
and motivation, to freedom, control, and inequality.
The fields of Leisure Studies (UK) and Leisure Sciences (US) emerged con-
currently in the 1960s. As Coalter (1997) suggests, the two fields were originally
characterized by different “epistemological, methodological, and theoretical
perspectives” (255). Although today there may still be differences between them,
I treat the two terms more or less interchangeably in this book despite the pos-
sible residue of historical distinctions. There are clearly differences between such
things as studying what people do outside of work and obligation, analyzing
possible meanings and motives for what people do, developing skills, capaci-
ties, and dispositions to do some things rather than others, and developing/​
implementing policies and services aimed at restricting or facilitating what
people do. Additionally, there is much to be gained by engaging in philosoph-
ical exercises examining time, activity, meaning, ethics, and so on. Whether one
chooses to label these interests as “studies” or “sciences” is not overly important
for the purposes of this book.
Except when I discuss specific historical sources, I am not generally using the
words “leisure” and “recreation” in the sense of travel, tourism, outdoor adven-
turing, or many of the other areas that often fall within the purview of leisure
and recreation studies or the parks and recreation profession. While such may
be a more common understanding of these words today, my goal (especially
in Part II) is to remind a contemporary reader of some of the history and phi-
losophy associated with leisure, recreation, and to a lesser extent, play, in order
to revive awareness of the potential that these concepts hold for reinvigorating
music learning, teaching, and participation practices that seem increasingly
marginalized in and by contemporary discourses. For example, whereas the use
of the phrase “leisure time” in the Progressive Education era was a regular part
 Music, Leisure, and Education 7

of educational conversations, uttering the word “leisure” in connection with

schooling today is often tantamount to heresy. Schooling in much of the Global
North exists to ensure that students pass standardized tests and to prepare them
for jobs, not for indulging in non-​vocational pursuits such as music. Why should
society spend precious taxpayer dollars so students might learn just for the sheer
joy of learning or for the sake of a developing the skills necessary to partake in a
recreational activity later in life? What kind of an “investment” is that? How could
“leisurely learning”—​especially the learning of something like music—​possibly
help a given country maintain its spot (or move up) in the global rankings?

Work, Work, Work

We have become addicted to the promise of work. Work promises

we will get ahead. Work promises power, money, and influence.
Work promises we will be accepted, respected, successful. And so,
we work. We work because we want to, because we need to. We work
out of habit and desire. We work to occupy time. We work to estab-
lish our place in the pecking order, to guarantee status and prestige.
And, too often, we work because we simply don’t know what else to
do with ourselves, because we think we must and should.
—​Al Gini (2003, 2)

“I Hear America Singing”

—​Walt Whitman

All people have basic subsistence needs of food, shelter, and safety—​needs that re-
quire most adults, the wealthy excepted, to earn money. The necessity of working
to make enough money to live (or live “comfortably”), however, often becomes dis-
torted, whereby many people regard “working” as synonymous with living. This is
a key critique in this book. It is not that I dispute or take issue with “work,” but I do
take issue with the idea that people should exist for no other reason than to work—​
or more precisely, that work-​as-​employment should be considered as “the good
life”—​to the exclusion of life-​affirming activities such as recreational music making.
I realize I am swimming upstream here. There have been a few oppositional
voices over the years who have questioned slavish devotion to work or proposed
strategies for “work-​life balance,” but the prevailing discourse in many (but not
all) countries treats work as doxa.6 Of all countries, the United States is arguably

6 This is not to suggest there aren’t oppositional voices. It is just that these voices pale in compar-

ison to the dominant discourse of work.

8 Context

the quintessential example of this. Walt Whitman’s “I Hear America Singing”

(published in the 1867 volume Leaves of Grass) epitomizes and romanticizes
work as the source from which all good flows.7 I explored multiple websites
providing commentary and analysis on “I Hear America Singing,” a poem that
celebrates the different “voices” of America’s working class, and, with one excep-
tion that draws attention to the poem’s underlying whiteness and omission of
slavery’s legacy, none takes issue with Whitman’s premise that work is an unqual-
ified good. The negative effects of the inequalities of work are apparently irrel-
evant so long as the nation’s global domination reigns supreme (though not on
happiness, in which the United States ranks quite low internationally in many
studies).
So, if work has been such a perennial force driving the agenda—​not just in the
United States, but internationally—​why a book on music, leisure, and education?
Two reasons: first, vocationalism has become an epidemic that has run rough-
shod over all considerations of what education could or should be, something
that threatens the viability and life-​enhancing potential of avocational (leisure)
pursuits such as music; and second, work in the twenty-​first century has changed
in such a way that the very thought of leisure, let alone leisure as a “right,” is
antithetical for too many people. That several US states have passed “right-​to-​
work” laws and “at-​will” laws,8 that unionism is in decline, and that many people
now rely on the “gig economy” rather than stable jobs with benefits, all point to
an historical moment where time not devoted to work, no matter how low the
wages or unfair the working conditions, elevates the risk of unemployment, un-
deremployment, or wage stagnation. Working relations in the United States are
typically such that employees are expected to show undivided devotion and loy-
alty to their employers, with absolutely no loyalty, recognition, or appreciation
shown in return (Pugh 2015). Add to this the interconnected nature of our world
due to technological advances, and we live at a time where a growing number of
people simply cannot escape work’s omnipresent grasp.
Things are not that bad for everyone, of course. The well-​off in society usually
ensure that their own children’s educations are “well-​rounded,” not vocation-
ally oriented. Growing social inequality in the United States (and in many other
places in the world) has been well documented. The divide between the haves
and have-​nots increases every year, with the traditional “middle class” having

7 I thank Jesse Rathgeber for pointing out to me the song “Forty Hour Week (For A Livin’)” by the

band Alabama, the lyrics of which essentially echo Whitman and support the idea of work’s glorifica-
tion as a long-​standing American trope.
8 “Right-​to-​work” laws help to prohibit union activity, thereby weakening collective bargaining

power. “At will” means that employers have the right (subject to state or federal laws) to terminate
an employee at any time and need not supply a reason. These policies help to ensure that employees
remain grateful for the opportunity to work, regardless of the compensation or working conditions.
Perversely, the resultant precarity elevates the importance of work.
 Music, Leisure, and Education 9

become a shell of its former self, its members often struggling to make ends
meet. The so-​called 1 percent, on the other hand, appear to be doing better and
better—​at least financially. As I discuss more fully in Chapter 6, however, mate-
rial security does not automatically guarantee happiness. The 1 percent might
enjoy greater leisure consumption potential, but not necessarily greater leisure
satisfaction.
Work has always reflected and enacted power differentials in society. But while
many people have lived difficult lives, my reading of the historical record suggests
that something rather pernicious started to occur in the late twentieth century.
Due to structural changes in the economy and changes in the world of work,
“leisure”—​as both a word and a concept—​developed negative connotations. This
is an historical anomaly, however. Historians of leisure have pointed out that
festivals, celebrations, and a spirit of play have characterized social existence for
most of the past two thousand years. Despite historical oscillations in emphases
on work and play, leisure—​even if not named or recognized as such—​has gener-
ally been recognized as central to human existence.
For many people today, leisure either smacks of privilege or is synonymous
with laziness. For Thorstein Veblen, most memorable today for his term “con-
spicuous consumption,” the “leisure class” defined itself in ways Pierre Bourdieu
would later capture with the word “distinction.” Privilege defines itself not just
through Karl Marx’s “freedom from necessity” (although that plays a part), but
through leisure practices that identify some groups of people as special. Leisure
has also received short shrift because of what it isn’t: productivity. Stemming
from religious origins that equated leisure with that deadliest of sins, sloth—​time
spent enjoying oneself—​was objectionable because it was time not spent in de-
votion to God. Articulated most trenchantly in Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic
and the Spirit of Capitalism, the Protestant work ethic helped to ensure that one
lived to work rather than worked to live. Making money was not just permissible
by God, it was one’s duty (so long as the money was not spent on conspicuous
consumption!). Leisure, under the work ethic, was most definitely verboten.
Today, the arguments have shifted but the outcome is the same. One might
go so far as to say that the Protestant work ethic is alive and well in a twenty-​first
century world fully transformed by late twentieth-​century neoliberalism. While
the leisure of the better-​off is still distasteful to some because of the flaunting of
entitlement (although in certain countries, such as the United States, ostenta-
tious displays of wealth are the marker of success toward which everyone should
strive), the leisure of the “non-​wealthy” is objectionable (social media stars not-
withstanding) because it indicates that individuals are not actively contributing
to [insert your nation here]’s international competitiveness. Grand narratives of
the late twentieth century—​especially ones in education with which I am more
intimately familiar—​have shifted the focus away from fulfillment and well-​being
10 Context

and toward service to the state (read: the interests of the country’s wealthy).
National GDP is dependent on every citizen doing their part: working, working,
working.

The Study of Music as/​and Leisure

Given the occasionally hostile reactions to the word, “leisure” would seem risky
to advance in connection with the learning and doing of music. No doubt there
are those who believe that connecting the learning of music to a word like “lei-
sure” (or “recreation”) is to demean the significance and importance of music,
especially music as (an) art. For many professional musicians and teachers of
music, to describe music as a leisure activity is insulting. Music, in the minds of
many music professionals, is “Queen of the Arts,” a “universal language,” and,
especially in the case of instrumental classical music, the purest expression of
our most sublime thoughts, emotions, and feelings. Music is special. Indeed, in
my first few years as a school music teacher I felt it my professional responsibility
to “educate” others out of their ignorance about the importance of music. One
notes here, of course, some rather partial understandings of music. Unless oth-
erwise stated, music, when used formally or in institutional contexts, tends to
imply music in a classical, not vernacular sense. The playing of drums in a garage
band might be leisure, but to describe playing cello in a community orchestra as
leisure is to somehow trivialize the seriousness of the endeavor.
Over the years I have become increasingly uneasy with the disconnect I per-
ceive between the ways everyday people and the ways professionals engage with
the idea of music, especially music making. Professionals may know certain
things about music that non-​professionals do not (or rather, some things about
some musics), but it does not logically follow—​no matter how many overtures
music professionals might make—​that they have special insights into the human
condition or purchase on the good life. To my knowledge, there are no studies
showing that professionals in music are happier, more fulfilled, or insightful than
any other segment of society.
The overwhelming majority of people in the world who make music are not
professionals in a vocational sense, but rather, people who are motivated non-​
vocationally, regardless of whether they play in a garage band or a community
orchestra. These people may not explicitly describe their motivations or activ-
ities as leisure, but, as I argue in this book, leisure provides a powerful way of
making sense of what is, could, and should be when it comes to music, leisure,
and education.
Historical, anthropological, and biological research may not adequately ex-
plain music in terms of human experience, but it seems fairly clear that (a) music
 Music, Leisure, and Education 11

has been part of human experience for about as long there have been humans;
and (b) there aren’t too many people who do not, on some level, enjoy music. No
one needs to defend or make a case for music (though many advocate for school
music). On the other hand, that music exists and that it has been common to
human experience throughout time does not help to explain why people today
should invest time and energy (and often money) in developing their musical
capacities, nor does it explain why people should make music beyond their for-
mative years. And herein lies the crux of the matter when it comes to making
music: on a base level, vocational motives and avocational motives differ—​and
arguably always have differed. Vocational aspirations, however, are not the focus
of this book. Instead, I am concerned with the relationship everyday people
might have with music making. That is, I am interested in probing how and why
people might want to choose to involve themselves with making music outside of
any vocational (i.e., work-​as-​employment) concerns.
To be clear: one of the purposes of this book is to explore leisure as a con-
cept and an ideal—​both historically and philosophically—​to better understand
music making in the context of daily living, not to classify or document activities
(per the sociology of leisure). My overarching argument is that the ideal of lei-
sure represents an opportunity to reclaim individual and community well-​being
as a legitimate and valued goal of human existence, and toward this end, that
making music represents an activity (among many) with tremendous potential
for increasing human happiness. When leisure is understood in its larger histor-
ical and philosophical sense, it becomes clearer that the making of music may or
may not constitute leisure.

On Method and Approach

For better or worse, I read a lot by and about French poststructuralist Michel
Foucault during my doctoral studies. I have not read much Foucault since
then, but his work has undeniably influenced the way I approach and think
about, among many other things, history and the connections between
power and knowledge. I am in no way suggesting that this book represents a
Foucauldian analysis. I cannot undo Foucault’s impact on my thinking, how-
ever. Perhaps the most notable aspect of Foucault’s influence on my work is
the stance I have taken toward what I have read. I have considered sources as a
kind of “archive”—​a bounded set of ideas (or “systems of thought,” as Foucault
might say)—​with the texts constituting what Foucault regards as “discourse.”9

9 The word “discourse” is used in so many ways, I am somewhat loath to use it. In its Foucauldian

manifestation it generally refers to how language is imbued in a set of power relations. Put simply, it
is about the sayable and the unsayable. It is sometimes helpful to distinguish between “discourses”
12 Context

I have been unconcerned with attempting to weigh the merits of various

sources, considering them simply as part of a general pattern of thought. That
words were spoken during a particular period is proof of their intelligibility.
That words were published is proof of their recognition and authority. I do not
take this to mean that all words and thoughts are true, or that everyone agreed
with them when they were printed, or that all words carried equal weight in
their day. It simply means that one cannot deny that these words existed at one
time, and that they were the product of situated, historical ways of thinking
and acting. This is to say that, regardless of the narrowness or breadth of the
representativeness or the influence of certain texts, a Foucauldian accepts
that enough people thought in a particular way (e.g., enough to warrant the
publishing of a book) that allowed particular documents, organizations, or
practices to come into existence. In my examination of some of the recreation
and leisure literature from the early twentieth century, for example, I have
not attempted to judge what has been written, but rather, have accepted it as
having existed. This does not mean I have read uncritically, but rather, that I
have not attempted to pass judgment on the existence of the sources.
This is in no way to suggest mine is a value-​free reading. I am an able-​
bodied, heterosexual, white, cisgender male. Although I did not grow up in
wealth, I enjoyed the privilege of a stable home, mostly free from strife and
suffering. I cannot change my positionality. That most of my sources for this
book were written by white Anglo (mostly American) males, most of whom
were (are) likely able-​bodied, heteronormative, and the product of privilege,
however, must be acknowledged. That most (though not all) of my sources are
American and reflect American thoughts and values must also be acknowl-
edged. All of this is very regrettable in my eyes, not just because I end up
participating in the perpetuation of ethnocentric and androcentric dominant
norms and values, but because it serves as a reminder of how difficult it is to
do otherwise, especially when it comes to analyzing and discussing “the past”
based primarily on the written word. I would like to believe that I have been
“rigorous” in my analysis, but any such claim rings hollow in the absence of
greater representation by writers who are female, non-​American, non-​heter-
onormative, non-​white, and differently abled (in addition to other forms of
difference). In the face of many shortcomings to be more inclusive, I simply
encourage readers to be critical and ever-​vigilant, with an eye toward building
rather than bashing.

(more or less analogous to recognizable conversations among interpretive communities) and “dis-
course” (i.e., larger issues of truth as connected to knowledge).
 Music, Leisure, and Education 13

A Few Words on Theory

[C]‌onduct is both an act of “directing” others (according to more or less strict

mechanisms of coercion) and the way of behaving in a more or less open field of
possibilities. (Foucault 2007, xxii)

If “the art of living” is the base problem at the heart of this book, then conduct
represents a way of thinking about living that embodies the complexities of
choice: one not only makes decisions about one’s own conduct, but simultane-
ously—​intentionally or unintentionally—​“conducts” the conduct of others. This
is to say that choice always occurs within a field of possibilities and power rela-
tions. Conduct is thus set against a backdrop of ethics and morality: one must
constantly weigh the interrogative, How should one live? against the imperative,
How one should live.
Ethics, understood as the rationalization of action, is often situated as grap-
pling with the problem of right and wrong as a philosophical practice: for in-
stance, can killing be justified under certain circumstances, such as killing one
to save a thousand? In contrast, morality, understood as an explicit or implicit
code of behavior intended to be followed or obeyed, is often situated as providing
guidance for right action: for example, “Thou shalt not kill.” Religion is the insti-
tution typically associated with morality (e.g., the Ten Commandments), though
morality can certainly be understood more broadly. According to Foucault, the
power of religious morality opened the door, particularly under Christianity,
to what he terms “pastoral power,” something characterized by (1) exercising
influence over a group of people (the “flock”) rather than a physical territory;
(2) beneficence; and (3) individuation, where care and concern were expressed
by the “pastor” simultaneously at both the individual and collective level (see
Golder 2007).
For Foucault, the practice of pastoral power under Christianity, where the
pastor cares for the well-​being of the flock, opened up new relations of power, the
most notable (for Foucault) being what he describes as governmentality (a port-
manteau of government rationality), a form of power that came to prominence
with the rise of the nation-​state. As Foucault explains, governmentality is

an ensemble formed by institutions, procedures, analyses and reflections,

calculations, and tactics that allow the exercise of the very specific, albeit very
complex, power that has the population as its target, political economy as its
major form of knowledge, and apparatuses of security as its essential tech-
nical instrument. . . . [It is the] result of a process by which the state of jus-
tice of the Middle Ages became the administrative state . . . and was gradually
“governmentalized.” (Foucault 2007, 108–​109)
14 Context

Foucault clarifies that the ends of government are not just to govern, but to
improve the condition, wealth, health, and longevity of the population (2007,
105). Governmentality (which includes, for my purposes, the pastoral power of
voluntary associations) was buttressed by the rise of new forms of knowledge,
especially those representing themselves under the banner of “science” (hence
Foucault’s theorization of power-​knowledge). While I have not used them as ex-
plicit a priori analytic concepts, the underlying ideas behind governmentality
and pastoral power have shaped the way I have read sources in Chapters 3–​5. For
example, the reform movement that arose in the late nineteenth century in the
United States can be viewed as a form of pastoral power whereby a self-​appointed
group of people attempted to govern the conduct of society’s “downtrodden.”
To be clear, while governmentality is sometimes thought of in its restrictive
sense of elected government, the basic idea of pastoral power that underlies
governmentality can be applied to any organization, institution, or group of
people that purports to affect conduct under the guise of beneficence and moral
authority.
Viewed through the lenses of governmentality and pastoral power, it becomes
easier to see how individual conduct has become the target of ever-​increasing
scrutiny. As the concerns of governing increasingly became concerns of admin-
istration in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, management demanded
the creation of new forms of knowledge known today as the social (or human)
sciences: anthropology, sociology, psychology, economics, and so on. These
knowledge forms made possible what today might be called “scientific manage-
ment,” where individual conduct is to be predicted and controlled. “The good
life” must appear to be freely chosen by the individual, but only in accord with
choices strongly influenced by others. Educationalist James Marshall asserts that
the magic—​or insidiousness—​of the processes of governmentality is that, de-
spite being in plain view, they are largely masked from individual consciousness
(Marshall 1996, 91). The problem of conduct, then, becomes a matter of con-
stantly questioning the extent to which the choices of leisure are ethical or moral.

The Social Construction of Music Education

Except by the ignorant, [music in the schools] is no longer regarded as a fad.

(Lies 1933, 105)

Michel Foucault emphasized paying attention to the sayings and doings. Some
people frame this in terms of “practice theory,” a way of making sense of human
activity. One of the challenges with practice theory is that practices tend to bleed
into one another, making it difficult to delimit, draw boundaries, distinguish,
 Music, Leisure, and Education 15

and so on. Where is the line between music and dance, for example? Where is
the line between creating music and composing music—​or between creating
music and producing music? An associated challenge lies in determining the
relationships between things said and done. A song exists. It is done. But then
people talk about the song. Does the meaning reside in the song or in the talking
about the song? What is the practice of the song?
That a combination of activities exist that can be called the practice of school
music in the United States is not in doubt. True, there are usually differences
between what occurs at the elementary and secondary levels, and the degree of
homogeneity in the practice can be debated, but on some level there is a practice
where teachers and students are engaged in activities that relate to the learning
and teaching of music in classrooms (rather than in one-​on-​one settings). How
are we to make sense of this practice? What do the sayings and doings reveal
about what music education is and what it means?
Brian Roberts (2004) provides an introductory sketch of the “social construc-
tion” of music as a school subject in the United States and Canada. One of his
claims is that school music “preceded its parent disciplines of music education
in the universities” (9). In my own research, I have noted how “School Music”
and “Public School Music” tend to appear as the preferred terms in much of the
Anglo–​North American and British music teaching discourse in the first decades
of the twentieth century. These terms, and not “music education,” are found in
the course calendars for US university degree programs at the time, indicative
both of how music in general education had become an identifiable entity dis-
tinct from other musical pursuits such as private music lessons and conservatory
“training.” The phrases “music education” and “musical education” can still be
found in early twentieth-​century discourses, but the usage of these terms should
not be confused with that of today because the academic disciplinary base of
music education (i.e., research journals, societies, and so on) had not yet come
into existence.
Many histories of music education (as school music) exist.10 As with all histo-
ries, each telling is a story, not the story; every history is perspectival and incom-
plete. History, goes the old saw, is told by the “victors.” It should hardly surprise
anyone, then, that the official history of music education in the United States is
overwhelmingly male, overwhelmingly white. That canonical music education
histories in the United States do not typically mention the early relationships
between Music Supervisors National Conference and the National Recreation
Association (Playground Association of America, as it was initially known), and

10 American music educators are usually familiar with classic texts by Edward Birge, James

Keene, or Mark and Gary, but many other sources (including Journal of Historical Research in Music
Education) exist. There are similar texts documenting historical practices in other countries.
16 Context

that leisure has disappeared as a concern of the profession, reveals much about
the political nature of history telling.
In their edited volume of “cross-​cultural historical studies of music in com-
pulsory schooling,” Gordon Cox and Robin Stevens (2017) illustrate how music’s
entrance into and ongoing involvement with schooling in countries around the
world is varied and complex. That music now exists as part of the school curric-
ulum in countries with such different political histories and structures provides
something of a reminder that conceptions of music as part of common schooling
are not always as homogeneous as many writers in the field of music education
often make them out to be. Significant, from my perspective, is that the schol-
arly field uses the same words (“music education”) to refer to differing practices,
as if music instruction in the schools of Finland or Australia were identical to
that of the United States. Also significant is that there appears to me to be little
recognition on the part of practitioners of how school music is an historical
construction.
The entry of music into schools, almost irrespective of country, had a lot to do
with a desire to develop participatory singing skills and a sense of national cohe-
siveness. Throughout the nineteenth century, commensurate with the rise of lib-
eral democracies and public schooling, many Western countries found sufficient
value in singing (or, less often, music literacy) to include it in school curricula.
In the United States, conventional understanding is that music was accepted in
Boston schools as a way of improving congregational singing in church, which
had, according to some, become unacceptably bad. Schools in other countries
adopted music as part of the curriculum in part for its “nation-​building” poten-
tial (Cox and Stevens 2017; Hebert and Kertz-​Welzel 2012). It should also not
be overlooked that, before the advent of radio and mechanical reproduction,
making music was the only way to have music; group song was something to
do. That singing had a bonding effect that could simultaneously instill the social
values of the dominant class made it a relatively easy sell as a public good ap-
propriate for compulsory schooling. This was especially true in countries with a
strong egalitarian (anti-​aristocratic, anti-​elitist) ethic, such as the United States,
where the inclusion of music (singing) instruction in schools resonated with the
“democratization of culture” spirit. The learning of music (i.e., the right kind of
music) wasn’t just for the aristocracy or wealthy classes; music was for everyone.
In many American elementary schools today, classes such as art, music, li-
brary, and physical education are today colloquially, but also in many cases offi-
cially, known as “specials,” a label that underlies how they are currently regarded
in the school curriculum. Classroom teachers at the elementary level are typi-
cally expected to teach math, English, social studies, science—​basically all the
subjects except for those offered by specialists. By contrast, music in American
schools in the nineteenth century was usually taught by classroom teachers, who
 Music, Leisure, and Education 17

were expected to be minimally competent in music—​by which was usually meant

leading the classroom in song (often with the expectation of teaching students to
read notation). Music, or more precisely, singing, wasn’t “special”; it was common
and everyday. The subtle but crucial rupture in the social construction of music
as a school subject occurred with the introduction and expansion of instru-
mental music in the 1910s, 1920s, and 1930s. This period of transition occurred
in tandem with the rapid expansion of schooling and the formation of both the
Playground Association of America and Music Supervisors National Conference
(MSNC). Music education historian William Lee describes the growth in school
music in the United States during this period as “explosive” (2007, 108).
What is sometimes overlooked in the grand narratives of music education
is that teaching instrumental music in schools is fundamentally different from
leading group singing. While the quality of song leadership in schools at the
time no doubt reflected the individual musicianship and abilities of the class-
room teacher, with some teachers likely more successful than others, this form
of leadership did not require a deep level of specialized training. Leading instru-
mental music making, on the other hand, typically requires specialized expertise
developed through formal study. (Harold Hill’s “think” method only works on
Broadway.)11 As Lee notes, “With increased interest in instrumental music and
so many specialties developing within the field of music education, the MSNC
was forced to consider a new level of professionalism. Universities and colleges
began to offer a full range of specialties in music education” (W. Lee 2007, 109).
As evidenced in many discourses of the early twentieth century, an important
premise of school music was that one learned to sing or to play an instrument in
order to enjoy making music as a community (leisure) activity—​that is, to sing
or play in community music groups or at home for pleasure. Hence, the intrinsic
value of learning resided in the enjoyment of leisure and recreation, not the
music in and of itself. Many music teachers with specialized degrees in “public
school music,” however, did not always share these values. Even if the purported
goal was to make playing an instrument common to everyone (the egalitarian
promise), this could only happen by making music special.

Emergence of the Discipline

Teaching under the banner “school music” does not claim or presume to be
what is implied by the totalizing term “music education.” Instead, it accepts its
more limited purview and recognizes its place within a larger sphere or constel-
lation of music learning and teaching practices. For comparison, consider how

11 I allude here to Meredith Willson’s The Music Man.

18 Context

German music educationalist Egon Kraus described conceptualizations of music

in German schools after the Second World War: “It was necessary to set a plan of
music education which had to consider its importance with in the whole scheme
of education. It was primarily important therefore to recognize the relationship
of school music to the total concept of the music education and its objectives
which embrace the wide area of music and life” (Kraus 1960, 68). For postwar
Germany, school music was a part of national discussions about education.
Furthermore, school music was not an autonomous entity, but was related to ed-
ucation and to music in the cultural sphere of life.
Germany was not alone in its re-​examination of music and its relationship to
schools and to education in the postwar period. The 1950s saw the emergence
of a power-​knowledge structure in many countries whereby the “discipline” of
music education came into existence, resulting in the kinds of things that now
separate “music education” from other instances of music teaching and learning
(even though the phrase “music education” is often used in a vernacular sense
to refer to all musical studies). Music education’s research journals, special-
ized conferences and “special interest groups,” and the International Society for
Music Education all trace their emergence to the decade of the 1950s. As the
venerated executive secretary of the Music Educators National Conference (now
National Association for Music Education) Vanett Lawler explained in 1960
about music education in the United States, “[T]‌here is a definite trend toward
serious research in music education. Up to a few years ago not much concern was
evidenced about research in music education as it related to music in education
and music as education in the United States. There is now a Journal of Research in
Music Education, and in 1960 the Society for Research in Music Education of the
MENC became a reality” (1960, 182, original emphasis).
The term “music education” may be uttered by laypeople as meaning a
broader, general sense of deliberative individual and societal growth in music
learning and teaching, but to those operating within its disciplinary boundaries,
music education in the United States is defined by structures, practices, and a
knowledge based oriented toward music learning as it occurs in K–​12 (some-
times P–​12) schooling.12 This is not to imply that music educators do not think
more broadly, of course, nor am I suggesting that music teachers operating out-
side of school settings should not call themselves music educators. Rather, I am
recognizing how an undergraduate university degree in music education (in the
United States) is designed to credential someone for K–​12 teaching. People with
non-​music education degrees may do some music teaching, including some
that occurs in schools—​often under the label of “teaching artist,” or sometimes
“community musicians”—​but such people aren’t typically recognized as music

12 Kindergarten (or pre-​kindergarten) through twelfth grade.

 Music, Leisure, and Education 19

educators by people who are credentialed and licensed as school music teachers.
The discipline of music education (i.e., school music) is so firmly entrenched—​
not just in the United States, but in many countries throughout the world—​that
it becomes difficult to make sense of a time before music education as it is under-
stood today.
Despite the emergence of a discipline that now encompasses multiple research
journals, scholarly books, and countless academic conferences, a cursory over-
view of what goes on in American school music does not reveal much substan-
tive change over the past hundred or so years. The content of the 1923 method
book The Universal Teacher, for example, looks surprisingly like that of instru-
mental method books today.13 Wind bands today play music by Holst, Grainger,
and Vaughan Williams, just as they have for much of the last hundred years. It is
much the same with the choir and orchestra (though drawing on a much deeper
palette of repertoire). School bands, choirs, and orchestras continue to prepare
musical selections for performances and “contests.” And while elementary music
teaching witnessed the introduction of “innovative” pedagogical approaches
such as Kodály and Orff-​Schulwerk over the second half of the twentieth cen-
tury, notation fluency and the musical “elements” continue to factor prominently
in elementary school music curricula. The ability to read staff notation is still
taken by many as the sine qua non of music education, just as it was a hundred
years ago.14
What seems to change in the practice of school music, albeit arguably only
slightly, is the nature of the discussion that surrounds music education (school
music). The discussions I am particularly interested in are those related to the
what and why of school music instruction. By this I mean paying attention to the
rationales and justifications for music in schools (the why) and the arguments re-
lated to the doings of school music curriculum and instruction (the what). I shall
not engage in a wholesale re-​articulation of the work of others in this area.15
Instead, I offer some general observations related to the what and the why of
music education.

13 See, for example, Hash (2010), Brittin and Sheldon (2004).

14 The “rote versus note” controversies of the nineteenth century bled into the twentieth, but “note”
was (and is) the clear victor.
15 There are so many sources one could mention here. In addition to Estelle Jorgensen’s (1994)

“Justifying Music Instruction in American Public Schools: An Historical Perspective,” and J. Terry
Gates’s (1991a) “Solving Music Education’s Rationale Problem,” Scott Goble (2010) offers a compre-
hensive overview in his book What’s So Important about Music Education? And then there are some
of the “major works” of philosophy in (American) music education, such as Leonhard and House
(1959), Henry (1958), Bennett Reimer’s (1970, 1989, 2003) A Philosophy of Music Education, David
Elliott’s (1995, Elliott and Silverman 2014a) Music Matters, and The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy
in Music Education (Bowman and Frega 2012). A more complete list could consume many pages.
20 Context

The Necessity Problem

The parallels between the social construction of music as a school subject and
the emergence of the community music school movement in the United States
(see Chapter 3) are striking and illuminating. Just as settlement music schools
experienced a widening divide between supporters of “professional” music and
“social” music—​a divide that led to the professional camp breaking away to form
the National Guild of Community Music Schools to pursue activities considered
more “musical”—​those involved with what might be termed the early school
music movement also exhibited conflicting values about the function and aims
of public school music. On one side were those such as Charles Farnsworth, Will
Earhart, Max Schoen, and James Mursell, for whom the value of music in the
school curriculum was thought to reside in music’s inherent aesthetic nature.16
On the other side were figures such as Peter Dykema, Edgar Gordon, and Frank
Beach, who, likely due to their close associations with the settlement and recrea-
tion movements (see Chapters 3 and 4), tended to promote music’s social values
and community building potential as of primary importance to public school
music (see W. Lee 2007).
Affectionately known among many in the early school music movement as
“our philosopher,” Charles Farnsworth had an incalculable influence on the de-
velopment of music education as a discipline (see Gehrkens 1937). In his 1909
work Education through Music, published some fifty years ahead of when aes-
thetic education would become standard fare in the music education field,
Farnsworth laid out the basics of what is sometimes referred to today as the “aes-
thetic rationale.” From today’s vantage point, the rhetoric in Education through
Music reveals how philosophical discourse was used to privilege art music as
central to educational endeavors in school music:

The communication of feeling is brought about through the development of

musical ideas which charge the sensuous beauty of music with the expressive
qualities of language, not duplicating language where it is effective, but con-
veying the expression where language fails. . . . [T]‌he broad view represents
an education through music that quickens perception, clarifies feeling, and
stimulates initiative for the beautiful. (1909, 208)

Obvious in Farnsworth’s work is the stark difference in focus from those who
viewed music’s value as residing in its potential to serve social purposes such

16 Mursell was a complex figure. Although usually associated with advocating an “aesthetic” po-

sition, he also mentions the value of leisure in his writing. If anything, Mursell should be noted for
moving the disciplinary concerns of music education away from sociology and toward psychology.
 Music, Leisure, and Education 21

as civic participation, esprit de corps, the proper use of leisure (by participating
in the right kinds of activities), and even, in some cases, vocational training
(recalling that musicians were in high demand through the 1920s and 1930s,
and that working musician wages were, in comparable terms, generally higher
than those of today). Sometimes described as “utilitarian” rationales, these latter
justifications were (and are) considered by those favoring aesthetic rationales to
undermine the “true” value of music—​and music in the school curriculum—​by
placing it in service of other agendas (e.g., Mark 1982).
The similarities between the aesthetic camp of the school music movement
and the professional camp of the community music school movement go only
so far, however. As discussed in Chapter 3, the professional camp of the com-
munity music school movement looked at public school music with disdain due
to what were perceived as the latter’s low musical standards, expectations, and
teaching conditions. Indeed, school music, dependent on mass instruction op-
erating under the physical and social conditions of public schooling, could (can)
not hope to achieve the level of musical development possible in the commu-
nity music school, with its individual instruction and self-​selection of students.
The raison d’être of the community music school was clear: equal access, through
subsidy, to high-​quality instruction, the goal of which was (and is) to develop
performing abilities as a musician. An appreciation of “better” music would
presumably develop over time as an outgrowth (and ancillary benefit) of music
study. The raison d’être of public school music, however, remained (and remains)
ambiguous. Whereas the community music school restricted itself to the prin-
ciple of access—​leaving the decision to pursue music instruction in the hands
of individual families—​school music, by contrast, claimed a place in the school
curriculum; the state, not the family, decided that everyone should receive in-
struction in music.
The underlying argument for public (i.e., compulsory) school music in the
early twentieth century built off the cultural uplift morality of the settlement
movement: the democratization of culture. The upshot of this argument implied
that music was not just desirable, but necessary for the good of society.17 A rather
obvious problem here is that “democratizing” culture requires establishing the
normative tastes and activities of a particular group as culture—​which, by defi-
nition, defines the tastes and activities of others as not culture. The legacy of this
approach continues to haunt music classrooms today. A more practical problem,
however, is that the democratization of culture rationale introduced a tension
about what, specifically, was necessary for all people to learn. For the community
music schools, the task was clear: musical training. If the public school rationale

17 Several authors have discussed this. See, for example, Broudy (1990), Kivy (1991), Jorgensen

(1996).
22 Context

was based on quickening perception, clarifying feeling, and stimulating initia-

tive for the beautiful, however, doubts could be raised about the need to actu-
ally make music. Music appreciation, through selective listening, was all that was
required.
Consumption arguments have a long legacy in the West, dating back to
Platonic ideas about music’s power to impact the soul. In the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries this line of thinking extended to the perpetuation of
cultural values, ones perceived as under threat due to mass immigration and
urbanization (see Chapter 3). One need only consider the countless examples
of writers at the time concerned with the dangers of “jazz” to recognize that
society’s dominant groups saw great potential in the schools to ensure their
values were validated as what Michael Apple in more recent times has called “of-
ficial knowledge” (Apple 2000). It is not surprising that so many in the music
education establishment at the time were quick to take advantage of the techno-
logical advances of the phonograph and radio to promote music appreciation. If
the argument was that through one’s taste in music people would become better
people and that society would, as a result, be improved, then taste could not be
left to chance. People—​all people—​needed to be taught to appreciate music.
One of the problems with cultural consumption arguments is that they do
not provide a justification for the production of music, which ultimately is what
people with specialized training in music have ultimately always wanted. (It is
also difficult with consumption arguments to circumvent perceptions of elitism.)
As with consumption arguments, production arguments for music as part of
compulsory schooling butt up against the problem of necessity. If it is argued
that what matters most is the making of music because making music promotes
or develops the necessary issues of A, B, or C, this positions music as the means
rather than the end. Not only is music subservient in this justification scenario,
but it also leaves it vulnerable to obsolescence or redundancy if some other ac-
tivity can accomplish A, B, or C with greater efficiency or efficacy (two items
considered vital in publicly funded schooling).18 Conversely, if it is argued that
what matters most about music production is simply music making qua music
making, it should not matter what kind of music is made. During the 1920s and
1930s, this would have left the door open for the introduction of jazz or other
“lesser” forms of music, something unthinkable at the time.

18 Several authors have made this point. The most notable example can be found in Foundations

and Principles of Music Education (Leonhard and House 1959). Subjects beyond basic functioning
(e.g., literacy and numeracy) are, in practice, evaluated in accordance with community values and
government priorities. Mursell argues essentially the same thing in explaining music’s place in the
school curriculum (Mursell 1943).
 Music, Leisure, and Education 23

“Philosophies” of Music Education

All [people] are intellectuals, but not all [people] have in society the
function of intellectuals.
—​Antonio Gramsci, The Prison Notebooks

Music educators sometimes point to the centrality of music in Ancient Greek

education as a way of supporting the idea of music being basic to education. Part
of the problem here is that mousikē, a central feature of paideia in ancient Greece,
was much broader than our modern word music. Mousikē is generally under-
stood by Ancient Greek scholars to include song, dance, and word (Murray
and Wilson 2004). Mousikē, in other words, was more about developing what
might be described today as a person’s abilities in the “aesthetic” realm than mu-
sical training in its restricted sense (see also Silverman and Elliott 2016). Note,
however, that the educational emphasis in ancient Greece, especially in the
Aristotelian tradition, was on developing the “excellences” (or talents). To the ex-
tent something like taste entered the picture, it was about character development
(i.e., the soul) and not about distinction (Bourdieu 1984).
There are two observations to make about the importance of mousikē to pai-
deia. The first is that mousikē was considered critical to what was taken to be the
proper participation in the polis. Good judgments in the public sphere depended
on being educated. In comparison, few people today believe that music and the
arts are critical to the proper participation in civic life. The second observation
is that the ancients were just as conflicted about the role of music in education
as many people are today. Perhaps the most famous example of this is when
Aristotle writes in Politics, Book Eight, “The first question is whether music is
or is not to be a part of education. Of the three things mentioned in our dis-
cussion, which does it produce?—​education or amusement or intellectual en-
joyment, for it may be reckoned under all three, and seems to share in the nature
of all of them” (http://​class​ics.mit.edu/​Aristo​tle/​polit​ics.8.eight.html). While he
does eventually come down on the side of music in education in Book Eight, too
literal an interpretation of Aristotle would see us banning the flute (because it is
too exciting) and teaching primarily in Dorian mode (because it is gravest and
manliest).19
As I hope is clear, my concerns are not with the specifics of the rationales
and justifications that have been advanced over the years in defense and sup-
port of music learning and teaching, but rather with how the discourses that
have constructed the current profession of music education (school music) have

19 Lest jazz musicians get too excited, the Ancient Greek Dorian mode is apparently not the equiv-

alent of the modern Dorian mode.

24 Context

positioned music learning and teaching in a way I see as dissipating the leisure
potential of music involvement. I acknowledge that value is often in the eye of the
beholder, especially in the political sphere, but I maintain that music education
could better serve people and society if greater criticality and self-​reflexiveness
(rather than perpetual defensiveness) were brought to bear on what is done and
why it is done.
As discussed earlier, those involved with the school music movement in the
early twentieth century can be viewed as conflicted. The “missionary enthu-
siasm” (Roberts 2004) of early school music advocates was seemingly rewarded
by the public’s endorsement and support: the explosive growth of school music.
The political support for school music in the early twentieth century, however,
arguably derived more from the public’s belief in what many music advocates
derided as social or “utilitarian” benefits of music study than from the public’s
belief in Farnsworth’s claim that the study of music in schools “quickens percep-
tion, clarifies feeling, and stimulates initiative for the beautiful.” For educators
with specialized music training, this was problematic because it meant the public
was failing to support school music for the right reasons; the public’s support for
school music was no doubt appreciated, but it risked devaluing its cultural cur-
rency if music became the means rather than the end. For those embracing social
rationales, support deriving from beliefs in ancillary benefits was partially okay,
except that the logic of utilitarian rationales could not guarantee the necessity
of the “right” kind of music. Theoretically, civic engagement could be fostered
around jazz just as easily as around Eurocentric art and folk musics, for example.
To “flip the script” and make music an end rather than a means, many (if not
most) philosophers with an interest in school music have emphasized its mys-
terious and abstruse qualities, attempting to unpack music’s supposed “nature
and value” for the profession. It is relatively easy to understand the attractive-
ness of the “nature and value” of music approach for those seeking to position
music as an educational end. If one can argue that what really matters is not the
making of music, but the learning of music because music is so important it is
indispensable to the human condition, it is then possible to argue for the ne-
cessity of music in the school curriculum (e.g., “people are incomplete without
music”) while maintaining music as an end rather than a means. The thrust of
the aesthetic, “human condition” argument is epistemological: music is a spe-
cial way of knowing the world (hence the use of phrases such as “the education
of feeling”). The ongoing challenge of arguing that music is indispensable to the
human condition is that many people who do not study music turn out just fine
(no matter how much the musically trained claim to the contrary). Even if music
is a special way of knowing the world, it does not logically follow that what is
known through music is valuable to know. An associated problem with the ar-
gument—​one that does not endear itself to the musically untrained—​is that it
 Music, Leisure, and Education 25

positions people as more human and less human. This is the critical difference
between modern arguments and those of the Ancient Greeks. Mousikē as part of
paideia wasn’t about becoming more human. Unlike the cultural uplift/​culturally
deprived argument of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, which, despite its
problems, was more about the dominant class imposing its tastes on others, the
music makes you complete argument suggests, unmistakably, that those without
the benefit of music study are, by definition, deficient as humans.
The residue of music makes you (more) human logic, which appears in var-
ious “the repertoire is the curriculum” guises, continues to influence countless
discourses in music education. My favorite illustrative example is the very popular
Teaching Music through Performance series, the titles of which (e.g., . . . through
Performance in Band, . . . through Performance in Choir, . . . through Performance
in Orchestra) convey unequivocally that what ultimately matters in learning is
not the activity of music, but music as an object of study. The primary goal of
school music teachers, the series titles imply, is not the development of skills and
dispositions people can use in service of healthy living, but the teaching of music.
The underlying premise of Teaching Music through Performance is that per-
forming music is the best way to learn music (i.e., performing is only the means,
whereas knowing music as an object of perception and cognition is the end).
Unsurprisingly, this approach has been enthusiastically endorsed by many music
educators because it supports the ongoing emphasis on music production. It is
necessary, in other words, to make music not because making music is important
but because it is the most efficacious way of learning music. This helps to circum-
vent the arguments of objectors who might point out that bands and orchestras
could be eliminated in favor of music appreciation classes. The “teaching music
through performance” argument has the additional advantage of rationalizing
the lack of lifelong music making: it doesn’t matter that students do not make
music beyond graduation because that was never the point in the first place; the
point of school music is to learn music. Once students have learned it, they will
be better people (i.e., more human) for the rest of their lives.
Part of the appeal of “nature and value of music” rationalizations is that the
word music can mean whatever the writer/​speaker wants it to mean. Unlike
a word like airplane, which is relatively circumscribed, music is an incredibly
amorphous concept.20 There may be many kinds of airplanes, but most people
can likely agree about what constitutes airplane and not airplane. Music, by con-
trast, is almost incomprehensible in its diversity. (Where is the line between
music and not music, exactly?) One might imagine that the notion of music (writ

20 In a 1953 essay entitled “What Is Wrong with Social Theory,” Hebert Blumer offered the helpful

distinction between definitive concepts and sensitizing concepts. My point here is that music is too
often regarded as definitive when it should be considered as sensitizing.
26 Context

large) having a nature and value to be a preposterous proposition. That an artic-

ulation of the exact nature and value could be proposed to adequately account
for what music is and why it matters in education would seem to be the height of
arrogance, and yet this is precisely what has constituted the “bedrock” of philo-
sophical thinking in the field of music education.21 By constructing what is taken
to be music’s nature and value, the philosophical enterprise is able to advance a
conception of what counts and what doesn’t count as educational about music.
Conveniently, it turns out that what is most valuable about music, and about
what makes music necessary in education, just happens to align with the value
system of the classical music conservatory. It is not that other musics are inher-
ently inferior (which would expose this position to charges of elitism, some-
thing inconsistent with the tenets of schooling), it is just a happy coincidence
that Western classical music excels in quickening perception, clarifying feeling,
and stimulating initiative for the beautiful. As a wonderful philosophical tactic,
anyone who objects to values such as perception, feeling, and “the beautiful” can
be dismissed as simply not understanding music. Such people do not “get it” and
need to be educated out of their ignorance so they, too, can value music properly.
Unlike those who take music as their starting point and attempt to build “philos-
ophies” based on what are proposed as music’s nature and value, some thinkers have
suggested that music’s place in the curriculum should be determined by educational
aims. That is, rather than rationalize according to ontology (speciously deriving an
ought from an is) or epistemology (deriving an ought in the absence of a political
framework)—​approaches that start with music and essentially argue that education
needs music—​an alternative approach begins with education (i.e., schooling) and
attempts to place music within it. Estelle Jorgensen (2002), for example, offers what
she views as five philosophically defensible aims for music education: to develop
musical communities, to transform musical traditions, to enrich culture, to benefit
society, and to ennoble people. Note that Jorgensen does not attempt to justify music
education (i.e., explain why music is important), but instead points to pursuits con-
sidered educationally defensible.22
Jorgensen is not alone is emphasizing the normative over the ontological/​
epistemological. Wayne Bowman has also argued that music education should
take education as its starting point.23 While this approach can help circumvent

21 Bennett Reimer (1989) makes this claim in the second edition of A Philosophy of Music

Education.
22 I am not suggesting Jorgensen’s list is unproblematic. The aim of ennobling people, for example,

sustains the highly problematic cultural uplift-​democratization of culture paradigm that I argue
against in this book.
23 Bowman writes, “Among the educational ends we might wish to consider are the fol-

lowing: transmission of cultural heritage; the creation and maintenance of cultural vitality; enabling
access to experiences and understandings that are not commonly accessible through informal means;
imparting critical awareness that gives people more power and control over their lives; imparting
appreciation for embodied and emergent cognition, and for the severe limitations of disembodied
 Music, Leisure, and Education 27

many of the problems that arise when one attempts to extrapolate rationales
from something as diverse and complex as music, there is still the potential for
relying on a kind of ontological thinking that says, This is education(al); that is
not education(al). Such binaries can be helpful in encouraging deeper consider-
ations of possible distinctions between such things as education/​training, edu-
cation/​schooling, and music education philosophy/​music education advocacy,
but the danger of this approach is that it continues to draw on the logic that edu-
cation exists—​that is, that we can come to know and recognize that which is ed-
ucation (or educational) and can deduce or construct music education practice
from there.
Treating education as distinct from training and schooling, and treating phi-
losophy as distinct from advocacy, are tactics that allow education and philos-
ophy to be above the fray of politics. There is an appreciable utility here, in that
these binaries facilitate useful thinking and discussion. (Are there differences
between education and training, and if so, what are they?) On the downside,
claiming education and philosophy as merely ethical rather than political is not
only somewhat naïve but conveniently overlooks the damage wrought by such
faux objectivity or detachment (as feminists, postcolonialists, and others have
been pointing out for decades). Hence, to claim that philosophy is distinct from
advocacy because the latter “resorts to political persuasion” (Bowman 2012, 36),
is to pretend like philosophy is value-​free. It isn’t. One need only look to any set of
statements presenting themselves under the banner of a (or worse, the) “philos-
ophy of ” to recognize there is no point of neutrality when it comes to the explica-
tion of and for action.24 It is not by accident that school music does not typically
include hip-​hop or country music. Such musics have been “innocently” devalued
by philosophical discourses in music and music education over the years. Hence,
even though philosophy’s strategies and tactics may differ from that of advocacy,
philosophy is a form of political persuasion—​perhaps even political persuasion
par excellence.25

knowledge; creating personal and collective identities; developing tolerance, cooperation, and eth-
ical frames for action; rendering the familiar unfamiliar; developing expertise and fluency in valued
realms of human endeavour; and so on. This list, it should be clear, is potentially endless: if music’s
values are radically diverse and multiple, the aims of education are no less so” (2005, 128).

24 In his book Remixing the Classroom: Toward an Open Philosophy of Music Education, Randall

Allsup (2016) approaches this problem by offering the idea of “closed” versus “open” philosophies.
25 For a completely different take on issues of action (advocacy, philosophy, and so on) as they

relate to the direct concerns of music educators, see Patrick Schmidt’s (2020) highly recommended
Policy as Practice: A Guide for Music Educators.
28 Context

Looking Ahead: Music, Leisure, Education

Music is a multifaceted human phenomenon that exists, and has existed, in var-
ious forms, purposes, and functions in cultures and societies throughout the
world. Ethnomusicologists such as John Blacking (1974) and Alan Merriam
(1964), among others, have shown this extensively. Notably, however, Blacking
and Merriam didn’t really discuss music as leisure. Indeed, if by leisure what is
meant is simply amusement or distraction, then music making as leisure can be
viewed as little different from playing billiards or going fishing (not that there
is anything wrong with billiards or fishing). Considered historically and phil-
osophically, however, leisure is, as the philosopher Joseph Pieper (1952) put it,
“the basis of culture.” In this sense, music making as leisure represents some-
thing potentially much more profound. True, in the hands of the Arnoldians,26
such an idea runs the risk of denigrating or dismissing all that doesn’t merit con-
sideration as “high culture.” This is not at all how I interpret Pieper’s argument,
however, which I consider to be about emphasizing the centrality of human well-​
being (i.e., “culture” writ large), not trumpeting cultural achievements as signs
of “civilization.” Making music, when it contributes to personal and collective
welfare, would seem to very much fit the mold of what Pieper had in mind.
Aristotle was perhaps not far off when he suggested that music and contem-
plation were the only two true forms of leisure (see Ford 2004; Stamou 2002)—​
although I suspect I may be a little biased on that front. While not all music
making (nor likely all contemplation) necessarily qualifies as “true” leisure, some
music making certainly does qualify if leisure is to mean anything at all. What
might constitute this leisure sense of music making is a question I explore in
this book. I also explore how the possibilities for musical leisure are enabled and
constrained by the formative forces in our lives, principally, though not exclu-
sively, education. As Nel Noddings, writing about an American context, points
out, “In today’s education, occupational (economic) life is the focus of our at-
tention. We want every child to succeed, and this has come to mean that every
child should be prepared for college and the sort of work that requires a college
education” (Noddings 2003, 35). Setting aside that many people do not go on
to postsecondary education (what of their lives and their right to happiness?),
little attention seems to be given today to the responsibility education might
accept for people’s happiness beyond gainful employment and contributions
to “the economy.” Are we to believe that Aristotle was off his rocker or that his
wisdom no longer applies in the twenty-​first century? Or should those of us with

26 Matthew Arnold (1822–​1888) was an English cultural critic and inspector of schools. His 1869

book Culture and Anarchy famously sets up “high culture” as synonymous with learnedness and
civilization.
 Music, Leisure, and Education 29

the potential for effecting change accept our responsibility for resisting policies
and practices that disregard and undermine human well-​being under the guise
of “jobs” and the (im)possibility of social mobility?
The decision to make music throughout one’s life represents a choice, but the
nature of this choice is much more complicated than it first appears. “Conduct,”
that is, what we do, is never a strictly individual affair. Greater sensitivity to issues
of freedom and determinism in our conduct is vital if we wish to help people un-
derstand and negotiate the forces that operate on them and wish to help them to
use music in ways that are personally fulfilling in a life satisfaction sense. Pieper’s
“power to know to leisure” must be considered one of the most important
challenges facing all those who believe in human dignity, freedom, well-​being,
and the existence of some form of good life and common good outside of the
interests of the state. This is not to imply the solution to the problem of choice is
an easy one. As philosopher Elizabeth Telfer points out, there are many questions
in need of careful thought and attention, such as “What is the proper place of lei-
sure in life: what is leisure ‘for’? What training is appropriate to equip people for
leisure? . . . What is the extent of our entitlement to leisure?” (1987). Sadly, such
questions do not appear to be on the minds of many people today.
Work, leisure, and education are ethical issues directly connected with who
and how we are in the world. Arguments that imply or assume that well-​being
and enjoyment can be derived solely from gainful employment invariably come
from those whose don’t realize (or don’t care) that not every vocation has the po-
tential for being enjoyable, or a “central life interest.” No matter how nicely we try
to disguise it, not all employment can be intrinsically rewarding. Hence, quality-​
of-​life for many people must, and arguably should, come from outside of work.
Music is not the only source for well-​being and quality of life, of course, but it is a
source—​an important source.
Undoubtedly, making music used to (and in some places in the world
continues to) play a much larger part of everyday existence than it does in
much of the Global North today. While one could speculate on many possible
causal explanations for this, the bottom line is that the making of music—​
as a growing mountain of evidence suggests, and as many lay people intuit
on their own—​is fundamentally good for us (assuming, of course, that non-​
vocational music making doesn’t become extreme and interfere with other
parts of one’s life). A decline in music making as a regular part of daily living
thus represents a loss in well-​being potential for individuals and society at
large. As I argue in this book, there are good reasons for reasserting Classical
Greek conceptions of leisure-​as-​education and education-​as-​leisure, if only in
modified forms, and for applying such conceptualizations to the learning and
teaching of music. I am not so naïve as to believe that if only the population
at large could be reminded of the history of leisure and education they would
30 Context

suddenly “see the light” and renounce the absurdity of standards, account-
ability, and vocationalism that currently preoccupies society’s educational
discourses. I am cautiously optimistic, however, that change, however small,
is possible, and that the concept and ideal of leisure represents a powerful
path forward.
 2
Leisure and Living

Douglas Kleiber states, “Leisure isn’t what it used to be” (Kleiber 1999, xiii). I’m
not sure I fully grasp what Kleiber intends by this, but my survey of the literature
confirms that leisure can be a hotly contested word. In part this is because leisure,
at least in the West, is used as both a descriptor and a philosophical ideal. This
perhaps helps to explain why some writers claim that leisure is universal while
others insist it is grounded to time and place. Philosopher Joseph Pieper (1952),
for example, argues that leisure constitutes one of the “foundations” of Western
culture, whereas sociologist Joffre Dumazedier (1974) insists that the concept of
leisure did not exist in pre-​industrial societies. Does leisure refer to time usage,
type of activity, state of mind, or ideal for which to strive (or something else)?
Is leisure a word that applies to what we do when given the opportunity to do
what we want to do (such as music), or is it a normative ideal that speaks to what
we ought to do with our life—​especially that part of our life that goes beyond
mere sustenance? There is no shortage of attempted answers to these questions.
Kaplan (1978), for example, writes that leisure

can be said to consist of relatively self-​determined activities and experiences

that fall into one’s economically free-​time roles, that are seen as leisure by
participants, that are psychologically pleasant in anticipation and recollection,
that potentially cover the whole range of commitment and intensity, that con-
tain characteristic norms and restraints, and that provide opportunities for rec-
reation, personal growth, and service to others. (22)

Almost every source about leisure offers some qualifier about what it is or what
it should be.1
Rather than engaging in what Henry (1993, 3) calls “a relatively sterile defi-
nitional debate” about what leisure is or isn’t, I use this chapter as an orienting
springboard for the rest of the book, so that music making can be placed in the
context of leisure and education. I do not attempt to offer a personal definition
of leisure per se, but rather, I try to provide enough background and context to
situate it as a problem central to conduct and “the art of living.” I begin with three
sections intended to show how leisure, recreation, and play form something of a

1 See Veal (1992) for a summary of the many definitions found in the literature.

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0002
32 Context

trinity, and suggest that the “play spirit” may be central to reclaiming leisure as
an ideal for living. I then go on to problematize how the evolution of the time-​
work relationship has helped to shape contemporary understandings of leisure
addressed more fully in Part III. Next, I explore the interrogative and impera-
tive senses of how one should live, suggesting the ethical questions of living that
so preoccupied the Ancient Greeks morphed into moral commandments under
Christianity. I argue that, over the centuries, the matter of conduct became less
about thoughtfully contemplating what one should do with oneself and more
about conforming to the obligation of governmentality and pastoral power. The
fundamental issue I attempt to sketch is the relationship between individual
choice (i.e., freedom) and social imposition (i.e., compulsion). While the pur-
pose of such concerns may not seem immediately obvious in this chapter, they
lay the groundwork explored in subsequent chapters. In the concluding sec-
tion, I foreshadow how time and activity—​doing—​have become, under “work
ethic” rationality, the fundamental modes by which our being is determined.
While music remains mostly in the background in this chapter, the key ideas
and concepts elucidated here help to provide a foundation for understanding the
arguments presented in the remainder of the book.

A Brief History of Leisure

Many historical and etymological accounts of the word “leisure” exist, but argu-
ably the most complete is provided by Sebastian de Grazia (1962), who painstak-
ingly details the emergence and development of the Western concept of leisure
from ancient Greece through the twentieth century. Today, at least in the West,
leisure has come to be understood, in a sociological sense, with time usage (“free
time” versus work time) and type of activity, and, in both a psychological and a
philosophical sense, with a particular attitude, quality of experience, or state of
mind. Philosophically, our Western understanding is often traced to the Ancient
Greeks, for whom leisure was the very definition of “the good life” (see Kaplan
1978, 1955; Winnifrith and Barrett 1989). Leisure was considered the proper
state of being and the goal of human existence (Barrett 1989, 1). By claiming, as
Aristotle did, that one needed to be unleisurely in order to have leisure,2 leisure
was positioned in opposition to something considered not-​leisure, that is, “work,”
a conceptualization that has continued to influence contemporary views.3 Work
and leisure have thus tended to operate as figure and ground (Hunnicutt 2006),

2 Barrett’s translation of the same passage from Aristotle reads, “We conduct business in order to

have leisure” (1989, 14).

3 This idea is from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Josef Pieper provides a thorough discussion in

Leisure: The Basis of Culture.

 Leisure and Living 33

although arguably, as evident in the fact that the Greek ascholia (“not leisure”)
was positioned in the negative, leisure was, unlike today, originally the figure, not
the ground.
The concept of leisure continues to be problematic insofar as it implies a dif-
ferentiation between more desirable and less desirable pursuits toward which
we should orient our lives. In the words of R. T. Allen, “Leisure and the attitude
that defines it depends upon a belief that there is something truly worthwhile
and fulfilling in life, and thus involves a waiting and listening for it” (Allen 1989,
26). Such a comment forces us to reflect on grand metaphysical questions re-
lated to the meaning of life. When considering larger life purposes, goals, and
ambitions, one rarely gets too far before considering the extent to which we have
control over our time (freedom and obligation), the ways we choose to use our
time (thoughtfully and thoughtlessly), and the quality of our life experiences and
the satisfactions we derive from them. These considerations raise many difficult
issues including, but not limited to, distinctions between work and leisure and
associated aspects of freedom and necessity, as well as gendered, race-​based, and
class-​based aspects of work and leisure, normative ideals of time usage, norma-
tive ideals of the good life including subjective feelings of happiness and satis-
faction, the production of culture—​of which music plays a not insignificant
role—​and, notably, education. This list recognizes that, despite its allure and its
many advocates over the years, leisure remains both slippery and controversial.
The Online Etymology Dictionary indicates that the word “leisure” derives
from the Latin licere, “be permitted,” or as Weiskopf (1982) suggests, “to be
free”—​meanings that support views that connect leisure with freedom. Notably,
the origins refer to “a holding back” or “keeping clear,” as well as a “getting” and
a “holding in one’s power” (“to have”). Also mentioned is the Latin otium: “lei-
sure, free time, freedom from business,” (i.e., the opposite of business, negotium),
or otiosus, “having leisure or ease, unoccupied, idle, not busy.” Most sources,
however, draw attention to the Greek word σχολή, usually written in English as
scholē (also: skhole or skole; Latin schola or scola).4 Sociologist of leisure Joffre
Dumazedier translates scholē as “idleness” and as “school” (1974, 15), while
Weiskopf suggests that scholē meant “serious activity without the pressure of ne-
cessity” (1982, 4). The Online Etymology Dictionary translates scholē as “school,
lecture, discussion,” but also, “leisure, spare time.” As was pointed out to me by
a trusted Greek colleague, the meaning of scholē today depends on the pronun-
ciation. Emphasizing one syllable translates as “school,” emphasizing the other
translates as “leisure.”5 Brightbill (1963) and Pieper (1963) are quick to point out,

4 Observe the journal Schole: A Journal of Leisure Studies & Recreation Education.
5 The Greek word uses chi for “ch,” hence the variations in Anglicized spellings (k vs. ch vs. kh).
I thank Panagiotis Kanellopoulos for clarifying the association between meaning and pronunciation.
34 Context

however, that, while scholē may translate today as both leisure and school, the
original meaning was leisure, thus drawing attention to how the concept of lei-
sure is historically tied to the concepts of education and well-​being (in particular
as paideia and eudaimonia, which I address in Part III).
Curiously, the meaning of leisure/​school eventually evolved in the direction of
“otiose discussion” (i.e., non-​practical) and then finally, a “place for such” (Online
Etymology Dictionary). From all of this, a picture emerges that education was, as
originally conceived by Ancient Greeks, non-​utilitarian in the sense that it was
the opposite of work. Education was leisure and vice versa. The common good
and the good life—​that is, the very definitions of life—​were connected to the
“impractical.” Education in the Ancient Greek sense was, of course, restricted to
those of noble birth fortunate enough to be able to indulge in a life of leisure (i.e.,
education). Leisure/​education was privileged, special, and restricted—​qualities
that speak to another aspect of leisure’s origins. Hunnicutt (2006) reminds us, for
example, that leisure is related to the Proto-​Indo-​European word seĝh, meaning
victory and the ability to dominate others (60). Along similar lines, Dumazedier
points out that, while leisure is often lauded for the freedom it affords self-​ex-
pression, critics point out that leisure in fact “conceals the manipulation or the
repression of individual preferences” (1974, 2). Placed in the context of the
Ancient Greeks’ concern with mastery and their corresponding contempt for
labor (which they deemed suitable only for slaves), one realizes that, far from
being innocent and benign, leisure and work are fundamentally about control
(see Hunnicutt, 56).

A Brief History of Recreation

In a research survey aimed at determining a distinction between leisure and rec-

reation, Neulinger (1981) found his respondents divided on the issue, confirming
that, for many people, the terms “leisure” and “recreation” are often used inter-
changeably. Specialists in leisure studies usually draw a distinction between the
two concepts, however. Smith (1990) defines recreation as “A pleasurable ac-
tivity, which may be relatively sedentary, largely pursued for intrinsic motivation
during leisure” (253). Cheek and Burch (1976) state that “recreation is rational-
ized leisure; it is the routinization of enjoyment” (224), a definition that speaks
to recreation as a sort of intentional, formalized activity, thus distinguishing it
from leisure as a state of being or free time. Considered in this way, all recreation
might qualify as leisure (though not necessarily in the Classical Greek sense), but
not all leisure consists of recreation. Put differently, while some work (as paid
employment) might meet the condition of leisure (as life-​affirming experience in
the Classical sense), it seems counterintuitive to regard work as recreation—​even
 Leisure and Living 35

though, as in the case of musicians who enjoy earning their livelihood through
making music, the actual work may not be disagreeable. Such debates may be
attributable, in part, to the blurred distinction between viewing recreation as en-
gagement in an activity and the subjective experience of that activity, raising the
recurring issue of whether leisure and/​or recreation are best understood sub-
jectively or objectively (Smith 1990, 253–​254). Suffice it to say that these days it
seems common to speak of “leisure time” (rather than “recreation time”), but to
refer to one’s choice of activity as “recreation” rather than “leisure,” a term that, in
the twenty-​first century, has reacquired, in some quarters, the baggage of its neg-
ative connotations with privilege, laziness, and unproductiveness.6
Historically, the concept of recreation is often thought to derive from the
Romans, who put their twist on the concept of leisure by emphasizing recreatio
(“recovery from illness”) or recreare (“to refresh, restore”; “renewal”). Leisure, in
this sense, becomes instrumentalized as activity that renews someone for more
work. While work patterns are changing in the twenty-​first century, our received
social understandings have not yet entirely escaped their grounding in the in-
dustrial workplace.7 One cannot do physical work when ill or exhausted, for
example. Traditional work-​as-​labor (especially physical labor) depended (and
depends) on physical fitness, something improved through “proper” recreation.
In part, this may help to explain how leisure has become so counterposed to
work (as male employment), and why sports and physical fitness continue to be
more socially acceptable than the arts, the instrumental value of which arguably
lies more in the psychological, spiritual, and aesthetic spheres (claims of physical
health benefits notwithstanding).
Whereas the term “leisure” often invokes philosophical ideals about what lei-
sure is, isn’t, or should be, “recreation” more often involves discussions about
supposed benefits attributed to specific activities (this is better than that; see
Chapter 8) and provokes debates over the possibilities and opportunities for rec-
reation. Historically, recreation (and leisure) service providers (governmental
and non) have been quite concerned with meeting the recreational needs of
the population. One example of the concern over the provision of recreation
is the Recreation Opportunity Spectrum used by the US Forest Service and
Bureau of Land Management, an instrument that measures activities, settings,
and experiences. The problem, as Smith (1990) points out, is that evaluating the
purported benefits of specific recreational activities is a matter of philosophical
perspective. Recreation, then, is problematic to the extent it involves conflicts
over the specific activities in which some people believe other people should be

6 Connotations obviously vary by cultural context. Not all countries necessarily share the kind of

antipathy prevalent in Canada and the United States.

7 This chapter was written pre-​pandemic. The long-​term effects of the pandemic on work patterns

remain to be seen.
36 Context

involved, and conflicts over whether or not some should have the right to deter-
mine or influence the activities of others to begin with.

A Brief History of Play

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

—​Traditional proverb

Play is always a matter of context. It is not what we do, but how we do

it. Play cannot be defined because in play all definitions slither, dance,
combine, break apart, and recombine.
—​Stephen Nachmanovitch, Free Play8

One might think the connections between play and music are obvious: we play
music: “Playing in the Band”; “Play it, Sam!”; “Play that Funky Music”; and so on.
And yet, play’s relationships with leisure and recreation are complicated. So, too,
are play’s relationships with education and work. Play operates, for example, as
both noun and verb. In either sense, however, the word’s origins differ consider-
ably from contemporary associations of play as childlike. According to Kaplan
(1960), play in biblical use often means to fight, consistent with the Anglo-​Saxon
plega, meaning a game, sport, skirmish, fight, or battle. As derived from the Latin
plaga, meaning a blow, stroke, or thrust, one can understand how to “play” an
instrument was to strike it. The Online Etymology Dictionary provides sev-
eral language variants from the root “dlegh” meaning “to engage oneself ”: West
Germanic plegan meaning “occupy oneself about,” Old Frisian plega meaning
“tend to,” Middle Dutch pleyen meaning “to rejoice, be glad,” and the German
pflegen meaning “take care of, cultivate.”9 Whether viewed as noun or verb, one
notes that, taken collectively, these meanings imply care, engagement, and enjoy-
ment. Even when thought of in its more violent manifestation of a fight or battle,
implicit is a sense of action and of honor, if not also a mutually agreed sense
of suspension; it is not that play is unreal, but that it carries with it a self-​con-
sciousness that one is volitionally involved with an activity at distance from the
quotidian and the teleological; whatever this is, it is not simply functional, nor is
it a life’s work. Play is short-​term and time-​bound; this may be a battle, but it is
not the war. There is also an active sense of tension or struggle (i.e., care, tend to,
cultivate).

8 Stephen Nachmanovitch, Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art (New York: J. P. Tarcher,

1990), 43.
9 In Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture, Huizinga examines the word “play” in

many languages throughout the world.

 Leisure and Living 37

Smith (1990) argues that recreation and play are synonymous; play is for chil-
dren, recreation is for adults—​a traditional understanding based on the view
that children cannot, by definition, have leisure if leisure is counterposed to work
(see Rojek 1985). For recreation authority Richard Kraus (1971), play is very
similar to recreation, except that play’s purposes are “pleasure and self-​expres-
sion,” and it is generally “active and to be carried on in a spirit of competition,
exploration, or make-​believe” (266). Kraus acknowledges that play is usually
carried out by children, but that adults can occasionally engage in play, and may
sometimes find play in their work. Play, Thomas Henricks proclaims, is “the lab-
oratory of the possible” (Henricks 2006, 1). Henry Curtis, prominent member
of the playground movement of the early twentieth century (see Chapter 4),
similarly speaks of the “play spirit,” which sometimes infuses the work of adults
(Curtis 1915, 12). This play “spirit” may be what Dumazedier (1974) had in mind
when he wondered how adults might “tap the marvellous sources of inspiration
which flow during childhood without lapsing into childishness” (210). The idea
of play spirit might also provide a valuable concept for helping to understand the
making of music for fun and enjoyment. We do not work music, we play it—​al-
though it should be noted that music makers often “work” on a difficult passage
when they practice, and we often refer to a larger-​scale composed piece in the
Western tradition as a “work” of music, two examples of discourse that trouble
the simplicity of music-​as-​play.
Many theories of play have been advanced over the years. Cheek and Burch
(1976) present four; Weiskopf (1982) describes no fewer than sixteen. Henricks
notes that while many fields have taken up the study of play, education and devel-
opmental psychology have been among the most prominent, viewing play as cru-
cial for proper human development (2006, 5). In Emile, Jean-​Jacques Rousseau
writes about the importance of the socializing aspects of play for children.
Thanks to nineteenth-​century educational philosophers Heinrich Pestalozzi and
Friedrich Froebel, and to psychologist G. Stanley Hall and the child-​study move-
ment (see Chapter 4), a new appreciation of play took root in the late nineteenth
century. In comparing human children to the offspring of other mammals, for
example, play became understood as the “work” of children, the means through
which they developed into properly socialized adults. As Henricks points out,
however, play studies tend to be overly romantic; the focus has to date been
less on the schoolyard bullies and more on the imaginative activities of chil-
dren (2006, 6). In his landmark text on the subject, The Ambiguity of Play, Brian
Sutton-​Smith (1997) details seven major “rhetorics” of play: as progress, as fate,
as power, as identity, as imaginary, as of the self, and as frivolous (10–​12). Sutton-​
Smith uses these to present the numerous ways that play has been and continues
to be understood as an aspect of human existence in various disciplinary fields.
38 Context

The classic text on play is John Huizinga’s (1955) Homo Ludens: A Study of the
Play Element in Culture,10 in which the author suggests that homo ludens (the
player) must be considered alongside homo faber (the maker) and homo sapiens
(the thinker) as constitutive of socio-​cultural existence. Play, in other words,
is more than just a socializing aspect of childhood. Huizinga argues that “bio-
logical” theories of play overlook play’s irrational, disinterested quality. The fun
element, he asserts, is the “essence of play. . . . [T]‌he fun of playing resists all anal-
ysis, all logical interpretation” (1955, 3). Based on his erudite historical analysis,
Huizinga presents five basic qualities of play: it is voluntary, it is not ordinary or
real life, it is secluded and limited, it creates order and is order, and it surrounds
itself with secrecy. Taken together, his central thesis is that play, which he submits
is central to the development of societies and not just to individual development
in children, has become divorced from culture, much to the detriment of modern
society.11 Taking his cue from Huizinga, Henricks notes how modern society
has indeed blighted some of the joy of homo ludens: “the cult of the professional
overwhelms amateurism. . . . [T]hose who play games for reasons of enjoyment
or personal development now feel themselves inferior to the experts” (2006, 20).
Indeed, as I allude to throughout this book, reclaiming at least some of the play
spirit—​some resurrection of homo ludens—​in and through music making could
go a long way toward increasing personal and collective well-​being.

