Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 in A minor, Op. 63 – A Classic Recording

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 in A minor, Op. 63 – A Classic Recording

 

 

 

//Summary - Level-C1//
Sibelius’s Symphony No. 4 is a deeply introspective and meditative work, shaped partly by the composer’s experience with a throat tumour and surgery, which heightened his awareness of death. Its austere and enigmatic character initially puzzled Finnish audiences and can be difficult for listeners to appreciate. However, Finnish musicians may grasp it more naturally because the music reflects Finland’s harsh, dark winter landscapes. The author compares it to a frozen winter night or a dark sea. Although he generally prefers Finnish interpretations, he particularly praises Karajan’s 1965 recording with the Berlin Philharmonic for its transparent, profound orchestral sound, considering it superior to Karajan’s later EMI remake.

 

 

 


1)
In his Symphony No. 3, Sibelius shifted toward a much more introspective style than in his earlier works; in his subsequent Symphony No. 4, however, he composed something even more meditative and profound.

One reason for this was that, whilst working on this piece, Sibelius developed a tumour in his throat and underwent surgery. He later remarked that this experience made him acutely aware of ‘death’ and influenced his creative process.

2)
For this reason, the work was considered perplexing and difficult even by Finnish audiences at the time. Indeed, as it is not exactly accessible music, even seasoned classical music enthusiasts seem to struggle to warm to it at first.
I, too, must admit it took me a little while to get to grips with it.

3)
However, the conductor Saraste remarked as follows:
‘The Fourth is easy for Finnish orchestras and conductors to understand, whilst the Seventh is difficult to get a feel for.’

In other words, this piece is closely linked to the dark and oppressive nature of the Finnish winter.

4)
This likely means that whilst it is easily understood by the people of Finland, who are familiar with the harshness of that natural environment, it is rather difficult for people from other countries to grasp.

If the preceding and following works—the Third and Fifth Symphonies—convey, if anything, the impression of a northern day, then this Fourth Symphony gives the impression of a crystal-clear, freezing winter night sky or a dark sea, does it not?

5)
I believe it is rather difficult for performers from outside Finland to capture the essence of such pieces. In fact, that is a major reason why I tend to steer clear of performances from outside the country of origin. Consequently, my favourite recordings inevitably consist mainly of those by Finnish performers.

6)
Herbert von Karajan conducting the Berlin Philharmonic (recorded in 1965 / Gramophone release) – That said, my first choice has turned out to be the Karajan recording.

Karajan recorded the four symphonies from No. 4 onwards in the 1960s, but in this Fourth in particular, the Berlin Philharmonic’s superb ensemble skills really come to the fore; I am deeply drawn to the sound, which is both profound and transparent—a quality characteristic of modern orchestral works.

Karajan later re-recorded the cycle for EMI, but that version was more atmospheric and somewhat reminiscent of film music. I think this older recording is far superior.

 

 

 

 

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 in A minor, Op. 63 – A Classic Recording

https://harucla.cocolog-nifty.com/blog/2009/03/op63-4744.html

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Not a single wasted note? An analysis of the structure of Sibelius's Symphony No. 4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQoL5wUDy2s&t=185s

 


The "Glockenspiel Mystery" in Symphony No. 4
https://yoshim.music.coocan.jp/~data/BOOKS/Thesis/sibelius02.html


Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 in A minor, Op. 63
https://sonarmc.com/wordpress/site01/2014/07/20/%E3%82%B7%E3%83%99%E3%83%AA%E3%82%A6%E3%82%B9-%E4%BA%A4%E9%9F%BF%E6%9B%B2%E7%AC%AC4%E7%95%AA%E3%82%A4%E7%9F%AD%E8%AA%BF%E4%BD%9C%E5%93%81%EF%BC%96%EF%BC%93%EF%BC%88%E3%83%9E%E3%82%BC%E3%83%BC%E3%83%AB/

 

 


Sibelius: Finlandia (Prom 75)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE0RbPsC9uE&list=RDY2Q6v0FvtlQ&index=4

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 2, Karajan & The Phil (1960)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55rmOjGRIks

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4, Karajan & BPO (1965) 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlbU1IGc1ME&list=RDhlbU1IGc1ME&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 6 Herbert von Karajan /Berlier Philharmoniker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4bS9TDHl3A&list=RDf4bS9TDHl3A&start_radio=1

 


Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 Karajan's final concert 1989
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuHKgleEiW8&list=RDiuHKgleEiW8&start_radio=1

 

Bruckner Symphony No. 5: A Rare Live Performance by Karajan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPTS9FL4vkI&list=RDTPTS9FL4vkI&start_radio=1&t=3926s

 

Herbert von Karajan - Interview (1978)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXuuVWqGGoY

 


Leonard Bernstein: A Life of Music and Passion | Full Documentary
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4vHaPIphLs

 

 

 

 

Wonderful news! Some incredibly bright and welcome news has just arrived for the Japanese people!

 

 

[Kunihiko Takeda - October 4] Wonderful news! Some incredibly bright and welcome news has just arrived for the Japanese people!

 

//Summary - Level-C1//

The video argues that concerns about AI surpassing or even replacing humans are less important than how people choose to live. Drawing on the Japanese concept of Do ("the Way"), it claims that human worth is not defined by success, status, or achievement, but by fulfilling one's role with sincerity, gratitude, and respect. Because everyone has a unique "Way," human value remains distinct from AI, which can optimise results but cannot pursue a meaningful way of life. Kendo embodies this philosophy by prioritising character, discipline, and spirit over victory alone, while also illustrating both the strengths and risks of preserving tradition.

 


1)
1. "How we live" is more important than the crisis of AI-induced human extinction

At the beginning of the video, while acknowledging the discussion about AI's potential to cause human extinction, Mr Takeda says that rather than stoking fear about this crisis, he wants to offer a mindset for navigating the AI era.

2)
The answer he offers lies in the uniquely Japanese concept of "Do" (the "Way" or "Path"). He explains that the "Way"—exemplified by concepts like *Bushido* (the Way of the Warrior) and *Kendo* (the Way of the Sword)—represents a standard of value distinct from success, fame, or money.

3)
2. Human worth is not determined by whether or not one has "succeeded"

People who stand out in society—such as prime ministers, politicians, professors, business executives, athletes, and artists—make up only a tiny fraction of the population.

4)
However, that does not mean the vast majority of other people lack value.

Mothers, fathers, train drivers, road construction workers, and others—each fulfils their own role, supporting society's well-being and the people around them. He explains that this, in itself, constitutes the "Way."

5)
In short,

It is not about "who you have become," but rather "how you lived out the role assigned to you"

that truly matters.

6)
3. The "Way" exists for everyone

The "Way" is not reserved only for a select few with special talents.

Scholars have their "Way," parents have theirs, teachers have theirs, and salarymen have theirs; even children have their own "Way."

7)
He asserts that regardless of physical ability, intelligence, gender, or illness, every single person is endowed with their own unique "Way."

This is a crucial point in the video. 4. The Fundamentals of "The Way": Sincerity, Gratitude, and Respect for Others

8)
The video identifies several key elements for humans walking "The Way" (or *Do*):

Being sincere
Never forgetting one's debt of gratitude
Respecting others and nature

It emphasises that telling lies means straying from "The Way." It asserts that a lifestyle of stepping on others solely for personal gain is incompatible with "The Way."

9)
5. The Japanese Language and Shinto Are Also Linked to the Culture of "The Way"

Mr Takeda explains that "The Way" is deeply intertwined with Japanese culture, the Japanese language, and Shinto.

10)
Regarding the Japanese language specifically, he argues that it serves not merely to convey information but also to foster relationships and create harmony within a given context.

As for Shinto, he describes a distinctively Japanese worldview that senses the divine within nature, rather than a single, absolute deity who creates the natural world.

11)
6. And Finally: "AI Cannot Walk 'The Way'"

This brings us close to the video's conclusion.

AI has the potential to surpass humans in areas such as: far.

Increasing efficiency
Performing calculations
Processing information
Achieving results
Winning

12)
However, "The Way" is not about maximising efficiency or results.

Taking Kendo as an example, the video explains that it is not simply a sport for defeating an opponent; rather, it is a discipline through which one refines one's own way of living.

13)
Therefore,

"AI becoming superior to humans" does not necessarily mean "human value is lost."

On the contrary, the video's message is that if humans live by cherishing "The Way," they can continue to hold value distinct from that of AI.

Second Half: Why Kendo Is Not an Olympic Sport

14)
In the second half, a different narrator explains "The Way" discussed earlier by looking at Kendo's specific rules and conventions.

In Kendo, for instance, if a competitor makes a celebratory gesture (like a fist pump) after scoring a point (*ippon*), that point may be revoked. 

15)
In short, Kendo is not merely about evaluating the outcome—including the joy of victory—but also about one's mindset even after successfully landing a scoring strike (*ippon*).

This aligns with the concept of the "Way" (*do*) mentioned earlier, which holds that winning itself is not the ultimate objective.

 

 

16)
8. Comparison with Judo

The latter part of the video discusses how Judo expanded globally after becoming an Olympic sport, noting that authority to set its rules shifted to international organisations.

For instance,

distinguishing the colours of judo uniforms, and

banning techniques that involve grabbing the opponent's legs

were among the rule changes implemented to make the sport easier to understand for an international audience.

