The Impulse for Renewal in Culture and Science
GA 81
11 March 1922, Berlin
7. Anthroposophy and Linguistics
My dear venerated guests! The organisers of this university course have asked me to introduce the reflections of the day through some remarks and so I will introduce today's work in a certain aphoristic manner to open our discussion. I am aware that this is no easy task at present. Once in Stuttgart I gave a short course to a smaller circle regarding the items I want to talk about today and it became clear to me that one really needs a lot of time to discuss such controversial things as we would like to talk about today. So I'm only going to suggest a few things about the spirit of our reflection which is required by Anthroposophy in relation to observing human speech.
When speech is the subject and when one sets the goal to treat speech scientifically, then one must be clear that it is not as easy to have speech as an object for scientific treatment as it is for instance about human beings relating to nature or to the physical nature of the human being. In these cases, one has at least a clear outline for the observation of the object. Certainly one can discuss to what a degree observation lies at its foundation, or if it is merely a process being grasped through human research capabilities of an unknown origin. However, this is then a discussion which happens purely within the course of thought. What is presented as an object of observation is a closed object, a given.
This is not the case in spoken language. A large part of speech means that through a person speaking, something is unfolding which was already in the subconscious regions of the human soul life. Something strikes upward from these subconscious regions and what rises, connects to conscious elements which gradually, like harmonics, move with it in an unconscious or subconscious stream. That which is momentarily present in the consciousness, what is present as we speak, that is only partially the actual object essential for our observation. One can, if one remains within the current speech habits of people, acquire a certain possibility of bringing language as an object into consciousness, also when one is speaking. I would like to present in a modest way an example which could perhaps illustrate this.
During Christmas in Dornach I held a lecture cycle at the Goetheanum regarding pedagogical didactic themes. This lecture cycle came about as a request which resulted in a row of English teachers coming to the lectures which they had asked for. When it became known that this course was going to take place, people from other countries in western and middle Europe, namely Switzerland, also gathered to listen to the lectures. Because this course couldn't contain the 900 visitors in the large auditorium of the Goetheanum, but could only be held in a smaller hall, I was notified to give the lectures twice, one after the other. Already before this I believed that to a certain degree it would be necessary to separate the English speakers from those who belonged to other nationalities—not out of political grounds; I stressed this clearly. The lecture cycle was given throughout also for the English speakers; because when people want to hear something about Anthroposophy, wherever it is presented, I always speak German to them. I thought this was something through which its “Germanic” nature could be documented, whereby the German character and German language can be served.
In one of these lectures I had to discuss ethical and moral education. I tried in the course of the lectures to show how the child can be guided in these steps inwardly in its earthly life, which could bring about a certain ethical and moral attitude in the child.
If I would today again speak in front of individuals who listen in the same way as some had listened yesterday, then one could again construe that I spoke out of direct experience, as it happened yesterday, when I spoke about the Trinity. However, Dr Rittelmeyer responded so clearly with a comparison between the book and the mind, which understandably I didn't wish to do.
In this lecture I want to indicate the ethical, moral education towards which the child needs to be orientated so that it is done in the right way: feelings of gratitude, interest in the world, love for the world and his or her own activity and action; and I would like to show how, through love imbuing their activity and actions they are steered to something which can be called human duty. It would be necessary for this trinity to be taken directly out of life's experience and express them in three words—we're talking about language here. I arrived at the first two steps, Gratitude and Love, then the third step: Duty. Despite having to give the lecture twice, once from 10 to 11 o'clock for the English audience, and a second time from 11 to 12 for other nationalities, the latter with their frame of mind being that of central Europeans, I actually had to do these lectures which should simply have been parallel, in quite a different way for the English than for the Germans because I needed to make an effort to live into the mood of my audience. Something similar applied to the other days but on this day, it was particularly necessary.
Why was this so? Yes, while I spoke about duty during the hour from 11 to 12, my entire audience experienced it through words of the German language; I had spoken in the first hour from 10 to 11 what I had to say about their experience of the “Pflicht”-impulse, which they call “duty.” Now it is quite a different experience when one expresses the word “Pflicht” to the word “duty” and in the 11 to 12 o'clock lecture I had to allow nuances of experience to flow into what happens when one says “Pflicht.” When one says “Pflicht” one touches an impulse through these words which comes out of the emotional life, which flows directly into experience as something—which I want to say verbatim—is related to “pflegen” (to care for). Out of this activity flows the feeling, as to what belongs to this activity. This is the impulse which one designates to the word “Pflicht.” Something quite different lives in the soul when this impulse is designated by the word “duty,” because just as much as the word “Pflicht” points to the feelings, so the word “duty” points to the intellect, to the mind, to what is directed from within, like how thoughts are being conducted when one goes over into activity. One could say “Pflicht” is fulfilled through inner love and devotion, duty is fulfilled from the basis of a human being, when sensing his human dignity, must say to himself: you must obey a law which penetrates you, you must devote yourself to the law which you have grasped intellectually. This is roughly characterised. However, with this I want to bring into expression how inner complexes of experience are quite different between one word and another, and yet despite this the dictionary says the German word “Pflicht” translates to the English word of “duty”. This is however transmitted by the spirit of the folk, in the folk soul and in the speech, you have nuances of the entire folk soul. You are going to see that in the soul of central Europeans, in relation to this, it looks quite different compared with souls of other nationalities; that the soul life is experienced quite differently in speech by central Europeans compared with the English nation.
A person who has no sense for the unconscious depths of soul where speech comes from, which lies deeper than what is experienced consciously, will actually be unable to obtain a sober objectivity for scientific observation of speech. One should be clear about one thing. With nature observation the objects present themselves, or one can clean them up through outer handling in order to have the object outside oneself and thus able to research it. To consider speech it is necessary to first examine the process of consciousness in order to come to what the object essentially is which one wants to examine. So one can, where speech is the subject, not merely consider what lives in human consciousness, but in considering speech one needs to have the entire living person before you who expresses himself in speaking and speech.
This preparation for the scientific speech observation is very rarely done. If such preparation would be undertaken then one would, if one takes linguistic history or comparative linguistics, move towards having a deep need to first contemplate the inner unconscious content of that language, the unconscious substance which in speaking only partly comes to expression.
Now we arrive at something else, namely, during the various stages of human development this degree of consciousness associated with language was quite varied. It was quite different for example during the times in which Sanskrit had its origins; different again during the time the Greek language developed, another time than we had here in Germany—but here nuances became gradually less recognisable—and in another time, it happened for instance in England. There are already great variations in the inner experience of the conduct in the English language when used by an Englishman or American, if I observe only the larger differences. Whoever takes up the study of dialects will enter into how the different dialects in the language is experienced by the people who use it, and take note of all the complicated soul impulses streaming through it which comes into expression as speech in the vocal organism. It is for instance not pointless that when the Greek speakers say “speech” (Sprache) or when they say “reason” (Vernunft), they consider both these words as essentially the same and can condense them into one word, because the experience within the words and the experience within thoughts, within mental images, flow together, undifferentiated, in the Greek application of speech, while in our current epoch differentiations show themselves in this regard. The Greek always felt words themselves rolled around in his mind when he spoke; for him thoughts were the “soul” and words streaming in formed the “body”, the outer garments one could call it, the word-soul streaming in thought. Today we feel, when we clearly bring this process into consciousness, as if on the one side we would say a word—the word streams towards what we express—and on the other side the thoughts swim in the stream of words; it is however soon clearly differentiated from the stream of words.
If we return for instance to Sanskrit then it is necessary to undergo essential psychological processes first, to experience psychic processes, in order to reach the possibility to live inwardly with what at the time of Sanskrit's origin was living in the words. We may not at any stage confront Sanskrit with the same feelings when regarding its expression, when regarding its language, as we would do with a language today.
Let's take for example a familiar word: “manas”. If you now open the dictionary you would find a multitude of words for “manas”: spirit, mind, mindset, sometimes also anger, zeal and so on. Basically, with such a translation one arrives at an experience of a word which once upon a time existed when it was quite clearly and inwardly experienced, not nearly. Within the epoch when Sanskrit lived at the height of its vitality, with a different soul constitution as it has today, it was essentially something different. We must clearly understand that human evolution already existed as a deep transformation of the human soul constitution. I have repetitively characterized this transformation as having taken place somewhere in the 15th Century. There are however ever and again such boundaries of the epochs when going through human evolution, and only when one can follow history as the inner soul life of the people can one discover what really existed and how the life of speech played its part.
It was during such a time when the word “manas” could still be grasped inwardly in a vital way, when something existed which I would like to call the experience of the meaning of sound. In an unbelievable intense way one experienced what lived inwardly in the sounds, which we designate today as m, as a, as n and as s. The life of soul rose to a higher level—still dreamily, yet in a conscious dream—with its inward living within the organism when the vocals and consonants were pronounced. Whoever uses such scientific tools for researching how speech lives within people, will find that everything resembling consonants depends upon people placing themselves into external processes, into things, and that the inner life of things with their own inner, but restrained gestures, want to copy it. Consonants are restrained gestures, gestures not becoming visible but which through their content certainly capture that which can outwardly be experienced in the role of thunder, lightning flashes, in the rolling wind and so on. An inner inclusion of oneself in outer things is available when consonants are experienced.
