This
morning, a musical colleague forwarded an interesting article
about JSB from today’s issue of the Wall
Street Journal. The author, Markus Rathey (professor of music history at
Yale University and president of the American Bach Society) reflects on the profound
differences between the way Bach’s sacred works are heard in modern times (that
is, in concert) compared to when they were presented as originally intended
(that is, during worship services). This is nothing new; these differences are
well known to Bach scholars, Bach performers, and Bach lovers, and necessarily
inform many aspects of presentation and interpretation of JSB’s sacred works.
I
was surprised however, that Rathey used most of his allotted word count to
speculate on the idea that “We don’t know much about Bach’s own faith.” Here’s
what he said, in part:
A similar problem [lack of
definitive knowledge of sermons preached alongside Bach’s music] arises when we
try to find out what Bach’s own religious beliefs were. He is the composer of moving works of sacred
music. His compositions show a deep
understanding of Lutheran theology.
Admirers have even labeled him the “Fifth Evangelist.” And yet, we don’t know much about Bach’s own faith
[emphasis mine]. He left almost no
personal letters, and even the texts he set to music were not written by
himself but by contemporary poets and theologians.
Bach was clearly interested in
religious questions. He owned an
impressive collection of theological books, and he made annotations in his copy
of the Bible. But that isn’t enough to
draw up a profile of his faith. ... What
exactly did he believe? While we cannot
reconstruct Bach’s faith, we can try to understand the religious context in which
he lived and how it might have shaped his music.
The religious language of Bach’s
time was drenched with emotional images: Christ as the bridegroom, the believer
as the bride; the heart as the dwelling-place of the divine; the relationship
of God and mankind was understood as a sign of deep love.
We find this language all over
Bach’s works [and here Rathey quotes some of the tenderest texts from various
of Bach’s sacred works]. ... Bach’s compositions frequently employ a musical
language that underscores ... this theology of love.
Is this what Bach believed as
well? It was the way his time expressed
its faith and there is no reason to assume that Bach viewed his relationship with God
any differently. [emphasis mine]
In one movement of the “Christmas Oratorio,” he ran out of space when
entering the text and instead of writing the German word for heart (“Herz”), he
drew a little heart in the corner of the page. [OK, I love that.]
Yet in Bach’s music there is an
aesthetic surplus that transcends the composer’s own piety [emphasis
mine]—listeners don’t have to see themselves as brides of Christ to feel the
longing in the opening chorus of “The St. Matthew Passion.” Belief in God isn’t required to feel for the
suffering of Jesus when the alto voice laments, “If the tears of my cheeks
cannot achieve anything, o, then take in my heart.” ... Bach’s music transcends its immediate
religious and cultural context.
Let’s
think about a few of these interesting assertions.
“We don’t know much about
Bach’s own faith.”
Au contraire. I am staggered that anyone who knows
Bach’s music—or especially, anyone who has sung the sacred works—can come away from
the music with any understanding other than this: that Bach was probably one of the
most profoundly devout Christians in modern history. He could have turned his extraordinary
art toward secular expression, as did many of his peers, but he chose (albeit
ambitiously so) a career as a sacred musician, and explicitly framed his
artistic talent and endeavor as the highest expression of his piety. He wrote, explicitly, on his scores,
that he composed solely for the glory of God: There it is, on the score: SDG — Soli Deo Gloria. What clearer
statement can we ask for to inform us of his faith, and especially, how he
turned his musical talent to the service of God?
“There is no reason to
assume that Bach viewed his relationship with God any differently.” You’ve answered your own
question.
“In
Bach’s music there is an aesthetic surplus that transcends the composer’s own
piety.” I believe it's the exact
opposite — that what Rathey calls "aesthetic surplus" is in fact a
reflection of Bach's piety, the glorious instrument by which he expresses the breadth and depth of his love of God and
calls others to faith. To me it has always seemed this way — I thought it
was obvious! The term “surplus” implies (and offensively so) an undesirable excess;
what Bach gives us, rather, are abundant riches of inventiveness, technical mastery, and exquisite beauty. Though Bach was well aware of the depth of his talent and
the extraordinary beauty of his work, he never indulges; he is never excessive;
on the contrary, his music is concise and precise and elegant
(that is, always combining beauty and utility) in its economy and discipline.
And
of course, Bach’s power is that within the highly-disciplined frame of musical
form, he creates the most exquisite, almost luxurious beauty; to the casual
listener, the flood of beauty might seem to be an “aesthetic surplus,” but
those who truly understand Bach understand the underlying structures, which, I
believe, are analogous to his faith in God.
The
enduring power of Bach’s music is not only in its perfection and intrinsic
beauty, but particularly in the underlying fervor of his piety and honest
faith. His faith is the reason for the music, and I think it can be understood,
and interpreted, in no other way. And though I'm an atheist, I sense this intrinsically and believe it without reservation.
Post Scriptum – I am coming back to change
the title of this post to “Aesthetic Surplus” – I just can’t get over that! The
sheer beauty of Bach's music can make us forget, or perhaps fail to notice, the
superb architecture that underlies it all, the economy and elegance of the
technical achievement. Perhaps it is so overwhelmingly beautiful that we are
swept away in what feels like excess.
If so, then that's our failure (of
comprehension), not Bach's failure (of composition).
Post Post Scriptum
The aim and final end of all music should be none other
than the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul
Music is an agreeable harmony for the honor of God
and the permissible delights of the soul.
Reference
Rathey,
Markus. “The Religious Heart of Bach’s Music.” The Wall Street Journal, May 6, 2016.
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