17)
The video explains that the Kendo community, observing these developments, worried that **"becoming an Olympic sport might lead to external forces altering the very values ​​that define Kendo **." ** ****

A valid Kendo point (*ippon*) is not determined by simple mechanical judgment; rather, it requires a comprehensive assessment of factors such as:

proper posture,

spirit (*kihaku*),

the strike itself,

*zanshin* (sustained mental alertness and readiness after a strike), and

the referees' judgment.

Consequently, the argument in the latter half is that the community prioritised upholding the fundamental standards of what Kendo represents over spreading the sport globally.

18)
9. However, a "Closed World" Has Its Problems, Too

The video does not paint an entirely idealised picture of the Kendo world.

The latter section also touches on misconduct and financial impropriety surrounding grading examinations. In other words,

it highlights the risk that preventing external rule changes can lead to an insular environment prone to corruption.

This represents a crucial "dual perspective" presented in the video.

19)
10. The Significance of the "8th-Dan Examination"

The video concludes by highlighting the extremely low pass rate for the Kendo 8th-dan examination and sharing the story of an individual who persevered for many years.

It shows that recognition is not reserved solely for famous athletes who have won national championships; rather, it honours those who have trained for years and kept taking the exam despite repeated failures. What is revealed here is not merely a record of competitive performance, but rather.

"the path that individual has walked in Kendo."

To sum up this video in a single phrase:

20)
Even if AI surpasses humans in ability, efficiency, and results, humans possess a culture—embodied by the concept of "Do" (the Way)—that values the Way of life itself, not just the outcome.

Kendo exemplifies a disciplined practice that preserves this philosophy in its structure today.

 

 

 

 

[Kunihiko Takeda - October 4] Wonderful news! Some incredibly bright and welcome news has just arrived for the Japanese people!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSjZ4veMx_E&t=310s

 

 

 

A Divided World and the Journeys of Orphans: *Klara and the Sun* and the Novels of Kazuo Ishiguro

 

A Divided World and the Journeys of Orphans: *Klara and the Sun* and the Novels of Kazuo Ishiguro

 

//Summary - Level-C1//
Kazuo Ishiguro’s novels repeatedly explore the loneliness of individuals who feel abandoned by disappearing systems, ideologies, or relationships. In Clara and the Sun, this “orphan” theme is developed through social inequality, parental love, and human isolation. Clara’s fragmented vision and memories symbolise a divided world in which people may briefly connect but ultimately remain separate. Similarly, Never Let Me Go portrays individuals resisting an unstoppable current through fleeting moments of love and nostalgia. Ultimately, Ishiguro suggests that although humans are inherently lonely, their temporary connections give their lives meaning and comfort.

 

 

 

 

 

1)
‘So, this may be a matter of privacy, but there’s something I’d like to ask Rick. Please tell me whether Rick and Josie's love is genuine, and whether it is a heartfelt love that will last forever. I must know. If the answer is yes, it will give me something to negotiate with, and I’ll be able to make amends for my mistake in town. So, Rick, please think carefully and tell me the truth.’

‘There’s no need to think about it. Josie and I grew up together; we’re both a part of each other. And we have plans for the future. So, of course, our love is genuine and eternal. It doesn’t matter to us that one of us has undergone the enhancement procedure whilst the other hasn’t. That’s the answer, Clara. There’s no other answer.’

‘Thank you. I’ve gained something very special. Now, don’t forget. At a quarter past seven this evening. Let’s meet again right here, where we’re standing now.”

(From Kazuo Ishiguro’s *Clara and the Sun*)

2)
The loneliness and affection of orphans.

I think this is ultimately the theme depicted by Kazuo Ishiguro, who weaves stories that transcend various genres. Reading his latest work, *Clara and the Sun*, makes me realise this.

I have the utmost trust in Ishiguro as a writer, and this is above all because he has championed the theme that ‘we, too, are orphans in this world’.

We, too, were simply orphans, abandoned in this world without even realising it.

3)
1. The theme of the orphan – Ishiguro’s works up to *When We Were Orphans*

Before discussing *Clara and the Sun*, I would like to write briefly about the themes explored in Ishiguro’s earlier works. What has Ishiguro been portraying up to *Clara and the Sun*?

4)
Ishiguro’s debut novel, *A Pale View of Hills*, and *An Artist of the Floating World* are often analysed primarily for being ‘set in Japan’. These works are often evaluated as stories of post-war Japan written by a British author of Japanese descent. However, I believe that the setting is not the crucial factor. This is because Ishiguro’s first three works—including his third novel, *The Remains of the Day*, set in post-war Britain—essentially tell the same story.

5)
*A Pale View of Hills* is the story of a mother who reflects on whether being forced to abandon her homeland and move to Britain after the war might have contributed to her daughter’s suicide. *The Painter of Modern Life*depicts a painter struggling to let go of a style that had brought him success under wartime values, even after the war. And *The Remains of the Day*, the story of a butler whose master had sided with Germany during the war, but who, in the post-war period, begins to wonder whether that ideology was, in fact, mistaken.

6)
In short, all three works were ‘stories of people who, although a great era defined by war had come to an end, were left bewildered, unable to accept the changes of that era fully’.

Ishiguro writes almost the same story, set in different places: Japan and Britain. —This is not to say that his work lacks originality; rather, I suspect that writers who have a particular message they wish to convey tend to go round in circles, repeating the same story over and over. Or rather, it is not just writers; we are probably the same. For some reason, we all end up repeating the stories that are important to us, in one form or another.

7)
The ideology one had believed in—in other words, the ‘parent’-like figure—suddenly vanishes. Yet this does not mean that one’s love for or attachment to that ‘parent’ disappears. Caught between these two extremes, people grapple with their anguish in solitude. The loneliness and love that follow a parent's disappearance—the strong, reassuring presence one had trusted—were the themes of these three works.

What is fascinating about Ishiguro’s works is that ‘affection’ manifests as ‘fabricated memories’. Just because a parent is gone does not mean that the love or attachment towards them vanishes. Therefore, memory always lies. Unable to accept that their parent was wrong, they rewrite their memories of them into something beautiful.

8)
This theme—that ‘orphans whose parents have gone missing fabricate memories (out of loneliness or love)’—came to the fore in the fourth work, *The Unconsoled*, and the fifth, *When We Were Orphans*. *The Unconsoled* is a rather experimental novel; it is a story in which the regrets and setbacks of a world-renowned pianist from his past appear as characters in their own right.

Meanwhile, *When We Were Orphans* is the story of Christopher Banks, an orphan who lost his parents, as he recalls his past whilst working as a private detective. Both are novels depicting recollections of the past.

 

 


9)
I am very fond of the novel *When We Were Orphans*, and I also love the commentary by Hideo Furukawa included in the paperback edition. It reads as follows. (I remember shouting from the bottom of my heart, ‘Exactly! That’s exactly what this story is about!’ when I read this commentary).

10)
Orphans remember the very moment they became orphans. They think, ‘It was as if the world had crumbled around me.’ ‘It was as if the whole world had been shattered to pieces,’ they think. The orphans ruminate on that moment.
 The orphans were children.
 And so the orphans think: When I grow up, when I grow up, when I grow up.

(Hideo Furukawa, ‘Come on, stop it. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten,’ from *When We Were Orphans*)

11)
Banks, the famous detective who was once an orphan, tries to prove that his memories are correct. But in reality, those memories are not correct. Yet if he accepted that they are incorrect, his world would crumble. He has worked so hard to build his world from scratch; he cannot bring himself to destroy it again. So Banks lies to his memories, whilst crying out, ‘I want to go back—I want to return to the world where I had parents.’

12)
2. The Turbulent Tides of the Age and the Individual: Individualet Me Go*

Whenever I visit a bookshop, I find myself thinking, ‘Ishiguro really is a popular author in Japan, isn’t he?’ I could list plausible reasons—such as the fact that the translations are quite easy to read, or his Nobel Prize—but even so, it’s quite rare for a work of contemporary foreign literature to have a Japanese live-action adaptation planned by TBS. I sometimes wonder why he’s so popular in Japan.

13)
Ishiguro debuted in 1982 and won the Nobel Prize in 2017. In Japanese terms, he is a writer of the Heisei era. And when I think about that era, I vaguely feel that Ishiguro’s theme—‘the reminiscences of people left behind by grand ideologies’—must have resonated with the atmosphere of a time when Japan’s ‘grand narratives’ (economic growth! large corporations! marriage! patriarchy!) were fading away.

Mind you, it’s probably not a good idea to reduce it all too much to the narrative of the times. Even so, I can’t help but feel that the ‘stories of people left behind by the post-war system’ in Ishiguro’s works overlap with the image of ‘us in Japan, bewildered by the disappearance of the grand Shōwa-era system’.

14)
For example, both Haruki Murakami and Ryu Murakami write on the theme of ‘the system and the individual’. W. Murakami depicts the individual standing up to the system, for instance, fighting alone without being swept up by corporations, organisations, or ‘big birds’. Ishiguro, by contrast, goes a step further and places ‘nostalgia for the system’ at the forefront. These stories are set in an era where no grand systems remain to fight against. All that exists is a world where the current flows rapidly, merely using us and discarding us.

15)
Of course, if we had to choose between being a wall or an egg, we’d be the egg; but I think there is a certain loneliness in not being able to become the wall.

However, Ishiguro’s strength lies in his romanticism. He believes that in a world where the system has disappeared, the most important thing is the love between individuals.

