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The Origin and Development of Eurythmy
1923–1925
GA 277d

26 August 1923, Dornach

Translated by A. C. Harwood

A Lecture on Eurythmy

Eurhythmy has grown up out of the soil of the Anthroposophical Movement, and the history of its origin makes it almost appear to be a gift of the forces of destiny. In the year 1912 the Anthroposophical Society lost one of its members, the father of a family, and as a result it was necessary for his daughter to choose a profession, a profession, however, which could be found within the field of Anthroposophical activity. After much thought it seemed possible to make this the opportunity for the inauguration of a new art of movement in space, different from anything which had arisen up to that time.

And thus, out of the teaching given to this young girl, there arose the very first principles and movements of Eurythmy.

Eurythmy must be accounted one of the many activities arising out of the Anthroposophical Movement, which have grown up in such a way that their first beginnings must be looked upon as the result of the workings of destiny. I spoke some days ago about the forms of the pillars of the Goetheanum, and mentioned how I had stood before these pillars, and realised that through artistic activity they had gained a life of their own, and had developed quite different qualities from those with which they had originally been endowed. The same may be said about the art of Eurythmy.

This is always the case when one draws upon the creative forces of nature, either in one's work as an artist or in any other form of human activity. Just as the creative forces of nature draw upon the inexhaustible source of the infinite, so that it is always possible to perceive in something which has come to fruition much more than was originally implanted in it, so is it also when artistic impulses unite themselves with the mighty creative forces of nature. In such a case the artist is not merely developing some more or less limited impulse, but he reaches the point when he makes of himself an instrument for the creative powers of the universe, so that very much more grows out of his activity than he could originally have intended or foreseen.

At the time of which I speak, Eurythmy was studied only by a very few people. At the beginning of the war, (the first world war) Frau Dr. Steiner undertook their further training, and from that time on Eurythmy became more and more widely known, and its artistic possibilities very much enriched. The art of Eurythmy, as we know it today, has developed out of the first principles which were given in the year 1912. The work since then has been carried on without interruption; but Eurythmy is still only in its first beginnings, and we are working unceasingly towards its further development and perfection.

I am, however, convinced that Eurythmy bears within it infinite possibilities, and that, in the future, when those who were responsible for its inauguration must long have left their work in other hands, Eurythmy will develop further until it is able to take its place as a younger art by the side of those other arts having an older tradition.

No art has ever risen out of human intention intellectually conceived, neither can the principle of imitating nature ever produce an art. On the contrary, true art has always been born out of human hearts able to open themselves to the impulses coming from the spiritual world, human hearts which felt compelled to realise these impulses and to embody them in some way in external matter.

It can be seen how, in the case of each separate art—architecture, for example, sculpture, painting or music—certain spiritual impulses were poured into humanity from higher worlds. These impulses were taken up by certain individuals specially fitted to receive them, and in this way, through human activity, pictures of the higher worlds were reflected in the physical world; and the various arts came into being.

It is true that the arts, in the course of their further development, have for the most part become naturalistic, and have lost their connection with the impulses which originally inspired them, a mere imitation of external nature taking their place. Such imitation, however, could never be the source of any true art.

To-day, when a sculptor or painter wishes to represent the human figure, he does so by studying and working from a model. It can, however, easily be shown that the art of sculpture, which reached its zenith during the civilisation of ancient Greece, did not arise through the artist working from a model, and in his way more or less imitating the external impressions of the senses, but at that time, when the plastic art of Greece was in full bloom, man was still to some extent aware of the etheric body—which contains within it the formative forces and the forces of growth. At the height of Greek civilisation man knew how to make use of the etheric body when bringing an arm or hand, for instance, into a certain attitude, and the position and arrangement of the muscles were an actual experience to him. He had an inner understanding of the possibilities of movement in the arm and hand, of the possibilities of muscular expansion and contraction. And he was able to bring this inner experience to physical expression, making use of physical materials.

Thus the Greek sculptor incorporated into matter a real, inward experience, not merely the external impression of the eye. He did not say to himself: the lines go in this or that direction, and then proceed to embody in plastic form the perceptions of his physical senses; but for him it was indeed an actual inward experience which he re-created out of the creative forces of nature, and entrusted to external physical matter.

This is true of every form of art. There have always been, and will always be, in the course of human evolution on the earth, epochs during which art is at its height, during which influences from the spiritual worlds penetrate more easily into the souls of men than at other times, urging them to turn their gaze towards the spiritual worlds and to carry down from thence living spiritual impulses. This is how every true art is brought to birth.

Such periods of civilisation are always followed by others of a more naturalistic tendency, in which certain arts often attain to a greater external perfection than they had possessed at an earlier stage; but this perfection bears within it traces of decadence, whereas in their beginnings, these arts were permeated with a more vital, a more powerful and enthusiastic spiritual impulse. At that earlier stage they had not yet lost their true reality; their technique was the outcome of man's whole being. It was not a merely external, traditional technique, but was based on the body, soul, and spirit of man.

The realisation of this fact of human evolution might well give one courage to develop ever further and further this art of Eurythmy, which has been borne on the wings of fate into the Anthroposophical Movement. For it is the task of the Anthroposophical Movement to reveal to our present age that spiritual impulse which is suited to it.

