Abstract
How can music educators explore the intersections of spirituality, relationships, and music education? The purpose of this paper is to examine how the Pixar film, Soul, models the transformation that can occur when a music teacher embraces spirituality and the preciousness of everyday life both in and out of the classroom through experiences in spatiality, corporeality, temporality, and relationality. To explore the film’s implications, I use a conceptual model of spirituality from van der Merwe and Habron and a theoretical framework from Boyce-Tillman which explores ideas of eudaimonia, spirituality, and music education. The film’s protagonist, Joe Gardner, who evolves past his own ego and comes to share the joy of everyday experiences with a fearful student, may serve as a model for music educators who are seeking to find meaning in the daily life of music teaching and learning. Because discussing films seems so natural to our social experience, pondering how characters evolve and come to understand their purpose may help music teachers develop a deeper understanding of their own identity and interconnected relationships with students.
How can music educators explore the intersections of spirituality, relationships, and music education? The purpose of this paper is to examine how the Pixar film, Soul, (Murray & Docter, 2020) models the transformation that can occur when a music teacher embraces spirituality and the preciousness of everyday life both in and out of the classroom through experiences in spatiality, corporeality, temporality, and relationality. To explore the film, I use a conceptual model of spirituality from van der Merwe and Habron (2015) and a theoretical framework from Boyce-Tillman (2004, 2012, 2013, 2020) which explores ideas of eudaimonia, spirituality, and music education.
Directed by Pete Docter, the animated film was released direct-to-streaming in 2020 as music educators around the world were amid an existential crisis, striving to connect with students in online environments, and longing to make meaning amid teaching music during a global pandemic. The movie’s protagonist, Joe Gardner (Jamie Foxx), is a middle school band director and jazz pianist who lives out the identity crisis of teacher vs. musician that is documented throughout the literature base of music teacher education research (Isbell, 2008; Pellegrino, 2009). While this conflict of identity seemed to be the focus of conversation on music teacher social media groups (Music Teachers Facebook Group, 2021) after the movie premiered on Disney+ on Christmas Day, there is a possible deeper meaning that may provide a lesson. Joe Gardner’s growth into a teacher who comes to share the joy of everyday experiences with a fearful student may be a pertinent lesson for music educators who are seeking to find meaning and connection in the daily life of music teaching and learning.
Films may offer an entry point for music teachers seeking to ponder questions such as: “How do I perceive my role in the classroom? How do I understand and make meaning of my relationship with students?” or even “Why do I choose to continue teaching?” (Richerme, 2015). While philosophical texts may provide a deeper understanding of these questions (Hodges, 2017), films are often more approachable and situated in the social and cultural landscape of practicing teachers and students. Because discussing films seems so natural to our social experience and is an activity that we engage in periodically with friends or colleagues, pondering how the characters of Joe Gardner and 22 (Tina Fey) evolve and come to understand their purpose may help music teachers develop a deeper understanding of their own identity and interconnected relationships. While there has been criticism about the voice and identity of the black male protagonist, Joe Gardner, being switched with the voice of 22, a naive, white, female voiced young soul (Acuna, 2020), the evolution of both Joe and 22’s characters are tied up in a relational interworking where it is unclear at times who is the mentor and who is the student. This relationship, where learning and growth are multi-layered and multidimensional, can serve as a model for how teachers may wish to cultivate relationships with and among the students who are a part of their music classroom communities.
Theoretical framework
Smith and Silverman (2020) define the Aristotelian concept of eudaimonia through the derivation of the word. “The Greek term, eudaimonia, derives from ‘eu,’ meaning ‘good’ or ‘well,’ and ‘daimon’ meaning ‘a spirit’ or ‘one’s personal fortune.’ Literally, then, it means something like ‘having a good guardian spirit,’ a ‘good divine power, or ‘good fortune’” (p. 2). However, eudaimonia is most often translated as “human flourishing” (Elliot & Silverman, 2014). In the film, Soul, Joe and 22 find their own version of eudaimonia through a cosmic mistake when their two spirts are intertwined in Joe’s body. The two become each other’s guardian spirit in a way that is at first maddening, but later becomes transformational. At first Joe is mostly concerned with his own ego, and 22 is terrified to take any semblance of a risk. However, after their spirits have occupied the same body for a day, in a sense becoming each other’s “daimon,” their sense of what it means to live well in the world is forever changed.
