Beyond Silence: Beethoven’s Breakthrough.
The road not taken.
Austria was turning cold one October and Ludwig Van Beethoven felt it all blending together, losing his hearing day by day, plagued by fever, dysentery, and a crippling headache. Seeing his life backwards and staring at what was left:
A childhood of physical and emotional abuse by his father due to alcoholism and the early death of his mother.
A more than once broken heart and denial of marriage by his absent noble status.
An unappreciated genius for his music compositions and instead savage critics.
A never-ending crippled health diagnosis, coming for hopeless treatments and senseless doctors.
Sitting in Heiligenstadt, right in the countryside, in great depression and bad health, he started to prepare the stage to abandon it all. Turning to a paper, he decided to write a farewell letter shortly after the completion of his Second Symphony, to his brothers Carl and Johann, practically raised by him after his father's reckless tragedy:
“...How cruelly was I again repelled by the experience, sadder than ever, of my defective hearing! — and yet I found it impossible to say to others: Speak louder; shout! for I am deaf! Alas!...
…My misfortune is doubly severe from causing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recreation in social intercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought. Completely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so. I must live like an exile. In company I am assailed by the most painful apprehensions, from the dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition being observed…
…To you, brother Carl I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown me of late. It is my wish that you may have a better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks to it and to my art I did not end my life by suicide — Farewell and love each other..,
…With joy I hasten to meet death — If it comes before I have had the chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still come too soon despite my harsh fate and I should probably wish it later — yet even so I should be happy, for would it not free me from a state of endless suffering? —Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee bravely — Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead, I deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of ways to make you happy — please be so—”
It is a heartbreaking testament for someone who would soon be unable to have a conversation, hear anything else, or hear music, his duty, his dream, his life task. In the same letter, he wrote,
“…It was only my art that held me back. Oh, it seemed impossible to me to leave this world before I had produced all that I felt capable of producing, and so I prolonged this wretched existence — truly wretched for so susceptible a body that a sudden change can plunge me from the best into the worst of states.
…Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done so — I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not, I am ready…
…Art! art alone, deterred me. Ah! how could I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it was my vocation to produce?...
After encouraging his young brothers to find a meaningful life and giving away his instruments and small fortune, he signs,
“...For my brothers to be read and executed after my death.”
Preparing for his final moment, he sealed the letter and set it in the drawer to await discovery. He was thirty-two by the time. It was 1802, but he finally lived until 1827, passing away after several weeks of illness, producing thirty-two sonatas, numerous concertos, quartets, and other works, revolutionising musical composition and bridging the Classical and Romantic eras of music. He made his Ninth Symphony with its celebrated "Ode to Joy," considered one of the greatest musical works ever created. He came up to establish a legacy as one of the most respected musical artists of the Western Hemisphere.
The precise moment after this letter was written is unknown. It was found after his natural death.
What changed? Simple, in the abyss of breaking up, he didn’t. In that same letter, he found himself challenging two opposite sides: to stay crippled or to do something about it, to keep complaining or to get quiet and do the work, to deny his talent or to pursue his dream. In that precise moment, as with every other human being pursuing his goals, everything rested on what he did next.
Maybe he stood from his deck and continued working on his idea.
Maybe he accepted that social invitation to half-hear, surrounded by others who did so perfectly.
Maybe he spent even more time isolated in contemplation.
But in the years right after this act, he went through one of his life's most “heroic” and creative periods.
He stayed alive. He showed up. He performed.
“One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.” wrote Albert Camus once.
Often, in our worst moments, what we need is just commitment. To do what is required. Even with a million reasons to give up. “If you think you have room to grow, you do, and you will.” author Ryan Holiday writes, “if you think you are as good as you can be… you’re right. You won’t get better.”
Ludwig Van Beethoven knew what was his life task; his talent and life work reflected this. Yet he marked an example of not being in the right place at the right time and still making it happen. He is an example of how we don't decide our circumstances, which may be the most unfortunate, but we choose how to respond to them. Did he fail in many of his attempts to compose art and master his crafts? Maybe. Did he think about quitting? Several times. Did he continue trying despite these setbacks? Absolutely. The world's greatest lie is that our lives are controlled by fate.
Sometimes, even to the point of not having anything else to hang to but the invisible line of our highest dreams, like Beethoven living his art, carrying only courage and virtue, as he wrote in his letter.
Sometimes, even to the point of not enjoying the efforts of what we produce and instead letting others receive the fruits of our outcomes, like Beethoven, who was finally never able to hear his own compositions, yet revolutionising classical music.
Sometimes, even to the point of just deciding that what makes one's choice better or not is us.
Sources
[1] Discipline is Destiny - Ryan Holiday
[2] The Joy of Suffering Overcome: Young Beethoven’s Stirring Letter to His Brothers About the Loneliness of Living with Deafness and How Music Saved His Life - The Marginalian
[3] The Fine Line Between Depression and Genius - Robert Greenberg Music
Excelente artículo, excelente reflexión !!