Life Fragments and the Divine Counterpoint

One thing that I always found appealing in Bonhoeffer's writings is his frequent utilization of musical imagery. Terms such as polyphony, counterpoint, and cantus firmus frequently pop up. For instance, in one of the letters written from prison he reflects:

What matters, it seems to me, is whether one still sees, in this fragment of life that we have, what the whole was intended and designed to be.... After all, there are such things as fragments that are only fit for the garbage... and others which remain meaningful for hundreds of years, because only God could perfect them, so they must remain fragments—I’m thinking, for example, of [Bach's] the Art of the Fugue. If our life is only the most remote reflection of such a fragment, in which, even for a short time, the various themes gradually accumulate and harmonize with one another and in which the great counterpoint is sustained from beginning to end—so that finally, when they cease, all one can do is sing the chorale “Vor deinen Thron tret’ ich hiermit” [“I come before thy throne”]—then it is not for us, either, to complain about this fragmentary life of ours, but rather even to be glad of it.

I really love this image of how our fragmentary experiences—the spiritual spurts and frequent failures, the notable achievements and glaring disappointments, the noble aspirations and limiting realities—are held together by the unifying theme of divine love. Indwelling that vision enables us to be content and dwell in the present, with gratitude, rather than being incessantly ravaged by different forms of arrival fallacy. (The term was coined by the Harvard psychologist Tal Ben-Shahar to denote “the illusion that once we make it, once we attain our goal or reach our destination, we will reach lasting happiness.")

Existential Inventions

As an example of contrapuntal improvisation, inventio is the quintessential form of a musical exercise. In J. S. Bach’s work, inventions (or Aufrichtige Anleitugen) usually entail a short exposition, a longer development, and, sometimes, a short recapitulation (Invention # 5, for example). In contrast to the fugue, inventions do not generally contain an answer to the subject in the dominant key. They are less developed, less complete, not so grand. Frequently, the recapitulation is left open, hanging as it were, unfledged and without finality. Inventions are meant for developing students, for personal development of competence, and as a rule do not aspire to the limelight of concert halls, although many outstanding recordings of Bach's inventions exist (Glenn Gould!). When practiced regularly, they form the body to respond adequately to the stimuli of notes and measures, keys and metronomes. They require an embrace of askesis, a disciplined reiteration of practices whose stated aim is to turn us into proper practitioners, masters of the fundamentals of music performance. In a sense, they are both initiation rites and “technologies of the self” (Foucault), preludes to greater musical complexities with their balance of innovation and structure, predictability and surprise.

I want to utilize this simile of inventio as a symbolic shortcut for a particular existential style, a way of thinking about God, culture, and self through a cluster of interrelated metaphors: elaboration, incompleteness, discipline, practice, thematic unity, and performance...