16)
‘You know, I often think about two people in a river—a river somewhere, with a really fast current. And there are two people in that water. They’re clinging to each other. Clinging on for dear life, but in the end, the current’s too strong; they can’t hold on. In the end, they let go of each other’s hands and are swept away separately. We’re just like that, aren’t we? It’s a shame, Cass. Because we’ve loved each other from the very beginning—for a very long time, but in the end… we can’t stay together forever.”

(From Kazuo Ishiguro’s *Never Let Me Go*)

17)
This metaphor appears several times in the novel *Never Let Me Go*. The protagonists find themselves on the verge of being swept away by a raging river. Yet, even as they are about to be carried away, they reach out to take someone’s hand. But in the end, their hands slip apart, and they are swept away.

…Given the context so far, I think you can probably grasp what this metaphor is meant to convey.

 

 

 


18)
Ultimately, the river represents a fast-flowing world that is constantly changing. Within it, individuals cling desperately to one another. In that fleeting moment of clinging, love is born. Yet love does not triumph in the end; the river sweeps them away. … Don’t you think that’s rather romantic? Ishiguro genuinely believes that there is meaning in individuals clinging to one another, even for just an instant, amidst the river’s current.

19)
I’ve gone into the details first, but Ishiguro’s sixth novel, *Never Let Me Go*, is a true masterpiece, so if you haven’t read it yet, I’d really urge you to. The protagonist is Kathy, a carer for the ‘donors’. She recalls her memories of life at the boarding facility, Hailsham. The children at Hailsham, where she grew up, are being raised to ‘donate’ something. Only when the children reach puberty do they learn this.

20)
When the meaning of ‘donation’ becomes clear, the reader is taken aback. Why were the children burdened with such a fate? What, exactly, were the memories of Kathy’s girlhood that we had been reading about? (This part is far too precious to spoil, so I really do hope you’ll read the novel for yourselves.)

21)
However, even readers who were shocked by the meaning of ‘provision’ will surely come to realise, upon finishing the novel, that what the ‘providers’—Cathy and the others—were saying was by no means a tale from another world or the setting of a science fiction story, but simply a metaphor for ourselves.

In *Never Let Me Go*, the motif of the ‘discarded plastic bag’ appears frequently.

22)
A plastic bag. Its sole purpose is to hold something. And once there is nothing left to put inside it, it is discarded. This plastic bag is, in short, a metaphor for Kathy and the others, who have finished ‘giving’. (And at the same time, it is also a metaphor for us, who were brought into this world to give something to it.)

23)
Towards the end of the novel, there is a scene where, just before the wind blows away the plastic bag, it catches slightly on some barbed wire. As she watches, Kathy recalls her hometown. This is probably much the same as clinging to someone just a little, in an attempt to resist the flow of the river. Whether someone is there or not, that fleeting moment of resistance—just before being swept away—that love, that nostalgia, makes us forget our loneliness. That is what *Never Let Me Go* tells us even if it’s nothing more than a moment’s resistance.

24)
A plastic bag clinging on for just a moment, trying not to be blown away by the wind, whilst recalling a place to return to. … It’s poignant, but I really do love this metaphor. Every time I reread it, I think from the bottom of my heart that to be novel is better than *Never Let Me Go*.

25)
3. In a Divided World—*Clara and the Sun*

Following his seventh novel, *The Forgotten Giant*, he published his latest work, *Clara and the Sun*. *The Forgotten Giant* is a story in which ‘even the system’s memories are fabricated’, so it was a tale that was very much in Ishiguro’s style. And *Clara and the Sun*, like *Never Let Me Go*, has a slight sci-fi flavour. It is a story featuring AI.

26)
However, as with *Never Let Me Go*, I suspect this is less a deliberate attempt at science fiction and more a result of Ishiguro’s recurring theme of ‘orphans’—which naturally leads to robots and clones taking centre stage in the novel. In essence, they are children without parents. That is what they are.

27)
*Clara and the Sun* is the story of Clara, an AI robot with no parents.

The protagonist, Clara, is an Artificial Friend (AF) robot. In this world, robots keep evolving, and Clara and her fellow older-generation AFs sit on the shelves alongside the more advanced B3-type robots. Because the latest B3-type robots are the most popular, people rarely buy Clara. So Clara stares intently at the human world visible outside the shop window.

28)
And she learns. She observes the behaviour of humans. —And finally, a young girl arrives. Josie, a frail girl, says she wants to buy Clara. Josie’s mother gives Clara a strange instruction. It would be a long time before Clara understood the true meaning of that strange instruction…

29)
One theme of *Clara and the Sun* is a parent’s love for their child. However, the way this is portrayed is by no means simple. For example, the term ‘enhancement procedure’ appears in this novel. ‘Enhancement procedure’. Although it is not explicitly stated what this is, judging by the text, it refers to ‘a gene-editing procedure that parents have their children undergo to make them more intelligent’.

 

 

 


30)
Children who have not undergone the enhancement procedure find it difficult to gain entry to university. In this world, university admission is determined not by innate ability, but by whether one has undergone this procedure. However, this procedure also carries risks. It also burdens children. In some cases, undergoing the enhancement procedure can lead to death or leave a child in poor health. Yet even so, without the procedure, they cannot progress to university.

31)
Whether it is the difference between ‘old models’ and ‘new models’ in Clara’s world of AF robots, or the difference between those who have undergone ‘enhancement procedures’ and those who have not in the world of George and the other children, the world of *Clara and the Sun* is marked by inequalities over which individuals have no control.

(Reading this, I cannot help but feel a sense of gloom, as it seems inevitable that sooner or later we will face a world where ‘the scientific power wielded by parents over their children creates disparities in ability that are beyond the children’s control’). The idea that parental love drives these disparities among children is both deeply convincing and deeply saddening.

32)
Yet Clara observes and learns about this complex parental love up close. Watching Josie’s mother, Clara analyses her behaviour. Eventually, she realises a slightly unsettling quality mixed into the gaze Josie’s mother occasionally directs at her. This describes the moment when Josie’s mother and Clara went to see the waterfall.

33)
Her mother narrowed her eyes and leaned forward over the table. The waterfall receded into the background, and her face became so intensely emphasised that it seemed to split into eight separate boxes; for a moment, it even felt as though her expression differed in each one. For instance, in one box her eyes laughed cruelly, whilst in the next they brimmed with sorrow.
(‘Clara and the Sun’, p. 151)

34)
Clara’s field of vision is divided into several boxes, and it seems she perceives the world through a combination of them. However, when she went to see the waterfall, her mother’s expression differed from box to box. Both the box of cruelty and the box of sorrow entered Clara’s field of vision.

Why is Clara’s field of vision box-like? I believe this is not merely a result of Clara’s characterisation as a robot, but a device designed to introduce the motif of a ‘divided field of vision’.

35)
This work frequently features the motif of ‘various blocks combining to form a single image’. For example, Clara’s field of vision. Or the cityscape. The sunlight streaming through the glass windows. And the human emotions reflected in Clara’s eyes.

What is particularly brilliant is that the ‘box’ device is not confined solely to the field of vision. Clara’s fragmented field of vision eventually seeps into her memories, too.

36)
Over the last few days, several fragments of my memory have begun to overlap strangely. For instance, the memory of that dark morning when the sun saved Jozy, the memory of our trip to Morgan’s Falls, and the memory of the intensely bright restaurant Mr Vance chose all somehow blend into a single scene. My mother stands with her back to me, watching the spray rising from the waterfall, yet I am watching it not from a wooden picnic bench, but from a table at Mr Vance’s restaurant.

37)
(…) I know this is not a disorder of memory or perception. For if I so choose, I can always separate the memories and return each to its proper context. Moreover, when such multiple memories merge into a single image, I am always aware of the rough boundary between them. It is like a child who cannot yet use scissors properly, tearing something apart with their fingers in frustration.

38)
I am conscious of an irregular tear, like the one created in that moment, lying between my mother in front of the waterfall and the restaurant table. If you look closely at the scene I described earlier, you will see that the scale of the dark clouds overhead is not the same as that of the mother standing before the waterfall. Even so, such composite memories have been coming to mind with striking clarity of late.
(From the text of *Clara and the Sun*)

39)
The ‘scene from when she went to see the waterfall’ and the ‘scene from when she was sitting at a table in a restaurant’—two scenes that would not normally mix—appear simultaneously before Clara’s eyes. Although Clara, being a robot, realises this is strange, she nevertheless recognises that blocks of memory combine to form a single scene.

 

 

 

40)
Separate blocks. And when they come together, they form a single scene—a memory.

As I mentioned in the previous chapter, Ishiguro depicts the fabrication of memory. Yet surely, when we lie to ourselves about our memories, we do not set out to tell a lie ‘just here’ in a fragmentary way. Humans, too, end up with combinations that differ from reality at some point whilst layering several blocks of memory on top of one another. Clara’s block-like memories likely reflect this structure, rendered with Ishiguro’s characteristic touch.

41)
And perhaps this motif of ‘combined, segmented blocks’ also ties in with the division between robots and the division between humans.

Josie’s childhood friend Rick has a vague inkling that, even though he and Josie are together now, their paths will diverge as they go through life. This is because Rick has not undergone the enhancement procedure that Josie has. Rick knows that, even though they may appear to be the same kind of human, a ‘division of blocks’ undoubtedly exists within them. Just as a landscape that ought to fit within a single field of vision appears divided into blocks when seen through Clara’s eyes.

42)
Yet Rick, while realising that his and Josie’s paths will diverge, still says their love will never fade.

