From Soviet Narratives to Chinese Reinterpretations: Mozart, Beethoven, and Socialist Ideology in China During 1949–1966

Political Background and Western Music in China, 1949–1966

In June 1949, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) defeated the Kuomintang (KMT) army in the Battle of the Yangtze River, occupied Nanjing, and forced the KMT to retreat to Taiwan.¹¹ The PRC was officially established on October 1, 1949. However, scholars generally agree that, in the history of China, the period from 1949 to 1966, commonly referred to as the “Seventeen Years,” was marked by significant political transformation, ideological realignment, and shifts in cultural policy.¹²

After the PRC was established, the new government sought to consolidate its ideological and political roots by strengthening ties with the Soviet Union. The signing of the Sino-Soviet Treaty of Friendship, Alliance, and Mutual Assistance (1950) formalized China’s alignment with the Soviet bloc.¹³ The CCP leadership firmly believed that “the Soviet Union has provided China with the most correct and most important guidance. . . . [T]his is true in politics as well as in literature and art.”¹⁴ Consequently, the CCP government actively introduced Soviet technology and culture across various fields, including politics, scientific research, and the arts. Within cultural policy, the Ministry of Culture (MoC) and other central cultural organs adopted Soviet Socialist Realism as the guiding principle for artistic expression, emphasizing that all forms of cultural production must serve socialist constructions and reflect proletarian values. Influenced by this principle, the MoC began restructuring artistic and educational institutions and established conservatories and orchestras based on Soviet models.¹⁵

The adoption of Soviet models did not lessen ideological vigilance. Throughout the early 1950s, the Propaganda Department of the CCP Central Committee (CCPPD) maintained strict control over cultural production, and campaigns such as the 1955 Hu Feng case created a lasting sense of nervousness among writers and artists.¹⁶ Paradoxically, during the mid‑1950s, while this anxiety persisted, party leaders such as Mao Zedong envisioned harnessing intellectuals’ critical capacities for socialist nation‑building and rapid industrialization. Amid this mix of fear and newly asserted confidence, the 1956–1957 Hundred Flowers Campaign was launched, calling on intellectuals and artists to “let a hundred flowers bloom and a hundred schools of thought contend”—to engage in open debate, explore diverse creative forms, and contribute their work to socialist construction.¹⁷ This campaign inaugurated a brief but significant phase of partial relaxation (fang) for intellectuals and artists, even though oversight by the CCPPD and the MoC remained strict.

Mao’s 1956 address to leaders of the Musicians’ Association articulates a clear ambivalence in Party policy toward professionally trained, conservatory-style music specialists. On the one hand, he urged the Party to “unite with” such specialists; on the other, he rejected the idea of “complete Westernization.” (In Mao’s vocabulary, these specialists were often grouped among “bourgeois intellectuals.”) Simultaneously, he cited examples such as Western medicine to argue that science is universal, whereas the arts must assume a “national form” shaped by a people’s customs, language, and history. He even compared Chinese chopsticks with Western knives and forks to caution against labeling one as inherently more “scientific” than the other.¹⁸ Simultaneously, he acknowledged that although bourgeois intellectuals and musicians were few, “they have modern culture and we still need to unite with them.” He even suggested that only professionally trained, Western-educated specialists were qualified to run conservatory-level music schools.¹⁹ These remarks encouraged musicians to “pay more attention to China” and adapt foreign training to national needs, while simultaneously reaffirming that questions of style and repertory remained subject to class analysis and the doctrine of national form.

For a short period, conservatories and urban orchestras cautiously broadened their activities and repertories—drawing more extensively on Soviet compositions and programming selected Western classical pieces—while composers and critics tested the boundaries of permissible discussion under the banner of “blooming and contending.” As studies by Richard Kraus and Alan Kagan have shown, such experiments remained framed by socialist‑realist criteria. However, as intellectual debates and artistic experimentation expanded, the CCP Central Committee became increasingly anxious that appeals to “artistic freedom” could open the door to “bourgeois” elements and undermine the ideological unity of the socialist state.²⁰ By 1957, Mao and other CCP leaders tightened political control over artistic diversity, which led to an abrupt reversal of the Hundred Flowers Campaign and the launch of the Anti-Rightist Movement.²¹ After this reversal, many intellectuals and artists, who had previously embraced diverse artistic influences, were labeled as “rightists” and were subjected to severe persecution.²² This ideological shift reinforced the directive that all cultural productions should strictly adhere to socialist principles, narrowing the scope of acceptable artistic expression and centralizing state control over the arts.

By 1958, the CCP leadership explicitly tied cultural policy to nationwide political and economic campaigns. As a part of the Great Leap Forward,²³ the CCP sought to accelerate industrialization and collectivization, promoting mass mobilization in all aspects of society, including cultural production. The government called for the “massification” of the arts, emphasizing that music should be accessible to the working class and artistic innovation should serve the political needs of socialist revolution.²⁴ This period witnessed increased emphasis on revolutionary folk music, mass songs, and patriotic compositions, whereas Western-style orchestral music faced greater scrutiny. Although symphonic works and conservatory training remained a part of the CCP artistic landscape, they were expected to conform to socialist ideological narratives, and artistic expression was increasingly shaped by political priorities.²⁵ During this time, China’s relationship with the Soviet Union began to deteriorate, further influencing cultural policies. By the late 1950s, ideological disagreements between the two nations deepened, particularly concerning the interpretation of Marxist–Leninist principles.²⁶ The Soviet Union pursued a more pragmatic approach under Nikita Khrushchev. Mao Zedong accused the Soviet leadership of revisionism and deviation from revolutionary principles,²⁷ whereas under First Secretary Nikita Khrushchev, the CPSU leadership increasingly denounced Mao’s policy as “Left” opportunism, sectarian dogmatism, and adventurism.²⁸ The rift escalated further in 1960 when the Soviet Union withdrew experts from China and terminated technical and cultural assistance agreements.²⁹ This abrupt end to Sino–Soviet cooperation had a direct impact on China’s educational institutions and artistic development, leading to the cancellation of many cultural exchange programs.³⁰

