Introduction
“God is love” (1 John 4:8)
Love is something that is present from the beginning of our existence. This is not only because we come from love, being created by God, and “God is love”, but because it is something that is also imprinted in our hearts. Man is called to love and to be loved.
The person always seeks to communicate all that is within him: joy, sadness, hope, fear, and not least, if not the most important, Love. Expressions of love can be as simple as a single word, a smile, a caress; or more complex such as a poem, a story, etc. But many times words are not enough to express all that love involves in our lives, or we find that words can be imprecise.
For this reason, I want to consider a language that expresses Love, and I am talking about music. Music is something that touches deep parts of our brain and makes a deep connection with our memories and feelings. I want to make a special emphasis on symphonic music, where the instruments – from the delicacy of the strings to the power of the brass and the subtlety of the winds – create soundscapes that evoke rapturous passions, subtle nostalgia and ineffable longings. Carefully structured works of music act as an emotional canvas that captures the complexities of the heart, resonating with the individual on a visceral level and allowing the soul to express itself with unparalleled authenticity and grandeur.
Jean Sibelius, a great Finnish composer, is no slouch on this theme. From the depth of his experiences, in the way he sees the world and loves people, he not only explores love, but takes this process to something transcendental. To the love of God, the love from which we come and to which we return. This is something I can appreciate well in his Symphony No. 2.
Love
When we talk about love, we do not realize that it is something that is often difficult to explain, or we can consider a mystery that transcends words. In the same sense, it is something that has captivated philosophers, theologians, poets, religious and musicians like.
We can start by defining love as a dynamic and creative force that crosses the boundary between humanity and the divine; weaving a bridge between earthly desire and transcendent surrender. It is a desire that is not satisfied with the superficial, but seeks the ultimate good of the other, a surrender that finds its fullness in a possession self and on self-giving.
Even the experiences of love involve various moments of our existence such as: the tenderness of a mother who watches over her child; the loyalty of a friend who accompanies us in adversity; the fire of lovers who seek each other in the union of their souls and bodies, or the experience of a consecrated soul that finds its fullness in Christ. All these experiences of love are not something isolated but rather speak to us of a deeper reality, which is more or less touched upon in the latter. In Catholicism this reality is based on a statement by one of the apostles: “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God in him” (1 John 4:16). From this, love is not only something human, but it touches the fibers of eternity; it is a reflection of the Trinitarian relationship where the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit give themselves to each other in perfect communion.
We can easily touch the difference of love described as the “dark fire” by St. John of the Cross, which burns and purifies, or the “living without living in me” that Teresa of Avila portrays as the longing to melt into the beloved. In short, love is the primordial force that drives one’s being towards union with the other in a search for his happiness and good; a mystery that embraces the sensible and the spiritual, the finite and the infinite. This bring us to a general definition, but for this Capstone, I will go deeper and define some of its varieties.
The Varieties of Love: Eros, Filia and Agape
A great legacy of the Greeks is the division of love into three fundamental points – eros, filia, and agape – which Christianity adopted and transformed, giving the a deeper dignity in light of divine revelation. Something interesting about this Christian conception of love is that they complement each other, and together they give an integral vision of love and its process, leading it from human longing to divine surrender. These three types of love are the facets of the process of love; from something merely material to something spiritual.
Eros: Love as Desire and Longing
Eros is passionate love, the impulse that arises from desire and is directed toward beauty, union, and fulfillment. In a simple way, we can understand it as an instinctive attraction, often in search of satisfying a personal need. Pope Benedict XVI, in his encyclical Deus Caritas Est, speaks of this dimension of love, but against a reduction to a merely physical impulse: “Eros tends to raise us ‘in ecstasy’ towards the divine, to take us beyond ourselves; but precisely for this reason it requires a path of asceticism, of renunciation, of purification and healing”[1]. This process of purification transforms eros from a selfish impulse into a yearning that points toward the eternal; a love that seeks not only to receive but also to elevate itself.
To complement this vision, John Paul II, in his Theology of the Body, emphasizes that eros, when lived in the context of human dignity, becomes a gift: “Human love, at its root, is an affirmation of the unrepeatable value of the person” [2]. John Paul II shows us that eros is not simply a blind instinct, but a force which, when enlightened by the truth of the human being created in the image of God, is transformed into an experience of self-giving. He even adds later in one of his catecheses that the human body, in its masculinity and femininity, has a “nuptial meaning” that reveals love as an act of mutual self-giving: “Man becomes a gift to the extent that he discovers the gift of the other and gives himself to him.” [3]. The root of this biblical idea comes from Genesis 2:18: “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” In this verse we can perceive eros in its original form before sin; it was a pure attraction that sought communion, not possession, and that first attraction that leads to deep union.