I speak in all humility when I say that within the Anthroposophical Movement there is a firm conviction that a spiritual impulse of this kind must now, at the present time, enter once more into human evolution. And this spiritual impulse must perforce, among its other means of expression, embody itself in a new form of art. It will increasingly be realised that this particular form of art has been given to the world in Eurythmy.

It is the task of Anthroposophy to bring a greater depth, a wider vision and a more living spirit into the other forms of art. But the art of Eurythmy could only grow up out of the soul of Anthroposophy; could only receive its inspiration through a purely Anthroposophical conception.

It is through speech that man is able to reveal his inner being outwardly to his fellow-men. Through speech he can most easily disclose his inmost nature.

At all periods of civilisation, in a form suited to the particular epoch, side by side with those arts which need for their expression either the external element of space or the external element of time, accompanying and completing these, we find that art which manifests itself through speech—the art of poetry.

The art of speech—I purposely use the expression ‘the art of speech,’ to describe poetry, and the justification for doing so will appear later—is more comprehensive and universal than the other arts, for it can embody other forms of art within its own form. It can be said that the art of poetry is an art of speech which in the case of one poet works more plastically, and in the case of another more musically. Indeed one can go so far as to say that painting itself can enter into the art of poetry.

Speech is a universal means of expression for the human soul. And one who is able to gaze with unprejudiced vision into the earliest times of human evolution on the earth, can see that in certain primeval languages a really fundamental artistic element entered into human evolution. Such primeval languages were, however, to a far greater degree than is the case with modern languages, drawn out of the whole human organisation.

When one investigates without prejudice the course of the evolution of man, one discovers certain ancient languages which might almost be likened to song. Such singing was, however, enhanced by accompanying movements of the legs and arms, so that a kind of dancing was added. Especially was this the case when a dignified form of expression was sought, the form of some ritual or cult.

In those primeval times of human evolution the accompanying of the word which issued forth from the larynx with gesture and movement was felt to be something absolutely natural. It is only possible to gain a true understanding of what lies behind these things, when one realises that what otherwise appears only as gesture accompanying speech can gain for itself independent life. It will then become apparent that movements which are carried out by the arms and hands, from the artistic point of view can be not merely equally expressive, but much more expressive than speech itself.

It must be admitted that such an unprejudiced attitude with regard to these things is not always to be found. One often observes a certain antipathy towards the accompanying of speech by gesture. Indeed, I myself have noticed that certain people even go so far as to consider it not in very good taste when a speaker accompanies his discourse with pronounced gesture. As a result of this the habit has grown up, and is by no means unusual at the present day, of putting one's hands in one's pockets when making a speech. I must say that I have always found this attitude most unsympathetic.

It is a fact that the inmost nature of the human being can be revealed most wonderfully through movements of the arms and hands. My fingers often itch to take up my pen and write an essay on the philosopher, Franz Brentano, a dear friend of mine who died some years ago. I have already written a good deal about him, but I should much like to write yet another essay, based on what I shall now relate.

When Franz Brentano mounted the platform and took his place at the lecturer's desk he was himself the embodiment of his entire philosophy, the spiritual content of which called forth such deep admiration when clothed in philosophical terms and concepts.

Brentano's philosophy, in itself, was far more beautiful than his own description of it. All that he could say in words was revealed through the way in which he moved his arms and hands while speaking, through the way in which he held out the piece of paper containing the notes of his lecture. It was a very remarkable type of movement, and its most striking characteristic was, that by means of this piece of paper, and, indeed, by his whole attitude, he gave the impression of imparting something of great significance, while at the same time preserving an appearance of unconcern. So that in the course of one of his lectures one could see his entire philosophy expressed in these gestures, which were of the most manifold variety.

What is especially interesting about Franz Brentano is the fact that he founded a psychology in which he departs from the theories of all other psychologists, Spencer, Stuart Mill and others, by refusing to include the will among the psychological categories. I am acquainted with all that Franz Brentano brought forward to substantiate this theory of his, but I found nothing so convincing as the way in which he held his piece of paper. The instant he began to make gestures with his hands and arms, all trace of will disappeared from his whole bearing as a philosopher, while feeling and idea revealed themselves in the most remarkable manner. This preponderance of idea and feeling, and the disappearance of will, underlay every movement which he made with his hands. So that one day I shall really find myself compelled to write an essay: The Philosophy of Franz Brentano, as revealed through his Gesture and Bearing. For it seems to me that much more was expressed in these gestures than in any philosophical discourse on the subject.

Those who enter deeply and without prejudice into this matter will gradually realise that the breath which we expel from our lungs, our organs of speech and song, when vocalised and given form by means of the lips, teeth and palate, is really nothing else than gesture in the air. Only in this case these air-gestures are projected into space in such a way that they conjure up sounds which can be heard by the ear.

If one succeeds, with true sensible-super-sensible vision, in penetrating into the nature of these air gestures, into all that the human being actually does when he utters a vowel or consonant sound, when he forms sentences, uses rhyme and rhythm, the Iambic, for instance, or the Trochee—when one penetrates into these gestures of the air, the thought arises; alas, the languages of modern civilisation have indeed made terrible concessions to convention. They have become simply a means of expression for scientific knowledge, a means of communicating the things of everyday life. They have lost their primeval spirituality.