Following the failure of the Great Leap Forward, China entered a period of political recalibration. In 1962, Mao had temporarily stepped back from direct leadership, allowing Liu Shaoqi (刘少奇) and other moderate figures to implement policies aimed at economic recovery.³¹ This shift brought about a brief relaxation in cultural control,³² as the state focused on stabilizing the economy and maintaining domestic order. However, this period of moderation was short-lived. In 1963, ideological tensions resurfaced, and the CCP intensified its criticism of the Soviet Union, asserting that the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) faced a “danger of capitalist restoration.” The CCP leadership stressed the necessity of strict socialist control over all aspects of life, including cultural production.³³ This ideological hardening led to increasing restrictions on artistic expression, as authorities sought to purge elements that were perceived as incompatible with proletarian ideals. On December 12, 1963, in marginal comments on an internal memorandum from the CCP Propaganda Department’s Arts Section, Mao wrote that “in many sectors socialist transformation has achieved little . . . many departments are still ruled by the dead . . . many Party members enthusiastically promote feudal and bourgeois arts while showing little zeal for socialist art.”³⁴

By 1964, the political and cultural oversight in China became more rigid, culminating in a renewed emphasis on ideological conformity in the arts. The government reinforced the idea that all artistic production must serve a revolutionary cause, and cultural policies should favor revolutionary works over traditional and foreign influences.³⁵ The shift in discourse signaled a growing hostility toward Western cultural forms, which were frequently criticized as “bourgeois,” “capitalist,” or “imperialist” in nature.

This political transition paved the way for the Cultural Revolution in 1966, which was one of the most radical phases of political and cultural transformation in modern China. As the CCP leadership moved toward a stricter anti‑revisionist orthodoxy, Western music, along with many other cultural forms, was vilified as a product of capitalist decadence and imperialist oppression. The increasing politicization of the arts ultimately led to the near-total suppression of Western musical traditions in China, as cultural production became exclusively centered on revolutionary ideology.

The Soviet Model and Socialist Framing of Mozart and Beethoven in China

The political background from 1949 to 1966 is crucial to the discussion of the Soviet Union. From 1949 onward, Chinese discussions of Western art consistently mirrored the cyclical shifts in Sino-Soviet relations, oscillating between alliance and rupture. To explain, in later sections, why Chinese writings in the 1950s linked Mozart and Beethoven to the Chinese Communist Party’s socialist ideology, and how the criteria for selecting Mozart’s and Beethoven’s works for performance in China were formed, this subsection examines the Marxist theory of historical materialism as invoked in Soviet musicological discourse between 1917 and 1953. Drawing on Marxist historical materialism, Soviet scholars located them within the Enlightenment and the bourgeois revolutions, emphasizing themes of democracy, freedom, and the liberation of the people.³⁶ This politicized interpretation not only dominated Soviet discourse but—through translations and publications—also shaped early‑PRC official perceptions of Mozart and Beethoven.

Soviet Interpretations of Mozart and Beethoven: Socialist Realism and Revolutionary Narratives

The October Socialist Revolution, which erupted in October 1917, led to the establishment of a new Soviet state based on Marxist principles. The newly formed regime was accompanied by cultural monitoring and censorship.³⁷ From 1923, the Main Repertoire Committee (Glavrepertkom) exercised prior approval of stage and concert programs; meanwhile, Glavlit (1922) censored printed matter such as scores and program texts. In practical terms, 1920s censorship targeted liturgical and clerical repertories (especially Russian Orthodox works), while allowing certain Western sacred “classics” under explicit conditions—for example, a 1928 Glavrepertkom directive permitted Bach’s Passions and Mass no more than twice a year and never on church feast days, and barred seventeenth‑ and eighteenth‑century Russian sacred choral concerts.³⁸ However, Mozart’s Requiem remained a staple of the Soviet repertoire and was frequently performed in special concerts, honoring the victims of the revolution. Similarly, Beethoven’s symphonies continued to be played as complete cycles, with the Ninth Symphony—often limited to its finale—remaining a centerpiece of Soviet festivals and commemorations.³⁹ Soviet musicologists worked extensively to connect Mozart and Beethoven to Enlightenment ideals, arguing that the composers’ worldviews, shaped by the Enlightenment, paralleled the revolutionary ideas of the October Socialist Revolution in 1917.⁴⁰ Mozart’s music, with its refined elegance, was framed as heralding the triumph of the bourgeoisie “over the culture of the dying feudal class.” Meanwhile, Beethoven’s compositions, considered as “an immense protest against the forces of destiny in the name of the free spirit,”⁴¹ were legitimized through the argument that Enlightenment philosophy itself was fundamentally tied to the rise of the third estate.

