Traditional dance is a particularly unique form of performative language. It evolves from participatory to presentational, mythic to artistic. Moreover, traditional dance has a potent and volatile relationship with technology. History shows us that technology challenges the roots and endurance of cultural dance forms. The “social realism” movement of the early Soviet Union evidences the potentially negative effects of technology on performance: the Soviet political technology transformed the fundamental style of Ukrainian folk dance—a style that endures as a somewhat contrived cultural form. However, technology is not inherently corrupt. Community balances technology. Dance that embodies collective expression keeps technological infiltration in check.
Traditional Dance: Technique and Techné
When discussing the variation of traditional dance that is “folk dance,” we must first define the term. Felix Hoerburger notes that dancers and choreographers alike use the label liberally to describe a wide variety of dance styles (1968, 29). However, we will utilize the definition that Hoerburger applies to his account of folk dance in its “first existence.” First existence folk dance is the original form of the style, set apart by three distinct characteristics: (1) it is an integral part of community life, (2) the choreography is changeable, and (3) community members learn it in a natural, unspoken manner (30-31). When we refer to folk dance, we refer to the style that global communities still develop and perform. Folk dance remains a dynamic mode of expression, inherent to a culture as its customs or traditions. Folk dance participants do not perform with a rigid or codified technique. Rather, they perform with an implicit understanding of the technique and its fluid nature.
One of the most pertinent current examples of the original folk style is the social dance performed at Eastern European weddings. In Poland, Ukraine, Moldova, and Romania, wedding dances have remained an integral aspect of the marriage ritual. Many weddings include a series of dances (circle dances for the bridesmaids, couples dances for the bride and groom, etc.) (Kennedy 1925, Nahachewsky 2002), but nearly all include participatory chain dances. The chain dance is one in which every wedding guest can participate, with a typically simple and repetitive sequence. Even so, most guests likely know the sequence by heart, having grown up with the dance as an ordinary ritual of community life. Indeed, we know that chain-style social dance is among the oldest of European forms (Rice 2000, 164). The continued performance and development of this kind of Eastern European wedding dance is a testimony to its classification as original folk dance.
In general, social dances like the European wedding dance example fall neatly into the category of participatory dance. The formal characteristics of folk dance are therefore equivalent to those of the philosophic dialectic. Just as Plato illustrates in Gorgias, the dialectic is a conversational style of language (Jowett 4). In the same way, folk dance participants “speak” to each other conversationally. In the case of the chain dance, each dancer contributes to the conversation either by following the sequence or, if at the head of the chain, by initiating step variation. Moreover, the folk dance language is simple and repetitive like that of the humble Socrates. Unlike charismatic Gorgias, Socrates directs the conversation in a natural way. And just like the philosopher’s words, folk dance steps are markedly ordinary. Lee Franklin notes that such is a key trait of the dialectic: “Dialectic begins in our ordinary ability to speak and think about the world” (2001, 413). However, the ordinary language of the dialectic has the capacity to develop philosophically. Likewise, ordinary folk dance steps display a gradual evolution. The steps of a particular chain dance progress mid-performance as the dancers respond to the direction of the chain leader. In a broader sense, the chain style itself changes as the community environment evolves. The dialectic communicates its truth in subtle progression; folk dance technique develops comparably.
Like the dialectic, the function of folk dance is dynamic. The symbolic communication is fluid and changeable. As the form adapts to its environment, the technique experiences gradual changes. In this sense, the technique is not “technical.” Rather, it is a manifestation of techné. Martin Heidegger explains this term in its original Greek context: “Thus, what is decisive in techné does not lie at all in making and manipulating nor in the using of means, but rather in the aforementioned revealing” (1977, 13). When technique is technical, it manipulates means to establish ends. When technique is techné, it works in harmony with its surroundings to “reveal” ends. Unlike presentational dance, folk dance technique is not fixed to achieve a certain appearance. It gradually reveals its technique in accordance to the dynamics of its environment. In this way, the dialectical form also functions mythically. Ernst Cassirer describes mythic symbolism: “Myth is not a system of dogmatic creeds. […] Even if we should succeed in analyzing myth into ultimate conceptual elements, we could, by such an analytical process, never grasp its vital principle, which is a dynamic not a static one” (105, italics added).