The Time Problem

Anything framed in time shorter than a lifetime is not leisure.

—​Sebastian de Grazia

Perhaps no issue is more central to leisure today than the matter of time, if only
because so many people feel there is too little of it. Admittedly, time and its per-
ception are quite nuanced affairs, but one cannot avoid, at a basic level, that we
all live in time, regardless of how we might experience it individually. For many
people today, “leisure time” (or simply, leisure) and “free time” are synonymous,
suggesting the kind of work/​leisure dichotomy commonly found in the soci-
ology of leisure and epitomized in “time budget” studies where people are asked
to keep a diary of their daily activities. Such studies, which first appeared in the

10 Huizinga, who was Dutch, argues in his foreword that he meant for the title in English to

read: play element “of culture,” not “in culture,” but that editors required the change. The preposition
makes a considerable difference in understanding the author’s fundamental argument.
11 French sociologist Roger Caillois critically engages with Huizinga’s work in Man, Play and

Games (1961). Although Sutton-​Smith has taken issue with the somewhat romantic view Caillois
provides, Man, Play and Games is notable for its classification scheme and rigorous precision.
 Leisure and Living 39

1920s,12 tend to be predicated upon the notion of discretionary time, or “time

free from necessity,” as it is often described. Conceptualizing time in this way is
reflected in the organization Making Music, which describes itself as “the UK’s
membership organisation for leisure-​time music” (https://​www.maki​ngmu​sic.
org.uk/​).
To contemporary understandings, viewing time in terms of obligated and dis-
cretionary often makes sense: most people do tend to organize their lives tem-
porally (Winnifrith and Barrett 1989, 60). Although technology has disrupted
the regularity of the Monday-​to-​Friday, 9–​5 workweek as it emerged after the
Second World War, the “weekend” (lengthened from the original sabbath day)
still represents, for many working people (except for shift workers and those
who work on Saturdays and Sundays), a basic temporal organizing structure that
regulates many people’s lives—​something illustrated in popular culture in such
examples as the Vapors’ song “Waiting for the Weekend” (also the title of Witold
Rybczynski’s book on work and leisure, Waiting for the Weekend) and Loverboy’s
“Everybody’s Working for the Weekend”—​sentiments underscoring that the
time to do as one pleases must be earned.13
The idea that leisure time must be earned is relatively new in the course of
human history. Writers such as E. P. Thompson (1967) and Sebastian de Grazia
(1962) have argued that, while people have always worked (and worked hard,
de Grazia points out), “free” time is a more recent invention. De Grazia, for ex-
ample, claims that the idea of “spare time”—​that left over after one’s tasks for
the day were done—​is quite different from the idea of “free time” (1962, 307).
Dumazedier (1974) goes so far as to argue that leisure as we now conceive of it
did not exist in pre-​industrial society. Instead, there were complex “non-​work”
relations (see also Rojek 1985). In both cases, however, the idea of work and not-​
work has been a ubiquitous part of the human experience and that these activi-
ties operate in a dialectical relation to our experience of time. As Thomas Green
writes, “Work and leisure are conceptions that reflect [people’s] understanding of
time, and therefore neither can be fully grasped independent of time” (1968, 46).
The existence of holiday and festival days—​de Grazia counts as many as
167 days off for everyone, including serfs, during the Middle Ages (de Grazia
1962, 89)—​serves as a reminder that work existed alongside many other of life’s

12 Time budget studies were popularized in the former USSR, which, in the 1920s, instituted poli-

cies of organized leisure. See Dumazedier (1974). I discuss this further in Part III.
13 See also: John K. Walton (2014), “From Institution to Fragmentation: The Making and

Unmaking of the British Weekend,” Leisure Studies 33 (2):202–​214. Robinson and Godbey’s (1997)
research suggests that most people’s free time, at least as reported in the 1990s, occurs during the
week, not the weekend, but this finding does not alter the basic organizing principle of the weekend.
Also salient is that aggregated free time across five days is more piecemeal than weekend time. I had
thought about adding the Canadian band The Weekend and the Canadian singer The Weeknd to the
popular culture list, but feared that might be going too far, given that both Rybczynski and Loverboy
already inflate Canadian content in this book.
40 Context

activities (see also Hunnicutt 2006). Prior to industrialization, however, work

tended to be task-​oriented. More important, individuals typically had greater
control over their work. Industrialization changed that. Under the industrial
model, factories not only changed the mode of production (e.g., reducing the
worker’s conception of part to whole), but work was reconfigured according to
a regimentation of time (Thompson, 1967). Significantly, this not only changed
the nature of work, but it altered the control exercised over time. As Rojek (1985)
writes, “[workers began] to formulate a distinction between their time and the
employer’s time” (25; emphasis added).
What made this distinction possible, de Grazia argues, was the clock, a device
that forever after altered the subjective experience of time. Speaking to the subjec-
tive experience of time, Green (1968), building off de Grazia and E. P. Thompson,
distinguishes “clock time” from “diurnal” time. Diurnal motion he defines as that
completed within a single day, the basic idea being one of cycle or repetition: “the
time that has passed is never really lost; it will come again” (49). Hence, in this view
time is not something cumulative or quantitative. One is also reminded that in
some European languages one speaks of passing rather than spending time (see,
e.g., de Grazia 1962, 306). Diurnal time is, moreover, imprecise; the sun rises and
sets, but within those boundaries there is only day. In contrast, clock time is linear
and precise, making possible planning and coordination: people on clock time can
start and stop together (Green, 56). Industrialization and the clock thus changed the
relationships between work, time, and leisure. While industrialization created a new
sense of time, this was only made possible due to the mass production of timepieces
(i.e., clocks, watches) that allowed for the synchronization and measuring of work
(as time rather than piece). The commercialization and industrialization of time (de
Grazia 1962, 308) reduced it to a commodity to be fought over, resulting in a loss of
freedom for the worker (314).
Although I shall not delve into it, it is fascinating to consider the impact
modern technology (e.g., the internet) may be having on our sense of time (and
space and place). The power of the “clock time”–​industrialization argument
is that it helps to explain how time, or more precisely, “free time,” has come to
dominate our contemporary Western understanding of leisure. It is not, Green
says, that clock time produces free time, but rather that “the idea of leisure as free
time could not develop except in connection with clock-​time socially expressed
in patterns of work” (1968, 57). Unlike in agrarian, pre-​industrial times, where
work followed the day and the seasons (and the weather), societies dominated
by clock time develop patterns of work that create the kind of regularities that
generate an understanding of time as employer’s versus employee’s, where one is
forced to, for example, relegate one’s leisure to the weekend.14

14 I appreciate that Green’s time theory does not adequately explain why some cultures with

access to timepieces have failed to succumb to the same clock time phenomenon as many in the
 Leisure and Living 41

For de Grazia, a major problem resulting from clock time is that when work is
equated with time, this also reduces leisure to time. As he laments, “[T]‌he con-
temporary phrase ‘leisure time’ is a contradiction in terms. Leisure has no adjec-
tival relation to time. Leisure is a state of being free from everyday necessity, and
the activities of leisure are those one would engage in for their own sake. As fact
or ideal it is rarely approached in the industrial world” (1962, 327). Thus, for de
Grazia, leisure is neither time nor activity, but an attitude or state of mind. True
leisure, by which he means leisure in its Classical sense, “does not suffer the frag-
mentation that free time does” (347). Nevertheless, de Grazia does relent and
admit (much to his chagrin) that in contemporary society leisure and free time
are used interchangeably (87).
That people colloquially speak of leisure and free time synonymously today
tends to blur several key issues. First, regardless of the purity of comparison
to Classical leisure conceptions, many people would still agree that not all that
is done in free time is leisure, nor are all leisurely activities done in free time
(Barrett 1989, 10). Second, the idea of free time implies a sense of freedom that
simultaneously establishes work as the primary activity in life and ignores,
as Verduin and McEwen (1984) point out, that no one is ever truly free of
obligations. That is, the question of time in relation to leisure is more a matter
of discretion (Brightbill 1963; Kraus 1978): leisure relates to what we choose to
do with the time not obligated to work, family, personal maintenance, and so
on. This, however, reinforces the notion that time is something earned courtesy
of work as employment. Furthermore, while employment patterns have changed
considerably over the past thirty years or so, industrial employment has been
male-​dominated historically. As a result, leisure as free time has been an andro-
centric construction.
For Green, Hebron, and Woodward (1990), the work/​leisure (i.e., free time)
distinction has historically functioned to marginalize women. Pointing to the
example of women and leisure, Rojek (1985) insists, “[W]‌e need to depart,
once and for all, from the convention of associating ‘free time’ with leisure
experience” (13). For Rojek, free time has no intrinsic meaning. Referring to
the case of women in the home (less common, but still present today), espe-
cially as primary caregiver, Rojek points out that women’s leisure, when it can
be said to occur, takes on forms and meanings far different from the kinds
assumed by the work/​leisure dichotomy where work equates to remunerative
employment. As Rojek notes, “for husbands and fathers, leisure time is one
of the main payoffs of regular work. In contrast, for wives and mothers who

industrialized West, although it could be argued that access to timepieces was a necessary but insuffi-
cient condition for the development of a “free time” concept.
42 Context

were involved in household management and child-​care, finding time to par-

ticipate in leisure outside the home is a major preoccupation and popular fan-
tasy” (1985, 17; see also Kleiber 1999, 4). One is reminded of the old adage, “A
woman’s work is never done”—​or, as Green, Hebron, and Woodward (1990)
ask, Women’s Leisure, What Leisure?15
The limitations of thinking of leisure-​ as-​free-​time (and “leisure-​ time
music”) are further illustrated when one thinks of people such as the un-
employed, the retired, the infirm, or the incarcerated—​people de Grazia
describes as “the workless” (1962, 47)—​those for whom “free” time can hardly
be understood as leisure, underscoring the need for a more refined defini-
tion. (“There is no such thing as prison leisure. . . . Recreation, certainly, can
be had even in jail,” notes de Grazia [338]). For better or worse, however, our
contemporary concept of leisure has been influenced by the experience of the
employed. It has also been influenced by a paradox inherent in Western, es-
pecially American, society—​one that exalts a work ethic while simultaneously
resisting the control inherent in employer-​employee relations. As de Grazia
observes, work is apparently “so oppressive that any time saved from it is
regarded as freedom” (1962, 86). As I discuss further in Chapter 7, the indus-
trialized concept of work-​as-​employment continues to provide the norm
against which leisure—​as time, activity, attitude, or other—​is determined.
This, perhaps, helps to explain why—​in many contemporary Western socie-
ties at least—​one needs to think in terms of making time for making music, an
idea anathema to historical and cross-​cultural ways of living where making
music was (is) not something to be relegated to “leisure-​time.” As Green
claims, the commitment to clock time is what makes leisure in our contempo-
rary sense attainable “and leisure in the classic sense impossible” (1968, 74).
This observation, however, leaves unresolved the question of just what leisure
is or should be, and fails to address the question of just what sorts of things
should occupy the time we determine to be “discretionary.”

15 While women may indeed experience less leisure, the findings of Robinson and Godbey (1997)

cast doubt on the popular notion that women enjoy less free time. Their extensive research, now over
twenty years old, found surprisingly minor differences in free time between men and women, with
trends at the time of their research suggesting the small gap would likely disappear as more women
entered the workforce.
 Leisure and Living 43

How Should One Live? The Emergence

of Leisure

Leisure is the freedom to choose how one “ought live.” (Fain 1991, 30)

According to Goodale and Godbey (1988), leisure is the aspect of life in which
one most overtly adopts a view of how to be in the world. It has not always been
this way, however. Although people have no doubt always “worked” in some
form or fashion in order to meet the minimum requirements for survival, and no
doubt the physical limitations of the human body mean that people have always
rested, this does not mean that leisure has always existed. Hunnicutt points out,
for example, that “in order for leisure to exist, some human awareness of being at
or having leisure is essential” (2006, 55). Leisure is thus not a naturally occurring
phenomenon, but an historical product, a socio-​cultural construction related to
the human question of How to live?
As with so many other aspects of Western culture, this question can be traced
back to ancient Greece. French philosopher Michel Foucault’s reading of Ancient
Greek and Greco-​Roman texts suggests that the “art of living” (or “aesthetics of
existence”) was of primary concern to Greek life. Even a casual reading of Plato’s
Republic, for example, makes clear the ancients were deeply concerned with
matters of living. What, precisely, should one do with oneself, for if work was for
the enslaved, what concerns were to occupy free men? One of Foucault’s claims
is that the ancients lacked many of the moral codes of the kind introduced by
later religions. Hence, living was not a matter of permissible or forbidden, but of
right action where choices were situated and contextual. The absence of a moral
code, “created [for the ancients] the possibility of forming oneself as a subject in
control of his conduct; that is, the possibility of making oneself like the doctor
treating sickness, the pilot steering between the rocks, or the statesman gov-
erning the city—​a skillful and prudent guide of himself, one who had a sense of
the right time and the right measure” (Foucault 1985, 138–​139, emphasis added).
The notion of self-​governance (conduct) was significant for the ancients in
that it demanded individuals be thoughtful about everyday action rather than
just unquestioningly adhering to, as would occur in later centuries, religious
codes and edicts. What it did not do was provide aims. Foucault’s examples of
self-​government relate to an assumed goal of equilibrium (e.g., good health,
staying afloat, avoiding conflict). But what does the doctor do when the patient
is healthy? What does the pilot do when there are no rocks to avoid? What does
the statesman do in peacetime? The answer, in Foucault’s reading, is that the
ancients were obsessed with building a beautiful life, where one’s character and
reputation were of utmost importance. The Delphic imperative to “know one-
self ” raised many questions for the ancients: “What should one do with oneself?
44 Context

What work should be carried out on the self? How should one ‘govern oneself ’
by performing actions in which one is oneself the objective of those actions, the
domain in which they are brought to bear, the instrument they employ, and the
subject that acts?” (Foucault and Rabinow 1997, 87). One of the problems that
confronted the ancients was how to reconcile the freedom of being master of
one’s self in pursuit of a beautiful life with the demands and limitations of col-
lective living. Despite the implied individuality of “art of living,” it was in fact
the social aspects of living (the polis) that appears to have provided the context
for much of ancient life. Collective living meant that one’s actions could affect
others. Hence, the question of “the good life” became intertwined with “the
common good” (de Grazia 1962). The problem of government for the ancients
was, therefore, about the relationship between governing one’s self and others—​
the private and the public.

From Leisure to Recreation

Issues related to how people ought to live inevitably bumped up against the
matter of control. The individual freedom to choose was continually challenged
by the demands of territorial government, particularly in cases where people
were not just individuals, but “citizens.” The problems of collective governing,
in other words, contributed to the transformation of leisure to recreation. Kraus
documents, for example, how Ancient Greek life changed over time. He suggests
that the functions of the Olympic Games and other festivals were eventually
weakened by athletic specialization and commercialization, and that sports and
performing arts, once intimately linked and expected of all people, became the
province of “highly skilled specialists before crowds of admiring spectators”
(Kraus 1971, 138). This entertainment ethic pervaded subsequent Roman so-
ciety, where the Senate created parades, circuses, and feasts aimed at maintaining
political popularity and placating the masses (141). The Circus Maximus, for ex-
ample, was able to accommodate approximately 150,000 people, the Colosseum
approximately 50,000—​numbers that point to the importance of spectatorship
in ancient Rome. There were, moreover, some 159 public holidays in ancient
Rome, of which 93 were devoted to games at public expense (140). The Romans
thus transformed the Greek (especially Aristotelian) ideal of leisure as a state of
mind toward a utilitarian view (see de Grazia 1962) where leisure (or rather, rec-
reation) was employed to both placate and improve the citizenry.
Not all recreation was or is directed by the state. Kraus (1971) points out that,
in many early cultures, the line between work and leisure was porous, with many
activities formerly undertaken as a part of rituals or preparation for survival
transforming themselves into recreation. Kraus writes, for example, of lacrosse
 Leisure and Living 45

games carried on by North American Choctaw Indians. Although play-​like in

nature (recalling the etymology of the word “play”), he suggests that these and
other similar activities fulfilled seven important purposes in early cultures: they
reflected or imitated religious rituals, they functioned as a form of education,
they were a means of achieving tribal solidarity and morale, they provided a form
of therapeutic or healing experience, they were a form of communication, they
provided aesthetic pleasure, and finally, they provided a form of relaxation, re-
covery, and replenishment of one strength and vitality after toil (1971, 132). The
logic of Kraus’s argument is relatively easy to accept, especially when applied to
what might be loosely considered “non-​government” societies. With the advent
of Greco-​Roman civilizations, however, leisure was transformed into recreation
as a form of control: activity and amusement had to be deployed by the state to
both keep the people happy—​ideally in consonance with principles that would
come to underlie the Recreation Movement in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries (discussed in Chapter 4)—​and strengthen its citizens (135).
When placed in a modern context of helping others with recreation—​that is,
recreation “professionals,” education for leisure, and so forth—​one is immedi-
ately confronted with the political nature of recreation: its preparation in terms of
skills and knowledge, its provision in terms of services, facilities, and so on, and
the material aspects related to participation. The notion of “providing” for rec-
reation is clearly incongruous with the principles of freedom and choice so cen-
tral to the original conception of leisure. As Kleiber observes, “relying on others
to provide leisure opportunities is inherently limiting to self-​expression” (1999,
xv). And yet, the freedom to choose is dependent on awareness of options and
the capacity (usually developed through education) to avail oneself of them. For
instance, the enjoyment of classical music—​or any other kind, for that matter—​
will be unknown to someone who has not been sufficiently inducted, thus lim-
iting the available range of options from which to choose. Recreational activities,
then, are social constructions that are manifestations of control—​power and au-
thority—​that profoundly affect the range of options of how one might choose
to live.

Leisure and Religion: How One Should Live

Have leisure and know that I am God.

—​Psalm 46:1016

16 This passage is sometimes translated as “Be still and know that I am God.”
46 Context

Leisure and recreation scholar Charles Brightbill suggests that leisure and re-
ligion have been inextricably linked from the beginning in Western societies
(1963, 37). Brightbill reminds us, for example, that the gods were an integral part
of the original Olympic games. As he points out, the root meaning of religion,
religare, means “to bind together again.”17 Social leisure forms such as music,
dance, sport, and games would thus seem to possess the same capacity as reli-
gion for fostering community. Building off Emile Durkheim, Rojek suggests “the
symbolism and ritual of many collective leisure forms are reminiscent of reli-
gious behavior” (1985, 53). As both ideal and practice, leisure has represented,
and continues to represent, something of a conundrum for religion, however.
Many Christian scholars, for example, have insisted that all “surplus” time and
attention should be devoted toward God and have, historically, attempted to
regulate conduct toward this end (Kaplan 1960; Cross 1990; Kraus 1971; Dulles
1965). Recreational diversions were often considered threatening insofar as
they distracted individuals from their devotion to God. On the other hand, lei-
sure and religion would seem to share several natural affinities or “common
denominators,” such as moral issues of right and wrong, perspectives on life,
standards, and so on (Brightbill 1963).
The emergence of the Judeo-​Christian tradition presented a problem for
the question of ethical conduct as passed down from the Ancient Greeks. The
Classical notion of leisure as an exercise in personal freedom in answer to the
ethical question How should one live? was immediately at odds with notions of
submission (how one should live) set out in the Old Testament: “In the book of
Genesis, Adam and Eve are expelled from Eden because of their quest for know-
ledge, for their self-​will in defiance of divine law. Only in living lives of obedi-
ence and faith [would] men and women ever be redeemed” (Hall 2004, 9).
Hence, Judeo-​Christian religious beliefs could not fully accommodate Classical
conceptions of leisure as freedom, because leisure in its purest Classical sense
was not moral in terms of obedience to God’s will, but ethical in terms of how one
should live as a member of the polis. To elaborate, consider Foucault’s distinction
between morality and ethics. Based on his analysis of Ancient Greek precepts,
Foucault describes ethics as one’s relationship with oneself (what he calls rapport
à soi) (Foucault 1997, 263). Thus, for the ancients there was no “higher authority”
or universal principles to which one appealed in evaluating one’s conduct. People
decided for themselves whether “to care for themselves” (271). In contrast with
ethics, Foucault describes morality as adherence to a code of behavior. Although
morality can derive from many sources (e.g., in relation to “the common good”),
Foucault vociferously argues that Christianity’s instantiation of morality as

17 Foucault also points out how religious ceremonies mediate the private and the public, a process

not unlike many leisure forms (see Foucault 1986, 73).

 Leisure and Living 47

obedience fundamentally changed how people in the West understood their ex-
istence. As Kraus explains, “The distinction between moral and immoral forms
of play and ceremony which was made by the early Jews . . . was to be made even
more sharply by the early Christians in the centuries that followed” (1971, 135).
A significant effect of Christianity, then, was to reject leisure in favor of work.
Early monastic practices, for example, can be understood as following from a
belief in Original Sin, for which work was proposed as the solution (Hunnicutt
2006, 69). That is, because people were predisposed to misuse their discre-
tionary time, the moral course of action was to minimize it through valorizing
work. As Max Weber later described, various forms of Protestantism (espe-
cially Calvinism) further entrenched the work/​leisure divide by treating work
as a moral calling that left leisure in the position of being immoral (Hunnicutt
2006, 68). Foucault suggests that Christianity was successful in its efforts to con-
trol conduct by giving rise to a form of power he describes as pastoral, some-
thing defined by the shepherd-​flock relationship (Foucault 2007). Christianity,
Foucault writes, “[laid] claim to the daily government of men in their real life
on the grounds of their salvation” (Foucault 2007, 148). That is, Christianity not
only appropriated the determination of good conduct through adherence to a
moral code (e.g., the Ten Commandments), but tied this evaluation to a life be-
yond time on earth. What’s more, interpretation of this code was considered be-
yond the abilities of ordinary individuals; a special interpreter (the pastor) was
required to ensure that people conducted themselves properly.
Many religious leaders over the years have imposed a view that celebrates
work (as activity) and denigrates leisure (as inactivity, or improper activity).
Dulles, for example, notes the presence of this suspect attitude toward idleness
and amusement in Calvinist New England, where one can find imperatives
“that noe idle drone bee permitted to live amongst us” (Dulles 1965, 5). Bailey
cites other examples, such as when bishops, in 1865, pressured the English
government into stopping public band concerts in London parks (Bailey 1978,
27). Understood as pastoral power, religious obedience can thus be viewed as
yet another form of control over conduct; it is the exercise of a form of pater-
nalism that usurps individual freedom and autonomy: only a select few know
the path to salvation and only they are in a position to properly discern the
moral from the immoral.18
There have been a few scholarly efforts aimed at ameliorating the Christian
(eventually Protestant) enshrinement of work and the bridging of the
Christianity-​leisure divide. Some theologians, such as Thomas Aquinas and,

18 “The duty to accept a set of obligations, to hold certain books as permanent truth, to accept

authoritarian decisions in matters of truth, not only to believe certain things but to show that one
believes, and to accept institutional authority are all characteristic of Christianity” (see Foucault et al.
1988, 40).
48 Context

more recently and most notably, Joseph Pieper, have attempted to resolve the
theoretical tension of work versus leisure by suggesting that play and leisurely
contemplation are in fact entirely congruent with religion. The divine wisdom,
according to Proverbs 8, is “always at play, playing through the whole world,”
writes Kaplan (1960, 153). Kaplan suggests, however, that today’s ethics of lei-
sure are incompatible with the morality of religion: “For whereas the basis
of Christian theological thinking derives from accepted universal princi-
ples that supersede the personal condition, leisure in contemporary Western
life—​grounded in both a material abundance and a democratic ethos of the
choice—​derives from the dignity of the individual” (1978, 64). From Kaplan’s
humanist perspective, leisure decisions are intensely personal and an exercise
in freedom. While Kaplan may be correct about the belief in choice and con-
sumption as part of today’s leisure attitude, he is perhaps overly optimistic
about people’s endorsement of leisure, for while religious beliefs may have lost
some of their former sway over individual conduct, Weber’s famous “work
ethic” has arguably helped to ensure that those under the ongoing neoliberal
sway have not wholeheartedly embraced leisure. As Hunnicutt eloquently
puts it, “Following in the train of the spread of the modern work-​based world-
view, Homo faber has embarked on a campaign to colonize leisure and all
regions of human existence historically free from the marketplace and work”
(2006, 70).
While it may be tempting to conclude that religious views no longer influ-
ence how people choose to live, or at least not to the extent they may have in
the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries (or early 1980s), one need only consider
how religious views continue to influence political parties, laws, Supreme Court
justices, and so on, or consider social events sponsored by the church (syn-
agogue, mosque, etc.) or organizations such as the Young Men’s (or Women’s)
Christian Association, to be reminded that secularization does not immedi-
ately result in the abandonment of long-​standing moral codes. Morals, what-
ever their derivation, arguably continue to exert an influence on daily living in
most Western societies regardless of any personal views or convictions one may
have. Many people adhere, on some level, to the belief that there are at least some
things about personal conduct that are absolutely right or wrong even when they
generally profess to weigh the rightness of action provisionally. In some cases,
beliefs about moral conduct may support musical activity (e.g., singing in a
church choir), but in other cases such beliefs may militate against musical ac-
tivity (e.g., seeing music making as a frivolous waste of time that would be better
spent in devotion to God).
 Leisure and Living 49

Time and Activity

The man who plants his garden, or plays his violin, or swings lustily
over the hills, or talks ideas with his friends, is already, even though
in small degree, investing life with the qualities that transform it into
the delightful and adventurous experience it ought to be. (Overstreet
1934, 29)

Time is money.
—​Benjamin Franklin

Questions of conduct and living reintroduce the problems of time and activity.
Whose interests are to determine how to live and on what basis shall conduct
be determined? One problem with Classical conceptions of leisure is that they
are rooted in subjective experience, which is difficult to observe, measure, or
study. As a result, many sociologists of leisure (e.g., Dumazedier 1974; Kaplan
1975) consider leisure as activity, the content of which is oriented toward some
sort of personal fulfillment. By the early twentieth century, the question of ac-
tivity had become the object of scientific concern (e.g., time budget studies), in
part because of what some authors have observed as a reduction in work hours
over the course of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.19 At least two
issues related to time and activity continue to influence the question of how one
should live. First, there is the long-​standing belief, especially prevalent in (but
certainly not restricted to) the American psyche, that time must be put to use;
idleness is not an option. Second, there is the normative evaluation of activity—​
the belief among many that some kinds of activities are preferable or desirable to
others (see Chapter 8). Although it is commonly accepted that work, especially
as employment, is a reality for most people, important questions remain: “What
are the powerful to do when there is no work left to do? What is there to do when
there is no work left [or, for the workless, simply no work] to do? What is worth
doing in and for itself? Why do something rather than nothing?” (Hunnicutt
2006, 58). De Grazia puts it bluntly: “whatever affects how a man [sic] wants to
pass his free time may also affect how much of it he wants. . . . He can’t very
well desire more time unless he has an idea of what he wants to do with it” (de
Grazia 1962, 169). Indeed, even for the workless, who may in some cases desire
less time, the question remains of just what one should do with one’s time. How,
in other words, should one live?

19 De Grazia (1962), however, argues that the extent of the decline has been exaggerated because

people have failed to account for how other factors, such as increased commuting time, have offset
reduced weekly working hours.
50 Context

De Grazia observes that leisure as a goal and ideal of human existence is a

Mediterranean invention; work was restricted by climate. As he and other
scholars have noted, the status of leisure in the minds of various societies in the
intervening years has vacillated considerably. Weber observes how capitalism
and the Industrial Revolution destroyed the former sense of leisureliness: “The
old leisurely and comfortable attitude toward life gave way to a hard frugality in
which some participated and came to the top, because they did not wish to con-
sume but to earn” (Weber 1958, 68). On the matter of contemporary, especially
American, society, every author I examined seems resigned to the fact that the
primary ethic today is one of work, not leisure: “Religiously, politically, economi-
cally, militarily, and mentally it is still thought better to work than to do what you
please” (de Grazia 1962, 404). It wasn’t always this way, however. As de Grazia
details, “For the makers of the [United States], the good life was the life of lei-
sure” (414). He suggests, with perhaps a touch of facetiousness, that even up to
the middle of the twentieth century, “among educated Virginians a Yankee was
a person who didn’t know how to use his time” (266). In this respect, however,
the American “Founding Fathers,” like the educated Virginians, were outliers,
reflecting, likely, their own privilege; their Classical conception of life did not
equate leisure with idleness. This, however, stood in contrast to pervading
currents of thought running from the monastic tradition through the Protestant
Revolution and into the Industrial Revolution, which saw leisure-​as-​idleness as
an unproductive use of time.20
Understandably, perhaps, not only did Protestantism demand using time pro-
ductively, but the success of the American colonies (and other worldwide colo-
nies of the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries) arguably depended on it. As
Weber (1958) has pointed out, the ethic of productivity eventually transcended
its religious origins and extended to the economic sphere. Traces of this ethic
can still be found. For many people today, time is still considered a commodity
(“time is money”), to be spent responsibly, not squandered recklessly. As Rojek
observes, “the capitalist certainly regards industriousness and application as
morally superior to pleasure seeking and relaxation” (1985, 67). The “sanctifica-
tion of time” mentioned by Kaplan (1960, 149) must, therefore, be understood
as reflecting multiple value systems. It is not just that the Protestant work ethic
of Weber is to be found in a capitalist orientation that pervades American life,
although this is commented on repeatedly in the literature, but that this ethic
has come to color the way people in industrial and post-​industrial societies
view time usage. The problem of free time has become how to fill it “profitably,

20 Dulles (1965) describes The Eclectic Second Reader for the Younger Classes in Schools by William

Holmes McGuffey (1836). Consider, for example, Lesson III “The Idle Boy,” and Lesson IV, “The Idle
Boy Reformed.”
 Leisure and Living 51

productively, and efficiently” (Green 1968, 58). The moral course of action is thus
to “find occupation in every moment” (58), an ethic that reflects an “entrepre-
neurial notion of leisure” (61).
This entrepreneurial view toward leisure need not imply a strictly monetary
(or neoliberal) orientation, of course, although it often manifests itself that way,
at least in the United States if not more broadly. De Grazia notes how London
executives (in the 1960s) took four-​day weekends, but executives in the United
States, like many other working people, choose additional money over addi-
tional time: “[the worker] pursues time, but not very far. He [sic] soon runs out
of wind” (1962, 138, 167). De Grazia argues that the entrepreneurial approach
to leisure is in fact fed by the possibility of social mobility inherent in egalitarian
democracies. (Reflecting his Classical view of leisure, he submits that leisure
and democracy are incompatible.) That is, whereas Classical leisure demands a
contentment and satisfaction with the present, albeit with an active sense of en-
gagement, the principle of “progress” is founded on restlessness and unease. As a
result, people are expected to improve themselves through constant activity—​“to
be all that you can be” (Hunnicutt 2006, 63). As de Grazia explains,

To take the improvement, the ethicizing, the busily active, the always-​chasing-​
something quality out of free time would mean stealing the doctrine of prog-
ress away from democracy, of melioration, of optimism, of the very mobility it
prides itself on: that anyone can rise from the bottom. . . . A second’s reflection
would make it appear doubtful that social climbing and the struggle for status
can lie down peacefully with leisure. Striving means you want something badly,
that you are in a state of necessity, the state opposed to leisure. (1962, 353)

The implication of this is that one should do something, anything, in one’s dis-
cretionary time, lest one fail to “progress.” Although various activities have been
proffered as superior or at least preferable to others, the greatest sin in American
society is to do nothing. Green (1968), for example, recounts an anecdote of a
European student’s observation of her American friends: “[it] was not that her
friends were fearful of being caught doing nothing; they often did nothing, but
under the guise of doing something. The point was rather that they were pos-
sessed by the uneasy thought that one might enjoy doing nothing and that it
might even be all right to do so” (Green 1968, 62). The freedom of choice, in other
words, does not extend to the option of choosing to do nothing (see Chapter 7).
This general “entrepreneurial” orientation toward leisure suggests that time
usage is an entirely individual matter. Aristotle’s ethical question about the activ-
ities to fill leisure (Pieper 1952, 63), however, was intended as a prompt for deep
consideration of the purposes of human existence—​not as a solitary one, but
as a member of the polis (Hemingway 1991). That is, leisure was an individual
52 Context

ethical matter, but the ethics in question related to social participation. Under
a Classical conception of leisure, one would never engage in activities for per-
sonal gain or aggrandizement, nor would anyone, like those of Veblen’s “leisure
class,” flaunt one’s activities conspicuously to demonstrate one’s social posi-
tion; such would be contrary to the common good. Importantly, while Classical
deliberations about activity were expected to contribute to the common good,
one worried only about one’s own actions, not the actions of others. As I discuss
in Chapter 5, however, awareness of increased free time due to the reduction in
work hours in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries led to widespread
concerns that people, other people, might not use their time properly (see, e.g.,
Dumazedier 1974). What emerged during this period was an entire ethos and
industry devoted to the belief, driven partly by altruism and perhaps in part by
fear, that people needed help in making responsible choices, especially with their
“leisure time.” Without guidance, people could not be trusted to use their free
time responsibly.
What I hope this discussion makes clear is that considerations of leisure are far
from simple. It should also make clear that activity is far from a private matter. In
hyper-​competitive neoliberal democracies there are pressures, both internal and
external, to strive (or to want to strive) to be better than another (person, city,
state, country, etc.). Hence, “unproductive” activities (such as music) are viewed
with suspicion. This is only half the story, however, for embedded within larger
socio-​political forces are those who do care what is done in free time by others—​
not because they believe that others should be using their time more produc-
tively to increase competitiveness, but because they believe that they know ways
to live more fulfilling lives and because they believe they have an ethical if not
moral obligation to share this knowledge. Where would the world be without
parents, teachers, intellectuals, church leaders, recreation leaders, etc.? There are
inherent tensions here, especially with the ideal of individual liberty. For now,
suffice it to say that activity is directly implicated in matters of choice, freedom,
identity, security, and well-​being—​all aspects of individual and collective living
that demand our attention.
 3
Progressive Times
Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music

[T]‌he [Chicago Park Commission, c. 1902] embarked on a new con-

cert outreach project to bring what it called “good” music back to
Lincoln Park. But instead of reinstating the light-​classical repertoire
popularized by Johnny Hand, the commissioners announced that
they intended to discontinue brass band concerts entirely in favor
of performances by thirty-​five members of the Theodore Thomas
Orchestra . . . the most accomplished cultivated symphony in the
city. Though vaudeville and ragtime would still appear on some
concert programs, the commissioners declared their intention
of “improv[ing] the taste of those who frequent the playground”
by bringing serious classical music performances to the people.
(Vaillant 2003, 86)

Mark Twain immortalized the last decades of the nineteenth century as

America’s “Gilded Age,” a post–​Civil War era that saw the rapid expansion of the
United States in almost every imaginable dimension, not least being the massive
wealth accumulated by the so-​called robber barons, whose fortunes helped to
epitomize the American ideals of opportunity and success (admittedly on the
backs of the poor). The Gilded Age gave way to a period that witnessed dramatic
social, economic, and political changes—​the residue of which continues to cast a
shadow over life in not just the United States, but many other countries as well. In
Robert Putnam’s (2000) account, the Progressive Era, approximately 1890–​1920,
represents a golden time in America’s past, notable for its social awareness and
concern. “Progressive Education,” a current in educational thought that sprang
from the Progressive Era, remained popular in the United States (and beyond)
arguably until the time of Sputnik, at which point American education experi-
enced a well-​documented change in focus and priorities.1 The Progressive Era is
particularly notable for the social changes that transformed many of the world’s

1 See Cremin (1961).

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0003
56 Historical Perspectives

egalitarian democracies from fledgling experiments into the basic form of the
nation-​state we recognize today.
As explained in Chapter 1, I approach the historical chapters of this text (Part
II) not as a historian, but as someone interested in a “history of the present.”2
Toward this end, the purpose of Chapters 3–​5 is to help remind readers of histor-
ical context to complement and support the arguments presented in Part III. To
take one illustrative example, the Curtis Institute of Music is likely thought of by
many people today as simply a world-​class music conservatory that has nothing
to do with considerations of music, leisure, and education. As I demonstrate,
however, a closer consideration of historical writings helps to elucidate how and
why current values and structures in music learning and teaching have come
to be the way they are, not just in the United States, but in much of the Global
North. In this chapter and the next I examine two socio-​cultural movements
of the Progressive Era often generally overlooked by the field of music educa-
tion: the settlement movement and the play movement.
The settlement house movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries is well known to social historians. Although the primary focus of
the settlement houses was the alleviation of impoverished living conditions
for the urban poor, many of whom were recent immigrants, the role and im-
portance of music to the movement should not be underestimated. Several
sources provide valuable insights into how music was conceptualized by set-
tlement house workers during the Progressive Era (e.g., Vaillant 2003; Cords
1970; Green 1998; Yerichuk 2015).3 The most comprehensive source on
the outgrowth of settlement music activity, the “community music school,”
is Robert Egan’s (1989) book, Music and the Arts in the Community: The
Community Music School in America. Egan, who was president of the National
Guild of Community Music Schools (now the National Guild for Community
Arts Education) from 1961 to 1965, following his long period of involvement

2 To be clear, I am not presenting my work as Foucauldian; rather, my work is inspired by Foucault.

3 Derek Vaillant’s (2003) book, Sounds of Reform: Progressivism and Music in Chicago, 1873–​1935,
is complemented nicely by three doctoral dissertations: Nicholas John Cords’s (1970) “Music in Social
Settlement and Community Music Schools, 1893–​1939: A Democratic-​Esthetic Approach to Music
Culture”; Shannon Green’s (1998) “ ‘Art for Life’s Sake’: Music Schools and Activities in U.S. Social
Settlements, 1892–​1942”; and Deanna Yerichuk’s (2015) “Discursive Formations of Community
Music and the Production of Canadian Citizens in Toronto’s Settlement Movement, 1900s–​1930s.”
For an insightful case study providing a cross-​national perspective, see Köngeter (2012). In addi-
tion to providing historical details that extend the work of Cords, Green provides insightful cultural
analyses of gender and class. Yerichuk’s work, by contrast, focuses on the discourse of “community
music” and on how music was used to construct and govern conduct, specifically in terms of how the
purported morality of “good” music helped to enact citizenship. Yerichuk’s scholarship also serves as
a reminder that the deployment of music and the high art music establishment’s rationales and tactics
during this period were not strictly American phenomena. There are many other studies on music
and the settlement movement, but most are of a specific institution, geographic location, or focus on
particular individuals.
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 57

with the organization, provides a comprehensive insider’s view of the history,

values, and practices of the community music school movement. Taken to-
gether, the sources I have examined provide a vivid picture of how and why
those involved with music instruction as part of the settlement movement
eventually broke away from the settlement houses to further interests deemed
more “musical” and less “social.”
My discussion in this chapter revolves around four loosely related areas.
I begin with an (all-​too-​brief) introduction to the idea that capitalism,
expressed through commercial amusements that arose in the late nineteenth
century, represented a growing threat to responsible self-​direction. I then de-
scribe the emergence of the settlement house movement as a response to the
perceived evils of commercialization, industrialization, urbanization, and im-
migration. In the absence of government involvement, the settlement house
initiatives, undertaken by people commonly known as “reformers,” saw self-​
appointed guardians fill the void by acting in the role of society’s caretakers.4
As historian Lawrence Cremin remarks about the reformers: “their cause was
nothing less than the total regeneration of society” (Cremin 1961, 61). Next,
I sketch the idea of “rational recreation,” a term originally applied to efforts
and policies in the UK but that can also be associated with many Victorian-​
era efforts (taken up by American reformers) intended to guide the popu-
lation toward activities thought to be more productive and wholesome than
alternatives (especially commercially available alternatives). Following
this examination, I pivot toward music with an extended discussion of the
conditions that precipitated the emergence of community music schools
and their ultimate divorce from the settlement movement due to differing
views on music learning and participation. The salience of this discussion is
that it demonstrates how the specialized ethos of professional training that
supported the eventual independence of today’s community music schools
can be viewed as incompatible and at odds with the generalist social mission
of the settlement movement. I conclude the chapter by introducing the term
“community music,” foreshadowing a discussion I take up in greater depth
in Chapter 5. My primary interest here (and in the next two chapters) lies in
exposing the underlying values and interests as they may be inferred from the
artifacts and records of activities from the era.

4 Vaillant writes, “Settlement workers have been lambasted as ‘antimodern’ Victorians, as thrill

seekers communing with their social inferiors, or as unwitting apologists for corporate industrial
hegemony. Caricatured as saintly figures, settlement activists, especially women, have also been
portrayed as feckless busybodies, self-​serving narcissists, and reactionaries gaily (or grimly, as the
case might be) effacing cultural values other than their own while imposing a Victorian worldview on
the diverse peoples of urban industrial society” (Vaillant 2003, 93).
58 Historical Perspectives

Commercial Leisure

Despite the extraordinary numbers of dancers using park facilities—​it was esti-
mated that in 1923 almost 100,000 citizens attended 478 dances in [Chicago’s]
West Park—​many young people eschewed the staid respectability of the field
houses and headed for neighborhood commercial halls and cabarets where al-
cohol was available to underage patrons and where lax or absent floor monitors
permitted more liberal dancing and physical contact. (Vaillant 2003, 146)

There is a good deal of consensus among social historians around the idea that
increased prosperity and the gradual reduction in working hours during the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries created conditions amenable to “selling
entertainment” (Dulles 1965, 127). Robert Putnam concludes that growing af-
fluence during this period “gradually combined with ingenuity to produce a new
culture of leisure and materialism” (Putnam 2000; see also Goodale and Godbey
1988, 124). In one sense, the power to exercise choice through consumption of
entertainment under capitalism was (and is) often equated with the freedom of
egalitarian democracy. Using P. T. Barnum as the quintessential exemplar, Dulles
(1965) argues that public entertainment that arose in the nineteenth century in
fact represents a triumph of democracy: “No one [more than Barnum] did more
to promote the leveling influence of popular recreation. The theatre had tried to
compromise. It staged its equestrian dramas, its burlesques, its extravaganzas,
but it was always trying to get back to Shakespeare, looking a little down its nose
at the raucous taste of the lower half-​million” (123).
Although the concepts of “mass leisure” and “mass culture” only came
to prominence in the twentieth century, thanks in part to the work of the
Frankfurt School, mass entertainment is hardly a recent invention; witness
the Greek Olympics, the Colosseum, public festivals, and so on. A History of
Recreation: America Learns to Play by Foster Rhea Dulles (1965) and A Social
History of Leisure since 1600 by Gary Cross (1990) document much that might be
called “mass” culture in the United States, from colonial days through the mid-​
twentieth century. Dulles and Cross also include descriptions of the many re-
pressive measures taken in almost every generation to limit participation in mass
entertainment.
It is often difficult to reconcile that the logic of choice central to capitalism
appears very similar to the logic of freedom central to Classical leisure. The dif-
ference, from the perspective of those who sought (and continue to seek) to
police “the right to choose,” is that choices over right conduct should involve re-
sponsibility to oneself and others. The emerging modern commercial sphere of
the late nineteenth century represented a fly in the ointment of conduct because
laissez-​faire capitalism faced no moral obligation. The “provision” of options
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 59

under capitalism was (and is) not guided by the rationalization of pastoral power
or governmentality, but by the rationalization of profit. Whereas amateur bands
of the Progressive Era might play in public spaces for the entertainment of pas-
sersby, and community-​based theater performed for the entertainment of the
audience, both were the product of those who no doubt felt they were in some
way contributing to the betterment of their local communities. The mass enter-
tainment of capitalism held (and holds) no such pretense nor obligation. The
commercial sphere is, in effect, amoral (or agnostic) to the extent it disregards
taste, standards, and the authority of the socio-​political order; the logic of the
market is all that matters. As Rainwater (1922) complained at the time, com-
merce never attempts any “developmental or educational programs” (135–​136).
Speaking to a more global (or at least Global North) context, Roberts (2010)
suggests of this period that the “ethos of the recreation movements was anti-​com-
merce” (np). This was due in part to a general feeling of “displacement” (Fischer
1994), where commercial amusements and entertainments were thought to be
replacing activities considered more wholesome and involved.5 Vaillant claims,
for example, that the “revolution in market-​based leisure and recreation sparked
a moral ‘crisis’ surrounding commercial culture that drove reform activity at the
turn of the century” (2003, 8). There was a perceived lack of trust on the part
of society’s caretakers in the ability of other people to make what the reformers
considered to be healthy or appropriate choices. Given the available options, too
many people—​due to their lack of critical judgement—​would prefer what the
market attempted to sell them, choosing ragtime over Strauss (or Sousa). What
commerce offered, according to Rainwater, was passive. It debased taste, broke
up the family, and promoted antisocial tendencies, such as “consorting with vice”
(1922, 135–​136). Dulles provides a vivid description illustrating one example of
such concerns: “Music-​halls, free-​and-​easies, [and] concert-​saloons provided an
opportunity to drink in the garish atmosphere created by music, scantily dressed
girl waitresses, and beautiful entertainers” (1965, 221). In direct conflict with the
ethos and tenets of egalitarian democracy and the logic of capitalism, then, there
was a general feeling that people could not be trusted to exercise judgment. There
was an “apprehension that the freedoms of modern leisure might prove too great
a test of the individual’s capacity for responsible self-​direction” (Bailey 1978,
65).6 Those in positions of power and authority feared that people might not use
their leisure time properly, indulging in drinking and debauchery—​activities
with the potential to put the social order (and hence existing social hierarchies)

5 Based on his analysis of activities in two towns in California, Fisher (1994) argues that the dis-

placement thesis may be overblown.

6 One notes here the not insignificant religious aspect of temptation and sin.
60 Historical Perspectives

at risk, rather than involve themselves in self-​improvement through “better” lei-

sure choices.

Reformers and Rational Recreation

The West Chicago Park Commissioners listed unauthorized playing

of a musical instrument under the category of “Misdemeanors.”
Likewise, the Lincoln Park Commissioners specified that “[n]‌o
person shall play upon any musical instrument or thing.” . . . Any
such activities challenged the authority of park commissioners to di-
rect public attention to the uplifting recreational pastime of listening
to “appropriate” sounds of park concert music. (Vaillant 2003, 66)

We are looking forward to the time when self-​government under proper

supervision will be the means of control of these fellows. Authority
modified properly and properly placed in the hands of boys is less likely
to be abused than in the hands of adults.
—​Lawrence W. Tew, Central Neighbourhood
House, 19177

[T]‌he desire of a child for music . . . will help much to make better
workers and will result in better labor, thus benefiting the employers,
the public, and creating better citizens.
—​Johan Grolle, Second Conference Report of the National
Association of Music School Societies, 19128

The social transformations in the 1890–​ 1920 period were, by almost any
measure, dramatic. Put into a larger context, one recalls nineteenth-​century
England, the effects of the Industrial Revolution, and the rise of modern capi-
talism, all of which illustrated the social costs associated with mechanization and
changes in the modes of production—​epitomized eventually in the extremes of
Taylorism and Fordism9—​that fundamentally altered what was previously a pri-
marily agrarian, holistic form of living. As Putnam notes, alongside the advances
in technology and transportation brought by industrialization (everywhere, but
especially the UK and United States) were growing social problems. In the United
States, rapid industrial change was compounded by high levels of immigration.

7Quoted in Yerichuk (2015, 110).

8Quoted in Green (1998, 39).
9 Taylorism (after Frederick W. Taylor) here referring to optimization through scientific manage-

ment; Fordism (after Henry Ford) here referring to processing of mass production and consumption.
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 61

By 1870, one-​third of American workers were foreign-​born; by 1900 that figure

had grown to one-​half.10 In response to the changing nature of the immigrant
population, which was no longer predominantly northern European Protestants,
the anti-​Catholic, American Protective Association, founded in 1887, grew
to 2.5 million members (7 percent of the population) by 1894. Aside from the
overt rise of xenophobia in the United States, there were also the more material
practical problems resulting from immigration and urbanization: increasingly
crowded cities filled with slums and disease.
Memorialized in exposés, such as Jacob Riis’s (1890) How the Other Half Lives
and Upton Sinclair’s (1905) The Jungle, concerns over immigration and urban
slums had caught the attention of Victorian-​era social reformers in the late nine-
teenth century who, often with a mix of altruistic paternalistic concern and fears
over the potential loss of the existing social order, sought to improve conditions
for the (mostly immigrant) poor.11 One of the most obvious examples of social
reformism is evidenced in the settlement house movement that sprang up on
both sides of the Atlantic through the 1880s and 1890s, early instances of which
include Toynbee Hall in London (1885), University Settlement in New York
City (1886), Hull House in Chicago (1889),12 and Evangelia House in Toronto
(1902).13 Although the settlement movements in the UK and United States
differed in important ways (the latter oriented much more toward immigrants),
each shared a concern with the urban poor. Beyond simply providing cleaner,
safer housing, the settlement movement in the United States included pro-
gramming aimed at (proper) acculturation into White Anglo-​Saxon Protestant
(WASP) American society (Anderson 2006), influenced in part by the “Social
Gospel” and “muscular Christianity” movements (Putnam 2000, 391). As Jane
Addams, co-​founder of Hull House, explained, “One thing seemed clear in re-
gard to entertaining immigrants, to preserve and keep whatever of value their
past life contained and to bring them in contact with a better type of American”
(quoted in Vaillant 2003, 115).
While the primary emphasis in settlement houses was on physical health and
hygiene, culture was an important part of the agenda. Many settlement houses
included programming in music and the arts intended to ensure correct so-
cialization, usually understood as cultural “improvement” or “uplift.” As Derek
Vaillant explains, “[M]‌usic marked a natural choice to extend the time-​honored

10 Putnam reports that by 1909, the foreign-​born population in some cities (e.g., Chelsea, MA and

Duluth, MN) ran as high as 74 percent.

11 See Putnam (2000) for a fuller description.
12 Purists point out that the original name was written Hull-​House. Jazz enthusiasts might note

that a Hull House club gave Benny Goodman his first clarinet (Putnam 2000, 394).
13 Some consider Fred Victor Mission in Toronto (1894) as the first Canadian settlement house

but, as explained in this chapter, the settlement movement was emphatic in attempting to distinguish
itself from “mission work.”
62 Historical Perspectives

values and activities associated with bourgeois domestic culture into the city it-
self. Musical appreciation and instruction embodied object lessons of self-​and
group cultivation that seemed well tailored to the project of domesticating and
uplifting, where possible, the industrial population of the city” (2003, 98).14
As I will later discuss in greater depth, the use of music for social purposes was
a complicated affair. Reformers had to walk a fine line between uplift and “buy-​
in” in the face of competing alternatives. Vaillant explains, for example, how
“[c]‌oncerns about the increased commercial domination of public recreation
added urgency to discussions of adapting musical progressive outreach to more
directly compete with the marketplace for youth leisure time. . . . Prim gatherings
in settlement drawing rooms had little chance of attracting youth compared to
the exciting world of beery neighborhood club dances, minimally supervised
public dance halls, and risqué cabarets” (2003, 119). Although there may have
been incentives for participation and attendance on the part of the urban poor,
they—​especially youth—​were not obligated to show up. As a result, reformers
often appropriated certain “ethnic” or popular musical practices as part of what
might call a “bait-​and-​switch” technique. Despite their idealism, the “cultural
biases and blind spots” of the reformers, Vaillant (2003, 6) points out, are hard
to overlook.
Hard to overlook also are the overt racial biases in the settlement houses
(leading Vaillant to describe the music efforts of the reformers as “the sound of
whiteness”). Blacks were largely ignored in the American settlement movement,
something Addams lamented, in a somewhat backhanded way, in her 1911
essay “Social Control”: “[I]‌n every large city we have a colony of colored people
who have not been brought under social control” (Addams 1911, 22). In many
instances, the Black community created their own settlement houses (Lasch-​
Quinn 1993). Luker (1984), however, makes the case that the settlement move-
ment among the Black community was influenced to a much greater extent by
mission houses and institutional churches, which, as Lasch-​Quinn makes clear,
represented a problem for the white settlement movement, which was predicated
upon a “rigid distinction” between settlement work and religious work (1993,
5).15 Despite the similarities in practices, settlements were explicitly nonreli-
gious, a philosophical distinction that muddied the waters of Black-​white rela-
tions and the settlement movement. As a result, Lasch-​Quinn suggests that, while
some settlement work for Blacks was effective, “it was usually not welcomed and

14 Vaillant draws attention to Israel Zangwill’s (1908) play The Melting Pot, pointing out how the

use of music in the final act, where David Quixano, a young immigrant fiddler and composer who
premieres his symphonic tribute, “symbolizes the power of music to fire new civic forms of unity and
American solidarity” (Vaillant 2003, 121).
15 Among other things, missions were criticized “for failing to provide an example of high culture”

(Lasch-​Quinn 1993, 51).

 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 63

recognized by the formal settlement house movement” (161), something she

concludes is “an agonizing shortcoming of the movement as a whole” (6).
Numerous shortcomings of the reform movement aside (gendered aspects
were also problematic), what stands out so prominently about the Progressive
Era is how the problem of conduct became such a central problem in society.
Max Kaplan, a sociologist and musician who would become instrumental in
founding the field of leisure studies, pointedly asks, “Why should anyone be
concerned with what is done in free time by others?” (1960, 275). And yet, as
clear from the practices of the reformers, people did care a great deal. What the
settlement movement lays bare is how much the problems of conduct are cen-
tral to our existence, not least because conduct enacts cultural values (which in
the context of late nineteenth-​century Victorian society were considered under
threat from social and economic change). Not prepared to sit idly by and accept
changes that were unfolding around them, the reformers took action by creating
settlement houses they could leverage to perpetuate their own values, a process
Vaillant describes as “pledging assistance in exchange for control” (2003, 115).
The acculturation of values through intervention speaks directly to how
matters of conduct became a public matter in the latter half of the nineteenth
century. One of the finer sources for understanding social views of the period
is Peter Bailey’s Leisure and Class in Victorian England: Rational Recreation and
the Contest for Control. Bailey points out how English society exhibited con-
flicted views toward the matter of how people should live, resulting ultimately
in what would be termed “rational recreation,” which “proceeded from a basic
humanitarian sympathy with the plight of the urban masses” (1978, 35). That
is, those in society with the means and inclination to do so operated on the be-
lief that industrialization and urbanization had led to a greater work/​leisure
division, leaving many workers with more leisure time (in relative terms com-
pared with agrarian living), but with little to do when not on the job. Based on
what Bailey describes as a “belief in the perfectibility of the workingman” (43),
reformers sought to both “improve” the working class through education (e.g.,
lyceums, public libraries, adult education, cultural programming) and the pro-
vision of those recreational opportunities thought to engender a superior use of
time. Simultaneously, they were able to control the working classes by providing
spaces (e.g., public parks, settlement houses) for easier surveillance, and by of-
fering entertainments where the state and the elite could dictate culture rather
than leave it to fate and the choices of “the people.” Bailey has shown in detail, for
example, how the Victorian music hall was used to wrest control of culture away
from the masses.16

16 For another excellent discussion, see Nicholas Till (2004), “ ‘First-​ class evening
entertainments’: Spectacle and social control in a mid-​Victorian music hall,” New Theatre Quarterly
20 (1):3–​18.
64 Historical Perspectives

The melioristic desire to “improve” society, then, was inextricably linked to

the desire for control. Writing specifically about leisure and class in Britain, Clark
and Critcher (1985) argue persuasively that the supervisory aspects of rational
recreation are highly significant. Their arguments are easily applicable to both
sides of the Atlantic. By creating recreation centers and settlement houses and
implementing programming thought to be wholesome and embodying proper
values, for example, reformers exercised pastoral power to help ensure that citi-
zens would be less likely to fall prey to the less-​easily managed seductions of ex-
ploitative, free-​market entertainments not necessarily concerned with the moral
standards of those in authority. As Yerichuk (2015) concludes about settlement
music programs in Toronto, “[T]‌raining in good music could inscribe the values
of discipline, hard work, and refined comportment onto the bodies of the poor
and immigrant youth, values that middle-​class Anglo-​Celtic Protestant workers
felt would better strengthen Toronto’s poor and immigrant families individually
while also contributing to the smooth functioning of Toronto society overall”
(52). In a similar vein, Vaillant calls the “musical outreach” of the reformers a
“disciplining activity and clean recreational pastime” that helped to strengthen
their “ethnocentric power” (2003, 139). By creating public parks, for example,
the activities of urban people could be more easily contained and monitored by
the state. The degree to which the surveillance aspects of rational recreation were
conscious or subconscious may be somewhat open to some debate, but histor-
ical artifacts leave little doubt about the deliberate inculcation of specific WASP
values during this period.

Settlements and Music

I have seen innumerable cases of selfishness, stubbornness, ill tem-

pered, nervousness, disobedience, vanity and self-​depreciation cured
by music lessons.
—​Bronx House music director, 191217

Early settlement workers clearly believed in the power of music. In Vaillant’s

summation, “These reformers believed that wider access to high quality music
education for the immigrant, ethnic, and working poor, exposure to uplifting
classical concert performances, and efforts to supply visitors with affordable
alternatives to commercial musical amusements could dramatically enhance the
welfare of the urban population and promote civic engagement” (2003, 94). The

17 Quoted in Green (1998, 36).

 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 65

evolution of music’s uses over the course of the settlement movement is highly
instructive for helping to better understand issues of specialization.
Musical activities at larger settlement houses such as Hull House typically in-
cluded “private and group instrumental and vocal lessons; classes in theory, his-
tory, appreciation, harmony and composition; participation in various choirs,
chamber ensembles, a boys’ band, and at least two orchestras; regular concerts
and recitals by students, faculty, and outside artists; and pedagogical training for
teachers” (Green 1998, 11). While music was originally just one part of a larger
program of arts programming, music’s popularity quickly outpaced other artistic
offerings to the point where music often became its own unit within a settle-
ment house. These units were often led by prominent individuals, many of whom
would eventually spearhead a movement to break away from the settlement
houses to better pursue their own interests.
Among the first instances of music as part of the settlement movement was
Hull House Music School (1893; Eleanor Smith, first music director).18 This
was quickly followed by the Music School Settlement of New York (1894; Emilie
Wagner, founder), a school still in operation, known today as the Third Street
Music School Settlement. Whereas most music programming at settlement
houses operated as a unit or division (typically as part of arts programming), the
Music School Settlement of New York was arguably the first independent music
school (Cords 1970), a phenomenon that would eventually lead to the founding
of more and more independent community music schools. Notably, these inde-
pendent music schools often retained the word “settlement” in their names: for
example, University Settlement Music School in Toronto. Despite music’s popu-
larity, in terms of both its participation and its perceived “effectiveness,” tensions
in the aims and purposes of its inclusion in the settlement movement were evi-
dent from the start. Was music to be an instrumental good, serving social goals,
or an intrinsic good, the value of which was music itself? This tension was com-
plicated by the differences between generalized participation in and exposure
to music, almost always understood as Western European art music, and music
lessons aimed at musical training.
One of the questions immediately confronting settlement workers was
whether music lessons were to be offered to all people (most often children) or
reserved for those with recognized aptitudes. For Addams, the initial answer
to this question was that music lessons were for the talented few. Early in her
writings she makes clear that the music school existed “to give a thorough mu-
sical instruction to a limited number of children” (quoted in Egan 1989, 51). Less
talented children were encouraged to join the Hull House Music School’s choral

18 For more on music at Hull House, see Silverman (2020). Hull House eventually closed its art and

music programs in 1969 due to lack of money (Egan 1989, 280).

66 Historical Perspectives

groups (Cords 1970). Addams’s view was far from unanimous, however, re-
flecting the complicated relationship the reform movement had with music. On
the one hand, many reformers aligned with the “social view” saw music’s inclu-
sion as valuable for furthering the broader goals of the settlement movement, re-
gardless of the specific form of engagement. Many reformers were of the opinion
that all forms of musical participation were good.

They believed that civic engagement came in many musical flavors. Beethoven
performed by a professional orchestra, an immigrant student chorus singing
European folk songs, or a military brass band punching out a popular standard
on a Sunday afternoon all offered exciting opportunities to bind the urban pop-
ulation more tightly together. Activists therefore promoted an eclectic range
of music at free popular concerts in parks and settlement houses. They urged
poor urban residents to enroll in subsidized music lessons at park field houses,
to join settlement music clubs, and to attend municipal dances and community
sings in the name of metropolitan unity. (Vaillant 2003, 3–​4)

On the other hand, it is clear from the historical record that a majority of
professionals hired to oversee music programming (primarily lessons) saw the
inclusion of music more as a form of subsidized accessibility for that subset of
the settlements’ population with musical proclivities. The goals of training in
music, in other words, were considered the same regardless of the clientele
(i.e., oriented upon professional standards and expectations).
For those advancing a more “musical” view of settlement music work,
the difference between regular musical lessons and settlement music school
lessons was not aims and purposes, but subsidization. In the words of Janet
Schenck, a major figure in the community music school movement, “A Music
School Settlement aims to put the highest musical education within the reach
of serious students whose circumstances do not allow them to pay profes-
sional rates. . . . The difference between the fee paid by the pupil and the cost of
the lesson is made up by the School” (quoted in Egan 1989, 89). This is to say
that settlement music schools were, from their inceptions, dependent on phi-
lanthropy to ensure access to instruction. An article entitled “Underprivileged
Give Program” that appeared in The Globe newspaper in Toronto, for example,
played on the emotional appeal of subsidizing music instruction: “Ranging in
years from 5 to 14, the young artists demonstrated what is being done by the
settlement music schools to bring music to children who live in the crowded
areas and have little opportunity of studying the finer arts in their own homes”
(quoted in Yerichuk 2015, 167). Although some music teachers apparently
donated their services (or offered them at a reduced rate), a guiding prin-
ciple of the movement was to offer the highest-​quality instruction possible,
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 67

something that necessitated hiring good teachers at market rates. What made
this possible was both a sliding scale (ability to pay) model at some schools,
and the support of community and individual donations.19 The Music School
Settlement of New York, for example, had among its financial backers Samuel
Clemens, Charles Ditson, Joseph Pulitzer, Otto Kahn, and the (unnamed)
wives of Samuel Untermeyer, Andrew Carnegie, and Jacob Schiff (Cords
1970). Cords claims that, by the 1920s, direct tuition usually accounted for
approximately one-​third the cost of instruction.
One of the tensions evident from written records of the time can be found in
the various explanations cited for musical performances and educational pro-
gramming. For example, settlement workers had to operate sensitively around
the vocational aspects evident in their instructional offerings. On the one hand,
vocational preparation—​a clear raison d’être dating back to the original or-
phanage conservatorium of the eighteenth century (Wager and McGrath 1962,
28)—​made pragmatic sense for many urban poor. At a time when professional
orchestras were forming or expanding and commercial dance bands worked reg-
ularly, one could expect to earn a living as a full-​time musician. Names such as
Jules Eskin, Morton Feldman, Benny Goodman, Mario Lanza, Chuck Mangione,
Mitch Miller, Patricia Rushen, and Dionne Warwick are among those today cited
as successful products of the settlement music school movement and as proof of
its success (Egan 1989, 375–​377).
On the other hand, the growing reputation of settlement music schools as
a form of vocational conservatory training was resisted by various factions.
Settlement workers, primarily female, needed to tread carefully to avoid
raising the ire of conservatories, music departments, and independent music
teachers, primarily male, who could not match the philanthropically subsi-
dized lessons provided by the settlements. Despite the practicality of training
musicians, settlements usually avoided describing their work in professional
training terms. For example, David Mannes, a renowned figure of the day who
served as the Music School Settlement’s director from 1910 to 1915, seem-
ingly rejected the vocational reputation settlement music schools had ac-
quired, writing, “The Music School Settlement is no factory of professional
musicians. I count one child lost every time a boy or girl goes on the stage;
I’m bringing up a race of amateurs. . . . I would like to fill the city with so
many good amateurs that every house could make its own music” (quoted
in Cords, 43).20 Tellingly, however, the advisory board of the Music School
Settlement included some of the most important professional musicians of

19 Green (1998) counters that what made the settlement music school economic model work was

that two-​thirds of settlement music school workers were females, who were paid less than men.
20 Cords questions his sincerity.
68 Historical Perspectives

the day: Walter Damrosch, Arthur Farwell, Ossip Gabrilowitsch, Leopold

Stokowski, Pablo Casals, and Olga Samaroff (Cords 1970).21
Claims of fostering widespread amateurism were but one tactic employed
by the reformers. Also common were appeals to such things as cultural uplift,
moral character, and self-​directedness, all of which helped to create a gendered
rationale for settlement music.

[T]‌heir stress on non-​professionalism was a compromise that ensured less

competition with established music conservatories and university music
department, whose leadership tended to be male-​dominated. In effect, set-
tlement musicians established for themselves a gendered purpose for their
music: their use of music in the settlements would not establish careers, but
rather would further settlement goals using the troubles of the working-​class
poor in their neighborhoods through enculturation. (Green 1998, 19)

Not surprisingly, then, one finds Martha Scott of Hull House stating, “I make
no attempt to teach [the boys] to sing for singing’s sake or with the idea of be-
coming musicians. It is for the effect music has upon the emotions” (quoted in
Green 1998, 37). One finds multiple examples of these kinds of statements in
writings from the period. Appeals to moral and emotional effects often occur
alongside other claims speaking to how musical study developed in the urban
poor an ability to better participate in and contribute to society. Consider, for
example, this self-​description about a settlement music school in Toronto: “By
actively participating in a field of interest as well as submitting to the mental
discipline required in the study of music the individual is better equipped to
meet the obligation and need of society as an active citizen, a responsible adult
and a directed human being” (quoted in Yerichuk 2015, 156). Or consider this
passage from the editor of the Century Magazine in New York, who, in 1905,
references how the Settlement Music School helped to improve musical taste,
one of the perennial mantras emblematic of pastoral power: “[The school] a
serious conservatory of music for children and young people of both sexes.
The musical standard is of the best. . . . [T]‌he taste of the pupils, no matter how
crude at first, is soon lifted” (quoted in Cords 1970, 44).

21 Egan reports that George Gershwin was a member of the Music School Committee of the Henry

Street Settlement Music School.

 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 69

Social Music/​Community Music

The community music movement as it exists today has as its objective

the return of music to all the people. It is the outgrowth of the con-
ception that for the people themselves to have a part in the making of
music has greater values than for them merely to listen to music made
by a few, important though that is to the individual.
—​National Recreation Association22

As discussed in the previous section, settlement music leaders typically sought

nothing less than the highest standards in art music, both for performances and
instruction. For musical purists, “aesthetics, program selectivity, and technical
execution were essential traits of any musical reform exercise” (Vaillant 2003,
103). This set of values, however, consistently bumped up against settlement
leadership that sought the broadest reach and impact. Vaillant, for example,
documents public disagreements between Jane Addams and her music director,
Eleanor Smith. While Addams may have thought music lessons appropriate
only for a select minority, this did not mean she shared the view that all musical
engagement should be confined to elite views of art. Like debates occurring in
many settlement houses, debates within the Hull House music division invari-
ably revolved around the question, “Should popular and accessible songs prevail
at concerts to attract and retain the largest audience possible, or should reformers
dare to promote a pedagogical, uplift approach at the risk of alienating potential
reform subjects?” (Vaillant 2003, 102). Vaillant cites a Hull House artifact from
1900, referencing the Sunday concerts, that hints at the tension embedded in cul-
tural uplift versus reach: “A great effort is made to secure programs which shall
be a real education in musical taste, while at the same time they are not so severe
that they cannot be enjoyed by the average audience” (quoted in Vaillant 2003,
103).23
The temporary solution to the tension between those who sought musical
excellence and “refined” taste and those who sought inclusiveness was found
in the designations of “specialized houses” and “general houses” to distin-
guish the different foci in the settlements. The specialized houses emphasized
conservatory-​style music training; the general houses emphasized broad-​based
participation. By the 1920s, music division leaders began designating the work of

22 National Recreation Association (1926, 9)

23 “During the 1900s and 1910s, outreach at Hull House underwent a tactical shift from focusing
chiefly on educating the talented few to attracting as many young inhabitants of the Nineteenth Ward
as possible. While the music school maintained its high demands for its pupils, the broader settle-
ment increased music club activity, added dances, and hastened to introduce other musical activities”
(Vaillant 2003, 119).
70 Historical Perspectives

the general houses as “Social Music,” a moniker that sounds almost quaint today.
(What is the antonym of social music?) As Yerichuk explains, “The social of so-
cial music highlighted how workers understood music as a recreational activity
rather than a form of musical training” (2015, 100). The implied condescension
is difficult to miss, however. Famed American violinist Albert Spalding, for ex-
ample, described community music as “good socially, but bad musically” (Lee
2007, 105). Similarly, John Grolle unapologetically proclaimed, “Social recrea-
tion music in the houses is there to amuse and to introduce” (quoted in Green
1998, 165). Grolle and his compatriots viewed their role as “guardians” of culture
(Green 1998, 154). Grolle’s motto, “To Infuse Quality into Quantity Movements”
(Green 1998, 155), was meant to combat what he perceived as the pernicious
effects of the public schools and their “lowering influence on art as a result of its
quantity” (quoted in Green 1998, 159).
The idea of social music gave rise to a widespread movement at the time
that celebrated everyday participation in music. As I discuss later, social music
manifested itself in music teaching and learning circles in what would become
known as the “social rationale” for music in public schools (see, e.g., W. Lee 2007).
Social music also manifested itself, in part, in what became known as “commu-
nity music.” Jacques Gottlieb, director of the East Side House Music School, for
example, gave a talk at the 1917 National Federation of Settlements conference
entitled “The Contribution of the Settlement Music School to the Community
Music Movement” (Cords 1970, 72). The label community music, however,
should not be confused with community music schools (the ethic of which was
in many ways the opposite of community music), or with the contemporary
term “community music” as applied to the field of theory and practice emer-
ging from the UK and parts of Ireland in the 1980s and 1990s (see, e.g., Higgins
2012). The label “community music,” which maintained some currency in some
constituencies in the United States through the 1950s (see, e.g., Community
Music: A Practical Guide for the Conduct of Community Music Activities [National
Recreation Association 1926] and The Community Music Association: Principles
and Practices Suggested by a Study of the Flint Community Music Association
[Smith 1954]24), was used primarily in reference to active music making in ser-
vice of citizenship and esprit de corps.25 The National Recreation Association (see

24 This is a fascinating book documenting the impressive community organizing around music

that occurred in Flint, Michigan, from 1917 to 1954.

