December 24, 2025

Beethoven as_not Beethoven

1. Introduction

In The Time That Remains the Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben discusses the messianic formula of the hōs mē, the as_not. We find this formula in the First Letter of Paul to the Corinthians [I Cor. 7:29–32]:

But this I say, brethern, time contracted itself, the rest is, that even those having wives may be as not [hōs mē] having, and those weeping as not weeping, and those rejoicing as not rejoicing, and those buying as not possessing, and those using the world as not using it up. For passing away is the figure of this world. But I wish you to be without concern.

‘Weeping as not weeping’ must not be read in the sense of ‘weeping like not-weeping’, but rather ‘weeping as_not weeping’. It is not a comparison between weeping and not-weeping, but a messianic formula — as_not [hōs mē] — in which weeping is suspended [solved] in its opposite, as time contracts, dissolves, or comes to rest. The ‘time that remains’ does not refer, in the messianic understanding, to the ‘end of time’ in the Christian sense, as in what will happen then, but to the end of time itself; time that comes to rest. The concept of the as_not is essential to grasping the question of what it means to be ‘contemporary’ or ‘modern’.

Around twenty years ago, I had an idea: I had to write Beethoven’s Eleventh Symphony. I had no idea what it meant. Ideas appear from nowhere, are immaterial, and only prove workable if they take form — in my case, the form of a score. My first reaction was that the idea was absurd — and indeed, there are probably more absurd ideas than good ones. It seemed an impossible undertaking: how can one write a symphony by a composer who died nearly two centuries ago? And how does one avoid the banality of pastiche? It had to be more than a symphony in the style of Beethoven; it had to be a work that he, had he lived longer, could have written. Not necessarily that he would have written it, but that he could have. There had to be an artistic necessity audible in it, flowing directly from his oeuvre.

That was the first opening: it concerned his oeuvre, not the man himself. It was not a matter of ego, but purely of genius — that is, of talent. I did not need to be Beethoven; I only needed to understand his talent, through his work. Only if I succeeded in that could the danger of mere pastiche be avoided.

The next realization was that it should not be based on existing sketches or fragments by Beethoven — so the Tenth Symphony was out of the question. It should not be about restoration or variation.

In another text, What Is the Contemporary?, Agamben addresses the topic of ‘today’. “What does it mean to be contemporary?” — “To whom are we contemporaries?” He immediately offers Nietzsche’s answer (via Roland Barthes): “The contemporary is the untimely.” One is contemporary if one can alter one’s relation to one’s own time, while remaining aware of it. To truly belong to one’s own time means not to coincide with it seamlessly, nor to submit blindly to its demands. It is precisely through this displacement — this decoupling — that an anachronistic position is assumed. This anachronistic stance makes it possible to perceive and understand one’s own time more clearly. It has nothing to do with nostalgia, but rather with a fundamental necessity for distance.

All this touches on the distinction made by the ancient Greeks between chronos and kairos — on the one hand, experiencing time as a sequence of moments (biological time, clock time), and on the other, as a ‘timeless’ moment in which ‘time comes to rest’. In this resting time, we may perhaps find the space to let Beethoven 11 relate to the ‘contemporary’ time.

Performing musicians who play music of the past face a similar problem: the artistic necessity of that music is bound to the context of its time, while our time is a different one. This means we must abandon an older notion: that music is ‘timeless’ (in the sense of detached from any specific time), or that a composer was ‘ahead of his time’ or a ‘forerunner’ (Haydn as ‘forerunner of Beethoven’).

But a purely historical understanding is not sufficient either. After all, this is about an artistic creation that takes place in a different era than the artistic subject it engages. In other words, both in the composition of this symphony and in its performance, the act of stepping outside one’s own time is part of the entire (artistic) process. If the work is not meant for entertainment, nor for any (legal) interest, then it is purely about an artistic necessity: for some (artistic) reason, this piece had to be made — we simply do not yet know what that reason is. The only way to possibly uncover that reason is to carry out the idea. In retrospect, it may turn out to have been a delusion — but without risk, there can be no great failure.