The reception of Mozart and Beethoven in the 1930s largely continued to follow the interpretations that were developed in the 1920s, playing a crucial role in shaping the ideological awareness of the new Soviet masses.⁴² However, an important shift occurred when Mozart’s biography was dramatized to align with Soviet ideology. Mozart’s death was portrayed as a tragic consequence of aristocratic patronage, casting him as a victim, rather than a beneficiary of the feudal system. Despite his financial dependence on the aristocracy, Mozart’s association with Freemasonry was recast as evidence that he was a serious, socially engaged artist.⁴³ In the 1930s, this ideological reinterpretation contributed to the renewed popularity of The Marriage of Figaro and The Magic Flute. Soviet musicologists emphasized the political subtext of The Magic Flute, claiming that “at first glance, it is a pure fairy tale . . . but in reality, it is an abstract expression of clear social ideas, with all its elements most closely connected to Freemasonry.”⁴⁴ From the Soviet perspective, The Magic Flute embodied the values of tolerance, Enlightenment philosophy, and liberalism—principles that were close to the ideological narratives of Stalinism.⁴⁵ Beethoven was hailed as an artist of the democratic bourgeois intellectual generation. His Eroica and Fifth Symphony were particularly revered. Although Marxist writers often treated Beethoven’s late style as ideologically contradictory—too “idealist,” subjective, or tending toward formalism— they carved out an exception for Op. 125: the choral “Ode to Joy” was read as a collective hymn to freedom and human fraternity, and Beethoven’s iskrennost’ (sincerity) was invoked to reconcile the contradiction. Hence, across the 1920s and 1930s, the Ninth was consistently presented as expressing “revolutionary ideas, freedom, and the highest degree of human happiness.”⁴⁶

In the 1950s, under the influence of Zhdanovshchina,⁴⁷ the position and acceptance of compositions by Mozart and Beethoven within the Soviet socialist ideology had solidified further. Soviet scholars carefully aligned their discussions on Western classical composers with an approved ideological framework. One scholar claimed that Mozart “found no worthy successor in the nineteenth-century West. Russian musicians understood him far better.”⁴⁸ This statement reinforced the narrative that although the West lost its revolutionary artistic vigor, the Soviet Union became the true inheritor of the Enlightenment’s progressive musical legacy.

Adopting the Soviet Model: China’s Appropriation of Mozart and Beethoven

During the 1950s, China witnessed a surge in publications on Mozart and Beethoven, including biographies, popular science books, music sheets, and commemorative essays, marking their birth and death anniversaries (see tables 1 and 2). A closer examination of literary criticism from this period reveals that most of these works were translations from works done in the Soviet Union.

Most Soviet texts chosen by Chinese translators were from the 1950s. In 1956, the Beijing Music Publishing House released a biography of Mozart, translated from Mozart: Life and Works (1955) by Elena Semyonovna Berlyand-Chyornaya. Berlyand-Chyornaya was a member of the Union of Soviet Composers.⁵⁰ The biography highlights Mozart’s operas, including Idomeneo, The Abduction from the Seraglio, The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni, The Magic Flute, and his final composition, Requiem. She argues that Mozart’s somewhat liberal thinking, his opposition to feudal society, and his reflections on the suffering of the masses are embodied in the stage music and instrumental imagery in operas.⁵¹ The Marriage of Figaro “is so closely aligned with the composer’s own thoughts and emotions that it almost reflects his personal determination to rebel against his break with the archbishop and his pride in defying the aristocracy.”⁵² Like other critics, Berlyand-Chyornaya also closely associates The Magic Flute with Freemasonry, whose humanist spirit is interpreted as the ideological foundation of the opera.⁵³ In addition to the ideals of the Enlightenment, the musical conception of The Magic Flute also encapsulates Mozart’s deep connection to his homeland. As Berlyand-Chyornaya states:

Mozart used folk music to portray the positive image of the protagonist, while the villain was associated with Italian music. Although Mozart was fascinated by Italian opera, he could not remain indifferent to the art of his homeland and could not help but wish that the Italian and Austrian theatres would trade places. Thus, when composing the opera, he employed this technique with a distinct personal inclination.⁵⁴

Similar to the translation of works on Mozart, most translations of Beethoven’s works that were published in China between 1956 and 1958 originated in the Soviet Union and were introduced during Mao’s Hundred Flowers Campaign. The authors of these Soviet texts were affiliated with the Union of Soviet Composers, and their original publication dates were primarily concentrated in the post-Stalin era, roughly between 1950 and 1954. Beyond Beethoven’s biography, Chinese scholars were particularly interested in his symphonic works, which were analyzed by Soviet musicologists.

Soviet texts closely linked Beethoven’s symphonies to the ideals of the French Revolution. Turbulent times shaped Beethoven’s spiritual world, and the Sturm and Drang movement profoundly influenced his formative years. The French Revolution captivated Beethoven, fundamentally shaping his artistic convictions.⁵⁵ His Third Symphony reinforced his commitment to democratic political revolution. The dedication in this work reflects Beethoven’s revolutionary spirit, whereas the composition embodies the formidable power of revolution. According to the author:⁵⁶

The Third Symphony establishes a heroic image of bravery and fortitude in the first movement. The waltz at the end happily revolves around the initial heroic theme, symbolising the people praising the heroic liberator. The second movement shows the people’s feelings of regret and grief for the hero. The fiery revolutionary mood reaches its climax in the third movement, followed by the hero’s perseverance and the victory of the revolutionary struggle.⁵⁷

