By: Javier Sanchez

I always listen to the first movement twice. Chaos doesn’t just happen. Chaos builds on itself. It uses gravity to envelop, encircle and pull. Beethoven’s 9th symphony epitomizes the conscription of liberty, revolution, the end of the enlightenment period, romanticism and, above all, it brings hope to life. And hope does not come easily.

Written in the early 1820’s, Beethoven’s work came after the French Revolution, the Napoleonic wars, and the complete upending of European life. He saw virtue in what was happening in Europe because it brought order to the chaos. It signaled a new path toward brotherhood and liberty. A new chapter was being written that would settle and put right the confluent tragedy of a foregone darkness.

Beethoven wrote his Symphony No. 9 to chart a new path forward. Full with hope and joy. That’s what the final movement is called, the Ode to Joy, and it has become synonymous with the entire pièce de résistance. It has even become the “national” anthem for the European Union. For good reason. It shows us that between chaos and order lies creation. Chaos is inevitable. What we do at the moment immediately after worlds collide determines who we are.

In the Judeo-Christian, and to a great extent Islamic, tradition we have a unique way of interpreting the world and how we see ourselves in it relative to others throughout the world. Our religious teachings have imbued westerners with a way of thinking that puts the onus of control and destiny in our own hands. We learned that from God himself. The Bible teaches that in the beginning there was light. It is perhaps the most powerful statement ever made because it begs the question: Where did the light come from? What was this dark mixture from whence the universe was created? This phenomenon is known as creatio ex nihilo, Latin for creation out of nothing. In school we are taught that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. But what caused the first action? Chaos?

The Bible’s explanation wasn’t good enough for scientists curious about how the world came about. Instead of “let there be light,” they use the term Big Bang. There is more than one way to skin a cat. Though we cannot determine how the universe erupted into being, scientists gather clues from what they think happened just moments AFTER this big bang. It is said there was a moment (the wrong word because space and time lose meaning at this juncture) when everything came together and exploded into the expanding universe we know today – the event known as the singularity. Creatio ex nihilo, perhaps? Impossible for man to do. Yet we replicate its methods each time we dust ourselves off or pick ourselves up by the bootstraps.

The ideals surrounding individual freedoms, a strong sense of self and perhaps even capitalism find root in the concept that, though man cannot create light ex nihilo, he certainly can create himself. The idea that we have the ability to create ourselves is innate. The need grows ever more fervent this New Year’s Day. It is time to take stock. It is time to set straight the chaos of the past and put into perspective what lies ahead.

Personally, I must take greater responsibility for the things that I make happen; I must set time aside for those who are important to me; I must sometimes say no. We look for ways to improve. We strive for excellence. We plan and find better ways to put our house in order.

I listen to the first movement of Beethoven’s 9th again, but this time I let it carry me through its entirety. The same theme gets repeated. Clap, clang, bang – the cries of chaos. Beethoven is a genius of cacophony. Where do these sounds come from? Pu-du-du, du-tu-du-du. Dread, fear and uncertainty pervade his universe. The roll and thunder of the timpani, the high-pitched screech of the flute, the rosin-over-horse hair-over steel of the violin strings is maddening. It reminds me of the moonscape on top of the highest mountain I ever climbed on a moonlit night. Black obsidian, sharp like razors, heaped on a barren cliffside on the edge of the world. Ready to be subsumed and broken in a ravine of chaos. This is where wind is born—on mountain tops, in the tumult of primordial energy-ridden, volcanic cumulonimbus clouds. From its highest depths, the wind releases its howls to the world in a singular moment of abject ferocity. This is also where grief, abandonment and confusion erupt into a seething, bubbling heap of dread. Nothing escapes this darkness – not even the hope of light – until we begin to put the chaos in order. That is our redeeming moment. God made us in his image. Inferior, surely. Not on the same footing, but with all the desire and ability to make this world right. From chaos to order. From the unknown to the known.

Chaos has a way of building on itself. I happened to listen to Beethoven’s symphony at a time that I was rereading Sophie’s World. It’s a book about the history of philosophy. One of the first questions is: “Where does the world come from?” Perhaps it was a coincidence that I read this while contemplating Beethoven and learning about the Big Bang. But then again, chaos has a way of building on itself and nothing truly is a coincidence. Then I listened to a new single from one of my favorite bands, Aterciopelados, out of Columbia. It’s called Agradecida, or Grateful. The first line hums in wonderful bellow: “I am grateful to the moon, the sun and the beat of my heart.”

Be grateful for the chaos that comes into your world. Look for the cacophony of light, sound, books and dilemma. This year vow to put them straight by understanding them.

In the face of uncertainty, turn to the light. Orchestrate the moving parts and conduct accordingly. Though we cannot create light ex nihilo, we most certainly can create our New Year. Full of light, hope and joy.

Javier Sanchez is the former Mayor of Espanola, an independent businessman, and El Rito Media investor and columnist.