2. The Underlying Form

From the beginning I felt that Piano Sonata No. 28 [Opus 101] had to be the starting point for the new symphony. If we were to characterize the Ninth Symphony as extroverted — grand in scope, extensively orchestrated with soloists and chorus — then this new work would have to be its opposite: introverted, not a superlative version of the Ninth but a contrast, focused on the interior rather than the exterior. The structure of this sonata lends itself perfectly to such an approach. In addition to this sonata, the first movement of the Fifth Symphony would also have to play an essential role — and again, not its ‘exterior,’ such as the all-too-obvious rhythmic pattern, but its ‘interior.’

[Ferdinand Ries fell into that trap when he attempted to offer his own ‘response’ to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony with his own Fifth Symphony.]

2.1 Form and Content

Let me first try to explain what we might understand by the two concepts form and content. This is not easy, because these are deeply problematic terms. There is also a third concept often used, typically as a synonym for ‘form’: structure. People speak, for instance, of a ‘Main Form’ (or ‘Sonata Form’), but when the discussion becomes technical, what’s really at stake is the structure. When we analyze themes, syntax, and harmony, I believe we are better off speaking of structure. Form, then, is how the work presents itself to us; in the case of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony: dynamic, rhythmic, forceful, and so on. But this still does not solve the problem of distinguishing between form/structure and content. The question is whether such a distinction is even possible. Heidegger devoted an extensive essay to this [The Origin of the Work of Art], but could not avoid an aporetic approach.

Let us try to learn more about a possible relationship between form and content. Can they exist side by side, separate from one another? When it comes to content, I believe this is impossible — without form, there can be no content. A text is already form; the language in which the text is written is form. The paper, the ink, the book: all form.

But what about the reverse: can form exist without content? An empty wine bottle. You could call that form without content — unless you say that the air inside the bottle is now the content. In other words, there is always content, just not always consistent with the (suggested) form. This seems to lead to a circular reasoning, but if we connect the concept of context to that wine bottle, we gain a tool to break the circle. The wine bottle suggests a content consisting of wine. Air does not meet that expectation, so the empty wine bottle has no content. But what if we find a wine bottle filled with milk? We certainly would not say it is empty. Or a milk bottle filled with wine. A slight shift in our perspective offers a solution: both bottles are filled with a similar liquid — namely, something drinkable. Instead of a wine or milk bottle, we then have a ‘beverage bottle.’ This seems a reasonable solution, but we must still examine the issue further. What about a gas cylinder? If it is ‘empty,’ it still contains a gas: air. Well then, we might say: the gas cylinder is meant for flammable gas, say for a camping stove. But what if it is filled with wine? We can zoom out further and further, and there will always be a criterion by which to judge whether the bottle is full or empty. Precisely! That is the solution: the perspective taken, the chosen context, determines the content of the form. A bottle is thus never ‘full’ or ‘empty’ without an added context from the observer. But — and this completes the circle — without a bottle, the observer cannot perceive any content.

We can then go one step further: form and content evidently form a unity — they cannot exist without each other. Although one of them (form) can exist without the other (content), the reverse is not true. In other words, wherever there is content, there must be form. The dichotomy between form and content dissolves when content is present.

2.2 Interior and Exterior

We are left with the concepts of ‘interior’ and ‘exterior.’ One might initially think these are synonyms for content (interior) and form (exterior). But that is not a useful distinction. It is better to treat both as aspects of form. The exterior is how the work presents itself at first glance — its character; the interior is the structure of that form.

With regard to content, we may also consider an aspect I would call the ‘story’ or ‘narrative.’ The structure of a Main Form [Hauptform] consists, simply put, in the succession of two themes, each in its own key, followed by their elaboration and confrontation in the Development section, and finally, their return in the home key in the Recapitulation. The narrative is the dialectical or synthetic connection that is created — through which the structure acquires content. In a form such as a Lied-Form, this is not the case; that ‘form type’ is purely formal, not narrative. [I will return to this point later.]

Ultimately, each distinction is merely pragmatic. It provides a tool for analysis, but interior, exterior, form, content, structure — all dissolve into the work itself. Form as_not form, content as_not content; or: Form as_not content, content as_not form.

The interior could also be called the ‘underlying form’: the form that does not reveal itself at first glance but requires deeper perception — yet also without which content could not exist.

3. Analyses

As I indicated earlier, two works are essential to me in composing my new symphony: Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 28 and his Fifth Symphony. The slow movements from the early piano sonatas also play a role. These analyses offer a good view of how I approach Beethoven’s work; they might be seen as the ‘underlying form’ of my compositional method for this Beethoven symphony.

