Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony - A Broken Man’s Vision for the Future
- Alexander L. Shaneyfelt
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
Beethoven's ninth is a piece of music that has always struck me on a personal level, especially as someone who has always had a deep interest—and investment—in the life of Beethoven.
Because I’m a pianist, I’ve had the privilege of getting to know Beethoven beyond his cultural reputation as a musician and composer. I’ve read his biographies—studied his life, his struggles, and his joys; and I’ve performed his music—sonic documents of his thoughts and emotions put to manuscript.
In a very odd sort of way, I’ve developed quite a personal relationship with Beethoven—one that extends beyond the mythological figure we often whisper of with mythological reverence.
I’ve heard him sing of beautiful pastures, delicately weaving images of the Viennese countryside. I’ve heard him bellow out in anger at the injustices of the world. And I’ve felt his tears in music painted by fear and sorrow.
But this was something different. Something grander — greater.
Even more so than “fate knocking at the door.”
This was the Ninth.
The Ninth
How does one even find the words when describing one of the most prolific and significant works of art in the west?
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was a pivotal turning point in artistic history. The influence it had on composers like Richard Wagner and Johannes Brahms—and really, on almost every major orchestral composer that came after—is immeasurable. It’s left a massive imprint on music that lives on to this day.
Since its very inception, the Ninth has existed as a testament to unity, humanity, and brotherhood. It is celebrated throughout the world — the fact that I can simply refer to it as “the Ninth” is testament enough to the titanic footprint that it’s left in history.
And I find it absolutely fascinating — not necessarily in its grandeur, but in how it exists in conflict with the man himself.
Beethoven — Mythology vs Reality
Beethoven was not an individual I would generally associate with positivity and “joy.” Especially in his later years, he was a deeply troubled man—with good reason. This was someone who struggled, and suffered in ways that are almost inconceivable. To be a musician and to lose your hearing—that is like a sculptor without eyes; or a runner without legs!
It’s so striking to read about his life: the social, respectable young rising star who navigated aristocratic circles with wit and enlightened thought—to then see him transform into a troubled, depressed, and rather spiteful person: the man we usually associate with the name.
After all, Beethoven was one of the pivotal figures in cementing the "tortured artist" archetype in western culture.
To know that, to understand it, to empathize with how he reached that point—and then to be presented with one of the most grand works of art ever conceived, all centered around a message of brotherhood, unity, and love.
It is beautiful.
It is so deeply beautiful to see a broken man resolve himself through love and faith, and cry out to the world—and to the heavens—that we should love one another. That we should set aside our differences and come together as one people.
Even when he himself did not live up to that ideal.
A man in conflict
Brüder, über'm Sternenzelt
Brothers, above the starry sky
Muß ein lieber Vater wohnen
A dear father must live there
Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen?
You fall down, millions?
Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
Do you sense the Creator, world?
Such' ihn über'm Sternenzelt!
Look for him above the stars!
Über Sternen muß er wohnen
He must live above the stars
These are not the words of a man struggling in his faith and questioning his God, not like the one we see in the Heiligenstadt testimony:
“Oh providence, grant me at least but one day of pure joy. It is so long since real joy echoed in my heart. Oh when? Oh when? Oh Divine One — shall I find it again in the temples of nature and of men? Never? No - that would be too hard.”
This feels like a man who finally came to terms with the state of his existence — poised at the crossroads of abandonment and embrace, he chose to declare his love and devotion to God and humanity.
It makes me wonder if this piece reflects who he wished he was, or if it is the voice of an aging man crying out to future generations—saying, “be better than us… be better than me.”
That is an ideal that moves me, even now, as I write this.
And more importantly it’s a message that inspires me to act in pursuit of the world that Beethoven cried out for.
I wish only that I could sit down every person in the world, and force them to study those words—to hear the echo of Beethoven’s final great testament to the world.
Alle Menschen werden Brüder
All people become brothers
Imagine the world we would live in.
To hear it performed is not just to witness a masterpiece, but to be reminded—however briefly—of that possibility.
And the performance that I had the privilege of attending on March 28th, at the Mahaffey Center, by the Florida Orchestra, honored that ideal.
To put it simply… it was very good.
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