Leonard Cohen was banging his head against the floor at New York’s Royalton Hotel in 1984.
Lost in his mad desperation to connect with something higher, something holy, something existential, Cohen sat in his underwear with dozens of verses of “Hallelujah” sprawled around him. Each hollow verse was a struggle to bridge the infinite gap to… to what?
And in those anguished scrawls, Cohen’s final verses were not a revelation, but rather an admission of failure:
“And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah”
The resulting composition has accounted for more than 300 covers and even more interpretations. While we can debate Cohen’s spiritual assertations and the song’s tonal commitment, I stand by one simple truth:
Through this song, Cohen was trying to bridge the infinite gap between humanity and the divine.
And it is a level of artistry many of us are not capable of even attempting.
The Artistic Divine
The “divine” cannot be adequately defined, for it is unknowable and unreachable. Therein lies the challenge with this essay.
As such, we will not define attributes of the divine or the specific inspirations for individual pieces of art. Instead, let us focus on artists who aspired to connect to universal truths beyond the mortal realm.
In 1979, John Cleese and Michael Palin debated Malcolm Muggeridge and Bishop Mervyn Stockwood after the release of Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
Muggeridge, a British journalist, made a stark claim about the story of Jesus Christ:
“That story of the incarnation was what our whole civilization began with. It has inspired every great artist, every great writer, every great composer, every great builder, every great architect to celebrate that marvelous thing.”
(“Germany, the inquisition, and so forth,” Cleese wittily interjected.)
“If you were to make a list of all the greatest works of art in all fields and all the greatest contributors to those works of art, you would find that this scene of the incarnation has played the largest part.”
Setting aside the specifics of Christianity and thinking about all great art pieces throughout history, I might agree with the basis of Muggeridge’s point. Of note:
Michelangelo
Renaissance artists known for their works of beauty and grace were heavily inspired by the Catholic Church.
From TheCollector:
“Artists such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael created harmonious, transcendent, and emotive masterpieces that epitomize the human endeavor to ascend to new spiritual heights.”
One example, Michelangelo’s work on the Sistine Chapel, represents the story of Genesis, complemented by those of David, Esther, Judith, and Moses.
Michelangelo was in his 30s when he painted the chapel. He had already sculpted David. His artistic talents are now the subject of memes, exemplifying our squalid attempts to live up to the greatest artists who ever lived:


While Michelangelo could not have achieved these results without thousands of hours dedicated to his craft, he was greatly inspired by his spiritual upbringing. He was caught up in the Protestant Reformation, a movement that challenged the authority of the Catholic Church.
Michelangelo would later become affiliated with a Catholic reformation group known as the Spirituali, which led him to explore themes of divine grace and inner transformation. This would manifest in The Last Judgment, his grand addition to the Sistine Chapel’s altar, as well as in his later poetry:
Extend to me, my Lord, that chain
to which every heavenly gift is tied,
namely faith, to which I keenly hold,
but, through my fault, I don’t fully possess.
–Michelangelo, Sonnet 289 (translated by Simonetta Carr)
Michelangelo’s grace with the brush, chisel and pen is boundless.
Beethoven
The movie A Ghost Story features a random scene where a man is speaking to a group of his hippie friends about humanity’s existential fate. He stumbles onto a point about the exact topic of this essay:
“Tell me what happens when Beethoven is writing his ninth symphony and suddenly he wakes up one day and realizes God doesn’t exist. Suddenly, all of those notes and chords and harmonies that were intended to supersede the flesh, you realize, oh, that’s just physics.
So Beethoven says, ‘Shoot, God doesn’t exist, so I guess I’m just writing this for other people.’ It’s just nuts and bolts now.”
As the man may have been on some sort of hallucinogenic, he speech goes off the rails at this point. He ties up the message saying everything is going to die and nothing matters.
However, I am unsatisfied with how the nihilist left the bit about Beethoven. So I will grab the baton and interpret how I see fit.
Beethoven’s ninth symphony (“Ode to Joy”) took its inspiration from a poem of the same name by Friedrich Schiller. The poem is a call for universal unity and, yes, joy.
Joy, bright spark of divinity,
Daughter of Elysium,
Fire-inspired we tread
Thy sanctuary!
Thy magic power reunites
All that custom has divided;
All men become brothers
Under the sway of thy gentle wings.
Beethoven lost his hearing and endured years of isolation and health issues before composing his musical homage to “Ode to Joy.” On the surface, the symphony serves as a triumph over adversity, declaring love and joy conquers all.
To put this piece into historical context, Beethoven’s ninth featured:
- Vocals, which was unprecedented for symphonies.
- Long, complex, arrangements, notably the final movement.
- A large emotional swing, from reserved to ecstatic joy.
Taking the original poem and the grandiose symphonic tribute, one could argue Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” is more than just physics – more than nuts and bolts.
Literature
I share one last group of examples because this idea keeps appearing in works I adore.
Many books considered “the greatest novels of all time” carry some themes of accessing the divine:
- Ulysses, James Joyce – Joyce’s self-portrayal as Stephen Dedalus struggles between mortal ambition and his spiritual faith.
- The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky – Each brother has a different take on spirituality, positioning the novel as a philosophical debate on faith within itself.
- East of Eden, John Steinbeck – Inspired by Cain and Abel, Steinbeck explores the moral complexities of good and evil. The novel is anchored by the Hebrew word “timshel,” interpreted as “thou mayest.”
The list goes on, and you are free to add to it as you may. For now, my search for the divine comes to an end.
Conclusion
While this is not a definitive explanation of what makes a masterpiece or what classifies as “the divine,” this idea permeates my thoughts as I consume great works of art.
I believe there exists a higher level of expression when one is trying to reconcile the mortal plane with the spiritual.
In my current state, I find this realm unobtainable. A digital life is a great deterrent for such aspirations.
This is not to say masterpieces can only be created through spiritual means. But the deeper I look, the more fascinated I am in understanding those who appear to have ignited the divine spark within themselves.
While I do not actively aspire to reach the level of artistry I have so thoroughly discussed, I wonder if my dear readers have thought this when confronted with artistic greatness.
Have you yourself transcended to that sacred realm?
There exists an intangible drive within artists to create so we may understand everything about our reality, whether observable or unknowable.
As artists, we can only hope to create something that extends beyond our own wingspan and reaches the intended heavens, gods, aether or what have you.
Even if it ends in failure.
Hallelujah.