We actually want to, if I might express myself like this, imitate through gestures all that lives and weaves outside of us; but we restrain our gestures and they transform themselves within us and this transformation appears as consonants.
By contrast, by opposing external nature, mankind has living within itself a number of sympathies and antipathies. These sympathies and antipathies within their most inner existence form gestures out of the collective vowel system, so that the human being, through experiencing speech, lives in such a way that he, within the nature of the consonants, imitate the outer world—but in a transformed way—so that in contrast, through the vowels, he forms his own inner relationship to the outer world.
This is something which can certainly be understood and examined through today's soul life if one enters into the concrete facts of the speech experience. It deals with what is illustrated as imagination, not as some or other fantasy, but that for example the inner process of the speech experience can really be looked at.
Now in ancient times, in which Sanskrit had its original source, there was still something like a dreamlike imagination living within the human soul. Not a clearly delineated mental picture like we have today was part of man, but a life in pictures, in imaginations—certainly not the kind of imaginations we talk about in Anthroposophy today, which are fully conscious with our sharply outlined concepts, but dreamlike instinctive imaginations. Still, these dreamlike imaginations worked as a power. If we go back up to the time we are talking about, one can say these imaginations lived as a vital power in people: they sensed it, like they sensed hunger and thirst, only in a gentler manner. One painted in an internal manner, which is not painting as in today's sense, but in such a way as to experience the inward application of vocalisation, like we apply colour to a surface. Then one lives into the consonants through the vocalization, just as when, by placing one colour beside another, one brings about boundaries and contours. It is an inner re-experience of imaginations, which presents an objective re-living of outer nature. It is the re-living of dreamlike imaginations. One surrenders oneself to these imaginations and inverts the inner processed imaginations through the speech organs into words.
Only in this way does one imagine the inner process of the life of speech in the way it was once experienced in human evolution. If one becomes serious about such an observation, for example through the experience of tones, which we call ‘m’ today, we notice that with the experience of this sound, we stand at once on the boundary between what is consonant and what is vowel. Just like we paint a picture and then the colours, which have their inner boundaries and outer limitations and do not continue over the surface, just so something is expressed in the word “manas”. With ‘a’ something resembling human inwardness is sensed. If one wishes to describe the word “manas” I have to say: In olden times people lived in their dream-like imaginations in the language, just as we experience speech consciously now. We no longer live in relation to speech in dream pictures, but our consciousness lies over speech. Old dreamlike imaginations flowed continuously in the language. So when they said the word “manas” they felt as if in some kind of shell, they felt their physical human body in as far as it is liquid aqueous, like a kind of shell, and the rest of the body as if carried in a kind of air body. All of this was experienced in a dreamlike manner in olden times when the word “manas” was spoken out. People didn't feel like we do today in our soul life, because people felt themselves to be the bearers of the soul life—and the soul itself one experienced as having been born out of the supersensible and super-human forces of the shell.
You must first make this experience lively if you want to understand the content of older words. We must realise that when we experience our “I” today it is quite different from what it was when the word “ego” was for instance come across in humanity in earlier times, when the word “aham” was experienced in the Sanskrit language. We sense our “I” today as something which is completely drawn to a single point, a central point to which our inner being and all our soul forces relate.
This experience does not underlie the older revelations of the I-concept. In these olden times a person felt his own I as something which had to be carried; one didn't feel as if you were within it. One then experienced the I to some extent as a surging of soul life swimming independently. What one felt was not indicated by the linguistic context—what lay in the Sanskrit word “aham” shows it is something around the I, which carries the I . While we feel the I inwardly as will impulses—we really experience it this way today—which permeates our inner being, we say that as its central point it is a spring of warmth, which streams with warmth—to make a comparison—streaming out on all sides, this is how the Greek or even the Latin experienced the I like a sphere of water, with air permeating this sphere completely. It is something quite different to feel yourself living in a sphere of water within extended air, or to experience the inward streaming towards a central point of warmth and to stream out warmth to the periphery of the sphere and then—if I might use this comparison more precisely—to be grasped as a sphere of light.
These are all symbols. Yet the words of a language are in this sense also symbols, and if you deny the ability of words to indicate symbols, you would be totally unable to be impressed by such a consideration. It is necessary in the research of linguistics that one first lives into what actually has to become the object of linguistics. Now, one finds that in ancient times, the language had a considerably different character than what exists in civilisation's current language; further, one finds that the physical, the bodily, played a far greater part in the establishment of phonetics, in the establishment of word configuration. The human being gave much more of his inner life in speech. That is why you have ‘m’ at the start of “manas” because this enclosed the human being, formed a contour around him or her.
When you have Sanskrit terms in front of yourself, you soon notice you can experience the nature of the consonants and vowels within it. You notice how in this activity an inner experience in the external events and external things are present and how this results in the consonants being imitated, so vocal sympathies and antipathies are discovered where the word process and the speech process merge. In ancient times a much more bodily nuance came about. One had a far greater experience in the ancient life of speech. This one can still experience. If today you hear someone speaking in Sanskrit or the language of an oriental civilisation, how it sounds out of their bodily nature, and how speech absorbs the musical characteristics, it is because such an experience rises out of the musical element. Only in a later phase of human evolution the musical elements in speech split away from the logical, thus also away from the soul life, into mere conceptions.
This is still noticeable today. When for instance you compare the inner experience in the German and in the English language, you notice that in the English language the process of abstract-imagery-life have made greater progress. If we want to live in the German language today we must live into those forms of the speech which came about in New High German.1Hochdeutch or High German is the pure German language without the influence of dialects, which is also understood by most Germans. New High German differs from Old High German as the latter refers to more historic times. Schriftliche Deutch is the German most widely used in school instruction, standardization, etc.—translator The dialects still lets our soul become immersed in a far more intensive and vital experience. The actual spiritual experience of the language is primarily only possible in High German. Thus, a figure such as Hegel who was born out of this spirit, for whom the mental images are particular to him and yet it is also quite connected to a particular element within the language, out of these causes it has come about that Hegel is in reality not translatable into a western language, because here one experiences the literal fluency (Sprachliche) even more directly.
When you go towards the west you notice throughout within the observation how the soul unfolds when it is given over to the use of language: the soul experiences it intensively, however the literal fluency (Sprachliche) is thrown out of the direct soul experience throughout; it flows away in the stream of speech and continuously, to some degree, out of the flowing water something is created like ice floes, like when something more solid is rolling over the waves—as for instance in English. When, by contrast, we speak High German, we can observe how a person in the stream of speech is in any case within the fluidity of it but in which there are not yet any ice blocks which have already fallen out of the literal fluency, which are connected with the soul-spiritual of the human being.
Now when we come towards the east, one finds this process in a stage which is even further back. Now you don't see ice floes which are thrown out of the stream of speech, and which are not firmly connected with it; here also, as not in High German, the entire adequacy of thoughts are experienced with the word but the word is experienced in such a way that a person retains it in his organism, while thoughts in their turn flow into the words, which one runs after but which actually goes before you.
These are the things which one has to live through when one wants to really understand literal fluency. One can't experience this if one doesn't at least to a certain degree take on the contemplation which Goethe developed for the observation of the living plant world and which, when in one's inner life, these are followed with inner consequential exercises, leading towards mental pictures about what is meant in Anthroposophy. Anyway, if you want to look at the language, you must observe it in such a way that you live within the inner metamorphosis of the organising of the language, experience in its inner concreteness, because only then will you have in front of you, what the speech process is. As long as you are unable to rise up to such inner observations of speech, you are only looking at speech in an outer way, and you will be unable to penetrate the actual living object of language. As a result, all kinds of theories of speech have appeared. Ideas about language have in many cases become thought-related regarding the origins of language; a number of theories have resulted from this. Wilhelm Wundt enumerated them in his theory of language and picked them apart critically.
This is the way things are today in many areas and how it was observed yesterday. When the bearers of some scientific angle today raises into full contemplation regarding what he has observed within the science and he represents it thus, then talk starts to develop about “decline”. This is actually not really what Anthroposophy wants to tell you. Basically, for example, yesterday very little was said about decline; but very much not so in the case of those who stand within theology, for they are experiencing a decline.
Similarly, there is also talk regarding the philosophy of language, of declining theories, for instance with the “theory of creative synthesis/invention” (Erfindungstheorie). Wundt lists his different theories. Following on the theory of invention the language developed in such a way that humanity, to some extent, fixed the designations of things; however, this is no longer appropriate for current humanity because today the question they ask is how could the dumb have fixed forms of language while still so primitive?
As his second, Wundt presents his “theory of wonder” (Wundertheorie) which assumes that at a certain stage of evolution human speech/language arrived as a gift from the Creator. Dr Geyer already dealt with this yesterday; currently it is no longer valid for a decent scientist to believe in wonder; it is prohibited, and so the theory of wonder is no longer acceptable. Further down his list is the “theory of imitation” (Nachahmungstheorie) which already contains elements which have a partial authorisation because it is based on elements of consonants in speech being far more on an inner process than what is usually imagined. Then the “natural sound theory” (Naturlauttheorie) followed which claimed that out of inner experience the human being aspired towards phonetically relating what he perceived out in nature, into the form of speech, according to his sympathies or antipathies. These theories could be defined differently. Today it is quite possible to show that on the basis of those who criticise these theories, it becomes apparent that these theories can't determine the actual object of language.
