“Success is counted sweetest by those who ne’er succeed,
To comprehend a nectar requires sorest need.”
Emily Dickinson, 1859
The poet is undoubtedly right – success is most highly valued by those who seek it and fail. Yet we should not underestimate the importance of success for everyone: those who are waiting their turn in line to make their attempt; those make efforts and fall short; and those who actually reach their goal of becoming successful however they define it.
Success is high on everyone’s list. It is defined in the dictionary in three ways: as “an attainment that is successful;” as “an event that accomplishes its intended purpose;” and a “state of prosperity or fame.” However it is defined, there are problems with it. When we reach what we thought we wanted, we often discover that it is empty and meaningless, leaving us with the bitter taste of ashes in our mouths. And even when it seems we have accomplished something important, the good feelings don’t last. They soon fade, and we before long we are looking for new mountains to climb.
Begin With a Dream, Then Set a Goal
All efforts to achieve success begin with a dream. Yet if success is to become a reality, dreams are ephemeral and insufficient; something tangible must be accomplished. They must be translated into specific goals that can actually be achieved. Unless we can show that we have reached our goal, no claim of success is credible. And even then, for success to mean anything, the goal we reach must be difficult. While it is possible for a person to become accidentally successful, smooth and easy paths to small goals have little value. The more difficult the goal, the greater the honor and recognition that come from reaching it, and the sweeter the feelings that follow.
Many believe that they can only be successful when what they accomplish is as close to perfection as possible. They tend rely upon an “excellence standard:” the better the quality of a poem, the more positive the critical evaluations of a novel, the more impressive a profit/loss statement, or the longer a friendship has continued, then the more substantial is the claim of success. Products, presentations or performances that are full of errors, goofs, falling scenery, loose ends, and uncrossed t’s, do not permit much in the way of claiming success for the authors, actors or performers.
Yet there are times when the excellence of a performance or a product is less important that the story of how the performance came to be. Robert Fulghum’s struggle with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is such a story. Its importance – as well as its wonder – is not about the excellence of the performance itself – two of the three performances were abysmal – nor is it entirely about success since it includes hubris, egotism, and selfishness, at least in the beginning. These are not an auspicious set of qualities to rely upon when making a claim for success. But this case is one in which other criteria than excellence must be included: courage, faith, learning, growing love, and community. Any judgement of Fulghum’s success while conducting Beethoven must take into account these values as well.
Find a Celebrity Conductor
A number of years ago the Minneapolis Chamber Symphony was in serious trouble. Problems abounded and no one seemed to have solutions. Its founding conductor had been fired by the board, key musicians had resigned in protest, the musician’s union and the symphony board were in difficult negotiations to finalize a new contract, and finding a new conductor was proving to be more of a problem than anyone had imagined. In spite of the chaos and turmoil, survival depended upon the symphony staff finalizing plans for the new season and they had to do it without the leadership or support of the new conductor and music director.
Someone on the staff – just who is unknown – must have come up with a great idea: “Why don’t we start the season by bringing in a celebrity who will conduct the first concert? That should get people excited and help sell tickets.” And someone else must have added, “Not long ago I read in Robert Fulgham’s book, “All I Really Need to Know I learned in Kindergarten” that his fantasy was to rent a hall, hire an orchestra, recruit a chorus and conduct the last movement of Beethovon’s Ninth Symphony. Why don’t we invite him to conduct it at the opening concert?” And someone else must have chimed in and said, “What a great idea!”
Fulghum Says Yes
And so it came to pass that Robert Fulghum, author, minister, and home-spun philosopher, but definitely not a musician nor a conductor, received what he called “an astonishing call” from the Minneapolis Chamber Symphony: Would he be interested conducting the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony at the opening concert of the Symphony’s upcoming season? In Maybe, Maybe Not, published in 1993, Fulghum wrote of his surprise: “I assumed that they knew what they were doing or they wouldn not have asked.” And after all, he mused to himself, how difficult would it be to conduct a live orchestra? All that was required was to give the downbeat, wave your arms around in time to the music all the way to the end, then turn to the audience and take a bow. And Beethoven’s Ninth? On many occasions he had conducted it while standing in his living room. “Of course. I could do it.” he told himself. “On behalf of my new self-image as the Legendary Fuljumowski, I accepted.”