Civilised language bears out what has been so beautifully expressed by the poet: “Spricht die Seele, so spricht ach schon die Seele nicht mehr.” (“Alas, when the soul speaks, in reality it speaks no more.”)

Now all that can be perceived by super-sensible vision, all that can thus be learned about the nature of these forms and gestures of the air, can be carried into movements of the arms and hands, into movements of the whole human being. There then arises in visible form the actual counterpart of speech. One can use the entire human body in such a way that it really carries out those movements which are otherwise carried out by the organs connected with speech and music. Thus there arises visible speech, visible music—in other words, the art of Eurythmy.

When one brings artistic feeling to the study of the nature of speech, one finds that the individual sounds form themselves, as it were, into imaginative pictures. It is necessary, however, entirely to free oneself from the abstract character which language has taken during the so-called advanced civilisation of the present day. For it is an undeniable fact that modern man, when speaking, in no way brings his whole human being into activity.

True speech, however, is born from the whole human being. Let us take any one of the vowels. A vowel sound is always the expression of some aspect of the feeling life of the soul. The human being wishes to express what lives in his soul as wonder—Ah. Or the holding himself upright against opposition—A; or the assertion of self, the consciousness of ego-existence in the world—E. Or again he wishes to express wonder, but now with a more intimate, caressing shade of feeling—I.

The character of the sounds is of course slightly different in the different languages, because each individual language proceeds from a differently constituted soul-life. But every vowel sound does in its essence express some shade of the feeling-life of the soul; and this feeling only has to unite itself with thought, with the head system, in order to pass over into speech.

What I have said about the vowel sounds of speech can be applied equally to the tones of music. The various sounds of speech, the use of idiom, the construction of phrases and sentences—all these things are the expression of the feeling-life of the soul.

In singing also the soul life expresses itself through tone.

Let us now consider the consonants. The consonants are the imitation of what we find around us in external nature. The vowel is born out of man's inmost being; it is the channel through which this inner content of the soul streams outwards. The consonant is born out of the comprehension of external nature; the way in which we seize upon external things, even the way in which we perceive them with the eyes, all this is built into the form of the consonants. The consonant represents, paints, as it were, the things of the external world. In earlier times the consonants did actually contain within themselves a kind of imaginative, painting of what exists in external nature.

Such things are, certainly, dealt with by many students of the science of language, but always in a one-sided manner. For instance, there exist two well-known theories with regard to the origin of language—the Ding-Dong theory and the Bow-Wow theory—which have been set forth by investigators who are, as a matter of fact, absolutely lacking in any real understanding of their subject, but belong to that type of person who is constantly originating all sorts of scientific theories. The Ding-Dong theory is based upon the assumption that, as in the case of the bell—to take an extreme example—so within every external object there lies some sort of a sound, which is then imitated by the human being. Everything is included in this theory of imitation; and it has been named the Ding-Dong theory after the sound made by the bell, which is perhaps its most striking example. The idea is, that when one says the word “wave,” one is imitating the actual movement of the waves—which is, indeed, perfectly true in this instance.

The other theory, the Bow-Wow theory, which could equally well be called the Moo-Moo theory, is one which assumes that speech in the first place arose from the transformation and development of the sounds of animals. And because one of the most striking of these sounds is “Bow-Wow,” this theory has been called the Bow-Wow theory.

Now all these theories do actually contain a certain element of truth. Scientific theories are never without some foundation. What is remarkable about them is that they do always contain say, a quarter, or an eighth, or a sixteenth, or a hundredth part of the truth; and it is this fraction of the truth, put forward as it is in a very clever and suggestive manner which deceives people. The real truth is that the vowel arises from the soul-life, and the consonant out of the perception and imitation of the external object. The human being imitates the external object through the way in which he holds back the stream of the breath with his lips, or gives it shape and form by means of the teeth, tongue and palate. While the consonants are formed in this way, by the fashioning of gestures in the air, the vowel sounds are the channel through which the inner soul-life of the human being streams outwards.

The consonants give plastic form to what is to be expressed.

And in the same way as the single sounds are formed, the single letters, so are sentences also formed, and poetic language becomes actual gesture in the air. Modern poetry, however, shows very clearly how the poet has to struggle against the abstract element in language.

As I have already said, our soul-life does not in any way flow into the words which we speak; we do not enter into the sounds of speech with our inner being. How few of us really experience wonder, amazement, perplexity, or the feeling of self-defence simply in the vowel sounds themselves. How few of us experience the soft, rounded surface of certain objects, the thrusting hammering nature of others, their angular or undulating, their velvety or prickly qualities, as these are expressed by the different consonants. And yet all these things are contained in speech.

If we follow the successive sounds as they occur in a single word, entering into the real nature of this word as it originally arose out of the whole being of man, then we can experience all possible shades of feeling, the ecstasy of joy, the depths of despair; we can experience the ascending and descending of the whole scale of the human emotions, the whole scale of the perception of external things.