25 The constitution of the Flint Community Music Association makes very clear the definition of

community music. The purpose of the organization was to “promote the community interest in the
City of Flint by developing a common, or general, participation in music” (Smith 1954, 7). Music
education historian Michael Mark collected a small volume of papers from Music Educators Journal
from 1934 to 1990 loosely about “community music.” Despite the title, The Music Educator and
Community Music, and Mark’s helpful editorial introduction, the collection exposes a very diffuse
use of the term (see Mark 1992).
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 71

Chapter 4), for example, established a Bureau of Community Music during the
First World War to encourage and foster community singing, especially for pa-
triotic purposes (Zanzig 1932, 11). Community singing “was found exceedingly
helpful as an emotional appeal and a unifying influence” (National Recreation
Association 1926, 3). As the National Recreation Association asserted, “The
singing nation, the musical nation, is a stronger nation for working, for national
defense, or living” (12). The National Recreation Association credited wartime
music activities with the dramatic rise in support for publicly supported musical
activities: following the war, “the value of music as a force in citizenship building
and community morale began to interest those who formerly had no musical in-
terest as such and the movement for music for all received the support of public-​
spirited citizens, business men and community groups” (3–​4).
The idea of community music in the early twentieth century was advanced by
both the National Recreation Association and the Music Supervisors National
Conference (and later, the Music Teachers’ National Association, which had a
Committee on Community Music). These organizations combined their talents
and resources to create songbooks for the general public (e.g., Fifty-​Five Songs,
from 1913; Twice Fifty-​Five Songs, from 1919; and later, Twice 55 Plus Community
Songs, from 1929).26 Such songbooks, operating under the banner of community
music, became quite popular leading up to and immediately after the First World
War, helping to sustain gender differences, patriotism, and middle-​class values.27
Arguably, then, community music as it emerged in the Progressive Era can be
viewed simultaneously as a form of rational recreation that flowed from the set-
tlement movement, a form of nation building through song, and a strategy for
furthering the cultural goals of those involved with music and the arts.

The Community Music School

What is notable in the accounts of Cords and Egan is how quickly music rose to
prominence within the settlement houses (which originally focused on a broader
umbrella of “arts”). Cords, for example, points out how the National Association

26 For a more thorough discussion, see Jeffrey E. Bush and Andrew Krikun, “Community Music

in North America: Historical Foundations,” in K. Veblen, S. Messenger, M. Silverman, and David

Elliott, Community Music Today (Lanham, MD: Roman & Littlefield, 2013), 13–​24.
27 Vaillant writes, “Inspired by the slogan ‘A singing army is a fighting army,’ the songbook

of community sings for enlisted men and civilians alike symbolically invoked specific gender
roles for America’s men, women, and children. Singing produced virile soldiers, while teaching
noncombatants the values for which the nation stood: home, family, and hearth. . . . With themes
that addressed the virtuous females tending the domestic sphere, and the males entrusted to pro-
tect the family while older brothers, fathers, and uncles fought, such songs consolidated a distinctive
American emotional vocabulary that folded immigrant, ethnic, and laboring participants into the
midst of a patriotic, middle-​class affective culture” (2003, 169).
72 Historical Perspectives

of Music School Societies formed in 1911, the same year as the National
Federation of Settlements (Cords 1970, 7). In 1917, the National Federation of
Settlements set up a Committee on the Arts, but it was apparently so music-​heavy
that in 1921 they set up a separate Music Committee. Viewed in retrospect, this
organizational identification and separation foreshadowed the cleavage between
the settlements and what would become known as independent community
music schools operating under the National Guild of Community Music Schools
(officially forming in 1937). According to Cords, “settlement music leaders con-
sistently believed that their job was social as well as artistic and thus extended
well beyond the lesson studio for concert hall” (1970, 14). Johan Grolle (then
director of the Settlement Music School of Philadelphia), for example, stated in
1916 the desire to keep the settlement motives of service, sharing opportuni-
ties, and enriching neighborhood life (Cords, 71). According to Egan, however,
there was a growing feeling among some music leaders that the settlements were
holding music back. Janet Schenck complained about the “restricted conditions
imposed upon it in the settlement house” (quoted in Egan 1989, 147). Egan
writes of a growing “rift between the Music Division of the National Federation
of Settlements and the independent music schools” (169).
In part, this rift reflected what Cords describes as “the ever widening gap
within the Music Division between supporters of professional music and
supporters of social music” (1970, 12). In Egan’s retrospective appraisal, this re-
flected a difference in philosophical perspective: “Music is the primary factor
to the professional musician, but it is secondary in the mind of the profes-
sional social worker” (1989, 169). This difference in perspective, however, can
also be understood as a growing desire for autonomy and control and a reluc-
tance to compromise. This feeling extended from the perceived restrictiveness
of the settlement house to the perceived poor standards and expectations of the
public schools. The comments of community music schools’ leaders of this pe-
riod, such as Grolle and Schenck, make clear a disdain for anything or anyone
advocating anything less than their brand of excellence. Grolle, for example,
who years earlier had praised the importance of the social mission of music,
wrote, “We are artists. We have a far deeper insight into music and humanity
than most professionals. . . . [T]‌he public schools are seriously interfering with
the real function of laws underlying art. Our schools have a decided message.
Quality in quantity” (quoted in Egan, 190–​191). Schenck similarly admonished
the West Newton Music School for operating out of Pierce School because of
the reduced standards associated with such a venue. She writes, “Can you envi-
sion the sound of a respectable violinist attempting to tune his violin to a typical
piano in a public school—​if, indeed, there is any at all?” (quoted in Egan, 115),
and complains of trying to make music when a game of basketball is “crashing on
the ceiling above” (quoted in Egan, 152). About community music schools, she
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 73

bragged, “Our present organizations enjoy complete autonomy. . . . We are able to

require standards of our students and our faculties” (quoted in Egan, 115).
The issue of autonomy can indeed be highlighted as one of the primary
undercurrents that led community music schools to break from the settlement
houses. Although the unstated but obvious professional training focus of settle-
ment music programs in the first two decades of the twentieth century can be
attributed in part to pragmatic vocational concerns in society given the market
for musicians during this period (and the perception, according to Cords, that
“adequate music instruction in the public schools, with some rare exceptions,
was almost nonexistent” [1970, 36]), it was ultimately a difference of perspective
over the role of music instruction in the lives of individuals that led music schools
to break away from the settlement movement. Egan’s sensitive perceptions about
this are highly informative. In his assessment, the “coup d’état” that led to the
formation of the National Guild of Community Music Schools was the result
of differing concepts of what a settlement house was supposed to be and what
a community music school was supposed to be (171, 149). If the social worker
doesn’t have a music background, he writes, “how can he [sic] possibly be pre-
pared to make value decisions about any music or art program under his juris-
diction?” Conversely, if the director of the music school “shows no interest or
understanding of the social work program . . . the situation will be a hopeless
muddle” (151). Ultimately, however, it appears there were tensions and hurt
feelings among members of the National Federation of Settlements (“to them
community music school, settlement music school and music school settlement
were synonymous and would stay that way”), in part due to the “way in which the
Guild was secretly and very quietly formed” (1970, 206).
It is important not to overlook the underlying ethic that led to the formation
of an independent organization (guild) for community music schools. This can
be gleaned quite readily from Egan’s writings. Following Schenck, he makes clear
that a community music school (as of his time of writing in 1989) is an institu-
tion “that offers music instruction of the highest quality for those who desire it,
regardless of ability to pay” (1989, xi). This description, however, only scratches
the surface. The National Guild was formed in 1937 specifically “to protect mu-
sical excellence in each of the schools” (1989, 207). Any affiliation with a settle-
ment house was perceived as lowering musical standards. There were, as a result,
strict criteria for any music school desiring to join the Guild. The founding docu-
ment of the Guild provides an outline of how the independent community music
schools conceived of themselves: as an outgrowth of the settlement movement,
but as “separately incorporated organizations not affiliated with any social set-
tlement” (174). Although the original settlement music schools were segregated
(David Mannes helped to found the Music School Settlement for Colored People
in 1911), by 1937 members had to be able to prove that they were nonprofit, and
74 Historical Perspectives

available to students “regardless of race, creed or color” (174). In addition, any

school wanting to join the Guild had to show it had a minimum of one hundred
students, and the school’s curriculum had to be “approved by a committee ap-
pointed by the Guild” (204).
The Curtis Institute of Music (est. 1924), today one of the world’s preeminent
conservatories, provides an illustrative case study on the vocational current of
thought connected to settlement music schools and the hypocrisy behind al-
truistic claims of access. According to Curtis’s website, the school—​originally
formed as an independent community music school, led by Johan Grolle—​
resulted from the efforts of Mary Louise Curtis Bok, a Philadelphia reformer.
Bok, moved by her work at the Settlement Music School in South Philadelphia,
with “culturally and financially deprived children, many of whom were gifted
enough for professional careers,” organized “a music conservatory with rigorous
standards of teaching and performance to train the next generation of musical
artists” (Curtis Institute of Music website). That Curtis continues to use the lan-
guage of cultural deprivation on its website is revealing, exposing the settlement
attitude of salvationism prevalent at the time. As pointed out on the website,
Curtis has a rare tuition-​free policy that dates to 1928. While figures are not avail-
able, one suspects that in the early days of operation, Curtis may have operated
true to the spirit of vocational training for all, regardless of background (remem-
bering that vocational training of musicians in the 1920s and 1930s represented
a promising career path for many). Despite being a quintessential example of an
elite classical training institution today, it still claims the moral high ground of
privilege-​free merit: “Students continue to be accepted for study at Curtis solely
on the basis of their artistic talent and promise” (Curtis Institute of Music web-
site). It is common knowledge that the entrance standards for Curtis are excep-
tionally high. It is extraordinarily unlikely that any applicant that has not enjoyed
high levels of economic and cultural capital can meet Curtis’s competitive en-
trance standards. It is not that subsidized musical training is a bad thing, but it is
disingenuous to give the impression that meritocracy overlooks privilege when
privilege provides the basis for what appears as meritocracy. (The most recent
demographic figures on the Curtis website are for 2012–​2013. They show that
only 7 percent of male students and 3 percent of female students were black or
Hispanic/​Latino.)28
Curtis’s evolution into a world-​class conservatory most certainly represents
the exception and not the rule for independent community music schools.29

28 To be clear, none of this is a critique of Curtis as a conservatory. My point is simply that no

applicant who has not had the benefit of years and years of costly music instruction (and a costly
high-​quality instrument) stands a chance of being accepted into Curtis. Ergo, subsidy goes to the
already-​advantaged.
29 Though it is not the only example; the Manhattan School of Music, founded by Janet Schenck in

1917, was originally the Neighborhood Music School. Unlike at Curtis, where all students continue
 Settlements, Rational Recreation, and Music 75

What is significant is how the discourse of “gifted and talented” provided com-
munity music schools with the rationale to depart from the egalitarian (if ad-
mittedly salvationist) spirit that originally led to the inclusion of music in the
settlements. Egan (1989, 334) cites 1985 demographic statistics from the
National Guild claiming one in three students in community music schools as
“minority” (with 20.7 percent classified as Black).
The mission of economic accessibility is of course admirable, but it is striking
to compare the accessibility rationale of community music schools with that of
the early proponents for “public school music.” Music instruction, claimed the
nascent Music Supervisors’ National Conference (est. 1907; forerunner to today’s
National Association for Music Education), was too important to remain the
province of those who could afford to pay. In a truly egalitarian, democratic so-
ciety, it was argued, music should be freely available to all people; public schools
represented an obvious solution to this problem. For those aligned with the
values and priorities of the National Guild, however, public schools represented
a threat to the integrity of music, a watering-​down of standards necessitated by
the lowest common denominator. Echoing the sentiments of Schenck, Egan
proudly proclaimed how community music schools “recognize few of the
restrictions imposed by other institutions” (91). By divorcing themselves from
the perceived shackles of the settlement houses, with their expectations of social
purposes, and distancing themselves from the public schools, with their dilu-
tion of quality through quantity (and their pesky physical limitations and dem-
ocratic obligations to the community), community music schools succeeded in
claiming the moral high ground of accessibility without compromising their ar-
tistic standards. In the process, they developed an autonomous model of music
training predicated on excellence without the perceived taint of elitism.

Summary

Change is a ubiquitous facet of human life, but the Progressive Era was particu-
larly momentous on several fronts, especially in the United States. Social, dem-
ographic, and technological change placed issues of conduct and culture at the
forefront of concerns by those who considered themselves the arbiters of taste
and behavior. Significant to the purposes of music, leisure, and education, the
Progressive Era witnessed the emerging tension between those who viewed

to attend tuition-​free, students at the Manhattan School of Music face a tuition bill on the order of
$50,000 per year. Website statistics listed in 2017 show that enrollment had approximately 2 per-
cent African American/​Black students and 3 percent Latino/​Chicano/​Hispanic students, figures
that seem far from the original mission of serving “the immigrant communities of New York City”
(Manhattan School of Music website).
76 Historical Perspectives

music learning and participation oriented primarily toward social and civic co-
hesion (à la Robert Putnam’s description of social capital), and those who viewed
music learning and participation from the vantage point of high art, where the
norms and expectations of professional performance in the Western classical tra-
dition were valued above all else. Originating primarily, though not exclusively,
in the settlement movement, egalitarian sentiments regarding broad-​based
music learning crystallized tensions surrounding music learning and participa-
tion that remain to this day.
 4
Progressive Times
Play, Music, and Education

In addition to athletic facilities, each park offered youth and adult

classes in instrumental and vocal music using rooms akin to the
interiors of a middle-​class residence. While women played a pri-
mary role in music education and supervision at Hull House, field
house parks favored male personnel as musical supervisors. In this
respect the field houses borrowed techniques from settlement ide-
ology that prized a model of domestic protectiveness, albeit ema-
nating from a paternal, rather than maternal, locus of authority.
(Vaillant 2003, 134)

In this chapter, I discuss an emerging concern over conduct that arose during the
Progressive Era in tandem with the settlement movement, one that manifested
itself in what is variously labeled the “playground movement,” “play movement,”
“recreation movement,” or “play and recreation movement.” There are arguably
subtle differences between these terms that may become clearer by the end of
the chapter, but I regard the labels more or less synonymously. My examination
focuses primarily on the American experience, but it should be noted that there
were play and recreation movements in the early twentieth century throughout
the industrialized countries of Europe and North America (Roberts 2010).
Stormann (1991) suggests that, although it would eventually become co-​opted
by increasing professionalization, the early playground movement was mostly a
reform movement (137). There were indeed important overlaps between the set-
tlement and the playground movements. As Anderson (2006, np) summarizes,
“Both movements drew on ideas about industrialization, psychology, child de-
velopment, and the effect of the environment on the individual to form a core
argument that organized recreation was essential to the physical, mental and
moral well being of the individual and critical to a modern, democratic, indus-
trial society.” Viewed retrospectively, several precursors of the play and recrea-
tion movements can be identified. The YMCA, formed in 1851 (YWCA, 1866), a
manifestation of the “muscular Christianity” movement that extolled the virtues

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0004
78 Historical Perspectives

of hard work and effort related to self-​improvement, is but one example of be-
nevolent concern for the health of society. Catalyzing muscular Christianity was
the belief that increasing urbanization had resulted in a loss of the kinds of health
associated with rural spaces: (supposedly) cleaner air, walking, and the physical
toil necessary to make a living (Cheek and Burch 1976). As I describe in this
chapter, although the recreation movement’s early concerns were primarily with
physical health, they eventually broadened in the early twentieth century to in-
clude cultural matters, notably music.
The establishment of the YMCA/​YWCA and the public parks movement can
be viewed as part of an overall current of reformist thought (evident in the pre-
vious chapter) focused on improvement in society, particularly through state
interventions and the formation of voluntary associations. One of the most de-
tailed sources documenting the rise and importance of voluntary associations
during the Progressive Era is Robert Putnam’s (2000) Bowling Alone: The Collapse
and Revival of American Community. Although Putnam has been criticized for
an overly romantic view of the era, glossing over issues of race being perhaps
the most glaring shortcoming, his level of rigor leaves little doubt over the social
importance of this period in American history. About the years 1890–​1920, he
concludes, “[I]‌t is hard to name a major mainline civic institution in American
life today that was not invented in these few decades” (385).1 Putnam points pos-
itively (and nostalgically) to this period as evidence of strong social capital in
American society. He acknowledges, however, that it can also be viewed as a time
when secular concerns about the conduct of others became increasingly ratio-
nalized. It is tempting to question the sincerity of intentions behind those who
helped form the many voluntary associations that arose during this era, many of
which had the effect of influencing the conduct of others. It should be remem-
bered, however, that the motivations of the actors occurred within the context of

1 As an illustration of Putnam’s point in connection with the field of school music, note this list of

organizations cited in connection with a planned “National Music Week” sponsored by the Music
Supervisors National Conference: “The organizations associated with the National Music Week
Committee are: American Country Life Association, National Congress of Parents and Teachers
Conference, Music Teacher’s National Association, National Association of Manufacturers, American
Farm Bureau Federation, American Federation of Labor, American Federation of Musicians,
National Association of Music Merchants, National Association of Organists, American Guild of
Organists, American Legion, American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, Boy Scouts
of America, Camp Fire Girls, Chamber of Commerce of the United States, National Association
of Schools of Music and Allied Arts, National Board of the Young Women’s Christian Association,
National Child Welfare Association, Daughters of the American Revolution, Federal Council of the
Churches of Christ in America, General Federation of Women’s Clubs, Girl Scouts, Inc., National
Council of Jewish Women, National Council of Women, National Education Association of the
United States, National Federation of Music Clubs, National Grange, Playground and Recreation
Association of America, International Committee of Young Men’s Christian Associations, Kiwanis
Club International, Lions International, and Knights of Columbus.” See “National Music Week,”
Music Supervisors’ Journal 12, no. 4 (1926):74–​76.
 Play, Music, and Education 79

growing urbanization, industrialization, capitalism, egalitarianism, democracy,

and, as a result of heightened levels of immigration, xenophobia.
Paralleling the expansion of pastoral power expressed through volun-
tary associations during this period was the proliferation of state intervention
(governmentality) as manifested through the institution of common schooling.
By usurping the rights of parents through compulsory school attendance, for ex-
ample, state education epitomizes governmentality. There are many sources in
the history of education literature that document the rapid expansion of public
schooling in the United States in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centu-
ries, but I am particularly drawn to those sources that describe how the school
system was used by the state as part of nation-​building projects. One such source
is Tracy Steffes’s (2012) School, Society, and State: A New Education to Govern
Modern America, 1890–​1940. Steffes argues that the state school during this
period “expanded public oversight over children’s education and invested the
school with primary responsibilities for socialization; it pursued more ambitious
aims to develop and adjust youths for modern society and economy in the public
interest” (2012, 3).2 This was particularly significant in the context of what might
be considered the meteoric rise in attendance levels and participation between
1890 and 1940, levels that put the United States at the forefront of universal ed-
ucation. As Steffes explains, “Americans invested heavily in schooling, fiscally
and emotionally, to address the social tensions and risks of industrialization, to
safeguard democracy, and to provide for the individual and collective welfare of
citizens” (6). She continues, arguing, “Public schooling was not just one more
progressive reform among many but a major—​perhaps THE major—​public re-
sponse to tensions between democracy and capitalism” (10).
Before introducing music into the discussion later in the chapter, I begin
with an overview of child-​study and the playground movement to remind
readers that play represented an object of care and concern among two constit-
uencies: reformers and “professionals.” Both groups shared interests in play as a
crucial aspect of formative experience that required supervision and guidance—​
aspects that, although originating more in physical than cultural concerns—​
can be viewed, retrospectively, as highly influential on contemporary music
learning and teaching practices. For the reformers, play was part of paternalist
interventions, particularly of immigrants, aimed at proper “Americanization.”
For the professionals, play was considered an aspect of universal human develop-
ment, and thus an object of scientific study. Despite their different perspectives,
these constituencies came together in the formation of the voluntary association,

2 Despite education not technically being under federal jurisdiction, Steffes demonstrates how the

practice of education “nevertheless became a national policy issue as national, state, and local players
spread reforms around the United States and converged on shared practices in both deliberate and
wholly unanticipated ways” (2012, 4).
80 Historical Perspectives

Playground Association of America—​an organization that, in its later manifesta-

tion as the National Recreation Association, would have important interactions
with Music Supervisors National Conference.3
Next, I use two books about play and education, both published in 1915, to
demonstrate how play—​and by extension, play’s activities—​became linked to
matters of education (and by extension, schooling). In this area of examination,
I seek to show how play represented (and arguably continues to represent) an
unresolved tension central to understandings of music, leisure, and education.
Does play have intrinsic value or is play primarily instrumental? And if the latter,
instrumental for what purposes? As I discuss, play’s connections with educa-
tion and schooling unavoidably bump up against the question of work (see, e.g.,
John Dewey’s discussions of “Labor and Leisure” in Democracy and Education).
Finally, I show how concerns over the play of children ultimately became linked
to the recreation of adults, thus expanding the reach of pastoral power (and to a
more limited extent, governmentality). I conclude the chapter with a brief retro-
spective on the play and recreation movements.

Child Study and Play

Concomitant with late nineteenth-​century reformism was the emergence of

the child-​study movement, an intellectual current of thought that applied sci-
entific reasoning to the problem of childrearing.4 Groundwork for studying
children can be found in Jean-​Jacques Rousseau’s Emile, which, following in
the footsteps of John Locke’s theory of the mind as tabula rasa, implied a pro-
cess of development that could be both understood and influenced. The work
of early educationalists Johann Pestalozzi (1746–​1827) and Friedrich Froebel
(1782–​1852) (creator of the “kindergarten”) subsequently emphasized romantic
notions of innocence. These early child educators paved the way for “child-
hood” to become known as a distinct and precious stage of life (see, e.g., Ariès
and Levy 1962). Whereas children have always existed, childhood represented
an emerging object of care and concern. Childhood became regarded, Chudacoff
suggests, “as every person’s birthright” (Chudacoff 2007, 74); childhood was spe-
cial and needed to be protected if it was not to be damaged due to the corrupting
influences of modernization.
Somewhat paradoxically, however, if society was to follow its inevitable path
of progress, childhood constituted a vital resource to be managed. Despite the

3 For readers less familiar, Music Supervisors National Conference was a forerunner of today’s

National Association for Music Education.

4 I shall not detail the plentiful sources on and about child-​study, many of which are easily acces-

sible. My purpose here is merely to provide context, not rigorous analysis or insights.
 Play, Music, and Education 81

assumed naturalism of childhood, it became an important object of scientific

concern. The child-​study movement, arising in the late nineteenth century and
continuing through much of the first half of the twentieth, arguably represents
the most well-​known example of the scientific turn in education and pedagogy.
This turn is frequently associated with G. Stanley Hall (1846–​1924), one of the
most important figures in the emerging discipline of psychology. Predictably,
perhaps, play was identified by child-​study as central to childhood and proper
development. Play was to be encouraged, not dissuaded or ignored. Child-​study
emphasized the importance of child-​centeredness but, despite its basis in evolu-
tion and naturalism, it also argued, on the basis of appeals to scientific thought
and investigation, that adults should intervene “to ensure that play, like learning,
was appropriate to a child’s growth” (Chudacoff 2007, 72). In the face of the
corrupting effects of urbanization and modernization (anathema to the inno-
cence of nature), children needed to be sheltered and protected (2007, 104).
Child-​study was influenced by a variety of play theories. English philosopher
Herbert Spencer, inspired by Friedrich von Schiller’s On the Aesthetic Education
of Mankind, offered a theory of surplus energy in his Principles of Psychology
(1855). The play of children was simply a way of expending pent-​up energy and
excitement. (Conversely, German philosopher Moritz Lazarus [1824–​1903],
reacting against naturalism, posited a less well-​known “recreation theory” that
suggested that play was responsible for building up energy.) Spencer, a major
influencer of Progressive thought, went on to advance a long since discredited
evolutionary recapitulation theory (based on the work of Ernst Haeckel,5 ex-
tended by G. Stanley Hall) that viewed children as a link between animals and
adults. Also influential was German philosopher Karl Groos (1861–​1946), who
followed up his book The Play of Animals (1898) with his The Play of Man (1901).
In it, he advanced his “instinct-​practice” or “practice of skills” theory, which
maintained that human play was homologous to animal play, where creatures
(especially primates) used play to rehearse skills they would need later in life.
In contrast to Spencer, who viewed play as aimless, Groos theorized four cate-
gories of play, all of which fulfilled important developmental functions: fighting
play, love play, imitative/​dramatic play, and social play. It was Hall, however, with
his recapitulation theory, who was most responsible for bringing play to greater
consciousness among educationalists (including music educators), particularly
in the United States.6 No longer just the amusing “childish” antics of the young,
play was viewed as critical to proper human development. Hence, play became

5 The famous (or, for many, infamous) phrase in recapitulation theory is Ernst Haeckel’s “ontogeny

recapitulates phylogeny,” where people were conceptualized according to evolutionary terms of hier-
archical development.
6 On the influence of child-​study (and Hall) on public school music, see Humphreys (1985) and

Rideout (1982).
82 Historical Perspectives

a central object of concern for both the social reformers and the newly founded
disciplinary fields of educational and developmental psychology.

Emergence of the Playground

A Playground is the Right of Every Individual.

—​Everett Mero7

The boy without a playground is father to the man without a job.

—​Popular slogan of the playground movement8

The classical city provided for play with careful solicitude, building
the theater as it built the marketplace and the temple. . . . Only in the
modern industrial city have men concluded that it is no longer neces-
sary for the municipality to provide for the insatiable desire for play.
—​Jane Addams9

There is no mistaking that physical improvement was central to social welfare

concerns in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Fears relating to immigra-
tion, urbanization, hygiene, and increased commercialization of leisure were
fueled by the muscular Christianity movement and beliefs that national secu-
rity was at risk from a population unfit to defend itself.10 Recognizing the loss of
physical activity due to urban crowding and the lack of outdoor spaces, social re-
form advocates began the push cities to build public spaces suitable for physical
recreation. About perspectives of the time, Anderson (2006) notes that physical
recreation “not only benefited the individual but also transformed a nation of
alien immigrants, or downtrodden, unhealthy factory workers, into a cohesive,
healthy, population of citizens working for common good or ready to defend
their country . . . transforming the poor or foreign-​born from a civic liability into
a civic asset” (np).11

7 Mero (1909, 33).

8 The phrase is usually attributed to Joseph Lee, but it can also be found in Curtis (1915, 61).
9 Quoted in Vaillant (2003, 121).
10 This idea dates to earlier in the nineteenth century. Dulles quotes from Harper’s Monthly

Magazine from 1856: America had become “a pale, pasty-​faced, narrow chested, spindle-​shanked,
dwarfed race—​ a mere walking mannikin to advertise the last cut of the fashionable tailor”
(1965, 184).
11 This theme of a physically healthy nation persisted well into the twentieth century. Lee Hamner,

director of the recreation department of the Russell Sage Foundation from 1912 to 1937, speaking to
the National Conference of Charities and Correction in 1910, implored: “The playground of today
is the republic of tomorrow. If you want twenty years hence a nation of strong, efficient men and
women, a nation in which there shall be justice and square dealing, work it out today with the boys
and girls on the playground” (quoted in Anderson 2006, np).
 Play, Music, and Education 83

It was perhaps inevitable that the reformers made the connection between
a child’s formative years and their adult years. In many ways paralleling ideas
that would eventually form part of the child-​study movement and Progressive
Education, social reformers paid special attention to the importance of play in the
development of young people, leading to what has become known as the play (or
playground) movement. Hardy and Ingham (1983, 289) submit that historians
are largely in agreement that the sponsorship of “sand gardens” for poor children
in Boston in 1885 represents a symbolic beginning to the play movement in the
United States. Other cities, led by the settlement reformers, soon followed suit,
creating not just sand gardens but playgrounds with play equipment.
The provision of space and equipment, however, was considered necessary
but insufficient because young people could not be trusted to use their time ap-
propriately. Chudacoff (2007) recounts many of the perceived dangers of the
era: “idling,” “hanging out,” “loafing,” and “just fooling.” Idleness “was the first
step on the road to gambling, thievery, vandalism, and fighting” (110). As Henry
Curtis (1915) observed, “It is the idleness of the children in the cities that is the
greatest danger, because it is in this time that nearly all vices are acquired” (188).
Jane Addams similarly warned, “We see all about us much vice which is merely
a love for pleasure ‘gone wrong’ ” (Addams 1907, 492). Consistent with mores of
the time, comments often exposed serious gendered beliefs. “The boy smokes,”
writes Curtis, “probably, because the corner loafer with who [sic] he associates
smokes. The playground gives him different ideals of manliness” (71). Arguing
in favor of the playground over the dance hall, he continues: “The dance hall is a
bad institution because the drinking, the unregulated conduct, and the nature of
the people who frequent it, subject the girl to bad influences” (73).12
To ensure that playgrounds achieved their intended effect, supervision, par-
ticularly of a paid or “professional” kind, was considered crucial. By 1905, thirty-​
five American cities had supervised playgrounds (Anderson 2006).13 In his
manual for American playgrounds, Everett Mero warned that the moral effects
of play were reversed without supervision (Mero 1909, 41).14 Play was clearly

12 Jane Jacobs (1961, 82) observed that the playground reformers’ attitudes boiled down “to a deep

contempt for ordinary people” (quoted in Stormann 1991, 143).

13 The first playground in New York City, created by University Settlement, opened in 1890. Hull

House playground opened in Chicago in 1894. Another source cited by Anderson suggests that by
1909, 336 cities had 1,535 playgrounds (although not necessarily all supervised), a rather remarkable
increase.
14 Writing in reaction to cuts to parks departments’ budgets that had eliminated playground

workers in Boston and New York, Mero stated the matter unequivocally: “The director or supervisor
should come as soon as or even before the [physical] plant. It is a radical mistake to wait until a play-
ground is built and equipped before having a director. . . . There is no better place to spend [money]
in the whole plan” (30). While individual playground supervisors might make $35–​50 per month
(depending on the hours), Mero suggests that a city supervisor of playgrounds should receive $1200–​
3000 per annum, a figure approximately 2–​6 times the average American wage for 1910.
84 Historical Perspectives

important, but among a growing cadre of people there was a difference between
the non-​professional interventions of the early reformers and the professional
interests of play “experts.” Proper play required instruction “from competent
teachers who know their business” (31): “The knowing supervisor of child play
will see that proper apparatus—​proper tools—​are used and that the children are
led toward the better purposes of recreation rather than toward the demoralizing
features of unguided, meaningless play” (34).15

Playground Association of America

The emphasis on nature, discipline, structure, hierarchy, and order (not to men-
tion WASP values) in the early play movement reflected the concerns of the early
reformers and emerging professionals. Children had to be kept off the streets
and placed under guidance. From the start of the play movement there were be-
nevolent leaders (both volunteer and paid) to supervise the sand gardens and
playgrounds. These play leaders inspired the eventual establishment of several
organizations for children to foster and promote desired skills and knowledge.
The Boy Scouts, established in England in 1907 (Boy Scouts of America, est.
1910), for example, were created to help young boys develop skills thought to be
useful and wholesome.16 Although boys were the more overt object of attention
and gender inequality was rampant, there were play advocates who recognized
the needs of girls: Girl Guides was established in Canada and the UK in 1910; the
Camp Fire Girls started the same year in the United States.
Less well-​known today compared with the Boy Scouts, Girl Guides, and other
youth groups was arguably the most significant play organization to arise during
the early twentieth century. The brainchild of two of the era’s biggest proponents
of organized sport, Luther Gulick and Henry Curtis, the Playground Association
of America (PAA) (later the National Recreation Association) is significant
for how it influenced and professionalized conduct in the early twentieth cen-
tury. Unlike the well-​intentioned but “untrained” reformers, Gulick and Curtis
were of a professional background. Gulick, an MD, was a founding member
of the American School Hygiene Association and founded the Public School
Athletic League in 1903.17 Curtis, who held a PhD in child psychology (studying

15 Mero’s subheadings for Chapter 4 (“Trained Supervision and Guidance”) are revealing: A

Leader an Essential; No Supervision, no Players; Children Prefer Intelligent Direction; A Caretaker

not a Substitute for a Trained Instructor; An Instructor is a Leader and Guide Rather Than a Director;
Ensures Right Use of Grounds in Right Ways.
16 My thanks to Jared O’Leary for pointing out how the Boy Scouts were an influence on the emer-

gence of American drum and bugle corps—​e.g., the Racine Scouts Drum and Bugle Corps.
17 Gulick was also instrumental in charging James Naismith with developing the game eventually

known as basketball when Gulick worked as the founding superintendent of the physical education
 Play, Music, and Education 85

under G. Stanley Hall), had an illustrious career as a play researcher and recre-
ation planner. Both men were working for the New York City’s schools in the
early 1900s—​Gulick as the director of physical education, Curtis as director of
playgrounds and director of child study—​when they began planning a training
course for playground workers. They decided instead to form a national associa-
tion, formed in 1906 as the Playground Association of America, holding the first
“Play Congress” in Chicago the following year. Although both Gulick and Curtis
were unequivocal in their emphasis on physical activities, especially organized
sports, it is notable that the first Play Congress included marching, singing,
and circle games by 300 kindergarteners and Swedish, Hungarian, Lithuanian,
and Bulgarian national dances in costume. Speeches at the first congress in-
cluded the revealingly titled “Relation of Play to Juvenile Delinquency,” “Play
as Training in Citizenship,” and the “Social Value of Playgrounds in Crowded
Districts” (National Recreation Association records, “Program of the first annual
Play Congress,” cited in Anderson 2006, np)18—​reflecting the subtle and often
overlooked interplay between the words “play” and “playground.”
Gulick and Curtis must have felt the need for higher-​profile leadership, for
they initially offered the position of president of the new organization to Joseph
Lee, a well-​established name as a reformer and playground advocate. When Lee
declined, they named President Theodore Roosevelt as honorary president and
reformer Jacob Riis (author of How the Other Half Lives) as honorary vice pres-
ident. Eventually, delegates elected Lee and Jane Addams (both in absentia) as
vice presidents. Lee apparently had a change of heart about the nascent organi-
zation, as he eventually took over as president, serving in the position from 1910
to 1937 and becoming known as the “Father of the Playground Movement.”19
Under Lee’s leadership the PAA developed the handbook, “A Normal Course in
Play,” a curriculum for training recreation and playground directors. The hand-
book was eventually revised and published in book form in 1925, providing a
model for courses in play at teachers’ colleges (normal schools) and universi-
ties across the United States. “A Normal Course in Play” included sections on
“child development, psychology, evolution, education, play theory, social and
industrial conditions (including ‘race history, tendencies and prejudices’), hy-
giene, eugenics, heredity, the playground movement in Europe and the United
States, playground facilities, playground management, games and activities,

department of the International YMCA Training School in Springfield, Massachusetts, in the late
1800s. On top of that, he was a champion of activities of girls and women, founding, with his wife, the
Camp Fire Girls.

18 At this first congress, Jane Addams spoke on “Public Recreation and Social Morality”

(Anderson 2006).
19 Everett Mero had already described Lee by 1909 as “the father of American playgrounds” in his

edited book, American Playgrounds.

86 Historical Perspectives

handicraft, nature study, playground planning, landscaping, record keeping, and

fund raising” (Anderson 2006).
Joseph Lee oversaw the expansion of the PAA’s mission on play and
playgrounds to include a greater emphasis on social work, civic affairs, and rec-
reation.20 He helped to change the name of the organization in the mid-​1910s,
reflecting the expanding purview, to the Playground and Recreation Association
of America (which subsequently changed to the National Recreation Association
in 1926). Lee’s reformist (and sexist) influence on the organization (and the play
movement generally) are readily apparent in the Constructive Creed adopted by
the PAA in 1910:

1. Dependency is reduced by giving men more for which to live.

2. Delinquency is reduced by providing a wholesome outlet for youthful
energy.
3. Tuberculosis is reduced by building up strong constitutions through vig-
orous outdoor life.
4. The general standard of health is raised by pleasurable physical activity.
5. Industrial efficiency is increased by giving individuals a play life which
will develop greater resourcefulness and adaptability.
6. The tendency of modern industrialism to crush individuality is
counteracted by increasing the opportunities for each person to develop
in his leisure hours individual qualities not developed in the hours of
business.
7. Higher standards of morality are developed by providing good substitutes
for undesirable forms of recreation.
8. Good citizenship is promoted by forming habits of cooperation on play.
People who play together find it easier to live together. Individuals enjoy a
wholesome happy play life are more loyal as well as more efficient citizens.
9. A broader, more complete, and more vivid life is made possible
through play.
10. Family unity is most easily secured when the members of family have
forced the habit of playing together in their leisure hours.

20 Lee also served as president of the War Camp Community Service during the First World

War, an organization that utilized recreation resources of communities near military camps to pro-
vide “wholesome recreation for military personnel and civilians” (McLean and Hurd 2012, 76).
Conveniently, Lee served as president of both organizations. The PRAA adopted responsibility for
running the WCCS, helping to advance awareness of recreation among the American population.
An outgrowth of the War Camp Community Service organization was the National Recreation
Foundation, a separate entity from the Playground and Recreation Association of America, albeit
one with aligned interests.
 Play, Music, and Education 87

11. Community spirit is most easily developed through play in which all the
members of the community may share. Democracy rests on the most firm
basis when a community has formed the habit of playing together.
12. The highest form of spiritual life are possible only when there has been
developed a strong play spirit. Social progress depends upon the extent to
which a people possess the play spirit.21

In addition to the gendered connotations of the first point of the creed, one notes
the familiar communitarian themes that undergirded both the play and settle-
ment movements: self-​reliance; the dangers of improperly utilized time; the im-
portance of health, productivity, morality, and citizenship; an emphasis on the
family, community, and democracy; and an overarching belief in development
and progress. One also discerns the linkages between play and recreation and the
importance of the “play spirit.”

Play in Education, Education through Play

Two books with similar titles published in 1915 provide a window into promi-
nent thinking about play at the time and illustrate some of the similarities and
differences between the reformer and professional mindset. Henry Curtis’s
Education through Play and Joseph Lee’s Play in Education reflect, both in title
and content, the differences between the traditions and orientations of the two
authors. Curtis was an academic who published four other books, all of which
reflect his educational orientation: Play and Recreation in the Open Country, The
Practical Conduct of Play, Recreation for Teachers, and The Play Movement and Its
Significance. Curtis’s ideas were influenced not only by his studies with G. Stanley
Hall, but by his studies in both Germany and England (where he found methods
overly militaristic). Curtis endorsed Froebel’s romantic view of play as “the per-
fect expression of the child soul” (Curtis 1915, 85) but made an important dis-
tinction between play and games, writing, “It is not necessary to teach children to
play; but the people who speak in that way are confusing play and games. Games
are a highly organized form of play, and the individual child does not inherit
the game of baseball any more than he inherits the multiplication table” (8). For
Curtis, play, particularly through team games of sport, fulfilled an important
role in fostering democracy22 and thus required intervention. Curtis’s Education
through Play is notable for the pride of place given to sports and physical activity.

21 Retrieved from http://​www.socia​lwel​fare​hist​ory.com/​organi​zati​ons/​natio​nal-​rec​reat​ion-​asso​

ciat​ion/​.
22 “Play Is the Most Perfect Democracy” (Curtis 1915, 75).
88 Historical Perspectives

Music, for example, is virtually nonexistent except for its role in social (espe-
cially folk) dancing, which Curtis considered acceptable only to the extent it was
a form of physical exercise.23 On the prominence of the folk dancing movement
making its way into schools he writes,

The folk dances are the old racial dances that have been practiced by peasant
peoples in the market places or on the green for generations. They are nearly
all vigorous, offering the best sort of physical training. They are done to music,
thus adding the charm of rhythm. They are too vigorous to be suggestive and
leave the dancer too tired to concoct mischief. . . . They are one of the best
antidotes we have for the dance hall with its well-​known evils. (1915, 195)

Lest one be left with the impression that dancing was an acceptable form of play,
however, Curtis clarifies that dancing had disadvantages compared with play
and other games: “Very much of the grace of the dance is an illusion, it comes
from the music and the moving together of a large number of people, expressing
the rhythm and spirit” (34)—​although he did allow that folk dancing was “es-
pecially adapted to the physical training of girls” (196). (Problematically, how-
ever, dancing tended to promote “sexual desire” [312]). On the whole, Education
through Play reflects a belief in the perfectibility of humans through proper sci-
entific insights.
In contrast to the professional approach of Curtis was the reform approach
of Joseph Lee, who came from a prominent Boston family with a strong sense of
social consciousness; for Lee, wealth entailed social responsibility—​albeit with
racist and xenophobic undertones. Lee’s first book, for example, was entitled
Constructive and Preventive Philanthropy. Lee founded the Massachusetts Civic
League, which lobbied for laws amenable to public welfare (focusing especially
on the welfare of children) and, notably (and less flattering today), was an active
officer in the Immigration Restriction League, which favored limiting immigra-
tion from southern and eastern Europe in favor of immigration from northern
and western Europe. Not surprisingly, Lee’s interests mostly reflected social
concerns. Upon learning about boys being arrested for playing in the streets, he
acquired an open lot and provided equipment for games. This became something
of a private research laboratory for Lee, leading him to conclude that children
required supervision to ensure orderly play. He eventually assisted in creating
the Columbus Avenue playground in 1898, employing recreational leaders at his
own expense. This provided a model that other cities would soon emulate.

23 “Music” (“musical”) appears on fourteen pages, mostly in connection with dancing. In none of

Curtis’s references to music is it presented as a legitimate playful activity.

 Play, Music, and Education 89

Although Harvard-​educated (Play in Education evinces great erudition), Lee’s

work reflects a paternalistic rather than scientific orientation.24 While he offers
confident personal theorizations—​Play in Education is structured upon Lee’s
four stages of childhood: Baby Age (1–​3), Dramatic Age (3–​6), Big Injun Age (6–​
11), and Age of Loyalty (11–​14)—​these are often supported on the basis of Lee’s
authority rather than on other forms of evidence or argument. There are many
blanket statements about the nature of children. In the opening, for example,
Lee writes that his aim in the book “is to present a true picture of the child” (Lee
1915, vii). His insights demonstrate a curious admixture of evolutionary thought
and normative assertion. Reminiscent of Spencer and Groos, he writes of the
“Advantages of Being a Play-​Built Animal,” of how men are almost as nurturing
as women, and of how the “child’s method of study is by impersonation” (109),
but also that children inherently want to disobey or defy (which is why their play
must be supervised).
Play in Education and Education through Play can be viewed as typifying two
fundamental orientations and traditions present in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries. While the two books are similar in many respects, Lee’s
work exemplifies what today is sometimes described as “salvationism,” where be-
nevolent benefactors (e.g., Jane Addams and other social reformers) worked to
“save” those who were perceived as in need of assistance. Viewed positively, self-​
appointed reformers were attempting to reduce the suffering of the poor, who,
in the United States at the time, comprised mostly immigrants. Viewed nega-
tively, “saving” really meant Americanizing immigrants into the preferred social
and cultural practices of white, middle-​class society. Recognizing the impor-
tance of play served to further rationalize their efforts. Curtis’s work, by contrast,
represents the rise of new professional associations and practices validated by
appeals to scientific method. Curtis, for example, goes as far as to specify the cor-
rect surfacing of playgrounds and of the specific kinds of trees needed and where
to plant them. Child-​study was thus capitalized upon as a scientific rationaliza-
tion, in the name of progress, for particular kinds of upbringing. For Lee and his
like-​minded followers, play represented an end it itself, whereas for Curtis and
other educationalists, play was an object of study and a means for inculcating
desired values as part of scientific childrearing.
Lee, who coined the phrase “the family that plays together, stays together,”
reveals a strong normative and philosophical basis in his work. He asks, for ex-
ample, “Does success in business necessarily mean success in life?” (Lee 1915,
165), alluding to an awareness of leisure’s possible connections with the good life.
The author of Play as an Antidote to Civilization (1911), Lee, like so many other

24 Stormann (1991, 147) calls Lee’s professional ethics closer to that of the early reformers, not the

later ones.
90 Historical Perspectives

social reformers (reflecting, perhaps, blindness to their own privilege), advo-

cated a Classical conception of leisure that pushed against the perceived delete-
rious effects of “modern” industrial, secular society:

Sunday is family day. It is the day on which the father is at home, the day for
playing the new piece on the piano, for singing hymns and songs and reading
aloud. It is the day for visiting museums and parks,—​and it should be a con-
dition in the charter of any well-​mounted museum or library that it should be
open on Sunday afternoons. Sunday is the people’s university, the day of liberal
education, devoted to the universal interests. It is the day for cultivating those
things that belong to us not as industrial implements but as men [sic], of which
religion is the most important. (Lee 1915, 477)

As opposed to Curtis, who almost completely ignores the role of music in play,
Lee writes about music on sixty-​one pages in Play in Education, emphasizing its
centrality to the play of children. In his discussion of children’s dramatic stage,
for example, Lee observes that “there is rhythm not only in their games but in al-
most everything the children do” (1915, 143). For Lee, music and the arts were a
legitimate and intrinsic aspect of play, one to be capitalized upon and made cen-
tral to the educational endeavor. For Curtis, on the other hand, play was instru-
mental, useful only to the extent it could serve educational purposes as a form of
recreation; music was merely the accompaniment to the dance, which was itself
merely a means of physical exercise.
Curtis’s work also reflects an ambiguity that surrounded (and continues to
surround) the status and function of play, particularly in education: its relation-
ship to work. Was play something opposed to work or were play and work com-
patible? Both authors draw attention to the “play spirit,” but do so in ways that
are subtly different. While Curtis draws attention to a popular expression of the
day, “all good work is done in the spirit of play” (1915, 13), he seems to use play as
a rationalization and preparation for work. Seemingly oblivious to the religious
overtones of the word “calling,” he writes,

The play of the child does not correspond to the recreation of the adult, but
to the work of the adult. Play is the most serious activity in which the child
engages. . . . Play is its own reward. But the same is almost equally true of any
good work. The lawyer, the doctor, the writer, the clergyman, who are suited to
their callings, find no less pleasure in the work they do than they did as boys in
baseball or fishing. (1915, 12)

Lee similarly appears to valorize work (in a more overtly sexist way), writing,
“Play is to the boy what work is to the man—​the fullest attainable expression of
 Play, Music, and Education 91

what he is and the effective means of becoming more” (Lee 1915, viii), but he
maintains the centrality of play, writing, “True work is the highest form of play;
but it is always the play element in work that is the most important” (1915, 52).
Curtis places primary emphasis on work, viewing play as simply the child’s ver-
sion of it. Lee, on the other hand, sees the spirit of play, as Huizinga would later
argue, as something central to human culture; the spirit of play should never dis-
appear from one’s life.

Play, Work, and the Building of Good Habits

The play-​work relationship was of interest to many Progressive educators. Maria

Montessori, for example, blurred the play-​work distinction (“Play Is the Child’s
Work”), whereas John Dewey circumvented the issue by distinguishing be-
tween work and labor, thereby allowing play to be the child’s work. What both
Montessori and Dewey maintained, in consonance with those in the maturing
“play movement,” was a belief that the play of children corresponded directly
with the kinds of adults people became, and that, as a result, play required in-
tervention to ensure proper growth. Dewey (1916) writes in Democracy and
Education, for example: “Play tends to reproduce and affirm the crudities, as well
as the excellencies, of surrounding adult life. It is the business of the school to
set up an environment in which play and work shall be conducted with refer-
ence to facilitating desirable mental and moral growth” (157). The Progressives
thereby sought to ameliorate the cleavage between work and play in their quest
to forge a better society via education (Pangburn 1940). Play thus became cen-
tral to the Progressives’ democratic, meliorist spirit suggested in, for example,
George Counts’s (1932) Dare the School Build a New Social Order?
While the governmentality of nation building, a concern related in part to
immigration, had been an integral part of schooling for some time, the influ-
ence of pragmatism, combined with changes in the nature of employment (e.g.,
reduced working hours), led to a greater emphasis on leisure and lifestyle, espe-
cially in regard to their connections with the tenets of democracy. Education “is
the chief business of a democracy,” writes Suhrie (1916). Unlike the Jeffersonian/​
Ancient Greek view, however, where democracies were dependent upon an edu-
cated populace but were ultimately to be ruled by an elite, Enlightenment ideals
of freedom and egalitarianism extended education’s grasp not only universally
but across the lifespan. Foreshadowing the adult education movement, Suhrie
continues by saying, “Education must be controlled by all the people in the
interests of all the people, and it must be a continuing, life-​long, process” (xxvi).
Education, in this view, was to be celebrated in its larger sense—​not its more
92 Historical Perspectives

limited sense of education as preparation for life, but education as life. Education
was, in other words, a form of freedom connected to the art of living (i.e., scholē).
For Progressive educators, especially those espousing strong pragmatist elem-
ents, the development of good habits became a central concern related to the
art of living.25 Counts writes, for example, that American schools should “be
directed primarily toward the realization of two major sets of purposes: the one
having to do with habits, dispositions, and loyalties to be developed, the other
with knowledge and insights to be acquired” (1932, 16). Habits and dispositions
certainly referred in part to values thought to be particularly “American” (hard
work, faith in progress and the potential for upward mobility, freedom, democ-
racy, and so on), all to be developed in and through play, but, significantly, were
not restricted only to the world of work. The good life and the common good (see
Part III) became part of a renewed conversation about the function of schools
relative to education, where intellectual learning was broadened to include social
and recreational activities. In a passage oft-​quoted by those working in leisure
studies, Dewey writes in Democracy and Education: “Education has no more se-
rious responsibility than making adequate provision for enjoyment of recreative
leisure; not only for the sake of the immediate health, but still more if possible
for the sake of its lasting effect upon the habits of the mind” (1916, 241). Notably,
however, Dewey exposes an instrumental view here through his use of the phrase
“recreative leisure.” Rather than viewing education as leisure in the Classical
sense, Dewey, like many others, espouses a utilitarian view of education for lei-
sure. Dewey might rightly argue that the fostering of positive habits of mind is
what makes leisure possible. By emphasizing the seriousness of educating for the
enjoyment of recreative leisure, he was likely acknowledging the pragmatic re-
ality that almost all people must work. However, it seems clear here and in other
Progressive education writings that, while leisure was highly valued, it was con-
ceptualized as a means, not an end.

The Play Movement and Music

Can anyone who has observed children at play deny the transcendence
of the dance?
—​Goodale and Godbey26

25 Habit, by William James, being a prime example of pragmatists’ concern influencing the

Progressives.
26 Goodale and Godbey (1988, 171).
 Play, Music, and Education 93

Music, I would argue, presented a complication to under-​nuanced theories

of play during this period, or at least to those theories employed for educative
purposes. Whereas the strictly physical aspect of play-​as-​recreational-​games was
easily comprehended as contributing to physical health, physical development
did not sufficiently account for play in its entirety. This raised at least two issues.
First, an overemphasis on the physical aspects of play led to an inevitable awk-
wardness with respect to gendered norms. Curtis, who, as I have pointed out,
only mentions music as part of dancing (which was itself only “useful” as a form
of physical conditioning), seemed to consider girls a problem with respect to his
physical emphasis on play. He found their clothing, for example, “always unsuit-
able” and insisted that girls have an even greater need for organized play, “be-
cause the girls do not have much encouragement from their parents or from the
community” (1915, 182). “A girl,” writes Curtis, “can learn to throw like a baseball
pitcher, but she must practice more than her brother for the same skill” (11). The
problem appeared not to lie with his play theory’s emphasis on physicality (con-
ceptualized almost entirely on the basis of team sports favoring size, strength,
and speed), but with the failure of girls to adequately conform to it. Lee, on the
other hand, followed a more essentialist division of labor path consistent with
the “separate spheres” prevalent in the late nineteenth century. Lee’s (offensive)
“Big Injun” stage and his emphasis on competition and “the fighting instinct,” for
example, make clear that his ideal society was patriarchal through and through.
In Lee’s theoretical scheme, the solution for the omission of girls, most of whom,
he writes, “do not have to work and who have no vocation which it seems best for
them to follow professionally,” was to relegate them to a custodial role reflective
of Victorian-​era values: “It is peculiarly the business of girls to be our cultivators
in the arts” (1915, 473). In his chapter entitled “Girls,” Lee writes:

Every form of artistic expression is good for girls. Music is perhaps the most
important, and no girl should be allowed to grow up without a moderate pro-
ficiency in singing, or in playing some musical instrument, if it is only the ac-
cordion or the Jew’s-​harp, unless she is able to show an effective substitute in
the way of drawing or painting. Dancing, some literary taste, and the habit of
reading aloud should be required of all. (1915, 399)

One is left to wonder, then, which is the lesser of two evils from this period: Lee’s
sexist paternalism that at least recognizes females, or Curtis’s universal subject
molded in the male image that leaves females as an inferior version of the ideal.
The second issue raised by music vis-​à-​vis play revolved around the perennial
issue (prevalent today in the United States once again in the form of “arts integra-
tion”) of whether music, like education itself, should be considered a means or
an end. While it was relatively easy to rationalize physical development through
94 Historical Perspectives

organized sport (parading under the banner of play), it was unclear what, spe-
cifically, music might contribute to a child’s development. This was no doubt
problematic because if play was to be recognized as inherently natural to chil-
dren, then their natural proclivities toward music could not be ignored. And yet,
Curtis and Gulick did ignore music. Clarke Hetherington (discussed in the next
section) and Everett Mero, on the other hand, adopted a more pragmatic stance,
viewing music as mostly ancillary to movement, marching, and dance.27
Given his greater liberal arts perspective, Lee was, perhaps unsurprisingly,
the only major figure of the playground movement to pay serious attention to
music as a worthy pursuit in and of itself (although again, primarily for girls).
About play and childhood, Lee writes: “There must be creation, song, wonder,
inquiry, and adventure. If these are slighted we shall have committed once again
the ancient crime against childhood, of which practically all education has been
guilty—​the crime of not letting the child live as well as learn” (quoted in Butler
1965, 10). Clearly, Lee advanced a Classical view of education as an end, where
not all activities were to be treated instrumentally. This extended not just to
music, but to almost all endeavors aligning with his vision of the good life: “No
child of average capacity should be allowed to leave school until he can dance
well, sing a part song, and either care for some one science enough to carry it
a little further in his leisure moments, or attain to some expression in painting
or literature, if it is only a rudimentary ability in sketching or reading aloud”
(Lee 1915, 469). Lee’s manner of discussion, however, is poetic, not scientific. He
writes, for example, “The story of rhythm has almost been the story of civiliza-
tion” (1915, 162) and calls rhythm the “great get-​together agent of the world, the
mightiest ally of the belonging instinct” (159–​160).
Lee’s language and approach contrasts sharply with that of the professionals.
Discussing music in his Demonstration Play School, Hetherington observes:

27 Mero writes, for example, that music is “desirable for good marching, at least while learning, to

indicate time and rhythm. The end can be gained in many ways: a small boy and a drum, a stick and a
box, clapping hands, harmonica, singing, etc.” (1909, 130). Hetherington and Mero were hardly alone
in their view. Although undoubtedly reflecting wartime sentiments, note this “Editorial Comment”
in Music Supervisors’ Journal from 1918: “One of the most valuable features of the music in the army
camps is singing on hikes. We ought to appropriate this idea to a much greater extent than most of us
have done to our work in Public School music. Why not take the children outdoors upon the play-
ground or around the block for a hike with singing? Why not have dismissals with unaccompanied
singing by the children instead of using instrumental music all the time? Why not mark time and
sing in the class room if nothing better can be arranged? Will the occasional use of these exercises
both add interest to our work and serve to strengthen the rhythmic sense of our children? In doing
this singing do not neglect the Army Song Leader’s device for continuous singing—​the song medley.
Select from the marching songs which the children know four or five which may be sung in the same
key and have them sung one after the other without intervening pauses” (Music Supervisors’ Journal 5
(2):4).
 Play, Music, and Education 95

In the child, rhythmic and musical activities begin in crude vocalization, bodily
movements, and drummings and develop through various stages of complexity.
There are (1) bodily rhythms, as running, stamping, marching, skipping, etc.,
up to dancing; (2) vocal rhythms and tones, as counting, repeating sounds and
tones, up to poetry and singing; (3) drummings and beatings with sticks, fin-
gers or cans, picking sounds on strings and blowing sounds on bottles or shells,
up to the use of drums, cymbals and string or wind instruments. (Hetherington
1914, 274)

Notably, however, despite the clinical nature in which he theorized musical

development, Hetherington advised, “All children should have their musical
impulses developed to the point of adjustment in the community social recrea-
tive life” (275), making clear that, although in the professionals’ view music was
conceptualized more as learning-​as-​means than participation-​as-​end-​in-​itself,
the practical end of music instruction was application in adult recreation.
Music, and the other arts to a lesser extent, served to expose limitations in the
playground movement, ones that likely contributed to its expansion to the “play
and playground” movement and to the eventual expansion to the “recreation
movement.” Although playgrounds and organized sports no doubt had benefits,
especially for the (immigrant and poor) boys for whom they were mostly
targeted, these benefits failed to adequately account for the interests and futures
of girls (and those for whom physical behavior was less appealing) and the in-
nate human impulse toward music and dance and the urge to create. Moreover,
there was in the early twentieth century an increasing interest with the activities
of adults for whom playgrounds had little appeal, and for whom organized sport
was, by virtue of advancing age and adult responsibilities, associated more with
youth. By expanding the purview of play to account for the leisure and recrea-
tional interests and activities of adults (whose conduct was still a societal con-
cern), music and other activities with greater lifespan potential took on greater
significance.

Play, Playground, School

The school cannot do its specific work without concerning itself with
play and recreation. . . . What you wish to appear in the nation, you
must put into the schools.
—​George Johnson28

28 These two passages are from Johnson’s frequently cited article, “Play and Recreation” (1916), 110

and 114.
96 Historical Perspectives

Conflicts and overlaps eventually emerged over jurisdictions for play. The most
direct institution implicated in the responsibility was the family. Curtis was
just one of many voices of the early twentieth century raising alarm about the
supposed breakdown in the American family’s responsibility for play, writing,
“When Froebel invented the kindergarten, he did not think we should have an
entirely new set of teachers, but that the mothers should play these games with the
little children. But the mothers everywhere are ceasing to do this” (Curtis 1915,
9). Families were seemingly under siege on two fronts: the disappearance of tra-
ditional play spaces as the result of urbanization and the allure of a “broadening
array of recreational choices offered by commercial establishments” (Jacobson
1997, 581). Child-​study experts of the time argued that, while play spaces might
not fully replace commercial amusements, play spaces in and around the home
could help to mitigate their effects, leading eventually to the popularity of back-
yard playgrounds beginning in the 1920s and 1930s (Jacobson 1997, 583, 590).
The perceived “evils of misguided recreation” (Johnson 1916, 107), how-
ever, proved so great in the minds of many that the family could no longer be
entrusted with the sole responsibility for ensuring proper play among chil-
dren. Predictably, perhaps, the institution identified for helping to ensure that
the young did not suffer the deleterious effects of urbanization and commercial
amusements was universal education. George Johnson, whom Joseph Lee would
later bring to Harvard University, put it dramatically: “The social aspects of play
and recreation, now so universally recognized, place upon the school a great re-
sponsibility but glorious opportunity. To falter, to delay, to side-​step, to leave for
other agencies what it can best do itself, would be for the school a moral failure”
(1916, 114). The exact nature of play and recreation remained ill-​defined, how-
ever. So, too, did the question of whether play was a social issue or an educa-
tional one.
Clarke Hetherington, a philosopher, teacher, and physical education admin-
istrator, founded a Demonstration Play Summer School at the University of
California, Berkeley.29 Although his writings about the school still slant heavily
toward physical training (music was included, but emphasized only rhythm
and movement), he exhibited child-​study influences (like Curtis, Hetherington
studied at Clark University, where G. Stanley Hall was president), calling play
“the most important activity in life” (Hetherington 1914, 247). Elsewhere,
Hetherington mused that the playground supervisor “may be no less impor-
tant than that of the superintendent of schools” (Butler 1965, 19–​20). As play, in
whatever its guise, became increasingly accepted as fundamentally important in
children’s growth, schools rapidly assumed the responsibility formerly adopted

29 Hetherington founded the American Academy of Physical Education and was influential in

helping “physical education” to become an academic profession (Tipton 2013).

 Play, Music, and Education 97

by civic government and social reformers, and began in earnest to implement

playgrounds and play spaces into their physical plant. As Johnson recounts:

[T]‌he schools were attempting to appeal more and more to the play interests of
children in their methods of teaching, and to meet more wisely the recreational
needs of their pupils. It required little pressure, in some communities, to induce
boards of education to appropriate money for supervision of play and recrea-
tion, and to open the school buildings in the evening for social and recreational
uses of the community. (Johnson 1916, 108)

And as Everett Mero observed at the time, the use of the school as a commu-
nity center for recreation had become “practically general in the United States”
(1909, 50).30
For the most part, play remained a matter of physical improvement connected
to national interests. Schools (or school districts) often employed a “director
of physical training.”31 Curtis, citing the frequently voiced concern about how
more and more young men were deemed unfit for military service, called out the
schools for failing to do more: “The school should give them a robust physique
to combat these conditions; but instead of doing this, an appalling number are
weakened or broken down by the school itself ” (1915, 182). For others, however,
it was unclear that play was strictly a physical phenomenon. Johnson, writing
at approximately the same time as Curtis, invoked the child-​study movement
and its “more intelligent interest in children” and its “better understanding of
their nature and needs.” Child-​study, he suggested, provided “the realization of
the truly educational and social value of play.” He admonished those who failed
to recognize current educational insights: “[W]‌ith a few notable exceptions the
teacher’s interest in the past has been in the physical value rather than the ed-
ucational value of recreation” (Johnson 1916, 107). Johnson’s sentiments were
echoed by educationalist J. George Becht, who, in an article entitled “Training
Children to a Wise Use of Their Leisure,” wrote:

But it is not alone on the physical side that the school is furnishing opportu-
nities for the right use of leisure. It is organizing within the system a group of
collateral activities that call into play musical, literary and other social, restful
and recreative forces. The desire for amusement is a most natural one and youth

30 In New York, all schools constructed after 1890 were required to have open-​air playgrounds

(Kraus 1971).
31 Consider also the case of the Boston Normal School of Gymnastics, established in 1889, one

of the earliest examples of training women for “physical education.” See Bryan A. McCullick and
Michael Lomax, “The Boston Normal School of Gymnastics: An Unheralded Legacy,” Quest 52, no. 1
(2000): 49–​59. See also https://​wiki.gen​ealo​gyto​day.com/​Boston_​Normal_​School_​of_​Gymnas​tics​_​
189​5_​Hi​stor​ical​_​Ske​tch.html.
98 Historical Perspectives

needs only opportunity and direction in the employment of its creative genius.
Musically inclined pupils should be organized into an orchestra; those having
dramatic tendencies may engage in amateur theatricals; those having literary
or forensic abilities should be encouraged to form debating clubs. (Becht
1916, 119)

Such passages suggest that, while physical health concerns may have dominated
the play agenda, there were other voices that recognized how play’s relationship
to leisure extended much beyond the confines of physical activity alone.
The blurring of the lines between school play and community recreation led to
at least two significant developments. First, it raised—​or rather, exacerbated—​is-
sues of competence, qualification, and expertise. As the new century wore on,
specialization and the belief in scientific progress inevitably left the efforts of the
early well-​meaning but untrained reformers in the wake of the professionals.
Such concerns went beyond just “reformer versus professional,” extending to
specialist versus generalist. Who, it began to be asked, should lead play and rec-
reation: experts trained in leading games and activities (mostly physical, but
often extending into other areas) or schoolteachers? By 1932, the English edu-
cator and philosopher Lawrence Pearsall Jacks went so far as to suggest that rec-
reation personnel should assume the role and responsibility formerly given over
to educationalists.32 A second development was the concomitant rise of adult
education—​a concept that, at least in the beginning, was often indistinguishable
from adult leisure and recreation. Johnson (1916) explained that, by guiding the
play and recreation activities of children, “the school [was] performing a great
service to adult recreation; for the best forms of adult recreation depend upon
habits formed in earlier years. . . . The problem of the recreation for adults is, to
a large extent, involved in the problem of the play of children and youth” (113).
By extending the hours of school into the evening, “the school buildings might
become admirably adapted to the recreational needs of adults” (114).33 Notably,
Johnson’s discussion of adults focuses not on sports, but on music and cultural
activities:

The social and civic activities of pupils might contribute directly to similar
activities of adults. The music activities and contests might serve not only as

32 Mundy and Odum (1979, 20) suggest Jacks was the first to suggest this, although in my reading

of the literature, it seems clear that battles over territory and responsibility had been going on since
the turn of the century.
33 According to Kraus (1971, 199), school authorities increasingly began to plan facilities that

would be useful for recreational purposes. These efforts were strongly supported by the National
Education Association, which recommended the use of public school buildings for community rec-
reation and social programs. The report of the fifteenth annual meeting of the NEA in 1912 included
several major presentations concerned with the school’s role in leisure programming.
 Play, Music, and Education 99

means of entertainment, but might feed into the adult organizations year by
year. Out of the musical activities might develop the neighborhood chorales,
orchestras, bands; out of the dramatic activities might develop the neighbor-
hood theatre; and out of these neighborhood groups might be developed city
orchestras, bands and theatres. (1916, 113–​114)

The conclusions were clear. By connecting the “play” activities of children to

the leisure and recreation activities of adults, the playground became emblematic
of the problem of conduct generally. In reference to a Playground and Recreation
Association of America pamphlet entitled “Community Recreation,” a write-​up
in The School Review called play and recreation “one of the biggest single factors
in the constructive social program of the day” (1920). By transforming play
from a strictly physical matter to an educational one, the activities of play be-
came linked to larger social and civic problems; “development,” “improvement,”
and “progress” were tied directly to childrearing and educational practices.
How people spent their time as adults was considered a direct manifestation of
how they spent their time as children; adult education emerged to make up for
any deficiencies. Conduct in society could be professionally managed via uni-
versal education (which was eventually transformed into lifelong education).
Increasingly, the art of living was to be determined not on the basis of an indi-
vidual ethical engagement with the world, but by experts who would dictate the
“correct” way to live.

From Play to Recreation (and Control)

[The play movement] seeks to bring about adjustments through the

organization of social activities. Among these have appeared the
sand gardens and the model playgrounds; the recreation center, the
social center, and the community center; community music, com-
munity drama, and pageantry, municipal theatres, piers, bands and
orchestras; community service and community organization.
—​Clarence Rainwater34

Clarence Rainwater’s (1922) The Play Movement in the United States: A Study
of Community Recreation provides what is generally regarded as the most de-
tailed early account of the play movement to that point. His seven “stages” (sand
garden, model playground, small park, recreation center, civic art and welfare,
neighborhood organization, community service) provide a succinct summary

34 Rainwater (1922, 11).

100 Historical Perspectives

of the evolution of the movement from the Gilded Age through the Progressive
Era. Arguably, the pivotal stages, both in terms of music being on the radar and
in terms of conduct becoming a matter of public concern rather than just a char-
itable cause, were the recreation center stage (1905–​1912) and the civic art and
welfare stage (1912–​1914). It was during the former, Rainwater suggests, that
play expanded from the strictly physical (what he calls “manual”) to include
the social (parties, dances, clubs), the aesthetic (storytelling, dramatics, choral
and instrumental music societies and programs), and the civic (public lectures,
health exhibits, holding of elections). As a result, it was during the latter that, as
Rainwater states, the play movement became aware it had to provide not just
playgrounds, “but also that it must raise the standards of the popular amusements
by the use of both restrictive and constructive measures” (1922, 119).
It was during these two phases (recreation center; civic art and welfare) that
“play” expanded beyond the physical activities of children and youth into the
social and cultural spheres of adulthood, and the cultural sphere increasingly
became a target of professional management. Although “improvement” efforts
had existed in the nineteenth century through such things as the lyceums and
Chautauquas, their ethic was not linked, as adult education in the twentieth cen-
tury would be, to a wider recognition that people could not be trusted to use
their time properly. Although the lyceums and Chautauquas were no doubt
offered paternalistically with an expectation that people should want to attend
in order to improve themselves, they were ultimately voluntary, not an overt
means of social control. Beginning in Rainwater’s “civic art and welfare” stage
and continuing through the “neighborhood organization” stage, however, efforts
to improve others (i.e., through rational recreation) became increasingly vigi-
lant. Rainwater suggests that the constructive measures for “raising standards”
included “aesthetic” activities such as municipal music, theaters, dances, com-
munity dramatics, festivals, and pageantry (119–​ 120); restrictive measures
included an increasing quantity of legislations and regulations, such as, for ex-
ample, public inspection and supervision of dance halls aimed at combating the
“dance problem” (135).35 Notably, however, a populist sentiment of local control
was emphasized; community was preferred over federal government involve-
ment. More important than overt measures of societal control was the ability to
inculcate in young people a form of individual self-​control as molded through
appropriate supervision.36

35 Cross (1990) reports that by 1910 there were no fewer than 500 dance halls in New York

City alone.
36 “We are looking forward to the time when self-​ government under proper supervision will
be the means of control of these [troublesome] fellows. Authority modified properly and properly
placed in the hands of boys is less likely to be abused than in the hands of adults” (Lawrence W. Tew,
Central Neighbourhood House [Toronto] in 1917, quoted in Yerichuk 2015, 110).
 Play, Music, and Education 101

An illustration of how play, recreation, education, and music became

intertwined during this period can be found in a 1910 article entitled
“Education Value of Public Recreation Facilities” (Robinson 1910), in which
the author describes the “educative” value of free band concerts in public
parks. These concerts, Robinson asserts, “should be not less insistence [sic] on
good compositions than on good execution” (138). “Rag time music should be
omitted,” he declares, for “[t]‌here is no reason why public music in America
should be inferior to that which is given in the public places of Europe” (138–​
139). Citing an example of a band concert in Rochester, New York, that drew
20,000 people (“one in ten of the population, which is sufficient proof of its de-
mocracy”), Robinson lauds the program of Beethoven, Mozart, and Wagner:
“No one could watch twenty thousand people of all kinds listening in rapt
attention to these masterpieces of tonal art, without realizing the educational
value of such opportunities or without feeling a thrill for the new richness that
had come into their lives” (139). The matter of taste-​as-​conduct thereby be-
came yet another area linked to recreation as an educational force. Recreation,
however, was more than just an educational issue; it was a social/​civic and,
increasingly, cultural one. For a short period in the early twentieth century,
turning schools into recreational centers seemed to represent a solution to the
problem of adult recreation,37 although, given the rapid growth of civic recre-
ational facilities in the early decades of the century, it seems clear that (a) the
school’s physical limitations often proved too unsuitable, and/​or (b) it proved
too difficult to reconcile the challenges of economic and facility management.
Anderson (2006) points out that those in the play movement eventually
made distinctions between the terms “play,” “relaxation,” and “recreation.” As
the connections between childhood and adulthood became more acknowl-
edged in society, “play” became increasingly defined as children’s activities
and “relaxation” became associated with the activities of adults. “Recreation”
was intended to apply to activities for children and adults. Play, relaxation,
and recreation all had to be of the right type, however. As writings of the time
make clear, issues of power and control asserted themselves in terms of who
should take ultimate responsibility for ensuring proper conduct in society.
Bailey suggests that co-​opting the “play” of children was a primary mech-
anism of control: “Viewed from above, leisure constituted a problem whose
solution required the building of a new social conformity—​a play discipline to
complement the work discipline that was the principal means of social control
in an industrial capitalist society” (1978, 5). As Bailey notes, the imposition
on people’s free time activities represented a new form of repression through

37 “From the standpoint of mere economy it is desirable that the school buildings be not left idle

and unused throughout the majority of the day” (Stokes 1904, 53).
102 Historical Perspectives

recreation (5): “The control of leisure was a serious matter” (169). The trans-
formation from play to recreation in the early twentieth century thus provides
an illustration of how conduct was managed through attention to avocational
activities.