While primitive traditional dance operates as foundational lingual symbolism, folk dance operates as its near relative: mythic symbolism. The participatory nature of folk dance displays fundamental characteristics of mythic experience, which is the collective symbolic expression of feeling resulting from shared belief (Verene 110, Cassirer 108). The social dance at the Eastern European wedding is a collective symbolic expression of the shared belief about the marriage ceremony. Indeed, Cassirer goes on to write that the “real substratum of myth is not a substratum of thought but of feeling” and that the unity of this feeling “is one of the strongest and most profound impulses of primitive thought” (108). The shared feelings born of the participatory/dialectal style evidences its mythic function. And like myth, the style’s technique is one of techné, continually changing and adapting to its environment.
Acknowledging this, we can expect the folk dance style to evolve into more developed forms. As traditional dance continues to evolve, several new variations emerge from the original folk style. Hughes describes the process: “Folk dance is the folk dancing, and you will not see it until you travel to a community of its birth. The folk dance you see on the stage has already made the transition into art dance, for it has become dance to be seen” (1977, 3-4). The techné properties of folk dance technique drive this kind of change, and both its dialectical form and mythic function naturally evolve. The development of folk technique “reveals” the folk-stage style.
We can view folk-stage dance as an example of Hoerburger’s account of folk dance in its “second existence”, or the consciously cultivated version of the form (31). In simpler terms, folk-stage dance is literally the staged form of the original folk style. It is also the transformation of the participatory to the presentational form. Folk-stage dance is thus equivalent to the form of rhetorical language. It speaks to a crowd in an appealing and charismatic manner. The steps are less the ordinary folk fashion and more the visually stunning technique of theatrical performance. Like an effective rhetorical speech, the aesthetic qualities of the performance are essential to its delivery.
The fundamental aesthetic quality of folk-stage dance indicates that it functions like the symbolic form of art. Certainly, the artistic nature of the style is obvious. Folk-stage dancing is a depiction of beauty, which Cassirer points to as “one of the most clearly known of human phenomena” (176). Furthermore, the artistic function logically follows the progression of symbolic form. Folk dance generates folk-stage dance in the same manner that myth generates art. If myth is that primal reaction to nature, art “must come to the aid of nature and actually correct or perfect it” (Cassirer 179). Through the process of techné, mythic dance becomes artistic. Samuel Weber evidences this claim: “In this sense, techné is a form of poéisis [bringing forth] that which is closely related to art” (1989, 5).
However, when the techné of traditional dance becomes artistic, its symbolism may begin to acquire new characteristic tendencies. Cassirer asserts that art oscillates between “an objective and a subjective pole” (177). Art seeks to balance the process of creativity with the process of mechanical reproduction. Without a certain level of codified technique, art cannot achieve its desired levels of aestheticism. On the other hand, the over-instrumentation of technique reduces the form to robotic imitation. Consequently, the artistic symbolic function of folk-stage dance treads the fine line between manifestation of techné and mere technical performance.
Nationalist Dance and Political Technology
With the conception of the folk-stage form around the nineteenth century, traditional dance develops as an especially potent symbol of national and ethnic identity (Reed 1998, 510). The communal origins of traditional dance offer ample explanation for the adoption of dance as a means of group identity. However, what sets folk and folk-stage styles apart is the adoption of the latter as a means of political identity. With the rise of nationalism comes the rise of the “folk,” which governments efficiently propagate through traditional dance performance. In the hands of political institutions, Reed claims, dance becomes “a powerful tool in shaping ideology and in the creation of national subjects, often more so than are political rhetoric or intellectual debates” (511). A sub-form of the folk-stage style proliferates, which we will label as nationalist dance.