3.1 Sonate No. 28, op. 101

This sonata consists of four movements. I am concerned primarily with the first and final movements and the relationship between them. The sonata is in A major. What stands out about the first movement, Allegretto ma non troppo — and here I mean its form (its exterior) — is a certain lightness, though not without introspection. The tempo indication already suggests this: Etwas lebhaft und mit der innigsten Empfindung. The 6/8 meter, a dance-like time signature, is also notable — it is not standard for a first movement of a sonata, a movement traditionally considered the most important, hence the German term Hauptform, attached to this movement type.

When we look more closely at the structure of this first movement, we are immediately confronted with a problem: what exactly are the two themes? If we consider the opening bars as Theme I, it is striking that the home key of A major is significantly obscured — it begins on the dominant, and never settles on a clear cadence in the tonic in root position. The closest it gets is a deceptive cadence on the submediant in bar 6. Does Theme I end there? Perhaps. That would likely be the conclusion of a conventional analysis. Bar 7 would then begin the ‘transition phrase’, ending with another deceptive cadence in bar 16, this time in the dominant key of E major. Theme II would then begin with the upbeat to that bar and end in the tonic in root position on the downbeat of bar 25. The remaining bars up to bar 34 could be viewed as the closing section of the Exposition, with the Development beginning in bar 35.

However, a more interesting analysis is possible — one that I believe does greater justice to the score. In the conventional interpretation, there is barely any thematic distinction between the two themes. The motifs used in the second theme appear in the first as well: ongoing eighth notes in groups of three, a quarter note followed by an eighth note, various syncopations. This makes it quite plausible to regard bars 1 through 25 as a single entity — as one theme. If we see this section as monothematic, one might initially conclude that the second theme has been omitted. But if we add to that the persistent dominant suggestion of a theme that seems from the outset to be in E major, then another conclusion becomes inescapable: Theme I has been omitted. There is only a ‘second theme’. Of course, this is primarily a speculative analysis — unless further support can be found in the Recapitulation. And that, indeed, is the case.

The end of the development section is somewhat ambiguous; bar 52, with its fermata, could mark the end, but bar 55 might also be seen as the start of the recapitulation due to its similarity to bar 1. I personally prefer bar 58, as the resemblance to the opening is stronger there. But this creates a problem for the conventional interpretation: the theme is transposed a fifth down almost immediately, after just one bar — it is now firmly in A major. The only argument left in favor of the conventional analysis is that from the transposition in bars 59/60 onward, we are dealing with the ‘transition phrase’ [cf. bar 7ff.]. But that leaves very little of the first theme — only one bar [bar 58].

Ultimately, this is not a matter of which analysis is ‘correct’ — this is not about ‘true or false’ — but about which interpretation is more artistically compelling. Our perspective is clear: we are composing a new Beethoven symphony. For me, analysis always serves an artistic question or perspective. It is a motivated interpretation, not a ‘proof’. The interpretation I have proposed offers a very productive starting point for the demand I placed on myself from the beginning: an artistically necessary musical content. To this we may add that the final movement of the sonata provides further support.

The fourth and final movement is the most extensive; in terms of bar count, it exceeds the three preceding movements combined [229 bars versus 329 bars]. This movement also follows a Main Form, and again, something unusual is at play. The first striking feature is that the Development section consists of an extended fugue whose theme is based on the first theme of the Exposition. If we examine the Exposition more closely, we see that the second theme is extremely minimal — only ten bars. It is based on a motif of a dotted eighth note followed by a sixteenth note. It is not used even once in the Development. The second theme is of absolutely subordinate importance.

If we compare this with our earlier observation about the absence of the first theme in the first movement, we arrive at the following narrative: the first theme from the opening movement is deferred until the final movement; the second theme there exists purely for the sake of form. The two movements thus mirror each other and are interrelated. The narrative extends across the entire sonata.

This ‘underlying’ concept will be used in my symphony. I will not use any literal material (the ‘exterior’) from this sonata, only the idea of its underlying form.

3.2 Symphony No. 5, Op. 67

Here I will draw on the ‘underlying form’ of the first movement — not its rhythm or other ‘surface’ elements, but its ‘interior’ structure and the narrative that results.