The Play and Recreation Movements

in Retrospect

The organization initially established in 1906 as the Playground Association

of America changed its name to the Playground and Recreation Association
of America in 1911 (changing the name of its journal from Playground to
Recreation), changing it again in 1926 to the National Recreation Association
(officially incorporating as such in 1930). In Chudacoff ’s appraisal, the name
changes were more than semantic: “The evolution, by adding the term ‘recrea-
tion’ and eventually dropping the term ‘playground,’ signified an important shift.
In the minds of the professionals, recreation had become a means for adults to
find relief from the pressures of modern society, while children’s play remained
serious business, vital to their growth” (2007, 114). The growth of recreation
facilities and clubs due to the play movement of the early twentieth century
increased the demand for recreation workers. The seeds for the professionaliza-
tion of recreation workers were arguably sown with the publication of “A Normal
Course in Play” in 1909. The codification and standardization of “play leading”
spawned university courses and eventually the National Recreation School in
1926, a one-​year training course for college graduates to become administrators
for recreation departments.38 Throughout the 1930s, recreation became increas-
ingly associated with social services as the result of the Great Depression in the
United States. The Federal Emergency Relief Administration, Works Progress
Administration, and Civilian Conservation Corps, for example, helped in var-
ious ways to construct facilities and train recreation leaders,39 all of which served
to further entrench recreation as a social program rather than an educational or
cultural one.

38 Further, recreation leaders were trained and utilized during the Depression through the NRA’s

collaboration with the Works Progress Administration, the National Youth Administration, and the
Civilian Conservation Corps (Butler 1965). Weiskopf (1982) reports that the first college conference
on training recreation leaders took place at the University of Minnesota in 1937. Howard Braucher,
a key figure in the playground and recreation movement in the United States, was instrumental in
advancing what has today become the profession of parks and recreation workers, helping to estab-
lish, in 1937, the Society of Recreation Workers of America (later the American Recreation Society)
for recreation leaders.
39 See Dulles (1965, 346).
 Play, Music, and Education 103

As recreation became increasingly identified more as a social than as an edu-

cational program, its connections with music and the arts began to wane. While
some schoolteachers may have been involved with teaching knowledge and skills
for leisure and recreation, it was (and is) widely understood that recreation is,
by definition, an out-​of-​school activity. This led, with notable consequences for
music learning and participation, to inevitable differences between the concerns
and activities of those involved with in-​school educational activities and those
involved with out-​of-​school or beyond-​school recreational activities (despite
the efforts of several well-​meaning individuals to connect in-​school and out-​of-​
school life). Although many members of Music Supervisors National Conference
were in frequent dialogue with the National Recreation Association, and the
pages of the Music Supervisors’ Journal (Music Educators Journal after 1934) con-
tain references to the Playground and Recreation Association of America and the
National Recreation Association in the 1920s and early 1930s, these references
and interactions disappeared by the late 1930s as both music teaching and rec-
reation leading became increasingly professionalized; the concerns of the Music
Supervisors National Conference focused more and more on students, and the
concerns of the National Recreation Association gradually drifted away from
music activities as it became more fully associated with parks departments and
parks workers.40 Searching for the words music or arts in today’s major leisure
studies journals reveals very little mention beyond music as consumption (i.e.,
audience, listening).41
As noted by Roberts (2010), recreation movements were not unique to the
American experience, although the American penchant for voluntary associ-
ations, duly observed by Alexis de Tocqueville as early as 1836, gave it a flavor
distinct from that of other countries less suspicious of “big government.” Not
to be overlooked also are the racial aspects of the recreation movement which,
in the main, was, and is, almost entirely white.42 While the American experi-
ence was distinctive and one should not discount the unique confluence of forces
that precipitated the specific play and recreation movements in the United States
(e.g., massive immigration, urbanization, and industrial and commercial expan-
sion), its particular experience provides insights about conduct and the art of
living that can likely apply to much of the Global North.
In their summary of historians’ views of the early play movement in the United
States, Hardy and Ingham (1983) describe two mainstream views. On the one

40 Although beyond the concerns of this book, it is worth considering the similarities and

differences between the historical paths of physical education and music education over the course of
the twentieth century.
41 And, as I have demonstrated elsewhere (Mantie 2015), leisure and recreation have almost en-

tirely disappeared from the pages of the Music Educators Journal.

42 See Mowatt et al. (2016).
104 Historical Perspectives

hand, some regard early reformers and play advocates as simply trying to “liberate
the downtrodden from some of the constraints of enveloping structures” (286).
These “progressive historians maintain the reformers intervened to liberate their
subordinates because it was just” (289; original emphasis). In contrast, “social
control historians” insist that the reformers were in fact consciously attempting
to restrict behavior. “Playgrounds were illusions of freedom. . . . [T]‌hey existed to
mediate the problem of closed class relations and therefore, did little to improve
the life chances of immigrant children” (286). “They sought to constrain their
subordinates because it was necessary” (289; original emphasis).
Notably, sensitivity to the restrictive nature of the playground movement
is not simply the work of revisionist historians. The day after the Playground
Association of America enlisted the support of President Theodore Roosevelt
as honorary president in 1906, the Washington Post carried an editorial
proclaiming, “Let the Children Alone!” (295). Regardless of whether the motiv-
ations were justice or necessity (Hardy and Ingham also describe the emergence
of realist historians who view the actions of the reformers as “efficient”), the goal
was always for children to learn to live in particular ways thought preferable by
those with the agency to influence the conduct of others.43
One of the most important takeaways from this period with respect to people’s
conduct is how the play of children became linked to the recreation of adults.
Kelly (1982, 11) argues that the health benefits of recreation to the nation’s citi-
zens help to account for the appeal of the recreation movement. The “parks and
recreation” legacy certainly stands as a testament to this explanation.44 Physical
health alone, however, does not adequately explain the range of concerns
expressed through the play and recreation movements. Rainwater’s appraisal,
with its focus on music/​arts activity, is worth quoting at length on this point:

The same forces that caused disintegration of the play traditions of chil-
dren were largely instrumental in disorganizing many recreational activities
of adults. The creation of American folk music, folk dances, and folk games
ceased with the decline of village social life. The gathering of May baskets, the
singing of Christmas carols, the husking-​bees, spelling-​matches, and singing-​
schools alike were discontinued with the growth of population in urban com-
munities and of isolation in rural districts. In the cities, where a consciousness
of the social situation first arose, the behavior of children, youths, and adults

43 As Hardy and Ingham point out, however, the objects of the reform movement were not the

passive recipients one might assume from reading the works of Lee, Mero, Gulick, and the other
major writers on play. On the contrary, Hardy and Ingham remind us that records of public meetings
(e.g., town council, municipal council, and so on) show active involvement by immigrant groups and
others targeted by the reformers.
44 See Hartsoe (1998).
 Play, Music, and Education 105

during their leisure hours and holidays frequently became delinquent con-
duct, play became crime, while leisure pursuits became commercialized to
an extent without precedent. Whereas formerly both children and adults had
participated in play and recreation, now they became spectators. (Rainwater
1922, 9–​10)

Captured here is perhaps the essence of reformer spirit, one that speaks to
fears about the loss of cultural practices, misspent time, the predatory nature
of commerce, and the passivity perceived to be taking hold under the sway of
“amusements.” People’s recreational activities—​or rather, concern with the rec-
reational activities of others—​intensified during this period in ways dissimilar to
previous times.

Summary

Canonical American music education texts tend to overlook, downplay, or ig-

nore the connections between music and the play movement. As I discuss in the
next chapter, there was substantial interaction between those associated with
Music Supervisors National Conference (today’s National Association for Music
Education) and those involved in the play and recreation movements. Many
of today’s music teaching and learning discourses take on new meanings and
understandings when placed in this wider historical context. Although physical
development and well-​being constituted the primary focus of the play move-
ment initially, concerns inevitably broadened to encompass any and all leisure
activities, such as music. Connecting play to human development, develop-
ment to education, and the education of the young to adult conduct (as recre-
ation) set the stage for the exercise of pastoral power and governmentality in
and through music teaching and learning. From a genealogical perspective (see
Foucault 1977), it is interesting to consider the gradual cleavage that occurred
beginning in the late 1920s, as school music leaders pulled away from recrea-
tion and play leaders—​mirroring how leaders in the community music schools
pulled away from the settlement leaders. How different might today’s music edu-
cation (and society at large) look if school music learning and participation were
more strongly linked to community through the recreation field and the recre-
ation field maintained their initial investment in music and the arts rather than
following their eventual “parks and recreation” path?
 5
The Fears and Promises of the
1920s and 1930s

And here we are in an era where there is more leisure for the bulk
of our people than ever before in the world’s history and all signs
pointing to still more in the future. (Lies 1933, 11)

My purpose in this chapter centers on demonstrating how societal attitudes in

the 1920s and 1930s (the interwar period) sustained and extended concerns
about conduct. If there is a general trend or notable rupture to be found in the
literature of and about this period, it is what I detect as a subtle shift in focus
from “recreation” to “leisure,” which is not to suggest that writers of the period
were widely embracing Classical conceptions of leisure. Rather, it is as if in the
post–​First World War era there was a gradual shift in the United States from
“Americanizing” through the social control of recreation, and a greater recogni-
tion of leisure as the reward for work (echoing a focus in many European coun-
tries). Leisure was, in other words, increasingly viewed as a central dimension of
the human experience rather than merely work’s servant. According to Goodale
and Godbey (1988), the earlier reform and recreation movements “were con-
cerned with providing wholesome opportunities for activity after work which
refreshed and renewed the worker who was in a cycle of work, recreation, and
more work” (111). These efforts were, in this sense, the “rationalized adaptation
of leisure” (113) rather than the promotion of leisure as an intrinsic ideal. As the
twentieth century progressed there was a growing sense that people had a “right”
to leisure.
What is unmistakable in the American literature of the interwar period is the
dual sense of possibility and responsibility concomitant with the sudden rise of
what was described then as “The New Leisure” (usually appearing in capitalized
form).1 With what might now be viewed as misplaced optimism in the wake of
the Progressive Era at the end of the First World War, Cutten pronounced that,

1 Curiously, in the 1960s one finds another round of discourses using the term “the new leisure.”

Then in the 1990s one again finds “the new leisure” (see Allison 1992).

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0005
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 107

although in the nineteenth century the United States was a land of labor, it had
become, in the early twentieth century, a “land of leisure” (Cutten 1926, 17). In
the words of one commentator, “Almost overnight a new idea has come to us.
It is the recognition that we are to have more time to live our lives as we please”
(Overstreet 1934, 9). Another observer, however, portended: “leisure confronts
the nation” (Pack 1934, emphasis added). For many, the problem was clear: “the
more leisure there is the more opportunity for the right or wrong use thereof ”
(Lies 1933, 11). The cause of this newfound sense of “free time” was invariably
attributed to the fact that the average workweek in the United States and much of
the industrialized world was becoming shorter due to automatization following
the war, and the belief that the trend of shorter work hours would continue in the
future.2 While relief from labor obligations was no doubt welcomed by many, the
presence of “surplus time” (Cutten 1926, 12) represented an emerging danger
in the opinion of the socially minded, as evidenced in book titles such as The
Challenge of Leisure and The Threat of Leisure, and recurrent references to the
“leisure problem.” On the one hand, these “problems” reflected a general sense
of concern over individual fulfillment. To be idle (not infrequently described as
“loafing”) was to squander opportunity, a situation summed up by Cutten as “the
difference between an opportunity to do something and chance to do nothing”
(3). On the other hand, in large part due to the problems of urbanization,3 idle-
ness represented not just lost productivity, but the potential for people (espe-
cially youth) to engage in harmful or destructive activities.
The growing sense of entitlement to leisure was coupled with the maturing
of the play movement, which, courtesy of the dramatic expansion of schooling
during the 1920s and 1930s and the influence of Progressive Education, found a
receptive home. Kraus (1971) argues, for example, that concerns with play in ed-
ucation reached their zenith in the 1920s and 1930s “as a result of Dewey’s phil-
osophical writings and the total effort of progressive educators” (251). May and
Petgen, writing in 1928, proclaimed how the public education system had been
profoundly affected by the introduction of the play element into the school cur-
riculum (May and Petgen 1928, 266). If people were going to grow into respon-
sible adults that knew how to “use” leisure, the logical place to build such lifestyle
habits was in the school.
As argued in Chapter 4, play provided the impetus for an expanded concep-
tion of recreation. Despite ongoing concerns over fitness, sustained attention to

2 Cutten proclaimed that thanks to “automatism” (1926, 25) there was an expectation that the

eight-​hour day would soon become seven and then six (1926, 31; see also Lies 1933, 23). Indeed,
a newspaper article in the 1920s included the line: “the five day week is not a new fad” (Lies, 1933,
23). Sebastian de Grazia (1962) thoroughly interrogated this belief and argued it to be a myth.
Nevertheless, the idea appeared to have attained widespread currency at the time.
3 The problems of immigration no doubt also played a role in these concerns but are never men-

tioned by authors of the period.

108 Historical Perspectives

play revealed that children loved more than just physical activity. In response,
one notes how the National Recreation Association (Playground and Recreation
Association of America) broadened its activities in the second decade of the
twentieth century to include the arts (e.g., “community music”). The label of “lei-
sure” rather than “recreation” was no doubt considered more all-​encompassing,
capturing not just the need to go for a walk in the park or engage in recreational
sports, but the awareness of all activities taking place during non-​work hours.

“The Use and Abuse of Leisure”

The literature of the era reflects a strong concern for activity over passivity (a
theme I revisit in Chapter 7).4 Lies (1933) observed that people used free time as
either “sitters or doers” (36); action was clearly preferred to inaction. Similarly,
Cutten speaks of how “athletics by proxy” (“spectatoritis”)5 was one of the age’s
“besetting sins” (1926, 77). Beyond general agreement on this, however, one
finds two primary themes related to time usage: time as a commodity, and fear
over what the improper management of this resource might bring or fail to bring.
In recognition of the sense of increasing free time in society, Lies (1933) asks,
“What will they do with all the free time they have? What are all the possible
ways, good, bad and indifferent, in which they can use it?” (26). The paternalism
inherent in discussions of the day, often sanctimonious in tone, is inescap-
able: “Clearly, the problem of the use of leisure arises when it becomes apparent
that for one reason or another a people or a class tends not to put its leisure to
good use” (May and Petgen 1928, 6). Cutten (1926) goes further, calling for “cor-
rect use” (66). Consistent with the ideals precipitating the recreation movement,
however, one can appreciate that such concerns often reflected a general belief
in “progress” and societal development. As May and Petgen clarify, “[B]‌y a good
use of leisure we can here understand not only a use of leisure in which the indi-
vidual avoids psychological and physical harm, but one in which—​while satis-
fying himself—​he incidentally ‘improves’ himself ” (5; emphasis added).6
Individuals had a responsibility to put the growing resource of time to proper
use. In one sense, this is related to individual fulfillment and human happi-
ness: “It is only with leisure that we are able to measure in any human terms at all

4 Lies (1933, 26).

5 Recreation leader J. B. Nash expounded on this phenomenon, publishing a book by that name
in 1937.
6 Note my argument, throughout the book, about governmentality and how its manipulative

effects remain hidden. The idea of improving oneself is clearly similar to the Progressive Education’s
general idea of education as growth. I would argue that there is an important difference, however,
in that the expectation that one should improve oneself stems from an external rather than internal
force. For whom is one improving?
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 109

the value of living” (Pack 1934, 23). Reflecting, perhaps, the latent vestiges of a
Puritan ethic valorizing work and suspicion of inactivity, however, it was thought
by some that leisure had to be “earned” to be appreciated, “for there is a duty of
honest leisure as there is a duty of honest toil” (Cutten 1926, 15). Moreover, an
ever-​present danger lurked that leisure would not be used for legitimate reflec-
tion but would instead serve as “a cloak for idleness” (74)—​because “Satan finds
some mischief for idle hands to do” (90). Reflective of the values of the settlement
movement reformers discussed in Chapter 3, idleness was thus invariably linked
to delinquency (94): “There is the greatest danger that leisure, coupled with the
comfort and ease of our modern life will result in both physical and mental de-
generacy” (89).
While Cutten may represent the more extreme end of the spectrum in artic-
ulating the dangers of leisure (as inactivity), he was hardly an outlier. Lies, for
example, quotes from a 1925 Atlantic Monthly article that stated, “[T]‌he great
problem before us today is to create a civilization that does not degenerate
under leisure” (1933, 30). Here, as elsewhere in much of the literature, concerns
over individual fulfillment were linked to the societal level. Invoking the fall of
great empires past, Cutten expressed his concern over “modern” American so-
ciety: “The proper use of leisure has created every civilization which has ever
existed, the improper use has killed each one in turn” (Cutten 1926, 87). Leisure,
in other words, was directly implicated in culture and civic life. Given the
growing sense of “worldliness” brought on by technological advances in com-
munication and transportation, and by rising national pride in the postwar era,
greater attention was paid by many to the need for consensus on the common
good. Lies (1933) asks, for example, why some people “spend all their evenings
fingering their radio dial, accepting whatever comes along, and others take part
in a community orchestra or chorus” (26), why some people engage in “filthy
reading” instead of “wholesome reading” available in libraries, and why some
people “spend hours untold” gambling while others play golf (27). Cutten (1926)
warned that the individual choice to engage in one type of activity rather than an-
other represented not just lost opportunities for self-​improvement, but a danger
to the nation: “There are some people to whom freedom from labor means li-
berty for the indulgence of low tastes, and they are thus a serious menace to so-
ciety” (Cutten 1926, 92).
How people “spent” their time was not just a matter of choice, but of respon-
sible choice in the face of potentialities and dangers. As Lies (1933) warned, “The
archives of social work are chock-​full of records revealing results of misuse of
leisure, wrong choices made in the face of numerous possibilities” (27). Lies
summarizes the “use and abuse of leisure” thusly:
110 Historical Perspectives

[Leisure] can reduce working efficiency or increase it. It can blast careers or
enhance them. It can break down health or build it. It can impoverish life or en-
rich it. It can stifle talents or give them room and air for blossoming. It can dirty
sex or sublimate it. It can stunt skills or rear them into exhilarating satisfactions.
You can nourish selfish indulgence and lead on to delinquency and crime
or it can stimulate neighborliness and issue in finding human service. It can
breed mediocre living or stimulate rich living. It can cramp the inner urges for
wholesome creative expression or release them for more and more wonderful
achievement. It can becloud the horizons of the spirit or extend them on into
other worlds. It can bring in everlasting grief or minister to continuing happi-
ness. (1933, 26)

The Need for Intervention

It has always been clear to me that the Indians must have some sort of
recreation, and if our agents would endeavour to substitute reasonable
amusements for this senseless drumming and dancing, it would be a
great assistance.
—​Duncan Campbell Scott, Deputy Superintendent,
Canadian Department of Indian Affairs, 19217

Echoing the paternalism of the settlement workers and those of the play and rec-
reation movement, writers of the time continued to advance the view that people
could not be trusted to use their leisure wisely (i.e., in service to themselves and
to society); intervention was required: “The result of our limited, unorganized,
unled, and uncontrolled leisure is the greatest danger to which any nation was
ever exposed,” warned Cutten (1926, 96). Leisure, Pack (1934) insisted, could not
realize its potential for good “without direction”; leisure’s “mere existence is not
enough” (50). Given the freedom of choice without sufficient direction, in other
words, people were unlikely to choose wholesome over unwholesome activities.
(Or in the case of Canada’s colonial legacy, Indigenous peoples might choose to
engage in their own cultural practices rather than assimilate into white society.)
As Cutten observed, people did not “go wildly to libraries, schools, oratorios,
art museums, grassy banks, and murmuring brooks” upon the gift of shortened
work hours (67). What this raised was how to best go about intervening to ensure
what the dominant classes considered positive rather than negative leisure.

7 Quoted in Bob Joseph, 21 Things You May Not Know about the Indian Act (Port Coquitlam,

BC: Indigenous Relations Press), 49.

 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 111

Heightened awareness toward leisure during this period led to the realization
that interdiction was not enough, and that people needed to be taught how to
use leisure responsibly. “We have told people what they must do during working
hours; the nearest we have ever come to directing their leisure is to tell them
what they must not do” (Cutten 1926, 103). Cutten was no doubt referring to
the numerous laws and ordinances from colonial days onward (some, but not
all, originating in England) prohibiting people from engaging in any activities
not oriented toward industrious living or God (e.g., dancing, drinking, games,
sport). Despite laws, ordinances, and the risk of opprobrium of the religious
faithful, many people apparently gambled, drank to excess, and engaged in activ-
ities viewed as not only unproductive, but unhealthy and destructive to the fabric
of society.8
Positive intervention required solving two related problems: educating for
leisure and the provision of recreational services. What one observes in litera-
ture of this period is how people grappled with the issue of public versus private
involvement and ownership. For some, public intervention smacked of an in-
fringement on individual liberties, yet many could not seem to reconcile this fear
with the even greater fear of what might happen in a laissez-​faire economy. Left
to their own devices, people were increasingly thought to be subject to the ma-
nipulation of the amusement industry and those with capitalist interests. While
concerns about the colonizing of people’s leisure by commerce were expressed in
the late nineteenth century, such concerns were exacerbated in the early twen-
tieth century due to technological advances in transportation and communica-
tions that expanded the reach of those with commercial interests. “America has
turned its leisure over to commerce to be exploited for profit. For this reason,
the method of spending leisure, so far as amusements are concerned, is dictated
by business interests rather than by the desires, needs, or benefits of the people”
(Cutten 1926, 69). Amusements and commercialized leisure, Cutten asserted,
promote and sustain vice, bring out an unhealthy love of wealth, cause the death
of art, and fail to supply the community “with the recreative facilities it truly
desires” (73), implying, paradoxically, that people did want to choose wisely,
but were prevented from doing so by the amorality and overwhelming force of
business. Hence, public intervention (education and provision) was necessary,
even though this contradicted economic policy and practice dependent upon
consumption.
The search for solutions to the so-​called problem of leisure led to what might
be considered some of the earliest forms of “leisure studies.” May and Petgen’s
(1928) Leisure and its Use, for example, is a study of leisure time activities in the
“principal countries in Europe” based on a 1926 request from the Playground

8 See Dulles (1965) and Cross (1990) for detailed discussions.

112 Historical Perspectives

and Recreation Association of America. Europe was apparently chosen because

of a general sense that Europeans were superior in their use of and attitudes to-
ward leisure (6):9

[I]‌n Europe, the problem of leisure has been brought into public and official
consciousness, and it is obvious that from the resulting increase in interest
and enlightenment of public opinion in general, and from the possibilities of
practical result through stimulation of official interest in the provision of facil-
ities, great future advantages in the use of leisure may be expected, not for the
“workers” only, but for all classes of the populations. (May and Petgen 1928, 11)

The authors’ ethnographic account of activities in various countries, while reflec-

tive of some overt paternalistic biases, provides insights into problems of gov-
erning and cross-​cultural comparisons of attitudes toward the art of living.
May and Petgen’s work is notable for both its scope and its rigor, accounting for
both formal and informal recreation and noting the distinctions between them.
Indicative of nationalist concerns of the time, the authors claimed that recreation
(of all types) “is making a substantial contribution to health and good citizenship
in the United States” (May and Petgen 1928, 268). While endorsing recreation
in all its forms, they clearly favored the emergence of new agencies and organi-
zations taking shape since the early playground movement (267; see also Breen
1936, 8–​9)—​ones originally led by well-​intentioned but “untrained matrons”
(May and Petgen 1928, 263). As they note, “Much recreation in America has
sprung from organized efforts to provide facilities and to train for specific activ-
ities” (May and Petgen 1928, 268). Based on their fieldwork, they concluded that
for communities over 8,000 people it was necessity for people to think, plan, and
work for “the best possible use of the leisure hours of men, women and children”
(May and Petgen 1928, 260).
Reflective of sympathies for social welfarism and egalitarianism, May and
Petgen claimed that the trend in the United States during the 1920s was for
public, rather than private control and direction of recreation. Tellingly, they
mention how public involvement in recreation “democratized tennis,” municipal
support made it possible “for any individual to play golf,” and public swimming
pools were “within the reach of the multitude at nominal fees” (May and Petgen
1928, 258). In their summation, “The organized recreation movement has taken
on good activities formally enjoyed only by the rich and made them available to
the general public through tax supported recreation systems, and with no taint of
paternalism” (May and Petgen 1928, 259).

9 Cutten talks about how the United States could learn from other countries for the better use of

leisure (1926, 66).

 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 113

Other literature published during the period tends to dispute May and
Petgen’s rosy optimism about leisure and recreation—​or rather, it highlights
that it was not all of one piece. For while physical recreations may have enjoyed
not just public support by way of taxation and use, attitudes were uneven to-
ward pursuits considered artistic, and even toward leisure in general. Breen
(1936), for example, mentions that a man who spent time playing music was not
as respected as one “who used his free time to supplement his earnings with a
little business on the side” (15). She continues, “Most people held the opinion
that a leisure activity that took as much time as learning to play music with a
group was an indulgence that could be dispensed with until wealth was assured”
(15). Optimistically, Breen suggested that “the exaggerated emphasis on money-​
making” would become a thing of the past, “and with it the attitude that it is a
mark of frivolity for the average man to participate actively during his leisure
hours in cultural or mixed social groups” (15).
The problem of leisure intervention highlights two primary issues: one, how
best to provide recreational services to foster and promote egalitarianism, WASP
values, and social harmony—​which meant tempering some of the perceived de-
structive aspects of capitalism; and two, how best to ensure that people availed
themselves of options preferred by self-​appointed guardians of civic life. The so-
lution for many was to be found in compulsory education. Pack, for example,
insisted that the problems of leisure “[point] clearly to the impossibility of prop-
erly directing leisure in any sense without the complement of widespread edu-
cation” (1934, 214). For Pack, the awkward issue of the imposition of values in
an egalitarian democracy was a non-​starter: “like every other widespread move-
ment, the new leisure demands wise supervision and control, whether you call
paternalism or not” (64). Public education, he claimed, “was from its inception
the most paternalistic concept in the American Constitution” (220). Pack saw
no conflict with using the institution of education, both of children and adults,
to advance the ends of the “Progressive creed” (229). In accord with this view,
Cutten stated, “We shall really have leisure when we learn to use it” (1926, 102).
Placing this responsibility within the jurisdiction of schooling seemed entirely
logical. Several American writers of the period with educational interests railed
against Weber’s Protestant work ethic. As Pack summarized (with words still sa-
lient today), “Education has been too much preoccupied with the problem of
how to make a living, and not enough with the far more important problem how
life should be lived” (216).
Paralleling May and Petgen’s (1928) ethnographic description of cross-​cul-
tural leisure attitudes and activities, Lies’s (1933) The New Leisure Challenges
the Schools; Shall Recreation Enrich or Impoverish Life? is based on an empirical
study of thirty-​five public school systems across the United States. Involving
members of the National Recreational Association, the US Office of Education,
114 Historical Perspectives

the National Education Association, and Parent-​Teacher associations, the book

is an ethnography of what was going on in American schools vis-​à-​vis physical
education, reading, dramatics, music, fine arts and handicrafts, outdoor educa-
tion, and socialization. It provides a useful snapshot of attitudes and activities
of the period related to leisure and schooling. As is evident in the question, “Are
the schools ready for leisure?” (Lies 1933, 25), there was a belief that American
society had changed dramatically over the course of the 1920s and that leisure
had become a public rather than private affair: “There can be no denial . . . that
growing leisure in America is a fact of life that stands out boldly, with mighty
portents of good and evil for our people. Education must face the fact. The ‘lei-
sure class’ has extended far beyond aristocracy” (Lies 1933, 25).
Leisure was thus viewed as both a private problem of conduct and a so-
cial problem, with education a key factor in determining adult life (e.g., the
1929 establishment of the National Education Association’s Commission on
Enrichment of Adult Life). The schools were a solution not just for combating
the perceived ills of laziness, but for improving the population: “[T]‌he purpose
in training children and young people in the right use of leisure ought not to be
merely to fill up the idle hours with but also to create an active, energetic, happy
citizenship” (May and Petgen 1928, 260). The schools were a vital component in
this but were, for many writers, just one agency in a larger network. Lies, for ex-
ample, entitled a chapter “The Place of the School in Relation to Other Factors
in the Solution of the Problem of Leisure.” He goes on to describe the National
Recreation Association as “ally of the schools in their efforts to do something
about leisure, play, and recreation” (1933, 13). During this period, then, were
some of the first efforts to consider schools as part of a network of community
resources in service of life goals beyond just making a living.

Music and Leisure

It was George Eastman’s love for the arts in Rochester and his desire to
improve the use of leisure time by Americans generally that led him in
1918 to propose a school of music within the University of Rochester.
—​Eastman School of Music catalogue10

Unsurprisingly, music’s widely accepted status as a desirable activity and

respected form of knowledge made it an attractive focus of attention among
those troubled by the prospect of improper time usage. Although matters of
taste and propriety still lent themselves to a degree of moralizing over and about

10 Quoted in Egan (1989, 69).

 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 115

music, few people seemed, rightly or wrongly, to dispute participation in music

as a preferable leisure option. To an extent, positive attitudes toward music’s po-
tential for not just personal, but also social, well-​being were enhanced by the
promotion of singing as part of the community music movement in the United
States during and following the First World War. By some accounts, there were
up to 30,000 song leaders at one point. The introduction of the phonograph, and
later, radio, greatly complicated society’s understandings of musical engagement,
however. Mediated experience through mechanical reproduction and radio
transmission reoriented not only understandings of time, space, and place, but
also the role and social function of musical participation. Why bother making
music yourself when the phonograph or radio can do it for you?
Harvard University professor Arthur Zanzig (1932) conducted a national
survey of “music in American life” in the period 1929–​1931. The purpose of
Zanzig’s survey was to

try to find out what in singing, playing, or listening provides the richest satis-
faction to people and how the various kinds of musical activity are best started
and carried on under the great variety of conditions that exist in different com-
munities. In other words, what can people of all kinds and degrees of musical
interest do in music and, more importantly, how can music be made to do its
best for them, in all their various moods, and in their homes, churches, recre-
ation centers, industries, clubs, and elsewhere as well as schools and concert
halls? (1932, 13)

Zanzig’s study was conducted under the auspices of the National Recreation
Association, supported with a grant from Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial.
It included an advisory committee of notable figures of the day such as Frank
Beach, Karl Gehrkens, Ada Bicking, Edgar Gordon, Harold Butler, Peter Lutkin,
Peter Dykema, Earl Moore, Will Earhart, William Norton, Charles Farnsworth,
M. Claude Rosenberry, and John Finley Williamson.11 It total, Zanzig visited
ninety-​seven communities across the United States (Zanzig 1932, 13). Unlike the
Lies (1933) study, discussed in a later section, which concentrated solely on lei-
sure and the schools, Zanzig’s study was more broadly focused, attempting to
document all the ways in which music making was occurring in communities
across the country.
Among many other things, Zanzig noted that in 1929 only 92,000 pianos were
purchased in the United States, 238,000 fewer than in 1909, and that Americans
spent $890 million on the “passive and vicarious delights of radio” (8). These
consumption practices inevitably led to doomsday laments, such as that of

11 Many of these are “legendary” figures in the history of music education in the United States.
116 Historical Perspectives

Overstreet (1934), who decried in 1934 that social singing was “in large measure
a lost art in America” (58). Such reports were uneven, however, for while medi-
ated musical experiences no doubt complicated understandings and forever al-
tered the landscape of music production and consumption, the desire for making
music did not disappear. The 1926 National Recreation Association publication
Community Music: A Practical Guide suggested that, despite the phonograph’s
effects, the community music movement growing out of World War I had gained
strength “As people have become makers of music instead of mere listeners”
(“Introduction” np). Almost ten years later, perhaps in response to the rapid
growth of school music (and perhaps the popularity of national band and or-
chestra contests), Pack observed:

In the actual playing of musical instruments participation seemed to have re-

ceived a serious setback a few years ago, because of the radio and phonograph,
but today the manufacturers of instruments see glimmerings of improvement.
For appreciation of music does not seem enough for many human beings. They
are impelled to learn to reproduce it themselves, and now that time is no longer
at a high premium, there is every likelihood that participation will increase.
(1934, 183)

Zanzig’s ethnography provides a wonderful snapshot of musical activity at the

time. Consistent with other accounts, he observed that up to 30,000 attended
concerts by the Goldman Band (Zanzig 1932, 4).12 The “Intercollegiate Glee
Club Association,” which had only four groups in 1914, had grown to 90 by 1928
(5). The Association of Glee Clubs of America had 543 groups by 1928, enlisting
about 20,000 men in “all parts of the country” (10). As Zanzig noted, “There is
scarcely a Rotary, Kiwanis, Lions, or other service club among the thousands
in the United States that does not have general singing at each of its meetings”
(243). The General Federation of Women’s Clubs claimed 14,500 clubs, a “large
proportion” of which sponsored choruses, orchestras, or both (243), and the
National Federation of Music Clubs had 400,000 members in 4,762 clubs by
1931 (242). Despite the impact of mediated music forms, participation in music
making appears to have increased through the 1920s and 1930s thanks to the
rise of school music and recreation centers offering musical programming, phe-
nomena facilitating the social aspects of music making.
As evident in the purpose statement for Zanzig’s study, there was a genuine
desire, at least among some, to better understand musical participation in its rec-
reational sense and what musical participation might do for the individual and
for society. Although the scientific pretext for the study was arguably a product of

12 The Goldman Band performed regular concerts on the Mall in New York’s Central Park.
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 117

its age, it is interesting to note the focus of the concern, which centered on partic-
ipation, not learning. This is not to say that stakeholders at the time were agnostic
on the nature of musical engagements. The National Recreation Association, for
example, observed, “All forms of music in which people participate have high
recreative value. . . . There are, however, a number of activities of a musical nature
which more than any others may be considered, first as forms of recreation and
second, as musical activities” (National Recreation Association 1926, 32). This
makes clear that people were sensitive, if not always precise in their language,
to the ends toward which activities were oriented. It is often difficult today to
imagine what life was like prior to widespread mediated music. Even with the
introduction of the player piano, phonograph, and radio, the live experience of
music continued to provide the primary mode of engagement for most people
prior to the 1950s. The phenomenon of “going to a dance” as a recreational ac-
tivity, for example, used to figure much more prominently in American society
than it does today; the word “orchestra” as it appears in some literature of the pe-
riod refers not to the symphony orchestra, but to the ensemble providing music
at dances, which may have included an array of string, wind, and rhythm section
instruments. And yet, as evident from the large crowds who frequently gathered
to listen (not dance) to music (in or out of doors), there was certainly enjoyment
to be had in listening to concert presentations of music. Audience attendance
was not new to the 1920s, of course. What changed in response to the availability
of mediated musics was the sense that music making could be left to others.

Democratizing Music

Music seemed almost to have established itself as an aristocratic art

for the chosen few with special talent and special interest. (National
Recreation Association 1926, 3)

When one thinks of such things as the women’s suffrage movement, breakdowns
of the aristocracy (primarily in Europe, but the effects were felt in the United
States), and an empowered sense of the worker, one is reminded that histor-
ical socio-​political hierarchies in the United States were being actively chal-
lenged in the interwar period. Although there were still obvious tensions with
reformism and its asymmetrical power relations, an egalitarian spirit as part
of Progressivism began to pervade many sectors of American life in the first
decades of the twentieth century. This can be observed in music discourses of the
period. The purpose of the Civic Music Association of Chicago in the 1920s, for
example, was “to bring music to the masses of the city in the belief that anyone
who can be interested in music, either as a listener or a performer, [may become]
118 Historical Perspectives

a better citizen and the community benefited to that extent” (quoted in National
Recreation Association 1926, 8). As with recreational discourses generally, the
same tinge of paternalism is evident in the words “to bring.” However, the word
“masses” also makes clear that music was perceived, at least by some, to have
previously been the privilege of those with the time, talent, or means to pursue
musical training, a condition thought incompatible with the egalitarian spirit of
the day.
If the metaphor of the melting pot received increased attention in the United
States in the wake of increased immigration in the late nineteenth century,13
nationalist sensitivities, already in evidence in the settlement movement, were
surely exacerbated following the First World War. Thus, not only was there a
growing sense of egalitarianism, but a growing perceived threat to community
in the face of growing numbers of “outsiders.” The emergence of the National
Recreation Association, and social welfarism generally, can thus be viewed
as a response to the problems of governance in the nation-​state. The National
Recreation Association, in their section entitled “Music and the Foreign-​Born
Citizen,” provided the following purpose for community music:

to weld people together as citizens so that they shall feel the common tie; to
produce social solidarity; through music to help the foreign-​born citizen to
share in the life of his neighborhood and become part of it. The community
music movement takes music to the people where they are in their homes and
neighborhoods; takes the community where it is now in its musical tastes and
degree of development and carries it by successive stages to a higher plane of
musical appreciation. (National Recreation Association 1926, 10)

Hence, music was viewed as perhaps the leisure activity par excellence for na-
tion building, instilling a sense of community, belonging, equality, and, as would
be capitalized on so effectively by the music teaching and learning establish-
ment, taste.
Music’s powerful potential for instilling cultural values was only effective
to the extent people participated. Hence, the learning of music—​or rather, the
learning of a certain kind of music—​needed to be made central to people’s up-
bringing and development. The importance of music as a “right” of all people
is evident in the Nineteen Recreational Principles published by the National
Recreation Association. Number 6, for example, states that everyone should
know at least a few songs with “good music so that they may sing when they
feel like it”; number 10 reads: “It is of the greatest importance that every person
be exposed to rhythm because without rhythm man [sic] is incomplete” (Lies

13 The 1908 play The Melting Pot helped popularize this concept.
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 119

1933, 299–​300). Observe here two significant beliefs: first, the notion that people
should be equipped with the necessary knowledge (a few good songs) to be able
to use leisure; and second, the invoking of “completeness” discourse. Music was,
in other words, claimed as being fundamental to the good life (see Chapter 6),
and thought important enough that no individual should be deprived of the right
to develop knowledge and ability in it. Contextualized in this light, the famous
promotional slogan of music educator Karl Gehrkens, “Music for every child;
every child for music,” becomes understood as part of an overall ethos advancing
the democratization of music—​even if there may have been ulterior “rational
recreation” motives and political interests on the part of music teachers that were
animating the discussion.14
The democratization of music should not be misinterpreted as democratizing
all musics. The National Recreation Association, for example, makes mention
of committees that “approved” music to be played in public spaces (National
Recreation Association 1926, 40–​41). The well-​documented comparisons of jazz
to, for example, “strong sex novels” and “pornographic art” (Lies 1933, 37) in the
late 1910s through the 1930s serve as a reminder that music was thought to have
the potential to render people ignoble as well as elevate them. In advancing what
they considered to be a preferred trend in recreation among youth, May and
Petgen (1928) over-​optimistically submitted that “the modern jazz negro dances,
so beloved of the young, have found a formidable competitor in the revived folk
dances” (135). Viewed from today, such comments might be comical in their
naïveté if they weren’t so overtly and disturbingly racist. The “music apprecia-
tion” movement of the 1930s made possible by the phonograph and radio, how-
ever, provides evidence that inculcating taste was serious business.15 If everyone,
not just the “aristocratic” class, was to have access to instruction in music, both
as a listener and performer, it was imperative, for the good of the community and
the nation, that democratization be of the “right” kind of music.

Music in the Schools

Although the American music education literature celebrates the Boston School
Committee’s decision to include singing instruction as part of public schooling
in 1838 as the beginning of “music education” in the United States, it should
be remembered that public school music of the nineteenth century consisted

14 In the context of cultural democracy/​democratization of culture arguments, I would main-

tain that discourses of the period retained the paternalistic attitude of cultural uplift rather than re-
specting the tastes and preferences of the masses.
15 Walter Damrosch’s “Music Appreciation Hour,” broadcast by the National Broadcasting

Company, 1928–​1942, is arguably the most notable example.

120 Historical Perspectives

primarily of classroom singing. Moreover, those who did attend school (uni-
versal attendance would wait until the twentieth century) only usually did so to
the grammar school level, and the school year was much shorter (NCES statis-
tics, https://​nces.ed.gov/​pub​s93/​93442.pdf). The racial segregation of American
schooling should also not be overlooked. Today’s public school music evolved
due to such things as the expansion of public schooling, the increasing speciali-
zation of music teachers, and the rapid growth of instrumental music programs
in schools following the First World War.
Consistent with the explosive rise of voluntary associations in the period
1890–​1920 documented by Putnam (2000),16 the Music Supervisors National
Conference (MSNC; now the National Association for Music Education, or
NAfME), was formed in Keokuk, Iowa, in 1907, out of mutual concern for advan-
cing the cause of school music instruction. According to music education histo-
rian William Lee, MSNC “was a product of the Progressive period, a creation
of music teachers who were typical Progressives—​reform minded, middle-​class,
and primarily Midwestern” (W. Lee 2007, 93). Given their reformist leanings, the
founders of MSNC, claims Lee, viewed school music as a “gospel,” using the lan-
guage of optimism and evangelism. Music was more than just a school subject; it
was cultural uplift, and political and economic improvement (2007, 94). Music
instruction, MSNC proclaimed, should be for everyone!17
The schools were not alone in advancing an egalitarian rationale for music
instruction. In fact, the emergence of school music would not have been pos-
sible if conditions had not been ripe for its support. Based on their ethnographic
work in the countries of Europe, May and Petgen (1928) cite examples in the UK
such as British Music Society, British Federation of the Competition Festivals,
and the Community Singers’ Association, all of which helped galvanize interest
in the idea of widespread music instruction for the masses. In the United States,
new organizations devoted to coordinating and promoting aspects of music also
emerged in significant numbers in the interwar years. What is notable is not just
how community support of the period enabled school music to expand, but how
school music was optimistically viewed as holding the potential for influencing
society in turn. Breen (1936), for example, makes much of how schools and uni-
versities were changing sexist attitudes toward cultural activities in the United
States: “When the undergraduates who sing and play good music in school grow
up, they will unconsciously hold a different view of music from the stupid old
one that it was ‘an amusement for the women’ ” (Breen 1936, 15).

16 According to Putnam, “it is hard to name a major mainline civic institution in American life

today that was not invented in these few decades” (385).

17 Everyone, in the minds of the MSNC founders, probably understood as people who looked

like them.
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 121

In their community music handbook, the National Recreation Association

described music as “a potent force in community life,” calling it the one art
that has maintained “a close intimacy” with religion. “Music,” the organization
proclaimed, “is finding an increasingly important place in the schools” (National
Recreation Association 1926, 10). Indeed, the exponential growth of school
music (usually meaning instrumental music) in the United States through the
1920s and 1930s is quite astonishing when considered today, although it must not
be forgotten that this rise occurred in tandem with the broadening of school at-
tendance generally, especially beyond grammar school. The National Bureau for
the Advancement of Music and MSNC are often credited with the rapid expan-
sion of school music in the United States (Lies 1933, 100), although the Schools
Band Contest of America, first appearing in 1923, is often cited as sparking the
school band craze that swept the country in the 1920s and 1930s. Zanzig (1932)
notes, for example, that the first contest featured 30 bands from 5 states. By 1931,
this had grown to all but 5 states and 1,100 bands. That same year featured ap-
proximately 700 orchestras in a similar contest. Zanzig suggests that in all, ap-
proximately 72,000 school performance took part (1932, 252).18 Such figures are
backed up by, for example, the Biennial Survey of Music Education issued by
Office of Education, which for 1931 reported, “The place of music in the curric-
ulum of the public schools has been greatly strengthened during the last decade”
(Lies 1933, 99). All 36 school systems Lies examined were found to have music
somewhere in their curriculum. He found that 90 percent of junior high and
50 percent of senior high students were enrolled in elective music classes in 1931,
and noted that music appreciation had become “almost universally adopted as
a subject” (Lies, 99), underscoring the extent to which music was viewed as im-
portant enough to warrant it part of “schooling.” As Henry Harap implored in
a Journal of Educational Sociology article at the time, “Any man [sic] who can
not see a social justification for every form of musical education simply does not
know what the school is about” (Harap 1934, 316).

Music Learning to What End?

The egalitarian sentiments behind “music for every child; every child for music”
continue to be haunted by an intractable problem: the principle of universal par-
ticipation is at odds with practices where inexorable “improvement” and pro-
fessionally oriented “musical standards” are placed above social values. This is
especially true for musical practices such as those derived from European art

18 Much has been written, particularly in the pages of Music Educators Journal and Journal of

Research in Music Education, on the importance of the national band and orchestra contests.
122 Historical Perspectives

music that place a premium on pitch acuity, formal complexity, and narrow
norms of tone quality and melodic expression. While all people can be said to
be born with capacities for music, this does not mean that all people possess the
ability or desire to make music in ways that align with or conform to the expec-
tations of those (i.e., the “musicians”) who excel in a given musical practice (e.g.,
Western European art music). Put differently, the expectations of the educator
who loves “music” are not always the same as the expectations of the musician
who loves to teach. This is not to set up a false dichotomy, but to acknowledge
that (a) norms of practice exclude by definition, and (b) confusion inevitably
arises over what, precisely, is understood as the practice in question. To the car-
penter, every problem looks like a nail, the solution to which involves a hammer.
One of the Progressive Era’s legacies is the turn toward “scientism” and ex-
pertise. Whereas music instruction in schools was, until the early twentieth cen-
tury, typically the responsibility of the generalist classroom teacher (overseen
by school district music supervisors), the proliferation of instrumental instruc-
tion in schools (rather than just singing) following the First World War called
for teachers with specialized training. Specialized school music teachers with
degrees in “public school music” eventually took over the responsibility from
classroom teachers. Notably, however, music education degrees were usually
offered through university “schools of music” based on conservatory training in
the Western classical tradition. Predictably, the norms and expectations of spe-
cialized “musicians” rather than general classroom teachers (whose learning and
teaching goals may have been oriented less toward the standards of Western clas-
sical performance) dominated school music instruction.
It is interesting to consider how the philosophical split between professional
music and “social music” in the settlement movement (Chapter 3) compares to
the history of American music education through the twentieth century. Those
in the “professional” camp in the settlement music schools eventually found res-
olution through the creation of the National Guild of Community Music Schools,
where the goal of “high-​quality” musical training could be pursued without wor-
rying about “social” considerations, and the problem of access was thought to be
sufficiently addressed through financial subsidy. School music educators, by con-
trast, found no such resolution. As William Lee (2007) points out, the program of
study leading to a school music teaching degree was, from the start, largely based
on a conservatory model (even when occurring in “normal schools”), with cur-
ricular development occurring under the auspices of Music Teachers National
Association, an organization composed primarily of private music teachers. In
other words, the pathway to becoming a school music teacher resulted (and con-
tinues to result) in a specialist whose teaching values differed little from the com-
munity music school teacher since they were essentially cut from the same cloth.
And yet, unlike the community music school teacher, free to pursue musical
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 123

training irrespective of any social expectations or constraints, the public school

music teacher operated (and continues to operate) within a public institution
with a mandate for general education, not vocationally oriented training. The
aims of public school music, which rightly should have aligned more closely with
the “social music” of the settlements, were being carried out by specialists whose
values were more closely aligned with the professional camp that created com-
munity music schools.
Despite the obvious antinomy embodied in public school music, there was
great enthusiasm and optimism for what a “democratized” music education
might mean for the country. Breen, for example, extolled the potential of public
school music for fostering a more musical and, for some, more cultural so-
ciety: “The emphasis the schools are placing on the arts and on music and drama
for both boys and girls is furnishing an excellent groundwork for future recre-
ation interests” (1936, 15). Breen’s point was recognized by Zanzig, who saw in
the schools the potential for the development of enriched musical culture in so-
ciety: “the development in the public schools seemed a very bright spot. Might not
our high schools in every state in the Union become musical centers, expanding
with the age of their students into their respective communities?” (Zanzig 1932,
7). This optimism, however, was somewhat tempered by the recognition that
opportunities for participation outside of schools were needed. “But where will
they sing or play after they graduate?” asked Zanzig (7–​8). The response to this
question was, apparently, mixed. Lies’s (1933) study found in some community
bands and orchestras for high school graduates, but Lies cites this as the excep-
tion, not the rule: “Every community should provide opportunity for its children
when they leave school to continue the musical and dramatic and other special-
ized recreation activities which they have enjoyed during school days” (1933,
301). Similarly, Breen writes, “If education is training for living and the school is
to emphasize leisure activities which have a carry-​over value, the boys and girls
who sing and play together must be given the chance to continue these activities
in after-​school years” (1936, 147). Zanzig, however, countered that the problem
was one of desire, not the provision of opportunity: “Mere pleasure in music can
no longer, if it ever could, keep people singing or playing persistently enough to
make a chorus, orchestra, or any other musical enterprise successful or even pos-
sible. There are now too many other means of mere pleasure competing for use of
our leisure time” (1932, 37). Based on his research, Zanzig concluded that “very
few graduates were singing or playing for the love of it” (8).
Zanzig offers an explanation why those proselytizing for “carry-​over value”
may have wondered about the lack of buy-​in from school music graduates. In
a section entitled “The School Music Teacher as Leader of Amateurs in and out
of the Schools,” Zanzig writes, “in many of the 97 cities and towns visited by the
writer for the purposes of the national survey, the school music teachers knew
124 Historical Perspectives

very little about musical activities going on in the community” (1932, 287). In
other words, if school music teachers were unaware of musical activities outside
of school, it is likely that (a) they regarded them as unimportant or irrelevant,
and/​or (b) they failed to impress upon their students the value of participation
beyond the school years. The issue of carry-​over is admittedly complex. On
the one hand, there were those such as members of the National Recreation
Association, whose concerns lay in the broader realm of living, particularly
as these intersected with ideals of community, nationalism, and the good life.
For this constituency, issues of leisure and recreation were vitally important,
recognizing the critical link between schooling and living beyond the school
years: “Great care should be exercised to secure full cooperation with the orches-
tral activities of the public schools. It may be wise, in some cases, not to allow
the high school students to play in the general community orchestra until after
graduation” (National Recreation Association 1926, 39). The suggestion to not
allow high school students to play was likely due to preventing the community
orchestra from becoming a “school” group. Significantly, however, the National
Recreation Association considered how music might factor into the larger pic-
ture of community activities. On the other hand, there were school music
teachers of the day who may or may not have sympathized with those advocating
lifelong goals for learning (the term “carry-​over” is regularly found in the pages
of Music Supervisors Journal/​Music Educators Journal), but who, in practice, re-
stricted their attention to the here-​and-​now matters of teaching and learning
music during the school years. Hence, whereas recreation leaders (and some
music teachers) were concerned with trying to find ways to foster school-​com-
munity connections, the object of attention for most music teachers was (and
still is, I would argue) the preparation of students for the next concert or event.
The problem of carry-​over was (and is), therefore, not just one of differing
goals and priorities in daily instruction, but of differing conceptions of musical
practice. For school music teachers, generally trained in the Western classical
tradition, the focus was (and is) on teaching students the finer points of large
ensemble performance and “quality” repertoire. Many recreation leaders of the
day, however, were clearly less concerned with classical performance practices,
indicated by discussions (and photographic evidence) of such things as ukulele
classes, harmonica ensembles, barbershop quartets, kazoo bands, toy sympho-
nies, and the like (National Recreation Association 1926). The object of concern
for recreation leaders was not “the music itself,” but participation qua participa-
tion. Whereas one finds among the music education establishment of the time a
bias in favor of the orchestra over the concert band, recreational leaders not in-
frequently found greater value in the band. The National Recreation Association
notes, “There is a fertile field for bands among policemen, firemen, newsboys,
Boy Scouts and similar groups. . . . [These perform at] annual picnic and outings,
 The Fears and Promises of the 1920s and 1930s 125

at baseball games, at concerts and in factory yards” (40). “Boys’ Bands” in partic-
ular were considered a “splendid” form of recreation, as well as lauded “for pre-
paring [boys] to take part later on in the community band and the community’s
musical life” (National Recreation Association 1926, 42). The ethos of egalitari-
anism is present here (albeit with unmistakable gender bias), along with endemic
“American” communitarian values (e.g., baseball, picnics, factory yards, police,
and firemen). The “democratization” of music was, in this view, entirely in accord
with the tenets of public schooling.
In contrast, many music educators of the time no doubt viewed their re-
sponsibility as tied to the elevation of cultural tastes through the institution
of schooling—​ “education” understood as being acculturated into society’s
cherished cultural values. Although a defensible philosophical position from
an educational standpoint, adopting this view resulted in two problems related
to carry-​over. First, it shifted emphasis from participation to taste. As Pierre
Bourdieu (1984) has demonstrated, taste—​like Veblen’s conspicuous consump-
tion—​is predicated upon distinction, that is, it is based fundamentally on distin-
guishing oneself as superior to (or distinct from) others. High class is only high
in relation to low class. Hence, by endorsing cultural elevation as a raison d’être,
the mission of music education stood in direct conflict with the egalitarian ethos
embodied in “music for every child; every child for music.” Paradoxically, the
goal of cultural elevation can only succeed as long as there are those who are not
elevated. Second, taste does not drive participation; one can possess “educated”
taste and not participate. Indeed, predicating instruction on taste development
reduces the need to participate, for if the goal of learning is to develop appro-
priate tastes, then the task is finished once proper tastes have been acquired.
The problem of “music for life,” understood as music making for life, can thus
be viewed as not necessarily one of competing recreation alternatives, such as
the radio or phonograph, but as the logical outcome of school music instruction
when conceptualized as taste modification.

Part II Summary

In Chapter 3, I advanced the proposition that the Progressive Era is key to un-
derstanding the contemporary landscape of institutionalized music learning and
teaching practices. The settlement and community music school movements
were used to illustrate underlying tensions involving so-​called social and mu-
sical values. In Chapter 4, I described the play and recreation movements, social
currents coincident with the settlement houses and community music schools.
Salient to Chapter 4 is how the emergence and predominance of scientific
thinking (“Progressivism”) helped to shift the balance in pastoral power from
126 Historical Perspectives

the reformers to the professionals: children became a population to be managed.

Compulsory schooling, as an institution of the state (governmentality), ulti-
mately won out over community-​based recreation initiatives, and music became
a school subject to be taught by professionals.
In this chapter, I extended the discussion from Chapters 3 and 4 by elaborating
on how leisure became an increasing focus of societal concern. It was no longer
just immigrants and the urban poor who were targeted for intervention; all
people were at risk of misusing their (supposedly new) leisure time. Understood
in the context of rapid US growth and development following the First World
War, the 1920s and 1930s represented a fascinating admixture of fear and op-
timism, in particular with respect to education and the conduct of individuals.
Fortuitously, school music was positioned at the right time and place: who could
argue with the value of “music for all” at a time when idleness and the pool hall
loomed large? The wholesomeness of music—​or at least the wholesomeness
of good music—​represented a wonderful solution to the problem of leisure.
Unfortunately, things didn’t quite go as planned. Apparently, too many students
failed to carry forth their musical engagement into adult life.
The world has witnessed many changes from the 1930s to today. School music,
however, has arguably changed very little—​at least in the United States, where
the same secondary school ensembles of choirs, orchestras, and bands con-
tinue to rehearse and perform, year after year. One can point to some changes, of
course,19 but my overarching argument in Part II has been that the fundamental
structures, values, and understandings of music, leisure, and education today
can all be traced to this early period.

19 The effects of the pandemic remain to be seen at the time of writing. I may have to write an-

other book.
 6
How Should One Live?
Leisure and Happiness (Well-​being)

In 2013, the United Nations established March 20 as the International Day

of Happiness (https://​happi​ness​day.org). While only a symbolic gesture (like
other “international” days), that the United Nations felt it important enough
to recognize happiness with a special day does send a message. Has twenty-​
first-​century life become so joyless that we need to reserve a day to remind
us about the importance of happiness? Has happiness become so rarefied that
we need to recognize it, like other ritualized once-​a-​year celebrations such
as Mother’s Day, to ensure important people and important values aren’t for-
gotten? Isn’t happiness something we should be aiming for every single day of
our lives?
Connections between leisure (scholē) and happiness have a very long his-
tory, flowing from Ancient Greek thought that was seemingly obsessed with
the problem of how to live a good—​which is to say “happy”—​life (happiness
for the Greeks being somewhat more complicated than just having a laugh).
On what basis or bases does one make choices about how to live life well in
the face of various alternatives? Does one live in and for the moment or delay
gratification for the promise of greater payoff down the road, for example?
Does one live only (or primarily) for oneself, or do obligations to others play a
role in good living? Is living more about maximizing pleasures (and reducing
pains) or about the fullest development of one’s capacities? That the World
Leisure Journal dedicated a special issue to the relationship between leisure
and happiness as recently as 2016 suggests that we have not gotten much closer
to solving the ancient problem of how to live. Leisure, like other domains of
life, involves choices, which raises the question of how to choose. Do I read a
book, go for a run, or make music? If the last, the music maker asks, “Shall it
be Bach, Brubeck, Cardi B, or Bhangra?”
Living well, it turns out, is more complicated than it first might appear. As
Robertson (2016) summarizes, the two basic conceptions of happiness traced
to the Ancient Greeks are hedonic (concerned primarily with pleasure) and
eudaimonic (concerned primarily with virtue and the realization of who one
can and should become): “The former might arise from attending a sym-
phony while the latter might arise from playing an instrument well in the

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0006
130 Philosophical Perspectives

orchestra,” Robertson suggests (242). This is somewhat reductionist, however,

as there are many differences, both nuanced and fundamental, between var-
ious Ancient Greek thinkers who wrote about hedonism and eudaimonia. At
heart, however, these two conceptions continue to provide a useful frame-
work for understandings of how leisure, and in particular for my purposes,
musical leisure, might figure in response to the question of how to live.
I should acknowledge here again that the authors I have read—​mostly white,
mostly male—​tend to operate as if male Western and non-​Indigenous ways of
living are universal, if not the pinnacle of human thought and achievement.
Work in gender studies and cross-​cultural psychology (among other fields)
makes clear, I hope, that there are differing conceptions of how to live in this
world. With regard to ethics and values, this is illustrated perhaps most starkly
in the difference between individualist cultures and collectivist cultures. I re-
alize my discussion in this chapter runs the risk of reinforcing Western (male)
views, but (a) the context of and audience for this book is Western (though
hopefully not “male”); (b) I am secretly hoping that others can and will use
this book in order to produce counter-​narratives of happiness, living, and mu-
sical leisure from non-​Western and Indigenous perspectives; and (c) while
the United Nations can be criticized as a decidedly Western political body, the
declaration of an international day of happiness serves notice that, regardless
of value orientation on how best to achieve (or even define) happiness, there is
value in thinking about and discussing it in the twenty-​first century.
Music and leisure remain mostly beneath the surface until the final section
in this chapter. My hope, however, is that the salience in discussing “good-​
centered ethical theories” (Kraut 2007, 21) related to well-​being and quality-​
of-​life is not lost. We perhaps do not explicitly obsess as much as the Ancient
Greeks did over the question of how to live, but we all still make choices every
single day. To the extent leisure exists (if only as an ideal), it operates as a
prime site for choices related to our well-​being and the well-​being of others.
I begin this chapter with a general discussion of happiness. I then dig
deeper into moral philosophy and the problem of the “right” and the “good.”
The heart of the chapter is a consideration of how pleasure (hedonism) and
flourishing (eudaimonia) might factor into conceptualizations of the good
life. A brief discussion of positive psychology then serves as a reminder that,
in many ways, we are no closer than the ancients to answering the compli-
cated question of how one should live. The chapter concludes with some
thoughts on how musical leisure might factor when contemplating the good
life, a possibility that reminds us that we are not raised in a vacuum, and that
upbringing and education play a critical role in how we conceive of life and
how to live it.
 How Should One Live? 131

Happiness, Well-​being, and Quality-​of-​Life

Don’t worry, be happy.

—​Meher Baba (made popular by Bobby McFerrin)

A commonly accepted starting point for general welfare is happiness, a long-​

standing concern of Western philosophers. The word “happy” can be misleading,
however. One need only check out thesaurus entries for the word “happy” to
be reminded of the word’s polysemy. In most philosophical contexts, happy
means more than a smiley-​face emoji. Philosophical happiness is closer to “ful-
fillment” or “enjoyment” than “cheery” or “gleeful.” Although pleasure factors
prominently in many examinations of happiness, the pleasure in question usu-
ally refers to something larger than ephemeral or physical pleasure. This is why
words life “welfare,” “wellness,” or “well-​being” are often used in conjunction
with discussions of happiness.
As a goal of human existence, happiness, in the Western tradition, is often
traced to interpretations of Aristotle’s eudaimonia. Due to Aristotle’s em-
phasis on action (rather than Plato’s emphasis on statism), many today trans-
late “eudaimonia” more as human flourishing than as happiness.1 Regardless,
the idea of happiness (eudaimonia) has been a centerpiece of the art living. The
utilitarianist John Stuart Mill built upon the idea in advancing his “greatest hap-
piness principle,” which holds that “actions are right in proportion as they tend
to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness”
(Charles 1991, 49). The perennial problem with happiness as a stated goal for
human existence, however, lies in determining what it is or what should consti-
tute it, and in ascertaining the grounds upon which it can be said to be promoted.
Mill’s utilitarian predecessor, Jeremy Bentham, followed a more hedonic path,
concluding that happiness was a simple matter of calculating pleasure over pain.
Plato, however, pointed out many years earlier that happiness does not automat-
ically result from “measuring, weighing, and comparing pleasures and pains”
(Riel 2000, 13). Indeed, J. Elster (1983) has argued that happiness, like sleep,
can only be reached indirectly (cited in Van Riel 2000, 41). Trying to fall asleep
results in sleeplessness. Similarly, one cannot simply try to be happy (no matter
how much Bobby McFerrin you listen to); happiness does not automatically re-
sult from the avoidance of worries, a claim supported by research that shows that
trying to be happy results in less happiness, not more (see Seligman 2002).

1 Eudaimonia has recently received greater attention from the field of music education. Examples

include Smith (2016), Elliott and Silverman (2014b), Symposium on Eudaimonia and Music
Learning (2020), and an edited volume of essays, Eudaimonia: Perspectives for Music Learning (Smith
and Silverman 2020).
132 Philosophical Perspectives

It is relatively easy to ask people if they feel happy or not. A simple measure
of happiness among a population, such as the World Happiness Index, reveals
something. An obvious objection is that happiness as a state of being is dynamic,
not static. In general, no one is happy all the time. Another objection is that hap-
piness is often domain-​specific. I might be happy with some parts of my life (like
work) but unhappy with other parts (like leisure). A more critical problem is that
any causal connections (or even correlations) that might answer the question of
what contributes to or takes away from happiness must be inferred. Complicating
matters is that this inference must be made against aggregated measures of hap-
piness, the embedded assumption being that causal (or correlational) factors of
happiness are the same for all people (at all times and places). More problematic
still is that measures of happiness do not reveal much about what should make us
happy. If it turned out that torturing animals made most people happy, it would
not logically follow that torturing of animals is what people should be doing. Or
rather, the possibility that happiness for some people could result from torturing
animals—​or from any other act where happiness is predicated on suffering—​
makes clear that happiness cannot be a completely solipsistic matter.
General welfare, then, is more complicated than answering the question, “Are
you happy?” Two closely related concepts and constructs that attempt to capture
something broader than happiness are well-​being and quality-​of-​life (QOL).
Mark Rapley (2003) draws attention to some of the many modern definitions
and conceptions that have been used to define QOL: happiness, life-​satisfac-
tion, self-​actualization, freedom from want, objective functioning, physical,
mental and social well-​being beyond the absence of disease, balance, equilib-
rium, bliss, prosperity, fulfillment, low unemployment, high GDP, enjoyment,
democratic liberalism, the examined life, and full and meaningful existence (27).
This list highlights that QOL is a multidimensional construct. Moreover, this list
highlights the normativity and historicism of QOL.2 For example, although its
precursors can be found in the work of Aristotle, Maslow’s concept of “self-​ac-
tualization,” so often positioned in the education literature as a presumed goal of
human existence, only came to the fore in the 1950s and stands in direct opposi-
tion to cultural practices that encourage self-​negation (Rapley 2003, 203).
The scholarly literature on well-​being and QOL identifies both a subjective
and objective position. The subjective position, most often conceived as “sub-
jective well-​being” (SWB), emphasizes individuality, egalitarianism, and au-
tonomy; accordingly, no individual can or should determine QOL for another.
James Maddux (2018) explains that subjective well-​being (SWB) is typically de-
fined as “what people think about and how they feel about their lives” (Maddux

2 Drawing on the work of happiness researcher Ruut Veenhoven, Rapley draws attention to how

many indexes of QOL are in fact measures of modernity (2003, 19).

 How Should One Live? 133

2018, 6). As he points out, SWB has real implications: people with higher levels
of SWB are more active, more social, altruistic, have stronger bodies and im-
mune systems, are more creative, make more money, etc. (2018, 4). It is simply
better to be happy and satisfied than unhappy and unsatisfied. Maddux notes that
governments in countries such as Japan, South Korea, Ecuador, and Bolivia have
included SWB in their constitutions (5). The United Arab Emirates has gone so
far as to appoint a minister of state for happiness as part of a country-​wide well-​
being initiative (see https://​gov​ernm​ent.ae/​en/​about-​the-​uae/​the-​uae-​gov​ernm​
ent/​gov​ernm​ent-​of-​fut​ure/​happin​ess).
The objective position emphasizes mutually agreed-​upon criteria (e.g., life ex-
pectancy, citizen health, literacy) for assessing QOL. Positive living conditions
may not guarantee happiness, but negative living conditions are understood as
socially unacceptable. The common good, in other words, is considered best
served when objective measures of QOL, such as the United Nations Human
Development Index, are addressed. One of the dangers of the objective posi-
tion lies in equating a nation’s well-​being with individual well-​being (Rapley
2003, 15). Gross Domestic Product, the Dow Jones Industrial Average, and the
Consumer Price Index, for example, become understood as indicators of well-​
being (Goodale and Godbey 1988, 131) when, for example, research shows that
average SWB is greater in some relatively poor countries than relatively rich
(Maddux 2018, 4).3
Researchers have developed several measures for SWB and QOL over the
years. In an effort to circumvent the temporal nature of happiness, for example,
Andrews and Withey (1976), in a landmark study, asked the question, “How do
you feel about your life as a whole?” Diener, Emmons, Larsen, and Griffin de-
veloped this idea further, into what has become the very widely-​used five-​item
“Satisfaction with Life Scale” (Diener et al. 1985). In 1994, Robert Cummins and
colleagues developed the ComQOL, a comprehensive quality-​of-​life scale that
measured seven domains: material well-​being, health, productivity, intimacy,
safety, place in community, and emotional well-​being (Cummins et al. 1994).
The Canadian Index of Wellbeing (CIW) is an index of sixty-​four indicators
across eight domains. The CIW website describes wellbeing as “[t]‌he presence
of the highest possible quality of life in its full breadth of expression, focused on
but not necessarily exclusive to: good living standards, robust health, a sustain-
able environment, vital communities, an educated populace, balanced time use,
high levels of democratic participation, and access to and participation in leisure
and culture” (https://​uwater​loo.ca/​canad​ian-​index-​wellbe​ing/​what-​wellbe​ing).