If political dance is as powerful as or more powerful than political rhetoric, it is undoubtedly because national dance is of the form of rhetoric. Like all folk-stage dances, nationalist dance is presentational and thus rhetorical. However, this political variation appears to be a uniquely powerful form of rhetoric, one that sends its message more efficiently and effectively than other staged forms. Irene Loutzaki describes Greece’s explicit attempt to “impose on dance an intensive and strong political character” during the mid-twentieth century (2001, 127). Reed also cites historical instances of the effective political instrumentation of folk dance, including examples from China, Cuba, and Haiti (511-512). What about the nationalist dance makes its rhetoric so effective? Its form of language is not inherently different from other folk-stage styles. The difference must lie in its symbolic function.
We have established that folk dance functions like the symbolic form of myth and the folk-stage style like art. It seems that nationalist dance, as a sub-style of folk-stage, would also function as an aesthetic symbol. However, acknowledging Cassirer’s description of the aesthetic experience, we immediately see a key difference. He tells us that genuine beauty cannot be forced upon our minds. Rather, it is a mutual experience: “In order to feel it, one must cooperate with the artist” (206). In certain nationalist styles, the feelings that a dance produces are just as instrumental as the technique. The feelings are not natural, but coerced and contrived. The style may function as political technology rather than artistic technique.
Once political technology (i.e. political ideology) replaces the techné of traditional dance, the symbolic function of dance is dramatically altered. The Soviet transformation of the Central Ukrainian or Cossack folk dances is a particularly potent example of politicized traditional dance.
Soviet-Ukrainian Dance as Performance of Ideology
When the Soviet Union adopted its constitution in 1924, the state reorganized itself into a multinational federation. When a new constitution was adopted twelve years later, the union became officially comprised of eleven Soviet republics, each possessing a number of ethnicities and cultures. During this time, the Kremlin utilized its newfound cultural diversity to experiment in the field of “virtual tourism” (Hirsch 2003). Within a decade, the Soviet government had commissioned an impressive number of curators, choreographers, and composers to develop the Soviet folk arts. The Kremlin ceaselessly claimed that the folk arts program was an effort to grant equality to each Soviet nation, and that the smaller republics “found warm encouragement for their self-development” (Swift 1968, 158). But Swift points out, “It was understood, however, that the culture was to be developed according to the pattern advocated by Stalin in 1930: ‘Socialist in content, national in form’” (158). Folk dance became an incredibly effective way to accomplish the Soviet political agenda. National dance troupes could portray that cultural “self-development” so integral to the new constitution, while also depicting the superior Soviet way of life. Moreover, “In the USSR, the state [had] the means to control the production of every ballet and every other stage performance, not only by negatively condemning some, but also by positively commissioning other to be done” (163).
One such “positively commissioned” production was the State Folk Dance Ensemble of the Ukrainian SSR . At the time of its formation in 1937, Ukrainian dance had already experienced a folk-stage revival—Vasyl Verkhovynets, ballet master and musicologist, transformed the central Ukrainian style into an iconic national form when he choreographed hopak (Shatulsky 1980). The already technical form was a natural selection for Soviet cultivation. Under Soviet oversight, the dance form acquired an even more technical nature. The central Ukrainian style became synonymous with all Ukrainian styles, and the overall technique more balletic. In fact, the State Folk Dance Ensemble became like any other specialized “national ballet” troupe which the Kremlin produced specifically as “a convenient focal point from which to examine the type of original ballet that the government and Party encouraged among [its] national groups” (Swift 162). As such, the Ensemble’s technical performances displayed those same themes of peasant revolution, satisfied proletariat workers, and scientific progress as its co-contemporary, the Russian Ballet. The political messages were undeniably far from subliminal—one commissioned production depicted an ancient political friendship between Russia and Ukraine; hardly a realistic theme (168). In the end, the effect of this Soviet development was lasting. Outside of several simple participatory dances (including the Ukrainian wedding dances), few entirely traditional dances remain today. The most well-known Ukrainian folk dances have roots in the balletic stylizations of central Ukrainian forms (Shatulsky 88).
Under Soviet rule, the national dance of Ukraine was unquestionably technological. More specifically, the language of the dance functioned ideologically. (Technology itself is the use of instrumentation to increase the efficiency of achieving ends; the technology of political ideology an especially potent form.) Brent Gilchrist defines ideology as “a belief system, involving sets of ideas that explain the world, particularly the political environment, and that justifies responses to it, specifically political action” (2006, 35). Ideology instruments belief into action, efficiently converting powerful feelings into quantifiable results. More specifically, successful ideology utilizes language to communicate “practical ideas that respond to felt needs” (37).