According to musicologist Viktor Vanslov,⁵⁸ Beethoven became more unrestrained in expressing his political ideas in the later years. He provides a detailed account of anecdotes from Beethoven’s later life, stating:

“Beethoven was unrestrained when dining with friends and spoke openly about his belief that the aristocracy knew nothing and that a republican era would emerge in a few decades. . . . The Ninth Symphony was composed during this period. It is Beethoven’s most ambitious and imaginatively rich symphony, filled with reflections on the fate of humanity—imbued with an unwavering belief in the struggle for freedom, the transition from suffering to joy, and from struggle to victory. The grand epic style of the Third Symphony acquires renewed power in the Ninth.”⁵⁹

The sheer volume of Soviet publications and their perspectives on the works of Mozart and Beethoven suggest that Soviet translations and interpretations played a central role in shaping the identities of Chinese musicologists through the works of Mozart, Beethoven, and other Western composers in the 1950s. Books on Mozart and Beethoven, authored by Chinese scholars, largely adhered to the perspectives of Soviet scholars. These studies emphasized the political ideology embedded in the works of Mozart and Beethoven. For instance, The Marriage of Figaro is considered an embodiment of anti-feudal spirit, whereas The Magic Flute conveys patriotic ideals. These interpretations have been consistently reiterated in the writings of Chinese scholars:

The Marriage of Figaro itself demonstrates the composer’s political courage. His critique of feudalism is already embedded in this work. Although the opera’s sharp revolutionary nature has been softened, the intelligent and respectable small potato surpasses the corrupt aristocrats.

The Magic Flute is full of yearning for the light and happiness of all mankind, and Mozart’s portrayal of the characters using the folk music of his homeland also reflects his patriotism.⁶⁰

In the concluding section of World Cultural Celebrity Mozart (1956), the author acknowledges that the views on Mozart were derived from Soviet scholars. It has been argued that Soviet interpretations were far more sophisticated than the traditional portrayal of Mozart as a merely cheerful and gentle character.⁶¹ According to this perspective, Soviet scholars provided a more profound and ideologically nuanced reading of Mozart, emphasizing his connection with the ideals of the Enlightenment and his defiance of feudal authority. Furthermore, it has been highlighted that the interpretation of Mozart’s works by Soviet conductors and musicians are more dynamic and richer in terms of human expression. These performances imbued Mozart’s music with a deeper revolutionary significance, aligning with the broader Soviet narrative.⁶²

As with Mozart, who in PRC paratexts was routinely framed through Soviet-derived scripts as a popular national figure from the Enlightenment, broadcast discourse on Beethoven likewise imported Soviet interpretations into mass pedagogy. At the Beethoven Symphony Radio Symposium, editor Hua Liao explicitly aligned PRC reception with Soviet musicology, stating that “in the Soviet Union Beethoven’s legacy was cherished by the people,” and citing the finale of the Ninth as emblematic of national liberation, adding that “Ode to Joy” was performed at the Soviet Congress on the night the Constitution was ratified. Regardless of the anecdote’s factual status, its rhetorical function remains clear. The segment normalizes a revolutionary reading of the Ninth within a PRC mass-education context by emphasizing the collective address in the choral finale, the themes of freedom and fraternity, and by translating a Soviet interpretive script into Chinese broadcast pedagogy:

In the Soviet Union, Beethoven’s legacy played a significant role in the musical life of the people and was deeply cherished by audiences. Even on the night the Soviet Constitution was ratified, the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, Ode to Joy, was performed at the Soviet Congress. This piece has been celebrated as an anthem of national liberation.⁶³

The ideological portrayal of Mozart and Beethoven in China extended beyond academic discourse and translated Soviet texts. Official cultural institutions outside the realm of scholarship have actively reinforced these narratives. Music conservatories, orchestras, and state-sponsored performance ensembles played key roles in shaping the socialist image of Mozart and Beethoven through concerts, radio broadcasts, and public lectures on music. The Chinese government promoted socialist interpretations of Mozart and Beethoven to wider audiences. The strategic use of Western classical music as an ideological tool was particularly evident in national commemorative events and the official discourse of orchestras regarding their musical contributions. As Yang argued that musical commemorations often served as a test of domestic cultural policies in China during the 1950s and 1960s. These events were typically approved by the government and signaled to the public that the work of certain musicians was respected and accepted by the socialist regime.⁶⁴ For the CCP leadership, harnessing the power of art, including music, was a key strategy for reinforcing socialist ideology and shaping public awareness.⁶⁵

The 1956 Mozart commemorative concert exemplified this approach. Co‑sponsored by the Chinese People’s Committee for the Defense of World Peace and the Chinese People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries, and held under the auspices of the MoC with Minister Mao Dun in attendance, the event coupled people‑to‑people diplomacy with domestic pedagogical legitimation.⁶⁶ Ma Sicong (vice‑president, Chinese Musicians’ Association) explicitly framed Mozart in terms consistent with socialist‑realist pedagogy, noting: “Although Mozart has been absent from our world for over a century, we continue to reside within the realm of his affectionate music. His democratizing and humanitarian compositions shall endure eternally.”⁶⁷ Read against the policy rubrics of “serving the people,” “national form,” and “popularization,” the speech, together with the concert’s official framing, normalized an Enlightenment, national‑popular Mozart for PRC audiences.

