music—in Armstrong’s case, a complex mix of internal and external motiva-
tions, but arguabl ywith internal motivations dominating. A sixth feature was a
graded series of opportunities and challenges available or sought out as the
expertise developed.
In man ywa ys, this list of features fits the case of a savant such as NP. The
principal differences in the two examples cited here relate to motivation and
challenge. NP’s motivation did not have a significant external component, and
partl yfor that reason it is not clear that his challenges either arose or were
grasped with the same frequenc yas those of Armstrong. It is eas yto imagine
NP remaining on a performance plateau. Armstrong went on growing and
changing throughout his life.
What these case studies show is that high levels of expertise are achievable
without instruction. This does not, of course, mean that instruction is useless.
B yproviding a structured progression of information and challenges for a
learner, geared precisel yto the learner’s capacities at a given time, a teacher
ma ybe able to accelerate a learner’s progress. Not ever yperson has the op-
portunit yto extract the relevant experiences from the ‘‘natural’’ environment
that Armstrong had. A formal instructional environment can engineer the con-
ditions for such extraction. The danger of all such environments is that goals
and standards are imposed on the learner, rather than being chosen. The con-
sequence can be to inhibit intrinsic motivation and originalit y(Amabile, 1983).
If external constraints are extreme, it ma yeven be that the abilit yto enjo y
music will be destroyed.
In this connection, one other difference between NP and Armstrong has not
been brought out thus far. One of the most striking aspects of NP’s musical life
was its lack of affect. All pieces in his repertoire were played in a ‘‘wooden,’’
unexpressive manner. Although his immediate reproduction showed some of
the expressive features of the model, within twenty-four hours all expressive
variation was ‘‘washed out,’’ leaving a rigid metronomical husk. It was as if NP
had no means of understanding (and thus relating to the structure of) the small
variations in timing, loudness, and timbre that are the lifeblood of musical
performances. From the earliest recording we have of Armstrong’s music, in
contrast, we find a richl yexpressive, flexible performance that bends tone and
time in ways that have a strong impact on many listeners. Armstrong is not
hailed as the king of jazz for his technique, impressive as it was. There are
others who match or surpass him in technique. He is revered for the life he
could breathe into the simplest material.
NP was one of a rather small number of people who appear to gain complete
satisfaction from relating to music as pure structure or syntax. What brings the
vast majorit yof us to music, and keeps us with it, is something additional: its
power to mediate a vast range of emotionall ytoned states, ranging from the
subtle to the overwhelming. Because modern systematic studies of music have
approached it with the tools of cognitive science and linguistics, the emotional
aspect of music has been virtuall yoverlooked, and naive readers of modern
research studies might be forgiven for thinking that music is simpl yanother
kind of complex structure to be apprehended, like chess or physics.
I know that those who are expert in chess or physics say that there is beauty
and emotion in those activities too, but there is a sense in which such things are
574 John A. Sloboda