Obviously, it is not possible for us to occupy the same body and spirit as our students to find a communal human flourishing. Eudaimonia can be achieved when we live in right relationship with one another, or when “one lives for the betterment of oneself and one’s community” (Smith & Silverman, 2020, p. 2). Finding the balance between living for the betterment of one’s self or one’s community is a struggle that many teachers encounter throughout their careers. However, when teachers allow for moments of vulnerability in the classroom, the present moment may become sacred and full of transformational energy that allows for relationship building and the betterment of individuals and the larger community. Music, by way of its very essence, allows for opportunities to connect to the sacredness of the present moment. Connecting to the sacred energy of the present is one way among many to connect with students, but it may make some teachers feel uncomfortable or out of place. Throughout this paper we will examine how music allows us to connect to the sacred if we choose to take that path.
van der Merwe and Habron (2015) offer a hermeneutic phenomenological model for examining spirituality in music education. After conducting a review of literature related to spirituality in music education, the researchers identified four areas: corporeality, relationality, spatiality, and temporality, as guides to reflection in their model of spirituality in music education. It is through the conceptual model of van der Merwe and Habron (2015) and the theoretical framework of Boyce-Tillman (2004, 2012, 2013, 2020) that I will explore the intersection of spirituality, relationships, and music education in the Pixar film, Soul.
Boyce-Tillman (2004) developed a model of five interlocking areas, which act as lenses through which the musical experience may be viewed. The five areas she identified were materials, expression, construction, values, and spirituality. For the purposes of this paper, I will be approaching relationships through music via the lens of spirituality. Boyce-Tillman (2004) defines spirituality in her model as “the ability to transport the audience to a different time/space dimension: to move them from everyday reality to another world” (p. 109). Boyce-Tillman (2020) writes: In a post-secular society, the word ‘spirituality’ (with or without religion) is closer to how many people see the entry into another way of knowing; a time when body, mind, spirit, and emotions come together. . . This liminal/spiritual space is potentially transformative, yielding personal growth. There is a sense of intimacy and I-Thou awareness, a feeling of being united with the universe, other beings, and the natural world. . .There is increasing interest in this area in music education (p. 82).
The researcher asks us to imagine a world that would exist at the intersection of spirituality, relationships, and music education. Through this framework, I argue in this paper that transformation can occur when a music teacher embraces the preciousness of everyday life both in and out of the classroom and prioritizes relationships above musical accomplishments. The Pixar film, Soul, offers an entry point into this discussion.
In this manuscript I will present several examples from the film where the reader may view music education through the lens of spatiality, corporeality, temporality, and relationality. We begin with music education through the lens of spatiality.
Spatiality
van der Merwe and Habron (2015) define spatiality as “lived space or felt space that is always a part of our being in the world. . . We experience space through our body (lived body), at a specific moment (lived time), in relation to something or someone (lived relationality)” (p. 59). The researchers clarify that metaphysical space or imagined space are also within the realm of spatiality. Spatiality also encompasses awareness, awe and wonder, and transcendence. Using the film as a model, let us examine how the character of Joe Gardner experiences the lived and felt space of the present moment.
In the film, Joe is star-struck by his encounter with Dorthea Williams, a world renown saxophonist, and cannot get out of his head to improvise and play in the moment when he is given the opportunity. Any musician who has had an initial experience with improvisation can empathize with Joe’s feeling of being trapped in the imagined space created by his mind, unable to free himself from the paralyzing fear of not being good enough. Later in the film you see 22 stuck in a similar imagined space, characterized by an obsessive state of negative energy that spirals into a loop of fear, anxiety, and self-loathing. The way this mental state is characterized in the film sends chills down the spine of the viewer, hitting at an experience that many musicians have felt deeply at some point in their career. When Joe sees that 22 is stuck in a dark place, he empathetically finds a way to reach out to the young soul by feeling gratitude for the simple moments, objects, tastes, and smells of everyday life. Joe collects a series of objects from the day that he has shared with 22 and sits in front of the keyboard to improvise a piece based on their shared experience. The objects appear to swirl around in Joe’s consciousness, sending him into a state of flow (Csikszentmihalyi, 1990) created by a score of gratitude, sensation, and relational experience with the world around him. Through this shared musical space, 22 feels Joe’s presence reaching into the darkness and manages to return to the present moment. This scene can serve as a metaphor for how teachers can facilitate meaningful musical experiences that allow students to leave behind their fears and anxieties and be present in the moment. So often it appears to be a crippling sense of fear that holds students back from being truly present in the moment, both musically and in their lives outside of music. If a music teacher can connect with a student and help them move past their anxiety and into a different headspace, music making can become much more meaningful.