Something that we often do not think about is that this love of Eros is connected to redemption: “Human love, in its spousal dimension, is called to be a sign of the love of Christ for the Church, a love that gives itself to the extreme”[4]. In this sense, eros is not an end in itself, but the beginning of a journey, through purification, that can reflect the divine agape. Even John Paul II emphasizes that “the human heart must be educated to love authentically, to pass from desire to self-giving, from ‘eros’ to ‘gift’”[5]. But the education for this kind of love implies overcoming selfishness due to original sin and restoring its orientation towards the good of the other; not seeking one’s own good, which the people are building together. When eros achieves its redemption, it passes from being rejected for a supposed superficiality and becomes a sacred point of departure which, when lived in the context of God’s plan, opens up to deeper dimensions of reciprocity and sacrifice.
Scripture illustrates this aspect of eros in the Song of Songs, a poetic book that recounts the love between two lovers with an almost tangible intensity: “Arise, my beloved, my fair one, and come……My beloved is mine, and I am his” (Song 2:10, 16). In these words there is deeper symbolism, they are a metaphor of God’s love for his people; a divine eros that transcends the physical because of the intensity of these lines, an urgent call of the beloved and the possessive response of the beloved which manifests in marital union, a reflection of human desire that seeks to be completed in the other, likewise captures the reciprocity of divine love, a theme that shows the love of Christ for the Church and how He gave Himself for her. Psalm 42:1 adds a spiritual dimension: “As the hart panteth for the streams of waters, so my soul crieth after thee, O God,” showing that man’s most human longing, in its purest form, is a longing of the soul for its Creator.
Filia: The Love of Friendship and Reciprocity
Filia is considered the love of friendship, a bond based on closeness, respect, and reciprocity. Unlike eros, which may begin with admiration, the love of filia requires an ongoing mutual relationship; an encounter between equals who enrich each other. Benedict XVI describes filia as an essential dimension of human love that complements eros: “Love is not simply a feeling; it includes a relationship of friendship, of trust, which gives stability and depth”[6]. John Paul II emphasizes this idea of filia when he presents it as something that arises when eros is humanized and oriented towards communion: “True love is a gift of self which finds its fullness in communion, in that reciprocal self-giving which respects the freedom and uniqueness of the person”[7]. This love does not seek to possess, but rather to share, and is strengthened by loyalty and mutual support. It is love manifested, for example, between a brother or a very close friend.
This love of filia is something that has remained in the heart of man from his beginnings. In the Old testament we hear where Proverbs 17:17 says: “A friend loves at all times, and is as a brother in time of trouble,” highlighting not only the constancy of true friendship but also its solidary character and its strength to support the other in adversity; becoming an almost familial bond that transcends circumstances. This specific passage speaks of filia not as a passing affection, but rather as a lifelong commitment that endures and is tested in the darkest moments.
A classic example of filial love is found in the Gospel of John 11:35-36, where Jesus’ friendship with Lazarus is manifested in a profoundly human gesture: “Jesus wept. Then said the Jews, See how he loved him.” Here, filia is revealed as a love that does not remain indifferent but is moved to tears; accompanying His friend in pain and showing an empathy that transcends words. There is not only an intensity in the relationship between Jesus and Lazarus but also friendship on a sacred level, as a reflection of the divine capacity to love with tenderness and closeness.
And this theme is also touched upon in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, where in this idea deepens by connecting friendship with the theological virtue of charity. Article Number 1822 states: “Charity is the theological virtue by which we love God above all things and our neighbor as ourselves for love of God.”[8] . Filia is a concrete expression of fraternal love, a reflection of the charity that unites human beings in a bond of gratuitousness and mutual care. Thus, friendship is not a mere sentiment, but a participation in divine love, which finds its origin and its end in God. In this way, filia becomes a path of sanctification, a means by which man, in loving his neighbor, approaches the very heart of the Trinity, which is communion and eternal love.
Agape: Love as Surrender and Sacrifice
Now it is time to focus on a kind of climax of love, which is called Agape. Agape is a selfless love, one that gives without expecting anything in return, prioritizing the good of the other over one’s own. It is the culmination of human love elevated by grace: “Love becomes ‘agape’ when it is given without seeking anything in return, when it becomes a gift, reflecting the love of God who gives himself fully”[9]. On a deeper level, this love is a reflection of Christian redemption; a profound bond that unites people not only among themselves, but also with God. It is an authentic form of love which gives itself to the extreme, like Christ, who shows us the way of the cross as the supreme expression of love.
This love is not based on attraction but on the will to love even in the face of rejection or suffering. Here in lies one of the keys to love: to love no matter how hard it may be, or all that it entails, since one seeks to love a person for what he or she truly is, leaving aside his or her imperfections, and the only thing that matters is the core. This is the essence of love, in seeking the good for the other. But there is something key, this requires a renunciation of self, a dying to one’s own aspirations, so that the other person takes the center of your life. For this reason agape is the purest love; it is the love of Christ, who not only was able to love, but who loved to the extreme, and was able to give His life.
