themarginalian.org · 20 hours ago
Beethoven composed the "Ode to Joy" almost entirely deaf, arrested once as a tramp, estranged from loved ones, bludgeoned by war and grief - and yet he never abandoned the dream he had carried since adolescence, when Schiller's poem first convinced him that freedom and human solidarity were not fantasies but destinations. Maria Popova traces the long, turbulent gestation of that dream, from the teenage Beethoven who longed to be "lips of the possible" to the fifty-three-year-old composer who stood on a concert stage conducting music he could not hear, unaware that the audience had erupted until a young soprano gently turned him around to face them. What followed - Chilean protesters singing it to topple a dictatorship, Helen Keller pressing her hand to a radio speaker and suddenly understanding music, a Ukrainian orchestra performing it as tanks gathered at their border - suggests that the work became a vessel not merely for beauty but for something closer to a creed: that the Napoleons and Putins will always rise, and will also always fall, because there is something in human beings more durable than any of them. "Progress is never permanent, will always be threatened, must be redoubled, restated and reimagined if it is to survive" - and art, at its most necessary, is how each generation does exactly that.