Beethoven the spoiler?
First I'll print one of the reply letters to whet your appetite, then the original article:
To the Editor:
Re "Well, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time," by Charles Murray (Week in Review, Nov. 30):
Will myth makers ever leave Beethoven alone?
Yes, he was irascible and eccentric, but who wouldn't have been under the circumstances? His life was fraught with complex family problems, romantic rejection, financial instability and political upheaval, not to mention deafness and an almost relentless course of serious illnesses.
A lesser man would have been broken by half as much.
Because Beethoven was an artist of such fierce dedication and prodigious talent, it is perhaps easy to forget that he was also a human being like the rest of us. His spirit could be an inspiration to everyone.
Contrary to Mr. Murray's claim, modern artists are impeded not by Beethoven's example but by their own lack of imagination.
KATHLEEN LOUDEN
Ottawa, Dec. 1, 2003
--------------------------------------------
Here's what she was replying to:
NY Times Week in Review, Sunday, Nov. 30,2003
Well, It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time
By CHARLES MURRAY
Published: November 30, 2003
UT what are the worst accomplishments?" the interviewer asked. We had been discussing great accomplishments in the arts and sciences, a subject on which I've written. The question stopped me cold. Art and science that are simply bad have no "worst" — all of it is equally unimportant. But the unintended consequences of great art and science are another question. Einstein did not have nuclear weapons in mind when he discovered that E=mc2, and Lenoir did not envision smog when he invented the internal combustion engine.
So, too, in the arts. A book can be misread, a painting can arouse prurient thoughts and a Wagner's music can inspire a Hitler. Since it can happen so easily, the question arises: What belongs in the hall of fame of unintended outcomes in the arts and sciences, when a truly wonderful accomplishment inadvertently contributed to some truly awful consequences?
The discovery of logic in the fourth century B.C. is one candidate. It was the unique accomplishment of the Greeks (no other great civilization came close), with Euclidean geometry providing the exemplar for the power of deductive knowledge and Aristotle's "Organon" completing the application of logic to nonmathematical thought. The importance of the achievement was monumental. It radically expanded the ability of Homo sapiens to think about what is true and not true. If the criterion is magnitude of impact, the addition of logic to the human cognitive repertoire has few rivals.
But logic was too dazzlingly compelling for its own good. After Aristotle, the Greek natural philosophers ("natural" referring to what we think of as science) fell in love with the idea that a few elegantly simple premises, combined with deductive logic, could reveal the truths of the universe. Empiricism, which previously had maintained a rough balance with theory, lost ground. Natural philosophy became a smaller part of the total intellectual enterprise, overshadowed by moral philosophy.
We can't be sure of the full magnitude of the loss, but it can be argued that the Greeks at the time of Aristotle were on the edge of producing the Scientific Revolution then and there. So the possibility arises that Aristotle, the same man who did so much to bring science to that edge, also supplied the tool that distracted his successors from taking the last little step and deflected science into a 2,000-year cul-de-sac.
Isaac Newton's discovery of the laws of motion and of universal gravity is another candidate for a supremely wonderful achievement with consequences run amok. When Newton published the "Principia" in 1687, the scientific community was still small, despite the pioneering work that had already been done. In the broader society, science was not yet held in especially high regard. The idea that science might have a role in guiding everyday human affairs was barely a topic of conversation.
The "Principia" dramatically changed all that. It explained how nature worked on a universal scale, linking terrestrial and celestial physics under one set of laws with a precision that seemed almost magical. Over the next 50 years, reason — meaning scientific reason as we know it today, in which logic and empirical evidence are joined — became the reigning intellectual paradigm. Reason's potential to allow humans to understand the workings of nature and the cosmos was seen as unlimited.
So far, so good. But the Newton worshipers — it is hard to exaggerate the incandescence of his reputation on the Continent as well as in Britain — decided that what could be known of the motion of bodies could be known as well of humans. Man could remake the world from scratch by designing new human institutions through the application of scientific reason.
Reason was the new faith. Its first political offspring was the grotesque Jacobin republic set up after the French Revolution. (In contrast, the American Constitution, though written by fans of Newton, explicitly allowed for an intractable and problematic human nature.) The Utilitarians' ambitions for improving society were part of the reason project. Half a century later came the Marxist laws of history, purported to be as scientific as the laws of motion, with their Leninist and Stalinist applications to follow.
In less toxic forms, the assumption that scientifically designed policy interventions can shape social outcomes for the better was largely unquestioned in the social and behavioral sciences until the last few decades of the 20th century.
