Discrimination, the soul of art, is a phenomenon of the human mind. It rather exists in all dimensions, and functions like a pathfinder. It is generic. Consciousness is like a continual process of seeking fulfilment of some preconceived, intuitive sense of perfection.

In Beethoven’s own life, in his field of musical art, he found the issue of vanity versus sincerity. There were musicians who were show-offs on their instruments. “Candidly,” he wrote a friend in 1823, “I am not a friend of Allegri di bravura and such, since they do nothing but promote mechanism.” Obviously, there was a point in instrumental technique beyond which genuine artful music could not pass.

Beethoven, the deaf conductor.

But there was a larger, coerced ‘discretion’ in Beethoven’s life in society. In 1810 he wrote to his young female admirer Bettina von Arnim:

I haven’t a single friend; I must live alone. But well I know that God is nearer to me than to the others of my art; I associate with Him without fear, I have always recognized and understood Him, and I have no fear for my music; –it can meet no evil fate. Those who understand it must become free from all the miseries that the others drag with them.

From one romantic to another, indeed, but Beethoven’s thoughts represent a state of conscious alienation in which he found himself. The eccentricities of his person, the nature of his art, and his dispostion, all contributed to his strange status. He was a madman amidst the aristocrats of Vienna. They found his music curious enough, but he certainly did not fit in with them, in any way, otherwise. They considered him an uncouth barbarian. This hurt Beethoven, personally. But, it was inevitable and unavoidable.

The hugely popular Gioachino Rossini remarked (to Richard Wagner) about this case of Ludwig van Beethoven. In 1860, Rossini noted (according to E. Michotte) the unjust social predicaments Beethoven suffered. The compassionate Italian opera composer, after meeting with Beethoven, said:

I retained of my visit to this great man an impression so painful–thinking of this destitution and shabbiness–that I could not repress my tears. “Ah!,” said Carpani “that’s what he wants. He is a misanthrope, cranky and can’t keep friends.”

That very evening I attended a gala dinner at the palace of Prince Metternich. i was still upset by that vist [to Beethoven]…I confess, I could not rid myself in my heart of a sentiment of embarrassment when I swaw myself, by comparison, treaed with such consideration by that brilliant Viennese assembly. This led me to say loudly and without mincing words all I thought of the conduct of the Court and the aristocracy towards the greatest genius of the epoch, about whom one bothered so little and whom one left in such distress. The answer was identical with Carpani’s. I asked whether nevertheless Beethoven’s condition of deafness was not worthy of the deepest pity…Whether it was really charitable to bring to the fore the weaknesses attributed to him in order to find motives for refusing to help him.

Rossini actually went on a campaign to raise money for Beethoven! Well, this was perhaps unnecessary. No matter what his funding or salary, Beethoven always looked unkempt, lost, and otherwise insane. Or, so we are told by so many of his contemporaries. But, Rossini’s heart went out to him. (We don’t know if Rossini ever knew what Beethoven said of him: “Rossini is a talented and a melodious composer; his music suits the frivolous and sensuous spirit of the times, and his productivity is such that he needs only as many weeks as the Germans do years to write an opera!” This was written to Baden in 1824.)

The retired, elder Rossini, 1858

Maynard Solomon writes, “During these years [the last ten of Beethoven's life--which ended in 1827] Beethven railed openly against the nobility, the courts, and the emperor himself, seemingly oblivious of the possible consequences in Metternich’s police state.”

Dr. Karl von Bursy wrote: “He defies everything, and is dissatisfied with everything and blasphemes against Austira and especially against Vienna.” (Memoir, June 1, 1816.) Peter Joseph even claims to have heard Beethoven say of Kaiser Franz, “Such a rascal ought to be hanged!”

I suppose there’s a little ‘Beethoven’ in all of us. Maybe that’s the appeal. He was a kind of archetype, an exemplar even–of all that is right and wrong with a human being. In 1813, he wrote in his journal:

O God, give me strengh to conquer myself, nothing must chain me to life.

Of course, this was said in regard to a terminating romantic relationship, terminating as he realize it would essentially interfere with his art, and that he was therefore incapable of a successful ‘domestic’ relationship. It was an agony to realize, indeed. In the same passage, he had written:

Submission, absolute submission to your fate, only this can give you the sacrifice…

Choice? Compulsion? Will? Who can know these mysteries? I think for most people, focus is negotiable. Life is a complex of things. For the artist, focus is a mania. It demands other things be sacrificed. Or, certainly, the artist wants everyone to think that the “art” is doing the demanding, as if it is some principle, some force, some thing, beyond the control of the artist. We shall have to look into these things more deeply. The key word there is “sacrifice, ” which is basically a form of discrimination, or discretion.

Jesus was focused. He sacrified success, and life itself.

Indians tend to sacrifice, too, the focus being on preservation of who we are.

It’s as if we all are born with a certain reservoir of value to spend, a certain bank account of identity. It’s true for individuals, and nations. What will we do with it? How will we invest it? What is it that we want to buy with it?