All that I have been describing can be conjured up in imaginations, in the same way as speech itself once came forth from the world of imagination. One who has this imaginative vision perceives how the E sound (as in me). always calls up in the soul a certain picture, a picture which expresses the assertion of self and shows how this self-assertion must be expressed through the stretching of the muscles, in the arm for example. Should anyone be able to use his nose in a skilful manner, he could also make an E with his nose! An E can also be shown by the direction of the glance of the eye; but because the arms and hands are the most expressive part of the human body, it is more natural to make an E with the arms and it has a more beautiful effect. But the essential thing is that the stretched, penetrating feeling should really come to expression in E.

If we utter the sound A, (as in mate) and take this out-going stream of the breath as the prototype for the Eurythmic movement, we find that this breath stream reveals itself to our imagination as flowing in two crossed currents. This is how the Eurythmic movement for A is derived. All these movements are just as little arbitrary in their nature as are the sounds of speech, or the tones of music.

There are many people who are inclined to say that they have no wish for anything so hard and fast, that there should be more ways than one of expressing any particular sound in movement. They feel that the movements should arise quite spontaneously out of the human being. If, however, one desires such absolute spontaneity, one should carry this desire into the realm of speech itself, and declare that there should be no German, French, or English language to interfere with the freedom of the human being, but that each individual should feel himself at liberty to express himself by means of other sounds if he should so choose. It would be just as rational to say that the freedom of the human being is hindered through the fact that he must perforce speak English, or some other language.

But the existence of the different languages in no way interferes with human freedom. On the contrary, man could not express beauty in language, if language were not already there to be used by him as an instrument, and in the same way beauty can only be expressed in the movements of Eurythmy through the fact that Eurythmy actually exists. Eurythmy in no way infringes upon human freedom. Such objections really arise from lack of insight.

Thus Eurythmy has come into being as a visible language, using as its instrument the arms and hands, which are undeniably the most expressive part of the whole human organism.

To-day it would really be possible to come to an understanding of these things by purely scientific means. Science, however, although on the right path with regard to much of the knowledge it has acquired, knows about as much of this matter as someone with a veal cutlet on his plate knows about a calf—namely, the most insignificant fraction! Scientists know that the centre of speech lies in the left region of the brain, and that this is connected with what the child acquires for himself by means of movement of the right arm. In the case of left-handed people the centre of speech is situated in the right side of the brain.

One might almost say that the scientist has no knowledge of the calf in its entirety, but is only acquainted with the veal cutlet! Thus he is aware only of the merest fraction of the whole connection between the life-processes in one or other arm and the origin of speech.

The truth is that speech itself arises out of those movements of the human limb system which are held back, and do not come to full expression. There could be no such thing as speech were it not for the fact that, during the natural course of his early development, the child has inherent within him the instinct to move his arms and hands. These movements are held back and become concentrated in the organs of speech; and these organs of speech are in themselves an image of that which seeks outlet in movements of the arms and hands, and in the accompanying movements of the other limbs.

The etheric body—I can, after what you have heard in the morning lectures, (published as The Evolution of Consciousness.) speak to you quite freely about the etheric body—the etheric body never uses the mouth as the vehicle of speech, but invariably makes use of the limb-system. And it is those movements made by the etheric body during speech which are transferred into the physical body. Of course you can, if you choose, speak quite without gesture, even going so far as to stand rigidly still with your hands in your pockets; but in that case your etheric body will gesticulate all the more vigorously, sheerly out of protest!

Thus you can see how, in very truth, Eurythmy is drawn out of the human organisation in just as natural a way as speech itself.

The poet has to fight against the conventionality of speech in order to be able to draw from speech that element which could make of it a way leading to the super-sensible worlds. Thus the poet—if he is a true artist, which cannot be said of most of those people whose business it is to manufacture poems—does not over-emphasise the importance of the prose content of the words he uses. This prose content only provides him with the opportunity for expressing in words his true artistic impulse. Just as his material—the clay or the marble—is not the chief concern of the sculptor, but rather the inspiration which he is striving to embody in form, so, the chief concern of the poet is the embodiment of his poetic inspiration in sounds which are imaginative, plastic and musical.

And it is this artistic element which must be brought out in recitation and declamation.

In our somewhat inartistic age, it is customary in recitation and declamation to lay the chief stress on the prose content of a poem. Indeed, in these days, the mere fact of being able to speak at all is looked upon as sufficient ground for becoming a reciter. But the art of recitation and declamation should rank as highly as the other arts; for in recitation and declamation there is the possibility of treating speech in such a way that the hidden Eurythmy lying within it, the imaginative, plastic, coloured use of words, their music, rhythm and melody, are all brought to expression. When Goethe was rehearsing his rhythmic dramas, he made use of a baton just as if he were the conductor of an orchestra; for he was not so much concerned with the merely prosaic content of the words, but with the bringing out of all that lay, like a hidden Eurythmy, in their construction and use.

Schiller, when writing his most famous poems, paid little heed to the actual sense of the words. For instance he wrote, “Das Lied von der Glocke” (The Song of the Bell), but, as far as the prose content of the words is concerned, he might just as well have written a completely different poem. Schiller first experienced in his soul something which might be described as a vague musical motif, a sort of melody, and into this melody he wove his words, like threaded pearls.

Language is truly poetic only in so far as it is used musically, plastically, or only in so far as it is filled with colour.

