"Hear Now, the Noble Theme"

The other day, I went to a lecture-recital given by two musicologists, one of whom we have gotten to know here at Sunnyside, because we like to invite people to dinner here. The point of the lecture was to propose an approximate date of composition for a violin sonata written by the Archduke Rudolph, who was a longtime friend and pupil of Beethoven. Some of the evidence offered (for dating it as they did) turned out to be purely musical in nature, and their reasoning went like this: “We know for certain that such and such piece by Beethoven was written in such and such a year, and it includes such and such a theme. Now, a theme found in the archduke's sonata is very similar to this one by Beethoven, and we think the pupil was probably imitating his teacher. So it seems likely that the Archduke's piece had to have been written after...”

Now I really get into this sort of thing. I just like it when other people solve these little puzzles of history and interpretation and then inform me of their findings. It provides a kind of vicarious scholarly thrill. “Hey that seems possible,” you can say. Or “Nah, I don't believe it.” But the point is, you yourself don't have to do the work. Someone else does it all for you, and you get to just sit there and hear them tell you what they've figured out. So what's not to like?

I also like the skepticism that decent historians have for their own work. You hear them say things like  “it seems likely,” or “we think it's possible,” or “it may be a bit of a stretch, but probably...” I'm a big fan of the reasonable doubt. I think humility is in order in almost all our endeavors, and I don't see enough of it afoot in the world.

Well, anyway, I found the lecture interesting, as well as convincing. As well as expressive of responsible humility. 

But there's one moment of that lecture that I want to zero in on here. 

Again, there were two presenters. Two musicologist/performers, and they delivered the lecture together, and occasionally as the lecture proceeded, they would play portions of the pieces in question, to illustrate their points. And at one point, one of them—the one who has visited us here at Sunnyside—said, in her beautiful German accent: 

“Hear now, the noble theme of the slow movement of Beethoven's Archduke trio.”

Well right away I knew I wanted to write something about that sentence: first of all, because it's a beautiful-sounding thing, just chock full of nice round o's, and don't you just love the lovely, formal, antique-sounding imperative “Hear now...” Most of all though, I took an immediate shine to the word “noble.” It heartened me. I believe it was an act of love, using that word. An act of philosophy too. 

How so? Well here's the thing. We live in a world obsessed with surfaces. With analytical reduction to component parts. And with supposedly objective measurement. We anatomize. We deconstruct. We do not characterize from the heart. "How could a set of notes be “noble?” we ask. “How can you prove they're noble. Where's your nobility measurement tool? What scale would you use?"

But here was a scholar who just didn't really seem to consider the possible doubters. She just said “Hear now, the noble theme...” Which really asserted a whole way of looking at life. A way that says “No, the heart matters. How we subjectively characterize a thing matters. And if I say the theme is noble, that's because that's how it feels to me. And sometimes it's important to say what you feel. Students, listen. Sure it's important to say what a thing looks like from the outside, but it's also important to articulate what you think may be “inside” of it, at the unseen heart of it. And to make that judgement from the inside of yourself.”

I hope I'm starting to make myself clear. 

Let me try from another angle too. Think of any human being you love. How is it possible to love someone without ascribing qualities to him or her? Sweetness, kindness, handsomeness, thoughtfulness... Likewise with every great work of music or literature or art, or with any aspect of the world. How after all, can we possibly relate to something, I mean, really clasp it to the heart, if we cannot say “this is what it makes me feel like. This is how I would describe it.” Then too, what is life, if not a period of time in which we're given (mysteriously!) the privilege of taking in the world and all those that inhabit it, and all the beautiful things they make and do, and of clasping them all, as many as possible, to our inmost heart? 

Now. This isn't to say anyone ever has to accept anyone else's personal characterization of anything as the final word. I might have listened to the “noble theme,” and after hearing it, decided that no, it wasn't exactly noble, but say "solemn" or "brooding" or oh, maybe even "chocolaty," or “indigo blue.”

(I like adjectives. They are one of the handiest ways of connecting ourselves to our experience. You say the right adjective and it's like you just roped yourself a calf. Or shot a swishy basket. Or finished a dot to dot when you were a kid.) 

So was it noble, the theme? Well, as it happened, when her colleague sat down at the beautiful, long, black, and shiny piano—and played the theme of the slow movement of Beethoven's Archduke trio—well, I sure felt that “noble” was right. Stately. Serene. Communicating a sense of power properly employed. Of restraint flowering from certainty of worth. Of merit made visible. Of quality declaring itself, spelling out its own true name. Sure, noble was right. Spot on. 

Now. To me becoming a nine-volt nomad is all about altering my perceptions. It's about trading in our culture's fanatic attachment to stuff and to gleaming surfaces. It's about letting go of the obsession with power and speed and efficiency and productivity and reputation for expertise. Maybe above all, it's about realizing once and for all that the universe isn't just going to cotton to all our wishes, so it would be way better for us to stop trying to make it do so, and instead appreciate it the way it is—the way it presents itself to us, take it or leave it. We can't have infinite economic growth. We can't have infinite sources of  energy sending us infinite flows of information forever. We can't have runaway prosperity in every way in our lives. We can't. The survival of the earth depends on us learning that we can't.

But! We can have the beauty and power of our minds. We can have interesting lectures. We can have friendship. We can have the music of Ludwig Van Beethoven. We can even have adjectives.

A friend of mine once told about a professor of his, who consistently referred to his wife as “the marvelous Alice.” This is, again, the sort of thing I'm talking about: consciously and persistently using the power of the mind to alter and refine its own relationship to the world at large. Not in order to manipulate and acquire. But to remind ourselves, with faithful consistency, what we cherish and where our sources of enchantment lie. 

“Hear now: the noble theme...” 

HB

(Next Post Wednesday, November 19th)