The language does not create the feeling; it is the feeling. The political rhetoric is the embodiment of the ideology. We see that technology, and ideology especially, has a tendency to replace means as ends, function as form. Just so, the technological function of Ukrainian dance rhetoric became the purpose of the performance. The function of rhetoric as technological means replaces its ends, the form of language itself. Heideggar describes technology in terms of this corruption of language: techné “reveals” (12); technology “challenges” (14). When the function of language attains this new nature, it necessarily alters the nature of the symbolic forms that emerge. Indeed, Cassirer asserts in The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, “Through the particularity of the linguistic function, we perceive the universal symbolic function, as it unfolds in accordance with immanent laws, in art, in the mythical-religious consciousness, in language and in cognition” (1955, 186). Again, when the linguistic function no longer “unfolds” but “challenges,” like the coercive rhetoric of ideology, the resulting language cannot retain its poetic form. Instead, it is simply an efficient imitation of poéisis that cannot naturally bring forth those symbolic forms which would have otherwise emerged in the poetic fashion of techné. The forms that do emerge are shadows of the originals. The technological function of political ideology corrupts the mythic and artistic symbolism in dance.
The original Ukrainian mythic dances could not have been those proletariat depictions of the Ukrainian State Ensemble. Nevertheless, like most Slavic nations, the cultural myth of Ukraine was deeply rooted in the rural peasantry (Scheffel and Kandert 1994). The proletariat worker of Soviet ideology was a convenient interpretation of the mythic Slavic people. In the efficient hands of ideology, the mythic symbolism of traditional Ukrainian dance was easily politicized. This transformation is a near perfect manifestation of Cassirer’s description of the modern political myth: “While the soil for the Myth of the Twentieth Century had been prepared long before, it could not have born its fruit without the skilful use of the new technical tool” (1961, 277). The union of Ukrainian myth and Soviet technology produced a political myth that retained the authentic form but functioned in a singularly efficient way. The mythic feelings of unity became those of volatile nationalism. The mythic terms like “folk” or “people” became propagandist references to socialist identity. Cassirer affirms, “Our ordinary words are charged with meanings; but these new-fangled words are charged with feelings and violent passions” (283). Language expresses the calculated politico-mythic feeling, further evidence of political myth’s roots in corrupt language. But it is feeling without authentic symbolic meaning. Corrupt language produces corrupt myth, which cannot produce authentic art.
Johann Gottfried Herder, a philosopher of considerable influence on the work of Cassirer, discusses the significance of authentic myth and art. He points out that we utilize the authentic form of myth “for the sake of sensuous beauty” as a foundation for “beautifully poetic ends”(Menze and Menges 216-217). The beauty of authentic art, however, cannot emerge from corrupt myth. The Soviet dance art was just as politically codified as the dance language and myth. Moreover, the Soviet arts were explicitly so. Swift recounts, “On October 26, 1932, […] Joseph Stalin coined one of the most artistically lethal terms of all time: ‘socialist realism’” (92). Socialist realism was the officially imposed function of art, a comprehensive aesthetic standard to which every artistic work was subject. All national dance production was only aesthetic to the degree that it remained an ideologically “truthful” portrayal of socialist life. Consequently, the dance choreographies became repetitive and the national styles more similar to one another (Swift 158-203). The once colorful folk arts became mediocre reproductions of one another. Herder laments this kind of demise, exclaiming, “He, who has nothing of his own store, who merely repeats, is not only a mediocre mind, but a wretched one” (216-217). The incredibly technical performances of the Ukrainian State Ensemble are surprisingly empty to watch. Like that of political myth, the feeling is powerful but superficial. The artistic symbolism of Soviet folk-stage dance developed as artifice in the place of art.