Frau Dr. Steiner has given many years to the development of this special side of the art of recitation and declamation. It is her work which has made it possible to bind together into one artistic whole, much in the same way as the various instruments of an orchestra, the picture presented on the stage by the “visible speech” of Eurythmy and with what is expressed through a truly Eurythmic treatment of speech, a truly Eurythmic recitation and declamation. So that, on the one hand, we have the visible speech of Eurythmy, and, on the other hand, that hidden Eurythmy which lies, not in tone-production alone, but in the whole way in which speech and language are treated. As far as the artistic element of poetry is concerned, the point is not that we say: “The bird sings,” but that, paying due regard to what has gone before and to what is to come, we say with enthusiasm, for instance: “The bird sings,” or, again, in a more subdued tone of voice, at a quite different tempo: “The bird sings.” [The reader must imagine the difference of tone which Rudolf Steiner gave to these repetitions of Der Vogel singt.] Everything depends on giving due form and shape to the words and sentences. And it is just this which can be carried over into Eurythmy, into our whole conception and treatment of Eurythmy.

For this reason we must put before ourselves as an ideal this orchestral ensemble, this interplay between the visible art of Eurythmy and the art of recitation and declamation.

Eurythmy cannot be accompanied by the ordinary conventional recitation, which is so well liked to-day. It would be impossible to do Eurythmy to such an accompaniment, because it is the soul-qualities of the human being which must be given expression here, both audibly through speech, and visibly through Eurythmy.

Eurythmy can be accompanied, not only by recitation and declamation, but also by instrumental music. But here it must always be borne in mind that Eurythmy is music translated into movement, and is not dancing in any sense of the word. There is a fundamental difference between Eurythmy and dancing. People, however, often fail to make this distinction when seeing Eurythmy on the stage, owing to the fact that Eurythmy uses as its instrument the human body in motion. I myself know of a journalist—I am not personally acquainted with him, but his articles have been brought to my notice—who, writing on Eurythmy, says: “It cannot be denied that, when one witnesses a demonstration of Eurythmy, the performers on the stage are continually in motion. Eurythmy must, therefore, be looked upon as dancing, and must be judged accordingly.” Now I think it will be admitted that what we have seen here of Tone-Eurythmy, of this visible singing, accompanied as it is by instrumental music, is clearly to be distinguished from ordinary dancing. Tone-Eurythmy is essentially not dancing, but is a singing in movement, movement which can be carried out either by a single performer, or by many together.

Although the movements of the arms and hands may be accompanied and amplified by movements of the other parts of the organism—the legs, for instance, or the head, the nose, ears, what you will—nevertheless these movements should only be used to strengthen the movement of the hands and arms in much the same way that we find means of emphasising and strengthening the spoken word. If we wish to admonish a child we naturally put our reproof into words, but at the same time we assume an expression suitable to the occasion! To do this electively, however, a certain amount of discretion is required, or we run the risk of appearing ridiculous. It is the same with regard to Eurythmy. Movements of a type approaching dancing or mime, when they are added to the essentially Eurythmic movements, are in danger of appearing grotesque; and, if made use of in an exaggerated manner, given an appearance of crudity, even of vulgarity. On the other hand purely Eurythmic movements are the truest means of giving outward and visible expression to all that is contained in the human soul.

That is the essential point—that Eurythmy is visible speech, visible music. One can go even further and maintain that the movements of Eurythmy do actually proceed out of the inner organisation of man. Anyone who says: “As far as I am concerned, speech and music are all-sufficient; there can surely be no need to extend the sphere of art; I, for my part, have not the slightest wish for Eurythmy”;—such a man is, of course, perfectly right from his particular point of view. There is always a certain justification for any opinion, however conventional or pedantic. Why should one not hold such opinions? There is certainly no reason why one should not—none at all; but it cannot be said that such a standpoint shows any really deep artistic feeling and understanding. A truly artistic nature welcomes everything that could possibly serve to widen and enrich the whole field of art.

The materials used in sculpture—the bronze, clay and marble—already exist in nature, and yield themselves up to the sculptor as the medium of his artistic expression; this is also true of colour in the case of the painter. When, however, in addition to all this, the movements of Eurythmy, drawn forth as they have been from the very fount of nature and developed according to her laws—when such movements arise as a means of artistic expression, then enthusiasm burns in the soul of the true artist at the prospect of the whole sphere of art being thus widened and enriched.

From a study of the Eurythmy models or wooden figures, very much can be learned about the individual movements. [Rudolf Steiner here refers to a series of coloured wooden figures illustrating the fundamental Eurythmy gestures.] Here it is only possible to give some indication of what underlies these wooden figures, and of all that can be revealed by them with regard to the nature and character of the various movements. These models are intended to represent the fundamental laws of Eurythmy which are carried over into the actual movements themselves. Every Eurythmic movement may be looked upon as being of a threefold nature; and it is this threefold aspect which is embodied in the models. In the first place there is the movement as such; then there is the feeling which lies within the movement; and lastly there is the character which flows out of the soul-life, and streams into the movement.

