TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/011392/0113440.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.5 KB | 121 lines

                                                                                MUSIC, Page 57

The Case of Wagner -- Again


Israelis still protest the issues of his anti-Semitism and Nazi
overtones, but his works live on and should be heard

By MICHAEL WALSH


    What is it about Richard Wagner that so ignites the
passions? Since the mid-19th century, the man, his mind and his
music have been among Western culture's brightest flames, firing
the imagination and illuminating the inner reaches of the human
spirit. Yet his intellect had a destructive side as well: a
deep-rooted, Germanic hostility to the Mediterranean
wellsprings of European culture and in particular to the Jews.
"Wagner is one of the most complex phenomena in the history of
art and intellect, and one of the most fascinating," wrote
Thomas Mann in 1940, "because he offers the most profound
challenge to one's conscience."

    The latest confrontation with that challenge came late
last month in Israel when conductor Daniel Barenboim proposed
to defy an unwritten ban on Wagner's works by performing
excerpts from two operas at a special, nonsubscription concert
with the Israel Philharmonic. The idea met with such fervid
opposition that it has had to be at least temporarily abandoned.
The reason had little to do with the music and a lot to do with
the composer and the anti-Semitic intellectual company he kept,
both while he was alive and after his death: Father Jahn, Count
Gobineau, Houston Stewart Chamberlain, Alfred Rosenberg and
Adolf Hitler.

    Wagner was, in every sense, a man of his century. Besides
being a composer, librettist and conductor, he was a tireless
writer and proselytizer on subjects as disparate as
revolutionary politics, vivisection and racialism. The little
man from Leipzig was one of the leading anti-Semitic theorists
of his day, venting his views in such pamphlets as Jewry in
Music and Heroism and Christianity. Like other prominent
anti-Semites, Wagner blamed the Jews for most of society's (and
his own) ills and offered a solution. "Bear in mind," he
exhorted Jews, "that there is but one redemption from the curse
weighing upon you: self-destruction."

    Fighting words in any language. Still, Wagner should not
be blamed for Hitler's final solution, even though it is true
that the Fuhrer -- who saw himself as a Siegfried-like
embodiment of the Wagnerian Teutonic ideal -- was lionized
annually at the Bayreuth festival and Wagner's music sometimes
sounded in the death camps. That says more about Hitler than
Wagner -- who had by then been dead for a half-century and was
not responsible for the misuse of his works by the Nazis.

    When Barenboim (an Israeli citizen born in Argentina)
announced his plans, the most immediate outcry rose from a small
but vocal minority of Jews for whom the names of Wagner and
Hitler are inextricably linked. "Like it or not, Wagner is a
symbol of Nazism, as sure as the swastika is," said Avram
Melamed, a violinist with the Israel Philharmonic. Commented
Barenboim at a post-cancellation press conference: "I can't help
feeling that there are a lot of people in Israel who still think
Wagner lived in Berlin in 1942 and was a personal friend of
Hitler's. We have to understand those who make deep and horrible
associations with Wagner, but no one has the right to prevent
us."

    And yet he was prevented. The episode does not speak well
for Israeli claims of tolerance and democracy. A decade ago,
Zubin Mehta, the Israel Philharmonic's music director, tried to
perform a Wagner piece as an encore, but the music was shouted
down by members of the audience. At that time, a poll of
Philharmonic subscribers indicated that 86% wanted to hear
Wagner. Just prior to the abortive Barenboim concert, the
Philharmonic musicians voted 39 to 12, with nine abstentions,
to break the ban.

    Every major orchestra in the world performs Wagner,
without whom nearly the entire history of 20th century music is
incomprehensible, including the works of such great Jewish
composers as Mahler and Schoenberg. Neither Mahler nor
Schoenberg could be performed in Nazi Germany solely because
they were Jews; should Wagner suffer, in principle, the same
fate?

    It is not as if Wagner cannot be heard in Israel; the
Symphony of Rishon Lezion, a Tel Aviv suburb, violated the taboo
two years ago, to little or no outcry. And it is not as if the
Nazis didn't turn the works of other composers, such as
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony and Liszt's Les Preludes, into
political totems as well. Yet Wagner's unique resonance
continues to sound, louder and more forcefully than that of the
others.

    Ultimately, the problem will solve itself. Israel's
burgeoning Sephardic population and the recent immigrants from
the former Soviet Union are transforming Israeli society, while
the number of camp survivors grows fewer each year. The grieving
memories, of course, will persist. But some day soon, the Israel
Philharmonic will join the community of orchestras and play The
Ride of the Valkyries.

    Still, the Case of Wagner (as Nietzsche dubbed it) remains
open. We continue to honor the music -- its power and majesty
-- even as we abhor aspects of the man. These aspects, however,
are as dead as Wagner, buried with him behind Haus Wahnfried in
Bayreuth. It is the music that lives on. The whole world
realizes this. The Israelis should too. They should see that the
flame that still burns so brightly gives out light, not heat.