Dear friends, the thing is actually like this: Anthroposophy—even when people say they don't need to wait for her—can still show in a certain relationship, what can be useful in this case, through which—even in such areas as linguistics—firstly the sober, pure object is to be found, on which the observation can be based.
Obviously anything possible can be discussed, also regarding language, even when one actually doesn't approach it as a really pure object. Anthroposophy bears within it a profound scientific character which assumes that first of all one must be clear what kind of reality there is to be found in specific areas, in order for the relationships we have regarding truth and wisdom to penetrate these areas, so that these areas of reality can actually become inward experiences. As we saw happening here yesterday, then in relation to such earnest work which is not more easily phrased in other sciences, it is said that these Anthroposophists stick their noses into everything possible, then it must be answered: Certainly it is apparent that Anthroposophy in the course of its evolution must stick its nose into everything. When this remark doesn't remain in superficiality, this ‘Anthroposophy sticks her nose into everything possible’—but if one wants to make progress to really behold and earnestly study the results, when it comes down to Anthroposophy sticking its nose into everything, only then, when this second stage in the relationships to Anthroposophy is accomplished, will it show how fruitful Anthroposophy is and in how far its legitimacy goes against the condemnation that it merely originates from superficial observation!
Anthroposophie und Sprachwissenschaft
Sehr verehrte Anwesende! Die Veranstalter dieses Hochschulkurses haben gewünscht, daß ich an jedem Morgen durch einige Ausführungen die Betrachtungen des Tages einleite, und so muß es denn wohl auch sein, daß ich die heutige Tagesarbeit in einer gewissen aphoristischen Weise durch eine Besprechung eröffne. Ich bin mir bewußt, daß dies gerade am heutigen Tage nicht ganz leicht ist. Bei einem kurzen Kurse, den ich einmal vor einem kleineren Kreise in Stuttgart über diejenigen Dinge hielt, die heute zur Sprache gebracht werden sollen, war es mir ganz besonders klar geworden, wie man wirklich viel Zeit braucht, um diejenigen umstrittenen Dinge zu besprechen, die heute besprochen werden sollen. So möchte ich denn nur einiges über den Geist der Betrachtung vorausschicken, der durch Anthroposophie gefordert ist in bezug auf die Anschauung der menschlichen Sprache.
Wenn von der Sprache die Rede ist, und wenn man sich das Ziel setzt, die Sprache wissenschaftlich zu behandeln, so muß man sich darüber klar sein, daß man es gegenüber der Sprache als Objekt einer wissenschaftlichen Behandlung nicht so leicht hat wie zum Beispiel gegenüber der außer dem Menschen gelegenen Natur oder auch gegenüber der physischen Natur des Menschen. In diesen Fällen hat man nämlich wenigstens ein für die Wahrnehmung klar umrissenes Objekt. Gewiß, man kann dann noch darüber diskutieren, inwiefern dem Objekt eine Wahrnehmung zugrundeliegt, oder inwiefern es bloß als Wirkung einer unbekannten Ursache vom menschlichen Erkenntnisvermögen erfaßt wird. Aber das sind dann Diskussionen, die rein innerhalb des Gedanklichen verlaufen. Was der wissenschaftlichen Betrachtung als Objekt vorliegt, ist ein abgeschlossener Gegenstand, der eben gegeben ist.
Das ist beim Sprachlichen durchaus nicht der Fall. Beim Sprachlichen liegt ein großer Teil dessen, was sich entfaltet, indem der Mensch spricht, schon in den unbewußten Regionen des menschlichen Seelenlebens. Es schlägt schon etwas herauf aus diesen unbewußten Regionen, und was da heraufschlägt, das wird dann verbunden mit bewußten Elementen, die gewissermaßen wie die Oberwellen sich hinbewegen auf einem unbewußten oder unterbewußten Strom. Und das, was augenblicklich im Bewußtsein präsent ist, was gegenwärtig ist während wir sprechen, das ist eigentlich nur teilweise das für die Sprache im Wesentlichen in Betracht kommende Objekt, der eigentliche Gegenstand. Man kann, auch wenn man innerhalb der gegenwärtigen Sprachgewohnheiten des Menschenwesens stehen bleibt, sich schon eine gewisse Möglichkeit aneignen, die Sprache als Objekt in das Bewußtsein hereinzubringen, auch während man spricht. Ich möchte Ihnen dafür in bescheidener Weise ein Beispiel anführen, das dieses vielleicht veranschaulichen kann.
Ich habe zu Weihnachten in Dornach am Goetheanum einen Vortragszyklus zu halten gehabt über pädagogisch-didaktische Gegenstände. Dieser Vortragszyklus war zunächst dadurch veranlaßt, daß eine Reihe englischer Lehrer und Lehrerinnen diesen Vortragszyklus, zu dem sie kommen wollten, verlangten. Als aber bekannt wurde, daß dieser Kursus stattfinden sollte, fanden sich dann aus allen Ländern des Westens und Mitteleuropas, namentlich aus der Schweiz auch, Leute zusammen, die nun ebenfalls diesen Vortragszyklus hören wollten. Weil nun dieser Kursus nicht in dem weit über 900 Personen fassenden großen Saal des Goetheanum gehalten werden konnte, sondern nur in einem kleinen Saal stattfinden konnte, war ich genötigt, die Vorträge jeweilig zweimal hintereinander zu halten. Nun glaubte ich schon von vornherein, daß es in einem gewissen Grade notwendig sei, die englisch sprechenden Menschen abzusondern von denjenigen, die anderen Nationalitäten angehören — nicht etwa aus politischen Gründen; der Vortragskursus — das bemerke ich ausdrücklich — war durchaus auch für die Engländer deutsch gesprochen; denn wenn die Leute etwas über Anthroposophie hören wollen, wo es auch immer ist, wird von mir immer deutsch zu ihnen gesprochen. Ich denke, das ist auch etwas, wodurch man seine «Deutschheit» dokumentieren kann, und wodurch dem deutschen Wesen und der deutschen Sprache gedient werden kann.
Nun hatte ich in einem dieser Vorträge die ethische, die sittliche Erziehung zu erörtern. Ich versuchte im Laufe des Vortrages darzustellen, wie das Kind hinzuführen ist zu denjenigen Stufen des inneren Erlebens, die eine gewisse ethisch-sittliche Verfassung in dem Kinde herbeiführen können. - Wenn ich heute wieder vor Persönlichkeiten sprechen würde, die in derselben Weise zuhören, wie manche gestern zugehört haben, so würde man wieder das, was ich aus unmittelbarem Erlebnis heraus spreche, konstruiert nennen können, wie das gestern gegenüber dem geschehen ist, was ich über die Trinität gesagt habe. Allein, Dr. Rittelmeyer hat ja darauf so deutlich geantwortet mit dem Vergleich zwischen dem Kopf und dem Buch, wie ich es aus begreiflichen Gründen nicht habe tun wollen.
Ich mußte also in diesem Vortrage über ethisch-sittliche Erziehung zeigen, wie das Kind geführt werden muß, damit bei ihm in der richtigen Weise entfacht werden: Dankbarkeitsgefühle, Interesse an der Welt, Liebe zu der Welt und zum eigenen Handeln und Tun; und ich mußte dann zeigen, wie durch Liebe zum eigenen Handeln und Tun heranentwickelt wird das, was im Menschen als Pflicht gefühlt wird. Nun war es notwendig, diese Dreiheit aus dem unmittelbaren Leben heraus mit diesen drei Worten — wir reden ja heute von der Sprache — zu bezeichnen. Ich kam also von den ersten beiden Stufen — Dankbarkeit und Liebe — zu der dritten Stufe: Pflicht. Aber trotzdem ich den Vortrag zweimal zu halten hatte, einmal von 10 bis 11 Uhr für die englischen Zuhörer, das zweite Mal von 11 bis 12 Uhr für die anderen Nationalitäten, die im wesentlichen in ihrer Gemütsstimmung das Mitteleuropäische hatten, mußte ich nun tatsächlich diesen Vortrag, der eigentlich einfach ein Parallelvortrag sein sollte, an diesem Tage ganz anders für die Engländer halten als für die Deutschen, weil ich mich hineinzuleben versuchte in die Stimmung der Zuhörer. Etwas ähnliches war zwar auch für die anderen Tage notwendig, aber an diesem Tage war es ganz besonders notwendig.