One powerful way to connect to the lived space of the present moment is the 24-hour Examen Prayer of St. Ignatius Loyola (Xavier University Center for Mission and Identity, n.d) 24-hour-period were found in observing my 9-month-old son (another new soul) experience sensations for the first time. The taste of an orange, the caress of sunshine and a warm breeze on your face during a morning walk, the thrill of joyfully splashing in a warm bubble bath: these were the moments of gratitude that fueled my spirit for teaching and kept me reaching out to my students through postpartum depression and the dark void of online music learning amid a global pandemic. When we remember the sensations that bring us back to life, they form a lifeline that tethers us to the present moment, and the people around us may feel a shift in the energy of our shared space, even when that space is created in a virtual environment. Sharing space with a group of students while they think back over the last 24 hour period, and asking them to discuss when they felt most connected to the world around them could open up a whole new dynamic of spirituality in the classroom. This shared liminal space could provide the possibility for much more genuine, authentic music making that is free of fear or anxiety that is often associated with not “measuring up” to some real or imagined standard.
It is important to remember that teachers are not the only instigators of awakening to the spirituality of the present moment. Just as my lifeline often came from the smile of my infant son, our students may be the ones who are more closely attuned to the preciousness of a moment. I would encourage teachers to be particularly attentive to moments in rehearsal that spark unexpected energy that spreads throughout the room. A light-hearted discussion that may initially seem to be off-task, a moment of shared vulnerability that inspires courage in others, a student who powerfully models learning from their mistakes and shows sustained growth. The power in these moments is that we cannot go searching for them because they are indeed all around us. Instead, we must be open to the possibility that these gifts are always abundant if we simply allow a space for them to be.
In the film, Dorthea shares a last bit of wisdom with Joe by telling the story of a fish who was constantly searching for the ocean. When the fish was informed that he was already swimming in the ocean, he cried, “man this is just WATER, I’m looking for the ocean!” The wisdom in this parable lies in the power of being awakened to the spatiality of the present moment. When the present is shared in a relationship that is connected by communal learning, time can be so vast and all-encompassing that it is impossible to know the power that moment may have in shaping and creating life. Recognizing the power that improvised music holds in bringing us into a shared experience of the present moment may be simultaneously freeing and terrifying for teachers and students alike.
Jorgensen (2011) describes how the present moment may be particularly meaningful in connecting music education to religion and spirituality, quoting Whitehead’s (1959) essay, The Aims of Education, in which Whitehead states that the present moment holds within itself “the seeds of eternity forwards and backwards” (p. 14). Jorgensen (2011) considers the implications of labeling music education as “religious,” stating, “Far from pandering to student or teacher present interests, such education begins with curiosity, imagination, and impulse to stretch the horizons of understandings beyond the familiar and taken-for-granted, thereby unsettling, surprising, even disconcerting those involved” (p. 159). What would it mean to design a curriculum for middle school general music from a place that begins with “curiosity, imagination, and the impulse to stretch horizons of understandings beyond the familiar and taken-for-granted” (p. 159)? How might this curriculum be “unsettling, surprising, and disconcerting” (p. 159) for all involved?
Corporeality
van der Merwe and Habron (2015) describe corporeality as being in one’s lived body. They include four categories of corporeality as an expression of spirituality: embodiment, sensory experience, creativity, and breath. Sensory experiences such as hearing, touch, and movement, are included here along with the process of thought as these are all interrelated in the embodied mind. Improvisation is an activity that hits on all forms of corporeality, as it requires the participant to be present in their physical body while engaging with their sensory experiences, creativity, and breath. Therefore, improvisation can be used as a teaching tool at the intersections of spirituality, relationships, and music education.
