Forethought

I’m listening to a German violinist, Lisa Batiashvili, perform the a violin concerto as I work on an overdue project. I stopped to watch her for a moment and a thought struck me. We tend to become lost in a musical piece, listening to the melody, the flow, the tempo, the phrasing and all the senses that music evokes. We can’t help ourselves. Notes performed without flaw captivate us and take us wherever our emotions will follow.

The composer, though—in this case Brahms—wrote each individual note after what may have been a great deal of thought, agony, and anguish. Before he put pen to paper, he had given much consideration to what he was about to do. In doing so, he employed all his talent as well as the knowledge, compassion, restraint, enthusiasm, and knowledge accumulated throughout his life (45 years at this point).

His care in presenting his thoughts allows someone to understand and translate his notes with a sublime and coherent presentation. The audience receives a gift of pure unalloyed joy. The world becomes a better place from the shared experience.

What, I wondered, would happen if we put only a smattering of thought into the words we say and write. What if we put each word on trial? Will it fit the situation? Will it not offend unintentionally? Will it add to, or detract from, the grandeur of life? Will it bring comfort to the afflicted? Will it teach us and not diminish us? Most of all, have we followed the teaching of writer Francine Prose and put “every word on trial for its life?”

It might be better if we did so, don’t you think?