The Bible is a place full of examples of agape, that selfless, sacrificial and self-giving love that transcends all human measure and reveals the very heart of God. One of the most emblematic passages is John 3:16, which proclaims with breathtaking clarity, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” This verse captures the essence of this divine agape, love as a supreme act of sacrificial love: by a God who spares nothing, not even his own Son, to rescue humanity from the abyss of sin and death. It is a love that seeks no reward, but is freely offered, moved by the will to give eternal life to those who receive it in faith. This foundational gesture establishes agape as the essence of the relationship between God and man, a love that not only saves, but redefines the very meaning of existence.
This self-giving love becomes even more intimate and personal through the words of Jesus in John 15:13: “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” Here, agape ceases to be an abstract idea and becomes embodied in a profoundly human and, at the same time, divine statement. Jesus not only describes this love, but lives it fully, bringing it to its fulfillment on the cross. His crucifixion is the living testimony of these words: an act of total self-giving in which the Son of God offers himself not for a distant ideal, but for his friends, for those whom he has called to share his life and mission. This sacrifice transcends filia – the love of friendship – and elevates it to the realm of agape, showing that true love does not stop at suffering, or calculate the cost, but gives itself to the extreme.
Love as a Process
The Song of Songs reflects love as a process somewhat when it begins from passionate eros: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for better are thy loves than wine” (Song 1:2), but culminates in an eternal commitment: “Strong as death is love; hard as Sheol is jealousy; its coals, coals of fire” (Song 8:6). This evolution is completed in passages such as Hosea 2:19-20: “I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness and justice, in mercy and compassion,” where human love is elevated to a divine alliance, where there is a maturation of eros that culminates in agape that transcends the temporal.
This narrative is even reinforce by touching on St. Augustine, in his Confessions, where he sees love as a longing that finds its rest in God: “You have made us, Lord, for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you”[10], suggesting that eros, that merely human and superficial attraction is the beginning of a journey towards agape, a deep and transcendent death that fills all the fibers of our existence. St. John of the Cross, in his Spiritual Canticle, describes this process as a purifying fire: “O flame of living love, which tenderly wounds my soul in its deepest center! […] How could you not be consumed?.”[11]This is a love that burns away the impurities of desire to reveal total surrender, a fire that purifies and does not destroy. When there is true love, as was stated above, the person is loved for who he is; for his essence as a person, despite all the imperfections, for the same love will heal them and help to fix them. In the same way is the love of Christ, He does not focus on your sins, He loves you for what you are, and as time goes by He will clean the sin that surrounds you. This is a clear example of the purest love
The process of love, as understood by the authors of Romanticism in the 19th century, gives us a secular parallel, expressed not only in symphonic music, but also in literature and art. In music, composers such as Beethoven, Schubert and Wagner elevated love to a transcendent ideal, using the language of music to express it: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 culminates in the well-known “Ode to Joy,” a song of brotherhood that transcends from eros into universal love; while Schubert’s works, such as “Gretchen am Spinnrade”, captures the intensity of unrequited desire with an emotional depth that verges on the spiritual. Jean Sibelius, a late heir to this tradition, took this process of love to new heights in works such as his Symphony No. 2 , where the initial longing evolves into a majestic resolution, opening a door to deeper explorations of the connection between the human and the divine.[12] In literature, poets such as Percy Bysshe Shelley, in Prometheus Unbound, exalts a type of love that liberates and transcends: “Love, which is the life of the soul, never dies” [13] a symbol of the romantic longing for the infinite that reflects a heightened love for something greater. These artists and writers, contemporary with the rise of symphony music, present love as a bridge between the earthly and the eternal, a process that, although often only human, shares with the Christian vision the idea of transforming desire into a nobler surrender.
At this point, I will propose a universal definition for love as a process in man: love is the force that moves the human being towards union, communion, and self-giving, beginning in desire (eros), maturing in reciprocity (filia) and culminating in sacrificial gift (agape). It is a dynamic force that reflects the image of God, who loves first and unconditionally, and who invites man to participate in that same self-giving. This definition is not limited to romantic love, although it includes it as a valid expression of eros that can rise to something greater, as the Romantics dreamed. Rather, it embraces all forms of love-conjugal, fraternal, filial, divine-as manifestations of a unique reality that finds its fullness in the cross of Christ, where agape is revealed as “the perfect bond” (Colossians 3:14).
It is good to remember that this process of love is like a path that encompasses the initial passion, the struggle for self-giving, and the final transcendence. In resonance with the theological vision of Benedict XVI: “Eros and agape are not opposed to each other, but are mutually necessary; eros, purified, opens itself to agape”[14]. John Paul II reaffirms this idea when he says, “human love, in its spousal dimension, is called to be a sign of Christ’s love for the Church”[15].
The view of Sibelius is this. In the climax of his Symphony No. 2, where we are presented with a triumph that is not selfish. It is a celebration of a love that extends to the other and beyond; “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7).