Warum war das so? Ja, während ich in der Stunde von 11 bis 12 über Pflicht sprach vor Leuten, die durchaus aus dem Empfinden heraus zuhörten, aus dem die deutsche Sprache gebildet worden ist, hatte ich in der ersten Stunde von 10 bis 11 vor Leuten zu sprechen, welche das, was ich über den Pflicht-Impuls zu sagen hatte, aus dem heraus empfanden, zu dem sie «duty» sagen. Nun ist es etwas ganz anderes, was jemand in der Seele hat, wenn er das Wort «Pflicht» ausspricht, oder wenn er das Wort «duty» ausspricht, und ich mußte einfach in den Vortrag von 11 bis 12 Uhr einfließen lassen diejenige Nuance des Erlebens, die sich ergibt, wenn man zu den Menschen von «Pflicht» spricht. Denn sagt man «Pflicht», so schlägt man mit diesem Worte einen Impuls an, der aus dem Gemütsleben kommt, der unmittelbar das Erleben hinüberführt zu etwas, das — wenn ich es als Verbum aussprechen will — mit «pflegen» zu tun hat, mit dem Hinausfließen des Gefühls von dem Tätigsein zu dem, worauf sich die Tätigkeit bezieht. Das liegt in dem Impulse, den man mit dem Worte «Pflicht» bezeichnet. Etwas ganz anderes lebt in der Seele, wenn man diesen Impuls mit dem Worte «duty» bezeichnet; denn ebenso, wie das Wort «Pflicht» auf das Gemüt hindeutet, so deutet das Wort «duty» auf den Intellekt, auf den Geist, auf das, was einen innerlich dirigiert, so wie einen der Gedanke dirigiert, wenn man zum Handeln übergeht. Man kann sagen: «Pflicht» wird erfüllt aus innerer Liebe und Hingebung, «duty» wird erfüllt aus dem Grunde, weil man, wenn man seine Menschenwürde fühlt, sich sagen muß: Du mußt einem dich durchdringenden Gesetz gehorchen, mußt dich hingeben einem Gesetz, das du intellektuell erfassest. Das ist nur annähernd charakterisiert. Aber ich will damit zum Ausdruck bringen, wie die innerlichen Erlebniskomplexe ganz andere sind bei dem einen und bei dem anderen Worte, trotzdem im Lexikon für das deutsche Wort «Pflicht» das englische Wort «duty» steht. Das aber überträgt sich auf den ganzen Volksgeist, auf die ganze Volksseele, und in der Sprache haben Sie eine Nuance der ganzen Volksseele. Sie werden sehen, daß es in der Seele des Mitteleuropäers in dieser Beziehung ganz anders aussieht als in der Seele anderer Nationalitäten, und daß sich das Seelenleben ganz anders in der Sprache auslebt beim Mitteleuropäer als beim Engländer.
Wer nun keinen Sinn dafür hat, daß das, was Sie aus den unterbewußten Tiefen der Seele in die Sprache hineinnehmen, schon eine ganze Stufe tiefer liegt als das, was im Bewußtsein erlebt wird, der hat eigentlich nicht wirklich ein sauberes Objekt für die [wissenschaftliche Betrachtung der] Sprache. Man muß sich darüber klar sein: Bei der Naturbetrachtung sind die Objekte da, oder man stellt sie etwa durch äußere Hantierungen sich sauber her, wobei man aber wiederum die Objekte außerhalb von sich selbst hat und deshalb durchaus verfolgen kann. Betrachtet man die Sprache, so ist es notwendig, daß man zuerst einen Bewußtseinsprozeß durchmacht, um darauf zu kommen, was eigentlich das wirkliche Objekt ist, das man zu betrachten hat. So darf man, wenn es sich um die Sprache handelt, nicht bloß das betrachten, was im menschlichen Bewußtsein lebt, sondern man muß bei der Betrachtung der Sprache das ganze Lebendige im Auge haben, das sich im Sprechen und in der Sprache auslebt.
Diese Vorbereitung für die wissenschaftliche Sprachbetrachtung wird im Grunde genommen ja sehr wenig gemacht. Würde sie gemacht, so würde man, wenn man, sagen wir Sprachgeschichte oder vergleichende Sprachwissenschaft treibt, das tiefe Bedürfnis haben, überall erst den Gegenstand irgendeiner Sprache, den inneren unbewußten Inhalt, diese unterbewußte Substanz, die im Sprechen nur zum Teil bewußt zum Ausdruck kommt, ins Auge zu fassen.
Nun kommt dazu noch etwas anderes, nämlich daß bei den verschiedenen Stufen der Menschheitsentwicklung dieser Grad der Bewußtheit, der mit der Sprache verbunden ist, eben ein ganz verschiedener war. Ein ganz anderer war er zum Beispiel in den Zeiten, in welchen die Quelle der Sanskritsprache liegt; ein anderer war er in der Zeit, in der die griechische Sprache gebildet worden ist, ein anderer ist er bei uns hier in Deutschland — aber hier werden die Nuancen immer kleiner und kleiner und unbemerkbarer — und ein anderer ist er zum Beispiel in England. Es sind schon große Verschiedenheiten im inneren Erleben bei der Handhabung der englischen Sprache durch einen Engländer oder durch einen Amerikaner, wenn ich nur die groben Unterschiede hier ins Auge fasse. Wer aber auf das Dialekt-Studium eingehen kann, wer also zum Beispiel darauf eingeht, was die verschiedenen Dialekte der deutschen Sprache den Menschen erleben lassen, wenn sie gehandhabt werden, der merkt auch daran, was da alles an komplizierten Seelenimpulsen hineinläuft in das, was dann in der Sprache, im Sprachorganismus zum Ausdruck kommt. Es ist zum Beispiel durchaus nicht etwa grundlos, daß die Griechischsprechenden, wenn sie «Sprache» sagten, und wenn sie «Vernunft» sagten, im wesentlichen dasselbe empfanden und beides in einem Worte zusammenfaßten, weil das Erleben innerhalb des Wortes und das Erleben innerhalb des Gedankens, innerhalb der Vorstellung, bei der griechischen Handhabung der Sprache noch bis zu einem gewissen Grade unterschiedlos zusammenflossen, während unsere heutige Zeitepoche Unterschiedlichkeiten in dieser Beziehung zeigt. Der Grieche fühlte durchaus, wenn er sprach, wie im Worte selbst hinrollte der Gedanke. Für ihn war der Gedanke die «Seele» und das Wort, das hinströmte, war der «Leib», das äußere Kleid, sagen wir, der in den Gedanken hinströmenden Wortseele. Wir fühlen heute, wenn wir uns den Prozeß klar zum Bewußtsein bringen, etwa so, wie wenn wir auf der einen Seite das Wort aussprechen würden — das Wort strömt dahin, indem wir es aussprechen —, und auf der anderen Seite der Gedanke gewissermaßen oben auf dem Strom der Worte schwimmt; er ist aber schon wieder deutlich unterscheidbar von dem Strom der Worte.
Gehen wir zum Beispiel ins Sanskrit zurück, dann ist es nötig, erst wirkliche psychologische Prozesse durchzumachen, psychische Vorgänge zu erleben, damit wir in die Lage kommen, wirklich innerlich dasjenige zu haben, was in der Zeit, da die Sanskritsprache ihre Quelle hatte, bei einem Worte erlebt wurde. Wir dürfen das Sanskrit durchaus nicht etwa mit denselben Gefühlen gegenüber dem Sprechen, gegenüber der Sprache betrachten, wie wir eine heutige Sprache betrachten.
Nehmen wir zum Beispiel ein sehr bekanntes Wort: «manas». Sie werden, wenn Sie ein Lexikon aufschlagen, für «manas» die mannigfaltigsten Worte finden: Geist, Verstand, Gemüt, manchmal auch Zorn, Zornmütigkeit und so weiter. Im Grunde genommen kommt man durch solche Übersetzungen dem inneren Worterlebnis, das einmal da war und das in älteren Zeiten für die Menschen sehr deutlich innerlich erlebbar war, nicht nahe. Innerhalb derjenigen Zeitepoche, wo das Sanskrit in seiner vollen Lebendigkeit lebte, war überhaupt die menschliche Seelenverfassung noch anders als sie heute ist, und zwar wesentlich anders. Wir müssen uns darüber klar sein, daß in der Menschheitsentwicklung schon so etwas vorhanden ist wie eine tiefgehende Umwandlung der Seelenverfassung des Menschen. Ich habe jene eine große Umwandlung hier wiederholt charakterisiert, die etwa in die Mitte des 15. Jahrhunderts gesetzt werden darf. Aber es gibt, indem man in der Menschheitsentwicklung heraufsteigt, immer wieder solche Epochengrenzen, und nur wenn man in der Geschichte auch das innere seelische Leben des Menschen wirklich verfolgen kann, kommt man darauf, was da eigentlich vorhanden war, und woran das Spracherleben teilgenommen hat.
Es war in der Zeit, in der so etwas wie das Wort «manas» noch lebendig innerlich ergriffen worden ist, durchaus etwas vorhanden, was ich nennen möchte das Erleben der Lautbedeutung. In einer ungeheuer intensiven Weise empfand man das, was innerlich erlebt wurde bei den Lauten, die wir heute als m, als a, als n und als s bezeichnen. Das Seelenleben ging noch bis zu einem hohen Grade — wenn auch traumhaft, aber doch im Traume bewußt — mit dem mit, was innerlich im Organismus lebte, während die Vokale und die Konsonanten ausgesprochen wurden. Wer dann mit einer solchen wissenschaftlichen Ausrüstung verfolgt, wie die Sprache im Menschen lebt, der findet, daß alles, was konsonantisch ist, darauf beruht, daß der Mensch sich mit seinem eigenen Wesen in äußere Vorgänge, in Dinghaftes, hineinversetzt, und das innere Leben der Dinge mit seinen eigenen inneren, aber zurückgehaltenen Gebärden nachahmen will. Konsonanten sind zurückgehaltene Gebärden, nicht sichtbar werdende Gebärden, die aber in ihrem Inhalt durchaus dasjenige erfassen, was äußerlich im Rollen des Donners, im Zucken des Blitzes, im Hinrollen des Windes und so weiter erlebt werden kann. Ein inneres Sichhineinversetzen in die äußeren Dinge ist vorhanden, indem der Konsonant erlebt wird. Man will eigentlich, wenn ich mich so ausdrücken darf, durch Gebärden nachahmen, was äußerlich lebt und webt; man hält die Gebärde zurück, sie verwandelt sich im Innern und kommt in dieser Verwandlung im Konsonanten zum Vorschein.
