Composer Ludvig van Beethoven wrote thirty-two piano sonatas, nine symphonies, and many other works, most of these during the early part of the nineteenth century.  Of course, the first manuscripts for these works were written by Beethoven’s own hand – the originals. Once completed, these autograph musical scores would then be hand copied by professional copyists under contract. These copies would be reviewed and corrected by Beethoven himself.

Because this was the nineteenth century, the next phase of preserving sheet music was the music publisher for engraving and printing. This was a painful and error prone process that took a lot of hours by highly specialized workers. The handwritten copy would be used to etch a reverse image of the music on copper plates which would be inked and pressed onto paper. Hundreds of copies of a sonata or symphony could be created from a set of corrected copper plates. These first editions could be sold to professional musicians, orchestras, and music societies. They were not cheap.

Assuming each stage was error-free, and each copy was identical to the autograph original, it was not a sufficient means of conveying how to play Beethoven’s music. Beethoven had to work directly with musicians who performed his compositions. He corrected, marked scores, rehearsed, and gave very specific instructions concerning performance.

Some musicians who knew Beethoven personally became important transmitters of his performance practices, preserving aspects of the approach to his music that the written document alone could not provide. One especially prominent figure is Carl Czerny, a celebrated composer of his time. Czerny was Beethoven’s student and knew his teacher’s playing firsthand. Czerny later wrote extensively about how Beethoven’s works should be performed and imparted that knowledge to his own student, Franz Lizst, another famous musician and composer of the nineteenth century.  

Today, when I want to listen to a piano sonata or symphony of Beethoven’s, I might purchase a compact disk or stream the music from Spotify. I especially like Symphony No. 6 – The Pastoral Symphony. But not only can I listen to this whenever I want, I can also choose the orchestra/conductor that renders it: Wiener Philharmonic/Karl Boehm, Berliner Philharmonic/Herbert von Karajan, and many others.  

And these renderings vary. The tune is recognizably the same, but the performance might vary in tempo, emphasis, technique, rest, interpretation, style. Some musicians may study the musical tradition that surrounds the piece and attempt to re-create “authentic” Beethoven even using period instruments. Others may take the printed score and simply use their own judgement.

But if one wished to hear Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique or Pastoral Symphony exactly the way Beethoven himself would have played it, could that be done today from sheet music? Given that Beethoven himself had to work with musicians directly to ensure the piece was played faithfully to the composer’s intent, the answer is no. And, if that were at all possible, every modern recording attempting authenticity would sound the same. But they do not, they sound different, substantially different.

As an illustration of this, I fell in love with Monteverdi’s 1610 Vespers, something I had recorded onto tape from FM radio when I was a college student. I knew it was the 1610 Vespers but never caught the name of the ensemble. Nevertheless, I purchased a CD of the work performed by John Eliot Gardner thinking it would be the same.

Alas, it was not the same, and it did not have the same effect on me.  Though I kept the CD, I never played it much and settled on the radio recordings until I figured out decades later that it was Andrew Parrot—long story.

But imagine if Beethoven established a school that trained musicians to play his Sonatas and Symphonies in the way he intended. And through this school he provided a method of training that could be passed down accurately from generation to generation so that while the school existed, the manner of playing his works would be maintained. The school would not replace the written music; it would teach the musicians how the composer intended that written music to be rendered. Although there might still be recordings of the sonatas from various artists with various interpretations, if one obtained a recording from a musician certified by this established school, presumably one would be able to hear a work exactly as Beethoven would have played it.

Theological Note

The story of Beethoven and his music is an analogy for Christ and his teachings, except Jesus did not jot down the beatitudes, parables, and his arguments with the Sadducees.

The teachings of Jesus indeed come to us in written form in what we call the New Testament, but those are works provided by his disciples.  In the same way Beethoven’s students studied under the composer, Jesus disciples “studied” under him. In the same way Beethoven’s students wrote extensively about their teacher’s methods, Jesus’ disciples wrote extensively about their master’s life and teachings.