Music teachers might consider facilitating an improvisation experience like the one that Joe designed in the film where students are given the opportunity to reflect on powerful images that may have been a part of a shared experience of the group. In the film, Joe sits down to improvise at the piano with physical objects that he has collected throughout the day. He takes his inspiration from his experiences, the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, the first taste of New York pizza, the feeling of gratitude expressed by leaving all he has in a subway buskers open case, and the brilliant royal blue thread that his mother used to alter his father’s favorite suit. Similarly, middle school general music students could create an improvisation to accompany images of current events which make up a shared cultural experience, such as video of recent Black Lives Matter protests or other social justice issues that may be weighing heavily on their hearts. By giving students an assignment to use shared corporeal experiences to create a video accompanied by improvised music, teachers may open spaces for students to engage with content that is meaningful to them on a deeper, more spiritual level (Woodward, 2013). Students should always be given the opportunity to decide what content might serve as inspiration, though they may need to develop their ideas based on thoughtful questions from the teacher. Teachers might ask the following questions to spark inspiration for improvisation based on an image or an event: “When did you feel most alive today?” “What current events or issues set your heart on fire?” “If you could live one day of your life over again, what day would it be?” “Tell me about the most beautiful object you have ever seen.” These questions elicit a flood of sensory information that trigger the body, mind, and spirit to be engaged in the creative process, and may have the power to awaken students from the more obsessive thought-loops of the mind that often accompany first encounters with improvisation. Thoughts such as, “I’m not good enough,” “I will never have what it takes,” or “improvisation is only for experienced musicians,” tend to quickly fade when students remember powerful multisensory images or memories. When these experiences are shared, as they are in the film between Joe and 22, the musical experience can be even more profound.
Secondary music educators may struggle with finding models for incorporating improvisation outside of the jazz tradition, but organizations such as Music for People, whose philosophy of music education is outlined in their Musical Bill of Rights (Darling, n.d), provide resources and training for educators looking to create community through improvisation (Oshinsky, 2008). Studies in Creative Motion (Allen & Niles, 2010), Orff-Schulwerk (American Orff-Schulwerk Association, 2022), or Dalcroze Eurythmics (Dalcroze Society of America, 2021) may provide insight into creating playful, purposeful, and dynamic improvised movement experiences in the classroom. Similarly, educators may attend workshops facilitated by intergenerational expressive arts organizations outside of music, such as InterPlay, to get ideas for how they might facilitate experiences that integrate the mind, body, and spirit in the classroom (Porter & Winton-Henry, 1995). These inclusive music communities provide rich models for how spirituality might be approached in the music classroom by validating the playful spirit that resides inside each person.
Temporality
van der Merwe and Habron (2015) describe temporality as lived time, or subjective time as opposed to clock time. Temporality also refers to obliviousness to time or altered states of time such as flow states (Csikszentmihaly, 1975). Boyce-Tillman (2012) describes how musicians can use flow states to connect with a feeling of communitas- “a sense of communion with others, the natural world, and the wider cosmos” by preparing a transformative liminal space where “time and space operate differently from everyday life” (p. 29).
In the film, we see Joe travel into this space on board a psychedelic ship chartered by a shamanistic hippie, who Joe had encountered earlier in the day as he was spinning a sign and dancing on a busy city block. The dancing hippie that transports Joe into a state of musical ecstasy portrays how the arts, and music specifically, have been used for thousands of years to induce trance-like states of spiritual connection. Csikszentmihaly (1975) labeled this state flow, “the holistic sensation present when we act with total involvement” (p. 121). In this state, “action follows action according to an internal logic which seems to need no conscious intervention on our part” and there is “little distinction between self and environment, stimulus and response, or between past, present, and future” (p. 121). Many music education philosophers have discussed the state of flow and its connection to music, spirituality, and transcendence (Bogdan, 2010; Carr, 2008; Palmer, 2010). Bogdan (2010) discusses stasis, flow, and embodiment as a part of what she refers to as the “shimmer factor,” a way of “distinguishing a genuinely transcendent, transformational musical experience from a sensate, surface, esthetic encounter” (p. 111).
How and why might music educators create space for these transcendent experiences to occur in the classroom? Boyce-Tillman (2013) argues that music teachers must look past prepackaged curricula, as well as state and national standards that are often slow to evolve and represent a “well-trodden but limited view of human beings, the cosmos, and education” (p. 32). Boyce-Tillman (2004) describes an ecological model employed in her own composition, The Healing of the Earth, that places the emphasis on process rather than product, with opportunities for personal and community transformation. In several of her pieces, the lines between performer, composer, audience, amateur, and expert become blurred, and a more holistic and democratic process of music making begins to emerge. With a nod to John Cage, many of her works are place and space based, with the audience moving through a performance venue of diverse musical groups to create their own sonic landscape. While the audience has freedom to choose the sounds they hear based on where they decide to roam, the performers can also make musical decisions such as where to begin in each melodic cycle, when they make shifts in texture by moving to a drone or supporting the ensemble through silence. Boyce-Tillman describes her compositional role as if she was the builder of a frame that will house a new work of community art each time that is performed. Imagine how marching band shows might be different if rather than staying on the field during halftime, students were placed strategically throughout the stadium, amongst members of the school community who were active participants in the show, with a part to play in the creative process that was about to unfold. In the film, when 22 points out to Joe that she is really good at walking, and perhaps walking could be her purpose, Joe laughs this off and says, “Walking isn’t really a purpose, 22” (Murray & Docter, 2020). Perhaps it takes the wisdom of a young, naive soul to point out that simply walking can be a meaningful contribution to participatory, community art. In fact, the value may not be in the doing itself, but the relationship that is established between participants who are welcomed into the communal act of creation.