As expected, the first movement is based on Main Form. I would even say it is the most exemplary articulation I know of this form’s essence. That essence is a dialectical (or synthetic) narrative: exposition, confrontation, and sublimation of two elements (the two ‘themes’). Interestingly, this is not achieved so much by the themes themselves, but by their announcements [I will call these mottos]. Every important moment in the structure is heralded by a motto. The first five bars (with the famous rhythmic figure that plays a crucial role throughout the symphony) form the motto of the first theme. The ‘transition phrase’ is preceded by half of this first motto — the motto of the ‘transition phrase’. The second theme is preceded by a variant of the first motto, played by the horns. The development is introduced by yet another variant, and the conclusion of this section — which is in fact the beginning of the recapitulation — has yet another version.

Let us examine these various variants more closely:

Motto Theme I
A sequence on a motif consisting of three upbeat eighth notes followed by a half note, outlining a descending third, with the repetition a step lower. Interestingly, the home key of C minor is not clearly established — it could just as well suggest E-flat major.
Motto Transition Phrase 
Based on the first half of the motto of Theme I, but a step higher. It initiates an elaborately ornamented dominant ninth chord.
Motto Theme II 
Also based on the first motto, but here the descending third is replaced by a perfect fifth, and in the second half of the motto, the eighth notes are replaced by half notes. The pivot between the two halves of the motto is still formed by the same two notes as in the first motto: E-flat and F.
Motto Development 
Compared to the first motto, the two halves are ‘overlapped’. The second half effectively encroaches on the first, holding the final note of the latter to produce a perfect fifth. The first half has the descending third, the second a minor second.
Motto Recapitulation 
This is a synthesis of the mottos of both themes — the descending third from Theme I and the rhythm of Theme II.

The dialectical narrative unfolds through the mottos, with the mottos of the two themes playing the leading roles. The synthesis at the end of the Development section seems clear to me, but let us also look at how that synthesis is achieved; here the harmonic development plays the main role.

The Development section begins in the key of F minor and modulates via C-minor to G-minor. From measure 179, the minor mode of G is replaced by the major variant, which thus becomes the dominant of C-minor; this in turn is replaced by the major variant, and so we correspondingly return to F-minor. The motto of the second theme is used for this. Starting from measure 195, this motto is broken down until only the rhythm in half notes remains, initially in groups of two, divided between woodwinds and strings, and eventually reduced to a single half note.

The modulation then ‘descends deep into the cellar,’ from F-minor via B-flat minor and G-flat minor, finally to A-double-flat major. You don’t read this directly from the notation, because stepwise the G-flat minor chord is rewritten as an F-sharp minor chord. But my ears tell me that the 6th chord of D [measure 221] is actually the V chord of A-double-flat, since I have been hearing modulations to the ‘flat side’ all along, and there is no reason yet to think of G-major. That reason only comes at the moment when the synthesis of both theme mottos sounds, from measure 228 onwards. Here, in this Aleph-like moment, we hear how the key of A-flat major shifts to that of G-major. We have descended twelve fifths, from G-major [measure 179] to A-double-flat major [measure 221], and in one moment return to G-major, which then, of course, turns out to be the dominant of the main key C-minor.

We can now also understand why the ‘transition phrase’ in the Recapitulation is no longer announced by a motto; after all, the ‘transition phrase’ is the symbol of opposition, and that opposition has just been ‘sublated’ [aufgehoben]. The oboe solo (the Adagio at measure 268) is not the result of some kind of ‘divine inspiration’ by the composer, no, it is the necessary consequence of the underlying form.

Ook begrijpen we nu de enorme omvang van het Coda [vanaf maat 375], de synthese diende nog gecelebreerd te worden. Dit gebeurt met een ritmisch aangepaste versie van het synthese-motto.

We also now understand the enormous scale of the Coda [from measure 375]; the synthesis still needed to be celebrated. This is done with a rhythmically adapted version of the synthesis motto. From this symphonic section, I use the synthetic play of the mottos and their combination with the harmonic structure — but not within a single movement, rather in the symphony as a whole. The motto, a motif of a descending perfect fourth, becomes in the final section a sequence of two such leaps, a sequence derived from the stretto of the fugue theme. I will return to this later. But first, the slow movements of the early sonatas.

