People who make music together cannot be enemies, at least while

"People who make music together cannot be enemies, at least while the music lasts." Thus spoke Paul Hindemith, and his words are like a timeless melody, flowing with the wisdom of generations. For in the act of creating music, barriers fall, pride softens, and the heart learns to beat in rhythm with another. Where there is harmony, there cannot be hatred, for hatred belongs to division, while music is the weaving together of souls.

The ancients knew this well. In the temples of Greece, flutes and lyres accompanied prayers, binding the people together in song. In the courts of kings, bards and drummers made even warriors lay down their swords for a moment of shared rhythm. The Israelites marched around Jericho with trumpets, and their sound was not only a signal of power but of unity. Across every culture, music has been the one tongue that all understand, the one bridge that can carry even enemies across the abyss of division.

When Hindemith spoke, he spoke as one who had seen the fractures of his time. Living through the world wars, he knew how nations tore at each other, how neighbors turned against neighbors. And yet, he also saw that in an orchestra, men and women of different lands, tongues, and beliefs could sit side by side, their eyes on the same conductor, their hands joined in the same harmony. In that space, for that fleeting moment, they were no longer enemies, but companions in a single creation.

Consider the famous Christmas Truce of 1914, during the First World War. Soldiers who had slaughtered one another by day began to sing hymns across the trenches by night—Silent Night rising into the cold air. Soon they laid down their weapons, met in the no-man’s land, and for a brief time shared food, laughter, and song. The war returned with fury the next day, but in those hours the music dissolved their enmity, reminding them that they were brothers before they were soldiers. Hindemith’s words live in such stories: proof that harmony is stronger than hatred, if only we allow it.

The meaning, then, is clear: when two voices join in song, they must listen to one another. When two instruments blend, each must make space for the other. In this way, music teaches the virtues that peace requires: humility, patience, and a willingness to yield for the sake of harmony. Those who learn to play together are learning also to live together, for they discover that beauty is not born of domination, but of cooperation.

The lesson for us is powerful: if you would make peace, first make music. Do not wait for nations to agree before you sing with your neighbor. Do not wait for all divisions to heal before you raise your voice with another. Begin now—sing in the streets, play in your communities, share songs with those you do not understand. For while the music lasts, there is no enmity, and each moment of harmony plants a seed of lasting peace.

Practical wisdom calls us to action: seek opportunities to create together. Join a choir, gather friends around a drum, sing with your children, or even hum with a stranger in passing. Let the act of shared sound become a daily ritual, for it is not grand speeches that unite hearts but the simple practice of harmony. And if you cannot play an instrument, let your life itself be a kind of music, blending kindness, patience, and love into the great human orchestra.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember Hindemith’s teaching: music is not only art, it is medicine for division, a weapon against hatred, a bridge between hearts. When you raise your voice in song, you are not merely making sound—you are shaping peace. Stand beside one another, not as rivals, but as fellow musicians in the symphony of life. For as long as the music lasts, there are no enemies, only brothers and sisters joined in harmony.