Although China’s official position was to associate Mozart’s works with political ideology, not all scholars agreed on the close association between music and political ideology. Some of them cautioned against this approach, arguing that discussions about musicians should focus primarily on composers’ musical style, rather than forcing their work into a political framework. For example, Fu Lei (傅雷) challenged this perspective in the Mozart Commemorative Essay (1956). He argued that, historically, Mozart’s words, actions, and compositions did not explicitly reflect the democratic spirit of the pre-French Revolution era. Although Mozart’s defiance of the Archbishop of Salzburg demonstrated artistic independence, Fu contended that this was driven more by personal and professional autonomy than by political agendas.⁶⁸ He highlighted that Mozart, through his simple and pure musical language, gentle and restrained style, and emphasis on beauty and harmony, expressed the ideals of peace, love, and happiness—universal aspirations that transcended political ideology.

Despite these dissenting views, this interpretation by Fu did not become mainstream. Under the CCP’s strict control over the arts, musical fusion and political ideology remained the dominant narrative. Concerts, broadcasts, and public music lectures became important components for strengthening the politico-ideological framework of Mozart and Beethoven. The Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, founded by expatriates in the early twentieth century, was renamed the Shanghai People’s Symphony Orchestra (SSO) after the PRC was established and was placed under the direct administration of the Shanghai Municipal Government. Concert programs usually included European classical, Soviet, and contemporary Chinese compositions.⁶⁹ As newly composed “national” works expanded their share of urban concert programming in the early 1950s, Mozart and Beethoven did not disappear but were reframed within a socialist‑realist idiom. This idea was repeated at the introduction of an SSO concert on February 1, 1953. The text reads Mozart not as a cosmopolitan for his own sake but as a model of “national form” (民族形式).⁷⁰ This paratext translates a Soviet interpretive script and fuses it into a national style within a Chinese orchestral context, thereby legitimizing Mozart’s presence even as “new national works” gained prominence:

Mozart’s works were described as having incorporated musical elements from various countries during his travels. However, these influences were said to have been processed and transformed by Mozart to ultimately create works that more authentically reflected Austrian national characteristics.⁷¹

The association between Mozart and the Enlightenment in Soviet texts also appeared in the SSO program introduction:

His luminous and transparent musical style is closely linked to Enlightenment thought, and many characteristics of his works align with the literary themes of the German Sturm and Drang movement. While his music contains moments of sorrow, lyricism, and melancholy, the dominant tone of his compositions is a joyful affirmation of life. His works radiate optimism, celebrating the joy of existence and the beauty of human expression.⁷²

In line with Mozart’s compositions, Beethoven’s music was interpreted in accordance with Soviet perspectives, with certain works specifically characterized as revolutionary and democratic symbols, embodying the ideals of the masses. For instance, the official SSO introduction to the Third Symphony in E-flat major, Op. 55 (Eroica), on April 15, 1954, aligned text with socialist-realist criteria of heroic struggle, collective emancipation, and resistance to tyranny. In doing so, it legitimized Beethoven within early-1950s PRC programming even as “new national works” expanded their share of the repertory:

It turns out that this symphony was originally dedicated to Napoleon. Around the time of the French Revolution, revolutionary waves surged through European countries. Beethoven was a supporter of the democratic movement in this era, and he hated the oppression of the ruling class. Therefore, he placed his ideals, the liberation of all mankind and a happy life in peace, in the revolutionary movement at that time. . . . Napoleon was the leader of the French Revolution, and Beethoven saw him as the embodiment of his ideals, a heroic figure who liberated humanity. It was for this reason that Beethoven decided to dedicate the work to Napoleon. However, after hearing the news that Napoleon had declared himself emperor, he immediately tore off the inscription on the cover in anger, saying, “So this is what he is like! Now he wants to trample on everything to satisfy his own ambition, and he wants to become a tyrant riding on top of the people!”⁷³

The editor-in-chief of Radio Enthusiast observed that although China made significant efforts to popularize Beethoven, it was not done in a way that his works would be holistically accessible to the public.⁷⁴ Therefore, the need for these lectures was evident. China aimed to create an appreciation for Beethoven’s symphonies among the masses. More importantly, these efforts sought to construct an image of Beethoven that could inspire public admiration and respect.⁷⁵

To make Beethoven a strong advocate for socialist ideological construction, the radio station organized a series of lectures on his symphonies. The central theme of the lecture series was how to use music as a means of public education and ideological influence. Although Beethoven’s music was classified as part of the “Western bourgeois culture,” Chinese critics emphasized in their lectures the tensions between Beethoven and the bourgeoisie, as well as the idea that his music transcended its “class limitations”:

Beethoven’s works have surpassed the boundaries of bourgeois art and possess a truly popular and democratic character.⁷⁶

Although China adopted Soviet cultural frameworks, incorporating ideological interpretations of Mozart and Beethoven through translated texts, state-sponsored lectures, musical institutions, and commemorative events throughout the 1950s, the ideological and political shifts in the late 1950s prompted an increasing divergence between the cultural policies of the two nations. The deteriorating Sino–Soviet relationship, coupled with China’s domestic political campaigns, led to a growing emphasis on national self-reliance in artistic and ideological spheres. Consequently, China’s interpretation of Mozart and Beethoven evolved beyond Soviet precedents, embedding them within the distinctly Chinese revolutionary and nationalist discourse. Both the composers were no longer mere symbols of socialist realism, they were redefined to align with Maoist principles as revolutionary figures and ideological tools for shaping China’s independent socialist culture. Meanwhile, the works of Mozart and Beethoven were seen as diplomatic tools, and more importantly, they embodied the symbol of China’s entry into the domain of artistic modernization.