‘Even if Josie and I go out into the world and can no longer meet, on some level—a deep level—we’ll always be together. I can’t speak for Josie, but as for myself, I think I’ll always keep searching for someone just like her.
(From the text of *Clara and the Sun*)

43)
Individuals meet and part ways. It is perhaps like separate blocks that sometimes fit together, yet eventually drift apart again. This is how such people appear to Clara. For example, two people who joyfully embrace when they meet again on the street. Or Jozy and Rick, who are together now but will one day part ways (though they believe they remain connected in their hearts).

44)
Or Josie and her mother, who go about their daily lives whilst vaguely sensing that the time may come when they must part. To Clara, this might appear just as if individual blocks were to come together for a single moment—for instance, only when the sunlight streams in—to form a single scene.

45)
On a grand scale, the division of the blocks speaks of social inequality; on a smaller scale, it speaks of the loneliness of the individual—individualisation that, even between parent and child, we are not the same person. We, humans, are all lonely, mere individuals; perhaps that is precisely why we long to be part of the same landscape, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The loneliness of the blocks.

Even with our parents, we are lonely orphans, cast into this world entirely alone.

Hasn’t Ishiguro always depicted the stories of such people?

46)
In Conclusion

I have been reading on, all the while wondering just how far the journey of the orphans depicted by Kazuo Ishiguro will take them. *Clara and the Sun* is a story that is as gentle and dazzling as a children’s novel, yet it also possesses that tranquil cruelty so characteristic of Ishiguro; as I read, I found myself nodding in agreement, thinking, ‘This is it, this is exactly it.’

47)
To all the orphans cast out into this fragmented world.

The story of *Clara and the Sun* is one in which you can almost hear the author saying those very words.

It is undoubtedly a story written as if to gently hold up a ray of sunlight to us, living in this world where the current flows ever faster.

 

 

 

 

 

A Divided World and the Journeys of Orphans: *Klara and the Sun* and the Novels of Kazuo Ishiguro

https://note.com/nyake/n/naf8c46003608

 

 

 

 

 

The Question of Humanity in Kazuo Ishiguro’s Latest Work, *Klara and the Sun*
https://www.vogue.co.jp/change/article/vogue-book-club-klara-and-the-sun


*Klara and the Sun*: Synopsis and Commentary—Why Do Some Call It Boring?
https://nomidoku.com/klara-and-the-sun/

 

KLARA AND THE SUN – Official Trailer (4K)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wixzainceAE


Kazuo Ishiguro’s *Klara and the Sun* Explained: Can the Human Soul Be Replicated in a Robot?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5E6m4oWaAbM


*Klara and the Sun* by Kazuo Ishiguro
Auto-dubbed Version
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GJ7mrqo9nQ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Kunihiko Takeda - October 4] Wonderful news! Some incredibly bright and welcome news has just arrived for the Japanese people!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSjZ4veMx_E&t=310s

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 — A Fantastical Poem Woven by Nordic Winds

 

[Commentary] Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 — A Fantastical Poem Woven by Nordic Winds

 

 


//Summary - Level-C1//
Sibelius’s Symphony No. 1 is a dramatic, fantastical work shaped by Nordic nature, Finnish mythology, and Finland's political oppression under Russian rule. Inspired partly by Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique, Sibelius combined Romantic freedom with traditional symphonic structure. The four movements evoke contrasting scenes: a mysterious forest, lyrical introspection, a wild scherzo, and a passionate fantasia-like finale. Although the symphony has no explicit programme, its music vividly suggests snowy landscapes, forests, and a longing for freedom. As an early expression of Sibelius’s distinctive style, it balances grandeur, mystery, emotional intensity, and Nordic atmosphere.

 

 

 

 


1)
A forest through which a cold wind blows, a sky full of shadows—

Sibelius’s "Symphony No.1" is a masterpiece that evokes such scenes through music alone.

Sibelius was a master at depicting nature and mythology through sound.
This piece, in particular, richly expresses his unique style.
Why is this piece so dramatic and fantastical?

2)
Although the Second Symphony is more famous, the First is truly brimming with "Sibelius-ness"!
In this article, the author—a violinist with over 35 years' experience—
will unravel the background to the First Symphony whilst explaining its appeal in an accessible manner.

The "Fantastical Nature" of the First Symphony
The Roots of Sibelius’s Compositional Style
The Atmosphere and Characteristics Imbued in Each Movement

3)
Why was this piece composed? | The background to the creation of Symphony No. 1

The Influence of the "Symphonic Influence"

As a young man, Sibelius heard Berlioz's "Symphonie fantastique" whilst studying in Berlin.
The "Symphonie fantastique" tells the story of a young artist's nightmares.
Its free structure and dramatic development deeply moved Sibelius.

Unprecedentedly original for its time, this music — in which fantasies intertwine— greatly stimulated Sibelius's creative drive.

Although he had initially envisaged a different programme piece,
he abandoned that idea and threw himself into composing Symphony No.1.

4)
Indeed, his dedication was such that he retreated to the countryside, leaving his family behind!
Even when compared to his later works, this piece is imbued with the intense passion of a young artist.

The opening of the fourth movement bears the instruction "quasi una fantasia".
This suggests that Berlioz's influence was on the InfluenInfluence expression!

5)
Russian Oppression and Finnish National Consciousness

In 1899, when this symphony was composed, Finland was under Russian rule, and oppression was intensifying.
In particular, the Governor-General at the time was a Russian patriot.
He forced the people to show absolute obedience to Russia.

Amidst these circumstances, national consciousness grew within the country,
and a movement to seek out "Finnishness" flourished in the fields of culture and the arts.
Sibelius, too, sought to respond to this national sentiment through his music.

Although "Symphony No.1" has no explicit programme,
its sound evokes the landscape of a country shrouded in snow and forests, as well as the voice of souls yearning for freedom.

This music, whilst fantastical, carries a certain sense of pathos…
It was a work that, more than mere description, reflected the spirit of the age through sound!

6)
Sibelius: A Composer Rooted in Myth and Nature

Sibelius was a composer whose style changed significantly over time.

Around the time of his Symphony No. 1, his deep affinity for Norse mythology was strongly evident.

He was particularly fascinated by the Finnish epic, the "Kalevala".
This epic frequently featured in his symphonic poems and incidental music, serving as a wellspring of his imagination.
At the same time, the harsh yet beautiful Nordic landscape—snow, forests and lakes—also casts a deep shadow over his music.

When listening to his music, one feels as though one can "see" the landscape.

7)
He carried these elements into his symphonies.
Although this piece lacks a clear narrative, it still has a musicality that speaks to the listener, much like a symphonic poem.

Even without a theme, the sounds themselves tell a story—that is the very essence of Sibelius's style.

8)
Characteristics of the Piece

It is a very grand, mysterious and, in a sense, fantastical piece.

Although it is not a symphonic poem based on a specific theme, it evokes the landscape of Northern Europe.

It follows the style of earlier works such as "Finlandia" and "Karelia" and is dramatic. Much of the music also evokes specific scenes.

As a late-Romantic work, it adheres to the structural conventions of earlier classical music while also allowing greater freedom.

It allows the listener to enjoy more direct emotional expression, as well as a rich and wide range of timbres.

9)
First Movement | As if Emerging from the Forest

It begins with a clarinet introduction that seems to emerge from a deep forest.

It gives the sensation that the music is welling up from the depths.

Soon, the violins take the lead, and the main section begins as if the view were suddenly opening up.
The first and second themes alternate, sounding at times dreamlike and at others intense.

In the middle section, a poetic harp bridges the scenes, whilst the brass creates a sense of exaltation at the climax.
However, immediately afterwards, the curtain falls abruptly with two pizzicato notes—a conclusion brimming with tension.

 

 

 


10)
Second Movement | Between Lyricism and Mystery

This movement is deeply lyrical music, blending warmth and mystery.
The gentle opening theme is like a fire burning in a hearth in a house on a snowy plain.
The horns and woodwinds repeat it, gradually transforming as they go.

In the middle section, a somewhat anxious melody emerges, and the harmonies take on a sombre tone.
Although the mood shifts, it remains thoroughly introspective.
Like a quiet prayer, it ends, leaving a gentle, lingering resonance.

11)
Movement 3 | A Wild Yet Dancing Scherzo

This scherzo is not characterised by the light-heartedness of the Classical period, but is rather wild and rough-hewn.

Cutting rhythms and short motifs build upon one another, lending the music a sense of tension.
The rhythmic accents are also distinctive, creating a striking impression of instability, as if the music were "not quite grounded".

In contrast, the middle section (trio) has an idyllic character, offering relief and tranquillity.
This contrast makes the gritty rhythms of the recapitulation stand out all the more.

12)
Movement 4 | In the style of a fantasia

"Like a fantasia"… This is the movement to which Sibelius attached the designation "quasi una fantasia".

True to its name, this movement is not bound by form but unfolds freely, as if telling a story.

The music gradually builds to intense passion.
A melody beginning on the off-beat builds momentum, and the music quickly grows more fervent.
Burning passion intertwines with the cold air, making it feel as though one is listening to a musical drama.

And immediately after surging through the climax, the piece abruptly draws to a close with two pizzicato notes.
This is the same ending as in the first movement, but this time the pizzicato ‘fades away’, as if the music were suddenly falling silent.
It is a striking finale that guides the listener’s imagination into the reverberations.