When the new symphony conductor was finally appointed, the program for the year was already announced and ticket sales were brisk. When he learned who was to conduct Beethoven on the opening concert of the year, he was appalled. The first thing he did was travel to Seattle to visit the Legendary Fuljumowski.
His first question was if the guest conductor knew how to read an orchestral score. “I don’t read music at all,” Fulghum answered. “Is that really going to be a problem?” This was followed by a long pause in the conversation. At last the new music director and conductor of the Minneapolis Chamber Symphony told him that the Ninth was so difficult that most conductors would not attempt it until they had years of experience; that in the final movement alone, there were at least thirty-one places where the conductor had to stop the orchestra, then start it again in a different tempo; that the Minneapolis Concert Symphony was not actually a symphony at all – there were only 26 regular members – and that for the last movement of the Ninth they would have to bring in another 25 or so temporary musicians, meaning they had never performed together before; that there would also be 100 members of the chorus plus four soloists; and that even though all were professional musicians, few had ever played in a performance of the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth. Finally, the conductor said, “What you want to do is…is…is..so…completely…” Words failed him.
Then Fulghum said “But I really want to do this,” a comment that was followed by another long pause. “Well then,” sighed the real conductor, “we are in deep doodoo, (though to be accurate he used another word to express his despair).
Eventually they negotiated an agreement: Fulghum would work for six months to master the difficulties of the music and if by then he knew he shouldn’t try it, he would become “catastrophically ill” a week before the performance and not show up at all.
A week before the first performance, having decided that, “This was a must. A crazy, unimaginable, no-way-out must,” Fulghum showed up ready – or so he thought – to challenge Beethoven.
Success
They were all there, ready for the first rehearsal: the orchestra, the chorus, the soloists, and the guest conductor. “I stood at the podium,” said Fulghum, “raised my hands, and with crazed confidence, gave a hopeful downbeat.” And to his great surprise, they played! “It wasn’t great – we stumbled and fumbled and lurched along, but we hung together and it was done.” Everyone was stunned, including the real conductor, who was dumbfounded. They had actually played and sung one of the greatest and most difficult pieces of music in the Western Canon, and managed to end together. On the other hand, Fulghum was finished, ready to pack up and go home. Completely spent, the thought of three more rehearsals followed by three performances seemed impossible.
Less Than Successful
But the Legendary Fuljumowski stayed, and somehow made it though the rehearsals and to the opening night performance. It didn’t go well. In Fulghum’s opinion it was neither good, consistent or even competent. Under the influence of a series of adrenaline rushes (this was, after all, the realization of one of his most important life goals), he lost control. “My problem,” he said, “was that every time we came to a change of tempo, I…came in waving my arms at a speed about ten beats faster than normal…We got though the Ninth in record time.” One of the music critics called the performance “crisp.”
A New Perspective
The final performance, a black tie affair, was packed with people who had come to witness the the Legendary Fuljumowski conduct the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Bringing in a celebrity as a guest conductor had worked beyond the staff’s wildest dreams. But there was a problem. A serious one. The Legendary Fuljumowski didn’t think he could do it again. Not only was he drained and exhausted by the the previous two performances, but he had begun to question his motives. Now that he understood what the “Ode to Joy” was really about, how could he possibly do it again? Was satisfying his ego reason enough to stumble though a mediocre performance at best, and a farce at worst. It began to feel to Fulghum that trying it again was an insult to the music, the composer, and to the musicians, many of whom would never again have a chance to be part of one of the great experiences in classical music.
As the lights dimmed in the auditorium, Fulghum rose from his seat in the second row (a gimmick to give the appearance that anyone could lead an orchestra), slowly climbed the stairs to the stage, took his place at the podium, and looked at the waiting members of the orchestra. He paused. No, he thought to himself. I can’t do it.