Dagegen lebt im Menschen, indem er sich der äußeren Natur entgegenstellt, eine Summe von Sympathien und Antipathien. Diese Sympathien und Antipathien, die ein inneres Erleben darstellen, gebären aus sich heraus den gesamten Vokalismus; so daß der Mensch, indem er in der Sprache lebt, so lebt, daß er im konsonantischen Wesen die äußere Welt nachbildet, aber metamorphosiert, daß er dagegen im Vokalischen sein eigenes inneres Verhältnis zur äußeren Welt darstellt. — Das ist etwas, was, wenn man auf die konkrete Tatsache des Spracherlebens eingeht, auch mit dem heutigen Seelenleben durchaus erfaßt, durchschaut werden kann. Es handelt sich bei dem, was als Imagination geschildert wird, nicht um irgendwelche Phantasien, sondern darum, daß zum Beispiel dieser innere Prozeß des Spracherlebens wirklich erschaut werden kann.
Nun war aber in den älteren Zeiten, in denen das Sanskrit seine Quelle hat, noch etwas in der Menschenseele lebendig wie eine traumhafte Imagination. Nicht ein solches scharf konturiertes Vorstellen, wie wir es heute haben, war damals dem Menschen eigen, sondern ein Leben in Bildern, in Imaginationen — allerdings nicht solche Imaginationen, wie wir sie heute in der Anthroposophie meinen, die vollbewußt sind wie unsere scharf konturierten Begriffe, sondern traumhaft instinktive Imaginationen waren da. Aber diese traumhaften Imaginationen wirkten als Kraft. Gehen wir zurück bis zu dem angedeuteten Zeitraume, so kann man sagen: Diese Imaginationen lebten als lebendige Kraft in dem Menschen; er verspürte sie, wie er Hunger und Durst verspürte, nur in einem leiseren Sinne. Man malte innerlich in einer Art, die natürlich nicht ein Malen im heutigen Sinne ist, die sich aber so auslebte, daß man das Vokalische innerlich aufträgt, wie wir die Farben auf eine Fläche auftragen, und daß man dann ins Konsonantische mit diesem Vokalisieren sich hineinlebt, so wie wenn man, indem man die Farben nebeneinander setzt, die Grenzen und die Konturen hervorbringt. Es ist ein innerliches Nacherleben eines Imaginierens, das aber ein objektives Nacherleben der äußeren Natur darstellt. Es ist ein Erleben der traumhaften Imaginationen. Man gibt sich diesen Imaginationen hin und stülpt die innerlich wirksamen Imaginationen durch die Sprachorgane aus dem Organismus in die Worte.
Nur auf diese Weise stellt man sich den innerlichen Vorgang des Spracherlebens so vor, wie er einmal in der Menschheitsentwicklung gelebt hat. Wenn man dann Ernst macht mit einer solchen Betrachtung, zum Beispiel mit dem Erleben des Lautes, den wir heute m nennen, so merkt man beim Erleben dieses Lautes, daß er einmal an der Grenze dessen stand, was Konsonant und Vokal ist. So wie wenn wir heute ein Bild malen und dann die Farben, die nun zu ihren inneren Grenzen ihre äußeren Grenzen haben, nicht weiter fortsetzen in die Fläche hinein, so wurde etwas ausgesprochen bei dem Worte «manas». Und beim a wurde etwas gefühlt wie menschliche Innerlichkeit. Und wenn ich das ganze Wort manas so umschreiben wollte, müßte ich sagen: In jenen alten Zeiten lebten die Menschen mit ihren traumhaften Imaginationen in der Sprache, so wie wir bewußt die Sprache erleben. Wir leben heute mit Bezug auf die Sprache nicht mehr in Traumvorstellungen, sondern unser Bewußtsein liegt über der Sprache. Die alten traumhaften Imaginationen flossen fortwährend in die Sprache. Und so fühlte, wer das Wort «manas» aussprach, sich wie in einer Art von Schale drinnen; er fühlte seinen physischen Menschenleib, namentlich insofern dieser flüssig-wässerig ist, wie in einer Art von Schale, und den übrigen Leib wie getragen von einer Art Luftkörper. Das alles wurde traumhaft erlebt, wenn in alten Zeiten das Wort «manas» ausgesprochen wurde. Man fühlte nicht so, wie wir uns heute im Seelenleben fühlen, sondern man fühlte sich als Träger des Seelenlebens - und das Seelenhafte selber erlebte man wie aus den außerirdischen und außermenschlichen Kräften der Schale gegeben.
Diese Empfindung muß man erst rege machen, wenn man einen älteren Wortinhalt verstehen will. Und man muß wissen, daß, wenn wir heute unser Ich empfinden, das innere Seelenerlebnis ein ganz anderes ist, als das war, was etwa bei dem Wort «ego» erlebt worden ist oder was von den Menschen. früherer Zeiten bei dem Wort «aham» der Sanskritsprache erlebt worden ist. Wir erleben heute unser Ich als etwas, was ganz und gar wie in einem Punkte zusammengezogen ist, in einem Punkte, auf den wir als den Mittelpunkt unseres Innenwesens alle unsere Seelenkräfte beziehen.
Diese Empfindung lag nicht den älteren Offenbarungen des Ich-Begriffes zugrunde. In diesen älteren Zeiten fühlte man auch das Ich noch als etwas, was getragen worden ist; man fühlte sich nicht im Ich drinnen. Man fühlte auch das Ich gewissermaßen wie auf den Wogen des seelischen Lebens wie etwas Selbständiges schwimmend. Was man aber so fühlte, deutete man in dem Lautzusammenhang nicht an; so daß eigentlich das, was in dem Sanskritwort «aham» liegt, etwas ist, was um das Ich herum ist, was das Ich trägt. Und während wir das Ich innerlich als einen Willensimpuls haben — denn so wird es heute wirklich erlebt —, der innerlich unser Wesen durchstrahlt, sagen wir als ein Mittelpunkt innerhalb einer Wärmequelle, die die Wärmestrahlen - um einen Vergleich zu gebrauchen - nach allen Seiten hinstrahlt, so fühlte der Grieche oder sogar noch der Lateiner das Ich wie eine Kugel von Wasser, und diese Wasserkugel ganz durchdrungen von Luft. Es ist etwas anderes, zu erleben die sich in einer Wasserkugel ausbreitende Luft, oder zu erleben das innerliche Strahlen eines Wärmemittelpunktes und Wärme nach allen Seiten der Kugel hinstrahlen, die dann - wenn wir den Vergleich ganz genau gebrauchen — als eine Luftkugel erfaßt werden muß. — Das alles sind Symbole. Aber die Worte der Sprache sind ja in diesem Sinne auch Symbole, und wer das Recht bestreitet, daß man die Worte als Symbole bezeichnet, der wird überhaupt nicht in eine solche Betrachtung einrücken können.
So ist es notwendig, wenn man Sprachwissenschaft treiben will, daß man sich erst hineinlebt in das, was eigentlich Gegenstand der Sprachwissenschaft werden muß. Und da findet man eben, daß in älteren Zeiten die Sprache durchaus einen ganz anderen Charakter hatte als den, der etwa in den heutigen Zivilisationssprachen liegt; und man findet weiter, daß das Körperliche, das Leibliche einen viel größeren Anteil hatte am Zustandekommen des Lautlichen, am Zustandekommen der Konfiguration eines Wortes. Der Mensch gab viel mehr sein Inneres [in die Sprache]. Daher auch haben Sie in dem Worte «manas» das m im Anfang, weil es den Menschen in sich abschließt, konturiert.
Wenn man Bezeichnungen in der Sanskritsprache vor sich hat, merkt man sehr bald, daß man darin das Erleben des Konsonantischen und des Vokalischen hat, man merkt, wie in der Tat ein innerliches Einleben in die äußeren Vorgänge und äußeren Dinghaftigkeiten da ist, und wie dadurch, daß im Konsonantischen nachgeahmt wird, im Vokalischen Sympathien und Antipathien empfunden werden, der Wortprozeß und der Sprachprozeß zustandekommen. Das ist in den alten Zeiten in einer viel körperlicheren Schattierung zustandegekommen. Es war ein viel volleres Erleben in dem älteren Spracherleben. Das kann man heute noch erleben. Wenn Sie heute einen das Sanskrit oder überhaupt eine orientalische Zivilisationssprache sprechenden Menschen hören, so hören Sie, wie das, was er ertönen läßt, aus seinem ganzen Menschen heraus, einschließlich aus der Leiblichkeit, ertönt, und wie die Sprache musikalischen Charakter annimmt, weil sie aus einem solchen inneren Erleben kommt wie das Musikalische. Denn erst in einer späteren Phase der Menschheitsentwicklung hat sich in der Sprache das Musikalische abgetrennt von dem Logischen, also von dem Seelenleben in bloßen Vorstellungen.