13)
Summary | A masterpiece where the Nordic landscape and passion intertwine

The appeal of Symphony No.1
A unique Nordic atmosphere born of an era of oppression
A majestic, mysterious and, in a sense, fantastical work
Although it has no specific theme, elements reminiscent of a symphonic poem can be sensed, drawn from past experiences

14)
The Symphony No.1 is a masterpiece born of rich originality against the backdrop of a repressive era.

Whilst influenced by Berlioz's "Symphonie fantastique", he built an epic world by superimposing the Finnish landscape and spirit upon it.

It is densely packed with the very essence of ‘Sibelius’ and can be considered both the starting point and the origin of his symphonic output.

A symphony uniquely his own, in which grandeur and fantasy are harmoniously balanced.
If you have the opportunity, please do take the time to listen to it carefully.

 

 

 

[Commentary] Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 — A Fantastical Poem Woven by Nordic Winds

https://violinfreaks2.com/sibelius-symphony-1/

 

Finlandia - Karajan 1976 Live
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJ-oE4kIjoU&list=RDOJ-oE4kIjoU&start_radio=1


Sibelius: Symphony No.1 in E minor, Op. 39 (Herbert von Karajan)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-yRkbi8uMYQ&list=RD-yRkbi8uMYQ&start_radio=1


Sibelius: Symphony No. 2 in D major, op. 43 (Herbert von Karajan)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YIXImwTZVA0&list=RDYIXImwTZVA0&start_radio=1

 

 

 

 

 


[Commentary] Sibelius: Symphony No. 1 — A Fantastical Poem Woven by Nordic Winds
https://violinfreaks2.com/sibelius-symphony-1/

 

[Classical Masterpiece Commentary] Maestro Sachio Fujioka Offers an In-Depth Guide to Sibelius's Symphonies
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Npl6rbxtkak&t=1243s


Sibelius: Ranking All 7 Symphonies — Recommended Masterpieces with Crystal-Clear Clarity!
https://www.alpacablog.jp/entry/sibelius-sy-ranking

 

[Classical Masterpiece Commentary] Introducing the highlights of Sibelius's beloved patriotic masterpiece, "Finlandia."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZPMKj29P64

 


Sibelius: Life and Masterpieces — An Overview of the Nordic Master's Complete Symphonies! An in-depth look at the patriotic background behind the composition of *Finlandia* and the life of the hero it celebrates.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8t-dnMDfvM&t=12s


Sibelius: Symphony No. 6 [Analysis & 3 Recommended Recordings] – A work of delicate, crystalline beauty.
https://www.alpacablog.jp/entry/sibelius-sy-6

 

[Fresh Takes on Classical Masterpieces] (Phase 18) Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2: How an elegy transforms into a song of triumph—and its connection to a Queen hit.
https://member.jp.yamaha.com/topics/myujin/2024/wm-77594


A fantasy dissolving into the wind—the beauty of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 5.
https://note.com/artloverneko_08/n/n1066b3a088c1

 


Not a single wasted note? An analysis of the structure of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 4!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQoL5wUDy2s&t=17s


The pinnacle of the symphony! A thorough analysis of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 7!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPjTSqqOVGM

 

[Amazing Pieces] In-depth analysis #8: Sibelius’s Symphony No. 6 in D minor.
https://note.com/kei_arima/n/n6dad98ea7397

 


Beautiful melodies and architectural structural beauty! [Analysis & Commentary] Bruckner’s Symphony No. 7.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpvAasJf1dM&t=12s

 

An unfinished masterpiece that was ahead of its time! [Analysis & Commentary] Bruckner: Symphony No. 9
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXgncb3_QBM

 

 

 

 


Sibelius: Finlandia (Prom 75)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE0RbPsC9uE&list=RDfE0RbPsC9uE&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Finlandia, Barbirolli & The Hallé (1966)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2Q6v0FvtlQ&list=RDY2Q6v0FvtlQ&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 1, Watanabe & JPO (1962)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZ4SAXfyL3U&list=RDjZ4SAXfyL3U&start_radio=1

 

 


Sibelius: Symphony No. 2, Watanabe & JPO (1962) 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDso3RUs3-8&list=RDvDso3RUs3-8&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 3, Watanabe & JPO (1962) 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQLk3zKML-A&list=RDcQLk3zKML-A&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 Karajan /Berliner Philharmoniker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeOpLE0gB7k&list=RDDeOpLE0gB7k&start_radio=1


Sibelius: Symphony No 4 (1953) Von Karajan/Philharmonia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_BgOP5MGTg&list=RDF_BgOP5MGTg&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius 4 Symphony Herbert Blomstedt Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjeF99_ocfM&list=RDFChg3ERp6C8&index=7

 

Sibelius : Symphony 5 (Full) - Karajan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAFouzo3ZHQ&list=RDFChg3ERp6C8&index=4


Sibelius: Symphony No. 5, Barbirolli & The Hallé (1966)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiKV4ZkVFjQ&list=RDRiKV4ZkVFjQ&start_radio=1

 

Jean Sibelius Symphony No. 5 Leonard Bernstein
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niKn5KNaxpU&list=RDniKn5KNaxpU&start_radio=1

 

[Enter the Music] Sibelius "Symphony No. 5"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jVtEiOBQbw

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 6 Herbert von Karajan /Berlier Philharmoniker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4bS9TDHl3A&list=RDf4bS9TDHl3A&start_radio=1


Sibelius : Symphony 6 ( Full )- Karajan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FChg3ERp6C8&list=RDFChg3ERp6C8&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony 7 ( Full) - Karajan*
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHHfvdAqvn8&list=RDFChg3ERp6C8&index=3

 

Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 Karajan's final concert 1989 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuHKgleEiW8&list=RDiuHKgleEiW8&start_radio=1

 

Hans Rosbaud "Symphony No 7" Bruckner
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-rmYPtS5pc

 

Bruckner "Symphony No 7" Bernard Haitink
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgo0wuZKN_E

 

 

Bruckner Symphony No. 5: A Rare Live Performance by Karajan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPTS9FL4vkI&list=RDTPTS9FL4vkI&start_radio=1&t=3926s


Bruckner Symphony No.5 - Eugen Jochum / ACO (Live, 1986)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txQewxJBGg0

 

Bruckner - Symphony No 8 in C minor - Giulini
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xT5kreOhjxU

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which conductors can conduct Bruckner?

 

 

 

Which conductors can conduct Bruckner?

 

 

 

//Summary - Level-C1//
The author argues that Bruckner and Mahler belong to fundamentally different spiritual and artistic worlds. Bruckner’s music is portrayed as an abstract, nature-oriented expression with a transcendent dimension, whereas Mahler’s is characterised as intensely autobiographical and human-centred. The author therefore questions conductors who approach Bruckner primarily through a Mahlerian perspective and identifies several performers whom he considers particularly convincing, including Giulini, Klemperer, Haitink, Karajan and Barenboim. He also stresses that different editions and scholarly details should not be used to judge Bruckner too harshly. Ultimately, he maintains that the essential criterion is whether a conductor can reveal the music’s underlying character.

 

 

1)
I wrote about Bruckner in my previous piece. Although Bruckner and Mahler are invariably contrasted as representatives of the late Romantic period, it is extremely difficult to find any common ground between them that forms a spiritual foundation. For me, Bruckner is indispensable to my life, whereas if God were to take Mahler away from me and I were never to hear him again for the rest of my life, I would have few regrets.

I have reached this conclusion after listening earnestly to his complete works—this is not merely a case of prejudging something without trying it—so I ask for your indulgence. I imagine Mahler fans will likely take offence, so please do not read on.

2)
I should also state at the outset that this article is not motivated by any religious connotations or anti-Semitism, nor is it in the slightest intended to pass judgement on other people’s tastes.

When I say, ‘I dislike Mahler; I never listen to him at all’, I am usually met with the question, ‘Well, what about Bruckner then?’ This is a major misconception, probably unique to the Japanese. That is the theme here. I intend to set out my own views on what constitutes ‘proper Bruckner’—as I wrote in my previous article—and on which conductors are capable of conducting it.

3)
So, I do apologise, but I find it rather difficult to imagine how those who claim to like Mahler and Bruckner equally actually listen to Bruckner—leaving Mahler aside for the moment.

In my view, whilst Bruckner is like a religious painting, a landscape or a still life, Mahler is like a portrait—or, to put it further, a self-portrait, and at times even a caricature. Even if they were in the same section of an art gallery from the same era, I cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss if they were displayed side by side in the same room.

4)
Let us set the listener aside for a moment. I am even more sorry to say this, but when a musician who is, at heart, a Mahler conductor takes up the baton for Bruckner, it strikes me as though they are either a counterfeit or a record company’s ‘yes-man’.

Bernstein and Solti—who, for some inexplicable reason, chose to conduct Bruckner when they should have stuck to Mahler. Whilst some of their performances are not bad, Walter, Mazel, Inbal, Kubelik, Abbado, Sinopoli, Neumann and Tennstedt would have been better off steering clear to avoid damaging their reputations.

As for Boulez, it is utterly baffling what he was thinking. The only ones worth listening to are Giulini, Klemperer, Beinum, Haitink and Chailly, though the latter three owe much to the fine qualities of the ACO.

5)
In its most fundamental aspect—as an abstract expression of nature—Bruckner’s music is far removed from Mahler and much closer to Sibelius; the only thing Bruckner has that Sibelius lacks is the perspective of God.

However, since Christianity holds that nature consists of all things created by God, human beings—who stand in the middle of the Trinity—do not intervene here. Mahler, by contrast, is the exact opposite: God and nature are absent, and only human beings appear.