Humility and Nature: Sibelius’ Spiritual Purification
This process of love also embraces humility, a virtue that finds in nature a symbol of purity and transcendence. For Jean Sibelius, nature, a theme that he portrayed in his music, was not only an aesthetic setting, but an excuse to express the spiritual and a means of personal purification, a recurring theme in his life and work. In his diary, Sibelius wrote on April 20, 1915: “Nature speaks to me like a divine voice; in its sounds I find the truth of my soul”[16]. This connection with nature intensified after his trip to Italy in 1901, just before composing Symphony No. 2, when he noted, “Here, between the hills and the sea, I feel a cleansing of the spirit, a renewal that brings me closer to the eternal”[17]. The reason for touching on this theme is that for Sibelius, nature was a mirror of his inner struggle and a path to personal redemption, a process that imbued his music with a spiritualized romantic love. In that nature he found the calm his soul longed for.
In his symphony, nature acts as a vehicle for this purified love. Sibelius puts a pastoral character and fresh motifs in his work, which evokes a symbolic garden, which we can consider as an inner garden, reflecting the initial love what it is in its purest state, and before trials. Sibelius, influenced by Finnish landscapes and Italian luminosity, uses this atmosphere to suggest a connection with the essential, an echo of “Arise, my beloved, my fair one, and come with me” (Song 2:10) his music takes us to that moment of intimacy, also lived in paradise, before Original Sin. Biographer Erik Tawaststjerna notes that “Sibelius saw nature as a purifying force, a way to shed the chaos of his life”[18], This purification is intensifying where dissonances and somber tones in the symphony reflect Sibelius’ inner storms-his “dark night,” like that of St. John of the Cross.[19], Before reaching a climax with the bass and trumpet protagonists. His music transcends the personal struggle into a spiritual exaltation, culminating in an agape that unites the human and the divine.
Sibelius, in his diary, reveals how this process of love was intertwined with his life. In 1902, during the composition of the symphony, he wrote: “My music is my confession; in it I express the love I feel for Aino (his wife) and for something greater that I cannot name”[20]. This “something greater” may be a reference to God, which Sibelius channeled through nature as a purification of his earthly surrender, an expression of his love for Aino, that becomes a transcendent gift. This love is a whisper that transcends time and space. For Sibelius, nature is not just a symbol, but a means of purification that reflects the process of romantic love towards the eternal. I dare at this point to say, that in the creation it speaks to us of its creator, as God’s creatures, nature leads us to God. It is an echo of “Thou hast made us, O Lord, for Thyself”[21]. From God we go out and to him we return. And Sibelius, in this search for pure happiness, fullness, and peace of the soul, makes of this nature a way back to the Origin.
The Narrative Power of Symphonic Music and its Expression of Feelings
Having now proposed a definition for love and how it processes in man, it is time to explore how this experience can be communicated beyond merely verbal language. Symphonic music, with its unique ability to evoke emotions and even states of the soul without resorting to words, is a great narrative instrument for love. Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), in his book The World as Will and Representation, presents music as something superior to the other arts by stating that “it does not represent ideas but the will itself” and that “the composer reveals the innermost essence of the world and expresses the deepest wisdom in a language that his reason does not understand” [22]. The composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein places a similar emphasis in The Joy of Music when he describes music as an art that “has no literal meaning, but has absolute emotional meaning” [23]. This is a good starting point for exploring symphonic music’s narrative power, its ability to capture the ineffable movements of the heart, from joy to sorrow, from longing to transcendence-in a way that transcends the limitations of rational discourse.
Symphonic Music as a Language of the Will
Symphonic music, which began to take shape as a genre in the 18th century with the works of composers such as Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, established itself as a unique expressive medium thanks to its ability to articulate what words cannot. Music is not only a representation of external phenomena (as are painting or poetry), but a direct manifestation of being, the primordial impulse that underlies all existence:
“Music is in no way, like the other arts, the copy of ideas but the copy of the will itself whose objectivity is also ideas: that is why the effect of music is much more powerful and penetrating than that of the other arts: for these only speak of the shadow, it of being”[24].
From a metaphysical point of view, the will is the blind and irrational force that drives life, manifesting itself in desires, emotions and conflicts; music, reflecting this will without conceptual mediation, becomes a universal language that transcends the barriers of the intellect, reaching the educated as well as the uneducated.
This language of the will is structured through the fundamental elements of symphonic music: harmony, melody and rhythm. Schopenhauer makes a rather interesting analogy between these elements of music and the levels of being:
“In the lowest notes […] I recognize the lower degrees of objectification of the will: inorganic nature, the mass of the planet; […] the fundamental bass is also for us the lowest note, not susceptible of any further deepening…. the melody, which wanders freely in the highest tones, expresses the conscious life of man, his will illuminated by knowledge”.[25]
Between these two extremes, harmonies represent the intermediate degrees of the will, such as human emotions and aspirations seeking balance between the instinctive and the rational. This sound hierarchy creates a “symphony of nature,” an aural reflection of the totality of the world, from the material to the spiritual.