It must, however, be understood that these wooden models have been designed in a quite unusual manner. They are in no way intended to be plastic representations of the human form. This comes more within the sphere of the sculptor and the painter. The models are intended to portray the laws of Eurythmy, as these are expressed through the human body. In designing them the point was not in any way to reproduce the human figure in beautiful, plastic form. And, in witnessing a Eurythmy demonstration, anyone who would regard beauty of face as an essential attribute of an Eurythmist, is labouring under a delusion as to the nature of Eurythmy. Whether the Eurythmist is beautiful or not beautiful, young or old, is a matter of no consequence. The whole point is whether the inmost nature of the Eurythmist is carried over into, and expressed through, the plastic form of the movements.

Now if we look at the Eurythmy model for H, for instance, the question might naturally arise: “In what direction is the face turned? Do the eyes look upwards or straight ahead?” But that is not the first thing to be considered. In the first place we have, embodied in the model as a whole, the movement as such, that is to say, the arm movements or the movements of the legs. Secondly, in the draping of the veil, in the way the veil is held, drawn close to the body, or thrown into the air, or allowed to fall again or to fly out in waves—all this gives the opportunity for adding to the more intellectual expression of the soul-life, as this is shown through the movement, another quality of the soul-life, that of feeling.

At the back of the models there is always an indication of what the different colours are intended to represent. In the case of all the models certain places are marked with a third colour, and this is intended to show where the Eurythmist, in carrying out the particular movement, should feel a definite tension of the muscles. This tension can be shown in any part of the body. It may have to be felt in the forehead, for instance, or in the nape of the neck, while in other places the muscles should be left in a state of complete relaxation. The Eurythmist experiences the movements quite differently according to whether they are carried out with relaxed muscles or with the muscles in a state of tension; whether the arm is stretched out more or less passively, or whether there is a conscious tension in the muscles of the arm and hand; whether, when bending, the muscles which are brought into play are stretched and tense, or whether the bending movement leaves the muscles comparatively inactive. Through this consciously experienced tension of the muscles, character is brought into the movement.

In other words: there lies in the whole way in which the movement, as such, is formed, something which might be described as being the expression of the human soul, as manifested through visible speech. The actual spoken words, however, also have nuances of their own, their own special shades of feeling; for instance, fear may be expressed in a sentence, or joy, or delight; all these things can be shown by the Eurythmist in the way in which he or she carries out the movements. The manipulation of the veil—the way in which it floats, the way in which it is allowed to fall—all this provides a means whereby these feelings can be brought to expression in Eurythmy. So we see how the movement, when accompanied by the use of the veil, becomes permeated with feeling, and how, when there is added a conscious tension of the muscles, the movement acquires character as well as feeling. If the Eurythmist is able to experience this tension or relaxation of the muscles in the right way, a corresponding experience will be transmitted to the onlooker, who will himself feel all that lies in the visible speech of Eurythmy as character, feeling and movement.

The whole artistic conception of these models, both as regards their carving and their colouring, is based on the idea of separating the purely Eurythmic element in the human being from those elements which are not so definitely connected with Eurythmy. The moment a Eurythmist becomes conscious of possessing a charming face, in that moment something is introduced into Eurythmy which is completely foreign to its nature; on the other hand, the knowledge of how to make conscious use of the muscles of the face does form an essential part of Eurythmy. For this reason, the fact that many people prefer to see a beautiful Eurythmist on the stage, rather than one who is less beautiful, shows a lack of true artistic judgment. The outward appearance of a human being when not engaged in Eurythmy should not in any way be taken into consideration.

These models, then, have been designed in such a way that they portray the human being only in so far as he reveals himself through the movements of Eurythmy.

It would indeed be well if, in the whole development of art, this principle were to be more generally adopted—I mean the principle of putting on one side everything which does not definitely belong to the sphere of the art in question, everything which cannot be expressed through the medium of this art and which does not strictly come within the range of its possibilities. A distinction should always be made, particularly when dealing with an art such as Eurythmy, which reveals so directly, so truly and so sincerely, the life of the human being in its threefold aspect of body, soul and spirit—a distinction should always be made between what can legitimately be revealed through the medium of any particular art and what does not lie within its true scope.

Whenever I have been asked: “Up to what age can one do Eurythmy?”—my answer has always been: There is no age limit. Eurythmy can be started at the age of three and can be continued up to the age of ninety. The personality can find expression through Eurythmy at each and every period of life, and through Eurythmy the beauty of both youth and age can be revealed.

All that I have said up to this point has reference to Eurythmy purely as an art, and, indeed, it was along purely artistic lines that Eurythmy was developed in the first instance. When Eurythmy was inaugurated in 1912 there was no thought of its developing along any but artistic lines, no thought of bringing it before the world in any other form.