What’s more—and this is truly unbearable—the human being is none other than Mahler himself. If you disagree, can you name a single conductor amongst the aforementioned group of misinterpreters who can conduct Sibelius properly? Bernstein is an outlier in this respect too. The only exception is the young Maazel.


6)
In short, Bruckner and Mahler are completely mutually exclusive; I find it utterly inconceivable that these two composers—who merely happened to spend time in Vienna during roughly the same period—could be said to exist within the ‘same spiritual realm’, or that one could perform both or listen to them with equal empathy.

Mahler’s Second, Sixth and Seventh Symphonies, for instance, are nothing more than a display of autobiographical fiction and self-portraits; for someone like me, who feels no empathy whatsoever for him as a person, listening to them is nothing but torture. What I find particularly distasteful is the manoeuvre by which these self-portraits are not framed within something as obviously cheap as Richard Strauss’s *A Hero’s Life*, but rather within the seemingly dignified, gold-rimmed frame of a ‘symphony’—or rather, the deliberate, calculated way in which he has placed them there.

Tchaikovsky also wrote a personal narrative in the form of *Pathétique*, but that is, before anything else, an intense message of suicide, not a form of torture that forces one to gaze at his vaunted moustache round the clock. I do apologise for expressing my personal likes and dislikes here.

 

 

 

7)
One name I did not include in the list above is Karajan. I have no idea whose opinion this is. Still, a striking feature of the Japanese music world is that many people mistakenly believe criticising Karajan marks them as connoisseurs. I hold his 1957 recording (EMI) of Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony in high regard (the LP on the right is the one I bought).

This was likely recorded around the time of his debut with the BPO; back then, where would you have found a conductor willing to choose the Eighth—a work that even in Europe and America was heard only by connoisseurs and seemed unlikely to sell—for such an important recording? I wonder how those who disparage Karajan rate his extraordinary performances of Sibelius’s Fourth and Sixth Symphonies.

He recorded the Second Symphony merely as a favour to the Philharmonia Orchestra and never performed it live, yet he studied the Fourth and Sixth Symphonies in depth. I cannot understand what sort of ‘connoisseurs’ these so-called ‘connoisseurs’ are, who disparage a conductor possessing such taste, a discerning ear, the ability to read the score, and the skill to lead an orchestra. And, as I have mentioned, Sibelius and Bruckner are not so far apart.

8)
Karajan conducted Mahler’s Symphonies Nos. 4, 5, 6, 9 and ‘From the Earth’, but I believe the selection of Nos. 4, 9 and ‘From the Earth’ particularly well illustrates his qualities as an artist rather than merely as a sound producer. As for Bruckner, having recorded the complete cycle, his omission of Nos. 1–3, 7 and 8 was likely due to a fundamental lack of empathy with the composer.

It is said that he was aware of Bernstein, who had moved to DG and was encroaching on his territory of Beethoven and Brahms; perhaps this was his counter-attack. I believe his decision not to conduct Shostakovich’s Fifth—a work Bernstein had overplayed—was also deliberate.

9)
The Bruckner recordings I own—including Karajan’s No. 8, Konvitchny’s No. 7, Knaepertsbusch’s No. 5 (right), Walter’s No. 4, Matacic’s No. 9 and Jochum’s No. 6—were all purchased during my university days. Although I no longer listen to Knaepertsbusch’s No. 5—as it is the ‘Schark edition’ with its dreadful cuts—the performance itself was excellent and served as a fine introduction to the composer.


10)
No. 5 is my favourite; in addition to the Jochum recording I wrote about last time, I also have the live recording from the Musikverein on 24 February 1963, where Karl Schuricht conducted the Vienna Philharmonic, the live recording from the Musikverein where Rudolf Kempe conducted the Munich Philharmonic, the one where Günter Wand conducted the Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra, and the one where Eduard van Beinum conducted the Concertgebouw Orchestra; I enjoy these and often take them out to listen to them.

One LP that really impressed me was Hans Rosbaud’s recording of the Seventh Symphony (right) with the Southwest German Radio Symphony Orchestra. Its lack of pomposity, its lightness, and its tempo are unique; it is rare to find a Seventh Symphony so free of heaviness. Yet it hits all the right notes and gives one a genuine sense of satisfaction from listening to the piece – this is truly a performance for connoisseurs.

11)
Another artist Japanese ‘connoisseurs’ have virtually ignored is Barenboim. He has recorded the complete works twice, with the Chicago and Berlin orchestras, and I hold him in high regard. I once heard him play a Liszt sonata—a composer I usually dislike—in Philadelphia, and it was a masterful performance that will remain with me for the rest of my life. There was absolutely no showy display of technique, and the slower passages spoke to the listener. It completely transformed my perception of the piece.

 

 

 

12)
In his recording of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier (CD), too, one realises that his true quality lies not in superficial beauty but in that deep sense of tranquillity, similar to what I experienced with Liszt on that occasion. It is a quality that also suits Bruckner well. He is Jewish, but from the perspective of those parochial Japanese critics who tend to praise Mahler conducted by Jewish conductors out of stereotypical thinking, it seems they cannot come to terms with him conducting Bruckner.

It's best to forget the tedious pedantry of such people. Incidentally, I hear Barenboim once remarked that the Japanese do not understand Bruckner; this is much like Menuhin’s comment on the ‘Pastoral’ Symphony, and I find myself thinking it might well be true.

13)
Once I start writing like this, there’s no end to it. It would be a waste of time to discuss Kuna, Schuricht or Asahina—who have been deified in Japan and turned into ‘Bruckner the Great’—at this stage, so here I have limited myself to conductors I do not rate and those who deserve to be recognised. I would be delighted if you could gain even a glimpse of what I consider to be ‘proper Bruckner’. I intend to write detailed analyses of each piece in due course.

14)
Finally, a word on Bruckner’s editions. Whilst this varies from piece to piece, the differences can be vast; in the case of Urtext editions, it is not uncommon for them to differ so much that they might as well be entirely different works. However, as I wrote previously, given the composer’s own tolerance and philosophy—which, as I mentioned, stood in stark contrast to the debates surrounding Beethoven’s Bärenreiter edition—I recommend listening without being overly particular about the edition.

To alter one’s assessment of a conductor who has gone to such lengths to create a wonderful atmosphere over such a trivial matter as whether a single cymbal strike was present or not is to stray far from the true essence of appreciating Bruckner.


15)
There isn’t really such a thing as a ‘correct version’. While the market for such know-it-all enthusiasts is important in the classical world, I cannot help but sense the same commercial motives that fuelled the trend for period-instrument performances.

Rather than focusing on which version one has chosen, or going out of one’s way to track down a version that no one has ever performed before, the single question of ‘whether one can deliver a proper performance’ is far more important; I believe that the exploration of the essence of Bruckner’s music should be confined to that alone.

 

 

 

 

Which conductors can conduct Bruckner?

https://sonarmc.com/wordpress/site01/2014/02/14/%E3%83%96%E3%83%AB%E3%83%83%E3%82%AF%E3%83%8A%E3%83%BC%E3%82%92%E6%8C%AF%E3%82%8C%E3%82%8B%E6%8C%87%E6%8F%AE%E8%80%85%E3%81%AF%EF%BC%9F/

 

 

 

 

 

Add info)

The Mysterious Bond Between Bruckner and the Netherlands

https://sonarmc.com/wordpress/site01/2014/02/13/%e3%83%96%e3%83%ab%e3%83%83%e3%82%af%e3%83%8a%e3%83%bc%e3%81%a8%e3%82%aa%e3%83%a9%e3%83%b3%e3%83%80%e3%81%a8%e3%81%ae%e4%b8%8d%e6%80%9d%e8%ad%b0%e3%81%aa%e7%b8%81/

 

 


//Summary - Level-C1//
The author recalls an unforgettable 1986 performance of Bruckner’s Fifth Symphony conducted by Eugen Jochum at the Concertgebouw, whose exceptional acoustics intensified the experience. The atmosphere was so powerful that the music seemed to transcend physical space, leaving the audience with a sense of witnessing Jochum’s final farewell. This experience transformed the author’s approach to Bruckner: rather than analysing music microscopically, he now believes it should be experienced physically and emotionally, through the sound's vibrations and resonance. He also views Bruckner’s revisions not as indecision but as a lifelong struggle to express an ever-changing vision of God and the universe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A)
Let us return to the subject of the Concertgebouw. I have written many times about the beauty of the acoustics in this hall; once you have been there and heard it, you will never forget it. That is why, when designing my home audio room, I used the sound here as my reference, carefully adjusting the room’s aspect ratio to the golden ratio, and I also kept this in mind when selecting the tone of the power amplifier after listening to countless different models.

In an interview with *Stereo* magazine, when they came to take photographs, I replied, ‘The Vienna Philharmonic as heard at the Concertgebouw is my ideal sound.’ However, I made that comment simply because ‘it makes for a more interesting story’; there is no doubt that the orchestra here also boasts sound quality and skill of the very highest international standard.

Come to think of it, there was even a time when Mr Kobaken played a round of golf with us at the Hilbersam Golf Club before rushing off to the Concertgebouw to conduct a concert. Naturally, we had been given tickets, and we were treated to magnificent performances of works by Liszt and Tchaikovsky.

B)
Of all the many concerts I have heard in this renowned hall, the one that remains most vividly in my memory was Eugen Jochum's final appearance, three months before his death. The programme was, once again, Bruckner’s Symphony No. 5 in B-flat major, and it took place on 4 December 1986.