By the 1960s, escalating ideological tensions between China and the Soviet Union, along with internal conflicts within the CCP, brought about a significant shift in cultural policy. Early enthusiasm to integrate Western classical music into the socialist discourse gave way to increasing suspicion of foreign influences. By the mid-1960s, as Mao’s government intensified its efforts to enforce ideological purity in the arts, Mozart and Beethoven, who were considered progressive figures during the early 1950s, came under scrutiny through the lens of class struggle.

From Revolutionary Icons to Bourgeois Relics: The Fate of Mozart and Beethoven in China

The late 1950s marked a significant turning point in China’s cultural landscape. The aftermath of the Anti-Rightist Movement (1957) and the launch of the Great Leap Forward (1958–1960) reshaped the ideological framework of artistic production. The working class became central to socialist identity, shaping not only economic policies but also cultural and artistic priorities.⁷⁷ The CCP required artistic groups to engage workers in labor production and establish cultural and artistic teams rooted in the working class.⁷⁸

As nationalist and revolutionary works, such as Socialism is Good (社会主义好) and Singing Chairman Mao (歌唱毛泽东), gained popularity, Western music gradually became marginalized in concert programs. However, Mozart and Beethoven were not discarded immediately. Instead, their music was absorbed into the socialist cultural framework through significant reinterpretation to align with proletarian cultural principles. Unlike the early 1950s when Soviet authorities and music scholars created narratives that largely shaped the interpretations of these composers in the Chinese context, during the late 1950s, Chinese authorities and music scholars started creating their independent narratives to create a separate politico-cultural discourse in China.

According to the official SSO propaganda, China’s portrayal of Mozart and patriotism went beyond the Soviet interpretation, which focused on “musical elements in Mozart’s operas that reflect patriotism.” In the late 1950s, the Chinese musicological discourse reinterpreted Mozart’s refusal to accept a prestigious position in Berlin as an act of patriotic resistance, aligning his image with Mao’s idea of loyalty to the motherland:

Every great artist must also be a patriot. Despite facing poverty, illness, and immense hardship in his final years, Mozart refused a prestigious position and lucrative salary from Berlin, choosing instead to remain in his homeland to complete his finest works. Although the exact location of his grave remains unknown, his legacy endures, and he will forever live on in our hearts.⁷⁹

Additionally, within the framework of Chinese socialism, Mozart’s rebellion against aristocratic patronage was no longer seen simply as an act against feudalism under the influence of the Enlightenment, rather, more poignantly, it became a symbol of democracy:

The tragic end of his short life was the result of irreconcilable conflicts between a progressive artist and the constraints of the feudal system. He openly criticized musicians who groveled before the aristocracy and remained steadfast in his pursuit of independence, creative freedom, and human dignity. Unwilling to tolerate the Salzburg Archbishop’s treatment of him as a mere servant, he ultimately severed ties with his patron. He frequently clashed with “high society” and held deep contempt for the wealthy princes and nobles, further underscoring his adherence to democratic ideals in a new era of music. Mozart’s compositions reflect the progressive ideas of the Enlightenment, embodying a profound belief in humanity’s bright future—even if, at the time, this vision remained a utopian ideal.⁸⁰

Before the Great Leap Forward, China followed the Soviet model and viewed Beethoven as a revolutionary figure who was closely associated with the ideals of the French Revolution. However, during the Great Leap Forward, his revolutionary image was reinforced, and his entire symphonic repertoire was reinterpreted as a heroic proletarian struggle. Even Beethoven’s compositions that are traditionally linked to nature, such as the Sixth Symphony (Pastoral), were assigned political significance, symbolizing resilience and ideological steadfastness of a hero:

Beethoven grew up during the French Revolution, and he understood perfectly the people's strong desire to fight against the feudal system. The people demanded liberation from the authoritarian system, striving for freedom and victory. All these issues raised by the revolution naturally became the content and foundation of his musical creations, and the common struggle with the people was also the heroic ideal, which naturally became the clue for the creation of all Beethoven’s works. It is precisely for this reason that Beethoven’s nine symphonies can also be compared to a complete large-scale narrative poem describing the life of a hero. While some of the symphonies depict the hero’s struggles or inner thoughts, the sixth symphony focuses on the hero's relationship with nature. For Beethoven, nature is not a frightening, incomprehensible force that opposes man, but a source of life and creativity. Man can refresh his spirit and ponder all the exciting questions more deeply in contact with nature and thus become stronger in will and braver in looking to the future.⁸¹

Importantly, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was presented as a gift on the tenth anniversary of the founding of a New China and was assigned a more explicit political meaning. According to People’s Daily, the symphony symbolizes the collective voice of the masses united in solidarity:

The first three movements of this symphony portray a journey from struggle to victory and from pain to joy. A powerful horn blast then transports the listener to a new realm, where the fourth movement celebrates unity and fraternity. For this movement, Beethoven selected the chorus lyrics from Ode to Joy by the renowned German poet Schiller, marking the first time a human voice was incorporated into a symphony. The cellos and double basses introduce the theme of joy with a deep, slow expression, followed by a heroic march and a triumphant “battle.” Building on this foundation, the choir and orchestra come together to express Beethoven’s and the people’s heartfelt aspiration: “Millions united in love and solidarity.”⁸²

As orchestral institutions were reoriented toward workers and peasants under the policy rubrics of “serving the people,” “national form,” and “popularization,” concert reports from the late 1950s already note a programming shift. Newly composed or newly arranged “national” pieces and folk-derived suites elicited demonstrably warmer responses than unmediated Western classics, especially outside the largest urban cores.⁸³ Musicians and students actively adapted Chinese folk music in orchestral performances, ensuring that concerts resonated with their new target audiences. The themes of these adaptations were closely aligned with state propaganda, celebrating agricultural abundance, victories in the Anti-Japanese War and the Chinese Civil War, rural development, and party leadership.⁸⁴ Consequently, the presence of Mozart and Beethoven declined in domestic music owing to a shift in cultural policies and a growing emphasis on nationalistic artistic forms.