But some little time after the founding of the Waldorf School, it was discovered that Eurythmy can serve as a very important means of education; and we are now in a position to recognise the full significance of Eurythmy from the educational point of view. In the Waldorf School, (The original Waldorf School in Stuttgart of which Steiner was educational director.) Eurythmy has been made a compulsory subject both for boys and girls, right through the school, from the lowest to the highest class; and it has become apparent that what is thus brought to the children as visible speech and music is accepted and absorbed by them in just as natural a way as they absorb spoken language or song in their very early years. The child feels his way quite naturally into the movements of Eurythmy. And, indeed, in comparison with Eurythmy, the other forms of gymnastics have shown themselves to be of a somewhat one-sided nature. For these other kinds of gymnastics bear within them to some extent the materialistic attitude of mind so prevalent in our day. And for this reason they take as their starting point the physical body. Eurythmy takes the physical body into consideration also; but, in the case of Eurythmy, body, soul and spirit work harmoniously together, so that here one has to do with an ensouled and spiritualised form of gymnastics. The child feels this. He feels that each movement that he makes does not arise merely in response to a physical necessity, but that every one of his movements is permeated with a soul and spiritual element, which streams through the arms, and, indeed, through the whole body. The child absorbs Eurythmy into the very depths of his being. The Waldorf School has already been in existence for some years, and the experience lying behind us justified us in saying that in this school unusual attention is paid to the cultivation of initiative, of will—qualities sorely needed by humanity in the present day. This initiative of the will is developed quite remarkably through Eurythmy, when, as in the Waldorf School, it is used as a means of education. One thing, however, must be made perfectly clear, and that is, that the greatest possible misunderstanding would arise, if for one moment it were to be imagined that Eurythmy could be taught in the schools and looked upon as a valuable asset in education, if, at the same time, as an art it were to be neglected and underestimated. Eurythmy must in the first place be looked upon as an art, and in this it differs in no respect from the other arts. And in the same way that the other arts are taught in the schools, but have an independent artistic existence of their own in the world, so Eurythmy also can only be taught in the schools when it is fully recognised as an art and given its proper place within our modern civilisation.

Shortly after the founding of the Waldorf School, a number of doctors having found their way into the Anthroposophical Movement, there arose the practice of medicine from the Anthroposophical point of view. These doctors expressed the urgent wish that the movements of Eurythmy, drawn as they are out of the healthy nature of the human being, and offering to the human being a means of expression suited to his whole organisation—that these movements should be adapted where necessary, and placed at the service of the art of healing. Eurythmy, from its very nature, is ever seeking for outlet through the human being. Anyone who understands the hand, for example, must be aware that it was not formed merely to lie still and be looked upon. The fingers are quite meaningless when they are inactive. They only acquire significance when they seize at things, grasp them, when their passivity is transformed into movement. Their very form reveals the movement inherent within them. The same may be said of the human being as a whole. What we know under the name of Eurythmy is nothing else than the means whereby the human organism can find healthy outlet through movement. So that certain of the movements of Eurythmy, though naturally differing somewhat from the movements which we use in Eurythmy as an art, and having undergone a certain metamorphosis, can be made use of and developed into a Curative Eurythmy. This Curative Eurythmy can be of extreme value in the treatment of illness, and can be applied in those cases where one knows the way in which a certain movement will react upon a certain organ with beneficial results.

In this domain also we have had good results among the children of the Waldorf School. But it is of course necessary that one should possess a true insight into the nature of the child. For instance, a child may have certain weaknesses and be generally in a delicate state of health. Such a child is then given those particular movements likely to assist in the re-establishment of his health. And along these lines we have indeed had the most brilliant results. But this, as also the educational side of Eurythmy, is entirely dependent on the successful development of Eurythmy as an art.

It must frankly be admitted that Eurythmy is still at a very early stage of its development; a beginning, however, has certainly been made, and we are striving to make it ever more and more perfect. There was a time, for instance, when we had not as yet introduced the silent, unaccompanied movement of the Eurythmist at the beginning and end of a poem. Such movement is intended to convey in the first instance an introductory impression, and, in the second, an impression reminiscent of the content of the poem. At that time also there were no effects of light. The lighting in varied tones and colours has not been introduced with a view to illustrating or intensifying any particular situation, but is in itself actually of a Eurythmic nature. The point is not that certain effects of light should correspond with what is taking place on the stage at a given moment, but the whole system of lighting, as this has been developed in Eurythmy, consists of the interplay between one lighting effect and another. Thus there arises a complete system of Eurythmic lighting which bears within it the same character and the same shades of feeling as are being simultaneously expressed on the stage in another way through the movements of the Eurythmists, or the Eurythmist, as the case may be.

And so, as Eurythmy develops and attains to ever greater perfection, very much more will have to be added to the whole picture of Eurythmy as this is presented on the stage, very much will have to be added to all that we can now see when witnessing a Eurythmy demonstration.

I could indeed speak about Eurythmy the whole night through, carrying on this lecture without a break into the lecture of tomorrow morning. I am afraid, however, that my audience would hardly benefit by such a proceeding, and the same certainly applies to any Eurythmists who may be present! The great thing is that all I have said to-day in this introductory lecture will be practically realised for you tomorrow, when you witness the performance; for a practical demonstration is, after all, where art is concerned, of more value than any lecture.

Vortrag zur Eurythmie

Meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden!

Die Eurythmie ist uns eigentlich auf dem Boden der anthroposophischen Bewegung wie eine Schicksalsgabe zugewachsen. Es war im Jahre 1912, da verlor eine anthroposophische Familie den Vater, und die Tochter suchte einen Beruf, einen Beruf, der nun aus der anthroposophischen Bewegung hervorgeholt werden sollte. Und da ergab sich denn nach mancherlei Absichten, die man nach diesem ‚oder jenem gehabt hat, dass eine Art von Raumbewegungskunst, die es ja damals noch nicht gab, gerade bei dieser Gelegenheit inauguriert werden konnte. Und so wuchsen denn eigentlich die allerersten, allerdings nur diese allerersten Prinzipien und Formen der Eurythmie aus der Unterweisung jener jungen Dame heraus.