The joy I felt when I discovered that a CD recording of that concert, with its superb sound quality, had been released was immense. I consider it a treasure in my life, and a gift from heaven bestowed on me through my deep connection with the Netherlands.

The reason I happened to be in Amsterdam on that day was rather mundane: a colleague from my graduating year had been transferred to London, and my boss had ordered, ‘Higashi, you’re to take over our major client in London,’ so I had come to hand over the reins to him. As he had no interest in classical music, he declined my invitation, so I ended up listening to the concert on my own. It was also a memorable day, marking my ‘graduation’ from Amsterdam. This is that recording.

C)
As many consider this recording to be the pinnacle of the Fifth Symphony, I shall write down what I remember: my seat was to the side of the first violins, from which I could see Mr Jochum conducting from a position slightly above and to my left-front. From the very opening bars, the orchestra’s rich, full-bodied sound was nothing short of divine.

The musicians’ reverence for the conductor and the work was palpable, like an aura; the audience held their breath, and the entire hall was enveloped in an extraordinary atmosphere, as if this were a once-in-a-lifetime encounter. I have never had an experience quite like it.

I believe everyone realised that this marked our farewell to Jochum. From my seat in this hall, I could hear the reverberations coming from the back of the auditorium. It gave a sense of immense space. You may find this hard to believe, but because of that echo, the sound seemed to resonate across a vast universe, creating an indescribable effect in Bruckner’s symphony.

It felt as though some halo or spiritual power emanating from the elderly Mr Jochum, whose movements were now so small, was driving the orchestra. I shall never forget the earth's rumbling in the coda of the final movement, as the tempo slowed. Mr Jochum, finding the floor unstable, paused at the side of the stage to receive the applause, and in response to the unceasing ovation, he performed the fourth movement once more.

D)
From this experience of Bruckner that day, I—who had tended to listen to music in a very microscopic way—was taught for the first time that there is another way of listening, as follows.

‘Listening with body and mind’

E)
Even now, when I listen to modern music, my ears are attuned to the very finest details; yet Bruckner alone stands at the opposite end of the spectrum, and I listen to him whilst feeling the wavelengths and vibrations of the sound with my whole body. It is as if I were in a German forest, or perhaps like the vibrations I might have felt in my mother’s womb.

As for musical theory, I don’t look at scores or try to recreate the music on a synthesiser; I merely play the second movement of his Seventh Symphony on the piano. I don’t have a particular favourite symphony; in every movement he wrote, I uniformly sense the universe and all its phenomena, and if I wish to savour that, any of them will do. In any case, I have had no other composer with whom I have had this sort of relationship.

 

 


F)
It is said that Bruckner continued to revise his scores even after completing them, at the suggestion of his pupils, and that he was indecisive and lacked self-confidence; however, I have a slightly different impression of him. For him, composing a symphony was the ‘embodiment of God and the universe’, and I believe there was no such thing as ‘a single correct answer’ in that process.

Every time he set out to write, a different world appeared before his eyes; each was the correct answer, and yet none was. Therefore, rather than mere revisions, it was a ‘struggle’ to get closer to the correct answer; yet, no matter how many times he struggled, he could not get close enough, and he passed away whilst still working on his Ninth. That is what I believe.

I have been asked which of Bruckner’s symphonies is the best, or whose performance one should listen to, and I have replied, ‘It doesn’t matter which number, nor does it matter who performs it—just listen to a performance that has been properly executed.’ ‘Properly performed’ is difficult to achieve, but many conductors succeed.

You need to immerse yourself in it. This is because Bruckner is not something to be listened to with the mind, but something to be ‘experienced’. When faced with music like this, discussing which theme in which symphony is like this, or how a particular movement under a certain conductor’s baton sounds, is superficial and inappropriate; I do not wish to engage in such discussions.

 

 

 

 

"Symphony No 7" Bruckner
https://sonarmc.com/wordpress/site01/2014/02/25/%e3%83%96%e3%83%ab%e3%83%83%e3%82%af%e3%83%8a%e3%83%bc%e4%ba%a4%e9%9f%bf%e6%9b%b2%e7%ac%ac7%e7%95%aa%e3%83%9b%e9%95%b7%e8%aa%bf/

 

 


Hans Rosbaud "Symphony No 7" Bruckner
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-rmYPtS5pc

 

Bruckner Symphony No.5 - Eugen Jochum / ACO (Live, 1986)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txQewxJBGg0

 

Bruckner "Symphony No 7" Bernard Haitink
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgo0wuZKN_E

 

Bruckner - Symphony No. 9 (Karajan, 1985)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACjxjSsXDBM&list=RDACjxjSsXDBM&start_radio=1

 

Bruckner: Symphony No. 7 Karajan's final concert 1989
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuHKgleEiW8&list=RDiuHKgleEiW8&start_radio=1

 

Bruckner - Symphony No 8 in C minor - Giulini
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xT5kreOhjxU

 

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 4 Karajan /Berliner Philharmoniker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeOpLE0gB7k&list=RDDeOpLE0gB7k&start_radio=1

 

Sibelius: Symphony No. 6 Herbert von Karajan /Berlier Philharmoniker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4bS9TDHl3A&list=RDf4bS9TDHl3A&start_radio=1

 

 

 

 

 

A Terrifying Grudge? Painters Who Plotted Revenge Within Their Own Paintings

A Terrifying Grudge? Painters Who Plotted Revenge Within Their Own Paintings

 


//Summary - Level-C1//
The text explores how famous painters embedded personal revenge in their artworks. Michelangelo portrayed critic Biagio da Cesena as Minos, a foolish figure suffering in Hell, after Cesena condemned the nudity in The Last Judgement. Rembrandt mocked conservative art critics in Satire on Art Criticism, portraying them as foolish and their opinions as worthless. Whistler transformed his unpaid patron Frederick Layland into a grotesque golden peacock in The Golden Scab. Although initially condemned as scandalous, these works were later admired as witty challenges to authority, while the public often enjoyed their humour and dramatic appeal.

 

 

 


1)
Criticism of artists and financial disputes have existed in every era. However, the masters—who wielded brushes rather than pens—have exacted fierce revenge on the canvas against insolent critics and disloyal patrons. Let us look at some of these masters’ intellectual acts of revenge, in which aesthetics, humour, and a fearsome grudge intertwine.

2)
The Master of Ceremonies depicted as the King of Hell: the fierce revenge Michelangelo embedded in that famous painting

Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475–1564), a master of the Italian Renaissance. A genius who left his mark on human history as a sculptor, painter and architect, he was also known for his fiery temperament and refusal to compromise. His vast mural *The Last Judgement*, painted on the altar wall of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican, is considered one of the greatest masterpieces in art history; yet behind this monumental work lies a hidden drama of revenge.

3)
While the work was in progress, Biagio da Cesena, the Pope’s Master of Ceremonies, visited the site to inspect it. Cesena took strong offence that the sacred figures filling the canvas were depicted nude, and fiercely criticised the work, claiming it was unfit for a holy chapel and no more than a decoration for a tavern. Michelangelo, whose pride in sacred art had been deeply wounded, conceived the idea of exacting his revenge within this masterpiece.

4)
Michelangelo added Cesena’s face, exactly as it was, to the entrance to Hell in the lower right-hand corner of the fresco. Nor did he merely cast him into Hell; he depicted him as Minos, the judge of Hell, with donkey’s ears—symbolising folly—and with a giant serpent coiled around his body, biting him in the groin.

5)
Cesena, humiliated in such a way, flew into a rage and pleaded with Pope Paul III to have his face removed from the painting. However, it is said that the Pope jokingly refused, stating that ‘his authority extended only to Heaven and Earth, and he could not rescue anyone from Hell’. As a result of this scathing retaliation, the insolent critic went down in history not as a high-ranking official of the Holy See, but as a fool doomed to be bitten by a serpent in Hell for all eternity.

6)
Mocking the critic with donkey’s ears. A scathing satirical portrait by Rembrandt

Rembrandt van Rijn (1606–1669) was a master painter who epitomised the Golden Age of 17th-century Dutch painting. Although he is renowned for his chiaroscuro technique, which makes dramatic use of the contrast between light and shadow, and for his psychological depictions that delve deep into the human psyche, his style was not always unreservedly praised by the conservative art world of his time.

7)
At the time, the art world favoured Italian-style, idealised paintings with a smooth surface finish; consequently, Rembrandt’s rough brushwork and realistic, raw depictions drew a barrage of callous criticism from narrow-minded critics and self-styled art connoisseurs who knew nothing of the rules. In response to the strong displeasure he felt toward such critics' attitudes, Rembrandt produced the drawing *Satire on Art Criticism*.

8)
At the centre of the composition, an art critic with donkey’s ears—a symbol of folly —is depicted once again. Seated atop a large tub, he is delivering a high-minded lecture with an air of self-importance, addressing a work propped against an easel. However, a closer look at his feet reveals a figure crouching down, depicted in the very act of defecating in response to the critic’s ‘wise’ words and art criticism.

9)
Rembrandt retaliated against self-styled experts—bound by tradition and formality and unwilling to see the essence of his work—with a scathing insult that seemed to equate their criticism with excrement. Rather than responding with words, he mocked the critics through the powerful visual language unique to a painter; this work eloquently testifies to Rembrandt’s rebellious spirit and his unshakeable pride in his own aesthetic.