Das kann man wiederum auch heute noch merken. Wenn Sie zum Beispiel vergleichen das innere Erleben in der deutschen und in der englischen Sprache, so ist es so, daß bei der englischen Sprache der Prozeß des In-abstrakten-Vorstellungen-Lebens weiter fortgeschritten ist. Wenn wir heute in der deutschen Sprache leben wollen, müssen wir uns ja in diejenigen Formen der Sprache hineinleben, welche mit dem Neuhochdeutschen heraufgekommen sind. Die Dialekte lassen unsere Seele durchaus noch untertauchen in ein viel intensiveres vitales Erleben. Das eigentliche geistige Erleben der Sprache ist erst im Hochdeutschen möglich. Daher ist auch eine solche Gestalt wie Hegel, die ganz aus diesem Geiste herausgeboren ist, daß die Vorstellung gesondert für sich ist und doch wieder ganz gebunden an ein besonderes Element der Sprache erlebt wird, aus diesen Voraussetzungen zustandegekommen und Hegel läßt sich deshalb in Wirklichkeit nicht in eine westliche Sprache übersetzen. Denn da erlebt man das Sprachliche noch unmittelbar.
Wenn Sie nach dem Westen gehen, merken Sie überall in dem Erleben, das die Seele entfaltet, wenn sie dem Sprachgebrauch hingegeben ist: Es erlebt zwar die Seele intensiv, es wird aber überall das Sprachliche herausgeworfen aus dem unmittelbaren Seelenerleben; es fließt der Strom der Sprache dahin, und fortwährend wird gewissermaßen aus dem fließenden Wasser etwas herausgebildet wie Eisschollen, die wie ein fester Inhalt auf den Wogen dahinrollen - zum Beispiel im Englischen. Wenn wir dagegen das Hochdeutsche sprechen, können wir merken, wie man in dem Strom der Sprache ebenfalls ein Flüssiges hat, aber es sind noch nicht Eisblöcke darin, die schon herausgefallen wären aus dem Sprachlichen, das verbunden ist mit dem Geistig-Seelischen des Menschen.
Kommt man nach Osten, so findet man diesen Prozeß auf einer noch weiter rückwärts liegenden Stufe. Da sieht man nun nicht Eisschollen, die herausgeworfen werden aus dem Strom der Sprache, und die nicht etwa fest verbunden mit ihm sind; da wird auch nicht wie im Hochdeutschen die vollständige Adäquatheit des Gedankens mit dem Wort erlebt, sondern es wird das Wort so erlebt, daß man es in seinem Organismus behält, während wiederum der Gedanke etwas ist, dem die Worte entfließen, und dem man nachläuft, der eigentlich vor einem einhergeht.
Das sind die Dinge, die man durchmachen muß, wenn man das Sprachliche wirklich erfassen will. Und man kann das nicht durchmachen, wenn man nicht wenigstens bis zu einem gewissen Grade diejenige Anschauung aufnimmt, die Goethe für die Betrachtung der lebendigen Pflanzenwelt ausgebildet hat, und die, wenn sie in innerlichem Erleben und innerlichem Üben konsequent verfolgt wird, zu dem imaginativen Vorstellen führt, das in der Anthroposophie gemeint ist. Überhaupt, wer die Sprache betrachten will, muß sie so betrachten, daß er die innerliche Metamorphose des Sprachorganisierens erlebt, erlebt in ihrer Konkretheit; denn dann erst hat er das vor sich, was eigentlich der Sprachprozeß ist. Solange man sich nicht aufschwingen kann zu einer solchen innerlichen Betrachtung der Sprache, solange betrachtet man eben die Sprache äußerlich, und man kann nicht bis zu dem eigentlichen lebendigen Objekt der Sprache vordringen. Daher ist alles mögliche an Sprachtheorien heraufgekommen. Das Denken über die Sprache ist ja in vieler Beziehung zu einem Denken über den Ursprung der Sprache geworden; eine ganze Anzahl von Theorien ist da heraufgekommen. Wilhelm Wundt hat sie in seiner Sprachtheorie aufgezählt und kritisch zerpflückt.
Es ist damit ja so, wie man es heute auf vielen Gebieten erlebt, und wie man es gestern beobachten konnte. Wenn nämlich die Träger irgendeiner wissenschaftlichen Richtung sich heute zum vollen Nachdenken erheben und das betrachten, was ihnen die Wissenschaft, die sie vertreten, heute darbietet, dann fangen sie an vom «Untergang» zu reden. Das ist eigentlich nicht das, was Ihnen die Anthroposophie sagen will. Im Grunde genommen ist ja zum Beispiel gestern von der Anthroposophie aus sehr wenig von Untergang geredet worden; sehr wohl aber ist von denen, die heute in der Theologie drinnenstehen, von dem von ihnen erlebten Untergang gesprochen worden.
Ähnlich spricht man auch, wenn man über die Sprache philosophiert, von den untergehenden Theorien, zum Beispiel von der «Erfindungstheorie». Wundt zählt die verschiedenen Theorien auf. Nach der Erfindungstheorie ist die Sprache so entstanden, daß die Menschen gewissermaßen festgesetzt haben die Bezeichnungen für die Dinge; aber das findet der heutige Mensch nicht mehr angemessen, denn, so meint er, wie sollten die Stummen die Sprachformen haben festsetzen können, wenn auch noch so primitive? Als zweite zählt Wundt die «Wundertheorie» auf, die darauf ausgeht, daß die Sprache dem Menschen in einem gewissen Entwicklungsstadium als ein Geschenk des Schöpfers gegeben worden ist. Aber das hat ja gestern schon Dr. Geyer ausgeführt, daß es heute für einen halbwegs anständigen Wissenschafter das nicht mehr gibt, an Wunder zu glauben; das ist verboten, und damit ist auch die Wundertheorie nicht mehr möglich. Dann wird als weitere die «Nachahmungstheorie» aufgezählt, die schon Elemente enthält, die eine partielle Berechtigung haben, weil das konsonantische Element der Sprache auf einem viel innerlicheren Prozeß beruht, als man sich gewöhnlich vorstellt. Dann wird die «Naturlauttheorie» angeführt; sie besagt, daß aus innerlichem Erleben heraus der Mensch in bezug auf die Sprache anstrebte, daß sich die Worte in lautlicher Beziehung decken sollten mit dem, was man draußen in der Natur wahrnimmt und mit Sympathie oder Antipathie verfolgt. Diese Theorien könnten auch anders definiert werden. Aber es ist heute ja möglich, daß auch auf dem Boden derjenigen, die diese Theorien kritisieren, gezeigt wird, wie diese Theorien alle nicht das eigentliche Objekt der Sprache erfassen können.
Sehr verehrte Anwesende, die Sache ist eben durchaus so, daß Anthroposophie — auch wenn die Leute sagen, sie brauchten nicht auf sie zu warten - dennoch in einer gewissen Beziehung zeigen kann, was sie an Fruchtbarem zu geben in der Lage ist, wodurch — selbst auf solchem Gebiete, wie es die Sprachwissenschaft ist — erst die sauberen, die reinlichen Objekte zu finden sind, an denen dann die Betrachtung angestellt werden kann. Man kann ja selbstverständlich über alles mögliche reden, auch über die Sprache, selbst wenn man sie als ein wirklich sauberes Objekt noch gar nicht hat. Aber Anthroposophie trägt eben in sich jenen tieferen Charakter der Wissenschaftlichkeit, der darauf ausgeht, zuerst einmal sich klar zu werden, welche Art von Wirklichkeit auf einem bestimmten Gebiete gefunden werden kann, so daß dann der Zusammenhang dessen, was wir als Wahrheit, als Erkenntnis von diesen Gebieten durchdringen, mit diesem Wirklichkeitsgebiete auch tatsächlich innerlich erlebt werden kann. Und wenn, wie es gestern hier geschehen ist, dann mit Bezug auf das, was in so ehrlicher Arbeit, die nicht leichter ist als die in anderen Wissenschaften, gesagt wird, diese Anthroposophie stecke ihre Nase in alles mögliche hinein, so muß erwidert werden: Gewiß, es hat sich gezeigt, daß diese Anthroposophie im Laufe ihrer Entwicklung ihre Nase auch in alles hineinstecken mußte. Wenn es aber nicht bei der Oberflächlichkeit bleibt, dieses Apercu zu prägen: «Die Anthroposophie steckt ihre Nase in alles mögliche hinein» —, sondern wenn man dazu fortschreiten möchte, dasjenige einmal wirklich ins Auge zu fassen und es ernsthaft zu studieren, was dabei herauskommt, wenn die Anthroposophie ihre Nase in alles steckt, dann erst, wenn man zu dieser zweiten Stufe des Verhältnisses zur Anthroposophie übergeht, wird sich zeigen, wie fruchtbar die Anthroposophie ist, und inwiefern sie ihre Berechtigung hat gegenüber dem ersten Urteil, das doch nur aus einer oberflächlichen Betrachtung hervorgeht!
7. Anthroposophy and Linguistics
Dear attendees! The organizers of this university course have requested that I begin each morning with a few remarks introducing the day's reflections, and so it must be that I open today's work in a somewhat aphoristic manner with a discussion. I am aware that this is not entirely easy, especially today. During a short course I once gave to a small group in Stuttgart on the topics that are to be discussed today, it became particularly clear to me how much time is really needed to discuss the controversial issues that are to be discussed today. So I would just like to say a few words about the spirit of contemplation that anthroposophy requires in relation to the view of human language.