However, this contraction of Mozart’s and Beethoven’s programmatic share did not remain static. In view of the Great Leap Forward’s severe consequences, the Party Centre in 1961–1962 adopted a line of “adjustment, consolidation, enrichment, and improvement”; Mao Zedong temporarily stepped back from day‑to‑day decision‑making while Liu Shaoqi and others led corrective measures.⁸⁵ In the realm of cultural policy, this temporary recalibration was embodied in the Central Committee’s circulation, on April 30, 1962, of the “Opinions on Several Issues Concerning Current Work in Literature and Art (Draft)” (commonly known as the “Eight Articles on Literature and Art”). The document aimed to restore certain elements of the 1950s “Double Hundred” policy and to reintroduce a richer range of artistic forms of expression.⁸⁶

Zhou Guangzhen (周光臻) noted that 1962 marked a brief “spring” in China’s music sphere.⁸⁷ Against this backdrop, the works of Mozart and Beethoven reemerged through public performances. Between 1962 and 1964, the SSO performed Beethoven’s works eight times, with the Egmont Overture featuring most frequently. In 1963, the orchestra presented three Beethoven symphonies—Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92; Symphony No. 6 in F Major, Op. 68; and Symphony No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 67. In contrast, during this period, Mozart’s works were performed less often, with only four documented performances, including two symphonies—Symphony No. 35 in D Major, K. 385, and Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, K. 550.

Beyond domestic pedagogy, Beethoven and Mozart also functioned in the early 1960s as diplomatic display pieces. In state‑affiliated “friendship” and “cultural exchange” settings, canonical Western works were used to signal professional modernity and calibrated cultural openness within the socialist camp.⁸⁸ Between 1961 and 1963, the Central Symphony Orchestra presented nine works by Beethoven and Mozart, spanning various genres. For instance, on October 17, 1962, the orchestra performed Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58 in a concert showcasing young Chinese musicians who had returned after winning prizes at the George Enescu International Competition.⁸⁹ In November 1962, at a cultural exchange event with East Germany, the orchestra featured Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto (Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat Major, Op. 73).⁹⁰ In 1963, when the Cuban Symphony Orchestra visited China, the conductor of the group, together with the Central Symphony Orchestra, led Mozart’s Overture to The Marriage of Figaro .⁹¹

However, policy adjustments made by Liu Shaoqi (刘少奇) once again provoked the dissatisfaction of Mao Zedong. By the end of 1963, political differences between these two leaders became increasingly apparent. Mao was under the impression that policies introduced by Liu Shaoqi leaned toward capitalist ideology and regarded the decision-making team led by Liu and Deng Xiaoping (邓小平) as a manifestation of “bourgeois command.”⁹² In 1964, at the Central Committee Work Conference, Mao explicitly stated, “To prevent the ‘peaceful evolution’ strategy promoted by imperialists and revisionists from succeeding and to safeguard the future of Marxism-Leninism, we must cultivate and train successors to the proletarian revolutionary cause.”⁹³ Against this backdrop, he introduced the five well-known criteria,⁹⁴ signaling his disapproval of Liu Shaoqi’s political stance and his intention to redirect China’s political trajectory. Subsequently, between December 15 and December 28, 1964, the Political Bureau of the Central Committee convened a work conference where Mao further emphasized that the essence of this political struggle was to resolve the contradiction between socialism and capitalism. He stressed that the primary objective was to “eliminate the capitalist roaders in power within the party.”⁹⁵ As the conflict escalated, Mao’s criticism of Liu Shaoqi became increasingly severe, eventually portraying him as a representative of the bourgeoisie and accusing him of straying from Marxist principles.

Owing to this political tension, the spread and development of Western music in China halted. The CCP had long viewed music as a crucial tool for political and ideological construction. As Mao Zedong tightened ideological control within the party, Zhou Enlai (周恩来) reaffirmed that music must serve socialist ideology. At the 1964 Music and Dance Work Forum, he stressed that musical development in China should “eliminate Westernization” and promote compositions that were “national.”⁹⁶

To align with this shifting political landscape, both the SSO and Central Symphony Orchestra adjusted their repertoires, gradually replacing Western works with Chinese folk music. By the end of 1964, the works of Western composers had largely disappeared from their programs. Some orchestra members abandoned Western instruments and embraced traditional Chinese instruments to comply with the new cultural policies.