3.3 The Stylized Lied-Form

A ‘Lied-form’ [from German ‘Liedform’] is a formal form, that is, a form without content, an empty bottle whose contents — whether wine, milk, or fruit juice — we do not yet know. The structure is extraordinarily simple: it consists of a sequence of two or more ‘complete phrases’. A complete phrase is a phrase that contains at least one full cadence, that is, a succession of the three functions: Tonic, Subdominant, and Dominant — the functions necessary to establish a key. If this succession ends on the dominant, it is an ‘open phrase’; if the tonic follows the dominant, the phrase is ‘closed.’

A sequence of two complete phrases thus gives a ‘two-part simple Lied-Form’ [‘binary form’] a sequence of three complete phrases a ‘three-part simple Lied-Form’ [‘ternary form’]. Subsequently, combinations of simple Lied-Forms can arise, the so-called ‘compound Lied-forms’, which are usually also binary or ternary. It is no more complicated than that, and precisely this was the subject of the early sonatas. Beethoven sought means to attach content to this formal form. Although the realizations may differ, all these slow movements share one thing in common: they make use of an element from the Main Form, namely the dialectic of two themes.

Usually, these two themes form a simple Lied-form, either two- or three-part, depending on whether a ‘transition phrase’ is present. This Lied-Form thus forms the pseudo-Exposition of the pseudo-Main Form — the Main Form that cannot be a Main Form, since this (apparently) contravened conventions. There can therefore be no Development section, for that would turn the Lied-Form into a Main Form. This posed problems for Beethoven: the Development section is essential to creating the synthesis; he therefore had to find other ways to make a synthetic elaboration. For this, he used the Codas, which, because of their required function, could take on considerable length.

I will give two examples: the Adagio molto from the 5th sonata, and the Largo e mesto from the 7th sonata.

1. Adagio molto – Sonata 5, Op. 10, No. 1
 This movement is in the key of A-flat major. The pseudo-First Theme covers 16 measures. Then follows a 7-measure ‘transition phrase’, and afterward the pseudo-Second Theme in E-flat major, the dominant key, as customary in the Main Form. The pseudo-Exposition closes at measure 44. Then comes a single ‘intermediate measure’ consisting of an arpeggio of the dominant seventh chord of the home key, and from measure 46 follows the pseudo-Recapitulation. This section follows the structure of the pseudo-Exposition, with the pseudo-Second Theme now in the home key. So everything is exactly as one would expect in a Main Form. There are some variations, especially in the pseudo-First Theme. I will return to those later.
 
But first, that one measure I mentioned, measure 44: what does it mean? As said, it seems a ‘normal’ little bridge, connecting the two sections. But considering its place in the pseudo-Main Form, there can be only one conclusion: this measure represents the ‘Development section’. It looks like a joke. This is further emphasized by the fortissimo dynamic marking; the measure really jumps out. Whether this is really irony I doubt, but that is outside the scope of this text. It feels very different from the ‘jokes’ Haydn or Mozart might make. My doubt probably relates to the seriousness of the narrative problem Beethoven faced.

Perhaps the peculiar structure and narrative of the first movement of this sonata also play a role. In the Development section, a third theme is presented, in the key of F-minor. Although the theme shows some affinities with the transition phrase and with the second theme, it nevertheless has a clearly distinct character. It seems to have arisen from an improvisatory approach, but from what follows — the Recapitulation — it becomes clear that Beethoven regarded it as a problem after all. I cannot explain the unusual key of the (first) return of the second theme otherwise; this unusual key is F-major, the major counterpart to the key of the third theme.

The opposition between the two key types, major and minor, plays a major role in this movement. The first theme, which is in the home key of C-minor, returns in C-major at the beginning of the Development section; since the home key is minor, the second theme is in the relative key of E-flat-major. This convention naturally poses a (albeit small) compositional problem: the second theme must work well both in major and in minor. Due to the unusual key of F-major, Beethoven can (temporarily) preserve the major character of the second theme in the Recapitulation. After this extra theme entry, the usual version in the home key follows.

It seems that Beethoven felt the need to legitimize the frivolity of a third theme. This final observation could also reinforce my feeling that there is no ‘joke’ in the slow movement.