Bernstein expands on this vision by exploring how symphonic music communicates emotions without the need for an explicit narrative: “Music cannot say ‘this chair is made of wood,’ but it can say ‘I feel melancholy’ or ‘I am exultant’”[26]. For Bernstein, this power lies in music’s “emotional syntax” (tension and resolution, expectation and fulfillment), which mimics the rhythms of inner life: “Every measure of music has emotional meaning because it is built on a system of questions and answers that resonate with our human experience”[27]. In this way the movements of the soul can be translated into sound: “Just as the rapid transit from desire to satisfaction and from this to new desire constitutes happiness and well-being, so nimble melodies without great deviations are joyful: slow ones that fall into painful dissonances and return to the tonic only over many bars are sad, in analogy with delayed and hindered satisfaction”[28]. For example, a perfect cadence in a major key may evoke fulfillment, while a prolonged dissonance or unexpected modulation reflects conflict or longing, emotions that the will experiences in its struggle to assert itself.
Historically, symphonic music acquired this expressive capacity through the evolution of the orchestra and musical forms. In the classical era, Haydn and Mozart established the symphony as an ordered structure (generally in four movements: fast, slow, dance, fast) that balanced form and content. However, already at this stage, music was showing its potential to evoke emotions. For example, Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G minor (1788) uses a restless opening motif and key changes that suggest anxiety and melancholy, and this is an explicit example of this form of narration. This is a nascent moment in symphonic music, where it tells its most secret story, paints every impulse, every breath, every movement of the man. Bernstein also emphasizes how even in classical simplicity there is a germ of expression: “Mozart’s music has a clarity that is deceptive; beneath that surface is a whirlwind of feeling that speaks directly to us”[29].
The symphony, with its increasing diversity of instruments, amplifies this narrative language. The brass section could proclaim power or victory, strings could sigh with tenderness or roar with intensity, and winds could evoke the pastoral or the ethereal. These types of sounds allowed composers to create dynamic contrasts that Schopenhauer compares to the fluctuations of the will: “The delay in the new movement of the will, the languor, could only be expressed by holding the tonic, which would produce an unbearable effect”[30]. This alternation between tension and resolution-like a crescendo culminating in a forte or a diminuendo fading into silence-offers an emotional narrative similar to a moment of breath. This musical language does not rely on words, but on the immediate experience of sound, making it universal and accessible to any listener, regardless of cultural or linguistic context.
In the romantic era, the limitations of the arts passed into the background, because it was now possible to embody these inner movements of the soul. Plato had already intuited this quality when he wrote that music is “melodianum motus, animi affectus imitans” (the movements of melody imitate the affections of the soul) (Laws, Book VII), while Aristotle asked: “Cur numeri musici et modi, qui voces sunt, moribus similes sese exhibent? “ (Why do musical rhythms and modes, which are sounds, resemble states of character?)[31]. Schopenhauer answers that “music acts directly on the will, that is, on the feelings, passions and affections of the listener”[32]. Music is the art closest to life because it needs no translation; it strikes us in the heart before the mind can intervene[33]. Thus, symphonic music becomes a mirror of the human will, capable of narrating its joys, struggles and longings with an immediacy that prepares the ground for its expressive apogee in Romanticism.
The Romantic Rise and the Expression of Feelings
Romanticism transformed symphonic music into a narrative vehicle for extreme emotions, expanding its forms and textures to reflect the complexity of the human spirit. Composers broke with classical symmetry to explore inner stories of passion, conflict and redemption. Beethoven, in his Symphony No. 3 “Eroica” (1804), uses dynamic contrasts and extended thematic developments to narrate a journey from struggle to triumph, an echo of emotional heroism that leads to an explosion of energy that transcends the merely technical. Schubert, in his Symphony No. 8 “Incomplete” (1822), evokes melancholy and longing with melodies suspended as a kind of intimate conversation of the soul with itself, a reflection of eros in its most introspective state. Berlioz, in the Symphonie Fantastique (1830), introduces an explicit program of obsessive love and despair, using leitmotifs that Bernstein praised as “a psychological drama in sounds”[34].
In short, Romantic symphonic music became a universal language of feeling. The music does not express this or that particular and determined joy, this or that affliction, pain, fright, joy, amusement, or repose, but joy, affliction, pain, fright, amusement, and repose itself; yet all in an abstract way. We can consider this abstraction when music does not need to tell a specific story; its power lies in making us feel the story without knowing exactly what it is about. This quality is amplified in the symphony orchestra, whose timbral form, from the deep basses of the double basses to the ethereal trebles of the violins, allows the creation of complex emotional landscapes. Prolonged dissonances evoke tension or pain, harmonic resolutions suggest peace or fulfillment, and crescendos narrate emotional ascents, and it is here that it can arguably express the process of Love.