In the same way that sheet music alone is inadequate to reproduce the intended music of Beethoven, the bible alone is insufficient to understand the teachings and life Jesus calls everyone to. In fact, the Gospel of John tells us there is not enough paper and ink to document all that Jesus said and did (John 21:25). You think that might be important?

Fortunately, Jesus established a “school” that from generation to generation preserves and transmits his teaching and his call to discipleship accurately including those things not written down. This school is called the Church founded by Jesus Christ and first built upon his apostles, notably Peter, and transmitted to us through apostolic succession. In the same way Beethoven taught Czerny and Czerny taught Liszt, Jesus taught John and John taught Polycarp not with books and writing but by a constant proximity to the source.  

The analogy of musical tradition to that of sacred tradition carries further. It’s not as crucial for Beethoven’s school of music to have the exact, inerrant sheet music of the composer since the tradition carries across copy errors, misattributions, and so forth. The written note is not the sole source of authority but a part of the school itself, the real authority on how to play Beethoven or, analogously, teach Christ to future generations.   

But those trying to duplicate Beethoven from sheet music alone may not, and probably won’t, get it right even if the score they have is completely void of error.  To improve their rendering, they will study the context of the writing, compare it to other works and so forth. They regard the sheet music as the source material, rather than any school, so it is essential it be accurate and free of mistakes. Even then, it’s bound to fall short of the mark.

Jesus did not write a Bible but transmitted his life and teachings through his disciples as a craftsman would transmit abilities to an apprentice. He established a Church that he promised would not be prevailed upon by the gates of hell. The Catholic Church has preserved this deposit of faith for two thousand years and continues to transmit it from generation to generation.

See introduction to Mass Tourism here.

Not on vacation or a week away, I decided to “tour” a few local parishes. In the first case, the time slot of my usual novus ordo Solemn Latin Mass was being used for first Holy Communion in English. Since it was mostly going to be a family affair, I decided to go to St. John the Beloved in McLean to participate in the Traditional Latin Mass—the “extraordinary form” that had been celebrated for four centuries between the Council of Trent and Vatican II, after which it was relegated to seldom use in a season of “renewal”. Ironically, these liturgical changes were enacted November 29 1964—the start of the liturgical year that I was born. After studying the TLM in my Latin class, I am prone to believe that “promoting” the TLM was a big mistake. Fortunately, there are a number of priest and parishes in Northern Virginia that are authorized to celebrate it and I am increasingly prone to take advantage of it.

You can imagine the paucity of people attending the service marked by many women wearing mantillas.  In the two times I went to TLM before I was totally lost but this time I had with me my Kindle which this time had a copy of the pre Vatican II 1962 edition of the Roman Missal. Smug mode. I found the Pentecost Sunday pertaining and I was able to follow along—and now the secret is out. Also, the novus ordo had prepared me for many of the responses and I actually felt like I had participated when it was all done. Smug mode plus.

On the second occasion of tourism, I visited Holy Trinity in Gainesville after work late on Friday in which Mass is occasionally celebrated.  This is a new church with a very unusual architecture—not modern by any means but not the ornate gothic structures of central Europe. I recall reading somewhere that it was based on early English (I suppose before Henry VIII) influence. I recommend a look inside.

The Mass was like most abbreviated weekday versions. The opening verses and responses I could not identify (maybe Angelus). Some of the responses were sung in Latin, e.g. Sanctus, Agnus Dei, which I happen to know. Smug mode thrice. Two things stood out on this occasion: the communion host was provided intinctured which means the priest dips it in the wine before giving it to the communicant. This means I wasn’t going to take it by the hand as I am most comfortable doing.  Fortunately, I did not mess it up and all went well.

The other event involved a 3-year old boy writhing about so much that his mom carried him to a nearby fenestrated room likely designed for such occasions. At some point I heard/felt this massive thud wave-propagate through the stone floor. Was that? Yes, the lad had writhed about so much he landed on his large float-away head which, apparently, went over like a lead balloon. The wailing and screaming soon followed making a few people cringe—that must’ve hurt bad, really, really bad. My head hurt just thinking about it.