Be that as it may, there is still a problem to consider, namely: where is the synthetic justification? Not in that single pseudo-Development measure, that much is clear. But it is found in the variations Beethoven introduces in the pseudo-First theme. From the 10th measure of the pseudo-Recapitulation, we see that the accompanying sixteenth notes have been replaced by sixteenth-note triplets. These come from the pseudo-Second theme. This legitimizes the absence of the Development section. Also, the (relatively) long coda functions as compensation for the missing development. The coda is a long organ point on the dominant note E-flat, which is present almost continuously and only disappears in the final chord; this chord consists only of an A-flat (in octaves) and a C. It is as if this coda is one long V – I cadence, with the Ist degree being especially marked by the omission of the fifth, the dominant tone.

2. Largo e mesto – Sonata 7, op. 10,3
I consider this slow movement Beethoven’s best answer to the narrative problem. Just like in the case of Sonata nr. 5, the pseudo-Form serves as the starting point. The pseudo-Exposition presents a pseudo-First theme in the key of D-minor [measures 1–8], a transition phrase modulating to the key of C-major [measures 9–17], and a pseudo-Second theme in the key of A-minor [measures 17–26]; the last few measures form a closing in A-minor. After the pseudo-Exposition follows a middle section that clearly is not a development section; instead of developing the two (pseudo-)themes, a new idea appears, which is initially rhythmically related to the first theme, but from measure 7 of this middle section truly new motivic material is revealed, based on three thirty-second notes right after the beat. Moreover, there is only one modulation; the middle section is in the parallel key of F-major, and that single modulation leads back to the home key of D-minor. 

 The pseudo-Recapitulation follows the conventions of the Form, both (pseudo-)themes now in the home key; the key of the transition phrase is an exception to this — the modulation to C-major (in the pseudo-Exposition) is replaced here by a modulation to B-flat-major. This creates a symmetrical key structure when viewed from the central section (which is in F-major).

Perhaps this also explains why the convention, that the second theme of a Form in a minor home key should be in the minor dominant, is deviated from; here, the (minor) dominant A-minor is chosen. The key-structure is mirrored around F.

Trans-Recap: Bb | Theme-1: d | Centre: F | Theme-2: a | Trans-Expo: C

So far, the approach is comparable to the slow movement from the 5th sonata. But now the difference: the ‘synthetic justification’ is placed in a long ‘internal extension’ of the pseudo-Recapitulation. This extension begins at measure 65 and concludes on the first beat of measure 76. [Since this conclusion on the tonic in root position is identical to the corresponding conclusion in the Exposition section [measure 26], I call this extension internal.] The harmony in this extension is based on ‘parallel harmony,’ here consisting of 6/4 chords and especially diminished seventh chords, all built on a chromatically ascending bass line. The figure of thirty-second sextuplets starting with a thirty-second note rest is clearly based on the new motif from the middle section. When the chromatic bass reaches the dominant tone A [measure 72], this motif appears in its literal form. Moreover, the role of the diminished seventh chord also refers back to an earlier passage. In measures 23–25, we see a sequence of four diminished seventh chords, with the last being an inversion of the first. Taking enharmonic changes into account — due to the symmetrical structure of the chord — three different diminished seventh chords are possible; these appear in the first three, the last one thus equals the first. In the pseudo-Recapitulation, we also find this fragment again, in measures 62–64. This creates a synthetic connection not only motivically but also harmonically. The ‘internal extension’ has taken over the role of the ‘development section.’

4. Material and Structure of the Symphony ‘Beethoven 11’

The symphony consists of four movements [duration: approximately 37 minutes]:

Allegro maestoso – Allegretto ma non troppo [7’49”]
Scherzo [6’36”]
Andante [6’25”]
Adagio – Allegro maestoso – Allegro assai – Allegro maestoso [16’04”]

The first movement is primarily an Allegretto; only the opening measures have a different character indication. The Allegretto is based on a Sonata form, but with a missing first theme (as noted above in the analysis of Opus 101). In the opening of this first movement, the main motto is presented in the Allegro maestoso.

The usual order of the second and third movements, namely slow then fast, is reversed: the Scherzo becomes the second movement. The reason for this reversal is the relatively slower tempo of the first movement; this is now compensated by the speed of the second movement. Moving the Andante to the third movement also has the advantage of a somewhat more dramatic announcement of the finale.