3 The Human Development Index takes into account “long and healthy life” and “knowledge” in

addition to Gross National Income. The disparities between the 2017 HDI rankings and the 2016–​
2018 World Happiness rankings, however, illustrate that objective and subjective measures provide
different assessments of what “counts” in the pursuit of well-​being.
134 Philosophical Perspectives

In terms of “access to and participation in leisure and culture” referenced in the

CIW, Sirgy (2001, 409) reports that much research has shown that frequency of
participation in leisure activities is positively correlated with increased SWB.
In the psychological literature there are two primary conceptions of SWB: he-
donic and eudaimonic (for reviews see Ryan and Deci 2001; Waterman 1993).
Both are derived from Ancient Greek philosophical thinking, to be discussed in
greater depth, about what makes life worthwhile. The dominant psychological
hedonic paradigm is Diener’s (1984) tripartite conception of SWB as positive af-
fect, negative affect, and life satisfaction (Maddux 2018, 7). The eudaimonic par-
adigm stresses that well-​being is dependent on achieving one’s best, living up to
one’s potential, and living a life of meaning, purpose, and virtue (7–​8). The dom-
inant eudaimonic psychological theory is Carol Ryff ’s (1989) Six-​factor Model
of Psychological Well-​being, which assesses self-​acceptance, personal growth,
purpose in life, environmental mastery, autonomy, and positive relations with
others. As may be evident at this juncture, both the hedonic and eudaimonic
paradigms of SWB hold implications for leisure, in terms of both activity and
state of mind.
Maddux points out that, despite the popularity of various SWB measures,
there are major challenges in translating philosophical concepts into psycholog-
ical constructs (2018, 8). For example, he draws attention to a study comparing
Diener’s (1984) hedonic measure and Ryff ’s (1989) eudaimonic measure where
the latent correlation between the two was 0.96 (i.e., the two instruments were
essentially measuring the same thing). After a comprehensive review of nu-
merous studies, he concludes: “measures of so-​called hedonic well-​being (hap-
piness, positive emotions, life satisfaction) and so-​called eudaimonic well-​being
(personal expressiveness, meaningfulness) [likely] reflect a single higher-​order
factor with multiple lower-​order factors” (10).
The general concerns in this book center on conduct (i.e., living) insofar as
conduct—​specifically that in and through music, leisure, and education—​relates
to general welfare. By general welfare I mean a kind of well-​being at both the
individual and collective level. This is to say that the answer (or answers) to the
question, How should one live?, should be deeply connected with general welfare.
In his appraisal of the SWB research, Maddux concludes that, while psycholog-
ical efforts aimed at measuring SWB can be useful to the extent they encourage us
to think about people’s well-​being, what matters most is not some sort of objec-
tive description of the “real world,” but rather, thoughtful engagement with the
problem of “what should make life worth living and how people should live their
lives” (Maddux 2018, 11). This kind of problem, I submit, is ethical, not empir-
ical—​which is to say that our welfare, in the subjective sense, is dependent upon
the desires, expectations, and understandings we bring to the table. Assuming
that no one is born with much in the way of conceptions of how one should or
 How Should One Live? 135

could live, the conclusion must be that understandings of conduct in relation to

well-​being are conditioned. Interests (and the skills and knowledge that support
them), values, responsibilities, etc.—​all aspects of social life must be fostered and
developed. Importantly, it should be added, interests, values, and responsibili-
ties are never innocent; they are always in locked in struggle. For every person
attempting to seduce or coerce, there is another warning of the dangers or of-
fering a competing seduction or coercion.

The Right and the Good

To act well, one must bring to bear on what one does a sense of what
is worthwhile, and if that sense is merely a product of what one
happens to want or like, one can easily go astray. Common sense
must be informed by ethical reflection; and such reflection, systema-
tized and intensified, is what moral philosophy is. (Kraut 2007, 273)

One of the most common expressions of meaning for human existence in

Westernized societies, as received via the Ancient Greeks, is found in the concept
of the Good. The philosophical literature is filled with distinctions: whose good,
good for, good that, intrinsic versus instrumental goods, and so on. Though I find
I diverge on some key points (the most notable being around teleological issues
and assumptions of reason), I find that Richard Kraut’s (2007) What Is Good and
Why: The Ethics of Well-​Being provides a particularly thorough examination of
what he calls “the logic of goodness” (17). Kraut’s separation of good, conation
(purposeful action), and pleasure helps to parse out volition from objective and
subjective evaluations of objects and states. He argues that without the word
“for” (as in, good for), the word “good” does not, by itself, provide enough clarity
for “practical reasoning” (67). This makes sense when he clarifies that terms like
well-​being and welfare (or utility) can be useful synonyms for “good.”
If it were but that simple. Alongside “the Good” is what has become known
as “the Right,” a distinction made famous in William David Ross’s 1930 book,
The Right and the Good, which the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (https://​
plato.stanf​ord.edu) calls “arguably one of the most important works of moral
philosophy published in the twentieth century.” It is worth noting that the Right
and the Good are massive topics in philosophy that go well beyond what I can
possibly do justice to here. As I understand them, the terms Right and Good refer
to the ever-​present difference between right action, whether framed in terms of
actual “rights” or in terms of what are considered correct choices, and normative
values about what is good and why. The Right tends toward a more pragmatic
and ethical orientation, the Good toward an ontological and moral orientation.
136 Philosophical Perspectives

Although philosophers will no doubt take me to task over my simplistic reduc-

tion, it seems to me that these two positions boil down to which is the cart and
which is the horse. Those in favor of the Right believe that dutiful right action
produces the Good (i.e., the good takes care of itself), whereas others believe
that right action flows from the Good (i.e., we can’t know what is right unless we
know what is good). I shall leave more nuanced discussions of the Right and the
Good to others far more equipped to deal with them. Suffice it to say that, regard-
less of the finer points, we all possess some notion of the Right and the Good,
even if these two positions are often blurred. The salience of these terms for con-
siderations of leisure will, I hope, become apparent over the rest of the chapter.
A moment’s reflection reveals that good is far from a straightforward matter.
Ross (1930) elaborates at length on this. For starters, there is a clear difference in
its adjective (a good X) and predicate sense (X is good).4 There are also differences
when discussing persons, things, attributes, and actions. When thinking of
things, for example, we might consider something as good “of its kind” (Ross
1930, 66). This is not always the case, however. Saying courage is good, Ross
suggests, is to claim it as an absolute term. In a similar vein, Ross points out also
that good often serves as a synonym for moral excellence. Describing someone as
a good person is quite different from describing them as clever or attractive (66).
Finally, one thinks of good in terms of states of being or conditions (good that)
and results (good for).
Debates over the nuances of the word “good” have consumed many an ana-
lytic philosopher, but Ross suggests that the issue of “intrinsically good” is the
matter around which most controversies revolve (1930, 75). Indeed, consid-
erations of intrinsic good would seem to hit at the heart of the matter when it
comes to goodness. Ross points out that intrinsically good cannot be considered
as synonymous with good as an end because that would imply desire (68). As an
ideal, then, intrinsically good would seem to demand that something is good
even if nothing else existed, a theoretical possibility Ross rejects. He also rejects
G. E. Moore’s well-​known description of an “ultimate good” as containing no
bad parts as a way of accounting for the fact that experience is multifaceted (69).
Instead, Ross writes of goods in relation various constituents: that is, good in
relation to one person, be that any one person or a particular judger, good in rela-
tion to a majority of some class of historically situated people, good in relation to
a majority of all people, and finally, good in relation to everyone (82–​83).
One of Ross’s biggest distinctions is between “right” and “morally good”
(3). For Ross, right and wrong refer to what was done, whereas morally good
refers to the motives for the action (7). Although Ross wants to avoid making

4 Ross writes, “[It is] clear that it is the predicative rather than the attributive senses of ‘good’ that

are the most important for philosophy” (73).

 How Should One Live? 137

a means-​ends distinction, it seems that right and wrong are necessarily evalu-
ated in terms of outcomes (i.e., results-​produced), whereas good in this context
refers to an evaluation of the reasons justifying the action. For example, consider
a conductor who spends an entire rehearsal doing nothing other than tuning iso-
lated notes. This action might be considered “right” (according to Ross) to the
extent the ensemble plays (or sings) more in tune as a result. Whether or not
this action is morally good, however, would depend on evaluating the motives
behind this action. To take an extreme example, spending an entire rehearsal
doing nothing other than tuning notes might be the conductor’s punishment for
the ensemble members failing to improve their intonation outside of rehearsal.
In relation to outcomes, matters of right and wrong would seem to involve the
identification of a particular outcome among a constellation of possibilities. For
example, spending an entire rehearsal on tuning may be right to the extent that
ensemble intonation is improved, but wrong if the result is an overall decrease
in motivation among members (if members perceive this use of time as negative
rather than positive).5
The tuning example should not be misinterpreted as suggesting that an act
should be judged according to a particular outcome alone. In acknowledging that
every act carries with it the possibilities of both right and wrong, Ross explains,
“right acts can be distinguished from wrong acts only as being those which, of
all those possible for the agent in the circumstances, have the greatest balance of
prima facie rightness, in those respects in which they are prima facie right, over
their prima facie wrong” (41). Ross is, then, in some respects utilitarian, in that
he grants a greatest good orientation. In a subtle point, he clarifies that an act is
right not because of its potential to bring about something like an increase in
general welfare, but “because it is itself the producing of an increase in the ge-
neral welfare.” That is, rightness does not depend on its consequences, “but on its
own nature” (47); it is right to bring about general welfare. Among the ways Ross
illustrates this is through the example of a promise, which he considers a special
form of obligation. Even if doing X for person A would bring about greater good,
this does not take precedence over something (Y) promised for person B (34–​
35). In other words, certain acts are right regardless of the consequences (though
the greater good condition still holds in cases where obligation is not present).
Music, as in music carte blanche, has often been presented, especially by music
educators and other advocates, as intrinsically good. This kind of assumption,
however, risks being rather inert: music is good—​so what? What would seem to
be intrinsically good is general welfare. And since it is, after Ross, right to bring

5 Ross acknowledges that right and wrong depend on the totality of a case: “[W]‌hether it is actu-

ally right or wrong, and if it is wrong the degree of its wrongness, are determined only by its whole
nature” (1930, 123).
138 Philosophical Perspectives

about general welfare, it would seem to follow that it is right to do music if music
does indeed bring about an increase in general welfare. That is, it is “right” to do
music or bring about the doing of music because it is right to increase general
welfare. This would be, following Ross, morally good. As Max Kaplan (1960)
has pointed out, however, we cannot really determine what is good in the ab-
sence of a prior conception of the good life. This serves as a reminder that, while
we sometimes need to analyze the good (as object or state) independently, this
rarely makes sense outside the context of some normative conception of “the art
of living.”

Pleasure, Eudaimonia, and the Good Life

Who said anything about pleasure? If I wanted pleasure, I would have

done something fun, for God’s sake, not play the cello.
—​Wayne Booth, For the Love of It: Amateuring
and Its Rivals

Wayne Booth was a literary critic and professor of English at the University
of Chicago. He was also an amateur cellist. In his 1999 book For the Love of
It: Amateuring and Its Rivals, Booth articulates many of the joys and challenges
involved with nonprofessional music making. His somewhat tongue-​in-​cheek
commentary about playing a difficult musical instrument like the cello serves as
a reminder that the “good life” should not be confused with sipping margaritas
on a tropical beach. Booth’s use of the word “pleasure” is a bit misleading, of
course. Unless one assumes some sort of irrational asceticism, one presumes that
Booth derived some sort of enjoyment from his cello playing or there would be
no reason for him to devote so much time and attention to it.
There is clearly a complicated relationship between considerations of “the
good” and conceptions of “the good life.” After Ross, cello playing would seem
to be good insofar as it accepted as isomorphic with general welfare. This idea is
a bit too facile, however, as cello playing cannot be assumed as an automatic (or
intrinsic) good. As with any endeavor, goodness is dependent on the motives in-
volved. Thus, suggests Kraut, “good” is fundamentally a Socratic question: what
to choose and what to do. Fred Feldman, on the other hand, argues that deter-
minations of what is good and determinations of what one should do are fun-
damentally different questions (Feldman 2004, 31). Although I draw heavily on
Feldman and do agree that determinations of goodness and action are different
questions, I see them as indissociably linked. Booth’s amateur (avocational) cello
playing was the outgrowth of choices related to normative conceptions of the
good life. His motives reflected his cultural (and for Booth, religious) context. It
 How Should One Live? 139

was right for Booth to play the cello to the extent it contributed to his subjective
well-​being (and possibly that of others). As long as his avocational cello playing
resulted in personal enjoyment and did not result in harm to others, we could say
it was, for Booth, an importance aspect in living the good life. If, however, Booth
had been the product of a collectivist culture with a different conception of wel-
fare, it is possible Booth’s cello playing could be considered wrong. This is not
to suggest that all things are relative or that cultures are essentialist or strongly
bounded. Rather, it is to recognize that the goodness of leisure is dependent on
conceptions of the good life.
Feldman (2004) describes five possible conceptions of the good life: a mor-
ally good life (of virtue), a beneficial life (e.g., Mother Teresa), a beautiful (aes-
thetic) life, an exemplar of the human life (excellence), and a life good for the
one who lives it (personal welfare or well-​being). Each of Feldman’s conceptions
helps to elucidate what might be meant by the phrase “the good life.” Feldman
appears to claim these as universal, but I shall, in the absence of sufficient know-
ledge of non-​Western value systems, regard these culturally bounded. Moreover,
I shall not treat these conceptions as discretely as Feldman has, for it would seem
to me that the first four involve external comparative evaluations whereas the
last is subjective and non-​comparative, and thus most easily accommodating of
differing viewpoints. Although personal welfare or well-​being can be faulted for
being nebulous (and potentially individualistic), Feldman states the matter in
the most basic of terms when he gives the example (similarly found in Ross) of
a baby and the hope that things will turn out well for her or him (2004, 10). This
simple example acknowledges that, despite potentially differing evaluation cri-
teria for what “turning out well” might mean, almost all people share, at some
level, a basic concern of welfare for themselves and others. “What is good for
someone,” writes Kraut, “is a central, and not only a necessary, reference point of
practical reasoning because it is what we should be aiming at” (2007, 15; original
emphasis).
One of the major issues here is how to determine what is good for someone.
Feldman’s good life is defined in subjective terms as good for the one who lives it.
As Kraut points out, however, just because one should make one’s life a “matter of
some concern,” it does not follow that one should make one’s life one’s only con-
cern (2007, 40). Subjective evaluation, then, is not synonymous with solipsism.
But what does this mean when attempting to determine what might be “good”
oneself and for someone else? Who gets to determine what might be good for
another, and on what basis? As soon as normative considerations are introduced,
the good life must shift from an individual to a collective conception.
Hedonism is rooted in the idea of pleasure as a human goal. It emerged among
the Ancient Greeks as one possible response to the question, “What makes for a
good life?” In Pleasure and the Good Life: Plato, Aristotle, and the Neoplatonists,
140 Philosophical Perspectives

Gerd Van Riel (2000) provides an account of how the topic of pleasure fac-
tored into Ancient Greek thinking on conduct and living. Van Riel painstak-
ingly examines early writings, identifying inconsistencies and key points of
intersection. What stands out to me in Van Riel’s account is how obsessed Plato,
Aristotle, and their followers were with careful philosophical examinations of
life and living. This is not to suggest the ancients had everything figured out, of
course. To say that their thinking about pleasure and the good life was conflicted
is an understatement.6 Nevertheless, the ancients effectively laid the groundwork
for Western thinking on questions related to the meaning of life.
For many people today, hedonism likely conjures up Dionysus/​Bacchus, or
perhaps the carefree, irresponsible lifestyle of “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.” In
Pleasure and the Good Life: Concerning the Nature, Varieties, and Plausibility of
Hedonism, Feldman (2004) sets out to offer a theory that defends hedonism as
the basis of the good life. Feldman is quick to acknowledge that in everyday life
the word “hedonism” is often associated with that which is “vulgar or risqué”
(2004, 21). This association is hardly new, dating back to Epicurus, an early
proponent of a more ascetic and restrained version of hedonism. Epicurus was
apparently greatly disturbed by the equation of pleasure with self-​indulgence.
Among philosophers, hedonism is simply a theory that advances pleasure as
what makes for a good life. Given music’s obvious connections with the general
idea of pleasure, Booth’s reservations about the cello notwithstanding, it seems
prudent to consider the possibilities of musical pleasure in connection to the
good life.
Plato was surely not the first thinker to write about pleasure. His influence,
however, looms large. Although Plato’s views on pleasure vary somewhat be-
tween texts, his basic premise is that pleasure is rooted in lack (fulfillment of
desire, relief from distress). For Plato, pleasure comes from the restoration of
“original harmony” (a “natural” condition, not to be confused with a neutral con-
dition). Aristotle, on the other hand, saw pleasure as inextricably linked to ac-
tivity. He viewed pleasure as an “additional element that occurs when an activity
is performed perfectly, i.e., without any impediment” (Van Riel 2000, 2). This is a
crucial departure from Plato, whose premise essentially implies that pleasure is a
state of being. For Aristotle, pleasure is not in the state attained but in the activity
(Van Riel 2000, 73), which is why Aristotelean pleasure is more closely associated
with eudaimonia.
Several issues arise in connection with pleasure, among them being deter-
mining or defining pleasure (its presence, what it is, what it isn’t), “measuring”
pleasure, and determining its status or relationship to the good and the good life.

6 In an interview published as “The Return of Morality,” Foucault jokes, “All of antiquity seems to

me to have been a ‘profound error.’ ” See Foucault (1997).

 How Should One Live? 141

Both Plato and Aristotle seemed to recognize that pleasure could not be identical
with the good. Among Plato’s various reasonings was that, since the coward and
the foolish person could experience as much pleasure as the brave or wise person,
pleasure could not be the criterion for being good (Van Riel 2000, 11). He also
reasoned that if one pleasure is preferred to another, then pleasure could not be
identical with the good (since his definition of good was not pluralistic). Among
Aristotle’s reasonings was that pleasure is a “supervenient effect of an activity”
(Van Riel 2000, 46). That is, pleasure is connected with an activity, but is distinct
from it. As Van Riel summarizes, “When my ear . . . hears beautiful sounds in a
perfect way its activity of hearing yields a specific kind of pleasure (and the same
goes for any other faculty). The perfect hearing of ugly sounds is not pleasurable,
and neither is the imperfect hearing of beautiful sounds” (2000, 51).
In contrast to Plato and Aristotle, Epicurus (a neoplatonist) reasoned rather
straight-​forwardly that the desire for pleasure and avoidance of pain made clear
that pleasure was good and pain was bad. As discussed earlier, however, this kind
of disagreement might be chalked up to semantic language differences between
“good” and “the good.” What is more salient in Epicurean philosophy, I think,
is the distinction between kinetic (movement) and katastematic (rest) pleasure
(Van Riel 2000, 80), an issue that speaks to one of the primary tension points
in discussions of pleasure: physical and nonphysical pleasures. For example,
among other benefits, running releases endorphins, providing a sense of phys-
ical pleasure. In contrast, reading a book does not typically produce a “physical
high” but clearly provides a kind of pleasure for most people (or people would
have no need for literary fiction). As is relatively well known, the ancients (at
least as described in the records left by the philosophers) privileged mind over
body (though they obsessed over the body as well). “[T]‌he body,” jokes Van Riel,
“is a hindrance to the aspirations of the philosophers” (2000, 13). In some ways
this can be traced to the suspect place of desire in Ancient Greek thought, which
was frequently associated with problems of freedom (i.e., for Socrates, the good
life involved escaping from the tyranny of desire). Regrettably, the denigration of
the body by Western philosophers of music has similarly led to the production of
musical and status hierarchies whereby art musics of the mind (typically, though
not exclusively, that of white cultures) are privileged over movement musics of
the body (often that of non-​white cultures).
Plato’s most complete views on pleasure are in the Philebus, where he
establishes the relation between pleasure and the intellect in the good life as the
central theme (Van Riel 2000, 18). This goes beyond simply the privileging of
mind over body, but speaks to Socrates’ “art of measuring” (9). That is, if pleasure
exists, one needs to be conscious of experiencing pleasure (35). If that is so,
then the good life is only available to those who have knowledge of excess and
lack. Knowledge is thus required to judge pleasure (10). Put differently, if not all
142 Philosophical Perspectives

pleasures are equal, criteria external to pleasure must exist in order to judge, and
these criteria must therefore rank higher than pleasure itself. Plato uses this argu-
ment to refute hedonism and solipsistic pleasure (20). Western philosophers of
music have similarly used this kind of argument to promote art musics (claimed
as music of the mind, dependent on objective knowledge of beauty) over non-​
art musics (claimed as music of the body, dependent only on physical response
rather than mindful awareness).
Like Plato, Aristotle similarly discusses pleasure in various texts, most sub-
stantially in Nicomachean Ethics. He explores three possibilities: pleasure cannot
be the good, some pleasure may be good (but some pleasure is bad), and pleasure
may be good in itself but cannot be the highest good. Aristotle rejects the statism
of Plato’s lack thesis by pointing to such examples as reading or listening to
music: the pleasure of these is in the doing, not in the state that results from them.
Aristotle writes, “Just as everyone enjoys to the highest degree the activity that is
most proper to him (such as music for the musician, study for the studious), life,
which is most proper to all living beings, will be pleasurable for each of them”
(quoted in Van Riel 2000, 46). As Van Riel explains, “Pleasure [for Aristotle] is
not the return to the natural condition; on the contrary, it is the perfect reali-
zation of the activity that is inherent in the natural condition itself ” (2000, 51).
Aristotle’s views here (and his frequent use of music examples) have been used
by many music advocates to argue for the importance of excellence—​especially,
in this case, the importance of excellence in musical training in public education.
To reiterate, pleasure in the context of hedonism should not be equated with
or reduced to physical pleasure or consumption. Pleasure should also not be mis-
taken as the satisfaction of desires (e.g., Freud’s “pleasure principle”). In reference
to the Stoics and their “restrained hedonism,” Feldman points out that “what
makes the life of Stoics good is that he enjoys what he gets, not that he gets what
he wants” (2004, 69). Pleasure, as discussed by many philosophers, is roughly
the equivalent of attitudinal enjoyment. As articulated by Feldman (though not
necessarily others), hedonism should not be misinterpreted as implying that all
pleasant things are good. Instead, pleasure—​as a general measure of enjoyment
and satisfaction in the context of hedonism—​constitutes an ideal toward which
human life should be oriented. As Feldman explains,

Does the one living the life take intrinsic attitudinal pleasure in the things he is
doing, the life he is living? If he does this, and does it with intensity, and for a
long time, and does not take counterbalancing attitudinal pains in other things,
then my view implies that he is living a good life—​no matter where he takes his
pleasure. (2004, 203)
 How Should One Live? 143

Feldman’s thorough examination considers various strands of hedonism,

most of which need not be discussed here. Two points bear noting, however. First
is the classic distinction between sensory and attitudinal hedonism. Attitudinal
hedonism need not have any “feel,” he suggests (2004, 56). You can have attitu-
dinal pleasure without sensory pleasure, but not the opposite (56). Music would
seem to be a realm of experience that, when approached in an appropriate spirit,
can produce both sensory and attitudinal pleasure. The nature of this pleasure is
complicated, however—​something that presents itself perhaps most obviously in
the differences in the pleasures derived from listening to, moving to, performing,
and creating music. Much ink has been spilled by aesthetic philosophers in
music who have attempted, with arguably limited success, to explain the sensory
and attitudinal pleasures music affords. The Western philosophical tradition of
aesthetics flowing out of the eighteenth century (e.g., Kant’s “disinterestedness”),
for example, can be viewed as an attempt to denigrate sensory pleasures in favor
of attitudinal pleasures.
Flowing from the sensory/​attitudinal distinction is what Feldman describes as
the ascription of value. Taking a shower, he explains, is not intrinsically good; it
is extrinsically good for the pleasure it produces. Kraut offers a related but some-
what different example. Reminiscent of Aristotle’s claim that pleasure supervenes
on an activity, Kraut argues that the act of swimming may not necessarily pro-
duce pleasure (enjoyment), but that the knowledge one has exercised or the pos-
itive physical effects of the swimming might produce pleasure. The implications
of this for music learning and teaching are significant. The sensory and intrinsic
pleasures of music making, for example, have sometimes been argued as un-
worthy of educational time and attention. Music is serious, not fun. One could
also view ascription of value as explaining how the value of school music making
is argued as incidental or even a necessary evil in order to attain “true” enjoy-
ment. One (apparently) learns music in school not because making music is in-
trinsically good or because lifelong music making is fundamental to the good
life, but because of the knowledge one has, at some point in life, made music.
The second point about hedonism is whether pleasure is a qualitative or
strictly quantitative matter. The most famous example of this is John Stuart
Mill’s oft-​discussed claim that some pleasures are more valuable than others. In
Utilitarianism, Mill writes:

It is quite compatible with the principle of utility to recognize the fact, that
some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others. It
would be absurd that while, in estimating all other things, quality is considered
as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to depend
on quantity alone. (Mill 1992, Chapter 2)
144 Philosophical Perspectives

Institutionalized music teaching has long capitalized on this notion to claim

the superiority of Western art musics, which are argued as providing “higher”
pleasures than the “lower” pleasures of, for example, popular musics (the suppos-
edly ephemeral nature of which disqualifies their potential for higher pleasure).
Feldman accepts the possibility of higher and lower pleasures, but ultimately
advances a quality-​quantity formula intended, mostly for illustrative purposes,
to demonstrate how one life might be considered as better than another based on
an imaginary unit he calls a “hedon,” a unit consisting of intensity, duration, and
quality of pleasure. Goodness is effectively the sum of hedons (minus imaginary
“dolor” units of pain). As a careful philosopher, Feldman acknowledges that there
are a few problems with this kind of “totalism” approach. For example, many
small pleasures might sum up to more than fewer big pleasures. Additionally,
totalism fails to account for trajectory. Most people would likely agree that a life
that starts in pain but continues to increase in pleasure through to the end of life
is better than a life that starts with much pleasure that declines steadily into pain,
even if the sum of pleasure between the two lives was the same.
As discussed in Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle’s views on pleasure, like that
of other Ancient Greek thinkers, were mixed. Aristotle saw pleasure more as a
by-​product of doing the right things well than as the primary aim of existence.
Rather than privileging some kinds of pleasures over others, life for Aristotle
was about privileging some kinds of activity over others. What one should be
aiming for is a kind of living characterized by pursuing virtuous activity (virtue
determined by reason, according to Aristotle). The doing of virtuous things well
achieves eudaimonia, or “well-​being.” The key here for educational purposes—​a
point rarely addressed in discussions of hedonism—​is that doing virtuous things
well depends on training, what the Ancient Greeks referred to in some contexts
as paideia. The three basic areas of paideia were physical training, mental
training, and spiritual training, the last of which included music.
A central feature of paideia was arête, or “excellence.” While eudaimonia
has become a popular aspirational concept in some educational circles, less
common, to my knowledge, are nuanced discussions of the complicated notion
of excellence. It is no secret that the Ancient Greeks prized excellence: the contest
determines the winner, and everyone should strive to be the winner. At the same
time, when eudaimonia is understood as flourishing, the point is not necessarily
to best others but to fulfill or live up to one’s potential (especially in virtuous ac-
tivities). Rather than excellence (singular), there were, for the Ancient Greeks,
excellences—​that is, multiple capacities or domains in which to excel. This latter
idea would seem to provide a more open and accessible concept of the good life,
which would consist of engaging in virtuous activities and doing them well. In
the context of leisure (scholē), this would imply a thoughtful consideration of
various virtuous activities, ideally those with the greatest potential enjoyment
 How Should One Live? 145

(pleasure) for both self and others (since solipsistic enjoyment would not qualify
as virtuous), and doing these activities well.

Happiness Redux

In much of the Global North, happiness and flourishing continue to be the central
paradigms for well-​being and the good life. The goal of happiness is understand-
able but fraught with difficulties. As many an armchair philosopher has pointed
out, one person’s happiness is another’s misery. Moreover, research suggests that
attempting to maximize happiness leads to unhappiness (see Seligman 2002,
274). The goal of flourishing, on the other hand, invokes debates around equi-
librium and desire. Are contentedness or stasis acceptable for a flourishing good
life, or does this suggest complacency? Is the good life dependent upon never-​
ending growth or the repeated “satisfaction” of desires? Does flourishing have an
end? Is fulfillment ever fulfilled? What is more, conceptions of flourishing can
be dangerous when understood as universal rather than culture-​bound. Family
and group are a much bigger determinant of subjective well-​being in collectivist
cultures than in individualist cultures, for example (Maddux 2018, 11). And then
there are teleological questions of directional growth (i.e., Is some growth better
than other?) or the qualitative evaluation of desire (i.e., Are some desires better
than others?). Additionally, to what extent can any of this be considered from
a strictly subjective or objective standpoint? Can one person ever determine
happiness or flourishing for another? And perhaps the most important ethical
question of all, “Can a concern for one’s own well-​being be conceived in total ab-
straction from a concern with the well-​being of other people?” (Callan, White,
and Blake 2003, 101).
In recent years, the nascent field of “positive psychology” has attempted to
push back on the deficit model that has been at the heart of pathologizing in
psychology. In popular press books such as Authentic Happiness (2002) and
Flourish (2011), Martin Seligman, a leading proponent of positive psychology,
has proffered what he considers as a contemporary version of well-​being theory.
In Flourish, Seligman theorizes well-​being with the mnemonic PERMA: positive
emotion, engagements, relationships, meaning, and achievement. Not unlike
self-​determination theory (autonomy, competence, relatedness), as developed by
Richard Ryan and Edward Deci, PERMA does not seek to define well-​being, but
rather strives to explain universal factors that contribute to well-​being.
Much of Seligman’s work builds upon psychology’s hedonic and eudaimonic
versions of well-​being by placing an emphasis on positive feelings and posi-
tive activities. In Authentic Happiness, for example, Seligman describes pos-
itive emotions in terms of past (satisfaction, contentment, serenity), present
146 Philosophical Perspectives

(pleasures), and future (optimism, hope, trust, faith, confidence) (2002, 261).
He goes on to describe activities related to one’s “signature strengths” as the
“gratifications” (262), terminology he prefers over “fulfilling human potential”
due to conceptions of potential that are too “culture-​bound” (290). Positive
feelings and activities are connected to what he sees as three versions of life: the
pleasant life (“a life that successfully pursues the positive emotions about the pre-
sent, past, and future”), the good life (“using your signature strengths to obtain
abundant gratification in the main realms of your life”), and the meaningful life
(“using your signature strengths and virtues in the service of something much
larger than you are”) (2002, 262–​263).
Seligman intentionally (but inexplicably) avoids a moral element in his theo-
rization, suggesting it is possible for the sadomasochistic serial killer or terrorist
to live a good or meaningful life (303)—​a possibility I would reject as overly sol-
ipsistic. Any definition of the good (or meaningful) life that accommodates the
taking of pleasure or finding of meaning in the suffering of others would seem to
be at odds with some basic principles in social life. As Ross pointed out long ago,
good can be defined on a continuum from good in relation to one person to good
in relation to everyone. Even in the context of leisure understood as individual
choice, good in relation to one person would seem incompatible with the possi-
bility of a “common good.”
The lack of a moral imperative notwithstanding, positive psychology would
seem to offer promising potential for thinking about leisure.7 Some low point-​
of-​entry leisure options, for example—​what Robert Stebbins (1997) might call
“casual leisure”—​where leisure is essentially synonymous with recreation, would
seem compatible with the idea of the pleasant life. The good life or meaningful
life, on the other hand, would see a more involved role for leisure in one’s life,
where leisure, like the Ancient Greek scholē, demands an investment of energy
and attention in order to bring about flourishing.

Moral Philosophy and Musical Leisure

One is left to ask where pleasure and flourishing (loosely defined) are to be
found within the context of today’s daily living. The classic answer supplies
three domains: family, work, and leisure. Family does continue to provide a
basis for pleasure and flourishing for many people. Problematically, however,
family structures vary from circumstance to circumstance, and there are typi-
cally few options involved. Beyond the selection of a life partner and the decision
to have children, one does not otherwise choose one’s family (i.e., one’s parents,

7 For a small study of music and positive psychology, see Douglas (2019).
 How Should One Live? 147

siblings, relatives). One might experience pleasure or flourishing as a parent

or partner, but where does this leave the childless or the partnerless? Similarly,
when pleasure and happiness are found in work and career (discussed in the next
chapter), many people have a reasonable chance of living the good life. It seems
unreasonable, however, to believe that all people find the good life through their
work, a point underscored when we think of those who do not or cannot work.
Where are pleasure and happiness to be found for people who cannot attain the
good life through work or family?
Despite its many potential problems, leisure provides an ideal toward which to
aim for the good life—​one that is, at least in theory, available to almost all people
regardless of work or other circumstances. According to leisure scholar Robert
Stebbins, leisure is “essentially hedonic” (2012, 1). I take this to mean that leisure
is about pursuing personal welfare (which is not to overlook or dismiss the altru-
istic intentions that motivate activity like volunteerism). This is to say that lei-
sure ideally represents a seeking rather than an obligation, that is, leisure can be
understood as a fundamentally ethical endeavor. As Hayden Ramsay explains,
classifying ethics as seeking the good life and morality as seeking the obligated
“makes it possible to identify leisure—​an activity in which we are very much at
ease and self-​sufficient—​as a central ethical activity” (Ramsay 2005, 26).
As with the Right and the Good, freedom of choice can be very complicated.
Not only do normative aspects introduce a political element, but questions of
“freedom to” (rather than “freedom from”) demand an examination of what
makes options known and accessible. Somewhat surprising to me is that many of
the philosophers who discuss the good life spend relatively little time discussing
the problem of upbringing, particularly in relation to education and childrearing
(Aristotle and paideia being an obvious exception). That is, the good is often
treated as if knowledge of it is self-​evident or born of immaculate conception.
Even though Kraut’s goal is to argue for “developmentalism” as a proper guiding
force for action, he states this as if flourishing (upon which developmentalism is
based) is an individual rather than a social (and socially reproductive) matter.
More problematic for me is that developmentalism, which is clearly tinged with
educational implications, is treated with little regard for its intrinsic/​instru-
mental aspects. In addition, Kraut argues for developmentalism as an intrinsic,
lifelong guiding force without satisfactorily accounting for the quotidian and
equilibrium aspects that surely must be considered part of adult life—​aspects
that put the spotlight more fully on the hedonism to which he strongly objects.
The question here is how people come to understand the good life, for if we are
not to lapse into the nihilism of total determinism, we must grant the possibility
for agency. And yet it cannot be denied that agency is, at least in part, a reflection
of history and socialization. To this point: people are more likely to seek leisure
if people understand it, and understand it as possible and desirable—​if, in other
148 Philosophical Perspectives

words, leisure awareness is part of people’s “development” (in the sense of up-
bringing during one’s formative years). This is to say that, if leisure, understood
as personal welfare within a social context, is connected in some way with hap-
piness and well-​being (the good life), and if leisure is understood as a “right” to
seek, the cumulative societal effect on human flourishing can be dramatic.
It may sound quaint to suggest some naïve modern-​day equivalent of the
Greeks’ paideia, but perhaps such a notion may be worth reconsidering—​with
the caveat that some updates on access, inclusion, and diversity are incorporated.
Unlike today’s neoliberal approach to education that invariably views people as
human capital to be developed in service of the national or global economy, a con-
temporary version of paideia would recognize vocational concerns, but would
contextualize them as part of an overall conception of the good life (avocation,
leisure), much as Dewey articulates in Democracy and Education. A modern-​day
paideia could potentially reclaim a notion of the polis (again, in ways not unlike
Dewey’s participatory democracy), where education is regarded as an individual
responsibility in the sense that collective well-​being is dependent on each person
striving to live a/​the good life.
If music were to be considered virtuous, in a modern version of the Greek
arête, rather than “avirtuous” (e.g., as a school subject to be learned because music
is somehow nebulously “basic” to education, or because students will have “aes-
thetic experiences”), making music throughout life could be conceptualized as
an important part of the good life, understood as ethical hedonic seeking. Music
making in such a conceptualization would still involve, at least in earlier years
of life, such things as “training” and “excellence,” but in the sense of developing
capacities and striving, not in the sense of obedience or winning. Importantly,
all instruction and all learning would be premised upon music education as lei-
sure education, where leisure is understood not as activity for activity’s sake, but
as engagement as part of the “art of living.” One would not learn music because
music is “good for you,” but because it is good to do music—​not just during the
formative years but throughout one’s life. Put differently, music learning as part of
paideia (leisure education) would see young people learn that it is right to make
music because making music is good for personal and collective welfare. As Max
Kaplan concludes, leisure, understood in this way, is about “the building back of
purpose into life rather than the mere enjoying of life” (Kaplan and Bosserman
1971, 237).
It is worth taking Kaplan’s point to heart, if for no other reason than the “he-
donic treadmill” effect where happiness tends to exhibit something of a “regres-
sion to the mean.” That is, studies in psychology have shown that, in one sense,
people maintain a baseline of happiness regardless of external events (positive
or negative). To take a somewhat convoluted example, if one’s enjoyment in
music making arises primarily from the applause one receives, the positive effect
 How Should One Live? 149

of the applause will tend to moderate over time, requiring a person to seek out
bigger and bigger audiences to achieve the same level of satisfaction. Applause-​
seeking may be hedonic, but it is not purposeful; it is not an ethical seeking. If,
on the other hand, one makes music not for the external affirmation but because
one enjoys the activity as part of an overall concern for healthy living, applause
becomes ancillary. By way of comparison: I enjoy playing the game of squash, but
my enjoyment is not dependent on whether I win or lose; I enjoy the excitement
of the game (especially if my partner and I are evenly matched) and I take enjoy-
ment in believing that I am taking care of my physical health. Importantly, how-
ever, I do not just play squash strictly for the enjoyment, but because I believe it is
a purposeful activity as part of an overall practice in the art of living.
It could be argued that trying to resuscitate paideia and eudaimonia is
simply a case of old wine in new bottles, and that such antiquated concepts
are better eschewed in favor of modern terms, such as Maslow’s self-​actualiza-
tion or concepts in positive psychology (e.g., PERMA, the Six-​factor Model of
Psychological Well-​being). I don’t agree. Seeking the good life is not the kind
of quest (like that for self-​actualization) that can be achieved, because it isn’t
about arrival or finding something predetermined from the outset. Purpose and
meaning are not a priori; they emerge through ethical enactment. Importantly,
paideia and eudaimonia, at least in a contemporary context, recognize that life
often gets in the way. For most people, hedonic seeking is a part of life but not
the whole of it. As leisure studies scholar Martin Davies puts it, “Leisure is valu-
able . . . because it enables us to conjecture a way we would like to be, another way
of being, but a way in which we can never totally be” (Davies 1989, 124). I don’t
believe Davies means this in a fantasy escapist way, but in a way that celebrates
leisure as optimistic possibility in the face of life with obligations, responsibilities,
and obstacles. When freedom of choice to pursue what we want presents itself,
what do we choose to do? As an educator or parent, how do I create affordances
for others to exercise leisure options, especially those understood, to the best of
our collective knowledge, to be fundamentally good?
There are, of course, potential problems with a hedonic conception of leisure
seeking. Most obvious is the problem of how one might distinguish virtuous from
non-​virtuous activity. How does one avoid “solipsistic pleasure” (Van Riel 2000,
20) or determine what Feldman describes as “properly directed” pleasure (2004,
151), for example? In Principia Ethica, G. E. Moore (1903) claims, following J. S.
Mill’s idea of “higher pleasures,” that some objects, such as reading, are worthy
objects of pleasure, whereas others, such as torturing animals, are not—​conven-
iently overlooking, perhaps, how the banning of books (or cultural imperialism)
might square with any universal conception of good and bad objects of pleasure.
Similarly, Stephen Darwall suggests (without mention of how “merit” might be
determined) that “we flourish through (meritorious) activities such as parenting
150 Philosophical Perspectives

and music-​making, because these activities involve an appreciation of things

that matter, things with worth” (quoted in Feldman, 161). One always hopes
that pleasure and enjoyment (in the sense of Aristotle’s supervening on an ac-
tivity) will occur through leisure music making, but this pleasure and enjoyment
can never be guaranteed in advance. In part this is because leisure satisfactions
through music making reflect history, culture, and context. Some pleasures likely
are better than other pleasures, and some activities in music likely are better
objects of pleasure than others. Excellence can lapse into unhealthy obsession
and competition, for example.
Problems with determining virtuous activity notwithstanding, I would sug-
gest that the problem of the good life is the problem of leisure. To the extent that
it is available to all people, leisure is a socially just site for eudaimonia in con-
temporary society. To the extent we have allowed leisure to disappear from our
concerns, we have allowed the good life as a goal to disappear from our concerns.
Just learning music for the sake of learning music because it is assumed to be
good for us in the way that eating fruits and vegetables are good for us is a regret-
table educational stance. To engage with making music as leisure is to engage as
part of a seeking that recognizes a conception of the good life, whatever it may be.
 7
How One Should Live
Leisure and Work

The relationship between leisure and work is the most emotionally

loaded issue in the history of industrial sociology and of the soci-
ology of leisure. (Dumazedier 1974, 107)

There is perhaps no better illustration of the complexities of the work-​leisure re-

lationship than among professional musicians. If making music is their “work,”
can it no longer be leisure? If music making is (or at least is part of) leisure, are
leisure and work then one and the same for professional musicians? If so, and
one accepts a strong relationship between leisure and well-​being, professional
musicians would surely be the happiest people on earth—​ones who are the very
definition of those living “the good life.” No doubt there are many happy, satisfied
people who make their livelihoods as professional musicians, but I am unaware
of any research that suggests musicians are happier than any other employed
group (and know of literature that shows symphony orchestra musicians as
rather unsatisfied with their work, ranking below that of federal prison guards).1
Making music may (or may not) be intrinsically rewarding for professional
musicians, but there seems no getting around the fact that, when occurring in
the context of employment, music making for professionals (or at least “full-​
time” professionals) is work.
In his book Waiting for the Weekend, Witold Rybczynski (1991) argues that the
relationship between leisure and work has “always been ambivalent” (21). This
may be traceable to the various denotative and connotative subtleties involved in
words such as “work,” “vocation,” “employment,” “labor,” and so on. “Work” can
be understood in a number of ways, such as unavoidable activity, as freely chosen
activity, and as remunerated employment (to name three). As unavoidable ac-
tivity, work is usually considered obligatory time, consisting of those things nec-
essary for daily living (e.g., shopping, housework, caring for family members,

1 Although dated, these sources include Allmendinger and Hackman (1996); Allmendinger,

Hackman, and Lehman (1996); and Breda and Kulesa (1999).

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0007
152 Philosophical Perspectives

etc.). An understanding of subsistence may bleed into issues of remunerated em-

ployment, but obligatory tasks are usually classified by sociologists as “non-​work
obligations.” Work as freely chosen activity, reflective, to some extent, of histor-
ical Christian thought, represents an attitude where work-​leisure distinctions are
broken down, a commonly cited example being work as a “calling.”
By far the most common usage of “work” is as remunerated (waged) employ-
ment, an understanding that implies a separation between work and the rest of
life, where work, regardless of any satisfactions derived from it, is, for most people
(the independently wealthy or the workless excepted) a necessity rather than a
choice. To think in terms of a work-​life separation (or “balance”) presupposes a
normative stance toward work and not-​work, where work is equated with obliga-
tory time and activity, and “life”—​or leisure—​is what one does because one wants
to. Importantly, whereas Ancient Greeks of noble birth largely thumbed their
noses at work, regarding it as unfreedom, Chris Rojek points out that political
economic theory since Ricardo, Bentham, and Mill has been predicated on the
belief that paid employment is central to the development of the self: that is, “the
a priori of leisure is paid employment” (Rojek 2004, 51). The unemployed (and
underemployed), the incarcerated, the incapacitated, the retired, nonemployed
spouses, and children, however, all provide important reminders that not eve-
ryone understands work and “not work” in the same way. For those who do not
or cannot work, economic theory denies both the good life (as selfhood) and the
possibility of leisure—​or at least the possibility of leisure as not-​work.
As with Chapter 6, music remains somewhat under the surface in this chapter,
which serves primarily to set up considerations of leisure music making in the
face of the work-​dominated imperative, How one should live. At first gloss, some
of this discussion may seem tangential. (Where is the music?, one might ask.)
Admittedly, there is a risk of overplaying the centrality of work in the work-​lei-
sure dichotomy. The discussion is necessary, however, to set up the argument in
the final section, which posits the “play spirit” as the critical mediator bridging
the work-​leisure divide.

Labor and Disagreeable Work

Just whistle while you work

(humming . . . whistling)
And cheerfully together we can tidy up the place
So hum a merry tune
(humming)
It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace
And as you sweep the room
 How One Should Live 153

Imagine that the broom

Is someone that you love
And you’ll find you’re dancing to the tune
When hearts are high
The time will fly so
Whistle while you work
So whistle while you work it
And smile while you’re hurting
And whistle while you work it
—​“Whistle While You Work,” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

Work songs have a long history. That they exist is telling, however. Quite clearly,
singing (or whistling) during work activity is intended to ameliorate what is
implicit as the undesirability (and unavoidability) of some forms of activity.
Recognizing work, or at least some forms of work activity, as undesirable, stands
in stark contrast to received Christian and contemporary neoliberal thought that
celebrates work as necessary, if not noble. Taking a slightly humorous stance,
Al Gini challenges the idea that all work is honorable: “[T]‌he only people who
praise work are historians, politicians, or business owners who have to because
it’s in their best interest. . . . [I]f you want to know what people think about work,
don’t ask the bosses, ask the workers!” (Gini 2003, 14). He goes on to repeat an
oft-​told line by the late, Pulitzer Prize–​winning Chicago Tribune columnist Mike
Royko, who joked, “If work is so good, how come they have to pay us to do it?”
(18)—​a humorous but pointed comment that underscores the reality that a lot of
work in the world needs to be incentivized with financial compensation.
Not all work is disagreeable, of course. As Telfer (1987, 51) points out, working
in the garden is usually considered leisure. Presumably, most professional
musicians would not stop making music just because they won the lottery. That
they get paid to do something that many people willingly do “for fun” is a func-
tion of the modern economy, not something that reflects on the relative (un)de-
sirability of the activity. The disagreeableness or undesirability of work, in other
words, is usually related to the nature of the work and the “market” for (or ne-
cessity of) the work. I don’t regard taking out the trash as particularly enjoyable
but, as no one is about to pay me to take out my own trash and the trash must be
taken out, I take out the trash just as I do all manner of “non-​desirable” personal
tasks. Some people, however, are employed to collect trash. Although modern
city trash collection in many countries no longer requires the same degree of
hands-​on physical activity as it used to and is thus arguably less undesirable,
public trash collection still likely falls under the category of activity that most
people would not do willingly without compensation. Unlike making music,
most people don’t collect or dispose of trash just for the fun of it. And yet, some
154 Philosophical Perspectives

people work as trash collectors, just as many people work at jobs that they might
not if it were not for the necessity of the wages that result from providing labor.
Although tempting to think of work solely as remunerated (waged) labor in
the context of class-​based, post-​industrialized societies, the work-​leisure distinc-
tion lies at the heart of many received Western traditions. In the Book of Genesis,
for example, Adam is sent out of the Garden of Eden and condemned to work
(Veal 2004, 16), making clear that work is equated with a form of punishment;
Eden is the place to be. Or, as in Psalm 46: “Have Leisure and Know I am God”—​
that is, work may be necessary, but God grants you permission to the good life
of leisure (in order to honor the deity, but still). Gini points out that, although
Sunday and Sabbath are, strictly speaking, distinct, they—​like similar observant
practices around the world—​“connote the imperative to set aside work for the
purposes of celebration, recreation, and religious festivity” (Gini 2003, 40). As
the philosopher and theologian Mortimer Adler put it, “[The good life] depends
on labor, but it consists of leisure” (quoted in Donohue 1959, 97).
Similarly, the leisure-​labor dichotomy famously lies at the heart of the Ancient
Greek world, where the Greek ascholia (and the Latin negotium) are the nega-
tion of the positive term, leisure (Gr. scholē, L. otium). As Aristotle asserted,
one worked in order to have leisure. (Or better still for the Ancient Greeks, one
enslaved others to do the work for you.) From its very inception, in other words,
labor was positioned as opposed to, if not the enemy of leisure, which was the
basis for the good life. Although Protestantism, the Industrial Revolution, and
Classical economic theory eventually managed to tilt favor toward work at the
expense of leisure, a condition sustained and exacerbated by neoliberalism, the
contested nature of the work-​leisure relationship remains at the heart of conduct
and pursuit of the good life.
The picture is more complicated, of course. Possible differences between
work and labor often muddy the waters of the work-​leisure dichotomy. Making
music may be work for professional musicians, and, from an economic theory
perspective their financial compensation might be considered labor, but most
people would be hard-​pressed to claim music making as labor in the same sense
that trash collection is labor. Hannah Arendt (1958) made one of the most fa-
mous distinctions between labor and work in The Human Condition, where she
problematizes labor and work (and includes the category of “action” as distinct
from both labor and work). Labor is, like taking out the trash, an unavoidable
fact of life; it is necessary for social (and biological) reproduction. Nevertheless,
it is futile, in a Sisyphean sense, in that labor is always used up and must be con-
stantly renewed. For Arendt, however, labor is the foil that gives meaning to
freedom. By contrast, work is distinguished by its means-​ends nature (some-
thing Arendt argues has led people down a path of never-​ending instrumental
 How One Should Live 155

reasoning). There is a completion to work; one works to produce something, that

is, work is related to value creation.
Today, the words “labor” and “work” are understood from their contexts. The
labor force, labor relations, Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics, or
American Federation of Labor, for example, all refer to labor as (waged) employ-
ment rather than as a descriptor of human futility. To speak of the “labor market”
or “labor laws” is to recognize the commodity aspect of human labor and the
need to protect people from exploitation. At the same time, a “work” of art is un-
derstood quite differently from having to “work for a living.” One might congrat-
ulate someone for their “good work” but not for their “good labor.”

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to

just and favourable conditions of work and to protection against
unemployment.
—​Article 23 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limita-
tion of working hours and periodic holidays with pay.
—​Article 24 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Sociologists of leisure have suggested that the view of leisure as free time set in
opposition to waged employment is a modern phenomenon. By dividing life into
work and non-​work, and by defining work as part of, if not central to, the good
life, post-​Enlightenment economic theory shifted contemporary understandings
of leisure away from its scholē origins. Joffre Dumazedier suggests that the “dis-
tinct characteristics” of modern leisure (i.e., related to both time and activity
rather than a state of mind or pursuit of the good life) are a direct product of
how the Industrial Revolution altered the nature of work (1974, 13). Through
his detailed historical analysis, Dumazedier argues that “spare time” is universal
and as old as work itself. In pre-​industrial societies, he points out, leisure was not
understood as time left over “after work”; work followed the natural cycle of the
seasons. In eighteenth-​century France, for example, 95 percent of the labor force
consisted of peasants and artisans who were idle 164 days a year. Hence, “to be
inactive at such times was a necessity rather than a choice” (1974, 14). Indeed, as
A. J. Veal concludes, “Much of the history of industrialization, in eighteenth-​and
nineteenth-​century Europe and North America, is the history of efforts to de-
velop workers with a non-​industrial work culture into a disciplined industrial
workforce capable of realizing the modern secular dream” (2004, 22).
156 Philosophical Perspectives

In Chapter 2, I pointed out how the Industrial Revolution not only changed
people’s relationship with work, it also brought about what Clarke and Critcher
(1985) call “the politics of time” (238). In pre-​industrial times, people largely
worked as or when needed. Factory production and clock regulation (i.e., co-
ordinated “shifts”), as E. P. Thompson (1967) has persuasively argued, led to a
paradigm shift from task-​centered to time-​centered. The quantification of labor
relative to time and the loss of autonomy over one’s schedule led Marx to observe
about the resultant bifurcation: “the master’s right in the master’s time and the
workman’s right in his own time” (quoted in Rojek 1985, 25). One’s “own time,”
however, needed to be earned through work: “Instrumentalism about work is
built into this enforced separation: ‘leisure’ is the prize to be won” (Clarke and
Critcher 1985, 94–​95).
When leisure is positioned as a time-​based prize to be won, it stands to reason
that any reduction in work hours represents, ceteris paribus, a gain in leisure
hours. Optimism over the possible reduction in work hours and increase in
leisure time is palpable in the writings of the interwar period. Due, in part, to
excitement over automation, the imagined workday sometimes even exceeded
that of Thomas More’s Utopia, where six hours of work per day was the expecta-
tion. Not only did automation portend a shortened work week for the employed,
it also guaranteed fewer hours on those unavoidable personal tasks, such as
washing clothes (due to the washing machine) or grocery shopping (since the
“ice box” meant food could be stored longer). As discussed in Part II, this had
the concomitant effect of inciting fears over what people, without proper guid-
ance, might do with all their extra free time. This, however, should not cloud
an appreciation of feelings at the time: the end (or at least reduction) of work!
Leisure for everyone! What most people did not see coming was the impact of the
Great Depression of the 1930s, which, as Hunnicutt (1988) has argued, turned
the whole “reduction in work” argument upside down. Leisure (as time) is a rel-
atively empty reward in the face of mass poverty and unemployment. As a result
of the Great Depression—​which precipitated the song, “Brother, Can You Spare
a Dime?,” a critique of the system that resulted in mass joblessness—​“the new
standard for success became full-​time employment for everyone” (Robinson and
Godbey 1997, 51).
Considered in light of the material realities of post-​industrial societies, United
Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights numbers 23 and 24 make more
sense (as least to the extent one accepts the nation-​state logic upon which the
United Nations was founded). Assuming the addressee of the declarations is na-
tional government, the message would seem to be (1) that people deserve the
opportunity (or “right”) to provide for their material needs through waged em-
ployment; (2) that this employment should be regulated in some way with regard
to working conditions; and (3) that workers have the right to some non-​working
 How One Should Live 157

time beyond that required for sleep and personal maintenance (i.e., leisure). This
is potentially problematic on several fronts, of course, most notably in the way
it casually accepts the premise that the natural order of things is for people to
be employed. People, by this logic, are subject (subjected) to the needs, interests,
and conditions of others (or organizations, including the government) in a su-
perior position (i.e., “employers,” who are often themselves also employees).
Presumably, this basic relationship even holds where employment is understood
as self-​employment (insofar as such people are to be “protected” against unem-
ployment). By declaring it as a human right, work is celebrated; work shall not be
denied to people. Somewhat ironically, this same kind of logic has recently been
used by those on the political right in the United States to pass “right to work”
laws, which in practice function to disrupt and destroy organized labor (in viola-
tion of Article 23).2
So as to acknowledge and foreclose the possibility of exploitation presented in
Article 23, Article 24 intervenes to curtail unfettered employment practices that
might venture toward indentured servitude. That an article on work comes before
an article on leisure makes clear that securing the material necessities of life is con-
sidered an individual responsibility, albeit one to be protected, in theory, by national
government. In practice, “right-​to-​work” legislation in many US states effectively
leads to wage deflation and less job security, thereby lowering living standards and
work enjoyment, and reinforcing the idea that work is the a priori upon which lei-
sure rests. Leisure shall not stand in work’s way! As Clarke and Critcher compel-
lingly argue, the problem of leisure “is also the problem of work” (1985, 236).

Busyness and Activity

Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be busy—​to

be a man who is brisk about his food and his work.
—​Søren Kierkegaard3

There is a perception, founded in empirical data, that, in comparison with many

other countries, the United States is obsessed with work. It is easy to find articles
in the popular press about how Americans tend to work longer hours than citizens

2 Article 23 also includes “Everyone has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protec-

tion of his interests.” Although the United States helped to draft the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights, the United States maintains formal reservations to all international treaties, whereby US
law supersedes international law. As a result, economic, social, and cultural rights in the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights are not recognized by the United States, thereby rendering such dec-
larations effectively inert. Hence, while Article 23 states that workers have the right to form and join
unions, many US states effectively override and ignore this right.
3 Kierkegaard (1987).
158 Philosophical Perspectives

of other countries, and how Americans often leave earned vacation days unused.
Some of this phenomenon may be attributable to changes in the structure of the
economy; many people now work hard not because they want to, but because they
have to. This is a grey area, however, one that blurs the line between choice and im-
position. Diane Fassel (1990), for example, drew attention to what she perceived was
a then-​growing problem of “workaholism” in Working Ourselves to Death. Fassel’s
claim was hardly new. In The Lonely Crowd, celebrated sociologist David Riesman
(1950) argued as early as the 1950s that Americans were uncomfortable with lei-
sure (see also Robinson and Godbey 1997, 51). Arguably, this was (and is) due to
long-​standing associations between inactivity and sin. As Clarke and Critcher put
it, “Free time—​to avoid the descent into the murky waters of idleness and the devil’s
work—​has to be ‘constructive’ ” (1985, 5). In other words, the free time of leisure (or
“leisure time”) needs to be put to use (i.e., the wise use of leisure). For some people,
it is apparently easier to just work more than to worry about having to use leisure
wisely.
Recall the anecdote from Chapter 2 about the American students and their fear
of being seen to be doing nothing. It was okay not to be working (or studying) as
long as one was doing something. While one might argue that a particular activity
is superior to another (see Chapter 8), one apparently begins with the premise
that any activity is superior to none at all. One must be busy at all times. There is
thus some tragic irony in the fact that reported perceptions of time stress today
may be due, in part, to the pressure to occupy all available time with activity.4
The pressure to fill time with activity is not just restricted to those in the work-
force. The field of gerontology, for example, has created a discourse around aging
that leaves the distinct impression that activity is not just preferable to inactivity,
it is essential for “successful” aging. While empirical studies confirm many phys-
ical and mental benefits associated with maintaining an active lifestyle in later
life, the extreme emphasis on “active aging,” “positive aging,” “successful aging,”
“healthy aging,” “creative aging,” “aging well,” and so on leaves one with the dis-
tinct impression that inactivity is tantamount to failure (i.e., unsuccessful aging)
and that the exact nature of activity is irrelevant.5 All activity is good activity.
Social critic Paul Goodman took issue with the idea of activity for activity’s
sake in his 1960 book Growing Up Absurd: Problems of Youth in the Organized
Society. In one section of the book, Goodman takes aim at goals of the National
Recreation Association (NRA). According to Goodman, if the NRA had its way,
“There would be a hundred million adults who have cultured hobbies to occupy
their spare time: some expert on the flute, some with do-​it-​yourself kits, some

4 In Waiting for the Weekend, Rybczynski (1991) argued that weekends were in danger of be-

coming their antithesis: “just another way to be busy” (79).

5 The United Nations Economic Commission for Europe produces an “Active Ageing Index” and

ranks the countries of Europe.

 How One Should Live 159

good at chess and go, some square dancing, some camping out and enjoying na-
ture, and all playing various athletic games” (1960, 234). He goes on to write,
“Now even if all these people were indeed getting deep personal satisfaction from
these activities, this is a dismaying picture. It doesn’t add up to anything. It isn’t
important. There is no ethical necessity in it, no standard” (235). The flaw in the
NRA’s philosophy, Goodman argued, is that enjoyment is not a goal. With echoes
of Aristotle, he asserts that enjoyment “is a feeling that accompanies important
ongoing activity” (235). Following a Classical Pieper-​esque view, he claims that
new culture cannot result from a philosophy of leisure based on mere activity or
enjoyment. “What is lacking is worth-​while community necessity, as the serious
leisure, the σχολή [scholē] of the Athenians had communal necessity, whether in
the theater, the games, the architecture and festivals, or even the talk” (235).
Goodman’s appeal to “serious leisure” (a usage quite different from Robert
Stebbins’s; see Chapter 9) returns us again to the thorny problem of what might
constitute a more or less wise (or ethical) “use” of leisure. If the goal of leisure is
not enjoyment alone, on what basis is one to determine the “communal neces-
sity” of leisure? Is reading for pleasure a communal necessity, for example, or
does this depend on the content of my reading? Does making music for pleasure
merit mention as communal necessity, or does this depend on what music I make
and with whom I make it? Does solo piano or guitar playing in the comfort of
one’s living room qualify? Not that Goodman intended “new culture” to mean
original creation necessarily, but if he meant to attack activity for activity’s sake,
would it better that I create my own music at the piano rather than play Chopin
Études or Elton John songs?6 I do not mean to suggest that playing Chopin or
Elton John should not or could not be considered as contributing to or partic-
ipating in culture. Rather, I submit that just going through the motions of me-
chanically playing music at the piano (regardless of content) simply to maintain
an “active” lifestyle isn’t what Goodman means by “serious leisure.”

Laziness

A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of hell.

—​George Bernard Shaw, “The Horror of the
Perpetual Holiday”

Karl Marx’s son-​in-​law, Paul Lafargue, published The Right to Be Lazy in 1883.
The essay presents the dichotomous bourgeoise-​proletariat position of Marxism.

6 Disclosure: I cannot play piano beyond a most rudimentary level. I can only dream of being able

to play Chopin or Elton John someday.

160 Philosophical Perspectives

Its context is nineteenth-​century industrialization, but the underlying message is

worth considering. Lafargue takes issue with the idea of the “right” to work, con-
sidering the premise of rights to be the insidious work of capitalist exploitation.
Reminiscent of Thomas More’s Utopia, where everyone is required to work only
six hours per day, Lafargue writes in the penultimate paragraph:

If, uprooting from its heart the vice which dominates it and degrades its nature,
the working class were to arise in its terrible strength, not to demand the Rights
of Man, which are but the rights of capitalist exploitation, not to demand the
Right to Work which is but the right to misery, but to forge a brazen law for-
bidding any man to work more than three hours a day, the earth, the old earth,
trembling with joy would feel a new universe leaping within her. (1907, 56)

By stripping away the necessity for profit, the three hours of work per person
per day would reduce work so that it would become “a mere condiment to the
pleasures of idleness” (30). It would seem here that Lafargue equates idleness and
laziness in a way contrary to semantic distinctions that see laziness related to lack
of effort and idleness related to lack of activity.7 Regardless, Lafargue’s critique is,
at heart, a rejection of the compulsion to work and a defense of the right to do as
one chooses.
Bertrand Russell offered a similar critique in his 1932 essay “In Praise
of Idleness.” Russell took a slightly different tack, however. For Russell, a
redistributed work-​leisure balance where all people enjoyed leisure, not just
the hereditary leisure class, was simply the next logical step in social evolution.
Thanks to industrial progress, it was no longer necessary to have a labor class
without leisure and an owner class with leisure.8 By ensuring a work-​leisure bal-
ance for all people (Russell suggests a four-​hour workday), human happiness
would increase as the result of more people engaging in arts and sciences—​that
is, civilization would “advance” at a faster rate than if left solely in the hands of the
aristocracy. This leisure-​as-​culture argument, which Joseph Pieper would later
extend through a religious lens, would seem to contradict the notion of idleness
as doing nothing. Indeed, a close reading suggests that, despite the essay’s title,
Russell was hardly advocating inactivity. A product of its time, Russell’s essay is
shot through with the belief in the “intelligent use of leisure.” Idleness, not unlike
Lafargue’s laziness, turns out not to be a plea for inactivity, but rather, simply a
way to signal all activity and interests that are not work; it is not an invitation for
sloth or indolence.

7 See The Importance of Being Lazy: In Praise of Play, Leisure, and Vacation (Gini 2003).
8 Larfargue’s Marxist critique was aimed at the abolishment of an owner class. Russell more or less
accepts the inevitability of owners but argues, as I do, that this should not preclude the possibility of
all people enjoying leisure.
 How One Should Live 161

Lafargue, Russell, and Kierkegaard (the busyness epigraph beginning the pre-
vious section) all argue (as does Al Gini in more recent times) against the com-
pulsion for work and for the dignity of not working. For Lafargue, it is an issue
of labor relations; for Russell, it is an issue of advancing culture; for Kierkegaard,
it is a matter of the good (“divine”) life. What is interesting to consider is why
idleness, arguably one of the cornerstones of scholē (i.e., contemplation) in
ancient Greece, has become such a widespread target of religious and social
commentators over the past 2,000 years.9

What Happened to the Leisure Society?

America is obsessed with the virtue of work. What about the virtue of
rest?
—​Opinion column, Washington Post, April 25, 201810

As described in Chapter 5, there was both great optimism and great apprehen-
sion in the early twentieth century surrounding the promise of increased leisure
time resulting from an expected reduction in work hours. Some of this excite-
ment was dashed by the Great Depression, which served as a reminder that
leisure’s value is highly dependent on satisfying a base level of human need.
While research consistently demonstrates that money cannot buy happiness, no
author I have read has suggested that abject poverty and hunger play a role in
the good life. No matter what one’s conception of leisure, satisfying the basics of
food, safety, and shelter come first.
The Great Depression and Second World War put a temporary hold on “re-
duction of work” optimism. (Interestingly, however, the Great Depression did
not dampen concerns over what “other people” did in their leisure time.) Postwar
prosperity in the United States in the 1950s helped fuel a resurgence of interest
surrounding the relationship between work and leisure, leading to, among other
things, the emergence of the field of “leisure studies” in the 1960s. The phrases
“the leisure society” and “the age of leisure” became popular catchphrases based
on an imagined future (not that unlike that of fifty years earlier) that involved
reduced work hours and greater leisure time for everyone (for a thorough dis-
cussion, see Veal 2011). From today’s vantage point, such hopefulness appears

9 I obviously mean, in concert with Kierkegaard, idleness in an engaged rather than disengaged

sense. The religious traditions of solitude and isolation provide an interesting example; it is some-
times okay to be idle, but only in service to God.
10 https://​w ww.was​hing​tonp ​ost.com/​opini​ons/​amer​ica-​is-​obses​s ed-​with-​the-​vir​tue-​of-​work-​

what-​about-​the-​vir​tue-​of-​rest/​2018/​04/​25/​f829f​406-​48bf-​11e8-​8b5a-​3b1​697a​dcc2​a_​st​ory.html?arc​
404=​true.
162 Philosophical Perspectives

woefully naïve and misty-​eyed. In fairness, however, writers in the 1960s and
early 1970s could not have foreseen the emergence of global neoliberalism and
seismic restructuring of world economies that took place throughout the 1970s
and 1980s.
One prognosticator who did not follow the lead of the leisure society optimists
was Swedish economist Staffan Linder, whose book The Harried Leisure Class
(1970) argues that, given the choice between time off or working more, most
people choose the latter due to an insatiable desire (see the “hedonic tread-
mill”) for consumption. Linder appears to have been correct, especially about
desires in certain countries or contexts. This was certainly the conclusion of
Benjamin Hunnicutt (1988) in his book Work without End: Abandoning Shorter
Hours for the Right to Work. However, many observers and researchers have also
documented how the nature of work has changed over the past 30–​40 years, con-
tributing to a situation where people do not necessarily have a choice between
time off and working more. As Gratton and Taylor summarize:

[T]‌he reason why leisure time has not expanded post-​1985 for those in full
time employment is not necessarily that leisure is an inferior good . . . although
for some employees this maybe the case. In practice the more persuasive evi-
dence is that many preferences of employees, both for reduced worktime and
work at more flexible times, are being frustrated labor constraints. The eco-
nomic theory that workers have a choice over their working hours is simply not
supported by the evidence. (Gratton and Taylor 2004, 95)

The situation has arguably only gotten worse in the new millennium. Increased
connectedness through technology has led to what some describe as the “always-​
on” economy, where traditional work-​life boundaries have eroded for many
workers.11 As Phil Leggiere noted as early as 2002, “The work ethic has returned
with a vengeance, if not necessarily in its traditionally Puritan garb” (Leggiere
2002, 42).
Excitement over the foretold “leisure society” was tempered in the 1980s and
1990s, as the realities of a new work economy took hold. Juliet Schor’s (1991)
The Overworked American is perhaps the most famous example of a new wave of
authors drawing attention to the intensification of work in the larger context of
people’s lives. This intensification, however, was complicated, reflecting, in part,
change in the nature of work. Books such as Jeremy Rifkin’s (1995) The End of
Work and Ulrick Beck’s (2000) The Brave New World of Work provide reminders
of growing instability in traditional work-​leisure dichotomies—​an instability

11 A condition obviously exacerbated by the pandemic.

 How One Should Live 163

that, among other things, has led to books, articles, and conferences all dedicated
to the question, “Whatever Happened to the Leisure Society?”