At any rate, I am likely to visit these two parishes again in the future. Both celebrate the TLM at some point in their week and I may want to check out Holy Trinity if occasion permits.

Ite Missa est.

Long ago, before the Punic Wars when I went to college, my decision to go to the University of Maryland was based on practical considerations: I was paying for it, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, I could get in-state tuition, and it was driving distance from home. I thought I’d pick English as my major; my hard working father told me to pick again. So I picked Computer Science only to choose Chemical Engineering a semester later followed another change to Electrical Engineering. Eventually I received a B.S. degree from UM followed by an M.S. from JHU both in EE. I proudly display my diplomas in the cardboard tubes in which they were mailed.

Now only a few know that I have enrolled at the Notre Dame Graduate School to start work toward a Masters of Arts degree in Theology. It will probably take forever but no matter: this is something I want to study and it energizes me. Nothing wrong with engineering, but the impetus for learning that craft was duty and economy. My father was right—it has provided me with a very good living over the years. But sooner or later, the DNA of a certain organism will manifest no matter how many plastic surgeries and hormone treatments you give it.

So this week I started my first class—online. Because I am starting at zero, I have to take pre-requisite courses before I can begin to earn credit toward my degree–like I said, this will take forever. The first lecture was in two parts each about an hour in length which I watched over the course of a few days.

So used to secular academic instruction, I was totally blown away by the lecture—not by the topic or the material. What blew me away was the very tail end. After the last point was made and assignments were meted out, the professor crossed himself, bowed in prayer and said the Glory Be. He crossed again and then stepped away from the podium as if nothing unusual just happened. The video went black and I stared at my computer screen remembering that this wasn’t the godless University of Maryland where people of faith were routinely criticized and ridiculed by student and faculty alike. No, this was different—much, much different.

It’s good to be home.

My wife, my mom and I attended the Middle Eastern Festival at the Holy Transfiguration Church located in McLean. Aside from crafts, customs and food the festival featured the church itself. It was hard to ignore the number of black robed men with large ornate crucifixes; in fact, a handful sat at our table which was mildly intimidating but I managed to introduce myself to one who, oddly, wore a white robe.

A peek into the dark sanctuary revealed a gallery of gilded icons with a large fresco of Christ overhead. It was tempting to think this must be some Eastern Orthodox Church but, no, this was a Catholic church—a Melkite Greek Catholic Church—that celebrates mass according to the Byzantine Rite and is in full Communion with the Church in Rome. The origins of this Church goes back pretty far, even earlier than the Western Church, having come from regions in the Middle east (Alexandria, Antioch) and from the first communities of the Apostles.

I had heard of this church some time ago when Sigrid, the octogenarian woman that led me to the Church, mentioned it. More recently we ran into a member at a small gathering at a friend’s house last week. Small world, we ran into this gentleman again at the festival. He encouraged us to go to the five o’clock vespers which was an hour later. Mom was excited about going which helped me overcome any hesitation. Kimberly, my wife, was along for it too.

For forty five minutes we stood in the sanctuary and witnessed (and as best we could participated) in a ritual that was likely a jillion years old. It was in English with a few Greek portions (e.g., the Kyrie). There is really no way to explain it since there was so much that was new going on. The priests would chant most of the prayers very rapidly with lots of incense, colors, icons, candles, rituals – it was quite a lot to take in. My mom was overcome by emotion when it started up—indeed there was an immense beauty to it that was striking.

While the prayers were going on full bore, a number of congregants would randomly go up to the front and convene with one of the priests. To us it appeared to be a form of reconciliation which was later confirmed by our friend:

One of priest was hearing confessions in front of the icon. The people usually line up along the right wall and wait their turn. They then approach the priest, usually make 3 bows asking for forgiveness, and say their confession. Then the priest places his stole (representing the yoke, the burden) and says the words of forgiveness “God through Nathan the prophet forgave David his sins; and Peter shedding bitter tears. May this same God, through me, a sinner, forgive you everything in this life and in the life to come. And may he make you stand uncondemned before his awesome judgment-seat, for he is blessed unto ages of ages. Amen” and then the priest removes the stole representing the removal of the burden of sin.