The purpose of the Ukrainian nationalist style was not to achieve the ends of enlightened truth, but to replace those ends with technological means. Without the function of techné, the presentational performance language acquired those subjective tendencies outlined previously by Cassirer and its artistic symbolism could not balance the aesthetic with the technological. When traditional dance lacks the ability to balance mythic/artistic symbolism with technology, the movement becomes a mechanical reproduction. If the technological function is also ideological, the symbolic forms that emerge may be corrupt. While rhetoric may not be a “bad” form, it seems an inferior one. Rhetoric has the potential to be technologically corrupt. Just as Plato illustrates, it lacks the dialectic’s ability to properly balance the subjective and the objective. The result may be sophistry, even corruption.
Yet, we cannot claim that the form of rhetoric is corrupt in the first place. Folk-stage dance is not inherently corrupt because of its presentational form. But now we have a contradiction—would not rhetoric be a corrupt form of language if it develops a corrupt symbolic function? The answer lies in understanding the form of technology. Must rhetoric immanently succumb to technological corruption? Can certain forms of rhetoric withstand infiltration? Can folk-stage dance, especially nationalist dance forms, avoid technological demise?
Balancing Performance and Technology
Ukrainian traditional dance experienced the near full effect of technological corruption during the Soviet era. We may even go as far to say that the communist regime essentially replaced the first existence folk dances with the second existence staged styles. Moreover, the staged styles were hollow performances, devoid of authentic mythic and artistic symbolism. The corruption stemmed from the technology which was ideology. Ideology infiltrated the dance language, which then permeated its symbolic functions. We noted that Ukrainian dance still displays the effects of this corruption—the most iconic traditional dances have roots in the politically choreographed styles. However, is it fair to conclude that Ukrainian dance is permanently corrupt? Has the instrumented technique remained a subjective function of the technological rhetoric? The Canadian Ukrainian Diaspora dances may answer these questions as a potential stage of traditional dance evolution beyond an ideological form.
In the 1960s, Ukrainian dance experienced yet another kind of revival in western Canada (Nahachewsky 2001, 19). The heavily choreographed and Soviet-influenced styles became part of a distinctly non-Soviet culture. The second existence stage forms seem to have regressed to another first existence. Nahachewsky describes one dance in particular:
The motifs for this dance were clearly from second existence stage dances and performed by trained revivalist dancers, but this kolomyika was performed in a participatory context. Participants improvised in terms of who stepped into the circle to perform these fancy steps, and in what order they were performed. Elements of stage dance had "descended" back down from the proscenium to become part of social dance again in a new dance form. (19)
From its presentational roots, Ukrainian dance language became once again participatory or dialectical in form. On the other hand, these participatory dances retained aspects of their rhetorical form and technological function. They had been consciously revived by technically-trained experts and presented with that same Soviet-imposed technique. Nonetheless, the natural mythic feelings of unity seem to have been present—the symbolic form was not corrupt. Is this style a separate genre from the folk and folk-stage forms? Nahachewsky questions whether this may constitute a “third existence” of traditional dance (19). If so, this form may reveal a dance language that is fundamentally rhetorical, but less susceptible to the technology that may otherwise corrupt its symbolism.
Canadian Ukrainian dance originated from a largely “corrupt” branch of the nationalist genre, but functioned both technologically and authentically. The dance language maintained its technological-nationalist roots, but “spoke” objectively. Technology was a means of the language, but had not infiltrated its ends. The performance language remained incorrupt. What kind of rhetoric is this that can withstand technological infiltration and thus preserve its authentic symbolism?
Collective Expression and Embodiment
To better understand the performative qualities of traditional dance thus far, we have used the rhetoric/dialect dichotomy. Charles Taylor introduces another philosophic dichotomy of language in his work on the subject in relation to human nature (1978). He claims that language can be separated according to a designative or expressive nature. Designative language is that which allocates signs (i.e. words) to objects in order to describe them or any relations involving them (5). Expressive language is that which directly “manifests” something—Taylor points to the example of human emotion or feeling (6). Unlike our previous language dichotomy, Taylor’s dichotomy is one of function. Accordingly, we cannot neatly ascribe to it the presentational/participatory distinction. However, he affirms that language can be taken “in a wide sense, to include the whole range of meaningful media, […] for man is also characterized by the creation of music, art, dance, by the whole range of ‘symbolic forms,’ to use Cassirer’s phrase” (3). Taylor’s dichotomy does not just apply to the spoken word; we can confidently apply it to our analysis of performative dance language.