Time Rich and Time Poor

“You’ve Got Time”

—​Regina Spektor’s theme song, Orange Is the New Black

One does not have to think long to realize that conceiving of leisure strictly in
terms of time only makes sense when time is thought of as a scare resource.
Regina Spektor’s theme song makes clear that the incarcerated have, in a manner
of speaking, all the time in the world.12 As is the case for many other “non-​
working” populations, the term “leisure time” is redundant. Just because this is
the case for some populations, however, does not disqualify the subjective ex-
perience of the vast majority, for whom the concept of leisure is always, in some
sense, time-​dependent.
Historians, anthropologists, sociologists, and economists have all considered
the number of hours people have been obligated (through compulsion or ne-
cessity) to “work.” It has been well documented that the Industrial Revolution
cleaved a strong dividing line between work and non-​work as people lost control
over their daily routines.13 It was perhaps inevitable that, in the quest for profit
and domination, the application of “Taylor-​esque” principles would lead to the
“scientific” study of how people “managed” their discretionary time. The earliest
and most sustained, systematic examinations of time were found in the former
Soviet Union, which conducted some of the first “time budget” research on fac-
tory workers from 1922 to 1970. Leisure’s relationship with Marxist ideology was
complicated. On the one hand, the Russian Revolution was about emancipating
workers (the proletariat) from tyranny. On the other, it was also a rejection of
bourgeoisie lifestyles (see Zuzanek 1979, 204). Soviet time budgets were arguably
motivated less by concerns over the reduction of work hours and more by trying
to maximize productivity (in the spirit of the Ancient Romans and recreare) to
demonstrate the superiority of state socialism.
While not necessarily motivated directly by geopolitics, “time use research”
and “time use data” have become common in the Global North. Reflecting a
variety of disciplinary concerns, time use research is of interest to the field of
leisure studies in terms of the rationalized provision of state-​sponsored leisure

12 Recall from Chapter 2, de Grazia’s (1962, 338) comment, “There is no such thing as prison

leisure.”
13 Though see Burke (1995) on how the work/​leisure divide predated the Industrial Revolution.
164 Philosophical Perspectives

services and the profit-​driven motives of the commercial leisure industry. One
of the landmark examples of time use research is Sándor Szalai’s (1973) edited
volume, The Use of Time: Daily Activities of Urban and Suburban Populations
in Twelve Countries (a book echoed by Cushman, Veal, and Zuzanek’s edited
volume, World Leisure Participation: Free Time in the Global Village [1996]). As
the subtitle suggests, Szalai’s volume provides comparisons on how people in dif-
ferent countries devote time to various activities. Among the big takeaways of
the book is how different methodologies and categories result in quite different
conclusions, something that makes cross-​case analyses difficult. For example,
“music” as an analytic category appears very inconsistently; in some studies,
it doesn’t appear at all. Rarely is listening to music distinguished from making
music in most time use research, rendering the data of little value for those of us
interested in understanding the ways music making (rather than listening) may
or may not factor into people’s lifestyle choices.
Today, time use research has become normalized. One finds, for example, the
International Association for Time Use Research (which publishes the Journal
of Time Use Research). One also finds the Centre for Time Use Research at the
UCL Institute of Education in University College London, which houses the
Multinational Time Use Study (MTUS), the website for which claims to bring to-
gether “more than a million diary days from over 70 randomly sampled national-​
scale surveys, into a single standardised format. MTUS allows researchers to
analyse time spent by different sorts of people in various sorts of work and lei-
sure activities, over the last 55 years and across 30 countries” (www.timeuse.org).
Despite such lofty claims, it is still difficult to find data specifically targeted at
understanding leisure-​time music-​making behaviors.
It is hardly coincidence that time use research rose in tandem with the “lei-
sure society” theses of the 1960s. The “scare resource” of time became a proxy for
leisure. In contrast to the promise of increased leisure time courtesy of techno-
logical advancement, Schor’s overworked American was symptomatic of what
is sometimes described as “leisure lack” or “time famine.” Time, however, has
an objective and subjective aspect. Two hours of enjoyable time seems to pass
quickly, whereas two hours of drudgery seems to last forever. Considered from
a different angle, people will willingly spend many hours doing what they feel is
enjoyable with no sense of anxiety. Being forced to spend hours on unenjoyable
tasks, however, may contribute to a sense of being pressed for time. In a study
of working hours, time pressure, and stress, for example, Zuzanek concluded,
“People can work long hours without feeling ‘time crunched’ if they have freely
chosen their work and are interested in it. People working shorter hours, on the
contrary, may feel time-​stressed if they are not interested in what they are doing
and have little control over their work” (2004, 131).
 How One Should Live 165

There is some question, then, about Schor’s celebrated overwork thesis. Are
people in fact working longer hours than in earlier decades, leading to feelings of
overwork and time-​stress, or has the nature of work changed, leading to a feeling
of loss of control? Robinson and Godbey (1997), for example, in their exhaus-
tive analysis of time use data, concluded that Schor’s conclusions did not square
with the data, and that Americans, despite overtures about being overworked,
had more, not less free time than earlier decades. Some of the discrepancy in
claims about free time can be attributed to different methodological approaches,
such as, for example, the differences found in self-​reported time budgets and US
Department of Labor statistics. More recently, however, research has begun to
drill down on aggregated data, which, by and large, has not found a lot of differ-
ence in work, leisure, and personal use hours from the 1940s (when the forty-​
hour work week became standard in the United States) through today.
In attempting to explain the discrepancy between the apparent stability in
overall proportions of work, leisure, and personal time and repeated reports of
time-​stress, Zuzanek (2017) suggests that a more productive question to ask is,
“which population groups have gained or lost free time?” (28). Based on exten-
sive research, he points out the following:

• for employed parents, the combined daily workload was almost 100 minutes
longer and free time 50 minutes shorter in 2010 than they were in 1981;
• employed parents had access to 4.0 hours of free time in 2010 compared to
5.0 in 1981;
• the “workload gap” between the employed and the not-​employed widened
from 4.6 hours in 1981 to 6.2 hours in 2010;
• the free time of those outside of the labour force rose from 7.6 hours in 1981
to 8.1 hours in 2010;
• the proportionate share of those working 41 hours per week or more and
those working 35 hours per week or less rose from 1981 to 2010. (Zuzanek
2017, 30)

In other words, aggregate data showing stability in work hours and leisure time
masks growing inequalities that have occurred over the past forty or so years be-
tween the “time rich” and the “time poor.”
Examining the time use data of various subpopulations helps to better explain
why some people report greater time stress than others. Employed parents, a
group that in 1986 reported higher overall levels of life satisfaction and perceived
happiness than respondents outside the workforce, reported comparably lower
levels by 2005 (Zuzanek 2017, 35)—​a phenomenon mirroring changes in actual
work and leisure hours. Complicating the issue, however, is that other research
demonstrates a lack of correlation between the self-​perception of time stress and
166 Philosophical Perspectives

other variables expected as predictors. Schneider et al. (2004), for example, found
no variations in time stress according to gender, income, or level of education. As
they explain, “The stockbroker and the nurse both appear to be internalising the
demands of their work and it is this internalisation that appears related to feelings
of stress, that is, the feeling that they have to work at home on the weekends or
in the evenings or thinking about work when at home” (Schneider, Ainbinder,
and Csikszentmihalyi 2004, 165). For Schneider et al., this suggests time-​stress
is personally generated (i.e., nothing is inherently stressful; people create their
own stress). Such an explanation, however, would seem to ignore the structural
changes that have occurred in the workforce, at least in the United States—​
changes that have generated what Alison Pugh (2015) calls “work precarity” and
the phenomenon of “one-​way commitment,” where employees are expected to be
ultra-​loyal and hard-​working to their employers without reciprocal obligation
in the form of job security or compensation. In other words, in a labor market
without job security, many workers work long hours not out of desire, but out of
fear, a condition that contributes to experiences of time stress.

Work and Leisure Satisfactions

If there is no “human nature,” if we must define or seek to define

the self through authenticating acts . . . then the line between leisure
and work is meaningless. All activity, whether “work” or “leisure,”
can potentially contribute to a fundamental task: the task of defining
who one is. (Goodale and Godbey 1988, 213)

Under capitalism and the Puritan work ethic, Weber famously observed, “one
does not work to live; one lives to work.” Indeed, Christian thought and the im-
perative of capitalism have both sought to position work as noble and virtuous
(Haworth and Veal 2004, 214). Weber’s important insight was that capitalism
tapped into existing religious lines of thinking exalting the value of work. Take,
for example, this Jesuit commentary: “Christianity teaches that work is nei-
ther a penalty nor a curse, but a fruitful human expression toward which man
[sic] was naturally oriented even in the days of his innocence” (Donohue 1959,
3). Accepting the premise from Chapter 6 that pursuit of the good life is tied
to happiness, it stands to reason that, in cases where work brings personal sat-
isfaction, the work of one’s waged employment may, contra Weber, be largely
synonymous with living. As Sean Sayers suggests, “The feeling that one’s work
is useful and necessary is one of the major aspects of the fulfilment that work
can bring” (Sayers 1989, 35), an observation echoed by Robert Stebbins, who
writes, “Traditionally, work is seen as the activity through which an individual’s
 How One Should Live 167

self-​identity is created and sustained. The centrality of work is viewed to be the

major ingredient for constructing social and psychological as well as economic
well-​being” (Stebbins 1998, 121).14
An elephant in the room here is that, in contemporary societies, discussions
of work and leisure inevitably take place against the backdrop of post-​industrial
capitalism and the specter of Marx (see Rojek 1985). On one view, work is con-
sidered inevitably alienating: “work is unfreedom, leisure is liberation” (Sayers
1989, 35). A countering view, however, suggests that the supposed freedom of lei-
sure “is a snare and a delusion” propagated by the bourgeoisie to foster desire for
further consumption and to distract workers from their plight (Rojek 1985, 109).
Indeed, many neo-​Marxists of the Frankfurt School, such as Herbert Marcuse,
deny the existence of “leisure,” regarding leisure activities as in themselves a form
of alienation resulting from capitalism (see Dumazedier 1974, 72). Although a
healthy backdrop to keep in mind, such views of work and leisure risk overshad-
owing a basic starting point: most people in the Global North live under the rules
of capitalism. The task under such a condition, then, is how best to understand
life’s satisfaction given the reality of work and its inequitable nature.
Viewed in this light, Goodale and Godbey’s point at the outset of this section
is well taken: all activity can potentially define “who one is.” In this sense, the
symbolic lines between work and leisure become muted as greater emphasis is
placed on the process of becoming in the context of the good life. Two important
points need to be made, however. First, “defining who one is” should not be con-
fused or conflated with the good life. Although a sense of identity coherence may
be an important aspect of the good life, most of the scholars I have read have not
equated identity with “the good.” While it may be true that privileging work over
leisure or leisure over work is to miss the point about what truly matters, what
truly matters isn’t identity or “authenticity” per se. Second, work is not of one
piece and not a pure matter of choice. Haworth and Smith (1975) point out that,
for some people, work affords opportunities for creativity, achieving personal
goals, and doing things for their own sake, whereas for other people work does
not afford such opportunities. Therefore, while it may be true that both work and
leisure hold potential for realizing the good life, I would argue that leisure has a
much wider scope. This is not to suggest that the good life follows automatically
or more easily through leisure, but rather that, unlike the world of work, mean-
ingful living is, at least in theory, more widely available through leisure.

14 A classic reference here is Csikszentmihalyi and Lefevre’s (1989) “Optimal Experience in Work

and Leisure,” a study of seventy-​eight workers that found a greater presence of flow in work activi-
ties than leisure activities (although motivation was stronger in leisure activities). Often lost in this
finding is that satisfactions (described as flow or anything else) are highly dependent on the nature
of work.
168 Philosophical Perspectives

When work is agreeable there may be considerable overlap between pro-

viding for one’s material needs and living the good life. As Chris Rojek points
out, “The saying that work for some is leisure for others is not only a popular
truism, it is also a vital analytical insight” (1985, 13).15 When one thinks, for
example, of those such as professional musicians, whose work (under appro-
priate conditions) overlaps with what some people do for fun in their leisure
time, or tenured university professors, whose work arguably embodies the spirit
of scholē, it is easy to see an overlap between one’s work and what sociologist
Robert Dubin (1956, 1979) calls a “central life interest.” In one empirical study,
the intrinsic rewards from work were, in fact, found to be higher on average than
that from leisure, a finding—​acknowledged by the author as “sufficiently counter
intuitive to warrant further investigation”—​“that creates considerable difficulty
for the conventional analysis of well-​being” (Juster 1985, 340). When work is
disagreeable, however, financial compensation is often the only incentive that
ensures certain forms of work are undertaken. Although disagreeableness is a
matter of perspective, work perceived as disagreeable can hardly be thought of as
a central life interest—​that is, an interest that forms the basis of fulfillment, well-​
being, and meaningful living.
The old career counseling adage reminds us, “Enjoy what you do and you’ll
never work a day in your life”—​a pithy sentiment that seemingly overlooks the
fact that, when it comes to matters of waged work, not all people have the choice
to do what they enjoy and to enjoy what they do. And herein lies the rub: the
nature of work is inherently unequal. Ergo, the nature of the good life, if it is
not to be predicated upon a differential foundation where its possibility is avail-
able to some and not others, must be multidimensional—​at least in a society
where material necessity is satisfied in the context of waged employment under
post-​industrial capitalism. This is to say that, regardless of how one conceives of
the work-​leisure relationship, there must be pathways available for all people to
achieve the good life.
Scholars and researchers have long examined vocational interests in relation
to avocational interests. Super (1940), for example, made the relatively common-​
sense point that those who see value in their work have less need for life interest
in their leisure and vice versa. Harold Wilensky (1960) similarly proposed that, in
relation to work, leisure functions as either “compensatory” or “spillover.” Stanley
Parker (Parker 1971) extended this line of examination, producing his oft-​cited
threefold typology of leisure conforming to either an “extension pattern” (i.e.,
work and leisure are similar), an “opposition pattern” (i.e., a polarized relation-
ship), or a “neutrality pattern” (leisure is distinct from work but not polarized).

15 Or, as Dumazedier comments, “For some, labour is the ultimate aim of human activity, for

others, it is the ‘disastrous dogma,’ unless it is reduced to a mere instrument” (1974, 107).
 How One Should Live 169

In Parker’s oppositional patterns, leisure is usually viewed as compensatory or

restorative. It should be noted, however, that much of this early research exam-
ining work-​leisure relationships was largely oblivious to how it privileged male
work norms, thereby negating the experiences of women and others who do not
or cannot work. While gender issues still factor prominently in leisure (and lei-
sure studies), the dramatic increase of women in the workplace has made the
problematic considerations of vocational-​avocational interests from fifty years
ago less gender-​exclusive today. The problematic aspects of leisure counterposed
to work remain for many groups in society, however.
Work has likely never been equitable in its demands and rewards, but it has
almost undoubtedly become less equitable for many people where neoliberalist
policies and practices predominate—​meaning that leisure, as an ideal, has be-
come even more important than ever. Consider, for example, Rojek’s descrip-
tion of four “tiers” of workers: (1) professionals and executives; (2) skilled middle
managers, professionals, technical, and service staff; (3) low-​skilled and un-
skilled; and (4) the “new residuum” (2004, 58). The specifics of these tiers are
not that important for present purposes; the point is simply that the nature of
the good life and the potential pathways for pursuing the good life are highly de-
pendent on what one does “for a living” throughout one’s working years (which
then influences one’s well-​being in the post-​working years). As research in the
sociology of work and the sociology of leisure consistently finds, those in the
top tier of workers often have jobs with the highest time demands but also the
highest financial compensation, that is, the fewest hours of leisure time, but the
greatest purchasing potential. Historically, this has helped to fuel perceptions
that equate leisure with consumption and its inevitable class-​based distinctions
(Bourdieu 1984), a view critiqued through such ideas as Marx’s “commodity
fetishism” and Veblen’s conspicuous consumption. As Clarke and Critcher ex-
plain, the demarcation of leisure and work through consumption is evidence of
capitalism’s success: “The acceptance of this distinction [of leisure and work] as
‘natural’ and ‘inevitable’ necessarily produces a splitting of needs, desires and ex-
pectations about life” (1985, 94).
This last point is an important one, because it speaks to how perceptions of
the good life are formed. As discussed in Chapter 6, there are subjective and ob-
jective approaches to considering what it means to live a good life. At some basic
level it seems unavoidable to accept the necessity and importance of certain ob-
jectively defined material comforts. Perpetual hunger and threats to our safety
can hardly be argued as part of any imagined “good life.” That said, Haworth and
Veal, drawing upon research by Layard (2003), point out that, beyond a certain
point, GDP (gross domestic product) doesn’t increase societal well-​being be-
cause people begin to evaluate themselves normatively (i.e., in relation to others)
(2004, 216). “Keeping up with the Joneses” becomes a moving aspirational target
170 Philosophical Perspectives

as materialism overtakes other subjective conceptions of the good life. The “he-
donic treadmill,” in other words, helps to ensure that people’s perceptions of their
material well-​being remain fixed regardless of any objective increase in material
well-​being.

In Search of the Play Spirit

Even if we love our jobs and find creativity, success, and pleasure in
our work, we also crave, desire, and need not to work. No matter
what we do to earn a living, we all seek the benefits of leisure, lassi-
tude, and inertia. We all need to play more in our lives. (Gini 2003, 2)

Despite the purported centrality of work-​ leisure oppositions to modern

examinations of living, it could be that a work-​leisure framing, where leisure is
typically assumed as an automatic but scarce good (or sometimes as deceptive
snare and delusion), misses the forest for the trees. What if the secret sauce of
leisure is not to be found in its contemplative nature and value, as claimed by
many philosophers over the millennia, but instead in the “play spirit”? What if,
instead of viewing “Whistle While You Work” through a neo-​Marxist lens and
suggesting that music is merely an opiate meant to salve people’s alienation, the
incorporation of playfulness (as “play spirit”) came to be viewed as embodying a
general approach to all of life? What if time and activity are the wrong concerns,
and that what matters is not so much what is done, but how it is done? It is prob-
ably anathema in a neoliberal era to suggest that play might hold the key to
circumventing at least part of the work-​leisure dichotomy. Nevertheless, it is a
suggestion well worth considering—​especially for a post-​pandemic world. In
this final section of the chapter I present some thoughts on play in relation to
the general problem of music, leisure, and education, set against the backdrop
of the unstated question, “How can music be used as a mode of play?” (Zanzig
1932, 484).
Henning Eichberg’s (2016) Questioning Play: What Play Can Tell Us about
Social Life is a wonderful source for philosophical discussions of play. Beyond
his perspicacious grasp of all things play, Eichberg’s cultural and linguistic know-
ledge sheds enormous light on cross-​cultural perspectives. For instance, in
English one can play the game, but one does not game the play. He points out
how English critiques of Kant’s, Schiller’s, and Simmel’s discussions about play
likely reflect a failure to recognize that the German spiel means both play and
games. Eichberg provides repeated examples of such subtleties as they exist in
many other languages. He writes: “philosophy requires humility towards lan-
guages” (2016, 153). Indeed, the similarities in concepts and the conceptual
 How One Should Live 171

vocabulary used in various languages to capture such interrelated practices as

play, game, display, and sport have led over the years to a wide variety of writing
for, about, and against play.
Owing in part to the ambiguity and slipperiness of language, one of the most
difficult aspects of discussing play lies in defining it. Eichberg acknowledges
this difficulty by suggesting that the question of what play is may be more inter-
esting than the answers (2016, 165). As soon as one defines play as joy—​a pop-
ular approach in the field of education, for example—​play scholars are quick to
point out “dark play.” Risky and harmful practices such as bullfighting serve as
a reminder of why it is important to be wary of the naïve “idealization of play”
(126).16 The existence of dark play is one of the reasons Eichberg is hesitant to
fully endorse Gregory Bateson’s (1972) famous claim (following Huizinga’s no-
tion of play being “as if ”) that “Let’s play!” represents the limit between “this is
play” and “this is not play” (Eichberg 2016, 139). Other scholars have defined
play based on its “unproductive” characteristics, but that seemingly overlooks
such things as the play of professional sports. Alternatively, play is sometimes
thought of in terms of games and the overcoming of unnecessary obstacles, but
such definitions would seem to leave out the play of activities like singing and
dancing. Perhaps, then, one should join Eichberg and worry less about defining
play and concentrate more on attempting to understand it.
For Eichberg, studying and thinking about play is vitally important to fun-
damental questions about “how to do democracy” (2016, 162). He suggests this
because play is “always in relation” (158). That is, play is irreducible to the indi-
vidual; it is, even in the private world of fantasy, always social. Given the agentic,
interrelation aspects of play, it behooves us to think deeply about the nuances
between concepts such as play and games. Distinguishing between play, game,
display, and sport is not insignificant, Eichberg argues. “[I]‌t is an act of crit-
ical philosophy, which raises the question of what self-​determination means in
human playful practice” (162).
Roger Caillois’s (1961) classic philosophy of play, Man, Play and Games,
distinguishes between paidia (the spontaneous play of children, unstructured
funny activities, playfulness)17 and ludus (organized and often competitive
games, structured by formal and explicit rules, from ancient Roman to modern
sport) (see Eichberg 2016, 147). Play as spontaneous activity aligns with paidia;
games as rule-​governed activity align with ludus. Eichberg then extends this
idea to account for music and theater: “If one plays piano or a fool, this is nei-
ther spontaneous play nor game, and neither paidia nor ludus” (154). Instead,

16 The parallels with extreme and deviant leisure (Chapter 8) are obvious.
17 Note that paidia (as playfulness) is an English adaptation of the Greek and is not synonymous
with paideia (as upbringing).
172 Philosophical Perspectives

Eichberg labels mimetic and imitative play such as music or theater as display,
following Caillois’s description of mimicry or “mask play.” Thinking of music
making as display may be a crude classification, one that arguably only captures
(if imperfectly) the play aspects of music making rather than the totality of it, but
it would seem to help the impasse created by attempting to fit the square peg of
music making into the round holes of paidia or ludus.
Eichberg points out that play as a form of learning is particularly pop-
ular among educationalists and developmental psychologists (2016, 166). As
discussed in Chapter 4, the linkage between play and education became popular
in the play movement of the early twentieth century. The play movement’s “pro-
gressives,” however, based their arguments on biology and racial recapitulation
theories. The fun of play, Chudacoff explains, “was secondary to whether or not
it conformed to what [progressives such as G. Stanley Hall and Luther Gulick]
called the ‘cultural phase’ of recapitulated evolution” (2007, 72). Some sponta-
neous play was okay, but at a certain age, adults needed to intervene to ensure
that play served “a child’s growth.” For reformers, such as Joseph Lee, the failure
to intervene in play reflected a misunderstanding of the child’s true nature and
the proper relationship “between play and leadership” (1915, 39).
Thanks to the cognitive turn brought on by educational theorists such as
Piaget, Vygotsky, and Bruner, the cognitive aspects of play received greater at-
tention over the course of the twentieth century. The colonization of play by
educationalists and developmental psychologists has had but a few critics over
the years (save for people like Neil Postman in The Disappearance of Childhood).
As Thomas Green presciently pointed out as early as 1968, treating play as pur-
poseful means “viewing the curriculum as essentially as series of jungle-​gyms,
and teaching as the activity of seducing children into playing on them” (1968,
160–​161). Green’s message, however, does not appear to have been heeded
by those who in the twenty-​first century advance practical play through the
“playification” of education.
Drawing attention to how, when given the opportunity, older adults con-
tinue to play (though most often through games), Eichberg draws attention to
the shortcomings of theories of play based solely on development: “There is too
much play in practices which do not lead to us learning and becoming wiser”
(2016, 166). The objectification of older adults as a “target group” for play in-
tervention in recent years, where older adults are viewed as a consumer market
rather than agentic players, is arguably as problematic as the colonization of play
by educationalists, but this should not obscure the realization that play is not re-
ducible to the formative years nor the value of play to living “the good life.” Not
that growing older is avoidable or undesirable, but one is reminded of George
Bernard Shaw’s aphorism, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow
old because we stop playing.”
 How One Should Live 173

The possible relationships between play and work are fascinating to con-
sider. Are play and work opposites or complements? As Sutton-​Smith famously
suggested, “Is the opposite of play perhaps not work, but depression?” (1997,
198). Or are the differences between play and work merely ones of perspec-
tive? Recall that Teresa Montessori considered play as the work of the child.
The exertions of many physical games would seem to imply that play in some
contexts involves effort that in other contexts would be described as work. (One
is reminded again of Dewey’s distinction between work and labor.) Does play tell
us more about work or vice versa?
Work, as Arendt reminds us, is sometimes defined in terms of production.
In contrast to play, work is useful. “Rational production is fundamentally dif-
ferent than ‘irrational’ play. . . . [Work] has its place in the realm of need, while
play has its place in the realm of freedom” (Eichberg 2016, 101). But here the
claimed developmental benefits of play cast an uneasy shadow: play is useful.
Eichberg again proves helpful in proposing the term aproductive as a “third
‘something’ ” between play and work. Play is neither productive (in the economic
sense) or unproductive (in the useless sense) (Eichberg 2016, 102–​105). In an
intriguing move, Eichberg then connects the idea of aproduction to happiness,
asking: “What is the connection between play, work, quality of life, and happi-
ness?” (106).18
When it comes to activities requiring developmental skill, the idea of work
proves still more interesting. Musicians play music, but most also appreciate
that skill development, especially for instrumental music, requires practice. And
while musical practice need not be the kind of drudgery it too often is (thanks
to unimaginative music teaching), technical development rarely occurs without
effort. For the early twentieth-​century play movement writer Henry Curtis, the
desire to play provides the incentive for work: “[N]‌o one can become an expert
in such a game as baseball without persistent and ofttimes disagreeable practice.
Play furnishes an adequate motive for this practice” (1915, 16). The important
question here is whether a person (usually a child) views “disagreeable practice”
in activities such as sports or the arts as a form of delayed gratification (where the
ends justify the means, as it were) or as a form of activity distortion. Aristotle,
for example, recognized that when a concern for meeting standards becomes
excessive, the play element disappears, and play is converted into work (see
Green 1968).

18 There are some intriguing intersections here with Csikszentmihalyi’s notion of people who are

autotelic. I would argue, however, that flow (the defining feature of autotelic experiences) is grounded
more in statism than the underlying ethic of play I am discussing here.
174 Philosophical Perspectives

The conversion of play to work is practically endemic to schooling. Eichberg’s

description of sports lessons in Denmark ring all too true about school music (at
least in Canada and the United States):

In sport lessons, children do not play. They are trained and exercise, they are
tested, they have to learn and to perfect their abilities, they develop “compe-
tencies.” . . . But then the school clock rings for a break—​and now children play.
They play self-​organized games, often games of piggy,19 which are different
from the rule-​bound games in the sport lesson. (Eichberg 2016, 148)

Indeed, Jon Roar Bjørkvold (1992) has called recess “the last bastion of child cul-
ture in the schools” (128). While songs and movement of the playground vary
from place to place (Bjørkvold 1992; Campbell 1998), it is invariably (and unfor-
tunately) the case that joy and the play element tend to return to music making
once outside the music classroom, regardless of country. Although he doesn’t
explicitly use the term the play spirit, Charles Keil’s educational efforts (https://​
bornt​ogro​ove.com)20 are an example of music learning and teaching that seeks
to sustain the sing-​dance-​play ethos that Bjørkvold has called “the muse within.”
As Bjørkvold writes, “all playing and singing children are the legitimate heirs to
the Muses” (55).
Some of this critique is familiar to music education, where much has been
made of the distinction between in-​ school and out-​of-​
school music (e.g.,
Campbell, Connell, and Beegle 2007; Lamont et al. 2003; Tobias 2015) and the
difference between “formal” and “informal” (or nonformal) education (e.g.,
Folkestad 2006; Green 2008; Jenkins 2011; Schippers and Bartleet 2013). It
may be too facile, however, to completely condemn schooling for transforming
activities of joy from play to work. While learning can be fun, it is overly sim-
plistic to suggest that all learning is or should be fun. Some learning, especially
the kind related to specialized skill development, demands a kind of sustained
work-​based attention sometimes described as “discipline” (see Foucault 1995).
And yet, our arts practices (and likely sports and athletics practices too) could
arguably benefit from less focus on virtuosity masquerading under the banner
of “excellence”—​an expectation that, almost of necessity, forces music teachers
to “drill and kill.” When learning is equated with outperforming someone else,
music is transformed from display into contest where the goal is not to share,
celebrate, and enjoy, but to win. Moreover, the kind of winning involved is not
that of the game, where the joy lies in the process and the outcome is merely a

19 I believe “piggy” refers to piggy-​in-​the-​middle (i.e., “keep away”).

20 For a deeper discussion of Keil’s work, see my book chapter, “Leisure Grooves: An Open Letter
to Charles Keil” (Mantie 2016).
 How One Should Live 175

byproduct, but of ego: I am better than you. In addition, when learning is under-
stood as achievement, the goal of learning music is transformed from enabling
and enriching play to that of accomplishment. It is not that accomplishments are
bad or undesirable, but that they are static: once a goal or task has been achieved,
then what? (And perhaps so what?) But then again, what is schooling but a col-
lection of accomplishments?
Eichberg writes, “It may be assumed that the differentiation between ‘real’ ac-
tivity and as-​if activity is connected with the typical modern Western dualism
between work and play, between working time and leisure time, between pro-
duction and reproduction, between object and subject, between the profane and
the religious” (2016, 71). Although this is only speculation on my part, I think the
notion of a “play spirit” is a conscious (or subconscious) effort to circumvent or
ameliorate the differentiations Eichberg identifies.21 Might the “for us or against
us” mindset of bifurcation be itself the source of alienation? Might fanning of
the flame of the play spirit help to elide the destructiveness of the work-​leisure
binary? Yes, there will always be disagreeable work for many people, and I am not
suggesting that the play spirit should serve as a bandage to mask social inequal-
ities. But if bringing work and play, working time and leisure time, and so on
closer together by way of the play spirit results in greater human happiness, this
would seem to be something worth pursuing.
To help circumvent the dichotomy of play and not-​play, Eichberg invokes the
metaphor of the dance: to and fro. “There is alternating swing and repetition in
play, not a certain aim where it ends” (2016, 167). Eichberg goes on to suggest
that, as co-​opted by education, it is the “one-​way directionality” of play that is
problematic. Put differently, the idea of a play spirit serves as a reminder and
useful corrective (though one admittedly still premised on the existence of di-
vision) that our constant reliance of binaries undermines efforts aimed in the
direction of the good life. Hayden Ramsay, drawing on Aristotle and Aquinas,
proposes a similar idea with the Ancient Greek concept of eutrapelia. Although
the word’s meaning evolved over time, it originally translated as “ ‘turning well’
or dancing around appropriately” (2005, 76). This “special virtue of play” re-
ferred to a “reasonable attitude” toward play, avoiding extremes of “clownish buf-
foonery on the one hand and pomposity or boorishness on the other” (76). Just
as the dance requires balance in the to and fro, so too does play. This balance, by
its nature, cannot be utilitarian. It is about poise and equilibrium, even while in
pursuit. This perhaps helps to explain why avocational interest in making music
can be so fickle. Sustained enjoyment depends on a play spirit that appreciates

21 Charles Keil has made a similar point, elaborating on the idea of “groovology.” See “Paideia

con Salsa: Charles Keil, Groovology, and the Undergraduate Music Curriculum” (Mantie and
Higgins 2015).
176 Philosophical Perspectives

and celebrates the concentrated effort so often needed for rewarding musical
experiences. Under less-​than-​ideal conditions, the play spirit is easily squelched.
Many music advocates are fond of citing T. S. Eliot’s passage from Four
Quartets, “but you are the music/​While the music lasts.” While admittedly an
attractive idea on many levels, I wonder if the more salient line in Four Quartets
isn’t “We had the experience but missed the meaning.” Maybe the well-​being po-
tential of musical leisure isn’t to be found in the music itself, but in the play spirit
(the muse) within it. Perhaps the reason why the work-​leisure dichotomy feels
so problematic is that it misses the fundamental point: without play, there is no
eudaimonia or “hedonia,” no matter what one’s central life interest.

Summary

Work and labor are arguably unavoidable for most people. They are, as Arendt
suggests, central to the human condition. The relationship between work (labor)
and non-​work, however, is not—​and never has been—​clear-​cut. If music has
not figured as prominently in this chapter as in others, it is because nonprofes-
sional music making, like many leisure-​time activities, occurs in tension with
the omnipresent imperative for people to work (notwithstanding the problem
of those who do not or cannot “work”). I have used this chapter to elaborate on
various themes introduced in earlier chapters in the book, leading to the prop-
osition that the play spirit, loosely defined, may provide at least one of the keys
for understanding how and why music, as leisure, holds such tremendous well-​
being potential. This potential, however, can arguably only be realized when
play is treated non-​instrumentally, or aproductively. When music learning and
teaching is co-​opted by playification or contest, the spirit disappears. For far too
long, the imperative How one should live has been framed according to work/​
labor. Music’s play spirit can help remind us that one should live playfully in both
work and leisure.
 8
Leisure, Music, and the
Common Good

To live an entirely private life means above all to be deprived of things

essential to a truly human life.
—​Hannah Arendt1

Clarke and Critcher write, “Between the places of paid work and domesticity, lies
the contested ground of public space” (1985, 98). Setting aside the finer points
of social versus public, public versus common, and so on, Clarke and Critcher’s
point carries additional meaning today in an age of social media and media-​fu-
eled connectedness. Unlike in 1985, when Clarke and Critcher were writing, it
is often difficult today to distinguish between the “places” of paid work, domes-
ticity, and public space. The “always on” phenomenon has resulted in a condition
where separations disappear and everything is, in a sense, public. (And yet, as
media commentators such as Sherry Turkle [2011] have argued, our supposed
interconnectedness has made us more alone than ever.) Public space continues
to be contested, although in ways different from that of 1985.
While leisure is, in many respects, a personal matter of seeking the good life,
no one lives in a vacuum. Even the most individual of activities invariably occurs
against the backdrop of other people. As a result, leisure pursuits, no matter how
seemingly individualized, continue to be a public, not private, matter to the ex-
tent that one person’s conduct inevitably affects someone else. To take an extreme
illustration, the world would become a very inhospitable place if poisoning the
environment became everyone’s favorite free-​time passion. The libertarian may
be loath to admit it, but there are some things that are of shared concern in the
world. Individual conduct can never be a completely private affair.
In Part II, I provided examples demonstrating how people’s leisure-​time
conduct became a focus of increasing public concern. In nineteenth-​century
England, this manifested in a form of social control understood as “rational
recreation.” In the United States, the ethic of rational recreation was adapted as
both a form of paternalistic care (exercised as “pastoral power” by the reformers)

1 Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (1958, 58).

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0008
178 Philosophical Perspectives

and a form of scientific progress (e.g., the child study and play movements).
Recall from Part II that the Progressives, operating under the auspices of sci-
ence, believed their actions were “right”; conduct management was a matter of
applying the rules of nature to ensure people behaved “normally”—​norms that
just happened to align with separate-​spheres sensibilities. The reformers, on the
other hand, believed their actions were “good.” Reformers believed they had a
mandate (based on their own goodness) to ensure the common good; the good
of society depended on teaching people to behave properly (which also just
happened to align with separate-​spheres sensibilities). The early playground
movement, for example, was based almost exclusively on the essentialized nature
of boys.2
Views on free-​time conduct in the twenty-​first century are arguably radically
different from, and eerily the same as, that of the twentieth. Most obviously, it is
laughable to imagine anyone uttering the phrase, “the threat of leisure” today.
That said, all people have at least some discretionary time. Life is now filled with
a range of activity choices previously unknown and unimaginable. One only has
to compare the range of music-​making options today to that of a hundred years
ago to be reminded that free-​time choices have expanded exponentially. As a
result, it is more and more difficult to claim one kind of activity as right or su-
perior to another kind of activity. Beyond this basic matter of available options,
few people in our “post-​truth” era bow to the authority of science or expertise
(although many still bow to the authority of celebrity). In an era when anyone
can spout opinion on social media, authority is determined by followers, not
knowledge. Hence, free-​time conduct isn’t a matter of a small number of experts
or cultural authorities dictating the right or proper way to spend one’s discre-
tionary time, not that many people today worry terribly much about conforming
to “respectability.” In a very general (but unmistakable) sense, “white” values still
rule supreme in the United States (and in many other countries), but such values
no longer manifest in homogeneous free-​time behavior norms reminiscent of
the Victorian or Progressive eras. The American neoconservative arguments of
the 1980s over cultural loss may not have disappeared completely, but they have
faded into the background.
At the same time, views on free-​time conduct can be argued as similar to that
of earlier times to the extent that activity is still preferred over inactivity and that
there are still perceived hierarchies among activities. Right-​wing political rhet-
oric, for example, reinforces long-​standing views, not dissimilar to that of late
nineteenth-​century reformers, that immigrants and migrants represent a drain
on society due to their laziness and inactivity. The sine qua non of responsible

2 As a result of this strong gender bias, leisure, as time and activity studied by sociologists of the

twentieth century, has been understood as what men do. See Cross (1990).
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 179

citizenship is to be busy, to be active. As I discuss in this chapter, to be a respon-

sible citizen is to be a consumer who supports the tenets of liberal democracy
through the principle (or at least allusion) of choice. Reflective leisure is no longer
celebrated because it does nothing to help “the economy”; it is one’s civic duty to
shop and consume. Leisure hierarchies are less overt and paternalistic than in
earlier eras—​in part because few people today think in terms of leisure—​but, as
I argue in this chapter, it is still worth considering the fundamental question of
How should one live? Or more precisely as I consider it here: How should we live?
Broad questions and examinations of the “common good” introduce an array
of issues that go well beyond the concerns of this book. What I hope to do in
this chapter is focus on the common good, in its most generalized sense, in rela-
tion to the idealized principle that individual well-​being and happiness represent
matters of concern about which everyone should care.3 I mean this in both an
ethical and a pragmatic sense, insofar as (a) it is right to prioritize a system of
values that places general human happiness over one where the few benefit at the
expense of the many; and (b) it is good that society benefits when leisure poten-
tial is recognized and promoted.

The Inequalities of Leisure

The idea that the poor should have leisure has always been shocking to
the rich.
—​Bertrand Russell

Inequality of leisure opportunity has both a material and a cultural aspect. The
material aspect includes access to key resources, essentially those of time and
money. The cultural aspect includes the perception of what is appropriate lei-
sure behavior for a member of a particular social group. (Clarke and Critcher
1985, 146)

Given the deep-​seated, albeit contentious, relationship between work and lei-
sure, it is not surprising that inequalities in the world of work are echoed in lei-
sure, a concept originating in privilege. Arguably, scholē would not have come
into existence without the institution of slavery. Some might regard this as reason
enough to dismiss leisure or to associate it with the perpetuation of inequality.
Perhaps some concept or term other than leisure might prove more fecund for

3 For a different take on music and the common good, framed in terms of “humane education,” see

Yob and Jorgensen (2020).

180 Philosophical Perspectives

thinking about personal welfare in contemporary society. A more refined con-

ceptual apparatus, for example, might see separate terms that account for dis-
cretionary time, freely chosen avocational activities, an “at-​ease” state of being,
and a condition the equivalent of eudaimonia. We aren’t there yet, however. The
Global North has not yet advanced adequate substitutes for the all-​encompassing
term, leisure.
The lack of better words for the multifaceted nature of leisure has left it suscep-
tible to attack. The work of Thorstein Veblen (1899/​2007) stands as, if not the first,
certainly the most influential illustration that many leisure behaviors have been
the domain of privileged classes.4 Demonstrable leisure pursuits dependent on
material wealth (e.g., polo) are not available to most people. Such pursuits were
as much about status that served to enact and maintain privilege as they were
about recreation.5 That is, those of privileged means were “the leisure class” who,
of necessity and design, distinguished themselves through their uncommon ac-
tivities.6 Bertrand Russell’s (1935) “In Praise of Idleness” complements Veblen’s
work by offering a rationality that explains why the poor did not simply rise up
and revolt. In short, Russell argues that the rich enshrined labor with the cloak of
dignity (i.e., the gospel of the work ethic) so that the poor felt it was their God-​
given duty “to live for the interests of their masters rather than their own” (1935,
15). In Al Gini’s words, “we have been tricked into accepting a life without leisure
as normal” (2003, 35).
In some senses, not much has changed since Veblen’s time. The inequalities of
leisure today are widely acknowledged, with countless books and articles having
been written on the topic. These inequalities range from relatively straightfor-
ward empirical findings about differential access to leisure activities and serv-
ices, usually along racial and class lines (e.g., Shinew, Floyd, and Parry 2004),
to gender-​related issues that question the patriarchal assumptions (such as lei-
sure contrasted with paid employment) upon which the concept of leisure is
premised (e.g., Wearing and Wearing 1988). As Green, Hebron, and Woodward
summarize about their research on women’s lives in Sheffield, UK, “[L]‌eisure
is not a term that most women would use to describe or refer to parts of their
lives” (1990, 5). For many years, feminists have pointed to the highly problem-
atic aspects of leisure (e.g., Wearing 1998; Green, Hebron, and Woodward 1990;

4 E. P. Thompson’s (1964) classic text, The Making of the English Working Class, also deserves men-

tion here.
5 Basini writes that Veblen “was undoubtably correct in his theory of the leisure class, claiming

that the debasement of manual work was so that the ruling class could gain esteem and parade their
leisure” (1975, 106).
6 To be clear, however, Veblen’s target was consumption (e.g., his famously coined phrase, “con-

spicuous consumption”) not production. I do not mean to conflate activity (i.e., active recreation)
with passive consumption (e.g., spectatorship, shopping), but I think the point still holds: visibility is
the critical element.
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 181

Deem 1986; Wimbush and Talbot 1988; Parry 2019; Valtchanov and Parry 2017).
That critical race scholars have been less prominent than feminists in critiques
of leisure (but see Stodolska et al. 2014; Stodolska 2018; Mowatt 2017) is likely
due more to the fact that leisure continues to reflect a “white” conceptual frame
(Spracklen 2013; Rojek, Shaw, and Veal 2006; Mowatt et al. 2016) than to the
obvious disparities that exist within leisure behaviors and thinking. Disability
troubles the ideal of leisure even further (e.g., Crawford 1988; Aitchison 2003,
2009; Devine and Mobily 2017), although in ways distinctive from race, class,
and gender.
Despite its problematic aspects, I maintain that leisure remains a critical analytic
and strategic concept for thinking about personal welfare and the common good.
In a neoliberal world where people’s lives are often reduced to cogs in the “market,”
the concept of leisure can potentially degenerate into an equation with consump-
tion that exacerbates rather than ameliorates inequalities. But the leisure ideal can
also remind us of what should truly matter in life—​not just for ourselves, but for all
people. If thought of in social terms, the ideal of leisure can re-​energize and rein-
vigorate conversations about “the common good”—​about values we should all care
about as a society (“what the market can’t buy,” as Michael Sandel [2012] puts it).
Just because Aristotle’s formulation denigrated work and cast leisure as only attain-
able by, and worthy of, the elite does not disqualify the possibility that leisure, as an
ethical seeking for personal welfare, should be for everyone: people of all income
classes, genders, racialized experiences, sexualities, abilities, ages, and so forth de-
serve, in Joseph Pieper’s terms, “the power to know leisure.” That leisure access and
activities are undeniably unequal points to the need to make them more equal, not
to the need to abandon leisure itself. All people deserve the right to leisure.

Leisure and Consumerism

The quest for post-​consumerist definitions of happiness and high-​

quality of life is emerging as a central public policy question facing
Western democracies. (Ivey 2008, 13)

One could argue that Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of
Capitalism set the standard for theorizing how religious beliefs helped to cata-
lyze the profit-​motive of late capitalism. Sometimes overlooked, however, is that,
under the original “Protestant ethic,” consumption was frowned upon. Profit and
the accumulation of wealth were merely the inevitable by-​product of work. To
in any way enjoy the fruits of one’s labor was to fail in one’s devotion to God.7

7 Weber writes, “Wealth is thus bad ethically only in so far as it is a temptation to idleness and

sinful enjoyment of life, and its acquisition is bad only when it is with the purpose of later living
182 Philosophical Perspectives

Unlike the work of Thorstein Veblen, which sought to demonstrate how “con-
spicuous consumption” established and sustained class differences, Weber’s
analysis shows how the privileging of work over leisure became so widespread
in Protestant-​influenced countries. What is fascinating to consider is how the
Protestant ethic morphed over the course of the twentieth century, such that
consumerism in effect became a widespread substitute for leisure.
Much has been written about consumerism (for an introductory summary
see Blázquez 2019). Salient to purposes here is to recognize how the logic of
consumerism has so fundamentally altered understandings of the good life
and the common good to the point where Gini, cleverly summarizing Herbert
Marcuse’s (1964) One Dimensional Man, concludes, “The goods of life are equal
to the good life” (Gini 2003, 83). Marcuse’s trenchant critique of consumerism in
One Dimensional Man is echoed in work such as Eric Fromm’s (1976) To Have
or to Be?, artist Barbara Kruger’s (1987) iconic screen print, “I shop therefore
I am,” and Juliet Schor’s The Overspent American: Why We Want What We Don’t
Need (1999) and Born to Buy: The Commercialized Child and the New Consumer
Culture (2005)—​all of which speak to a recognition of how consumerism in the
Global North has become a deeply engrained psychological condition that has
occluded thinking otherwise about how life should be lived.
What is particularly notable about the widespread acceptance of consum-
erism is how the freedom to consume in post–​Second World War American
society was internalized as confirmation that “the system” was working. The pro-
gression of mass production in the first half of the twentieth century to the rise
of goods and services widely available to the middle-​class following the Second
World War made it apparently self-​evident, at least to those in the affluent Global
North, that the teleology of all countries should be consumerism. As historian
Gary Cross argues, consumerism “concretely expressed the cardinal political
ideals of the century—​liberty and democracy” (1990, 2). Indeed, consumption
in postwar America became a mark of patriotism—​the consumer as good citizen
(Cohen 2003). This belief became further entrenched with the demise of the Cold
War, which served to confirm the superiority and logic of consumerism. Apart
from environment-​oriented conversations in more recent times, consumerism
is rarely critiqued in the Global North. It has become, Hayden Ramsey observes
(with clever wit), omnipresent: “So successful is the consumerist system within
which most of us live, and so extensive its reach, that it forms a total logic—​a
system one cannot buy into without buying totally” (2005, 5).
None of this is to suggest that people prior to the twentieth century never
bought, sold, or bartered goods and services. They did, of course (including
musical instruments, music lessons, and so on), but the production and

merrily and without care” (1958, 163).

 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 183

consumption of goods and services was simply a part of everyday life, not the
object of it. Unlike Aristotle’s famous assertion that we work in order to have lei-
sure, we now work, Ramsay observes, “in order to consume and possess” (2005,
38). The discourses of the early twentieth century expressing fears and concerns
about the overabundance of leisure time (which yielded to the pressing needs
of the Second World War) were relatively short-​lived in the big scope of history.
The question of what to do with oneself when not working (or “homemaking”)
was quickly answered in the postwar period by the cornucopia of middle-​class
goods and services eager to fill the need for purpose and direction. The funda-
mental problem with consumerism, Ramsay argues, is that it is an “imperializing
ideology . . . colonizing more and more of human life, human value, and human
experience” (2005, 36).
It is easy to recognize the appeal of consumerism. On the surface, it represents
the freedom of choice considered to be, rightly or wrongly, central to liberalism
and democracy. Clarke and Critcher, for example, note how “[our] sense of de-
mocracy becomes tied up with our rights to pursue our ‘own’ leisure pursuits
without interference. We have come to live the definition of leisure as ‘time
free to choose.’ The choices we can and do make disguise those we can’t and
don’t. These limited choices allow us to feel that we shape our own lives” (205).
Consumerism also provides a certain measure of psychological security, in a
sense sometimes described today as the “commodity self.” As Fromm observed
almost fifty years ago, consumerism “relieves anxiety, because what one has
cannot be taken away. . . . Modern consumers may identify themselves by the for-
mula: I am =​what I have and what I consume” (1976, 23). At the same time, how-
ever, consumerism has something of a hedonic treadmill quality (see Chapter 6)
because, he says, “previous consumption soon loses its satisfactory character”
(23). Due to its insatiability—​fueled further by ceaseless, inescapable advertising
(Buy! Buy! Buy!)—​consumerism ends up monopolizing all that falls outside of
obligated activity (e.g., work), crowding out activities (like music making) with
greater life-​affirming potential. In this sense, the liberty so prized and embodied
by and as the consumer becomes, in Weberian terms, an iron cage rather than
a light cloak—​a phenomenon illustrated in almost surreal terms by American
political reaction to the coronavirus pandemic, where appeals to “the economy”
and protests against quarantining and self-​distancing measures were rational-
ized in the face of widespread illness and death. For some, it is apparently better
for a percentage of the population to face certain death than for the majority to
be denied the right to consume or move about freely.
On the one hand, the experience of lockdowns and restrictions in response to
the coronavirus pandemic does lend some weight to the liberty argument. While
few people are likely to endorse widespread death, the psychological effects of
confinement do raise questions about the value and purpose of human life. Not
184 Philosophical Perspectives

that it is okay to justify one’s own liberty on the backs of someone else’s death, but
Patrick Henry’s famous invocation, “Give me liberty, or give me death”—​echoed
in the state of New Hampshire’s motto (“Live Free or Die”) and in various coun-
tries around the world—​serves as a reminder that, for some people, life without
freedom is no life at all.
On the other hand, liberty is an amorphous concept. The freedom to do what,
exactly? Significantly, freedom can never be absolute because, as social beings,
our own freedom inevitably butts up against someone else’s freedom. (Is one
person’s freedom justifiable if it results in someone else’s death due to the spread
of infection?) In conflict with the idea of limitless freedom (freedom from), a de-
fining characteristic of democracy is, in fact, that people acknowledge and accept
the greater good, even if the outcome does not align with what we as individ-
uals may want. Unlike the case of a public health emergency, in which limits on
personal freedom might be begrudgingly accepted (perhaps only out of self-​in-
terest), one can see the appeal of consumerism, which, in principle, empowers
the individual with choice (interpreted as liberty) without the compromise of the
common good.8 Through consumerism we can claim democracy without ever
having to accept we were outvoted.
What rarely seems to be considered today, however, is the price potentially
paid for consumerism. Consistent with the commodity fetishism critique of the
Frankfurt School, Marcuse characterizes consumerism in terms of “false needs,”
which he describes as “those which are superimposed upon the individual by
particular social interests in his repression” (1964, 7). Despite their reassuring
appeal (i.e., I shop, therefore I am), the result of false needs is what Marcuse calls
“euphoria in unhappiness” (7). A subjective (and perhaps hedonic) view of hap-
piness might reject the false needs (false consciousness) critique as paternalistic
and for failing to grant basic human agency. If shopping causes me to feel happy,
then who is Marcuse to deny me my happiness? As discussed in Chapter 6, how-
ever, happiness and various forms of pleasure are more complicated than simply
getting what you want. What consumerism lacks as a basis for human happiness
is a conception of the good life upon which life satisfaction (as opposed to mo-
mentary pleasure) might be derived. Despite what advertisers might try to claim,
there is no life purpose, fulfillment of excellences, or commitment to something
larger than oneself to be found in consumerism.
One might conclude, then, that, despite superficial connections between lei-
sure and consumerism—​where leisure is thought of in consumptive terms (i.e.,

8 From a global perspective, the consumerist nature of the US health care system is an anomaly.

It epitomizes, however, the extent to which the principle of choice is so engrained in the American
psyche that it makes it difficult to think otherwise, even though nationalized (free and universal)
health care is the norm in Europe, Asia, South America, Australia and New Zealand, Canada, and
Mexico.
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 185

“the leisure industry”)—​consumerism is, in fact, incompatible with a view of lei-

sure as well-​being. The similarities between consumerism and leisure in terms of
freedom and choice are indeed illusionary and deceptive, thus undermining the
potential for personal and collective growth. And therein may lie the problem: the
seductive appeal and apparent logic of consumerism are so totalizing (and so
formidably supported by those who benefit financially) that the pursuit for life’s
meaning through non-​consumptive leisure has largely disappeared as a personal
or collective problem.
Nostalgically invoking a Classical view, Ramsay argues that “reflective leisure”
is what has been lost to consumerism, and that it represents a path forward to
reclaiming human happiness. He writes,

At its best, reflective leisure means that our control, though effective, does not con-
sist in constant self-​monitoring and feverish seeking for a “cure.” Reflection is free
precisely because its progress exceeds our control; it succeeds where we hand our-
selves over and cannot quite guess the result. This means that the best reflective
leisure is where adults give themselves over happily to play as well as pondering.
(2005, 50)

It is relatively easy to see the possibilities for music making in Ramsay’s last sen-
tence. When undertaken in a genuine “spirit of play,” making music would seem to
provide an excellent example of the reflective leisure Ramsay suggests. Not all music
making is done in the spirit of play, of course, and making music is certainly not
the only activity that qualifies as reflective leisure. As Ramsay points out, reflective
leisure is less about the specific form of engagement and more about eschewing a
reliance on things: “Pre-​consumerist leisure often required fewer external resources
and relied more upon utilising and developing people’s inner resources—​imagina-
tion, will, intelligence, wit, love” (2005, 31). One notes, then, a strong connection
between reflective leisure and eudaemonia as human flourishing.
Lest he be criticized for offering Pollyanna solutions, Ramsay is quick to ac-
knowledge the difficulties of widespread acceptance and endorsement of reflective
leisure: “How can [reflective leisure] compete with the seductive and easy offers on
the consumerist menu? The answer is that it cannot. . . . We cannot justify anything
like contemplative leisure to the contemporary world, for talk of buying, selling,
status, fame, power, money—​all of the contemporary justifications—​would cancel
out its reflective status” (Ramsay 2005, 39). It is, in other words, exceptionally diffi-
cult for an individual, let alone a society, to break free of the consumerist logic that
stands in the way of reflective leisure.
186 Philosophical Perspectives

One need only walk into a modern-​day music store (or attend the annual
NAMM show)9 to see how music making so easily falls into the trappings of con-
sumerism. It is not that reflective leisure cannot involve material goods (such as
a piano or guitar or a DAW),10 but that, in order for music making to maintain its
reflective quality, musical instruments or equipment cannot become fetishized
as the object of attention. The leisure ideal, in other words, does not automat-
ically flow from the activity itself, but from the ways in which it is pursued. In
this way, making music is no different from any other potential source of leisure
satisfactions.

Leisure and Individualism

[T]‌here’s no such thing as society.

—​Margaret Thatcher

I hardly stand alone in suggesting that many countries, most notably the United
States, emphasize and embody individualism to such an extent that concerns
about “the common good” (a phrase rarely heard in political discourses of the
twenty-​first century) seem anachronistic. A Google search for “American in-
dividualism” returned 12 million hits; a Google Scholar search returned over
475,000; searching the University of Toronto library system for the phrase
returned almost 400 books and over 267,000 scholarly articles. Suffice it to
say that individualism as an American ideal or principle is well established.
Individualism is hardly an exceptional US phenomenon, however, as Margaret
Thatcher’s (in)famous (though admittedly decontextualized) words above illus-
trate. Indeed, the global spread of neoliberalism often makes it feel as though the
individualism of market rationality now provides the terms and conditions for
all social life on the planet.
Social contract theory takes various forms, but at heart it describes the com-
promise that must be made by individuals living under the governance and pro-
tection of “the state,” particularly as this compromise is negotiated within the
context of modern liberal democracies. The exact nature and form of this com-
promise is what distinguishes political and social values. Those embracing com-
munitarian values argue that government and policy must ensure the common
good is “common” to everyone, even if this means restricting some freedoms of
the individual; those embracing libertarian values argue that any infringement

9 The National Association of Music Merchants show in Anaheim, California, is the largest gath-

ering of music industry in the world. It is breathtaking in its size and scope, and a reminder that
music makers participate fully in the logic of consumerism.
10 Digital audio workstation.
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 187

on or curtailment of individual rights and freedoms is contrary to the spirit of

liberal democracy. Margaret Thatcher’s words embody the idea that countries are
(or should be) made up solely of autonomous individuals who simply happen to
share space on the earth.
It is a fair assessment, I think, that, in comparison to the 1960s and 1970s, the
world has moved farther to the political right, with a corresponding increase in
emphasis on individualism. What began as a shift in the economic sphere (gen-
erally described as neoliberalism) has expanded in the twenty-​first century to
encompass a broad range of issues, with numerous countries, most notably the
United States, embracing political leaders advancing various policies and values
that would have been almost unthinkable in the twentieth century. Although it is
dangerous to paint with too broad a brush, as there are certainly many nuances
between and within countries, it is hard to avoid describing the political land-
scape as a general turn toward individualism (and libertarianism) and against
collectivism (and communitarianism).
On the surface of it, there is nothing necessarily mutually exclusive about
leisure and individualism (or music making and individualism). In fact, one
might be tempted to conclude the opposite: leisure (and personal music making)
epitomizes individualism. It is only when one probes deeper that it becomes ap-
parent how individualism, especially when commingled with consumerism,
makes for an uneasy relationship with leisure—​at least when leisure is concep-
tualized in terms of both individual and collective welfare. In a chapter entitled
“Leisure and Democracy: Incompatible Ideals?,” John Hemingway (1991) argues
that, in its Aristotelian sense, leisure is fundamentally incompatible with the
kind of individualism that characterizes many modern democracies. Although
Hemingway may be guilty of conflating individualism with democracy, his point
is well taken. Taking aim at the lack of collective concern in society, he writes
about how

happiness is now reduced to a matter of personal preference, a utili-

tarian calculation that can be changed whenever convenient for the indi-
vidual. . . . Leisure thus has no extension beyond the individual, leaving the
individual still adrift among the multitudes of other similarly subjectively de-
fined selves. . . . Capacities other than the economic simply have no place in
this construction, and alternative conceptions of the self are regarded merely as
archaic. (78–​79)

For Hemingway, the fundamental problem is that concerns beyond one’s own
interests no longer factor into a conception of human life, whereas Classical lei-
sure includes conceiving of one’s life in relation to the collective (i.e., the polis).
188 Philosophical Perspectives

One of the most-​referenced text on American individualism is Robert Bellah and

colleagues’ Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life,
first published in 1985 (latest edition 2008). Their basic argument, which Bellah con-
tinued to develop in subsequent years, is that modern individualism in the United
States can be traced to religion, insofar as individual “freedom of conscience” over-
took the collectively oriented focus of religion in colonial New England. Somewhat
ironically, then, the private religious freedoms sought by many Protestant sects (e.g.,
Quakers, Baptists) eventually undermined the sense of shared public values upon
which many colonial states were founded, as individualized freedom of conscience
extended from religious beliefs to beliefs about everything. Religious liberty and po-
litical liberty became one and the same.
Habits of the Heart is often cited for distinguishing between various forms of in-
dividualism, most notably utilitarian and expressive. The former is usually under-
stood as seeing people as self-​maximizing, especially in terms of economics. Social
contracts are thus accepted not out of concern for others, but because they are
thought to advance self-​interest. Expressive individualism, by contrast, is about cel-
ebrating one’s right to free expression. Utilitarian individualism is often connected
with neoliberalism, and by extension, consumerism. Charles Taylor (2007), how-
ever, argues in A Secular Age that consumerism is in fact an outgrowth of expressive
individualism. In either case, the bottom line is that individualism turns away from
commitments to anyone or anything other than oneself and one’s own interests; the
only “common good” is that which furthers individualism.
Individualism has become so omnipresent in many liberal democracies that
it is easy to mistake as a universal what is, at heart, an epistemological, or cul-
turally relative value. That collectivist cultures or peoples exist in the world, if
recognized or acknowledged at all, is more than likely viewed by Western eyes
as abnormal or inferior rather than a reflection of arbitrary, situated values. One
need only consider something as commonplace in educational psychology as
Maslow’s “hierarchy of needs,” the pinnacle of which is “self-​actualization,” to
recognize how individualism becomes internalized as a universal truth. Why is
self-​actualization positioned as the highest human need rather than, say, “mean-
ingful participation in community” or “meaningful participation in the common
good”? Why self-​actualization rather than living a good life, where “good life” is
defined in terms of one’s striving to fulfill one’s “excellences” in order to better
the whole? What if “self-​actualizing” was understood as becoming more humane
rather than simply “more human”?11

11 A close reading of Maslow shows that social concerns were in fact central to his theorizing. These

concerns, however, have been ignored by those who, rather than reading Maslow directly, simplisti-
cally point to the famous pyramidal diagram—​a figure that was created by others, not by Maslow. As
a result, educationalists (and others) have misinterpreted the hierarchy of needs in strictly individu-
alist terms. Scholars have recently interrogated Maslow’s hierarchy. Cindy Blackstock, for example,
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 189

The dominant value system of individualism in the United States today is diffi-
cult to reconcile with the country’s origins as a republic. That four US states have
the word “commonwealth” as part of their formal title should serve as a reminder
that the country was founded in the republican spirit of the common good. The
spirit of democratic governance with an eye towards the collective, reminiscent
of Ancient Greek democracy and its emphasis on the polis, was arguably the ge-
neral operating principle throughout the Progressive Era. This stands in stark
contrast to principles articulated by many of today’s political leaders, who invari-
ably vilify (as “socialism”) any and all suggestions of collectivist, socially oriented
“common good” policies as threats to individual liberty or “the economy.”12
Scholarly discussions of the common good go well beyond what I might offer
here. Distinctions between the public good and the common good (or public
goods/​common goods), for example, are not that important for my argument,
which is simply that the blinding obsessions with individualism in many soci-
eties (the United States and beyond) precludes thinking differently about the
world. It has also caused a forgetting of how people used to think about their re-
lations with other people—​not just in the political sense, but in all facets of daily
life. One might describe this in the Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft vocabulary of
Tönnies or in other “loss of community” critiques (Delanty 2018). I am thinking
here less of community qua community, but in terms of any collective sense of
commitment. As Bellah suggests, “what makes any kind of group a community
and not just a contractual association for the maximization of the interests of the
individuals involved, is a shared concern with the question what will make this
group a good group” (Bellah 1995, np). To ask the question, “what will make this
group a good group?,” in other words, is to entertain the possibility that the re-
flectiveness of leisure isn’t a navel-​gazing exercise, but one predicated on making
everyone’s life better in and through leisure practices.
Leisure, especially non-​consumptive leisure, provides an intriguing flash-
point when set against notions of individualism and the common good (Arai
and Pedlar 2003). This in some ways harkens back to concerns over idleness (or
“loafing”) in the Progressive Era, except that today the concern isn’t with po-
tentially undesirable behaviors, but rather, with the idea that people aren’t

has suggested that Maslow’s theorizing was influenced by time spent with the Siksika Blackfoot na-
tion near Alberta, Canada, in 1938. Teju Ravilochan’s blog post provides further food for thought
(https://​gather​for.med​ium.com/​mas​low-​got-​it-​wrong-​ae45d​6217​a8c). My basic point is not about
the hierarchy per se (irrespective of potential appropriations), but about how its outsized influence
(based, arguably, on a misreading) has further entrenched individualism.

12 As previously discussed, Putnam (2000) has demonstrated how the vast majority of today’s

voluntary associations, emblematic of social concerns, got their start in the period 1890–​1920. He
has also demonstrated, however, that many of these same organizations have been in decline since
the 1960s.
190 Philosophical Perspectives

consuming during their free time (i.e., “helping” the economy). Utilitarian in-
dividualism is thus a compulsion today, a somewhat ironic “responsibility” to
the greater good (or more accurately, the greater good of the already rich and
powerful). Because it is not explicitly dependent upon consumption, reflective
leisure is “unproductive” and therefore verboten. Hemingway’s argument about
leisure and democracy, on the other hand, is more in line with critiques of ex-
pressive individualism. When leisure as seeking the good life is reduced to an
egotistical exercise, it ceases to be leisure in the Classical sense: “The private na-
ture of leisure reinforces the withdrawal from commitment. It is the extension
of the search for the enhancement of self, an affirmation of self by negation of
all that is not self ” (Hemingway 1991, 77). In Hemingway’s appraisal, in other
words, concern for others represents a threat to the expressive individual.
Where does a consideration of individualism leave music making and/​as lei-
sure? I submit that, just as music making is haunted by the ever-​present allure
of consumerism, so too does it stand in the tall shadow of individualism. One
no doubt recognizes, for example, the parallels between expressive individu-
alism and Romantic notions of individual artistic genius that continue to provide
the backdrop for the classical music world (DeNora 1995). “Works” of music
are always thought of as the product of the individual artist, never the result of
collective activity (Goehr 1992). The concerto metaphorically represents the in-
dividual soloist’s struggle with and against society (McClary 1991). Schools of
music are designed with tiny cubicles, all intended to support a conception of
musical development predicated on the individual (Kingsbury 1988)—​a concep-
tion that ensures that, even when brought together as an ensemble under the
direction of a baton, the fundamental paradigm of the expressive individual re-
mains unchallenged (Nettl 1995).
Not all music making is derived from the classical music paradigm, of course.
My argument is not about comparing individualism to genres or traditions of
music making. Rather, what I am suggesting is that music making grounded in
the value systems of expressive individualism is unlikely (or at least less likely) to
function as Classical leisure. In light of expressive individualism, leisure music
making is not a simple matter of making music by oneself rather than with
others. It is about considering the motives and value systems that undergird the
activity. One can make music by oneself (and sometimes for oneself) out of care
and concern for oneself and the common good. This is not an automatic out-
come of making music, however. Reduced to just an individual form of expres-
sion, music making—​no matter how “noble”—​is not leisure in its scholē sense.
The activity needs to be situated within a larger context of care and concern.
Music making can flow out of and reify individualism, but it can also push
against it. Childrearing (upbringing) and education are powerful influences that
can help to ensure not only that young people experience and develop the skills
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 191

and dispositions for making music, especially that done with other people, but
that the motivations for doing so are situated in the context of collective well-​
being rather than expressive individualism. This is in no way to suggest that in-
dividual music-​making activities (e.g., solo piano or guitar playing, solo music
creation) are invalid or lesser forms of music as leisure. Rather, it is to suggest that
music making as scholē is undertaken as part of a life purpose that recognizes
one’s place in a larger community. Upbringing and education can help ensure
that future generations understand the connections between individual and col-
lective flourishing.

Categories, Functions, and Rankings

In Chapter 7, I discussed “time budget” studies. Such studies quantify and label
the activities that constitute a person’s twenty-​four-​hour day. While they provide
valuable information on time devoted to specific activities in a given population,
a frequent criticism of time budget studies is the inconsistency of categories from
study to study, a problem that prevents meaningful cross-​study or cross-​cultural
comparisons. Of necessity, the plethora of activities in which people engage need
to be categorized in ways that make data intelligible (i.e., “data reduction”). This
comes at the cost of specificity. Hence, some studies might distinguish music
making from music listening, while others might simply subsume all forms of
musical engagement under the label of “arts and crafts.” Another problem with
time budget studies is they imply that a measure of time is the same as a measure
of importance, a notion easily challenged when one thinks about the differ-
ence in meaning attached to activities where length of time is not an indicator
of value. Going for a thirty-​minute run, for example, has much more meaning
for my life than watching television for two hours (whereas a straight measure of
time would imply television is four times more important than running).
Setting aside the problem of time as a measure of importance, studying the
way leisure activities are categorized by researchers provides a means for under-
standing what people choose to do when not otherwise obligated. In a 1955 study
of Kansas City, for example, Robert Havighurst created eleven categories of lei-
sure activity:

participation in organized groups

participation in unorganized groups
pleasure trips
participation in sport
spectator sport (live)
TV/​radio
192 Philosophical Perspectives

fishing & hunting

gardening
crafts (sewing, carpentering, do-​it-​yourself)
imaginative activities (reading, music, art)
visits to relatives/​friends13

Havighurst’s study was part of a larger research agenda examining aging and
human development. His frame was “life satisfaction,” a concept very much in
line with theories of hedonism and eudaimonia (Chapter 6). To include “fishing
& hunting” as a category (along with two categories related to sport), however,
suggests masculinist assumptions about leisure—​which is not to imply an essen-
tialist gendered view, but that fishing and hunting (and sport) were highly un-
likely to factor prominently among the leisure pursuits of women in 1955.14
It is obvious that information on specific leisure categories will be of interest
to people involved in some way with those activities. For example, those involved
in the recreational fishing industry, natural resources, or parks and recreation
fields have a vested interest in understanding how many people spend time
fishing (recreationally), how much time they spend doing it, where they fish, and
the kind of fish they catch. Those involved in the commercial music industry,
music teachers, and music institutions would likely benefit from understanding
how many people make music, the nature of the people who make music, where
and when they make music, what kinds of music people like to make, and how
much time they spend making it. This kind of fine-​grained examination, how-
ever, which demands greater and greater categorical specificity, comes at the cost
of “big picture” understandings that can provide greater insights into people’s
leisure pursuits. For example, one might imagine Havighurst’s eleven catego-
ries as being grouped in terms of various “types of leisure,” such as physical, ar-
tistic, practical, intellectual, or social. Along such lines, Foote and Cottrell (1955)
offered five “types” of leisure: physical play, crafts, dreaming, intellectual play, and
artistic play (as cited in Dumazedier 1974). Kaplan (1960) similarly described six
types of leisure. He, however, attached various functional motivations to each
type: sociability (persons), association (interests), play (rules), arts (traditions),
exploration (going out into the world), and immobility (receiving the world).
Influenced by his studies with celebrated sociologist Florian Znaniecki, Kaplan

13 This summary list can be found in Dumazedier (1974). Havighurst was a major figure in educa-

tional theorizing. He oversaw the ten-​year Kansas City Studies of Adult Life project, which resulted
in several publications. A good source for Havighurst’s Kansas City findings is Adult Education and
Adult Needs (1960).
14 Sport fishing is one of the most popular recreational activities in the world. In the United States,

it is often cited as second only to running in the number of participants. Historically, fishing has been
gendered as a male activity. For a critical examination that considers women’s fishing experiences, see
Burkett and Carter (2020).
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 193

theorized behavior in light of context. Thus, what people do is always placed

within the larger socio-​cultural milieu. Kaplan’s work helps to make sense of not
only what people do, but what various activities do for them.
A consideration of leisure function helps to go beyond the limitations of cat-
egories or types. One recalls from Chapter 7 that, under the work-​leisure par-
adigm, leisure has been theorized as functioning in opposition to work (i.e.,
providing a polarized balance to work life, as in the example of an office worker
who participates in recreational sports), as a complement to or an extension
of work (i.e., leisure and work interact, much as it might for, say, professional
musicians), or indifferent to work (i.e., neutral; leisure is not necessarily polar-
ized). The work-​leisure paradigm may be useful on a very general level, but
it does not provide a great deal of insight into what leisure participation does
for people (nor does it help to understand leisure that is not set in opposition
to work).
Goodale and Godbey (1988) offer a detailed account of leisure function. Their
eight functions (improvement, pleasure, socialization, identification, creativity,
recovery or catharsis, consumption, and spiritual) provide an interesting com-
plement to Kaplan’s “types.” Whereas Kaplan focuses primarily on description,
Goodale and Godbey’s work includes an evaluative component, where they con-
sider whether some functions of leisure may be better than others. The idea of
improvement, for example, would seem entirely compatible with an Aristotelean
conception of eudaimonia. However, if improvement is positioned as a social
compulsion—​for example, an obligation to improve oneself to better serve “the
economy”—​this would seemingly conflict with a Classical conception of leisure.
The same could be said for Goodale and Godbey’s other seven categories, most
of which (save perhaps the spiritual category) might be subject to various forms
of rationalization if undertaken for reasons that seek to privilege one activity
over another or if undertaken in the absence of a larger life purpose. As Goodale
and Godbey point out, “Altruists derive pleasure from activity, but (apparently)
sadists do too” (1988, 235).
The question of what to do (How one should live/​How should one live?)
represents one of the central paradoxes of leisure. Despite offering a list of lei-
sure functions, Goodale and Godbey are quick to point out the inherent con-
tradiction of thinking of leisure in terms of function. As soon as one thinks in
terms of function, leisure becomes rationalized. It becomes, in this sense, the
Roman recreare rather than the Greek scholē. As Goodale and Godbey explain,
“Rationalized leisure is functional. It fulfills purposes defined in advance. It has
been brought under control and made more predictable. Recreation is more de-
pendable; the mystery has been removed. . . . True leisure transcends the realm of
function or justification by objective criteria” (1988, 239–​240).
194 Philosophical Perspectives

The lack of function in “true leisure”—​or more precisely, the lack of rational-
ized function—​is not to suggest true leisure is inactive. Many scholars are quick
to note that the reflective or contemplative aspects of scholē should not be mis-
understood as passivity; eudaimonia is not achieved by lying around on the sofa
all day. Rather, function is what Goodale and Godbey describe as the “accidental
by-​product of activity” (1988, 239), an idea that resonates with what Aristotle
referred to as supervenience in relation to the enjoyment that accompanies an ac-
tivity. The goals and motivations of leisure are thus central to understanding not
just why people engage in particular activities, but how leisure activities function
in relation to people’s lives.
Thomas Green (1968) illustrates the problem of activity motivation with the
example of fishing. Unlike reading, which he argues is an activity done for its own
sake, fishing cannot be done for its own sake. Without the goal of catching a fish,
the activity is meaningless. Green, however, distinguishes between the catching
of the fish (the achievement) and the activity (trying to catch a fish). Additionally,
he points out the differences between three types of people fishing: those who
enjoy trying to catch the fish, those who enjoy catching them, and those who
enjoy having caught them (66–​67). There is, Green notes, an important concep-
tual distinction to be made between the nature of an activity and the nature of the
people doing the activity (68).
How people understand an activity is thus inextricably linked to how it
functions in the context of their life. Green, drawing on the work of Joseph
Pieper, offers the example of someone praying in order to sleep better. Just as
one might theoretically participate in a celebration without celebrating, a person
who prays in order to sleep better is not actually praying (in the spiritual sense);
they misunderstand the activity (1968, 68). Unlike fishing, which can be done
for a variety of reasons, praying can only be done for the sake of praying (if it is
to qualify as genuine praying and not an imitation of praying). Classical leisure,
if it is to qualify and function as genuine leisure and not an imitation of leisure,
needs to be enacted as leisure rather than for the sake of something else. In a
similar vein, Goodale and Godbey suggest that the function of leisure “is, more
or less, an accidental by-​product of activity. . . . [T]‌he product of participation
is—​participation. The important thing about playing chess, ultimately, is playing
chess. The importance of painting a picture is painting a picture” (1988, 239). The
parallels with music making are obvious.
Green makes a distinction between three forms of activity: those done (or
not done) for their own sake, those that require a purpose, and those that can
only exist without a goal (1968, 69–​70). This categorical distinction, however,
implies, if only subtly, that some kinds of activity may be better, or more leisurely,
than others. Is, for example, making music without the goal of performing for
others (e.g., an informal jam session without an audience) a better form of leisure
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 195

than a concert performance or the production of a recording (i.e., artifact)?