While not the norm, teachers may be able to find models of participatory community arts experiences happening in their area. I am reminded of a performance I attended at Appalachian State University called Dragons in the Mountains, written by Burke (2012). The score, with improvised music, was provided by university faculty and students, and members of the community including professional and amateur actors, artists, puppeteers, costume designers, school children, and community members told the story of environmental devastation that was happening with mountaintop removal in the Appalachian Mountains through a multisensory performance. As a member of the audience, I often felt a part of the story that was unfolding around me, as characters moved freely among the audience seated in the large university ballroom. Performances like Dragons in the Mountains certainly elicit the “shimmer factor” (p. 111) described by Bogdan (2010) and the feeling of cummunitas that emerges from being a part of a transformative liminal space. These performances are surely what Jorgensen (2008) is calling for when she asks teachers to “think and act artfully, imaginatively, hopefully, and courageously toward creating a better world.”
Relationality
van der Merwe and Habron (2015) describe relationality as, “the connections that exist between people as well as the relationships between individuals and communities, the natural world, cosmos, and the divine. It also includes the relationship with the self” (p. 57). It is often through our relationships with both music and others that we may feel closer to the sacred.
The character of Joe’s barber, Dez, (Donnell Rawlings) is powerful in that it addresses the way identity may be shaped and molded by relationships, life experiences, and circumstances. As a young man, Dez dreams of becoming a veterinarian, but in order to take care of his growing family, he forgoes college and instead pursues a career as a barber, which brings him the joy of connecting with people, hearing their stories, and forming deep meaningful relationships. While Dez did not believe his soul’s purpose was to become a barber, he knows his existence is deeply tied to an empathetic and relational understanding of the world that is fed each day through his interactions with people like Joe who come and sit for a few minutes in his chair. What might music educators learn from the character of Dez and his interactions with clients? Dez shares in the joy or sorrow of whatever his clients bring into his shop. Joe believes that Dez, like himself, is truly interested and obsessed with jazz because he listens to him with deep and focused attention. Similarly, teachers might consider how they can be empathetic listeners to the musical experiences and stories of their students. By practicing deep and focused listening, maintaining eye contact, and treating individual students as if their stories of musical identity are the most important and pressing matter at hand, teachers may find that students feel validated and motivated to be their best possible selves (Smith & Secoy, 2019). This might be as simple as changing how you interact with students during playing assessments, making time to get to know students’ musical interests outside of the classroom, or making a point to spend a few moments in conversation with a different student before class begins each day.
As a first-year teacher I was often criticized for spending too much of the school day focusing on topics that seemed to be tangential to music performance. My colleagues in the music education and music therapy department today still often joke that I deal with “feelings” in a way that makes them uncomfortable. So why go there? Arguing that music is a language of spirituality, Yob (2010) writes: “If we have soul as well as mind and body, then spirit is in the classroom whether we acknowledge it or not, or whether the laws of the land prohibit it or not. . . A possibility and challenge for music educators is in discerning how to employ music as a spiritual language” (p. 150). Thus, Yob advocates for a constructivist approach where the teacher facilitates experiences for learners to discover and construct spiritual meaning themselves through music performance, listening, and composition. I would agree with Yob’s suggestions, and argue that improvisation, by way of its spontaneous creation in the moment, may provide even richer opportunities to connect with spirit in a profound way.
The Pixar film, Soul, offers music educators a glimpse into the life of a music educator who learns that the rewards of teaching and performing music may lie in the preciousness of the present moment and the relationships that form when we awaken to our interconnected consciousness. Through sharing his consciousness with a young soul, Joe Gardener finds himself at the intersection of spirituality, relationships, and music, modeling a shift toward eudaimonia, and discovering how to be in right relationship with himself, with others, and with his community (Smith & Silverman, 2020). While researchers, philosophers, and scholars have explored the spiritual aspects of music education for years, films such as Soul, may provide a more approachable entry point for the typical music educator hoping to implement practical ideas into the classroom. The character of Joe Gardner, and his evolution through relationships with others, may provide teachers with a model for awakening to the beauty of the present moment, and a desire to cultivate community through transcendent experiences with music.