Sibelius’ Symphony No. 2 as an Exemplar
In the context of this musical tradition, Jean Sibelius’ Symphony No. 2 in D major (1902) stands out as an exemplar of the narrative power of symphonic music to express feelings. Composed in the twilight of Romanticism, the work inherits the emotional intensity of its predecessors while introducing a more sensitive and contemplative approach (in contrast to more rigid or mechanical approaches), influenced by his emotional connection with nature from his life in Finland. Sibelius employs thematic developments and transitions of tones, thus avoiding monotony and being able to narrate an emotional arc. This Symphony is an emotional work that takes us from restlessness to purification without the need for words, highlighting how its resolution in D major embodies a feeling of fullness.
Something to highlight is the narrative power of symphonic music that lies not only in its capacity to evoke emotions but also in its potential to reflect the process of love. This is what Bernestein call “the art of saying the unsayable”[35].
Analysis of Sibelius’ Symphony No. 2
Now it is time to delve a little deeper into this great work by Jean Sibelius, appreciating how the symphony not only narrates the process of human love, but elevates it to a divine dimension, reflecting the love of Christ who “gave himself for us” (Ephesians 5:2). Human love is called to be a sign of Christ’s love, because that love comes from him[36]. The Catechism of the Catholic Church adds: “Charity is the theological virtue that unites us to God”[37], and Gaudium et Spes proclaims: “Christ reveals to man his vocation to transcendence”[38]; this is a vocation to which we are all called, a vocation that is love. Sibelius, in his work, traces a spiritual arc, culminating in a climax that embodies the transcendence of Christ’s love, and in this sense I dare to compare it again with what he says in his diary: “My music is my confession; in it I express the love I feel for Aino and for something greater”[39].
First Movement (Allegretto): The search for a Divine Love
The first movement begins the Symphony with a pastoral atmosphere that transcends mere human romantic love to evoke a deep desire, a desire that points toward the eternal. It opens in a D major with a main theme in the strings section having a rising tone; a serene melody that Robert Layton describes as “a song of nature breathing vitality”[40]. This motif is inspired primarily by Finnish landscapes and the Italian light that Sibelius experienced in 1901: “The light here fills me with life; it is like a love that begins.”[41]It resonates with the Song of Songs: “My beloved is mine, and I am his” (2:16), a prelude to the spousal love between Christ and the Church. It is the experience of what is known in literature as pastoral love; a love that has a simple beginning, but becomes more noble.
Something interesting to note is that in one part of the melody, there is a kind of courtship. This is a tug of war between the strings and the wind instruments. After a while, one can also perceive a desperate search for something important. It is a search that cries out from the depths of the heart, as if the main character (embodied in a kind of leitmotif) is trying to find something. There are obstacles and dissonances that intermingle with the beautiful melody of violins, oboe, and flutes (which I interpret as love). There are moments of triumphant intonation by the basses. There are also moments of tranquility embodied by the oboes.
The melodic fragments that emerge in the winds suggest a spiritual quest, an echo of the psalmist “As the hart searches through the streams of waters, so my soul cries out to you, O God” (Psalm 42:1). It is a melody that expresses man’s conscious life and at the same time lifts him toward something sacred. The horns add a touch of reverence, as if human love is opening up to the divine. It is an experience for which I find reverence in The Catechism, where it describes this longing: “The human heart is made for God”[42] and I shall also dare to agree that every human being is called to Love and be Loved.. We can think of this movement as showing the process of love as a reflection of God’s creative love; a pure beginning that prefigures his transcendence.
Second Movement (Andante ma rubato): The Cross of Love
The second movement immerses the listener in a dimension of struggle and sacrifice, a musical reflection of the cross that transforms human love into divine love. It opens in D minor with a low pizzicato in the double basses, followed by a somber theme in bassoon and cellos, evoking the darkness of Gethsemane: “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me” (Luke 22:42). This tension resonates with Sibelius’s life crisis of 1902: “My soul is full of shadows; only in music do I find light”[43]. Dissonances in several measures and abrupt modulations create an atmosphere of spiritual conflict.
Here, love, the main melody seems to disappear and to enter an atmosphere of sadness, highlighted by the bass. The calm melody is then overshadowed, it is as if a kind of tension appears and creates an atmosphere of difficulty. But after two minutes we can appreciate the soft melody that shows a deep and beautiful desire, following the line of this capstone, love. This free development alternates moments of calm with explosions of pain, reflecting the suffering that accompanies the process of love.
It is a kind of psychological drama that brings us to the brink of redemption. In Gaudium et Spes, there is a connection of this sacrifice with transcendence: “Man is fully realized in self-giving”[44]. Here music is an incarnation of the cross that entails love, a process of purification and self-giving, often based on “inner struggle,” but with a spiritual dimension that points to resurrection.
This is a movement that embodies many dark moments, but never loses the light of hope. It is like a constant walk against adversity.