In that moment of expectant silence, Fulghum turned to the audience and spoke to them of his struggle. He began describing the great YES! that was in this music; how this music had been played all over the world in honor of freedom and human solidarity; about Beethovon’s deafness out of which the music came and how he had never heard it himself. He told them of a wannabe conductor named Fulghum who had jumped at the chance to conduct for all of the wrong reasons. He talked about the members of the orchestra who had put up with him and yet had given their very best to the music. “I can’t dishonor this man or this music or this spirit,” he told the audience. He signaled for the conductor to come to the podium, then turned to the orchestra and told them to give it their all. And then, a rustling behind him caused him to turn. To his surprise, he saw that the audience had stood as one, ready to play their part in the performance.
And what did Fulghum do? He moved to the rear of the stage and joined the chorus. Even though he knew no German, nor had ever sung the music, he sang!
Beethoven Wins!
And then, because Robert Fulghum, celebrity conductor, had come at last to understand that the music and the composer deserved better than he could give them, the orchestra, the audience, the music and the composer got what they deserved: an impassioned, emotional, skillful, exuberant, joyful and heart-felt performance of Beethoven’s” Ode to Joy.”
Here are Fulghum’s words describing the final concert:
“It was the orchestra’s finest night. The musicians were finally united. The chorus and orchestra poured out a mighty sound. For a time, all of us in the hall could believe in the power of the human spirit to overcome evil. Beethoven lived. We lived. Nothing grander could be said or done at that moment in our lives. At the end…people cheered their lungs out, pounded their hands together, hugged each other, threw flowers and wept. What a night – what a world – what a life! YES!”
Pursuit of Happiness, Pursuit of Success
The words most often quoted from The Declaration of Independence – arguably the most important of Ameria’s founding documents – are these: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Since it was first published in 1776, the phrase “All men are created equal” has become for many the central belief that sets America apart from all other nations. And also during those years much has been made of the word “pursuit.” We can not expect happiness to come to us willy-nilly without effort; we must pursue it.
The same is usually true of success. If we wait passively for it to put in an appearance, we will be disappointed. Usually, we must put on our shoes, get up out of chair, open the door and go after it until we catch it. And even then, no matter the effort or sacrifice, many are never able to realize their dreams of success.
“They Also Serve…”
What then are we to make of Robert Fulghum’s misguided efforts to fulfill his dream of conducting Beethoven’s Ninth and then ending up, if not with complete failure, then with an event of resounding mediocracy? One conclusion worth remembering is that Fulghum began his term as conductor with a serious flaw: It was all about him. He forgot that there were others involved – the orchestra, the chorus, the soloists, and especially the composer. All were as much a part of the performance of Beethoven’s stirring and sublime music as was Fulghum.
And what of his next decision to turn away from the honor and the glory that could come from conducting the last performance? The answer to this question turns the traditional view of how to be successful on its head. When the Legendary Fuljumowski became aware that he was the obstacle standing in the way of reaching the success he had dreamed of; when he decided to stop pursuing success as he defined it and remembered that there were hundreds on the stage and thousands in the hall who were just as interested as he was in being part of a successful performance; when he was able to put aside his ego and understand at last that the music was greater than any human desire to be recognized for conducting it; and when he was able to step aside and let others do what they could do and what he could not, it became possible for something extraordinary to happen. And it was then that Robert Fulghum experienced the success that he had so assiduously sought.
There is a moral to this story: When we are involved in a collective effort – a symphony performance, an athletic competition, an executive team in a large organization, a search for excellence in our community – it is not possible for one person’s definition of success to reign. When it does, plan for failure.
“…Who Only Stand and Wait”
John Milton’s Sonnet 19, “When I consider how my light is spent,” is among his most personal. He has lost his sight,and because of his blindness, is overcome with worry that he will be unable to find a way to serve his Maker.
“Patience… soon replies,” he writes, and sets him straight:
“God doth not need…that man’s work or his own gifts…
Thousands at his bidding speed…
post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
What was Robert Fulghum’s most important contribution to the success of the performances of “Ode to Joy?” Not when he was at the podium pursuing it by waving his arms around with little understanding or appreciation of what he was doing.
It was when he gave up the podium, moved to the back of the stage, and joined the choir.
“They also serve who only stand and wait,” wrote John Milton. And while they are standing and waiting, if they can also join in the singing, so much the better.