If his solution was wrong, the sense of crisis he felt after the Holocaust and during the bleakest years of the Cold War was palpable. In the “Origins of Totalitarianism,” Hannah Arendt had theorized, “We can no longer afford ... to discard the bad and simply think it of as a dead-load. ... The subterranean stream of Western history has finally come to the surface and usurped the dignity of our tradition.” Seeger lamented this dissonance in “Bach at Treblinka,” recalling how the Baroque composer’s work had greeted Hitler’s victims on their arrival at the camps.

Arendt had called “for a new law on earth,” which would remain limited, even as it “comprehend[ed] the whole of humanity.” Seeger’s laws were timeless. Like the lyrics to “Turn, Turn, Turn,” they were borrowed from yesteryear. He was a cataloger of man’s experience, and from that arose his fight for universal dignity.

Seeger crooned for Okies. Seeger agitated for unions. Seeger stood up to McCarthyism. Seeger campaigned and raised money for civil rights. Seeger cleaned up the Hudson River. He recycled and rewrote songs from one movement to the next, as much for convenience as in recognition of intersectionality.

Compelled to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1955, he was told to identify himself in a photo taken at a Communist rally. “It is like Jesus Christ when asked by Pontius Pilate, ‘Are you king of the Jews?’” he replied.

Last month Pete Seeger died at the age of 94. He was a prophet in his own land.

Daniel J. Solomon ’16, a Crimson editorial executive, is a social studies concentrator in Pforzheimer House.