Third Movement (Vivacissimo): The Passion and Resistance of Love
It seems that everything begins to take a turn for the worse, as the third movement tells of a resistance to love, a resistance in the face of pain, the pain we may feel when we love, since we are vulnerable and it often requires giving up many human desires, which costs us; but this pain during the movement is guided by a theme of passionate love; a love that does not mind receiving blows or offenses, since what it feels for the other person is something greater and purer, this is a an echo of Christ’s struggle toward spiritual victory, a struggle in which He suffered and looked pain in the face, but the love He felt was greater than the suffering, and this is the banner of Christ’s struggle, an unconditional love. It opens in B-flat major with a dizzying rhythm in the strings, a “strong blizzard of wind” reflecting the agitation of love in its most fiery trial. The A-flat major trio introduces a nine-note oboe solo, a melody that evokes the pain and beauty of lost love, but also its permanence. Love remains engraved in the heart despite the pain.
This contrast resonates with a quote from the Song of Songs: “Strong as death is love” (Song 8:6), a love that resists adversity. The return to the Vivacissimo, featuring a crescendo of trumpets, suggests a passion that does not relent, an echo of the Catechism: “Charity endures all things”[45]. It is a reflection of the endurance of love, a stage of filia that prepares the soul for the final surrender, a parallelism with the passion of Christ, which though marked by suffering, leads to glory, and all because one knows whom one loves.
The energetic scherzo, with its eighth-note figures on the strings, is built from a fragment of great simplicity: a repeated B-flat followed by a turn around that note, and then a calm melody. It goes from a melody of tension, which embodies the many things at stake. It is a kind of inner struggle that, in the same way, becomes a purification of something deep. As the melody develops, it often returns to the same Scherzo.
Fourth Movement (Finale: Allegro moderato): The Transcendence of Love
Something interesting to note is that there was no closing of the previous movement, but instead there was a continuity, as if it was part of the same movement. I would like to interpret this as the integrity of the whole melody. As love is not a division of types of love, it is rather something integral. It involves the whole human being and all the facets of love. It is a kind of spousal union, they were different, but now they are united in one essence.
Sibelius brings us to a close with his Finale: Allegro moderato, the spiritual climax of the symphony, where love transcends the human to embody redemption and the eternity of love. In D major, it opens with a heroic theme in the string section, which develops through a climb from D minor to a monumental climax of trumpets and trombones, where the trombones, like the shoes of a dancer or the feet of a walker, give rhythm and strength to this piece of music. This ascent, as a point of ecstasy and exaltation, culminates in a final crescendo with a constant repetition of the theme in the basses (D-A-D) and solo bars by the brass; a statement that Sibelius linked to the Divine: “It is as if the forest opens up and shows me the sky”[46]. This rumbling on the part of the basses is like the sound of trumpets warning of the opening of heaven.
This climax is not only the victory of love, but the transcendence of love, and we can make a parallelism with Christ: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16). It is a kind of catharsis that takes us beyond time and begins to emphasize things beyond the human. Here I would like to borrow a few words from Gaudium et Spes where it states: “Christ, by his death and resurrection, raises man to eternal life”[47], that is love, especially when it comes to Agape love, a love that has learned to die to itself in order to give itself to others. This majestic ending reflects the supreme Agape of the cross, a love that, as Sibelius wrote, “rises to something eternal”[48]. It would seem that the main theme has been put aside, but I dare say that what has happened is that it has been purified, apparently ceasing to be itself, now it is a glorified theme, which embodies the resurrection, a parallel with “Christ loved the Church and gave himself for her” (Ephesians 5:25), transforming love into a divine offering that transcends the earthly.
The whole work fills us with a triumphal exit, and as the entrance of a king. Love governs everything, so “Love and do what you want,” as St. Augustine says.
The Symphony and Its Transcendence
Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2 narrates the process of love with a kind of musical spirituality: the divine desire of the Allegretto, the cross of the Andante ma rubato, the resilient passion of the Vivacissimo, and the transcendence of the Finale resonate with a quote from Deus Caritas Est: “Human and divine love meet at the cross”[49]. For Sibelius, music was his redemption-“in it I purge my wrongs and find God”[50], and for everyone this symphony becomes a sonorous testimony to spiritual transcendence, a love that, like Christ, “never ends” (1 Corinthians 13:8).
Conclusion
Love is a process that is being developed throughout our lives, where to love is to choose, for something that fulfills us fully. To love is to give up all possibilities for someone or something.
In the Symphony No. 2 of Jean Sibelius, we are shown the transforming process of love; a musical evolution of the deepest desire of the human being toward divine transcendence. The symphonic music of Sibelius’ Symphony No.2 reflects the process of love as a dynamic force that begins with desire, matures through mutual friendship and culminates in selfless sacrifice (Eros, Filia and Agape). Each movement represents a stage in this spiritual arc, interweaving pastoral serenity, inner struggle, resilient passion and final exaltation. Sibelius creates a sonorous confession that elevates human love to a reflection of divine agape, resonating with the phrase that began this Capstone: “God is love” (1 John 4:8). His work transcends verbal limitations, offering a universal language that captures the ineffable movements of the heart and soul, inviting listeners to encounter the eternal through the purifying fire of love.
We are born to love and be loved, it is up to us to express it in life.