Ralph Glasser (1970) asks, “[What] is the test of the ‘ranking’ of an activity in the
assumed hierarchy? . . . Is there some formula for creative fulfillment in leisure
time, which is equally fitting and effective for all grades of ability, intellect, per-
ception, spiritual capacity?” (cited in Goodale and Godbey 1988, 226).
There have been many attempts over the years at offering criteria for evaluating
or ranking leisure activities. One of the earliest was by Lundberg, Komarovsky,
and McInerny (1934). In their ethnography of Westchester County, New York
(published as the book Leisure: A Suburban Study), they concluded there were
four basic criteria for determining “satisfying leisure”:

fulfillment of individual rather than the social or economic order

must be permanently interesting
should contrast that which is forced upon us by our “station in life”
compatible with physical, mental, social well-​being

Kaplan (1960) offered his own list for determining “better leisure”:

sense of belonging
sense of individuality
multifunctional purposes (e.g., relaxing while listening to music)
serving society while serving oneself
consequences of investment (e.g., gambling away resources versus taking
classes for self-​improvement)
arts and aesthetic expression

The inclusion of “permanently interesting” by Lundberg and associates is an as-

pect missing from Kaplan’s list. One might quibble with the notion of “perma-
nently,” but going beyond the ephemeral certainly resonates with conceptions
of eudaimonia: “excellences” that are ongoing, growing, additive, flourishing,
and so on. Kaplan’s inclusion of arts and aesthetics perhaps belies his own value
system as an amateur violinist, although when put into historical-​anthropolog-
ical perspective, it would seem that humans have always had some sort of con-
nection to “the beautiful,” and it thus stands to reason that creative expression
through arts and aesthetics have long-​standing precedent for considerations of
meaningful leisure.
Kaplan’s emphasis on belonging and serving society provides food for thought
when placed against the Lundberg criterion of “fulfillment of individual rather
than the social or economic order.” While the eschewal of the economic order
can be viewed as consistent with early twentieth-​century antipathies toward
commercial leisure, the privileging of the individual over the social is curious. It
196 Philosophical Perspectives

should be kept in mind, however, that the list by Lundberg and associates was an
attempt at empirical description, whereas Kaplan offers normative assertion. The
emphasis on individual satisfaction may thus simply reflect the egoistic responses
and observations of the participants in the Lundberg study, whose concerns with
the self may have masked or overshadowed the importance of belonging or mag-
nanimous contributions to the “social order” (or common good). It could be, in
other words, that self-​reports of leisure satisfactions may fail to capture the im-
portance of aspects beyond immediate awareness.
The obvious tension with “satisfying” or “better” leisure lies in determining
what constitutes satisfying or better—​or more precisely, who gets to make the
determination. This harkens back to subjective and objective conceptions of
quality-​of-​life (Chapter 6). A subjective view would hold that only the individual
can assess or determine what might constitute better or more satisfying leisure.
Accordingly, “One leisure activity is better than another to the extent that an in-
dividual has come to love it” (Goodale and Godbey 1988, 240). This need not
necessarily rule out considerations of the common good, of course. It is possible
that individuals with collectivist orientations might consider better or more sat-
isfying leisure to be that which contributes to not only one’s own welfare, but that
of others as well. This presupposes a collectivist orientation of the individual,
however. In its absence, a subjective view might hold that better or more satis-
fying leisure is a strictly a matter of self-​interest, irrespective of any impact on
others.
Part of the difficulty here lies in distinguishing among those activities con-
sidered as healthy and contributing to individual and collective well-​being,
those that are benign, and those that are considered by most people as harmful.
One would have to adopt a rather extreme contrarian position, for instance,
to argue that activities involving regular exercise are not good for a person. At
the opposite end of the spectrum, engaging in excessive drug or alcohol use
or stealing just for thrill would seem to lie beyond the threshold of accepta-
bility. In between the two poles of “healthy” and “unhealthy” activities, how-
ever, lies a quagmire of ethical and practical problems. On the one hand, “you
cannot prove poetry to be better than pinball,” as Jeremy Bentham long ago
made clear (Emmett 1975, 79). At the same time, “deviant leisure” (Raymen
and Smith 2019) that involves harm to oneself or other people would seem
an overwhelming candidate as worse leisure. Only a sadistic view of human
life would embrace a view that says any activity (e.g., killing) is acceptable (or
preferable) as long as the individual loves doing it. But then there are those
activities, sometimes described as “extreme leisure” (Laviolette 2011) or “dan-
gerous leisure” (see Clarke and Critcher 1985, 5), that are more about risk
than harm. Free climbing, for example, could be argued as benign, as the ac-
tivity itself harms no one (and can be healthy for the individual). The risk of
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 197

death or serious injury in free climbing does, however, raise questions about
its status as better leisure. But then the problem of risk is always a matter of
degree. Recreational running or cycling may seem risk-​free, but there is al-
ways the possibility of injury or even death (should the runner or cycler be
struck by a vehicle). Barring some formula for determining risk acceptability,
the degree of risk is often considered an entirely personal matter.
An objective view would hold that better or more satisfying leisure cannot
be an entirely individual matter because (a) the activities of one person inevi-
tably affect other people (thus rendering leisure a problem of the collective); and
(b) there is an ethical dimension to leisure seeking that must, by definition, ac-
count for one’s obligation to oneself and one’s obligation to others. These two
aspects overlap but are conceptually distinct. While perhaps a crude example,
one might imagine a given leisure activity that, hypothetically, increases the
spread of an infectious disease with potentially life-​threatening consequences.
No matter how libertarian a stance one might take on the matter, there is no
getting around the fact that, if engaging in this particular leisure activity leads
to the spread of a disease, there is simply no way to consider this activity as
better leisure, no matter how satisfying an individual might find it. An objec-
tive, “common good” orientation must take precedence in cases where activity
directly (and adversely) affects others. The ethical dimension, on the other hand,
is more subtle. It places the burden of personal responsibility squarely on the in-
dividual, who must weigh the costs and benefits of one’s own activities in relation
to the costs and benefits for others. I might enjoy playing my saxophone, for ex-
ample, but if I do this to the point I neglect my responsibilities to my family, this
would no longer qualify as leisure in its Classical sense. That is, playing the saxo-
phone is an activity, but it could no longer be considered better leisure because of
the failure to account for others. As an ethical undertaking, leisure must account
for the common good.

Inactivity as Leisure?

No good e’er comes of leisure purposeless,

—​Sophocles

Idleness is the enemy of the soul.

—​St. Benedict’s Rule 48

An intriguing illustration of the subjective/​objective problem in ranking leisure

activities is found in the perennial issue of inactivity, or idleness, discussed in
the last chapter. “Time you enjoying wasting is not wasted time” goes the old
198 Philosophical Perspectives

adage,15 a curious expression that appears to defend idleness while maintaining

the premise that time is something to be used, not “wasted.” The wasted time
in question need not be idle, of course. Part of the charm in the expression is
that no one really knows what constitutes wasting time.16 What is not in ques-
tion is that the expression valorizes enjoyment, reminiscent of hedonism as a
plausible source of the good life. Recall, however, Paul Goodman’s argument that
enjoyment alone is inadequate as a leisure goal because unqualified hedonism is
empty in the absence of a larger life purpose or a eudaimonic conception oper-
ating in the context of community (i.e., the polis). There must be, in other words,
a means of differentiating between enjoyment operating in the “care of the self ”
and that of vacuous self-​indulgence that neglects oneself and others. If one is
genuinely leisurely, time is never wasted.
A classic explanation for the antipathy toward idleness is its equation with
sloth, one of the “deadly sins.” Both Green (1968) and Pieper (1952), however,
are quick to point out that this represents something of a misunderstanding of
sloth, which appears in the Middle Ages as acedia (akedia), meaning “without
care.” When leisure is understood in its Classical sense, or even in its recreational
(recuperative) sense, sloth is in fact the opposite of leisure (Green 1968; Pieper
1952). As Green points out, the true opposition is thus between sloth and work,
not sloth and leisure (1968, 143). Leisure, in other words, implies purposefulness
(though not function). The difference between leisured idleness and pointless
idleness is perhaps what Søren Kierkegaard was driving at when he wrote:

Idleness, we are accustomed to say, is the root of all evil. To prevent this evil,
work is recommended. But it is just as easy to see from the dreaded occasion as
from the recommended remedy that this whole view is of very plebeian extrac-
tion. Idleness as such is by no means a root of evil; on the contrary, it is truly a
divine life, if one is not bored. (Kierkegaard 1987, 289)

Here, Kierkegaard draws a distinction between mindlessness and mindfulness

reminiscent of scholē. Idleness (leisure) is an opportunity for the “divine life” so
long as one approaches it with intent. To be bored is to squander such potential.
The importance of life purpose to leisure helps to shed light on why research
in the field of leisure studies repeatedly finds the least “leisure satisfaction” de-
rived from television viewing (which today might be considered in the wider
context of “screens” of all types). For almost fifty years, television has been fre-
quently singled out by critics for its deleterious effects on both the individual and

15 This quote has been variously attributed. See https://​quotei​nves​tiga​tor.com/​2010/​06/​11/​time-​

you-​enjoy/​.
16 See Alan Lightman’s (2018) In Praise of Wasting Time.
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 199

society at large. Arguably beginning with Ray Bradbury’s ominous premonitions

in Fahrenheit 451 and extended by Marshall McLuhan’s media theory critiques,
many authors have placed “the boob tube”17 in their crosshairs with titles such as
The Plug-​In Drug: Television, Children, and the Family; The Glass Teat: Essays of
Opinion on Television; Glued to the Box; and Four Arguments for the Elimination
of Television.18 Witold Rybczynski calls television “a poor sort of leisure” (1991,
193). While it “is no more passive than observing a landscape, listening to music,
or reading a book . . . it offers so little opportunity for reflection and contempla-
tion” (193).
Critiques of television as damaging on society have faded from public concern,
but the arguments still resonate strongly with aspects of mass society critique of
the Frankfurt School. Television, according to such criticisms, is simply an ex-
tension of the “bread and circuses” recreations of the Romans that were meant to
mollify people through spectacle rather than engage them in deliberative partici-
pation. One recalls from Chapter 5, for example, the fears of “spectatoritis” made
popular by Jay Nash in the 1930s. Or, as Erich Fromm remarks, “while we speak
of them as leisure-​time activities, we would do better to call them leisure-​time
passivities” (Fromm 1976, 23). Indeed, why bother learning how to do anything
when one can just watch others do it? Put differently, television (and screens of
all types today) often functions as a passive, effortless amusement that placates
and distracts the masses, consuming large amounts of time that might otherwise
be occupied with forms of leisure that are in put in service of a life purpose.
None of this discussion is intended to vilify television viewing (or screens).
There are times when the rest and relaxation, to say nothing of the entertainment
value that television (and other screens) afford, can be a worthy form of recrea-
tion. The point is simply that, when considering among various leisure activities
(or leisure behaviors), there would appear to be an inherent tension between a
subjective position that embraces the freedom to do as one chooses—​even if,
in the case of “bored” idleness and the lack of life purpose, this fails to result in
any sort of personal or social fulfillment—​and a more objective view that insists
that the definition of “freedom” must be ethical and include a consideration of
obligations and responsibilities. The failure to fulfill, or at least the failure to at-
tempt to fulfill, one’s natural capacities (eudaimonia) in order to live a good life
(which includes participating in civic/​public life) renders the value of freedom

17 With apologies to UK readers; “the boob tube” is a North American expression, albeit a some-

what dated one.

18 Arguably, the most trenchant of television criticisms was leveled by Neil Postman (1985) in his

book Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, in which Postman
argues that the passivity of television (along with television’s particular construction of public dis-
course) has had a “dumbing down” effect on society, reducing people’s intellectual faculties for civic
engagement. Robert Putnam has also taken aim at television as a primary source of the erosion of
civic participation.
200 Philosophical Perspectives

effectively inert. What is the point of freedom if it serves no purpose? As a result,

there is an intractable, ongoing conflict in leisure emblematic of that between
the tenets of liberalism, which privilege individual freedoms above all else (i.e.,
freedom from), and those of communitarianism, which privilege shared com-
munity relationships and a responsibility to the common good (i.e., responsi-
bility to).

Leisure and the Common Good of Music

It is tempting in this section to cite a laundry list of studies demonstrating music’s

health and well-​being benefits and claim this shows beyond a reasonable doubt
that music is a clear-​cut example of “better leisure.”19 Music’s promotion as lei-
sure would, therefore, constitute a common good. If only it were that simple.
For starters, music means many different things. To frame it in modernist terms,
there are major differences between music’s production and its consumption.
Many time budget studies do not make a big deal about this fundamental dis-
tinction; regrettably, nor do many health and wellness studies. It is, I suggest, too
sweeping to suggest that music is a form of better leisure.
Consider the following problem: if repeated studies have shown that television
provides very little in the way of leisure satisfaction, why should one not infer a
similar conclusion about listening to music? If the argument is that television
(and screens) represents a form of passive entertainment, should not the same be
claimed about music listening (in its mediated forms)? If the counterargument
is that “active listening” represents an activity akin to reflective leisure in its best
sense (due, presumably, to the intentionality involved), could one not argue the
same for “active watching”? Or are arguments about the passivity of television
(and screens) and the findings of unsatisfying leisure from television more about
content than form? Perhaps the problem with television is that it is not proper
“theater,” but instead trite, formulaic drivel, in the same way that the value of
reading for pleasure is often said to be dependent on the quality of literature (i.e.,
Anna Karenina versus Harlequin Romances). But if this is so, presumably the
same would hold for music listening, which would be considered better leisure
only for musical content deemed worthy of active listening (i.e., “better” music,
which is surely not the so-​called trite, formulaic drivel of popular musics). While
there may be a few naïve souls out there who still believe such things, the philo-
sophical problems with such a stance are legion. Bourdieu referred to “the cul-
tural arbitrary” for a reason (i.e., “better” has little to do with content, but instead

19 Susan Hallam’s (2015) The Power of Music provides a comprehensive literature review of music’s

“benefits.”
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 201

merely reflects the tastes of those in society with the ability to wield power in
specific contexts). Any arguments for music listening as a better form of leisure
need to go beyond intentionality and content.
We hear music in many ways and in many contexts, only some of which might
occur as leisure. For example, music heard in religious and ceremonial contexts
is unlikely to be viewed as leisure listening. It would seem, then, that, while many
people listen to music and believe in its health and well-​being benefits (the doc-
umentary movie Alive Inside comes immediately to mind as an illustration of
music’s “power”), it is difficult to see how music listening might constitute some-
thing prima facie eudaimonic in nature. This is not to suggest music listening is
not valuable, but rather, to recognize that music listening is a multidimensional
phenomenon; there are many contexts for listening. One can, for example, listen
to music while doing other things (assuming one is not at a music performance,
in which case there is more than just listening going on). The same might be said
for radio listening, however. I can listen to the music on the radio (or a podcast)
while preparing breakfast, for instance. Alternatively, one might argue that the
specialness of music listening lies not in the context, but in its non-​discursive
nature, which lends itself to the reflective imagination (e.g., Pauline Oliveros’s
“deep listening”). Or, one might invoke the embodied nature of sound and the
way music is, in many cultural contexts, indissociable from movement (e.g., ca-
poeira) and dancing. To go down these paths, however, is to introduce a specific
kind of listening as leisure, not listening qua listening.
There are several other problems with music listening as “better” leisure.
Although one could make a eudaimonic claim for music listening by arguing
that listening is a kind of skill (an “excellence,” or aretē) and that skills in listening
can be developed, this again suffers from the context problem. Despite those who
propose music listening as a discrete skill akin to any other skill (e.g., throwing a
baseball, solving algebraic equations, sudoku), all listening is, in fact, a particular
kind of listening for; that is, all listening is culturally and contextually embedded.
Perhaps the most egregious example of presenting listening as a discrete skill,
rather than as a culturally and contextually embedded one, is found in the
Western classical music world, which has an unfortunate history of presenting
its listening values as universal. For Aaron Copland to write a book called What
to Listen For in Music (rather than What to Listen For in Classical Music), for
example, leaves the unmistakable impression that the norms of listening are
timeless and universal, as if people who enjoy listening to hip-​hop are under-
going the same fundamental human experience as those who enjoy listening to
Indian Hindustani music (or that they should somehow be listening for the same
things!). This does not discount the possibility that some kinds of music listening
might function as better leisure, although it is not clear how music listening (as
part of human flourishing) might account for the virtuous connotations of aretē.
202 Philosophical Perspectives

That music listening brings joy to countless people is undeniable. Arguably,

it was people’s appetite for music listening, not computers, that helped Apple—​
courtesy of the mp3 and the iPod—​to become one of the world’s biggest compa-
nies. To claim music listening as a better form of leisure rather than an enjoyable
form of recreation, however, is to imply something virtuous that goes beyond in-
dividualism. This is not to discount the pleasures of personal music listening, but
to suggest that scholē exceeds solipsistic hedonism. There may be forms of lis-
tening that contribute to personal and collective welfare, but to claim all musical
listening as a common good would require accounting for how music so often
divides rather than unites, for example, or how contemporary commodifications
of music (through mechanical reproduction and digital distribution) have fun-
damentally altered its ephemeral and dynamic nature.
Thought of in a modernist production/​consumption frame, it is possible that
arguments against music listening (consumption) as better leisure could be sim-
ilarly leveled against music making (production). Just as music listening is mul-
tidimensional in its nature, so too is music making. The experience of creating
“beats” on a digital audio workstation can hardly be considered similar in na-
ture to playing viola in a string quartet. There are, however, some fundamental
differences between production and consumption worth noting. Perhaps most
obvious is that the doing of music participates in a way that listening, or at least
a restricted form of solo listening, does not. While arguments can be made that
listening constitutes a form of participation, I would counter that this generally
only holds true (a) in live music contexts; (b) in dance/​movement contexts; or
(c) in contexts where an explicit participatory goal is present (e.g., intentionally
listening for). Music listening, it should be noted, is sometimes participatory out-
side of a leisure frame or intention (e.g., as part of a religious service). Even if and
when undertaken as leisure, music listening is simply not the equivalent of music
making because it lacks the developmental (flourishing) and virtuous aspects
that are fundamental to conceptions of individual and collective welfare.20
To elaborate on this argument, consider analogies with sport and fitness.
There is certainly nothing wrong with the recreational and entertainment aspects
of sport fandom and spectatorship. Among other things, the “consumption” of
sport can foster a sense of belonging and communal participation (at least in a
narrowed sense). It is difficult, however, to imagine that the spectator/​fandom
aspects of sport can be considered eudaimonic in the same way as amateur/​rec-
reational sport and fitness. This is not to suggest that recreational sport and fit-
ness activities are automatically eudaimonic, but that they can be if and when
undertaken as part of a larger (and virtuous) health and wellness life-​purpose

20 Lest I be misunderstood, I am not arguing that music listening is without value. I am merely

claiming that music production represents a better form of leisure in its scholē sense.
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 203

agenda. While group sports can be understood as beneficial on both a physical

and social level, solo sport and fitness can still be undertaken eudaimonically to
the extent that one exercises and engages as part of “care of the self ” to more fully
participate in social life (as opposed to exercising out of egoism, for example).
Both solo and group sport and fitness activity, in other words, can potentially op-
erate virtuously as part of the common good.
Like sports and fitness, music making cannot be assumed as better lei-
sure—​although, in comparison with music listening, I would argue that
making music has more “better leisure” potential. While many studies show
an array of benefits related to music generally, an increasing body of research
points to benefits specific to “active music making” (e.g., Hallam 2015). That
benefits (of whatever kind) result or accrue from making music does not, in
and of itself, mean that making music constitutes better leisure, but the pos-
sibilities for improved health and well-​being as the result of music making do
lend weight to the argument that it is an activity loaded with eudaimonic and
scholē potential.
The realization of eudaimonic potential is not a given with any undertaking.
Similar to almost all activities, leisure-​time music making can be harmful and
well as helpful. Any leisure pursuit, including music making, can lapse into
egoistic obsession that can damage social relations and undermine rather
than enhance personal welfare. It may be tempting, therefore, to conclude
that the activity or content of leisure is irrelevant and that what ultimately
matters is intent and enactment (because anything can be potentially good
or bad). Such a conclusion is facile, however. While Jeremy Bentham may be
correct that one cannot empirically “prove” that one activity is better than an-
other, this does not mean that one should not trust making inferences based
on the weight of evidence. For example, stamp collecting may be a worthy
activity for many people, one that arguably can be undertaken as scholē in
the best Classical sense of the term. As a form of virtuous human flourishing
that participates in the life of the community, however, stamp collecting does
not seem to stand up well compared to the potential of making music. I am
unaware of any body of research on the personal and social benefits of stamp
collecting comparable to that of music, for example.
One must always be cautious about drawing specious conclusions from re-
search results. Just because study after study “find” benefits from making music,
this does not mean that making music will instantly create personal and collec-
tive well-​being. Beyond the obviousness of selection bias and the “correlation is
not causation” problem (i.e., healthy and happy people are more likely to make
music than unhealthy and happy people), the health and wellness benefits of
music found in the extant research are more than likely a reflection of the general
204 Philosophical Perspectives

dispositions and the intentionality toward music among those studied.21 One
cannot expect that making music does something to a person in the same way
that a pharmaceutical causes one’s body to physically react.
People continue to make music, just as they have for as long as there have
been people on the planet (Mithen 2005; Levitin 2008). Steven Pinker may
have grabbed attention for famously asserting that, in biological terms, music
functions merely as “auditory cheesecake” (Pinker 1997), but such a claim does
not seem to add up. Music’s pleasures do suggest a hedonic appeal that may help
to explain, in part, why humans have been making music for thousands of years,
but this explanation seems insufficient. While true that leisure is only one of
music’s possible functions—​one that is notably missing from Merriam’s (1964)
famous list of musical functions—​it is still one that has been in existence a very,
very long time. There simply must be more than a cheesecake explanation for
the enduring desire to make music (or more precisely, the desire to make music
nonprofessionally). I submit that the perennial failure to adequately explain the
human capacity (e.g., Gardner 1993) and the “irrational” need for music is pre-
cisely why music making has such powerful “better leisure” potential. Scholē
and eudaimonia are fundamentally grounded in ethical seeking. There are no
right answers, only the desire to live well and become. In the words of Rufus of
Ephesus, “Choruses were not invented just for honoring the deity, but also in
view of health.”22
At the risk of appearing like an afterthought, it should not be lost that the no-
tion of common in the common good begs the question of who constitutes the
whole. This is the classic critique of communitarianism, which argues that, by
definition, a common denominator elides and squelches difference (because the
common denominator can only be reduced so far before becoming individu-
alism). Put in more straightforward terms: common inevitably ends up leaving
out all those who don’t fit the mold of the majority. To suggest music making as a
better form of leisure (in that it is part of and contributes to the common good)
is to a imply, among other things, that making music is equally accessible to all.
This is problematic on multiple fronts, not least of which being the ableist as-
sumption that all people can make music and the assumption that music making
as leisure is available to all, which is clearly not the case if one thinks of all those
lacking in the freedom of choice central to ethical leisure seeking.
To be clear, to claim music making as a form of better leisure is not to claim it
is the only form of better leisure. I would argue that, rather than interpreting the
unequal access to music making as a disqualification of its status and potential as

21 One is reminded of the William James quote: “I don’t sing because I’m happy; I’m happy because

I sing.”
22 This passage can be found in Foucault’s The History of Sexuality, Vol. 3: The Care of the Self

(1986, 130).
 Leisure, Music, and the Common Good 205

better leisure, it in fact only strengthens the case for acknowledging the impor-
tance of quality-​of-​life (QOL) for all people. Whether QOL is viewed through
a leisure lens or not is immaterial. Arguments for leisure (and better leisure)
is the Classical sense have always been about what makes for the good life. If
making music is understood as a powerful force for contributing to the good
life, this creates an ethical imperative for those with greater capacity to act to
help those with lesser capacity to act. Ergo, those suited to the task (community
musicians, music educators, community music therapists, etc.) can contribute to
the common good by helping to ensure more people can experience the highest
QOL possible—​in this case in and through making music.
By way of illustration, I direct attention to the Amplified Elephants, a sonic
art ensemble for people with an intellectual disability (ID). As sound artist and
composer James Hullick (2013) explains, the Amplified Elephants came about
when he was invited to join the Footscray Community Arts Centre as a prac-
ticing sound artist. What he witnessed upon his arrival was a weekly sing-​along
program for people with an ID. Despite the fact the participants were singing, in
his appraisal the program was more of a passive recreational program intended
to fill time in the week than a genuine form of engagement that recognized and
responded to the musical agency of those in attendance. Taking a cue from
TraLaLa Blip, an Australian musical collective of “differently abled musicians,”
Hullick formed the Amplified Elephants. The group has gone on to perform in at
major sound art festivals and events. YouTube examples leave the viewer with the
unmistakable impression that participants engage in music in ways that appear
to contribute meaningfully to their overall QOL.
To interpret the activities of the Amplified Elephants as leisure depends,
to some extent, on whether one interprets leisure as counterposed to work
(whereby everything outside of work and obligation qualifies as leisure). Can
“non-​working” people with an ID enact leisure? How might this compare to or
contrast from other non-​working groups, such as the retired, the incarcerated,
and so on? To invoke another example, “prison choirs” (e.g., Sullivan, Cohen,
and Seybert 2020; Lee 2010; Cohen 2019, 2007; Henley 2015), although not a
new phenomenon (Van de Wall 1936), have received a lot of attention in recent
years in the music education and community music fields. To what extent might
such choirs be considered a form of rational recreation (Chapter 3) that makes
society feel good about itself out of its paternalistic care and concern rather than
a genuine ethical leisure seeking on the part of the participants? Where is the line
between time-​filling recreation and “better leisure”—​especially as interpreted
against concerns of the common good? Can leisure, let alone musical leisure,
exist for the incarcerated, those with IDs, or the incapacitated?
206 Philosophical Perspectives

Summary

To sum up the basic arguments in this chapter, all people deserve the oppor-
tunity to pursue the good life. For most people, leisure, however defined, is a
major domain in and through which to enact the good life. Due to historically
derived structural, systemic, and, in some cases, biological factors (e.g., disabil-
ities of various kinds), the playing field is inherently unequal. To add insult to
injury, shifting societal values have increasingly normalized consumerism to the
detriment of non-​consumptive pursuits, and positioned inequality as a problem
of the individual rather than the collective. As a result, the common good and
the need to address fundamental inequalities have receded from public con-
cern as individualism has come to dominate much of the globe. While any ac-
tivity connected to a life purpose that contributes to one’s happiness and QOL
can be considered good leisure, better leisure should be determined according to
those pursuits that connect in some way to a concept of the common good. The
common good is contested terrain, however. The right-​wing fascist lays claim
to the common good to rationalize hateful activity just as easily as the altruist
claims it to justify harmonious activity. To this point: music and music-​making
cannot be simplistically assumed as inherently good. Music can push away just
as easily as it can invite. Although a good deal of research continues to demon-
strate the benefits of music making on human health and happiness, there is a
danger that such research, if not tempered by awareness of the importance of the
common good, may inadvertently help to exacerbate individualism, enervating
music of its better leisure potential.
 9
Music Education as Leisure
Education

The difficulty is that one cannot directly train people to use their lei-
sure, for it is of the essence of leisure that it should be free, and at the
disposal of the individual to use as he is moved. Most of us know the
disastrous effect which deliberate training can have upon one’s appre-
ciation of things which, had we not been forced to accept them, could
have been thrilling and satisfying. The romance of the life of St. Paul
has been darkened for many of us by having to learn his missionary
journeys by rote. The profundity and beauty of a Shakespeare play has
been lost by having to do it for the school certificate or the G.C.E. If
young people suspect that in education for leisure they are being got
at and improved by the “do-​gooders”, they will soon react by rejecting
those activities which in leisure could be a source of satisfaction simply
because they have been dulled in the classroom. . . . [People] will not
use their leisure wisely and well because they have been trained to
specific activities which will keep them busy and out of mischief, but
because they are educated in the fullest sense and are capable of appre-
ciating their opportunities and fitting themselves to take advantages of
them.
—​The Lord Bishop of Chester, British House
of Lords debate, 19641

It has faded from view in all but the most niche areas of education, and was ar-
guably always outside the educational mainstream, but leisure education does
have a modern history (see Sivan and Stebbins [eds.] 2016). Not only were
there higher education training programs implemented in the 1920s and 1930s
to train recreation leaders, but the concept of “leisure education” had traction
through the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s.2 As was ultimately the case in the early to

1HL Deb 13 May 1964 vol 258 cc237–​368, “The Problem of Leisure.”
2In Canada, for example, the Ontario Ministry of Culture and Recreation established a Leisure
Education Program in 1976.

Music, Leisure, Education. Roger Mantie, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780199381388.003.0009
208 Philosophical Perspectives

mid-​twentieth century, leisure education has arguably failed to have purchase

because of narrow and unimaginative “disciplinarity”—​policing boundaries at
the expense of potential cross-​disciplinary benefits.
One need only examine some of the incredible work done in the name of “lei-
sure education” to realize the value overlooked by the field of education at large.
For example, in 1975 the National Recreation and Park Association received a
two-​year grant from Lilly Endowment Inc. of Indianapolis to support the Leisure
Education Advancement Project. The result was a two-​volume curriculum guide
called the “Kangaroo Kit” (Zeyen et al. 1977).3 Despite the slightly quirky name,
the document is thorough, thoughtful, and theorized. Some passages from the
guide are worth citing:

The student will understand that effective leisure living and leisure choices de-
pend upon the development of skills, knowledge, and attitudes learned through
study, experience and practice. (38)
[E]‌ffective leisure living that enhances quality of life for an individual and so-
ciety is not a happenstance occurrence. (38)
[T]‌he ability to develop a leisure attitude and to use leisure effectively today, as
well as in the future, is not an instinct. (38)
[Understand the] consequences of leisure to yourself and others. (730)
[W]‌eigh relative values of leisure choices and their consequences in daily
experiences. (730)
[I]‌dentify the effects that some leisure choices have on businesses. (744)
[I]‌dentify the consequences of leisure activities on the natural and constructed
environment. (746)
[I]‌dentify consequences of different forms of leisure facilities in the neighbor-
hood, community and total school. (752)

On the heels of the Kangaroo Kit, Mundy and Odum (1979) published Leisure
Education: Theory and Practice, a comprehensive articulation that demonstrates
a nuanced understanding of the meanings and challenges of leisure education.
They note, for instance, both the importance of schools to leisure education and
the schools’ resistance to any suggestion of adding something new to an already-​
crowded curriculum. Significantly, they frame their discussion around what
they describe as the “controversy” of educating for leisure (illustrated also in the
chapter epigraph)—​that of intrinsic versus extrinsic determinations of leisure
behaviors. On the one hand, leisure is about choosing how to live. On the other,
one can only choose from alternatives that have ultimately been made known by

3 The name reflects the curious use of kangaroo images to “speak” to the reader. I speculate that

this well-​intended rhetorical strategy may have undermined its uptake.

 Music Education as Leisure Education 209

someone else (who has a vested interest in making known some choices rather
than others). To illustrate, Mundy and Odum cite a passage from a book entitled
Values Clarification: A Handbook of Practical Strategies for Teachers and Students
intended to highlight the paternalism inherent in education: “My experience
(and professional training) has taught me a certain set of values which I believe
would be right for you. Therefore, to save you the pain of coming to these values
on your own, and to avoid the risk of your choosing less desirable values, I will
effectively transfer my own values to you” (1979, 16). In reference to the 1918
Cardinal Principles of Secondary Education, Mundy and Odum conclude, “Wise
or worthy use of leisure as the principal focus and goal of leisure education to the
subjugation of individual outcomes related to quality of life is contrary to both
the essence of leisure and leisure as a uniquely human experience” (6).
In terms of the overarching arguments in this book, leisure education may be
something of a misnomer because, in today’s parlance, it alludes to what is com-
monly understood as recreation education. I have no issue with music making as
a recreational activity; there are certainly worse activities than music in which to
engage outside of work and other obligations. As I hope has become obvious by
this point, however, there are important conceptual differences between recreare
and scholē. Hence, my use of leisure education is intended, as it was by Mundy
and Odum, to invoke something more than just recreation, where recreation
might be thought of as necessary but insufficient. Given the etymological roots
of scholē (Chapter 2), “leisure education” can even be viewed as redundant (lei-
sure leisure?). Despite the problems and limitations of leisure education, there
is still, I submit, value and utility in thinking about music education as leisure
education.
Music’s relationship to leisure is complicated by many factors, not the least of
which being music’s multifaceted nature. Not all music making is music-​as-​lei-
sure. That much is obvious. But some music making can be leisure for all people, a
kind of leisure with rich hedonic and eudaimonic potential. This does not mean
that everyone should or should want to make music, but it does suggest, given
music’s capacity for individual and collective wellness, that all people deserve the
opportunity to develop the requisite skills and dispositions for meaningful, non-​
professional music making to be one of life’s options.
To put a fine point on it, my critique exists on two fronts: (1) the need to change
how we (i.e., all people) think about the art of living in the twenty-​first century so
that neoliberalism, operating under the cloak of governmentality, does not erode
human happiness; and (2) the need for those of us involved with the learning and
teaching of music to rethink our practices so that music’s leisure potential is not
overlooked or shortchanged due to a well-​intentioned but misplaced emphasis
on music as a knowledge domain. The first critique is broad and ethical, re-
flecting the very ancient problem of living: How Should One Live? and How One
210 Philosophical Perspectives

Should Live. In this book, I have framed this as conduct in both a subjective (or
individualistic) sense and an objective (or collectivist) sense: How should I live?
How should everyone live? The subtextual questions here are Why should one lei-
sure? and How should one leisure? The second critique has implications for many
people, but is more narrowly addressed to those who teach, lead, or facilitate
nonprofessional music learning and music making. The questions here—​Why
should one music? How should one music?—​are not new. They have likely been
around, implicitly or explicitly, for as long as people have been making music.
What I have been arguing through my historical and philosophical examinations
is that these questions deserve to be revisited. In the case of practice (or action),
what worked or was appropriate for the twentieth century may not work or be
appropriate for the twenty-​first century. The answers to the questions “why
should” and “how should” are not timeless and universal.
In this chapter, I offer a consideration of nonprofessional music making in the
context of upbringing, arguing that those involved with teaching, leading, and
facilitating could make a bigger impact on individual and collective well-​being if
music was thought in terms of leisure. I begin with an examination of upbringing
in the context of pastoral care. I then examine parenting, school music, and the
value of extracurriculars, leading to the connections between education, life-
style, and what I call “the paradox of paternalism.” Shifting gears to matters more
specific to music learning and teaching, I focus on musical amateurism, depth of
engagement (i.e., seriousness), and the unavoidable issue of inequalities in music
learning and participation. I conclude with some summary thoughts on music,
leisure, and education.

The Problem of Upbringing

Spare the rod, spoil the child.

In biological terms, human offspring have a relatively long period of dependency

on their caregivers compared with other animals. How children are understood
during this period remains somewhat ambiguous, however. Children are people,
yes, but only in a nominal sense. As contemporary society positions them, chil-
dren are more like “almost people” or “people to be” (hence the modern in-
vention of childhood).4 Children first need to be socialized. Embedded within
contemporary considerations of socialization are notions of completeness and
autonomy. The perennial problem with completeness and autonomy in relation
to human socialization is the difficulty in determining or establishing a point at

4 The classic source here is Ariès (1962).

 Music Education as Leisure Education 211

which people are considered fully human rather than people in the making. In a
physical sense, people might be considered fully human post-​puberty, a stage in
life some cultural traditions celebrate with rituals that mark the passage into the
adult life (e.g., Gennep 1960). In a legal sense, the age of eighteen is a relatively
common benchmark in many democratic countries based on the presumption
that the ability to vote signals full membership in society. (This, however, is com-
plicated by drinking laws set at age twenty-​one in some jurisdictions, which
imply that one is not fully autonomous until they are able to legally purchase
alcohol, the implication being that people are not yet accepted as self-​governing
and responsible prior to twenty-​one.5)
Salient to my argument is not so much the determination of when people be-
come fully human, but the recognition that socialization is an inevitable part of
life tied to beliefs that the first twenty years of life (approximately) are formative.
No matter how far to the nature side of the nature/​nurture debate one leans, nur-
ture plays a large part in who people are and how they live their lives. While all
people are born hard-​wired in some ways, they are not tabula rasa. Everyone
is a product of their environment; everyone is socialized. How people are so-
cialized determines, in large part, their values, abilities, dispositions, sense of
self, and material circumstances later in life, insofar as there is typically a large
transference from parents to children. This is not to suggest that nature does not
play a part in our development, but that our DNA lies beyond our control (eu-
genics and genetic engineering excepted), whereas nurture is a universal aspect
of human experience.6
Socialization during the first 20–​25 percent of the average person’s lifespan
may not be totally deterministic (in that nature still exerts an influence and that
people can and do change throughout life), but the influence of this formative
period for the remainder of a person’s life cannot be underestimated. This is no
doubt why, throughout history, many people have focused on the importance
of upbringing (e.g., paideia, Rousseau’s Emile). Although conceptions of up-
bringing vary historically and cross-​culturally, there seems little doubt about
the basic importance of the formative years. There can also be little doubt about
the paternalism central to the notion of “proper” upbringing. Children may be
argued as having some agency in the matter, but they are ultimately subjected to
the beliefs of others.

5 See, for example, Arnett’s (2000, 2004) work on “emerging adulthood.”

6 This is hardly a novel claim. Life course theory (or life course perspective) seems immediately sa-
lient. In education, Vygotsky’s socio-​cultural approach also speaks to this issue. Research on identical
twins separated at birth, while perhaps fascinating on one level, does not seem to me to offer much
utility to nature-​nurture arguments beyond the obviousness that DNA plays a role in development.
(If it didn’t, one presumes that children subjected to identical conditions of nurture would turn out
the same.)
212 Philosophical Perspectives

Childrearing practices in traditional societies were likely a topic of debate,

just as they are today. Unlike today, however, such debates would have occurred
at the familial or clan level. Upbringing in modern times has been compli-
cated by the introduction of state-​based compulsory schooling. As discussed in
Chapter 1, compulsory schooling can be understood as part of what Foucault
calls governmentality—​a form of pastoral power where the state takes responsi-
bility for the welfare of its citizens. Pastoral power, one recalls, is paternalistic but
benevolent; it is a “power of care” (Foucault 2007, 127). Compulsory schooling
is thus considered an instrument for “improving” the population, something
thought necessary for the security of the state. This helps to explain curricular
emphases on such things as literacy, numeracy, citizenship, and so on. Most
caregivers would be hard-​pressed to argue against the authority of the state to
impose literacy expectations and requirements, for example. A fundamental ten-
sion arises, however, in the jurisdictional nature of pastoral power when curric-
ulum ventures into culture and values territory. At this point questions are raised
over who has ultimate authority over the upbringing of children.
To the extent the state compels attendance and governs curricular content and
performance standards in formal education, the state claims a not insubstantial
degree of responsibility for and influence over the upbringing of children. Even
in cases of home schooling or the growing phenomenon in the United States of
“school choice” (e.g., charter schools, parochial schools), latitude only goes so
far; non-​public school options are still subject to the regulatory requirements of
the state. In this sense, the rights of the state trump those of parents—​but only
to a point. While parents are seemingly willing to accede to the authority of the
state on matters such as the advancement of literacy, numeracy, and other areas
in the schooling curriculum considered relatively benign in terms of cultural
values, they are less willing to capitulate on areas they consider the domain of the
family. Religion tends to be the most overt example here, but religion often has a
way of blurring the boundaries between faith and culture.7
The question of the rights of the state and the rights of parents surrounding
upbringing often boils down to the distinction between what is considered nec-
essary for parents, as a group of people linked by common values, to maintain
their particular way of life, and what the state considers necessary for its effec-
tive functioning.8 While the rights of parents and the rights of the state not be
mutually exclusive, they are often conflated by those wishing to see their group’s
values imposed on others, usually by arguing that their values represent what is

7 Recall the discussion of expressive individual in Chapter 8.

8 To be clear, the state is an imaginary; in a democracy the state is typically conceptualized as an
embodiment of “the people.” Hence, the dividing line between the rights of parents and the rights of
the state is merely one of concept. In practice, the distinction often boils down to the will of parents
and the will of voters.
 Music Education as Leisure Education 213

necessary for the functioning of the state. For example, at the time of writing,
thirty-​seven US states required information on sexual abstinence be provided
to students, with twenty-​six of those states requiring that abstinence be empha-
sized, despite the preponderance of research evidence demonstrating not only
the ineffectiveness of abstinence education, but its potential for harm in the form
of unplanned pregnancy, increased rates of sexually transmitted diseases, and so
on. This helps to illustrate both the perceived importance of the formative years
and the politicized nature of the school curriculum. Why else would educational
policy knowingly contradict what the medical field would call “evidence-​based
practice”? Is abstinence education really necessary for the proper functioning of
the state, or does it reflect the power of socio-​cultural groups to use schools to
advance vested interests?9
Another example of how schools are used to advance the interests of vested
groups in society is found in what is sometimes described as the human capital
agenda, where the purpose of schools is regarded as generating a skilled labor
pool. Unlike the Progressive Education Era, where schools were generally viewed
as preparatory for both a life and a living, the neoliberal “employment-​focused
education” agenda of today regards the day-​to-​day welfare of the individual as a
private rather than public matter—​or, alternatively, claims the individual is better
off when the economy is better off. The logic of “trickle-​down” economics argues
that everyone’s life is improved when those at the top are thriving, even though
the spoils of economic growth are, by virtually every measure, grossly dispropor-
tionate in their distribution. That compulsory schooling should educate for in-
dividual well-​being instead of, or at least in addition to, advancing the economy
(a concept that is proxy for the interests of the “1 percent”) has vanished from
contemporary discourses in the United States, as has any entertaining of the idea
that students may aspire to be something other than an employee serving the
needs and interests of the business community.
Although it can be argued that the human capital and abstinence educa-
tion examples are similar insofar as they reveal the highly political nature of
schooling, there is a difference. One can at least entertain the argument that, not-
withstanding numerous objections that might be advanced against the human
capital agenda, the health of a nation’s economy can be considered a legitimate
part of the state’s responsibility to its citizens. The same cannot be rightly said
of abstinence education. Some form of sex education might be considered
part of a state’s responsibility in the sphere of upbringing, but only to the ex-
tent such education is grounded in science-​based health knowledge rather than

9 One could argue that, as an embodiment of the people, any action by the state is an example of

governmentality. My point is that “the power of care” loses legitimacy when policy ignores evidence
in the name of religious-​based morality. To knowingly cause harm cannot be rationalized as care.
214 Philosophical Perspectives

religious-​based morality. (Given the potential for harm, as demonstrated in re-

peated studies, abstinence education can, in fact, be viewed as a dereliction of
pastoral care for the citizenry.) But what, then, of the role, function, or status of
music in schooling? Is music education a legitimate matter of public concern,
such that governmentality demands the inclusion of music in the school cur-
riculum? Or is the inclusion of music analogous to abstinence education, where
the desires of vested interests advance an agenda irrespective of what might be
reasonably argued as in the best interests of the state? Before addressing these
questions, I pause to consider the relationship of parenting to music education
(using the term parenting as a general stand-​in for the act of caregivers, regard-
less of whether this responsibility is performed by biological parents).

Parenting and Music Education

[W]‌hile music education has long felt it important to explore the

learning theory of the individual in the most minute detail, it has
largely ignored the social-​psychology of the youth culture, which
colors and in good part determines the atmosphere in which the
learning is accepted or resisted. (Kaplan 1966, 50)

It is understandable, perhaps, that schoolteachers tend to give short shrift to

the role of parents in upbringing. The vocation of school teaching centers on
schooling students in subject matter, not broader concerns of how young people
are being socialized into the world outside the classroom. Teachers are no doubt
implicitly aware of delicate and complex student/​child inter-​/​intra-​actions, but
their professional concerns incline them to bifurcate learning into hard bound-
aries between school and home where teachers are thought to be the lone inde-
pendent variable in school learning. Reflecting on the paucity of music educator
interest and concern in the role of home life, Gary McPherson writes, “My
training and experience as a teacher inculcated within me a feeling that the most
important influence on a child’s development is the teacher. However, in recent
years, I have come to realize how limited this view is as I began to understand
more fully how . . . families profoundly influence music education” (2009, 14).
Like McPherson, I too used to share the belief (or rather, conceit) that teachers
were the most critical factor in a child’s development. To the extent I acknowl-
edged the role of parents during my years as a school music teacher, it was that
I wanted them to ensure their child’s attendance and not interfere with my
teaching. I suspect this was due, in part, to how I conceptualized my own prac-
tice, which was, in concert with so many other school music teachers (past and
present), to spread the love of music. I was the expert.
 Music Education as Leisure Education 215

According to Csikszentmihalyi, Rathunde, and Whalen (1993), high levels

of parental cognitive/​intellectual support and challenge have been identified
as having a positive effect on teenagers, notably across multiple talent areas.
What becomes immediately obvious, however, is that, while Csikszentmihalyi,
Rathunde, and Whalen looked at the connections between parental support and
talent development, most of the educational research in this area focuses pri-
marily, if not exclusively, on academic achievement in school. What researchers
usually want to know are the relationships that exist between parenting styles
(e.g., responsiveness and demandingness), parenting practices (e.g., involvement,
monitoring, goals, values, aspirations/​expectations), and school achievement
(e.g., Spera 2005). Given that most studies find a strong positive correlation be-
tween parental support and academic achievement, researchers are, unsurpris-
ingly, interested in predicting parental involvement (e.g., Grolnick et al. 1997).
The general construct of home life is typically found in the educational lit-
erature as PI-​HE: parental involvement and home environment.10 Although it
still pales in quantity in comparison with that of education more broadly—​and,
based on its scant presence in major music education research journals, is hardly
a matter of great concern to the discipline—​PI-​HE research is not entirely ab-
sent. Brand’s (1985) Home Musical Environmental Scale (cleverly known as
HOMES) was one of the first survey measures developed to examine the impact
of the “home environment.” Other music studies (e.g., Creech and Hallam 2003;
Wills 2011) extended the concern with parental involvement and home environ-
ment to include the musical backgrounds of family members, inspiring Zdzinski
(2013) to develop PI-​HEM scales (i.e., PI-​HE plus family musical background).
Music education research that has examined the role and influence of parents
and home life tends to be split into considerations of parenting and the musical
activities of younger children (e.g., Custodero, Britto, and Brooks-​Gunn 2003;
Ilari and Young 2016; Koops 2020; Youm 2013; Custodero 2006; Koops 2017;
Mehr 2014; Gibson 2009; Cho 2015) and considerations of parenting and musical
achievement (e.g., Davidson et al. 1996; Davidson, Sloboda, and Howe 1995/​
1996) or musical preferences (e.g., Warrener, Krause, and North 2020), partic-
ularly that of older children. The difference between these primary divisions of
literature is that in the former the spotlight tends to be on describing parenting
practices (usually with early years children), what Koops (2020) calls parenting
musically and musical parenting. By contrast, in the achievement and preferences
literature the spotlight tends to be on figuring out the relationships between par-
enting and the musical development of school-​aged children. When viewed in
the big picture, however, music educator interest in parenting is negligible. As

10 Although somewhat dated, Keith and Keith (1993) provide a useful (and influential) general

typology of the PI-​HE literature in education.

216 Philosophical Perspectives

Beatriz Ilari (2018) observes in her comprehensive review on parenting and

music education, “Despite their importance, discussions concerning parental
roles in children’s music learning are often left at the margins in teacher educa-
tion programs” (46).
It is not surprising that American pre-​service music teacher programs, cen-
tered on the training and certification of school music teachers (with an over-
whelming emphasis on the secondary level and its bands, choirs, and orchestras),
are largely unconcerned with parenting and the early years. What is less under-
standable is why the broader field of music education gives such short shrift to
parental involvement and home environment of school-​aged children. Why,
for example, has the development of a nuanced understanding of the motiv-
ations and concerns of parents not factored more prominently as a central con-
cern of researchers? In her review of extant research on music and family life,
Susan Conkling notes how “authors [in music education] did not directly ad-
dress the routines, rituals, and discourse that organize family life. Neither did
they acknowledge the central importance of the child’s developing self-​under-
standing or the reciprocal relationship between the child’s agency and the cul-
tural traditions of the family” (2018, 33).
Based on keyword searches, organization of family life, child agency, and cul-
tural traditions of the family do not appear to be major concerns in music ed-
ucation. I could find precious little in Journal of Research in Music Education,
for example—​a major journal in the field that dates to 1953.11 A Google Scholar
search similarly revealed few results, suggesting that the lack of interest in such
matters is discipline-​specific, not country-​specific.12 What seems to have gone
largely unnoticed in the field of music education is that everyday people do not
typically look at music in the context of their child’s school life in the same way
as school music teachers. This does not mean they do not value the opportu-
nity for their child to learn music in school, but that they value it for different
reasons. Without a nuanced understanding of the organization of family life,
child agency, and cultural traditions of the family—​aspects with the potential to
greatly inform music learning and teaching practices—​music educators (of all
descriptions) fail to recognize that music education is not (or rather, should not
be) a universal practice.

11 For JRME, I searched by keywords, abstract, and anywhere. As might be expected, “family life”

anywhere returned many false positives. Searching by abstract returned three, only one of which
(Youm 2013) was about family life, notably with younger children. “Child agency” by abstract
returned one (Koops 2017), a study examining 4–​7-​year-​olds. “Cultural traditions” by abstract
returned zero. Inspecting the results of anywhere revealed one relevant article: Custodero (2003)—​
again, with younger children. It should be noted that abstracts only started appearing in JRME in the
mid-​1970s, thus affecting the results.
12 I do not mean to downplay the work of researchers in music who examine family life, child

agency, or family cultural traditions. My point is simply that the proportion of research is abysmally
low in comparison with the relative importance of these matters.
 Music Education as Leisure Education 217

What I am leading to is the disconnect between how the teachers of music

view music learning for the students and how parents, differences among them
notwithstanding, view music learning for their children. Key here is to under-
score the salience of Roberts’s (2004) point about the social construction of
music as a school subject (Chapter 1). While all school subjects can be argued
as being in some way social constructions, most school subjects are accepted
by parents and the general public based on perceived future utility. The place
of “reading, writing, and ’rithmetic,” geography, history, the sciences, and any
other subject with reasonably close perceived connections to living requirements
and employment expectations in the twenty-​first century never require justifica-
tion in the school curriculum. The status of vocational subjects waxes and wanes,
but their acceptance in schools is usually grounded in perceived functionality.
Secondary languages, the learning of which used to be the sine qua non of a lib-
eral education, are now increasingly (and regrettably) rationalized in neoliberal
terms, where their value is connected to globalization and cosmopolitanism, not
education qua education.
Constructing music as a school subject introduces questions about the role
and function of music learning in the future lives of students/​children. Musical
ability is not typically viewed by parents as necessary for employability or func-
tioning in society (or as a useful globalization skill). Although Classical educa-
tion had long positioned music as a respected subject of study, it was always,
strictly speaking, the theoretical aspects of music that were valued; the actual
“doing” of music was vulgar.13 Classical education, however, was for the se-
lect few. For the masses of today, the requirement to learn music only makes
sense as an activity. By placing music in compulsory schooling, the state (i.e.,
governmentality) essentially says to parents that the study of music as a school
subject is necessary for everyone because learning music is crucial to society as a
public good. The problem with this is that the emperor has no clothes, and eve-
ryone knows it—​except, apparently, music teachers themselves, who continue to
rail that music is basic to education. For everyone else, music, as a school subject,
is “nice but not necessary” (Broudy 1990). This does not mean, however, that
parents do not value music learning for their children. Most do, but just not in
the ways school music teachers assume they should.

School Music as a Public Good

By way of sophisticated theorizing and complex analytical modeling, Laura

Langbein (2004) has called school music in the United States the “public

13 See, for example, Leppert (1988, 1993).

218 Philosophical Perspectives

provision of a quasi-​private good.”14 The thrust of Langbein’s argument, rooted in

economics, is that school music, like other “specialized” classes, is supported by
the public (i.e., taxpayers) but involves very few school-​going children. (Notably,
this assumes school music at the secondary level, where it is elective, rather than
elementary level, where it is often compulsory.15) Her summary comment is
worth quoting at length:

Music classes are provided at public expense to a small minority of students.

Skepticism about their value has persisted as long as music education has been
publicly supported, and many districts provide no music classes. The ques-
tion here is why any districts would provide music classes at public expense.
The first answer is that they are provided when there is a sufficient number of
(parents of) music students to be heard—​but they are still a small, vocal group.
The second answer appears to be that they are provided because (parents of)
non-​music students enjoy the prestige and pageantry of a school music pro-
gram, collectively valuing music education, once it is provided to the music
students, as a public good. (96; original emphasis)

Although I appreciate the rigor of Langbein’s study, I believe her exclusive

focus on economics misses a critical point: virtually all parents, regardless of
their children’s direct involvement, intuit the value of music learning and partic-
ipation, just as they do for so many “life” activities with perceived personal and
social worth.16 My point is that, for most parents, the line between “school sub-
ject” and “not school subject” for their child is porous. What matters most is the
overall upbringing and welfare of their child, not quibbles over whether some-
thing is formally classified as public (i.e., curricular) or private (non-​curricular).
For all but the wealthy or civic-​minded, I suspect what ultimately matters to
parents is not finer-​grained distinctions of public goods versus private goods, but
personal cost implications. In the policy arena, however, conceptual and applied
distinctions between curricular and extracurricular matter a great deal because
they entail, among other things, resources. In the face of scarcity, the curricular is
inevitably prioritized over the extracurricular.17 The curricular is necessary, the

14 Langbein’s analysis is based on enrollment figures from 1987. If anything, her argument is prob-

ably even stronger today. It should be noted, however, that her analysis is driven by economic theory
where, counterintuitively, education is not considered a public good.
15 It should be noted that Langbein’s claims of few school-​going children would seem to conflict

with statistics reported by Elpus and Abril (2019), who demonstrate that 24 percent of the class of
2013 had participated in a music class in at least one of their four years in high school.
16 There are likely taxpaying non-​parents who take issue with the provision of anything beyond

the bare minimum in schools, of course, but there will always be those who fail to comprehend public
“return on investment.”
17 As mentioned in Chapter 1, Patrick Schmidt’s (2020) Policy as Practice: A Guide for Music

Educators provides an excellent introduction to “policy thinking.”

 Music Education as Leisure Education 219

extracurricular is merely desirable (see Chapter 1). In the context of compulsory

schooling, the curricular is public (i.e., a matter of common concern justifying
taxpayer support), the extracurricular is private (i.e., an individual and family
matter that does not warrant taxpayer support).
It is little wonder that the field of music education has long fought for music
to attain curricular status. When working as a licensed schoolteacher, music
teachers enjoy more or less the same job security, working conditions, and fi-
nancial compensation as other teachers. This rarely happens for those in charge
of school-​based extracurriculars, who are often described, in the language of ed-
ucational institutions, as “paraprofessionals,” not teachers. Those who partake
in school-​based extracurriculars do not do so as students, but as participants.
What’s more, students enrolled in curricular subjects tend to enjoy the expecta-
tion (even if not always realized) of equitable timetabling, space and equipment,
and other resources. School-​based extracurriculars, on the other hand, typically
must make do with whatever is granted, supported, or allowed.
From an occupational perspective, there is much to be gained when music
teachers operate as school teachers rather than paraprofessionals. However, in
terms of students—​children and their parents—​it must be asked if the benefits
of music learning and participation are truly “public” (in the sense of universal)
when music operates as a curricular subject. On the first count, the uptake for
music classes (at the secondary level) is relatively small. Hence, any benefits
from music learning accrue for a minority, undermining the sense of publicness
(i.e., for everyone-​ness). I am not suggesting that specialized, small-​enrollment
courses should not be offered at the secondary level. Rather, I am drawing atten-
tion to the tension that results from claiming that music is so important that it
must be a curricular subject but is then only taken by a relatively small number
of people. The problem here lies not with the number enrolled, but with the jus-
tification advanced for curricular status. On the second count, those who do
avail themselves of curricular music offerings are disproportionately white and
middle-​class (or better) (Elpus and Abril 2019).18 Hence, the purported benefits
of music study claimed as worthy for all (i.e., public) tend to accrue to the already-​
advantaged. Considered in terms of governmentality, then, it could be argued
that, in its current form at least, school music is akin to abstinence education to
the extent music does not legitimately represent a truly public good justifying its
place in schools—​a key difference in the two examples being that, whereas the
preponderance of evidence suggests abstinence education is harmful to individ-
uals and society, the preponderance of evidence suggests making music is good
for individuals and society.

18 Note, however, that Elpus and Abril report no statistically significant differences in participa-

tion by race or class for choral ensembles.

220 Philosophical Perspectives

Extracurriculars as a Public Good

There is mounting evidence demonstrating positive associations between struc-

tured extracurricular participation and an array of benefits for young people,
including school engagement, grades, educational aspirations, interpersonal
competence, higher self-​esteem, lower depression, reduced level of dropping
out of school, and reduced engagement in antisocial behaviors (for an overview,
see Fredricks and Eccles 2006). In their large longitudinal study of adolescents
involved in sports and music activities, Fredricks and Eccles (2006) found that
higher activity involvement “predicted school belonging, psychological adjust-
ment, and a more positive peer context (i.e., a higher proportion of academic
friends and a lower proportion of high-​risk friends)” (143). Extracurricular par-
ticipation (which in their study included music) also predicted higher resilience
and lower distress. That music educators have been reluctant to focus on or refer-
ence the benefits of extracurricular activities may reflect a reticence to associate
school music with extracurriculars for fear of reduced status. It may also reflect
a long-​standing animosity toward positioning music as a means rather than an
end. What matters most in extracurricular benefits arguments are the benefits,
not—​to the consternation of musicians—​the music itself.
The long-​standing unease of music educators to acknowledge the value of
benefits regarded as social or utilitarian (or, sometimes, extramusical or non-​
musical) is ironic in light of a study by Dai and Schader (2001) that exam-
ined the views of parents of highly accomplished musical children. While the
researchers did find that this group of parents emphasized the intrinsic, aesthetic
value of music for their children (rather than external aspects such as winning
competitions), their motivations and reasons for supporting and encouraging
musical training had little to do with developing musical talent. Instead, they
were interested in the intellectual, personal, and emotional benefits associated
with music study, and cited reasons such as discipline, diligence, academic per-
formance, and intelligence—​the very benefits that so many music educators
are hesitant to endorse. Perhaps the most telling of all the findings by Dai and
Schader was that parents who were professional musicians rated the personal
benefits of music training higher than the parents who weren’t professional
musicians.
Regrettably, music educators seem averse to the notion of desirability. It
is a pity that music education has not paid greater attention to literature that
considers music learning during the formative years in the context of a field such
as “positive youth development.” While likely true that following this path might
increase the ambiguity of music’s curricular status, I would argue that music
learning, in the context of schooling, is at best quasi-​curricular anyway. Despite
music in American schools typically being taught within the school day on par
 Music Education as Leisure Education 221

with other subjects, it is highly unlikely that most parents would put music in the
same curricular category as “core” subjects such as math or English. Again, this
does not mean school music is not valued by parents. It simply means they value
it as something that, conveniently, just happens to be part of schooling (i.e., it is
quasi-​curricular).19
It is perhaps understandable that some music educators may see the equating
of music with sports, dance, and other structured extracurricular/​co-​curricular
or “out-​of-​school time” activities (Bouffard et al. 2006) associated with positive
youth development as a potential slippery slope to the removal of music from
schooling, but the ongoing refusal to see music as a life activity rather than an
academic subject sustains the disconnect between the way parents and music
teachers view the learning of music. That music educators insist on curricular
status and eschew (if not disparage) music as an extracurricular/​co-​curricular
or out-​of-​school time activity is regrettable on numerous fronts, not the least
of which being that one can use parental interest in extracurricular activities
to offer a very robust argument for the teaching of music in schools based on
equality of opportunity.
On the face of it, the argument for music as part of positive youth develop-
ment may appear similar to the rationalization of public school music in the
early twentieth century. The critical difference is that today’s arguments must
focus on life chances related to living well rather than on arguments related to
the democratization of culture. In short: if research demonstrates multiple short-​
and long-​term benefits from participation in structured extracurriculars (and
activities perceived as extracurricular), and research shows that some groups in
society do not have the same opportunities to partake in or, more important for
the argument here, develop the requisite skills for structured extracurricular ac-
tivities, especially those with lifelong participation and well-​being potential, one
can make a strong argument based on the compensatory role of schooling (i.e.,
schools compensate for structural inequities in society).20 As Bennett, Lutz, and
Jayaram (2012) point out, cuts to school programming disproportionately affect
those from lower-​income families:

The result [of cuts] is that an important school function becomes privatized.
Middle-​class youth are less likely to attend schools affected by calls to return to
the basics of education, but when they encounter such pressures, the financial
resources of their families ensure against loss opportunities to participate in

19 I recognize that not all schools provide music offerings. If anything, this strengthens the quasi-​

curricular claim.
20 I am suggesting this as an aspirational goal, not a description of what actually happens. Jonathan

Kozol (1991) has, among others, long demonstrated how schools function to exacerbate, not amelio-
rate social inequalities.
222 Philosophical Perspectives

activities. Middle-​class families can privately finance their child study of art,
music, foreign languages, and sports and thereby readily substitute out-​of-​
school activities for formerly at-​school activities. (153)

To put the argument in slightly different terms: schools should teach music as a
public good not because those without music instruction are incomplete (i.e., not
“well-​rounded”), but because without some form of music learning in schools,
future opportunities for well-​being are inequitable.
One of the stated limitations of the Fredricks and Eccles (2006) study men-
tioned earlier was that the sampling frame was middle-​class families with chil-
dren attending schools with opportunities for extracurricular involvement. This
was a methodological choice, as the researchers wanted to avoid the confound of
resources as an obstacle to participation in structured activities. For school music
to have hope in fulfilling a public mandate, however, music education must better
understand what matters to all parents, regardless of sociodemographic status.
Key here is understanding the complex interplay between opportunity barriers
for youth (such as resources) and the goals, aspirations, and expectations of
parents. Issues of race and class become important here, because it simply will
not do to assume that all parents share the same goals, aspirations, and expecta-
tions for their children.
According to extant research, children from working-​class families are un-
derrepresented in structured activities and more likely to engage in informal,
unstructured activities (see, e.g., Van der Eecken, Spruyt, and Bradt 2018). In
addition, there are socioeconomic differences in both the quantity and nature
of participation by youth in structured extracurricular/​out-​of-​school activi-
ties and school-​based extracurricular activities (see Bennett, Lutz, and Jayaram
2012). Family income and parental education level are positively correlated with
both school-​based and community-​based activities (Bouffard et al. 2006; Meier
et al. 2018). Both Bouffard et al. (2006), who studied out-​of-​school activities, and
Meier, Hartmann, and Larson (2018), who studied in-​school extracurricular ac-
tivities, found differences in participation according to race/​ethnicity as well, but
these differences were generally secondary to income and parental education.
What is particularly disconcerting about such findings is that extracurriculars
are increasingly contributing to social inequality in American society.

Of all of the indicators of social demographic characteristics examined—​race/​

ethnicity, class, gender, and grade in school—​social class background was most
consistently and strongly associated with more participation and more varied
participation (in both sport and non-​sport activities). Importantly, the social
class advantage has grown over time, confirming what scholars suggest is a new
divider among American children and families: participation in extracurricular
 Music Education as Leisure Education 223

activities (Putnam 2015). While other recent studies have shown advantages
to middle-​and upper-​class children in out-​of-​school activities (Lareau 2003;
Levey-​Friedman 2013), this analysis yields similar finding with regard to
school-​based activities. (Meier, Hartmann, and Larson 2018, 1313)

Findings consistently suggest that white youth and those from higher-​income
families participate in extracurriculars (both in and out of school) with greater
frequency and depth than those from other backgrounds, thereby deriving
benefits that exacerbate inequalities. It would be convenient (but pejorative)
to dismiss structural inequalities in society by assuming that differences in the
quantity and quality of extracurricular participation are due to ignorance rather
than opportunity barriers. Perhaps parents with lower levels of income or educa-
tional attainment simply do not understand the value and benefits of structured
extracurricular activities for their children.
To better describe cultural variation in socialization, Gutiérrez and Rogoff
(2003) introduced the idea of repertoires of practice to elucidate differences in the
routines, rituals, and discourse among families. The basic idea behind repertoires
of practice is to better understand how the values and practices of groups of
parents compare and contrast in order to better inform learning and teaching
practices. One must always guard against essentialism in such exercises (Rogoff
et al. 2014), but educators can benefit by recognizing patterns of activity rather
than attributing various activities and choices to individuals. Another way of un-
derstanding parenting differences is according to what is sometimes described
as cultural variation in socialization, or what Bennett, Lutz, and Jayaram (2012)
call cultural or parenting logics. In their study of working-​class and middle-​class
parents in the US Northeast, Bennett, Lutz, and Jayaram (2012) found a large
degree in overlap in cultural logics: parents of all backgrounds expressed sim-
ilar motivations for wanting their children to participate in structured activi-
ties: child interest, personal development, academic knowledge, keeping active,
and socializing. Sometimes described as promotive strategies, these motivations
suggest, unsurprisingly, that all parents, regardless of class or ethnicity, want what
is best for their children. Bennett and colleagues found two basic differences in
cultural logics among family groups: middle-​class parents were interested in cus-
tomizing activities for their children—​what Annette Lareau (2003) has called
concerted cultivation—​ whereas working-​ class parents were concerned with
safety (a preventative strategy) and the potential for social mobility through
structured activities. Although perhaps obvious, it is important to point out that
cultural variations in parenting logics are not necessarily universals. In their re-
search on cultivated cultivation among upper-​middle-​class parents in Toronto,
for example, Aurini, Missaghian, and Milian (2020) found some similarities with
224 Philosophical Perspectives

American research, but noted how Canadian parenting logics were not as “strati-
fication oriented” with respect to accessing “elite universities.”
Finally, research on parenting logics and repertoires of practice is impor-
tant not only to better understand similarities and differences among groups of
parents, but to understand influences on child agency. As Simpkins, Fredricks,
and Eccles (2012) ask, for example, “Why do some children invest time and en-
ergy in developing their intellectual skills while other children, often with com-
parable intellectual abilities, invest their time and energy in developing physical
or musical skills or no particular skills at all?” (1019). Among the findings of
the Simpkins, Fredricks, and Eccles study—​a twelve-​year longitudinal study
with 723 responses—​was that mother behavior when children were in second,
third, and fifth grades predicted self-​concept in sports and music, as well as
how children valued sports, music, and math. Although agency and motivation
should not be conflated, theories such as self-​determination theory (Ryan and
Deci 2000) clearly posit a relationship, one that can be traced to such things as
the formation of autonomy, competency, and relatedness as developed in one’s
youth. If structured extracurriculars like music are tied to tangible benefits, it
behooves educators to regard them not as frills or add-​ons, but as central to the
public good. Furthermore, educators have a responsibility to better understand
the subtle connections between child agency and cultural traditions of families.21

The Education-​Lifestyle-​Paternalism Connection

A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between work

and play, labour and leisure, mind and body, education and recrea-
tion. Such a person hardly knows which is which. One simply pursues
a vision of excellence through whatever one is doing and leaves others
to determine whether one is working or playing. To a master in the art
of living, one always seems to be doing both. Enough for such a person
that they do it well.
—​Lawrence Pearsall Jacks22

One of the recurring themes in this book has been the relationship between the
imperative, How One Should Live, and the interrogative, How Should One Live?
This relationship is not specific to musical participation, of course, but regular
music making is inescapably bound to the problem of living. Music making, like
all volitional activities, results from choices we make about how to live our lives.

21 Two recent examples of research efforts in this direction are Tai et al. (2018) and Cho (2015).
22 Jacks (1932). I have adjusted the passage to use gender-​neutral language.
 Music Education as Leisure Education 225

Choices are never entirely “free” because, as Foucault might say, we all live in a
complex field of power relations. Our individual choices are thus influenced and
constrained by the choices of other. Hence, while there is much to be desired in
L. P. Jacks’s “master in the art of living,” a more contemporary version might read,
A master in the art of living is able to negotiate the imperative/​interrogative inter-
action in order to live the good life consonant with the common good.
One of my arguments in this chapter is that how an individual responds to
the imperative/​interrogative interaction is conditioned by the formative pe-
riod of one’s life. This is not to deny the existence of or potential for individual
agency, but to assert that upbringing lays the groundwork for future possibilities
and the capacity to navigate them. Bourdieu (1984) described this with habitus,
a concept that has gone on to be used and debated in a number of disciplinary
contexts. I reference habitus here not to engage in sterile agency-​determinism
debates, but to underscore the importance of how our ability to negotiate the
world is in so many ways conditioned (though not necessarily determined) by
upbringing. The field of possibilities for how we live our lives, our lifestyle (style
of life), in other words, is not arbitrary or entirely of our own making. We are
born into certain circumstances that commingle with, among other things, the
publicness of compulsory schooling, resulting in an array of desires and capaci-
ties (i.e., lifestyles). Social reproduction subsequently produces variant forms of
practice in an endless cycle.
I would argue that the challenge for educators (and parents) lies in navigating
what might be termed the paradox of paternalism. On the one hand, autonomy
and agency are the teleology of upbringing (at least in individualist societies).
Children are expected to become adults, as defined by the expectation and re-
sponsibility to make choices.23 The art of living is thus predicated upon a kind of
independence that must be developed through a paternalistic process involving
more knowledgeable others, who attempt to ensure that children make good
(or right) choices as adults (i.e., the paternalism of care). Things do not always
work out as planned, however. The influence and control of paternalism eventu-
ally fades as individuals assert their right to choose, which in some cases means
ignoring or contradicting the paternalism of care. Because there is no test one
needs to pass in order to establish competency as an adult, it is assumed that
entering the “age of majority” qualifies someone as having joined the ranks of
the more knowledgeable others. Conflicts inevitably arise when conduct of the
“weaned” (i.e., those no longer in their formative period) does not align with
the constellation of acceptable alternatives deemed by preexisting “more knowl-
edgeable others.” These conflicts (which could be described as the condition of

23 Those in disability studies would likely point out how choice-​making as a marker of adulthood

serves to marginalize those with “intellectual disabilities.”

