Bach; Grief

My latest project is a transcription of BWV 12, "Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen". Granted, there are already scans of it online, from both the Bach-Gesellschaft Ausgabe and Bach's original autograph, but neither of these is practical for performance. (Then again, if your singers and instrumentalists are used to the original clefs, then perhaps they don't mind reading from the full score either.)

The cantata is an early one, written while Bach was still at Weimar. (A second viola part would be unusual in later works; there's a joke to be made about violists here, but I figure they receive enough abuse as it is.) It is dispiriting, perhaps, to recall that he wrote it while still in his twenties. How is it that such a young man could produce a work of such perfection? The answer lies partly in Bach's immense genius, of course, but also in the culture that produced him. Musicians and theologians were cultivated then in the way we cultivate athletes today. We have an efficient system for recognizing athletic talent at a young age and encouraging it; Bach was the end result of generations of musicians teaching their children the art and livelihood of music. He grew up living and breathing harmony and counterpoint, Lutheran chorales, and instrumental technique, absorbing all musical styles he encountered. We will never produce another Bach, or Shakespeare, because our priorities as a culture as so different (read: much worse).

BWV 12 was first performed on April 22nd, 1714, which, as it happened that year, was the third Sunday after Easter, Jubilate. (I think these old names for Sundays in the church year are worth keeping.) The cantata, however, is not particularly jubilant. Consider its titular chorus:

Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen Angst und Not Sind der Christen Tränenbrot, Die das Zeichen Jesu tragen.

Weeping, lamentation, worry, apprehension, anxiety and distress are the bread of tears of Christians who bear the mark of Jesus.

It is not hyperbole to say that Bach's cantatas, taken as a group, represent the full range of human emotion. This is distinctly at odds with church music as it is commonly conceived nowadays. We have become unable to recognize grief and suffering as an integral part of the Christian life. Consider nearly every new piece of church music written in the last half-century: how many even attempt to deal with grief, let alone in a theologically and intellectually honest manner? (My complaint, here, is directed at the "new" "music" of Haugen, Haas, et al. that has wormed its way into Evangelical Lutheran Worship and other such hymnals. Let us not discuss the even-less-disciplined approach of "Praise" music.) We are afraid to recognize sadness because doing so would remind us that religion is about more than a constant endorphin high; seeking to stay on the heights at all times, we ignore the depths the psalmist was talking about. If the Christian religion is worth retaining, we must endeavor to regain the integrity of grief, honestly considered and addressed. An excellent way to begin this process is with our music.

Rowan Williams, Admired

Perhaps you've heard of the Archbishop of Canterbury's resignation; I wish him all the best. While reading up on the topic I happened upon an article over at The Atlantic from a few years ago; though its author's biases are obvious, it's worth reading, if only to better understand Dr Williams's motivations. A particular passage caught my attention:

[Williams] came to the threshold to preach to two dozen of us on Paul's remarks in the First Epistle to the Corinthians "concerning the unmarried" — the passage in which the saint first advises people, married or unmarried, to hold to the state they are in, and then in the next breath tells them to disregard the bond of marriage after all, for the world is passing away.

I couldn't help but hear Williams's description of the saint as a description of himself, a man saved from his contradictoriness by his obvious integrity. "That's a hard text to preach on," he began. "Paul is thinking on his feet: 'Of course on the other hand,' he says, and 'Well, that is true, but however...' But Paul, for all his hemming and hawing, has a clear point to make. This is not it. Capital letters. I.T. Whatever you’re doing — your job, your passion — there is something more."

However well or poorly you think Dr Williams has done in his post as Archbishop, it's pretty clear that he is indeed a man of integrity. More than any recent religious thinker I can name, he reminds us that Truth and ambiguïty are not always mutually exclusive. It takes a certain intellectual honesty to recognize this. It is unfortunate we do not expect such honesty from our religious and political leaders more often.

Weather, Unseasonable

Summer weather is upon us, inexplicably, here in mid-March. (Well, that's not entirely fair: a goodly number of scientists have a reasonable explanation for why the climate appears to be changing.) The heat provokes both passionate intensity — mostly in the worst sorts — and an idle listlessness in the rest of us. It is perhaps the worst sort of weather for Lent, for he who loves not Lent, as Herbert reminds us, "loves not Temperance, or Authoritie, / But is compos'd of passion." Such heat encourages a sanguine humour in even the sanest fellow.

The past few days I assisted in the tuning of the (ludicrously oversized) organ at St. Luke's. While the organ-tuner was up in the chamber doing the actual work, I sat at the console, doing what is called "holding keys" — that is, playing a single note until told to play the next note. It is another one of those jobs, like organ calcant, that requires very little thought but constant attention. To call it torture would be hyperbole, but it was not pleasant, being stuck inside for the better part of two days while outside spring had arrived. It brought back memories of grade school — do you remember the feeling? — of being imprisoned in a poorly ventilated space doing nothing particularly rewarding. (I do not miss grade school.) At least, now, the organ is mostly in tune, barring any violent changes in weather. Holy Week will quickly be upon us, and I have, shall we say, plans.

The Lutheran Insulter

An esteemed correspondent has shared with me the Lutheran Insulter, which is not a tool for insulting Lutherans (unfortunately?) but rather a compilation of the many and varied insults Luther hurled at people in his writings. He was a rather combative fellow, after all. Anyone who argues that public discourse has become less civil these days should have a look-see at tracts from Luther's day.

Upon Nearly Finishing a Translation

Spurred by the music of Ástor Piazzolla (I made a Pandora station), I have decided once more to try my hand at a translation of that Borges essay on Job I've been attempting to translate for almost five years, now. Again it is worth remembering Eco's dictum that "translation is the art of failure".

Nevertheless, I feel more optimistic this time around. I've managed to root out a few embarrassing errors. (Naïve younger-me glossed los caldeos han atacado su tierra as "droughts have attacked his land", assuming a link between caldeo and caldear, when in fact it is the word for "Chaldean". Well, I told you it was embarrassing.) And I've had more luck in finding some of Borges's more obscure citations, especially in Quevedo (who, it should be observed, is stylistically superior to Góngora). After some peer review and once I've nailed down some last few mysterious references, the translation should be as done as I'll ever get it. I am resolved that I shall never be entirely happy with it, but it is satisfying enough to decipher some of Borges's dizzying erudition. (In a relatively brief lecture on the Book of Job he offhandedly mentions Ezequiel Martínez Estrada, the Authorised Version, Fray Luis de León, Quevedo (many times), Ernest Renan, James Anthony Froude, Milton, Vergil, Leibniz, Max Brod, Huxley, Coleridge, Jung, Aristotle, and Plato. No doubt there are other citations, as I am surely missing some of them.) I'll let you know, dear reader, when I am finally finished.

I need little projects such as this. I have found life outside of a college campus to be rewarding in some ways, but not especially intellectually stimulating. (Perhaps, pace Republicans, there's nothing wrong with a college education.)