BIBLIOGRAPHY:
- AGUSTÍN DE HIPONA, Confesiones, Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, Madrid 2003
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TAWASTSTJERNA, E. Sibelius: Volume II (1904-1914), Faber & Fab
[1] Benedicto XVI,Deus Caritas Est (2005), No. 4. 2005, In https://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html (Referenced on March 31)
[2] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 8 de octubre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801008.html (Referenced on March 31)
[3] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 15 de abril de 1981, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1981/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19810415.html (Referenced on March 31)
[4] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 29 de octubre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801029.html (Referenced on March 31)
[5] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 5 de noviembre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801105.html
(Referenced on March 31)
[6] Benedicto XVI,Deus Caritas Est (2005), No. 7. 2005, In https://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html (Referenced on March 31)
[7] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 29 de octubre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801029.html (Referenced on March 31)
[8] Catecismo de la Iglesia Católica. Ciudad del Vaticano: Librería Editrice Vaticana, 1992. No. 1822
[9] Benedeicto XVI,Deus Caritas Est (2005), No. 7. 2005, In https://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html (Referenced on March 31)
[10] AGUSTÍN DE HIPONA. Confesiones. Traducción de Pedro Rodríguez. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2003. Book 1, Ch. 1
[11]JUAN DE LA CRUZ, SAN. Cántico Espiritual. En Obras Completas. Editado por Lucinio Ruano. Madrid: Editorial de Espiritualidad, 1995. Pag. 68
[12] This is a theme that will be developed later in this capstone by analyzing how this symphony echoes sacrifice, redemption, and transcendence.
[13] SHELLEY, PERCY. Prometheus Unbound. En The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Edited by Thomas Hutchinson. Londres: Oxford University Press, 1904. Act IV Pag, 199
[14] Benedicto XVI,Deus Caritas Est (2005), No. 10. 2005, In https://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html (Referenced on March 31)
[15] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 29 de octubre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801029.html (Referenced on March 31)
[16] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 287
[17] Ibid. Pag. 198
[18] TAWASTSTJERNA, ERIK. Sibelius: Volume II (1904-1914). Traducción de Robert Layton. Londres: Faber & Faber, 1976. Pag. 232
[19] JUAN DE LA CRUZ, SAN. Cántico Espiritual. En Obras Completas. Editado por Lucinio Ruano. Madrid: Editorial de Espiritualidad, 1995.. Pag. 68
[20] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 205
[21]AGUSTÍN DE HIPONA. Confesiones. Traducción de Pedro Rodríguez. Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2003. Book 1, Ch. 1
[22] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. P. 154
[23] BERNSTEIN, LEONARD. The Joy of Music. Nueva York: Simon & Schuster, 1959 Pag. 125
[24] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. P. 154
[25] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. P. 158
[26] BERNSTEIN, LEONARD. The Joy of Music. Nueva York: Simon & Schuster, 1959 Pag. 29
[27] Ibid. Pag. 126
[28] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. P. 155
[29]BERNSTEIN, LEONARD. The Joy of Music. Nueva York: Simon & Schuster, 1959 Pag. 102
[30] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. P. 155
[31] SCHOPENHAUER, ARTHUR. The World as Will and Representation. Vol. 1. Traducción de E.F.J. Payne. Nueva York: Dover Publications, 1966. (Original en alemán, 1818). Pag. 154
[32] Ibid. Pag. 155
[33] BERNSTEIN, LEONARD. The Joy of Music. Nueva York: Simon & Schuster, 1959 Pag. 22
[34] Ibid. Pag. 150
[35] Ibid. Pag. 39
[36] John Paul II, Audiencia General, 29 de octubre de 1980, in https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/es/audiences/1980/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_19801029.html (Referenced on March 31)
[37] Catecismo de la igleisia Catolica. Ciudad del Vaticano: Librería Editrice Vaticana, 1992. No. 1822
[38] Constitución Pastoral Gaudium et Spes. No. 22 in https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_sp.html (Consultado el 31 de marzo de 2025)
[39] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 205
[40] LAYTON, ROBERT. Sibelius. Londres: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1985. Pag. 45
[41] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 185
[42] CATECISMO DE LA IGLESIA CATÓLICA. Ciudad del Vaticano: Librería Editrice Vaticana, 1992. No. 22
[43] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 206
[44] Constitución Pastoral Gaudium et Spes. No. 24 in https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_sp.html (Consultado el 31 de marzo de 2025)
[45] Catecismo de la iglesia Católica. Ciudad del Vaticano: Librería Editrice Vaticana, 1992. No. 1827
[46] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 207
[47] Constitución Pastoral Gaudium et Spes. No. 18 in https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_sp.html (Referenced on March 31, 2025)
[48] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 207
[49] Benedicto XVI,Deus Caritas Est (2005), No. 12. 2005, In https://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html (Referenced on March 31)
[50] DAHLSTRÖM, FABIAN (ed.). Jean Sibelius: Dagbok 1909-1944. Helsinki: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, 2003. Pag. 245