10)
Transforming a greedy patron into a golden monster: Whistler’s revenge, etched into art history

James McNeill Whistler (1834–1903), an American painter who was active in Britain during the latter half of the 19th century, was a pioneer of aestheticism—the philosophy of ‘art for art’s sake’—and is known for his delicate paintings bearing musical titles. Yet he also sparked numerous controversies because of his uncompromising nature and sharp tongue.

 

 

 


11)
His greatest act of revenge targeted Frederick Layland, a wealthy industrialist and patron of the arts. Layland commissioned Whistler to decorate the Peacock Room, the dining room in his mansion. However, while Whistler poured his heart and soul into creating a sumptuous, magnificent space, Layland claimed it exceeded the scope of the commission. He refused to pay the agreed fee of 2,000 guineas, settling instead for just 1,000 pounds—less than half the sum. At the time, guineas were the currency of choice for transactions between gentlemen, and switching to pounds for payment was considered a grave social insult.

12)
This financial dispute, coupled with excessive construction costs, ultimately drove Whistler into bankruptcy. During the bankruptcy proceedings, creditors visited his studio to inspect his assets; at the head of the group was none other than Rayland himself. Whistler seized this opportunity to exact his revenge by propping up a huge satirical painting, *The Golden Scab: The Eruption of Filthy Riches*, in the most prominent spot in his studio.

13)
The painting depicted Layland,  transformed into a hideous peacock, his entire body covered in a skin of gold coins. In the picture, he was shown perched atop Whistler’s home and studio, wearing a frilled shirt and playing the piano. The title was written on the sheet music placed before him, making it clear what the painting represented, even to those unfamiliar with the title.

14)
Naturally, Rayland was furious and took legal action to prevent the work from entering the public domain by seeking to halt its inclusion in the bankruptcy auction; however, this attempt failed, and a third party ultimately purchased the work. Consequently, the patron’s greed and dishonesty were, just as Whistler had intended, immortalised in art history.

15)
When resentment is accepted through overwhelming talent and wit

How were these intense acts of revenge, staged by the great masters, received at the time? Looking back from two perspectives—that of art historians and critics, and that of the general public and ordinary people—the reactions were contrasting.

16)
Firstly, from the perspective of art historians and contemporary critics, such approaches initially drew fierce criticism, seen as scandalous acts unbecoming of a painter or insolent outbursts that defiled the sanctity of art. This was, of course, to be expected. From a standpoint that placed great importance on traditional rules and decorum, introducing personal grudges or financial disputes into one’s work was seen as utterly unconscionable.

17)
Furthermore, from the perspective of those who were actually the targets of criticism, this would surely have been utterly unacceptable. However, over time, later art historians came to hold these works in high regard, viewing them as the artists’ legitimate assertion of identity in the face of authority and uncomprehending criticism, and as a thrilling critique of the establishment that shattered the conventional wisdom of the age.

18)
On the other hand, the general public and ordinary people have always been more intuitive and favourable. For the common folk, the sight of arrogant figures in power, haughty critics delivering condescending lectures in obscure language, or overbearing patrons being taken down in one fell swoop by the wit and caustic humour of a genius painter was the ultimate form of entertainment. Stories of these dramatic acts of revenge spread as amusing word-of-mouth tales and rumours, while the humour and down-to-earth drama embedded in the works brought this lofty art form closer to the everyday.

19)
No matter how much resentment or irony a work may contain, if it is underpinned by overwhelming artistic talent and a refined wit that elicits an involuntary chuckle, even the most intense act of retaliation will be accepted by the people and by history. It transcends a mere unsightly quarrel and becomes a masterpiece, cherished forever as a treasure of humanity. When standing before a famous painting, why not take a moment to reflect anew on the quiet resentment etched within it and the dignity of the geniuses who transformed it into beauty?

 

 

 

 

A Terrifying Grudge? Painters Who Plotted Revenge Within Their Own Paintings

https://dime.jp/genre/2157141/

 

 

 

 

The ability to adapt one’s thinking whenever faced with a new problem… The ‘essence’ of the Nobel Prize-winning philosopher Bergson

 

The ability to adapt one’s thinking whenever faced with a new problem… The ‘essence’ of the Nobel Prize-winning philosopher Bergson

 

 


//Summary - Level-C1//
Bergson’s philosophy centres on time as a dynamic process of continuous change rather than a fixed framework. Across his four major works, he examines freedom, memory, evolution, and society, adapting his concepts to each subject rather than applying a single theory mechanically. His thought emphasises how resistance generates creativity, how the past shapes the present, and how individuals and societies can transcend established patterns through openness. Ultimately, Bergson argues that genuine philosophical inquiry requires a new intellectual effort whenever we encounter a new problem.

 

1)
You do not yet know the true nature of ‘time’. To everyone living a hectic life, constantly pressed for time by work, family and school… A page-turner that will change your world!

The much-talked-about book *An Introduction to Bergson* explores how we, as people living in the modern world, should engage with time.

2)
The four major works left behind by Bergson:

This book has traced Bergson’s four major works in sequence. Consciousness, the body, life, society—the scope of his inquiry expanded with each chapter, yet this did not simply mean applying the ideas gained at the outset to different domains.

With each change of subject, Bergson’s philosophy itself took on a new form. Every time he encountered a new subject, his concepts flexed, were pushed back, and took on unexpected contours. He reshaped his thinking each time, whilst engaging with the resistance offered by each subject.

3)
The first work, *Essays*, explored the question of freedom. Freedom is not a matter of choosing one option from a pre-arranged set of possibilities. In everyday life, we tend to think of freedom as a choice between ‘A or B’.

However, in that diagram, the form of the options is determined even before the choice is made. The act is placed within a diagram already completed. What Bergson sought to observe was the thickness of time—the time before the diagram was even drawn—from which the act emerges from within.

4)
Even as the superficial self fulfils social roles and habits, the deeper self continues to change slowly. That change, which is not immediately visible, bursts forth at a certain moment as ‘one’s own action’—and no one else’s.

Here, time is not an empty framework measured from the outside. It appears as the depth of maturation—the process by which the self, not yet fully formed, continues to change slowly and, at a certain moment, bears fruit as an action.

5)
In the second volume, *Matter and Memory*, the connection with the past is re-examined. Is the past something that has ended and vanished? Or does it continue to operate behind the present?

Bergson rejects the notion of memory as a repository within the brain. The past remains as a whole, constantly pushing against the door of the present. In response, the body pushes back memories unnecessary for action, admitting only those useful in the moment.

6)
In the space between this push and pull, the mind forms fleeting contours each time. Here, the unfinished duration takes the form of the dynamic movement of memory as a whole, expanding and contracting behind the present.

7)
In the third section, ‘Creative Evolution’, the inquiry turns to biological evolution. Life is not an inexhaustible source of creative energy. Life constantly encounters resistance from matter and takes shape through compromise with that resistance.

Wings, eyeballs, brains. Even organs that now seem self-evident were not, from the outset, merely possibilities lined up in the history of life.

8)
The quest for new forms of life, whilst encountering the constraints of matter, has each time struck a ‘compromise’ and devised one innovative solution after another.

Here, creativity appears not as the power to create form out of nothing, but as the power that gains strength precisely by encountering resistance and, by shaking up time, rewrites the very map of possibilities.

9)
Bergson’s Evolving Thought

In the fourth volume of *The Two Sources*, society takes centre stage. Time is embedded not only in the individual and in life itself, but also in society. Society is not a system people create through consensus. It consists of duties, customs, norms, the prevailing atmosphere, and the pressure to conform.

It is precisely the ruts of behaviour that we tread day by day that shape us as social beings. The weight of these ruts stabilises social norms.

10)
Therefore, for society to be truly opened up, rational persuasion alone is not enough. Beyond the familiar landscape we constantly survey, there lie values that have yet to be named. We need emotions that open people’s eyes to these values and spur them to action from a deeper level.

Here, ‘openness’ refers to the force that resists the power that confines people’s behaviour within established ruts and renders it complete; using the depth of time as a propellant, it pushes us toward exploring values that remain unfinished.

 

 

 

 

11)
Looking back at these four works in this way, it becomes clear that the ‘back-and-forth of scale’, introduced in Chapter One, has run through all the discussions, albeit in varying forms.

In *A Preliminary Essay*, as the relationship between superficial habits and the deeper self.
In *Matter and Memory*, as the relationship between present-day perception and behaviour and the memories underpinning them.
In *Creative Evolution*, as the relationship between individual mutations and adaptations and the grand flow of biological evolution.

And in *The Two Sources*, as the relationship between people’s behaviour and the social order and emotions that underpin it.

Yet at the same time, one is struck by the fact that this same ‘back-and-forth’ resonates with such diverse tones.

12)
Bergson’s philosophy transformed itself into a form appropriate to each subject as the subject changed. He states that the true method of philosophy is one that ‘demands a new effort whenever a new problem is encountered’ (‘Introduction II’, *Thought*).

In questioning freedom, the deep self is discovered; whilst delving into the body and cognition, one arrives at the extraordinary concept of pure memory.

13)
When one delves into the course of life, t reconciliation between élan and matter is required; when one peers into the depths of society, the tension between the force of closure and the emotion of opening comes to the fore. The same idea was not applied to four different contexts. Rather, the same approach took a different form each time.

 

 

 

 

 

The ability to adapt one’s thinking whenever faced with a new problem… The ‘essence’ of the Nobel Prize-winning philosopher Bergson

https://gendai.media/articles/-/169867