All these varied forms of confidence in reason to structure human societies shared a hubris that was first prompted by the "Principia" three centuries ago.
As a last candidate for monumental achievement combined with unhappy outcomes, I submit this complaint about Ludwig van Beethoven: As a contributor to human accomplishment in the arts, Beethoven is unsurpassed, but what a destructive example he set.
For the most part, great artists before Beethoven had behaved like normal human beings, some better, some worse. True, Michelangelo had been a handful, and the great artists were more likely than ordinary people to be colorful characters with large egos. But they also had vocations, in two senses. First, they had a demanding craft they were obliged to master. Second, they were trying to realize aesthetic excellence in their art. The notion that they were expressing themselves would have seemed odd to most of them — self-expression was a byproduct of their work, perhaps, but secondary to the obligations they saw themselves as fulfilling.
As a practitioner, Beethoven shared those characteristics. His mastery of tonal harmony and the musical forms of the classical era was absolute. His sense of mission to realize an ideal of musical beauty is explicit in his own writings. But he also played The Genius to the limit, especially in his later years. He was rude, obstinate and self-absorbed, and railed against the slightest interference. Beethoven behaved as if he were God's gift to humanity.
O.K., so he was. But Beethoven was as revered in the arts as Newton had been in the sciences, and his artistic personality became a model. As the century proceeded, composers, writers, painters and sculptors who were not God's gift to humanity increasingly adopted the persona of the genius possessed of a unique personal vision, unappreciated by a plodding public.
As the 19th century changed to the 20th, the imperative to express the self increasingly displaced the traditional mission of realizing the highest standards of aesthetic excellence. Transcendental conceptions of truth and beauty, embodied nowhere more supremely than in Beethoven's music, were abandoned in favor of conceptions of sensitivity, authenticity and the artist's obligation to challenge the audience.
Thus the paradox: Beethoven the devoted craftsman created products so profoundly resonant with the human spirit that they will find an audience for as long as the species exists. Beethoven The Genius contributed to a frame of mind that impedes today's artists from doing the same thing.
Charles Murray's most recent book is "Human Accomplishment: The Pursuit of Excellence in the Arts and Sciences, 800 B.C. to 1950" (HarperCollins).
[This message has been edited by Chaszz (edited December 04, 2003).]
To the Editor:
Re "Well, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time," by Charles Murray (Week in Review, Nov. 30):
Will myth makers ever leave Beethoven alone?
Yes, he was irascible and eccentric, but who wouldn't have been under the circumstances? His life was fraught with complex family problems, romantic rejection, financial instability and political upheaval, not to mention deafness and an almost relentless course of serious illnesses.
A lesser man would have been broken by half as much.
Because Beethoven was an artist of such fierce dedication and prodigious talent, it is perhaps easy to forget that he was also a human being like the rest of us. His spirit could be an inspiration to everyone.
Contrary to Mr. Murray's claim, modern artists are impeded not by Beethoven's example but by their own lack of imagination.
KATHLEEN LOUDEN
Ottawa, Dec. 1, 2003
--------------------------------------------
Here's what she was replying to:
NY Times Week in Review, Sunday, Nov. 30,2003
Well, It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time
By CHARLES MURRAY
Published: November 30, 2003
UT what are the worst accomplishments?" the interviewer asked. We had been discussing great accomplishments in the arts and sciences, a subject on which I've written. The question stopped me cold. Art and science that are simply bad have no "worst" — all of it is equally unimportant. But the unintended consequences of great art and science are another question. Einstein did not have nuclear weapons in mind when he discovered that E=mc2, and Lenoir did not envision smog when he invented the internal combustion engine.
So, too, in the arts. A book can be misread, a painting can arouse prurient thoughts and a Wagner's music can inspire a Hitler. Since it can happen so easily, the question arises: What belongs in the hall of fame of unintended outcomes in the arts and sciences, when a truly wonderful accomplishment inadvertently contributed to some truly awful consequences?
The discovery of logic in the fourth century B.C. is one candidate. It was the unique accomplishment of the Greeks (no other great civilization came close), with Euclidean geometry providing the exemplar for the power of deductive knowledge and Aristotle's "Organon" completing the application of logic to nonmathematical thought. The importance of the achievement was monumental. It radically expanded the ability of Homo sapiens to think about what is true and not true. If the criterion is magnitude of impact, the addition of logic to the human cognitive repertoire has few rivals.