The last movement is, as in the case of Opus 101, the most substantial movement, where the synthesis takes place. At the beginning of this movement, a simple chorale is introduced. A flexible (but four-part) choir arrangement can be used: mixed choir, men’s or women’s choir (or boys’ voices), or a soloistic ensemble. The notes can be octave-transposed as needed, provided the soprano and bass lines remain intact. The chorale returns twice more. (It can optionally be performed without choir, but then in the final version the choral part must be played by the three trombones and a trumpet.) The text is based on Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, taken from the 1545 Lutheran Bible. The text articulates the messianic als_niet formula.

1. 
weinen als nicht weinen,
 freuen als nicht freuen, 
denn das Wesen dieser Welt vergeht.

2. 
kaufen als nicht besitzen, 
brauchen als nicht mißbrauchen,
 denn das Wesen dieser Welt vergeht.

3. 
sorgen als nicht sorgen, 
leben als nicht leben, 
denn das Wesen dieser Welt vergeht. 
Ich wollte aber, daß ihr ohne Sorge wäret.

4. Slot – Allegro maestoso 
Die Zeit ist kurz.

The first chorale is in C-minor/E-flat-major, the second a minor second higher, and the third likewise, thus in D-minor/F-major.

The motto from the beginning of the first movement returns in the final movement and is synthetically transformed there. This synthetic process unfolds through the great fugue, which — as in the 28th Sonata — forms the Development section. The stretto of the fugue theme delivers the synthesis. The theme consists of the head of the first theme followed by the head of the second theme. The countersubject is based on the tail of the first theme. The symphony ends with the synthesized motto, on which the choir sings “Die Zeit ist kurz.”

The modulation plan in the fugue section is based on the synthesized motto, with — like in the 5th Symphony — a descent through the circle of fifths by twelve fifths: from A – E, D – A to Ces – Ges, Fes – Ces. The final descending fourth is, of course, enharmonically reinterpreted as E – B.

The keys of the four symphonic movements are based on the synthesized motto: A-major, E-minor, D-major, and A-minor. The 4th movement begins with the chorale in C-minor. Then follows the first theme of the Sonata form, in A-minor. The first theme is repeated, emphasizing the ‘first theme’ as an idea (due to its omission in movement I). The second theme is, as usual, in the parallel key C-major. The repetition of the Exposition contains a deviation: the second theme is now in D-major. In the Recapitulation, it is in A-major. The chorale links the keys of the second theme: the first chorale with the first version of the second theme — C-minor/C-major; the last chorale with the second version — D-minor/D-major. Thus, the chorale forms a synthetic element within the entire narrative.

With this, I offer a solution to the (previously mentioned) problem of the first movement of Beethoven’s 5th Sonata — the problem of the third theme. The chorale is also a third element, but now synthetically processed, which also legitimizes the use of text through the (synthetic) form, since the chorale supports the synthesis. It is thereby a morphological supplement to Beethoven’s 9th Symphony.

So far, the focus has been on the ‘inside’ — the internal reference to Beethoven’s work. There are certainly also references to the ‘outside’ — that is, to Beethoven’s work as an external source. For example, the material for both middle movements is drawn from the Scherzo of the 3rd Symphony and the Allegretto scherzando of the 8th. Yet, even in these middle movements, the ‘inside’ remains significant. The descending fourth motif, for instance, is an important element in the bass line of the Scherzo. Likewise, the relationship between dominant and tonic — as it forms the primary narrative in the reference to the Sonata form — is constantly being examined.

An example of this is the bass line in the Scherzo:

The synthesis of the two fourth intervals [in this case B – F♯, E – B] is already hidden in this bass line.

5. Conclusion

No matter how close I come to the original ‘Beethovenian’ style, it will always remain a translation. And it does not concern the ‘external’ side of the compositional process, for this ‘translation problem’ is about the ‘internal’ side.

Ultimately — and this is the primary artistic premise — it must produce a superb work; anything less is unacceptable. Perhaps I should sharpen what I stated earlier in this text: the premise that Beethoven could have written this symphony, to the stronger assertion that he should have written it. It must stand as close as possible to Beethoven’s work, but it must definitely transcend mere stylistic copying. This means there must be room for a certain speculative character. Who could have foreseen the radical turn in Liszt’s late work had he died prematurely?

I imagine Beethoven might have composed this symphony at the age I am now: 66 years. That would mean the year 1836. Works by other composers of that period might have influenced him, although it is difficult for me to determine which pieces from that time he might have known, especially given the state of his hearing.

— Cornelis de Bondt, December 7, 2020 / April 12, 2025