226 Philosophical Perspectives

the political) are especially acute when difference touches on matters of healthy/​
unhealthy.
Notwithstanding arguments about the societal pathologizing of health (e.g.,
Metzl and Kirkland 2010), there are some well-​known, generally accepted norms
for healthy living: diet, sleep, exercise, strong social networks, and so on. The
problem is that knowledge is not enough. Seppo Iso-​Ahola and Mannell (2004)
point out, for instance, that the knowledge of healthy living is well known, but
many people still fail to embrace healthy habits. Complicating the picture is that
matters of physical health bleed into matters of culture. The value of regular ex-
ercise for most people is generally beyond question. This often extends to issues
of conduct, however, such as the belief in activity over passivity or the belief in
activities considered worthwhile over those considered trivial or harmful. As
Emmett (1975) explains (with some now-​dated references), “[If everyone said
they] wanted bingo, old films on television, to get drunk, smoke pot or watch
soccer rather than play it, our ‘servants’ would not contentedly provide more pot
parlours, gin palaces, comedy programmes and seats in football grounds. The
certain knowledge that such things are not good for us would intervene” (80).
Emmett’s use of the word “servants” above is in reference to leisure ser-
vice providers operating under Britain’s welfare state. His reference, however,
highlights the paradox of paternalism. The helping professions are largely de-
fined by serving—​that is, meeting and addressing the needs of others. These
needs, however, are determined by the more knowledgeable other. In the con-
text of schooling, it is typically assumed that the teacher knows what is best for
the student because the student is “not yet” a fully autonomous person.24 In the
context of adulthood, however, it is typically assumed (in liberal democracies)
that individuals are no longer subject to the paternalism of more knowledge-
able others, except in those cases, such as medical care, where requisite expertise
needed to make good decisions is accepted as exceeding what the average person
is expected to know. Put in terms of political philosophy: the condition of egali-
tarianism upon which the autonomy of liberalism rests must be temporarily sus-
pended in certain contexts as people (as adults) submit to more knowledgeable
others.
This form of submission has been described in many ways by thinkers over
the millennia. Foucault, for example, used the concept of power-​knowledge
to help illustrate the ways in which knowledge and power interact to produce
various forms of inequality in society. As an example, consider the Progressive
Era reformers and professionals discussed in Chapters 3 and 4. The reformers
invoked moral authority (i.e., what was good) to justify their paternalism; they
assumed themselves to be caretakers for society and were therefore justified in

24 See, for example, Biesta (1998).

 Music Education as Leisure Education 227

imposing their supposedly superior values (i.e., knowledge) on those thought to

be less knowledgeable others. The professionals, by contrast, used the authority
of science (what was right) as grounds for justifying the imposition of values on
those thought to be less knowledgeable. In both cases, paternalistic interventions
were intended to help people with conduct (i.e., lifestyle). Such interventions
were accepted to the extent people submitted to the authority of knowledge
(moral or scientific).
The paternalism of school music teachers has been, and continues to be, pred-
icated on the asymmetrical teacher-​student relationship and the presumption of
expertise. In other words, teacher authority exists on two levels: (1) teachers, by
definition of role, are more knowledgeable than students; (2) by framing music
in epistemological terms (i.e., music as a way of knowing), music teachers are
able to maintain status as music experts (i.e., power-​knowledge). Where things
get complicated is in the relationship between the teacher-​student dyad and the
parent-​child dyad, for here the question of paternalism priority kicks in. Where
is the line between the roles of student and child? Who has ultimate authority to
determine what is best for the child/​student?25
The logic of paternalism depends on assumed futures. One cannot evaluate
proper courses of action without a conception of the results (e.g., the imagined
consequences of choice A versus choice B). In Chapter 6, I discussed the good
life in terms of the parental hope that things would turn out well for their child.
While this can potentially mean many things, it can be agreed upon, one hopes,
that this would include general welfare and happiness. One always hopes their
child will be a good person and flourish, and attempts to support this to the ex-
tent possible given the circumstances. Undoubtedly, music teachers desire the
same thing. My argument for music education as leisure education is that music
learning during one’s formative period should be predicated upon an imagined
future where musical engagement is part of a meaningful and purposeful con-
ception of daily living. So construed, music teaching and learning would entail
developing dispositions and capacities in such a way as to keep the door open to
as many possible participatory options throughout the lifespan.
In the early 1970s, recreationalist David Gary observed, “[F]‌ew recreational
interests not initiated in the teens or earlier, are pursued as adults” (Gray and
Pelegrino 1973, 12). Today’s empirical evidence provides support for Gray’s ob-
servation (Janke et al. 2010; Scott and Willits 1998, 1989). While it is certainly
possible to “teach old dogs new tricks” (an important premise of adult ed-
ucation), the learning curve of some skill-​based activities, like many forms of

25 In the context of individual (rather than group-​based) instrumental music learning, Andrea

Creech (2010) examined teacher-​student, parent-​child relationships in terms of “parent-​pupil-​

teacher trios.” Creech’s concern, however, was efficacy of learning, not moral authority.
228 Philosophical Perspectives

music making, represents a motivational challenge for adults who do not de-
velop requisite abilities in their youth.26 For those with sufficient pitch and to-
nality development, singing in non-​elite choirs may only require the time and
energy of attendance and the desire to sing. Instrumental music making is dif-
ferent. Learning some basic chords on a ukulele is a goal within reach for many
people, but learning a string instrument like the violin later in life is extremely
challenging, requiring countless hours of personal practice to reach a minimum
threshold for musical enjoyment.27 The point here is that upbringing is extremely
important to the development of leisure awareness and the requisite skills neces-
sary to provide leisure options beyond the formative years.
Historically, the family was a source for the development of many leisure-​
time activity skills. In modern times this happens less, meaning that skills and
dispositions are more likely to arise from participating in structured activities.
Drawing on the work of Erik Erikson, researchers Rapoport and Rapoport (1975)
drew attention to how “lifestyle patterns” in adulthood are highly dependent on
motivations related to identity patterns established in one’s youth. What people
want to do when they are older, in other words, is typically a reflection, or at a
least a manifestation, of what they did in their youth. If music participation does
in fact have value as a life activity with strong qualify-​of-​life potential, the pater-
nalistic desire to see young people develop musical capacities seems justified—​
with the caveat that this paternalism is predicated upon a sincere desire to foster
lifelong engagements with music rather than a short-​term focus on the formative
period (i.e., the school years) alone.

Amateurism and Music Education

Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you
learned to dance as ye ought to dance—​to dance beyond yourselves!
What doth it matter that ye have failed!

26 Counterintuitively, Krause, North, and Davidson (2019) found that engagement in music in

early life was not a prerequisite for ongoing music participation. Notably, however, their sample was
not evenly distributed according to age, with over half (53 percent) in the 17–​24 age range and only
7.5 percent in the 65–​85 age range. This may be due to the methodological choice of using an online
questionnaire, raising further questions about representativeness of the sample. Any causal (or even
correlational) links should therefore be treated very cautiously.
27 It is important to note the pioneering work of Cyril Houle (1961) in adult education. Houle’s

work, subsequently affirmed and extended by Roger Boshier (1971), suggests three primary typolo-
gies for adult leisure/​recreational activity: goal-​oriented, activity-​oriented, and learning-​oriented. If
one’s primary motivation is learning for the sake of learning or for those who, for whatever reason,
have always had the goal of being able to play the violin, the effort required to learn the instrument
may be regarded as part of the enjoyment. For those who merely wish to participate (activity-​ori-
ented), the costs of requisite personal practice would be regarded as a barrier or disincentive.
 Music Education as Leisure Education 229

How many things are still possible! So learn to laugh beyond your-
selves! Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not
forget the good laughter!
—​Nietzsche28

Only through the activities of [amateur] groups can music, atrophied

and mummified as it tends to be by exclusive professionalism, remain
a living art among us.
—​Foreword to Music in American Life:
Present & Future (1932)29

Despite many a commentator over the years celebrating the value of amateur/​
recreational/​avocational music making, there is still an underlying assumption
in many quarters of the music teaching establishment that the point of music
instruction is not to foster amateurism in music, but to “build future audiences,”
an idea that is both entirely understandable and perverse.30 Presumably, the logic
of building future audiences, which unmistakably means future audiences for
Western classical music, is driven by the belief that “popular” musics, by virtue
of their commercial viability, require no form of educational support. In the
production-​consumption economy, popular musics will exist on their own.
Western classical music, by contrast, is assumed to be a non-​commercially vi-
able practice. Society’s cultural richness, the argument goes, would be nega-
tively impacted if Western classical music was allowed to disappear—​that is, it
is a public good. Ergo, an aim of school music should build future audiences for
Western classical music. Beyond the glaring conflict of interest (in that school
music teachers are, almost without exception, a product of the Western classical
system), there are two obvious problems here. One is the specious assumption
that Western classical music requires a professional class of workers31 (and the
perverse idea that school music should actively support the economic viability of
Western classical musicians); the other is that it is unacceptable to privilege one
musical practice over another in pluralistic societies (and an increasingly glob-
alized world). Suffice it to say that, regardless of the musical practice or tradition
involved, using compulsory schooling to teach people to become consumers (re-
gardless of musical-​cultural practice) is highly problematic.

28 http://​4umi.com/​nietzs​che/​zara​thus​tra/​73.
29 Foreword by Daniel Gregory Mason (Zanzig 1932, v).
30 See Mantie (2009).
31 Many folk, “traditional,” and other vernacular music practices, for example, have paid profes-

sional performers, but do not rely on them for their viability. Western classical music could still be
taught without the assumption that students were being educated in order to support the livelihoods
of others.
230 Philosophical Perspectives

In Chapter 6, I discussed Wayne Booth’s (1999) book, For the Love of

It: Amateuring & Its Rivals. I shall forgo retreading much of the ground so elo-
quently offered by Booth (many of the arguments of which are reiterated in the
field of music education by Thomas Regelski [2007] in “Amateuring in Music
and Its Rivals,” and by John Kratus [2019] in “Return to Amateurism in Music
Education”). In short, Booth provides an impassioned argument for amateuring
based on his experiences as an avocational cellist (in particular, his experience as
a member of an amateur string quartet). The primary target of Booth’s critique,
like many others who argue in favor of amateur endeavors, is increasing profes-
sionalism in music—​or more precisely, the effect that society’s obsession with
professional standards has had on the efforts of those who do not measure up
to or do not aspire to such standards. Amateur efforts are frowned upon; falling
short of professional standards is regarded as failure.
The professionalism/​perfectionism explanation for the lack of amateur (recre-
ational/​avocational) music making is well-​worn. What is sometimes overlooked,
in my opinion, is what the perfectionism thesis exposes. What does it reveal
about the motivation to make music if the belief is that there is no point in en-
gaging in an activity unless it can be done to professional standards? Two aspect
of this problem come to mind. The first, which I will not pursue in earnest here, is
how amateur music making represents a threat to the working professional. Why
hire a professional musician when a good amateur can do the same job for free?
This was, in fact, a major concern of musician unions in the 1930s–​1960s, when
agreements had to be negotiated to ensure that school music groups would not
accept engagements that might otherwise involve paid performers.32 The second
is the framing of making music in terms of “winning” (competitions being a
commonplace motivator), the implication being that there is no point in trying
or continuing if you don’t win. Inexplicably, striving or aspiring for excellence
becomes invalidated unless the goal is achieved.33
I explored an aspect of the professionalism/​perfectionism problem with Brent
Talbot in a nine-​year study of collegiate a cappella singers (Education, Music, and
the Lives of Undergraduates: Collegiate A Cappella and the Pursuit of Happiness).
Many of those we interviewed struggled with the problem of being good in a rec-
reational (extracurricular) music-​making pursuit. Everyone wanted to be good
but, in the words of one of the participants, “not at the expense of happiness”
(Mantie and Talbot 2020, 28). In other words, what mattered to most of the a
cappella participants wasn’t being the best, but being good enough to satisfy their

32 One finds sporadic mention of this in the mid-​ century literature (e.g., Wilson 1941).
Interestingly, however, in the 1980s NAfME (as MENC) published explicit guidelines governing
public performances in relation to musician unions (MENC 1986).
33 One is reminded of the saying (which I once had a student paint on a wall in my school music

room), “The woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.”
 Music Education as Leisure Education 231

desires for recreational music making. What was abundantly clear in our study
was that participants were very serious about their music making and cared very
much about being good. Most of them recognized the practical limits of their
commitment, however. Singing was what they did for fun and enjoyment outside
of their academic studies.
Collegiate a cappella has now faded from the public spotlight (Pitch Perfect
having run its course), but the scene is as strong or stronger than ever. Thousands
of college students sing in such groups, just for fun. They are hardly alone.
Indeed, by several measures the number of people making music recreation-
ally (avocationally) can be considered quite high. Making Music is a “leisure
time” music organization claiming more than 3,700 groups representing over
200,000 music makers in the UK.34 With ensembles in almost every state, five
provinces in Canada, and in six other countries around the globe, New Horizons
International, an organization formed in the 1990s to promote the recreational
music interests of older adults (primarily through large ensembles: wind bands,
choirs, orchestras), has become a major success story for those who care about
amateur music making later in life. There are countless examples of similar or-
ganizations and initiatives throughout the world.35
In addition to intact music groups, there are many people who meet up to play
or sing in less formal, “all-​comers” settings, such as ukulele drop-​in sessions.36
Today, this also includes those operating in virtual and online environments
(e.g., Waldron 2013; Waldron, Horsley, and Veblen 2020; O’Leary and Tobias
2016; Tobias 2013). And then there are those countless “hidden musicians”
(Finnegan 1989) who make music individually or who get together informally,
flying under the radar of recognized musical activity. Although Finnegan’s work
is by now quite dated, I experienced the phenomenon firsthand while living in
Boston (c. 2009–​2014), where I participated in many basement jam sessions with
avocational players who spent their evenings calling one Real Book tune after
the other, never with any desire or intention to perform in front of an audience.37
I often wondered during those sessions how many others like us were playing
in other basements or attics in other towns and cities across the country and

34 Although reflective of self-​interest, the National Association of Music Merchants in the United

States has long promoted amateur music making (see their RMM—​Recreational Music Making—​in-
itiative), continuing a long history of industry involvement in the promotion of music making (e.g.,
the National Bureau for Advancement of Music).
35 The examples of various music-​making and supporting organizations are too numerous to list.

To illustrate, some random examples include Music for All charity in the UK (http://​www.musi​cfor​
all.org.uk) (supported by the UK Music Industry Association), Music for All foundation in the US
(https://​www.musi​cfor​all.org), the Weekend Warriors in Australia (https://​www.week​endw​arri​ors.
org.au), and the Boston Piano Amateurs Association (http://​www.bost​onpi​anoa​mate​urs.org).
36 Many such groups can today be found on sites such as meetup.com.
37 Although technically illegal due to the lack of copyright licensing, the Real Book has become a

universal “fake book” for jazz musicians.

232 Philosophical Perspectives

around the world. I also wondered how many music teachers were aware of such
gatherings, or how many more such gatherings there might be if music teachers
would conceptualize their practice less on winning or creating future audiences
and more on an ethic of amateuring.

The Seriousness Problem

The homogenizing terms amateur, recreational, leisure-​time, and avocational

tend to mask important differences in the nature of musical activity, as if picking
up a ukulele once a month to strum through a couple of four-​chord tunes (al-
ways in the key of C) is the equivalent of someone who spends hours per week
passionately engaged in their musical pursuits. Based on his empirical work
studying multiple forms of leisure-​time activities, Robert Stebbins developed,
over a period of over thirty years, what has become a standard (though occa-
sionally critiqued) classification system known as the serious leisure perspective
(seriousleisure.net). Stebbins notably distinguishes between the primary catego-
ries of casual leisure, project-​based leisure, and serious pursuits, the last of which
is subdivided into serious leisure and devotee work. Serious leisure is further
subdivided into amateur, volunteer, and hobbyist.
The serious leisure perspective can be a useful theoretical tool for helping to
make better sense of the diversity of leisure activities. For example, amateurs are
distinguished from volunteers and hobbyists by virtue of their activities having
a professional counterpart. One can be a professional musician (in the occupa-
tional sense) but not a professional stamp collector, for example. Although se-
rious leisure is implied (or sometimes explicitly stated) as being superior to other
leisure activities, the primary purpose of the serious leisure perspective is not
necessarily to establish a hierarchy of activities (see Chapter 8), but rather to dis-
tinguish among the many ways in which people occupy themselves during their
discretionary time.
J. Terry Gates (1991b) adapted Stebbins’s work by proposing a six-​divi-
sion classification scheme to describe the “seriousness” of musical partici-
pation: professionals, apprentices, amateurs, hobbyists, recreationalists, and
dabblers. In a critique of Gates’s work, Jorgensen (1993) suggested collapsing
Gates’s categories to four: professionals and apprentices (who view music as
work), amateurs (who view music as serious leisure), hobbyists (who also view
music as serious leisure, but without the reinforcement of a “professional-​
amateur-​public” system), and recreationalists/​dabblers (who view music as
play). Setting aside the finer points of Jorgensen’s argument, which attacked
Gates’s failure to properly disentangle (among other things) empirical and nor-
mative matters and differences between typologies and continua, what I find
 Music Education as Leisure Education 233

salient, if disturbing, is that so few scholars and researchers in music education

have followed up on the work of Gates and Jorgensen, and have not continued to
explore and problematize the nuances of musical participation.
More recently, Stebbins (2013) has offered a detailed examination of what he
suggests might be a continuum of involvement in music, from casual leisure to
serious leisure. The proposed continuum might be better considered as multi-
layered or three-​dimensional, however, to better account for the motives, both
initial and long-​term, that lie behind activity (as Jorgensen attempted to do).
Stebbins, for example, discusses the different pathways of dabblers, who might
be considered as either those at the beginning phase of more serious musical
development or those who, like those who pick up a ukulele occasionally, are
uninterested in sustained study. Dabbling, he writes, is “any sort is a kind of
play—​disinterested activity engaged in for its own sake, for curiosity, for hedonic
experience. It is disinterested in the sense that no long-​term goal is pursued
when dabbling; the participant simply wants certain immediate experiences”
(2013, 147). Dabblers may or may not become what he labels neophytes (which
he previously called novices), described as those who are seriously engaged, with
“[routine practice], expectations of improvement, self-​identification as a student
on the chosen instrument and the like” (149).
Clearly, not all amateur (recreational, avocational) music making qualifies as
serious. Stebbins (2016) suggests that that serious leisure (all activities) is distin-
guished by six qualities: the need to persevere, the possibility of finding a “leisure
career” in one’s activity, significant effort, durable benefits (e.g., self-​develop-
ment, self-​expression, feelings of accomplishment, social interaction, and be-
longingness), the unique ethos surrounding the activity, and lastly, a strong sense
of personal identification with the activity. By these criteria, sitting down at the
piano two or three times per year to play a Beethoven sonata does not qualify as
serious leisure, whereas playing third clarinet on junior high school level reper-
toire each week in a novice community band or creating original but rudimen-
tary music every night on a digital audio workstation might. What is interesting
to note here is that the seriousness of leisure is not dependent on the level of
accomplishment per se, but on the regularity and depth of engagement. Playing
a Beethoven sonata can hardly be described as dabbling. This might suggest that
the degree of musical development is irrelevant to matters of leisure enjoyment,
but of course any lay observer realizes this simply isn’t true. While dabbling at
the piano and being able to peck out “Chopsticks” may provide the player a small
degree of hedonic pleasure, “Chopsticks” alone is unlikely to provide sustained
well-​being or achieve the kind of good life implied by eudaimonia.
On the surface of it, this sounds a lot like getting out of something what one
puts into it—​and to a degree it is. Dabbling may serve a purpose, but it is not a life
purpose. The ability to play a Beethoven sonata (or improvise on jazz standards
234 Philosophical Perspectives

or jam on traditional folk music or cover pop tunes, etc.) usually takes many
hours of practice, typically over a period of years. This is not to imply, however,
that meaningful musical leisure can only result if one meets an established level
of accomplishment, such as the ability to play something equivalent (in what-
ever musical practice) to a Beethoven sonata. Rather, it is a reminder that se-
rious leisure—​in both the Robert Stebbins sense and the Paul Goodman sense
(see Chapter 7)—​depends on a particular attitude of ethical seeking (sensitive to
the common good) and an investment of time and energy. This is what separates
recreational activities that function as recreare from recreational activities that
function as scholē.
One is reminded here of one of the (many) paradoxes of scholē: the flour-
ishing of eudaimonia is dependent upon effort, but the effort required has the
potential to undermine the leisure of the endeavor. I sensed this repeatedly
with the a cappella participants Talbot and I studied. When competition (i.e., ego)
became the primary motive for excellence and the effort overwhelmed the experi-
ence of making music, many participants reported a sense of loss. All participants
desired to be good, but in order to avoid an erosion of enjoyment, the pursuit of
being good had to be driven by the love for what they were doing—​which, im-
portantly, was defined as much by the social aspects as the singing itself. The en-
joyment came from a feeling that one was engaged in a worthwhile pursuit (i.e.,
beyond dabbling) that was good for personal and collective well-​being. Thus,
while one could frame this as simply a “motivation” problem (e.g., expectancy-​
value theory)38 in relation to effort, I would argue that it speaks directly to the
need for a conception of the good life, which, I would further argue, involves a
need to develop what Aristotle referred to as one’s talents, or excellences. (To be
clear, I mean talent development in its Classical, not contemporary sense.)
The relationship between the level of development and the potential for lei-
sure satisfaction is a thorny one and a subject of ongoing debate. It is tempting
to theorize a direct correlation between level and satisfaction, at least for fields
such as music that, outside of activities like sing-​alongs, require skill develop-
ment that is virtually unlimited (in that one can always be better). Such a corre-
lation would certainly make music teachers happy, as it would justify the need
for never-​ending improvement. This kind of correlation also has a kind of in-
tuitive logic dating back to Aristotle (and likely before that): one does get out
of something what one puts into it. This is why dabbling at something may be
recreation but not leisure. The problem with theorizing development level and
satisfaction in this way is that some people with higher levels of musical devel-
opment do not derive as much leisure satisfaction as do people with lower levels

38 In education, expectancy-​ value theory is usually associated with the work of Jacquelynne
Eccles. See, for example, Eccles (1983).
 Music Education as Leisure Education 235

of musical development. A possible explanation here is that those with more

advanced levels of musical development who fail to derive as much leisure sat-
isfaction as those with less advanced levels are engaging in music making for
non-​leisure reasons. Competition is an obvious alternative, but many other non-​
leisure motivators are possible (e.g., wanting to please parents, wanting to prove
oneself to others as talented, and so on).
Another explanation for the lack of a direct correlation between level of de-
velopment and leisure satisfaction is that the relationship may not be linear, but
instead, reflect the presence of a threshold. That is, making music has the poten-
tial for meaningful leisure satisfaction once a person attains a level of develop-
ment allowing for engagement that goes beyond what is perceived (by self and
others) as dabbling. This threshold might be conceptualized as something of a
zone or range rather than an absolute cut point (the silliness of which should be
obvious). Notably, however, the threshold concept helps to explain why leisure
satisfactions are not infinitely correlated with level of development. This is not
to suggest that the level of development is irrelevant past the threshold level, but
that the leisure satisfaction of serious leisure is not directly tied to the level of de-
velopment beyond it.
An obvious analogy for the threshold concept is sports. One can hardly be
considered to be playing baseball if one cannot hit, throw, and catch; one is not
really playing tennis if one cannot hit the ball over the net (and land it in-​bounds)
with regularity; one isn’t really playing hockey if one cannot skate; and one isn’t
really playing golf if it takes 180 shots to complete a round. Thomas Regelski
(2016) has used golf to illustrate the threshold concept in music by arguing that
the goal of music teachers should be to help students attain the level where they
can “break 100,” a common threshold in golf used to separate those who really
know how to play from the “duffers” (i.e., dabblers).39 I would extend the golf
analogy by adding two important considerations. First, the threshold range for
leisure satisfaction (in the serious leisure sense) is probably something more
analogous to 80–​110 in golf. Scoring below 80 approaches professional levels of
achievement, something not uncommon in many amateur pursuits40 (a condi-
tion that, incidentally, brought the concept of pro-​am to greater consciousness,
e.g., Leadbeater and Miller [2004]). Scoring over 110 on a regular basis, on the
other hand, lies outside the range of the spirit and intent of what it means to
play golf. The second consideration here is that leisure satisfaction very often
involves an aspect of doing things with others at approximately the same level.
The golfer who regularly shoots around 80 usually wants to play in foursomes at

39 There are other variables that come into play, of course, such as the challenge level of the golf

course.
40 By this I mean, per Stebbins, amateur pursuits with professional counterparts.
236 Philosophical Perspectives

approximately the same level and will likely find less satisfaction if only playing
in foursomes with the others shooting 100–​110. It is not as enjoyable playing
any recreational sport if one’s teammates or competitors are significantly better
or significantly worse, just as it is typically less enjoyable in leisure-​time music
making if others are all significantly better or all significantly worse.
What can be concluded from this discussion is that a minimum level of com-
petency is required for music making to afford serious leisure possibilities, but
that meeting the threshold of competency does not guarantee that making music
will provide leisure satisfaction. Competence, in other words, is necessary but
insufficient. In order for leisure-​time music making to provide “serious” lei-
sure satisfaction, music-​related activities need to not only go beyond the level
of dabbling, but to be conceptualized as part of an overall grappling with the
question, How should one live?, which itself must be placed within a wider aware-
ness of How one should live. To engage outside of an ethic of care for oneself and
others may provide a crass kind of hedonic pleasure, but is unlikely to provide
eudaimonic or hedonic well-​being.41

The Inequalities of Music Education as

Leisure Education

The possibilities for meaningful leisure throughout one’s life are highly de-
pendent on the life chances of one’s youth. Importantly, however, these possibil-
ities are not entirely deterministic. As discussed earlier, developing the requisite
skills necessary to play a Beethoven sonata (or any other music beyond the dab-
bler level) in one’s youth does not guarantee that one will want to play it in one’s
adult years, nor does it ensure the playing will provide meaningful leisure. As
Joseph Lee (see Chapter 4) opined (at a time when the accordion was popular
but regarded as an inferior instrument), “A [person] who has learned to play the
accordion so that [they] really play it in [their] leisure moments is better off than
one who has studied years on the piano but never plays for fun” (1915, 469–​470).
Conversely, the failure to develop requisite skills in one’s youth does not preclude
the possibility of meaningful leisure in music, but it does make it much more
difficult.
In the final section of the book, I address dispositional/​conceptual issues of
music education as leisure education. Before getting to that, however, I draw at-
tention again to the importance of equity in considerations of music’s leisure po-
tential. If leisure satisfaction in and through music is dependent upon meeting

41 I shall not engage with it fully here, but Lee (2020) provides an intriguing discussion of serious

leisure placed in the context of a “social world perspective.”

 Music Education as Leisure Education 237

or approaching a minimum level of competency that is not, in most cases, nat-

urally occurring—​that is, it must be intentionally developed—​it follows that an
investment of time and energy is needed for the requisite skill/​knowledge de-
velopment.42 The necessary hours for development typically, and ideally, occur
in the formative years, when embodied knowledge is easier to acquire. Adults
can and do learn things later in life (hence the raison d’être of New Horizons
International), but it is more difficult and requires not only greater internal drive,
but also a degree of social, cultural, and often, economic capital. It is much easier
to engage in serious leisure as an adult when the necessary abilities are fostered
earlier in life.
As discussed earlier in the chapter, upbringing is fraught with disparities, both
cultural and economic. Quite simply, some children have greater life chances
than others based on nothing other than the accident of birth. These life chances
manifest in what has become, over the past thirty to forty years, growing social
and economic inequality. Although being at the top of the social pyramid does
not ensure happiness, it does increase the likelihood of greater leisure choices
and potential, as sociologist Steven Tepper points out:

Increasingly, those who have the education, skills, right types of jobs, financial
resources, and time required to navigate the sea of cultural choice will gain ac-
cess to new cultural opportunities. They will be the ones who can invest in their
creative hobbies, writing songs, knitting, acting, singing in a choir, and gar-
dening. They will be the pro-​ams43 who network with other serious amateurs
and find audiences for their work. They will discover new forms of cultural
expression that engage their passions and help them forge their own identi-
ties, curate their own expressive lives, and enrich the lives of others. (Tepper
2008, 373)

Conversely, he writes, those at the bottom of the social pyramid “will increas-
ingly rely on the cultural fare offered to them by consolidated media and enter-
tainment conglomerates” (2008, 373).
I have little doubt that many of the fortunate in society have developed suffi-
cient musical abilities to allow for serious leisure engagement (if desired)—​the
result of either school or home life or both. This helps, in part, to explain the
serious leisure-​time musical activities of hundreds of thousands of Americans
(and millions of others around the world). Lest I be misunderstood here, I am

42 Ethnomusicologists will no doubt be quick to point out that the development of musical skills

still occurs at the familial level in some cultural groups. I would argue that today this represents
the exception and not the rule, at least in mainstream American society and many other societies
throughout the world.
43 Professional-​amateurs. See Leadbeater (2004).
238 Philosophical Perspectives

in no way implying that people from lower-​income backgrounds are incapable

of leisure-​time music making (or any other kind of music making). I am merely
drawing attention to the disparities that exist (and that are widening) between
those who are fortunate to develop various musical skills and abilities in their
youth and those who are not, and how these play out in terms of leisure-​time
options later in life. One of the larger-​arc arguments in this book is that the prev-
alence of developing musical skills and abilities in one’s youth has gone from a
common and publicly valued concern to an isolated and mostly privatized one.
School music, at least in the United States, has gone from a matter of universal
value to one that increasingly cleaves according to the haves and have-​nots.44
Most of the wealthy school districts in the United States continue to provide
music instruction that is as good or better than anything offered anywhere. Many
families in wealthier areas widen the developmental gap by augmenting school
music instruction with out-​of-​school opportunities. Music instruction in non-​
wealthy school districts, when offered at all, tends to occur under conditions that
are unlikely to provide the minimum competency necessary for leisure-​time in-
volvement later in life. Those in non-​wealthy neighborhoods end up relying on
what, invariably, are well-​intentioned but under-​resourced community-​based
options. The logics of contemporary libertarianism and laissez-​faire capitalism
help to ensure that such disparities in opportunity are regarded as a private
rather than public problem.45 Public education in a neoliberal world is about
preparing people for the world of work, not preparing them for a life of mean-
ingful leisure—​John Dewey and the Progressive Educationalists be damned. Let
the poor eat cake.

Final Thoughts

[I]‌t is the main task of general education to equip people for the creative em-
ployment of that fecund leisure time. (Donohue 1959, 97)

Why should we not have a School of Leisure, as we now have schools of busi-
ness, of law, and of medicine? (Cutten 1926, 145)

44 The field of music education has been discussion issues of social justice for decades. In addi-

tion to The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice in Music Education (Benedict et al. 2015), some recent
sources examining such issues include Benedict (2021), Hess (2019), and Talbot (2018).
45 In The Sociological Imagination, C. Wright Mills famously distinguishes between the private and

the public, writing, “the most fruitful distinction with which the sociological imagination works is
between the ‘personal troubles of milieu’ and ‘the public issues of social structure’ ” (1959, 8).
 Music Education as Leisure Education 239

Estelle Jorgensen writes, “Historically, one of the important aims of music edu-
cation has been to transmit to the young the musical beliefs and practices of the
past” (2002, 36). A focus on music as culture does indeed seem to characterize
much of the formal music learning and teaching establishment. In critiquing
music as culture, I am in no way suggesting there is culture-​less music or culture-​
free music making. Because musical participation involves issues of continuity
and change, perpetuating the cultural values of some will always come at the ex-
pense of the cultural values of others. Debates over the inclusion/​exclusion of
cultural values and practices are crucial and need to continue. “Winning” such
debates will be pyrrhic, however, if the victory occludes the realization of well-​
being through lifelong leisure engagement with music. There is nothing inher-
ently mutually exclusive between arguing for particular cultural matters and
emphasizing music’s potential as a source of leisure satisfaction. Part of my ar-
gument in this book is that the overwhelming focus on music as culture (rather
than music as cultural) keeps teachers, students, and parents from recognizing
and realizing the potential of music as serious leisure.
Another underlying argument in this book is that the learning and teaching
of music would have a greater impact on individual and collective well-​being if
conceptualized as an important part of upbringing, and if thought of in terms
of music education as leisure education. The key here is to shift from thinking
of music as something good for you to thinking of how making music might
factor into considerations of what makes for a good life. Emphasizing the impor-
tance of how hedonic considerations of scholē (arts and scholarship) can lead to
eudaimonia, Elizabeth Telfer writes:

We should not bring people up to think they must pursue the arts and schol-
arship and personal relationships because they are worthwhile, in the sense of
being noble, worthy of a human being and so on. Such a policy is self-​defeating,
because the worthwhileness depends on their not being pursued for that
reason. . . . Rather we must try to bring it about that they do these things simply
because they want to, for pleasure, without any particularly lofty thoughts about
them. If we succeed in this we will have initiated them into activities which are
worthwhile as well as pleasant. (1987, 160)

What Telfer is suggesting, I think, is that the fundamental motive for engage-
ment in activities like music and the arts needs to better align with a conception
of enjoyment—​doing things because you genuinely want to, not because you are
told you should want to. This is tricky business, however, as there is a fine line be-
tween responsible conduct (e.g., eating well and exercising regularly) and what
is, arguably, “manipulated” conduct (e.g., consumerism, rational recreation). For
some, shopping may bring pleasure. But is shopping truly worthwhile? Working
240 Philosophical Perspectives

for a living may bring pleasure for some people. But is the motive for working
guided by love and enjoyment or increasing one’s discretionary income in
order to “keep up with the Joneses”? As Booth somewhat pessimistically points
out, “No institutional change will make much difference unless we can trans-
form the prevailing picture of what makes a successful life. . . . [U]‌nless we con-
struct a culture in which true happiness is seen as something far beyond getting
ahead . . . amateuring is doomed” (1999, 190). The “we” to which Booth refers is
society at large. In practical terms, making a difference on this scale would seem
to be beyond the scope of educators. Or perhaps not. Because of their capacity to
influence upbringing on a mass scale, teachers possess enormous potential. They
simply need the desire and the resolve to place ethical considerations of living at
the center of everything they do.
Teachers contribute to the problem of questionable conceptions of a successful
life to the extent they repeat the teaching practices of the past. If teachers do have
influence, societal conceptions of a successful life could change if teachers ac-
tively taught values where happiness was defined differently. The forces of neo-
liberalism are so strong and omnipresent, however, that many teachers are very
likely unwitting accomplices in the proliferation of values that regard questions
of meaningful living as a private or personal problem. Neoliberal logic has infil-
trated societal thinking to the extent that many schools and universities, at least
in the United States and Canada, seem to unquestioningly accept the premises of
“work-​focused” education. (Where are the counter-​narratives arguing in favor of
education for a meaningful life?) As Chris Rojek points out, “emphasizing leisure
makes a political statement about education, one that returns it to its classical
origins” (1984, 94).
There are precious few remaining areas in the school curriculum with the po-
tential to remind people that there is more to life than work. Music is one of
them. One would hope that, due to their positionality outside the educational
mainstream, music teachers might ground their practices in paradigms different
from other teachers—​ones that place a greater spotlight on music and the art
of living. Regrettably, this does not, in the main, appear to be the case. The dis-
cipline of music education has chosen a path largely focused on (some might
say obsessed with) psychology and aesthetics, where music teachers, trained as
Western classical musicians, approach the teaching of music as a subject. As a re-
sult, students do not learn music as part of a conception of living, but because
they are told they will be incomplete humans if they fail to learn music. Thus,
while music teachers may not participate as fully as other teachers in the neo-
liberal enterprise, practices predicated upon “well-​roundedness,” understood as
completeness, do little to effectively push back against it.
As I have attempted to document in this book, the nascent field of “public
school music” during the Progressive Era attempted to grapple with the role and
 Music Education as Leisure Education 241

function of music learning as part of compulsory education. Those of the reform

and child-​study movements of the early twentieth century may have been mis-
guided on many fronts (race and gender being the most overt), but at least they
made an effort to discuss the importance of play in people’s lives. Additionally,
education’s connections with early twentieth-​century democracy, still very much
fragile in the world at the time, were discussed by the progressives in terms of the
common good, not the self-​centered individualism of today. None of this is to
romanticize the progressives (who had definite blind spots). It is simply to point
out that today’s “realities” are not inevitable or immutable. Things can change.
But things only change if we believe they should.
I do not claim great insights into theories of change. It does seem reasonable,
however, to think that change results from doing things differently or doing
different things. I have attempted to articulate and argue for the importance of
placing conceptions of the good life and the common good at the center of edu-
cational thinking. I believe the field of music education could arrive at more or
less the same conclusion if, for example, it would focus less on psychology and
aesthetics, and more on matters such as play and serious leisure, aspects with
greater potential to make for a healthy and meaningful life.
Some music educators might argue for the need to emphasize the academic
legitimacy of music to maintain its place in public education, but this seems mis-
guided to me. Not all parents necessarily think in deeply philosophical terms of
the right and the good, but virtually all parents share a desire for a future where
things will turn out well for their child. Undoubtedly this includes some form of
gainful work or employment, as it is difficult to imagine many parents wanting
to see their children suffer economically. Few parents are likely to genuinely buy
into the claim (based on nonsense like “music makes you smarter”) that music
will help their child’s employment future. Most parents, however, want their
children to be happy doing things (like music) that most people would con-
sider meritorious. To the extent parents endorse the “well-​roundedness” argu-
ment for music, it is likely because they perceive the value of their children being
involved in a variety of worthwhile activities, not because they think music is
somehow making them more complete human beings. If music teachers desire
to see greater support for music learning (one would hope because they believe
in the serious leisure potential of music for students), they will need to do dif-
ferent things differently (or do different things).
I do not mean to imply that doing different things (or doing things differently)
is easy or unproblematic. The paternalism of education lies in direct opposition
to the ideal of freedom that is central to the ethical seeking of leisure. It is diffi-
cult to promote the questioning attitude of How should one live? when the central
premise of upbringing is inculcating a sense of how one should live. The dilemma
of paternalism is not new. As historian Gary Cross notes about those associated
242 Philosophical Perspectives

with the playground and recreation movement in the early twentieth century,
“The key problem was how to organize leisure and yet to guarantee its freedom;
how to uplift and yet not to be undemocratic; how to create joy without alien-
ating people by being patronizing” (1990, 176).
Ethical seeking implies the act of choosing. This implies the presence of known
alternatives and some sort of basis for judgment. The knowledge of alternatives
and the ability to choose between them in a personally and socially responsible
manner is not naturally occurring. There are many possible worldviews and
many possible ways of living. It is always dangerous to presume that one knows
what is best for another.46 And yet, just as the medical doctor has little choice but
to recommend a course of action based on her best judgment, the educator must
do also. (The difference is that the medical doctor has the much easier task. There
are no right answers for normative matters, such as education.) What I have
attempted to argue for and to put into consideration in this book is the possi-
bility that we would all be happier and healthier, individually and collectively,
if leisure factored more centrally in our educational thinking. To the extent that
we, as a society, as educators, as parents, and as individuals, have allowed lei-
sure (scholē) to recede from our collective concern, we have capitulated to the
interests of those who benefit when leisure is viewed as irrelevant, superfluous,
or as threatening. To the extent leisure (scholē)—​once so central to, if not the
very definition of, why people learn and make music—​is allowed to recede from
professional concern, music education will falter in its obligation to realize the
potential of the play spirit that, for many people, makes life worth living. As a
postscript comment, my sincere hope is that our post-​pandemic world will see a
corrective where leisure, as a word and an ideal, is resuscitated—​embraced and
pursued rather than vilified or ignored.

46 One of my favorite maxims is R. Murray Schafer’s “Always teach provisionally: only God knows

for sure.”
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 Index
For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion,
appear on only one of those pages.
A Normal Course in Play, 85–​86, 102
active music making, 70, 203
Addams, Jane, 61, 62–​63, 65–​66, 69, 82, 83,
85–​86, 89
adult recreation, 95, 98
adulthood, 100, 101–​2, 226, 228
advocacy, 26–​27
aesthetic, 20–​25, 35, 44–​45, 69, 99–​100, 143,
195, 220, 240
agency, 104, 147–​48, 184, 205, 211, 216, 224, 225
alienation, 167, 170, 175
all-​campus bands, choirs, and orchestras, 4
amateur, 3, 4, 67–​68, 97–​98, 123–​24, 195, 202–​
3, 229, 230, 231, 232–​33, 235–​36, 237
bands, 58–​59
-​ing, 138, 230, 231–​32, 239–​40
-​ism, 38, 68, 210, 228–​30
Americanization, 79–​80, 89, 106
Amplified Elephants, 205
amusements, 57, 59–​60, 64–​65, 96, 99–​100, 105,
110, 111
Ancient Greeks, 24–​25, 31–​32, 34, 46–​47, 129,
135, 139–​40, 144, 152, 154
ancient Rome, 44
aproductive, 173, 176
Arendt, Hannah, 154–​55, 173, 176, 177
arête, 144–​45, 148, 201
aristocracy, 16, 113–​14, 117–​18, 160
Aristotle, 5, 23, 28–​29, 32–​33, 51–​52, 131, 132,
139–​44, 147, 149–​50, 154, 158–​59, 173,
175–​76, 181, 182–​83, 194, 234
Arnold, Matthew, 28
art of living, 3, 5, 6, 13, 31–​32, 43–​44, 91–​92,
99, 103, 112, 137–​38, 148–​49, 209–​10,
224, 240
arts, the, 3–​4, 10, 23, 35, 61–​62, 71, 90, 93, 103,
105, 107–​8, 123, 173, 239–​40
ascholia, 32–​33, 154
at-​will, 8
attitudes, 6, 106, 111–​12, 113–​15, 120, 208
attitudinal enjoyment, 142–​43
autonomy, 47, 72–​73, 134, 145, 156, 210–​11,
224, 225–​26
average workweek, 106–​7
avocational, 3, 5, 8, 10–​11, 101–​2, 138–​39,
168–​69, 175–​76, 179–​80, 229–​33
Bellah, Robert, 188, 189
belonging, 94, 118, 195–​96, 202–​3, 220, 233
Bentham, Jeremy, 131, 152, 196–​97, 203
Bjørkvold, Jon Roar, 174
Blacking, John, 28
Booth, Wayne, 138–​39, 140, 230, 239–​40
Boston School Committee, 119–​20
Bourdieu, Pierre, 9, 23, 125, 169, 200–​1, 225
Boy Scouts, 84, 124–​25
Camp Fire Girls, 84
Canadian Index of Wellbeing, 133–​34
capacities, 10–​11, 121–​22, 129, 144–​45, 148,
187, 199–​200, 227, 228
capitalism, 50, 57–​61, 78–​79, 113,
166–​69, 237–​38
Cardinal Principles of Secondary
Education, 208–​9
caregivers, 210–​11, 212, 213–​14
carry-​over, 123–​25
central life interest, 29, 168, 176
Challenge of Leisure, The, 106–​7
child agency, 216, 224
child-​study, 37, 79–​83, 89, 96, 97, 240–​41
childhood, 37, 38, 80–​81, 89, 94, 101–​2,
210–​11
childrearing, 80, 89, 99, 147, 190–​91, 212
choice, 13, 29, 31–​32, 34–​35, 45, 47–​48, 51–​52,
58, 109, 110, 146, 147, 149, 152, 155, 157–​
58, 162, 167, 168, 178–​79, 183–​85, 204,
212, 227
choices, 3, 14, 43, 51–​52, 59–​60, 63, 96, 129, 130,
135–​36, 138–​39, 163–​64, 178, 183, 208–​9,
223–​26, 237
Christianity, 13, 31–​32, 46–​47, 166–​67
citizenship, 70–​71, 86, 87, 112, 114, 178–​79, 212
civic engagement, 24, 64–​65, 66
civic life, 23, 109, 113
civilization, 28, 44–​45, 109, 160
264 Index
classical music, 10, 25–​26, 45, 55, 190,
201, 229
clock time, 40–​42
collectivist cultures, 130, 145, 188
college marching bands, 4
collegiate a cappella, 4, 230–​31
commercialization, 40, 44, 57, 82
commodity fetishism, 169, 184
commodity self, 183
common good, 29, 34, 43–​44, 46–​47, 51–​52,
82, 92, 109, 133, 146, 177–​90, 195–​96,
199–​200, 202, 204, 206, 224–​25, 233–​
34, 240–​41
communitarian, 87, 124–​25, 187, 199–​200, 204
community band, 4, 124–​25, 233
community music movement, 69, 114–​16, 118
community music school, 20, 21, 56–​57, 66–​67,
71–​72, 125–​26
community orchestra, 10, 109, 123–​24
competition, 37, 93, 149–​50, 220, 230, 234–​35
competitiveness (international), 5, 9–​10, 52
compulsion, 31–​32, 160, 163, 189–​90, 193
conation, 135
concerted cultivation, 223–​24
conduct, 6, 13, 14, 29, 31–​32, 43, 46–​49, 56n.3,
58–​59, 63, 75–​76, 77, 78–​79, 83, 84–​85,
95, 99, 101, 103–​5, 106, 114, 126, 134–​35,
139–​40, 154, 177–​78, 209–​10, 225–​27,
239–​40
conservatory training, 67–​68, 122
conspicuous consumption, 9, 125, 169
consumerism, 181–​90, 206, 239–​40
contemplation, 28–​29, 47–​48, 161
contests, 19, 98–​99, 115–​16, 121, 174–​75, 176
creative expression, 110, 195
credential, 18–​19
critical race, 180–​81
cross-​cultural psychology, 130
cultural capital, 74
cultural consumption, 22
cultural democracy, 119n.14
cultural improvement, 61–​62
cultural uplift, 21–​22, 24–​25, 26n.22, 68, 69,
119n.14, 120
cultures, individualist and collective, 130,
145, 188
Curtis Institute of Music, 56, 74–​75
Curtis, Henry, 37, 83–​90, 93, 96–​97, 173
dance halls, 62, 100
dancing, 58, 87–​88, 93, 95, 110, 111, 158–​59,
171, 175–​76, 201
De Grazia, Sebastian, 32–​33, 38, 39–​44, 49–​51
delinquency, 86, 108–​9, 110
democracy, 51, 58, 59–​60, 78–​79, 87, 91–​92,
113, 148, 171, 178–​79, 182, 183, 184, 186–​
90, 212n.8, 240–​41
democratization of culture, 16, 21–​22,
119n.14, 221
democratization of music, 118–​19
Demonstration Play School, 94
desires, 111, 134–​35, 142, 145, 169, 213–​14,
225, 230–​31
determinism, 29, 147–​48, 225
developmental psychology, 81–​82
developmentalism, 147
devil’s work, 157–​58
Dewey, John, 5, 80, 91, 92, 107, 148, 173, 237–​38
digital audio workstation (DAW), 186, 202, 233
disability, 180–​81, 205
disagreeable practice, 173
disagreeableness, 153–​54, 168
dispositions, 6, 25, 92, 190–​91, 203–​4, 209,
211, 227
distinction (Bourdieu), 9, 23, 125, 169
diurnal time, 40
Dumazedier, Joffre, 31, 33–​34, 37, 39, 49, 51–​52,
151, 155, 167, 168n.15, 192–​93
economy, the, 5, 9, 28–​29, 157–​58, 178–​79, 183,
189–​90, 193, 213
educational aims, 26
educational policy, 212–​13
egalitarianism, 78–​79, 91–​92, 112, 113,
118, 132–​33
elitism, 22, 25–​26, 75
employment, 7, 8, 10–​11, 28–​29, 34–​35, 41, 42,
49, 91–​92, 97–​98, 151–​57, 162, 166–​67,
168, 180–​81, 213, 217, 241
enjoyment, 17, 29, 34–​35, 36–​38, 45, 92, 116–​
17, 131–​32, 138–​50, 157, 158–​59, 175–​76,
194, 197–​98, 227–​28, 230–​31, 233, 239–​40
Epicurus, 140, 141
ethics, 6, 13, 46–​48, 51–​52, 130, 147
ethical enactment, 149
ethical endeavor, 147
ethical seeking, 148–​49, 181, 204, 233–​
34, 241–​42
eudaimonia, 33–​34, 129–​30, 131, 140, 144, 149,
150, 176, 179–​80, 192–​95, 199–​200, 204,
233, 239
eudaimonic well-​being, 134
eutrapelia, 175–​76
excellence, 136, 139, 142, 144–​45, 148, 149–​50,
224, 230, 234
musical, 69–​70, 72–​74, 75, 174–​75, 201

excellences, 23, 144–​45, 184, 188, 195, 234
exercise, physical, 87–​88, 90, 143, 174, 196–​
97, 226
expectancy-​value theory, 234
expertise, 17, 98, 178, 226, 227
experts, 38, 83–​84, 96, 98, 99, 178, 227
extracurriculars, 210, 219, 220–​24
family life, 216
Farnsworth, Charles, 20, 24, 115
festival days, 39–​40
Fifty-​Five Songs, 71
fishing, 28, 90, 192–​93, 194
flourishing, 130, 131, 144–​48, 185, 190–​91, 195,
201–​3, 234
flow (theory), 167n.14, 173n.18
Foucault, Michel, 11–​12, 13, 14, 43–​44, 46–​47,
105, 174–​75, 212, 224–​25, 226–​27
Frankfurt School, 58, 167, 184, 199
free time, 3, 32–​35, 38–​42, 49–​52, 63, 101–​
2, 106–​7, 108, 113, 155–​56, 157–​58,
165, 189–​90
freedom, 6, 29, 33, 34, 40, 41, 42, 43–​48, 52, 58,
59–​60, 91–​92, 103–​4, 109, 132, 141, 154–​
55, 167, 173, 182, 183–​84, 186–​87, 188,
199–​200, 241–​42
of choice, 31–​32, 51, 110, 147, 149, 183,
184–​85, 204
to choose, 43, 199–​200
from necessity, 9
Froebel, Friedrich, 37, 80, 87–​88, 96
Fromm, Eric, 182, 183, 199
G. Stanley Hall, 37, 80–​81, 84–​85, 87–​88, 96–​
97, 172
garage band, 10
gender, 33, 63, 68, 71, 83, 84, 87, 93, 124–​25,
130, 165–​66, 168–​69, 180–​81, 192, 222–​
23, 240–​41
general houses, 69–​70
Gilded Age, 55–​56, 99–​100
Gini, Al, 7, 153, 154, 161, 170, 180, 182
Girl Guides, 84
girls, 84, 88, 93, 94, 95, 123
good music, 64, 118–​19, 120, 126
Goodman, Paul, 158–​59, 197–​98, 233–​34
government, 14, 43–​44, 47, 57, 96–​97, 100, 103,
132–​33, 156–​57, 186–​87
governmentality, 13–​14, 31–​32, 58–​59, 79–​80,
91–​92, 105, 125–​26, 209–​10, 212, 213–​14,
217, 219
Gramsci, Antonio, 23
Great Depression, 102, 156, 161
Index 265
greatest happiness principle, 131
gross domestic product, 3–​4, 133, 169–​70
guidance, 13, 51–​52, 79–​80, 84
habits, 86, 92, 98, 107, 226
habitus, 225
harm, 108, 138–​39, 196–​97, 212–​14
Havighurst, Robert, 191–​93
health, 14, 35, 43–​44, 61–​62, 77–​78, 86, 87, 92,
98, 99–​100, 110, 112, 133, 184, 204, 206
benefits, 104
and well-​being, 200, 201, 203
and wellness, 200, 202–​3
healthy living, 25, 148–​49, 196–​97, 226
hedonic treadmill, 148–​49, 169–​70, 183
hedonic well-​being, 236
hedonism, 129–​30, 134, 139–​44, 145–​46, 147–​
50, 192, 197–​98, 202, 204, 209, 233, 239
hidden musicians, 4, 231–​32
hierarchy of needs, 188
higher pleasures, 144, 149–​50
Home Musical Environmental Scale, 215
Houle, Cyril, 228n.27
Huizinga, John, 38, 90–​91, 171
Hull House, 61, 65, 68, 69, 77
human capital, 148, 213
human development, 37, 81–​82, 105, 192
idleness, 33–​34, 47, 49, 50, 83, 108–​9, 126, 157–​
58, 160, 161, 189–​90, 197–​98, 199–​200
immigration, 22, 57, 60–​61, 78–​79, 88, 103, 118
improvement, 51, 78–​79, 99, 100, 116, 120,
121–​22, 193, 233. See also cultural
improvement
physical, 82
self, 59–​60, 77–​78, 109, 195
inactivity, 47, 108–​9, 157–​58, 160, 178–​79,
197–​98
individualism, 186–​91, 206, 240–​41
expressive, 188, 189–​91
utilitarian, 188
industrial revolution, 50, 60–​61, 154, 155, 163
industrialization, 39–​40, 57, 60–​61, 63, 77–​79,
155, 159–​60
inequality, 6, 8–​9, 84, 165, 175, 179–​81, 206,
210, 222, 223, 226–​27, 236–​37
instrumental music, 17, 99–​100, 119–​20, 121,
173, 227–​28
international competitiveness, 5, 9–​10
International Society for Music Education, 18
intervention, 63, 78–​80, 83–​84, 87–​88, 91,
110–​13, 126, 226–​27
intrinsically good, 136, 137–​38, 143
266 Index
jazz, 22, 24, 119, 233–​34
job security, 157, 165–​66, 219
Jorgensen, Estelle, 26, 232–​33, 239
Journal of Research in Music Education, 18, 216
judgment, 11–​12, 23, 59–​60, 242
Kangaroo Kit, 208
Keil, Charles, 174, 175n.21
labor, 34, 35, 60, 91, 93, 106–​7, 109, 151–​57,
160–​62, 165–​66, 173, 176, 180, 181–​
82, 213
Lafargue, Paul, 159–​60
lapsed participation, 4
laziness, 9, 34–​35, 114, 159–​60, 178–​79
Lee, Joseph, 85–​96, 172, 236
leisure
attitude, 47–​48, 208
awareness, 147–​48
better, 195, 197, 200–​6
dangerous (deviant), 196–​97
lack, 164
pursuits, 104–​5, 177, 180, 183, 226
reflective, 178–​79, 185–​86, 189–​90, 200–​1
satisfaction, 8–​9, 198–​99, 200–​1, 234–​39
sciences, 6
sociology of, 11, 38–​39, 151, 169
studies, 6, 34–​35, 63, 92, 103, 111–​12, 149,
161–​62, 163–​64, 198–​99
liberal arts, 94, 217
liberal education, 90
libertarianism, 177, 186–​87, 197, 237–​38
liberty, 52, 182–​84, 188, 189
licere, 33–​34
life chances, 103–​4, 221, 236, 237
life purpose, 184, 190–​91, 193, 197–​98, 199,
206, 233–​34
life satisfaction, 29, 134, 165–​66, 184, 192
lifelong learning, 6
lifespan potential, 95
lifestyle, 4, 91–​92, 107, 140, 158, 159, 163–​
64, 224–​28
listening. See music listening
living well, 129–​30, 221
loafing, 83, 106–​7, 189–​90
Making Music (organization), 38–​39, 231
Marcuse, Herbert, 167, 182, 184
market, 64, 66–​67, 73, 153–​54, 155, 165–​66,
172, 181
logic of, 58–​59
rationality, 186
marketplace, 47–​48, 62, 82, 88
Marx, Karl, 9, 156, 159–​60, 163, 167, 169, 170
Maslow, Abraham, 132, 149, 188
mass culture, 58
mass entertainment, 58
mass leisure, 58
materialism, 58, 169–​70
means-​ends, 136–​37, 154–​55
meritocracy, 74
Merriam, Alan, 28, 204
middle class, 8–​9, 64, 71, 77, 89, 120, 182–​83,
219, 221–​24
Mill, John Stuart, 131, 143, 152
mindfulness, 141–​42, 198
mission houses, 61n.13, 62–​63
modernization, 80–​81
Moore, G. E., 136, 149–​50
moral authority, 14, 226–​27
moral calling, 47
moral philosophy, 130, 135, 146–​50
morality, 13, 21–​22, 46–​48, 86, 87, 147,
213–​14
mothers, 41–​42, 96, 224
mousikē, 23–​25
muscular Christianity, 61, 77–​78, 82
music
appreciation, 21–​22, 25, 121
education, 14–​27, 64–​65, 77, 105, 119–​25,
148, 174–​75, 205, 207–​42
for every child, 118–​19, 121–​22, 125
instruction, 16, 19, 21, 56–​57, 66–​67, 73, 75,
95, 120, 122, 222, 229, 237–​38
learning and participation
listening, 115, 116–​17, 142, 143, 163–​64, 191,
195, 198–​99, 200–​3
training, 21–​22, 24, 65, 69–​70, 74, 75, 117–​18,
122–​23, 142, 220
Music Supervisors National Conference, 15–​17,
71, 78n.1, 79–​80, 103, 105, 120
Music Teachers National Association,
71, 122–​23
musical leisure, 28–​29, 129–​30, 146–​50, 176,
205, 233–​34
musical training, 21–​22, 65, 69–​70, 74, 117–​18,
122–​23, 142, 220
musician unions, 230
NAMM Show, 3n.1, 4n.3, 186
nation-​building, 16, 71, 79, 91–​92
National Association for Music Education, 18,
75, 105, 120. See also Music Supervisors
National Conference
National Association of Music Merchants,
231n.34, See also NAMM Show
 Index 267

National Bureau for the Advancement of patriarchy, 93, 180–​81

Music, 121 patriotism, 71, 182
National Education Association, PERMA, 145, 149
98n.33, 113–​14 personal welfare, 139, 147–​48, 179–​80,
National Federation of Settlements, 70–​72, 73 181, 203
National Guild for Community Arts Pestalozzi, Johann, 37, 80
Education, 56–​57 Philebus, 141–​42
National Guild of Community Music Schools, philosophy. See moral philosophy
20, 56–​57, 71–​72, 73, 122–​23 phonograph, 22, 114–​17, 119, 125
National Recreation Association, 15–​16, 69, physical improvement, 82, 97
70–​71, 79–​80, 84–​86, 102, 103, 107–​8, 114, physical training, 88, 96–​97, 144
115–​21, 123–​25, 158–​59 piano, 72–​73, 90, 115–​17, 159, 171–​72, 186,
nature/​nurture, 211 190–​91, 233, 236
necessity of work, 7, 153–​54 Pieper, Joseph, 28, 29, 31, 33–​34, 47–​48, 51–​52,
neoliberalism, 5, 6, 9–​10, 47–​48, 51, 52, 148, 158–​59, 160, 181, 194, 198
153, 154, 161–​62, 169, 170, 181, 186–​88, Plato, 5, 22, 43, 131, 139–​42
209–​10, 213, 217, 237–​38, 240 play
New Horizons International, 4, 231, 236–​37 colonization of, 172
Nicomachean Ethics, 142, 144 dark, 171
Noddings, Nel, 28–​29 element, 38, 90–​91, 107, 173, 174
non-​music students, 4, 18–​19, 218 imitative, 81–​82, 171–​72
notation movement, 56, 77, 83–​91, 92–​107, 172, 173
fluency, 19 qualities of, 38
staff, 16–​17 rhetorics of, 37
spirit (spirit of), 9, 31–​32, 38, 87, 90–​91, 152,
obligations, 41, 75, 106–​7, 129, 149, 151–​52, 170–​76, 185, 242
199–​200, 209 theories of, 37, 93, 172
opportunity barriers, 222, 223 Play Congress, 84–​85
Original Sin, 47 playfulness, 170, 171–​72
otium, 33–​34, 154 Playground Association of America, 15–​17,
79–​80, 84–​87, 102, 104
paideia, 23, 24–​25, 33–​34, 144, 147, 148, playground movement, 37, 77, 79–​80, 85–​86,
149, 211 94, 95, 104, 112, 177–​78
paidia, 171–​72 playground supervisor, 96–​97
parental involvement and home playification, 172, 176
environment, 216 pleasure. See hedonism
parenting, 93, 146–​47, 149–​50, 210, 211, 213–​ polis, 23, 43–​44, 46–​47, 51–​52, 148, 187,
27, 234–​35, 239, 241, 242 189, 197–​98
logics, 223–​24 political, 15–​16, 23–​24, 26, 27, 45, 48, 50, 52,
musically, 215–​16 55–​56, 58–​59, 117–​19, 120, 130, 147, 152,
practices, 215 156–​57, 163–​64, 178–​79, 182, 183, 186–​89,
styles, 215 212–​13, 225–​26, 240
Parker, Stanley, 168–​69 Politics (book), 23
parks and recreation, 6–​7, 102n.38, 104, positionality, 12, 240
105, 192–​93 positive psychology, 130, 145–​46, 149
passivity, 59–​60, 105, 108, 115–​16, 180n.6, 194, positive youth development, 220–​21
198–​99, 200–​1, 205, 226 post-​industrial, 50–​51, 154, 156–​57, 167, 168
pastoral power, 13–​14, 31–​32, 47, 58–​59, 64, 68, Postman, Neil, 172, 199n.18
79, 80, 105, 125–​26, 177–​78, 212 power-​knowledge, 14, 18, 226–​27
paternalism, 47, 61, 77, 79–​80, 89, 93, 100, 108–​ practice theory, 14–​15
13, 117–​18, 119n.14, 177–​79, 184, 205, prison choirs, 205
208–​9, 212, 224–​28, 241–​42 privilege, 9, 12, 34–​35, 50, 74, 89–​90, 117–​18,
paradox of, 210, 225–​26 168–​69, 179–​80
268 Index
professional musicians, 10, 67–​68, 151, 153–​55,
168, 193, 220
professional training, 67–​68, 73, 208–​9
professionalism, 17, 68, 229, 230–​31
professionals (and reformers), 79–​80, 84, 94–​98,
102, 125–​26, 226–​27
Progressive Education, 6–​7, 55–​56, 92, 107, 213
Progressive Era, 55–​56, 58–​59, 63, 71, 75–​76,
77, 78–​79, 99–​100, 106–​7, 122, 125–​26,
189, 226–​27, 240–​41
properly directed pleasure, 149–​50
Protestant work ethic, 9, 31–​32, 42, 47–​48, 50–​
51, 113, 162, 166–​67, 180
provision of services (recreation), 35–​36, 45, 83,
111, 112, 163–​64
Psalm, 46, 154
public concern, 99–​100, 177–​78, 199, 213–​14
public good, 16, 189, 217–​24, 229
public versus private, 111, 213
Puritan ethic. See Protestant work ethic
Putnam, Robert, 55–​56, 58–​61, 75–​76, 78–​
79, 120
quality-​of-​life, 131–​34, 196, 204–​5
racial biases, 62–​63
radio, 16, 22, 109, 114–​19, 125, 201
Rainwater, Clarence, 59–​60, 99–​100, 104–​5
ranking (of activities), 191–​98
rational recreation, 60–​64, 71, 100, 118–​19,
177–​78, 205, 239–​40
rationales
aesthetic, 20–​21
for school music, 19, 23–​24, 26–​27, 120
social, 24, 70–​71
utilitarian, 20–​21
recreare, 35, 163, 193, 209, 233–​34
recreatio, 35
recreation leaders, 52, 102, 123–​24, 207–​8
recreation movement, 44–​45, 77–​78, 95, 102–​5,
108, 112, 241–​42
recreational music making (NAMM), 231n.34
reform movement, 14, 63, 65–​66, 77–​78,
104n.43
reformers (social), 57, 59–​69, 81–​85, 89, 96–​97,
98, 103–​4, 108–​9, 172, 177–​78, 226–​27
and professionals (see professionals and
reformers)
religion, 13, 43, 46–​48, 90, 121, 188, 212
repertoire, 19, 25, 55, 124–​25, 233
repertoires of practice, 223–​24
Riesman, David, 157–​58
right action, 13, 43, 135–​36
right-​to-​work, 8, 157
Ross, William David, 135–​39, 146
rote versus note, 19n.14
Russell, Bertrand, 160, 161, 179, 180
Rybczynski, Witold, 39, 151–​52, 158n.4, 198–​99
sabbath, 39, 154
salvationism, 74, 89
sand gardens, 83–​84, 99
Satisfaction with Life Scale, 133–​34
Schenck, Janet, 66–​67, 71–​75
scholē, 33–​34, 91–​92, 129, 144–​45, 146, 154,
155, 158–​59, 161, 168, 179–​80, 190–​91,
193–​94, 198, 202–​4, 209, 233–​34, 239, 242
school achievement, 215
school music, 4, 10–​11, 15–​27, 75, 105, 115–​16,
119–​26, 143, 174–​75, 210, 214–​22, 227,
229, 237–​38, 240–​41
movement, 20, 21, 24
schooling
common, 16, 79
compulsory, 16, 22, 79, 113, 125–​26, 212, 213,
217, 218–​19, 225, 229, 240–​41
Schools Band Contest of America, 121
scientific
concern, 49, 80–​81, 125–​26
management, 14, 60n.9
method, 80–​81, 89
orientation, 89, 94
progress, 98, 177–​78
study, 79–​80, 163
Scott, Martha, 68
self-​actualization, 132, 149, 188
self-​determination theory, 145, 224
self-​direction, 57, 59–​60, 68
self-​expression, 34, 37, 45, 233
self-​identity, 166–​67
self-​improvement, 59–​60, 77–​78, 109, 195
Seligman, Martin, 131, 145, 146
serious leisure, 158–​59, 232–​33, 235–​39, 241
serious leisure perspective, 232
service providers. See provision of services
settlement movement, 21–​22, 56–​57, 61–​66, 73,
75–​76, 77, 108–​9, 118, 122–​23
settlement music schools, 20, 64–​74, 122–​23
singing (community), 70–​71, 71n.27,
114–​15
Six-​factor Model of Psychological Well-​being,
134, 149
sloth, 9, 160, 198
Smith, Eleanor, 65, 69
social capital, 75–​76, 78–​79
social contract theory, 186–​87

social control, 62–​63, 100, 101–​2, 103–​4,
106, 177–​78
Social Gospel, 61
social historians, 56–​57, 58
social inequality. See inequality
social mobility, 28–​29, 51, 223–​24
social music, 69–​73, 122–​23
social rationale. See rationales
social reformers. See reformers
socialization, 79, 113–​14, 147–​48, 193, 210–​
11, 223–​24
solipsism, 132, 139, 141–​42, 144–​45, 149–​
50, 202
songbooks, 71
specialists, 16–​17, 34–​35, 44, 98, 122–​23
specialization, 44, 64–​65, 98
specialized houses, 69–​70
spectatoritis, 108, 199
spectators, 44, 104–​5, 180n.6, 202–​3
sport(s), 36, 44, 46, 87–​88, 93, 98, 107–​8, 111,
170–​71, 173, 174, 191–​93, 202–​3, 220–​
24, 235–​36
and fitness, 35, 202–​3
organized, 84–​85, 95
standardized tests, 6–​7
standards (musical), 21, 66, 69, 72–​75, 121–​
22, 230
state of mind, 31, 32–​33, 41, 44, 134, 155
statism, 131, 142, 173n.18
Stebbins, Robert, 146, 147, 159, 166–​67, 232–​34
striving, 51, 148, 188, 230
subjective well-​being, 132–​35, 145
subsidized music lessons, 66, 67, 74
successful aging, 158
supervenience, 140–​41, 149–​50, 194
supervision, 60, 77, 79–​80, 83–​84, 88, 97,
100, 113
taste, 21–​23, 24–​25, 55, 58–​59, 68, 69, 75–​76, 93,
101, 109, 114–​15, 118, 119, 125, 200–​1
Teaching Music through Performance, 25
television, 191, 198–​201, 226
Ten Commandments, 13, 47
the good life, 7, 10, 14, 32–​34, 43–​44, 50, 89–​90,
92, 94, 118–​19, 123–​24, 130, 137–​55, 161,
166–​76, 177, 182, 184, 189–​90, 197–​98,
204–​5, 206, 224–​25, 227, 234, 241
the leisure class, 9, 51–​52, 160, 180
the leisure society, 161–​63
The New Leisure, 106–​7
The Universal Teacher, 19
Third Street Music School Settlement, 65
Thompson, E. P., 39–​40, 156
Index 269
Threat of Leisure, The, 106–​7, 178
time. See also clock time; diurnal time
budget, 38–​39, 49, 163, 191, 200
proper use of, 50, 63, 123, 136–​37
spare, 33–​34, 39, 155, 158–​59
stress, 158, 165–​66
surplus, 106–​7
usage, 31, 32–​33, 50–​52, 108, 114–​15
time use research, 163–​64
time-​work relationship, 31–​32
undesirability, 86, 153, 172, 174–​75, 189–​90
United Nations, 129, 130
United Nations Human Development
Index, 133
Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 155–​57
universal education, 79, 96
University Settlement Music School, 65
unproductiveness, 34–​35, 50, 52, 111, 171,
173, 189–​90
unstructured activities, 171–​72, 222
uplift. See cultural uplift
urbanization, 22, 57, 60–​61, 63, 77–​79, 80–​81,
82, 96, 103, 106–​7
Utopia, 156, 159–​60
Veblen, Thorstein, 9, 51–​52, 125, 169,
180, 181–​82
virtuosity, 174–​75
virtuous, 144–​50, 166–​67, 201, 202–​3
vocational, 10–​11, 67, 73, 74, 148, 168–​69, 217
-​ism, 8, 29–​30
preparation, 3–​4, 67
training, 20–​21, 74, 122–​23
volition, 3, 4, 36, 135, 224–​25
voluntary association, 14, 78–​80, 103, 120, 189n.12
Wagner, Emilie, 65
WASP, 61, 64, 84, 113
wasting time, 197–​98
Weber, Max, 9, 47–​50, 113, 166–​67, 181–​82, 183
weekend, 39, 40, 51, 151–​52, 165–​66
welfare, 5, 28, 64–​65, 79, 82, 88, 99–​100, 131–​48,
179–​80, 181, 187, 196, 202, 203, 212, 213,
218, 226, 227
well-​being, 9–​10, 11, 13, 28–​29, 33–​34, 38, 52,
105, 114–​15, 129–​49, 151, 166–​70, 176,
179, 184–​85, 195–​203, 210, 213, 221, 222,
233, 239. See also quality-​of-​life
well-​roundedness, 8–​9, 222, 240
Whitman, Walt, 7–​8
Wilensky, Harold, 168–​69
work ethic. See Puritan work ethic
270 Index

work songs, 153 boundaries, 162

work-​as-​employment, 7, 10–​11, 42 separation, 152
work-​leisure, 151–​54, 160, 162–​63, 168–​69, 170, workaholism, 157–​58
175–76, 193 World Happiness Index, 132
work-​life
balance, 7–​8, 152 xenophobia, 60–​61, 78–​79