When we talk about language and set ourselves the goal of treating language scientifically, we must be aware that language as an object of scientific study is not as easy to deal with as, for example, nature outside of human beings or even the physical nature of human beings. In these cases, we at least have an object that is clearly defined for our perception. Of course, one can still discuss the extent to which the object is based on perception, or the extent to which it is merely grasped by human cognitive ability as the effect of an unknown cause. But these are discussions that take place purely within the realm of thought. What is presented to scientific observation as an object is a closed entity that is simply given.
This is by no means the case with language. In language, a large part of what unfolds when a person speaks already exists in the unconscious regions of the human soul. Something already emerges from these unconscious regions, and what emerges is then connected with conscious elements that move, as it were, like harmonics on an unconscious or subconscious stream. And what is currently present in consciousness, what is present while we speak, is actually only part of the object that is essentially relevant to language, the actual subject matter. Even if one remains within the current linguistic habits of human beings, one can already acquire a certain ability to bring language into consciousness as an object, even while speaking. I would like to give you a modest example of this, which may illustrate it.
At Christmas, I had to give a series of lectures on educational and didactic subjects at the Goetheanum in Dornach. This series of lectures was initially prompted by the fact that a number of English teachers requested this series of lectures, which they wanted to attend. But when it became known that this course was to take place, people from all over Western and Central Europe, including Switzerland, came together who also wanted to hear this series of lectures. Because this course could not be held in the large hall of the Goetheanum, which can accommodate well over 900 people, but only in a small hall, I was forced to give the lectures twice in succession. Now, I believed from the outset that it was necessary to a certain extent to separate the English-speaking people from those of other nationalities — not for political reasons, the lecture course — I would like to emphasize this — was also given in German for the English audience; for when people want to hear something about anthroposophy, wherever that may be, I always speak to them in German. I think this is also something by which one can demonstrate one's “Germanness” and by which the German spirit and the German language can be served.
Now, in one of these lectures, I had to discuss ethical and moral education. In the course of the lecture, I tried to describe how the child can be led to those stages of inner experience that can bring about a certain ethical and moral constitution in the child. If I were to speak again today to people who listen in the same way that some listened yesterday, what I say from direct experience could again be called contrived, as was the case yesterday with what I said about the Trinity. However, Dr. Rittelmeyer responded so clearly to this with the comparison between the head and the book, which I did not want to do for understandable reasons.
So in this lecture on ethical and moral education, I had to show how the child must be guided so that the following are kindled in him in the right way: feelings of gratitude, interest in the world, love for the world and for one's own actions and deeds; and I then had to show how love for one's own actions and deeds develops what is felt as duty in human beings. Now it was necessary to describe this trinity from immediate life with these three words — we are talking about language today, after all. So I came from the first two stages — gratitude and love — to the third stage: duty. But even though I had to give the lecture twice, once from 10 to 11 a.m. for the English audience, and the second time from 11 a.m. to 12 noon for the other nationalities, who were essentially Central European in their mood, I actually had to give this lecture, which was supposed to be a parallel lecture, in a completely different way for the English than for the Germans on that day, because I tried to empathize with the mood of the audience. Something similar was also necessary for the other days, but on this day it was particularly necessary.
Why was that? Well, while I spoke about duty from 11 to 12 to people who listened from the feeling from which the German language was formed, in the first hour from 10 to 11 I had to speak to people who felt what I had to say about the impulse of duty from what they call “duty.” Now, what someone feels in their soul when they say the word “Pflicht” is quite different from what they feel when they say the word “duty,” and I simply had to incorporate into the lecture from 11 to 12 o'clock the nuance of experience that arises when one speaks to people about “Pflicht.” For when one says “duty,” one triggers an impulse that comes from the life of the soul, which immediately carries the experience over to something that — if I want to express it as a verb — has to do with “nurturing,” with the flow of feeling from the activity to that to which the activity relates. This lies in the impulse that is described by the word “duty.” Something completely different lives in the soul when this impulse is described with the word “duty”; for just as the word ‘duty’ refers to the mind, so the word “duty” refers to the intellect, to the spirit, to that which directs one inwardly, just as thought directs one when one proceeds to action. One could say that “Pflicht” is fulfilled out of inner love and devotion, while “duty” is fulfilled because, when one feels one's human dignity, one must say to oneself: You must obey a law that permeates you, you must devote yourself to a law that you comprehend intellectually. This is only an approximate characterization. But what I want to express is how the inner complexes of experience are completely different for one word and the other, even though the English word “duty” is given in the dictionary for the German word “Pflicht.” But this carries over to the entire national spirit, to the entire national soul, and in language you have a nuance of the entire national soul. You will see that in this respect the soul of the Central European is very different from that of other nationalities, and that the soul life is expressed very differently in the language of the Central European than in that of the English.
Anyone who does not understand that what you take from the subconscious depths of the soul into language is already a whole level deeper than what is experienced in consciousness does not really have a clear object for the [scientific study of] language. One must be clear about this: when observing nature, the objects are there, or one can produce them cleanly through external manipulation, but then again, the objects are outside of oneself and can therefore be traced. When observing language, it is necessary to first go through a process of consciousness in order to arrive at what the real object to be observed actually is. When it comes to language, one must not merely observe what lives in human consciousness, but must keep in mind the whole of life that is expressed in speech and language.
This preparation for scientific language observation is, in fact, rarely done. If it were done, then when studying, say, language history or comparative linguistics, one would have a deep need to first consider the object of any language, its inner unconscious content, this subconscious substance that is only partially consciously expressed in speech.
Now there is something else to consider, namely that at the various stages of human development, this degree of consciousness associated with language was quite different. It was quite different, for example, in the times when the Sanskrit language originated; it was different in the time when the Greek language was formed, it is different here in Germany — but here the nuances are becoming smaller and smaller and more imperceptible — and it is different in England, for example. There are already great differences in the inner experience when an Englishman or an American uses the English language, if I only consider the rough differences here. But anyone who can engage in the study of dialects, anyone who, for example, considers what the various dialects of the German language allow people to experience when they are used, will also notice all the complicated impulses of the soul that flow into what is then expressed in language, in the language organism. It is not without reason, for example, that Greek speakers, when they said said “language” and when they said “reason,” they essentially felt the same thing and summarized both in one word, because the experience within the word and the experience within the thought, within the imagination, still flowed together to a certain extent in the Greek use of language, whereas our present era shows differences in this respect. When the Greek spoke, he felt the thought rolling along in the word itself. For him, the thought was the “soul” and the word that flowed forth was the “body,” the outer garment, so to speak, of the soul of the word flowing into the thought. Today, when we bring the process clearly to consciousness, we feel something like this: on the one hand, we utter the word — the word flows as we utter it — and on the other hand, the thought floats, as it were, on top of the stream of words; but it is already clearly distinguishable from the stream of words.
If we go back to Sanskrit, for example, it is necessary to first go through real psychological processes, to experience psychic processes, so that we are able to truly have within ourselves what was experienced in a word at the time when the Sanskrit language had its source. We must not view Sanskrit with the same feelings toward speech and language as we view a modern language.
Let us take a very well-known word as an example: “manas.” If you look it up in a dictionary, you will find a wide variety of words for “manas”: spirit, mind, soul, sometimes also anger, wrath, and so on. Basically, such translations do not come close to the inner experience of the word that once existed and that was very clearly experienced inwardly by people in ancient times. During the era when Sanskrit was at the height of its vitality, the human soul was fundamentally different from what it is today. We must be aware that something like a profound transformation of the human soul has already taken place in human development. I have repeatedly characterized that great transformation here, which can be placed around the middle of the 15th century. But as we ascend in human development, there are always such epochal boundaries, and only when we can truly follow the inner spiritual life of human beings in history can we discover what was actually present and how the experience of language participated in it.
It was at a time when something like the word “manas” was still experienced as something alive within, that there was something I would call the experience of the meaning of sound. In an enormously intense way, people felt what was experienced inwardly in the sounds that we today call m, a, n, and s. The soul life still went along to a high degree — albeit dreamlike, but still consciously in the dream — with what lived inwardly in the organism while the vowels and consonants were pronounced. Anyone who then pursues with such scientific equipment how language lives in human beings will find that everything that is consonantal is based on the fact that human beings project their own being into external processes, into material things, and want to imitate the inner life of things with their own inner, but restrained, gestures. Consonants are restrained gestures, gestures that are not visible, but which in their content capture precisely what can be experienced externally in the rolling of thunder, the flashing of lightning, the rolling of the wind, and so on. An inner identification with external things is present in the experience of the consonant. One actually wants, if I may express it this way, to imitate through gestures what lives and weaves externally; one holds back the gesture, it transforms internally and emerges in this transformation in the consonant.
On the other hand, by opposing external nature, a sum of sympathies and antipathies lives in human beings. These sympathies and antipathies, which represent an inner experience, give birth to the entire vocalism; so that the human being, living in language, lives in such a way that he reproduces the external world in the consonantal essence, but metamorphosed, so that, in contrast, he represents his own inner relationship to the external world in the vocalic. This is something that, if one considers the concrete fact of the experience of language, can also be understood and comprehended with today's spiritual life. What is described as imagination is not some kind of fantasy, but rather the fact that, for example, this inner process of the experience of language can really be seen.