On the left were a cluster of priests chanting and intoning the words of the liturgy without taking a breath. About three would trade off chanting while finger tracing what looked like a musical score set around a rotating stand. Three more would stand in the background occasionally interjecting a prayer. One young priest had his daughter in his arms—yes this Catholic priesthood is allowed to marry and have kids–and what a great legacy that man is leaving his daughter too. [Correction : qualified married men can be ordained as priests but priests cannot marry. I believe this is in accordance with the Roman Church practice too.]

Beyond gilded paneling in the front that one could scarcely see behind, voices would proclaim some of the words and doors would open and close revealing an altar surrounded by candles and icons as well—it was difficult to see. On a number of occasions one of the deacons would wave incense throwing smoke around very generously while walking around the chamber. At one point a team of men walked around baring a high cross while all the congregants tracked their movement with appropriate responsorial.

At the close, everyone was invited to receive a blessing from the priest: we held our overlapped hands open while the priests conferred a blessing—then we would kiss the back of the priest’s hand. Seemed strange, maybe a little unhygienic, but we quickly overcame our fears and went forward.

And then it was over.

And then we went home.

I think I would like to go again.

Thomas Jefferson, United States founding father and deist, took it upon himself to compose a private view of Christianity by crafting a book which extracted teachings from the New Testament, careful to exclude all miracles and the supernatural including Christ’s resurrection and the like. The full breathtaking title of Jefferson’s 1804 version was The Philosophy of Jesus of Nazareth, being Extracted from the Account of His Life and Doctrines Given by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; Being an Abridgement of the New Testament for the Use of the Indians, Unembarrassed with Matters of Fact or Faith beyond the Level of their Comprehensions.

Most Bible Christians would be appalled at Jefferson’s scissors and glue reconstruction of Holy Scripture, especially since Holy Scripture, in several places, warns of adding, subtracting or modifying it. And yet, one could argue that the fathers of the Reformation, starting with the views of Martin Luther, did exactly that when assembling the Protestant Bible. In addition to removing several books of the canonical Old Testament including the deuterocanonical books of Judith, Maccabees and Wisdom, Martin Luther also tried to exclude Hebrews, James (which he lampooned as the Epistle of Straw), Jude and Revelation, presumably since these books did not line up with the sola fides pillar of the Reformation he was in the process of erecting. Sola scriptura, the second pillar, apparently required some truncating to level nicely with the first.

More recently, there are Christian movements afoot that would discredit those parts of the Bible composed by Saint Paul—the so called Pauline epistles. It should be enough that the apostle’s name has been formed into its own adjective¹ but these writings also constitute about two thirds of the New Testament. So why are denominations crafting this canonical extreme makeover? Recall that Paul’s letters to various churches around the Mediterranean are attempts to get Christians back in line where they deviated from orthopraxy. So when Paul exhorts wives to submit to their husbands, exhorts husbands to love their wives (Ephesians), condemns homosexuality (Romans), excommunicates the immoral brother or commands other directives that force us to conform to the truth, new denominations are compelled to “toss out” portions of scripture that don’t jive with their modern spirit of tolerance and political correctness. In the extreme, we might one day create a new Christian denomination that tosses out the baby of religion with the bathwater of sacred scripture altogether. And presto, atheism.

What might surprise the average reader of the New Testament is that Jesus had to deal with this same issue during his Earthly ministry. Remember that the Sadducees did not believe in the resurrection of the dead since they only recognized the Torah (or the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Old Testament) as authoritative, excluding histories, Psalms, and prophetic books. Nevertheless Jesus was able to clarify the doctrine anyhow using only the Torah as reference—brilliant! But it probably did not sway them anyway.

To be fair, the idea of making a unilateral decision as to what parts of the Bible belong in one’s orthodoxy is not just the problem of Jefferson, Luther, Calvin, Sadducees, deists, agnostics, atheists and reformers, it’s everyone’s problem—today—even if we leave the Bible physically intact. Even if we call ourselves Catholic.