But logic was too dazzlingly compelling for its own good. After Aristotle, the Greek natural philosophers ("natural" referring to what we think of as science) fell in love with the idea that a few elegantly simple premises, combined with deductive logic, could reveal the truths of the universe. Empiricism, which previously had maintained a rough balance with theory, lost ground. Natural philosophy became a smaller part of the total intellectual enterprise, overshadowed by moral philosophy.
We can't be sure of the full magnitude of the loss, but it can be argued that the Greeks at the time of Aristotle were on the edge of producing the Scientific Revolution then and there. So the possibility arises that Aristotle, the same man who did so much to bring science to that edge, also supplied the tool that distracted his successors from taking the last little step and deflected science into a 2,000-year cul-de-sac.
Isaac Newton's discovery of the laws of motion and of universal gravity is another candidate for a supremely wonderful achievement with consequences run amok. When Newton published the "Principia" in 1687, the scientific community was still small, despite the pioneering work that had already been done. In the broader society, science was not yet held in especially high regard. The idea that science might have a role in guiding everyday human affairs was barely a topic of conversation.
The "Principia" dramatically changed all that. It explained how nature worked on a universal scale, linking terrestrial and celestial physics under one set of laws with a precision that seemed almost magical. Over the next 50 years, reason — meaning scientific reason as we know it today, in which logic and empirical evidence are joined — became the reigning intellectual paradigm. Reason's potential to allow humans to understand the workings of nature and the cosmos was seen as unlimited.
So far, so good. But the Newton worshipers — it is hard to exaggerate the incandescence of his reputation on the Continent as well as in Britain — decided that what could be known of the motion of bodies could be known as well of humans. Man could remake the world from scratch by designing new human institutions through the application of scientific reason.
Reason was the new faith. Its first political offspring was the grotesque Jacobin republic set up after the French Revolution. (In contrast, the American Constitution, though written by fans of Newton, explicitly allowed for an intractable and problematic human nature.) The Utilitarians' ambitions for improving society were part of the reason project. Half a century later came the Marxist laws of history, purported to be as scientific as the laws of motion, with their Leninist and Stalinist applications to follow.
In less toxic forms, the assumption that scientifically designed policy interventions can shape social outcomes for the better was largely unquestioned in the social and behavioral sciences until the last few decades of the 20th century.
All these varied forms of confidence in reason to structure human societies shared a hubris that was first prompted by the "Principia" three centuries ago.
As a last candidate for monumental achievement combined with unhappy outcomes, I submit this complaint about Ludwig van Beethoven: As a contributor to human accomplishment in the arts, Beethoven is unsurpassed, but what a destructive example he set.
For the most part, great artists before Beethoven had behaved like normal human beings, some better, some worse. True, Michelangelo had been a handful, and the great artists were more likely than ordinary people to be colorful characters with large egos. But they also had vocations, in two senses. First, they had a demanding craft they were obliged to master. Second, they were trying to realize aesthetic excellence in their art. The notion that they were expressing themselves would have seemed odd to most of them — self-expression was a byproduct of their work, perhaps, but secondary to the obligations they saw themselves as fulfilling.
As a practitioner, Beethoven shared those characteristics. His mastery of tonal harmony and the musical forms of the classical era was absolute. His sense of mission to realize an ideal of musical beauty is explicit in his own writings. But he also played The Genius to the limit, especially in his later years. He was rude, obstinate and self-absorbed, and railed against the slightest interference. Beethoven behaved as if he were God's gift to humanity.
O.K., so he was. But Beethoven was as revered in the arts as Newton had been in the sciences, and his artistic personality became a model. As the century proceeded, composers, writers, painters and sculptors who were not God's gift to humanity increasingly adopted the persona of the genius possessed of a unique personal vision, unappreciated by a plodding public.
As the 19th century changed to the 20th, the imperative to express the self increasingly displaced the traditional mission of realizing the highest standards of aesthetic excellence. Transcendental conceptions of truth and beauty, embodied nowhere more supremely than in Beethoven's music, were abandoned in favor of conceptions of sensitivity, authenticity and the artist's obligation to challenge the audience.
Thus the paradox: Beethoven the devoted craftsman created products so profoundly resonant with the human spirit that they will find an audience for as long as the species exists. Beethoven The Genius contributed to a frame of mind that impedes today's artists from doing the same thing.
Charles Murray's most recent book is "Human Accomplishment: The Pursuit of Excellence in the Arts and Sciences, 800 B.C. to 1950" (HarperCollins).
[This message has been edited by Chaszz (edited December 04, 2003).]
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