Mao’s political directives further linked Western music to a capitalist ideology. He believed that certain individuals used Western cultural and artistic works to secretly disseminate capitalist values and influence socialist thought. In December 1963, he commented the following in a literary and artistic report submitted by the Propaganda Department of the Central Committee of the CCP:

There are many problems with various art forms—opera, folk art, music, fine art, dance, film, poetry, and literature—and many people are involved. Socialist transformation has had little effect in many sectors. In many areas, the “dead” still rule. . . . It is strange that many communists enthusiastically promote feudal and capitalist art but show little enthusiasm for socialist art.⁹⁷

This critique quickly resonated through the musical fraternity in China. At the end of 1963, People’s Music published an article denouncing Western music, arguing that it had become a vehicle for reinforcing capitalist ideology. This article urged the Chinese music community to support Mao’s political stance:

The promotion of European classical music is essentially a bourgeois popularization; the uncritical or laudatory dissemination of the bad culture of the past to the public is also a bourgeois popularization. Such work not only fails to eliminate the influence of bourgeois ideology but, in fact, reinforces its position.⁹⁸

It is interesting to note how perceptions surrounding Mozart and Beethoven in China underwent a dramatic reversal over the years. In the 1950s, Chinese literary and music critics portrayed the identities of these composers within the framework of socialist ideology, presenting them as revolutionary figures whose music reflected the aspirations of the oppressed. However, as Mao intensified his ideological campaign against Western influence in the mid-1960s, the literary and critical discourse on Mozart and Beethoven shifted significantly. By the mid-1960s, the same media outlets that had praised Mozart and Beethoven in the 1950s began to publish new articles denouncing them as ideological survivals of feudalism and capitalism rather than as progressive or revolutionary figures. In 1964, an article in People’s Music criticized Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, which was previously hailed as a symbol of socialism and democracy, referring to it as an echo of capitalism:

Our attitude towards the Ninth Symphony previously lacked the effort to separate honey from poison, leading to an overemphasis on its positive aspects while ignoring its flaws. . . . As evident from the lyrics, we cannot find socialist ideals in the Ode to Joy; instead, what we see is the idealized kingdom of the bourgeoisie. . . . The Ninth Symphony is not the product of Beethoven’s creative climax, but rather the echo of a low ebb, a numb awakening. This symphony is full of sadness and lamentation.⁹⁹

Beethoven, once depicted as a revolutionary fighter, was reinterpreted as a self-serving, weak, and wavering capitalist:

Like many bourgeois artists, Beethoven’s revolutionary ideals were incomplete due to the limitations of the bourgeois worldview. The bourgeois utopian concept of humanism and knowledge was only intended to reconcile class conflicts and suppress the momentum of the revolution. Beethoven himself exhibited a dual nature: he dared to challenge the aristocracy but was also content to rely on and be used by it. His later works lost the revolutionary spirit of his early compositions. In the final analysis, Beethoven ultimately did not escape the common traits of the petty bourgeoisie: selfishness, vacillation, accommodation to reality, and servility to the rulers.¹⁰⁰

In the 1950s, Chinese scholars linked Mozart to Freemasonry with The Magic Flute, which contained a Masonic theme—a symbol of humanist ideals. However, by the mid-1960s, the process of rejecting this interpretation had begun in the musical discourse of China. The scholars argued that Mozart’s political views and Freemasonry were highly idealistic, his perception evolved in alignment with the rising capitalist class, and his works ultimately reflected the interests of the bourgeoisie.

In early 1964, Western classical music had largely disappeared from the repertoires of two major orchestras. In that place, officially sanctioned music, which the party leadership deemed ideologically “correct,” was promoted, replacing any work that might (whether overtly or subtly) suggest countercultural themes or serve as an unapproved medium for critique. The following official statements issued by the SSO regarding Western music detailed the “evidence” of how Western music promoted capitalist ideology, specifically citing the works by Mozart and Beethoven. (See table 2.)

Conclusion

This article has shown that, in the PRC between 1949 and 1966, the meanings attached to Mozart and Beethoven were not intrinsic properties of the works but the outcome of a state-sanctioned interpretive regime. Analyzing these meanings through four interacting levers (scripts, channels, uses, and boundaries) helps explain why the same repertory and composer images did different political work over time. Scripts defined which narratives were authorized. Channels shaped how those narratives circulated through translations, syllabi, program notes, radio, and commemorations. Uses covered pedagogy, canon formation, and cultural diplomacy. Boundaries specified what could be programmed and how it had to be heard.

Openings in the mid-1950s widened channels, with more translations, syllabi, program notes, and radio broadcasts, but did not loosen scripts or boundaries. As a result, the same socialist-realist story was amplified to broader publics. The 1962 “Eight Articles” selectively broadened uses by endorsing “critical inheritance” and the “absorption of foreign culture,” and Western pieces were admitted only when paratexts rendered them ideologically legible. After 1964, reworked scripts and tightened boundaries reclassified Mozart and Beethoven as suspect and removed them from public life. Simultaneously, in exchange concerts between 1961 and 1963, the same canon was mobilized instrumentally, typically paired with Chinese items, as a calibrated signal of cultural openness and professional modernity to foreign partners, even as domestic programming contracted. In short, the notes did not change; the regime around them did.

Synthetically, the case demonstrates transfer, domestication, and reversal within one policy apparatus. Soviet templates supplied the scripts; PRC institutions turned them into governed listening through paratexts; and the very channels that enabled uptake later enabled repudiation by re‑labelling the same scripts as “revisionist.” This reframes the question from whether Western music “survived” to what political work it was made to do, by whom, and through which paratexts. It also explains why external display (diplomatic concerts) and domestic pedagogy could diverge within a single regime.