Now, in the older times, when Sanskrit had its source, there was still something alive in the human soul like a dreamlike imagination. People did not have the sharply contoured imagination that we have today, but rather lived in images, in imaginations — not, however, imaginations as we understand them today in anthroposophy, which are fully conscious like our sharply contoured concepts, but dreamlike, instinctive imaginations. But these dreamlike imaginations acted as a force. If we go back to the period indicated, we can say that these imaginations lived as a living force in human beings; they felt them as they felt hunger and thirst, only in a quieter sense. One painted inwardly in a way that is not, of course, painting in the modern sense, but which was lived out in such a way that one applied the vowels inwardly, as we apply colors to a surface, and then, with this vocalization, one lived into the consonants, just as when one places colors next to each other, one brings out the boundaries and contours. It is an inner reliving of an imagination, but one that represents an objective reliving of external nature. It is an experience of dreamlike imaginations. One surrenders to these imaginations and, through the speech organs, transfers the imaginations that are effective within oneself from the organism into words.
Only in this way can one imagine the inner process of language experience as it once existed in human development. If one then takes such a consideration seriously, for example with the experience of the sound that we today call m, one notices when experiencing this sound that it once stood at the boundary between what is a consonant and what is a vowel. Just as when we paint a picture today and then do not continue the colors, which now have their inner boundaries and their outer boundaries, further into the surface, so something was expressed in the word “manas.” And in the a, something was felt like human inwardness. And if I wanted to describe the whole word manas, I would have to say: in those ancient times, people lived with their dreamlike imaginations in language, just as we consciously experience language today. Today, we no longer live in dreamlike imaginings in relation to language, but our consciousness lies above language. The ancient dreamlike imaginations flowed continuously into language. And so, whoever uttered the word “manas” felt as if they were inside a kind of shell; they felt their physical human body, especially insofar as it is fluid and watery, as if in a kind of shell, and the rest of their body as if carried by a kind of air body. All this was experienced in a dreamlike way when the word “manas” was uttered in ancient times. One did not feel as we feel today in our soul life, but one felt oneself to be the bearer of soul life — and one experienced the soul itself as given by the extraterrestrial and superhuman forces of the shell.
One must first awaken this feeling if one wants to understand an older word meaning. And one must know that when we feel our ego today, the inner soul experience is completely different from what was experienced with the word “ego” or what was experienced by people in earlier times with the word “aham” in Sanskrit. Today, we experience our ego as something that is completely concentrated in a single point, a point to which we relate all our soul forces as the center of our inner being.
This feeling was not the basis of the older revelations of the concept of the ego. In those older times, the ego was still felt as something that was carried; one did not feel oneself inside the I. One also felt the I, as it were, floating on the waves of soul life like something independent. But what one felt in this way was not indicated in the context of the sound, so that what is actually contained in the Sanskrit word “aham” is something that surrounds the I, something that carries the I. And while we have the self inwardly as an impulse of will — for that is how it is really experienced today — which radiates inwardly through our being, let us say as a center within a source of warmth which radiates warmth in all directions, to use a comparison, the Greeks and even the Latins felt the I as a sphere of water, and this sphere of water completely permeated by air. It is one thing to experience the air spreading out in a sphere of water, and quite another to experience the inner radiance of a center of warmth and warmth radiating out in all directions from the sphere, which then — if we use the comparison very precisely — must be understood as a sphere of air. — These are all symbols. But the words of language are also symbols in this sense, and anyone who disputes the right to describe words as symbols will not be able to enter into such a consideration at all.
So if you want to study linguistics, it is necessary to first immerse yourself in what must actually become the subject of linguistics. And there one finds that in earlier times, language had a completely different character than that found in today's civilized languages; and one further finds that the physical, the corporeal, played a much greater role in the formation of sounds, in the formation of the configuration of a word. Humans expressed much more of their inner selves [in language]. That is why the word “manas” begins with the letter m, because it encloses and contours the human being.
When one looks at Sanskrit terms, one quickly notices that they convey the experience of consonants and vowels, one notices how there is indeed an inner immersion in external processes and external things, and how, through imitation in the consonants and the feeling of sympathy and antipathy in the vowels, the word process and the language process come about. In ancient times, this came about in a much more physical way. The older language experience was much richer. You can still experience this today. When you hear someone speaking Sanskrit or any other language of an Eastern civilization, you hear how what they utter comes from their whole being, including their physicality, and how the language takes on a musical character because it comes from an inner experience similar to that of music. For it was only in a later phase of human development that the musical separated itself from the logical in language, that is, from the soul life in mere ideas.
This can still be noticed today. If, for example, you compare the inner experience in the German and English languages, you will find that in the English language the process of abstract conceptual life is more advanced. If we want to live in the German language today, we have to immerse ourselves in those forms of language that have emerged with New High German. The dialects still allow our soul to immerse itself in a much more intense, vital experience. The actual spiritual experience of language is only possible in High German. Therefore, a figure such as Hegel, who was born entirely out of this spirit, in which the idea is separate in itself and yet again experienced as completely bound to a particular element of language, came about from these premises, and Hegel therefore cannot really be translated into a Western language. For there, one still experiences language directly.
When you go to the West, you notice everywhere in the experience that the soul unfolds when it is devoted to the use of language: The soul experiences it intensely, but everywhere language is thrown out of the immediate experience of the soul; the stream of language flows along, and continuously, as it were, something is formed out of the flowing water like ice floes that roll along on the waves like solid content — for example, in English. When we speak High German, on the other hand, we can notice how there is also something fluid in the stream of language, but there are not yet any blocks of ice in it that have already fallen out of the language, which is connected with the spiritual and soul aspects of the human being.
If one goes to the East, one finds this process at an even more backward stage. There one does not see ice floes being thrown out of the stream of language, which are not firmly connected to it; nor is the complete adequacy of the thought with the word experienced as in High German, but rather the word is experienced in such a way that it is retained in one's organism, while the thought is something from which the words flow and which one pursues, which actually precedes one.
These are the things one must go through if one really wants to grasp language. And one cannot go through this unless one has at least to some extent adopted the view that Goethe developed for the observation of the living plant world, which, when consistently pursued in inner experience and inner practice, leads to the imaginative thinking that is meant in anthroposophy. In general, anyone who wants to observe language must observe it in such a way that they experience the inner metamorphosis of language organization, experience it in its concreteness; for only then will they have before them what the language process actually is. As long as one cannot rise to such an inner contemplation of language, one merely observes language externally and cannot penetrate to the actual living object of language. This is why all kinds of language theories have emerged. In many respects, thinking about language has become thinking about the origin of language; a whole number of theories have emerged. Wilhelm Wundt listed them in his theory of language and critically dissected them.
It is the same as what we experience today in many areas, and as we could observe yesterday. When the proponents of any scientific direction today rise to full reflection and consider what the science they represent offers them today, they begin to talk about “decline.” That is not actually what anthroposophy wants to tell you. Basically, very little was said yesterday about decline from the perspective of anthroposophy; however, those who are involved in theology today spoke very much about the decline they have experienced.
Similarly, when philosophizing about language, one speaks of declining theories, for example, the “invention theory.” . Wundt lists the various theories. According to the invention theory, language came into being when humans, as it were, fixed the names for things; but today's humans no longer find this appropriate, because, they think, how could mute people have been able to fix the forms of language, even if they were primitive? Second, Wundt lists the “miracle theory,” which assumes that language was given to humans at a certain stage of development as a gift from the Creator. But Dr. Geyer already explained yesterday that today, no reasonably decent scientist believes in miracles anymore; it is forbidden, and thus the miracle theory is no longer possible. Then he lists the “imitation theory,” which already contains elements that are partially justified, because the consonantal element of language is based on a much more internal process than is commonly imagined. Then the “natural sound theory” is cited; it states that, based on inner experience, humans strove in relation to language for words to correspond in sound to what is perceived outside in nature and followed with sympathy or antipathy. These theories could also be defined differently. But today it is possible to show, even on the basis of those who criticize these theories, how none of them can grasp the actual object of language.
Dear attendees, the fact is that anthroposophy — even if people say they did not need to wait for it — can nevertheless show in a certain respect what it is capable of producing that is fruitful, whereby — even in a field such as linguistics — it is only then that the clean, pure objects can be found on which consideration can then be based. Of course, one can talk about all kinds of things, including language, even if one does not yet have it as a truly clean object. But anthroposophy carries within itself that deeper character of scientificity which aims first of all to clarify what kind of reality can be found in a particular field, so that the connection between what we perceive as truth, as knowledge of these fields, and this field of reality can actually be experienced inwardly. And when, as happened here yesterday, it is said with reference to what is said in such honest work, which is no easier than in other sciences, that anthroposophy sticks its nose into everything, then the reply must be: Certainly, it has been shown that in the course of its development, anthroposophy has had to stick its nose into everything. But if we do not remain superficial and simply say, “Anthroposophy sticks its nose into everything,” — but if one wants to go further and really take a look at what comes out of anthroposophy sticking its nose into everything and study it seriously, then only when one moves on to this second stage of the relationship to anthroposophy will it become clear how fruitful anthroposophy is and to what extent it is justified in contrast to the initial judgment, which is based only on a superficial observation!