The designative classification is the most rational explanation of language. Man uses simple signs to form complex sentences, which then indirectly describe an event, object, or feeling. Designative dance language would be one that assembles separate symbolic gestures to create its message. The technique would be of vital import, as each movement represents a separate idea. The ends of designative language are not in language itself, but rather in the means of assembling these separate ideas. Its function is plainly technological. Consequently, language becomes an unstable, even dangerous tool. Taylor affirms:
From this role of language we can see why words are so dangerous. If we use them to marshal ideas, they must be transparent. We must be able to see clearly what the word designates. Otherwise where we think we are assembling our ideas to match the real, we will in fact be building castles of illusion or composing absurdities. Our instruments will have taken over, and instead of controlling we shall be controlled. (17)
Rhetoric like that of Gorgias or Soviet dance is wholly designative to the degree of sophistry or corruption. The language has no value beyond its individual parts, and is therefore completely subject to them. When the parts are corrupt, the whole must be also. Designative rhetoric cannot withstand technological corruption.
In contrast, expressive language operates holistically. “Expression makes something manifest in embodying it” rather than assembling a whole made of separate symbolic units (Taylor 7). In this way, the expressive explanation of language is less rational and infinitely more enigmatic than that of designative. However, Taylor claims that the most fundamental characteristic of language may be expressive meaning (8). In Vico’s mythic account, language first emerged as emotional expression. Before man designated signs to objects, he reacted to them expressively. Dance, too, emerged expressively before it became a collection of technical movements. Taylor states, “The expressive dimension is fundamental to language, because it is only in expression that language comes to be” (21). Unlike designative language, the ends of expressive language are in the whole of language itself. The words or separate units of symbolism are merely a means toward the whole of symbolic manifestation. Taylor concludes that “it seems that we need the whole of language as the background for the introduction of its parts” (22).
The symbolic movements of traditional dance do not create the symbolic whole; instead, the symbolic whole inspires the expressive movement. For example, folk dance’s mythic or artistic feelings do not come from the sum of its movements, but rather, the movements are the realization of feelings already present in the folk community. We see that unlike the individualist nature of designation, expression is inherently communal. Taylor goes on to assert that the crucial activities of expression are those of the community (36). When we express something, whether it be through the means of spoken word or dance movement, our ends are in the language of a community. Jacques Rancière adds that such is a “shared power of the equality of intelligence” that “links individuals” and “makes them exchange their intellectual adventures” (17).
This may explain the Canadian Ukrainian dance phenomenon. Although composed of technological, even ideological movement, the ends of the dance were not contained in the movement. On the contrary, the ends of the dance were already present in the shared underlying values and feelings of the community, and the technological movements were simply the means of manifesting it. The technological-rhetorical origins of the style were kept at bay by the expression of the community. The sensus communis of the Canadian Ukrainian people prevented the infiltration of the technology of Soviet Ukrainian ideology.
Expressive rhetoric can withstand technological infiltration. Expression maintains the sensus communis associated with authentic language, which can then offset the potential corruption of technology. When traditional dance is the symbolic expression of a people, rather than the technological designation of an individual or an institution, it retains the authentic functions of primordial language and the resulting symbolic forms. Thus, authentic dance language may be manifest either participatorily or presentationally. The dialectical form of folk dance and the rhetorical form of folk-stage dance both remain authentic when they are expressions of the people they represent. While the rhetorical form may be prone to designative tendencies because of its one-sided nature, it can withstand corruption by expressing the needs and utilities of its community. Subsequently, community balances technology.
Traditional dance is thus emancipated from its subjective tendencies, creating an objective and collective whole. In the words of Rancière, “That is what the word ‘emancipation’ means: the blurring of the boundary between those who act and those who look; between individuals and members of a collective body” (19). When traditional dance originates in such a community, it naturally evolves as objective symbolism by balancing the subjective function of technology. The function of communal expression is thus equivalent to the function of dialectical form. Accordingly, expressive language must also be a manifestation of techné, naturally revealing foundational truth.
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