Es gehört damit gerade diese Eurythmie unter diejenigen Konsequenzen der anthroposophischen Bewegung, die eigentlich immer so zugewachsen sind, dass man die ersten Anfänge wie eine Schicksalswendung genommen hat und dann ungefähr so davor gestanden hat, wie ich - ich habe das vor einigen Tagen hier an einem Abend auseinandergesetzt - vor den Säulenformen im Goetheanum stand, die sozusagen durch das künstlerische Schaffen ein eigenes Leben gewannen, noch etwas ganz anderes hatten als dasjenige, was ursprünglich hineingelegt worden ist.

So ist es ja immer, wenn man sich für das künstlerische Schaffen oder überhaupt für das menschliche Schaffen hingibt an die schaffenden Kräfte der Natur. Wie die schaffenden Kräfte der Natur selber gleichsam aus einem Unendlichen herausarbeiten, sodass man immer viel mehr herausfinden kann aus dem, was entsteht, als dasjenige ist, was man zunächst hineingelegt hat, so ist es, wenn man sich beim künstlerischen Schaffen mit den schöpferischen Kräften und Mächten der Natur verbindet. Man führt dann nicht nur engbegrenzte Impulse aus, sondern man kommt dazu, dass man zuletzt eine Art von Werkzeug wird für die schöpferischen Mächte der Welt und dass eben viel mehr aus der Sache herauswächst, als man ursprünglich beabsichtigen konnte.

Es wurde dann auch diese Eurythmie zunächst in sehr kleinen Kreisen getrieben und unterrichtet. Dann nahm sich ihrer Frau Doktor Steiner im Beginne der Kriegszeit an, und dadurch gewann sie gewissermaßen immer mehr und mehr an Ausdehnung, aber auch an Inhalt. Dasjenige, was heute die Eurythmie ist, ist eigentlich erst seit jener Zeit zu den ersten, 1912 gegebenen Prinzipien dazu gekommen. Und wir arbeiten ja fortwährend, denn dasjenige, was heute Eurythmie ist, ist ja ein Anfang, wir arbeiten fortwährend an der Ausgestaltung, an der Vervollkommnung. Sie trägt aber, ich möchte sagen unbegrenzte Vervollkommnungsmöglichkeiten in sich. Und deshalb wird sie ganz zweifellos, wenn wir längst nicht mehr dabei sind, ihre weitere Ausbildung und ihre weitergehende Vervollkommnung finden und sich dann als eine jüngere Kunst neben die älteren Künste hinstellen können.

Künste sind niemals bloß entstanden aus verstandesgemäß gefassten menschlichen Absichten, sind auch niemals entstanden aus dem Prinzipe heraus, die Natur auf irgendeinem Gebiete so oder so nachzuahmen, sondern sie sind immer entstanden, wenn Herzen, menschliche Herzen sich gefunden haben, die Impulse erhalten konnten aus der geistigen Welt und diese Impulse sich genötigt fanden zu verkörpern, zu realisieren durch diesen oder jenen äußeren Stoff. Man kann für jede der einzelnen Künste - Baukunst, Plastik oder Bildhauerei, Malerei, Musik und so weiter - überall nachweisen, wie gewisse spirituelle Impulse aus höheren Welten zu den Menschen kamen, wie besonders geeignete Naturen diese Impulse aufgenommen haben. Und dasjenige, was gewissermaßen sich abgeschatter hat von höheren Welten in das menschliche Schaffen in der physischen Welt, das gaben die Künste.

Gewiss, die Künste sind dann in ihrer Entwickelung zumeist so fortgefahren, dass sie naturalistisch geworden sind, dass die ursprünglichen Impulse verloren gegangen sind und eine Art äußerer Nachahmung eintrat. Also bei dieser äußeren Nachahmung liegt eben niemals der Ursprung der Künste. Heute - ich will nur beispielsweise dies anführen - denkt man ja zunächst daran, wenn man zum Beispiel als Bildhauer oder Maler das menschliche Selbst wiederzugeben hat, wie man diese Wiedergabe nach dem Modell besorgt. Es ist durchaus nachweisbar, dass die Bildhauerkunst auf ihrer Höhe innerhalb Griechenlands nicht dadurch entstand, dass man nach einem Modell arbeitete, also gewissermaßen den äußeren Sinnenschein nachahmte, sondern innerhalb desjenigen Zeitalters, in dem gerade die Blüte der griechischen Plastik entstanden ist, fühlte der Mensch noch etwas in sich von seinem Ätherleib, von diesem Ätherleib, der die eigentlich gestaltenden und Wachstums-Kräfte des Menschen enthält. In der besten Griechenzeit findet der Mensch, was es heißt, mit Hilfe des Ätherleibes einen Arm und eine Hand in eine gewisse Attitüde zu bringen, und er empfand die Muskelhaltung und Muskelstellung bei dieser Attitüde. Er erlebte innerlich gewissermaßen die Weite des Armes, die Streckkraft des Armes, die Streckkraft der Finger. Und dieses innerliche Erlebnis, das gab er durch seinen Stoff, durch die äußere Materie wieder. Es war also dasjenige, was der griechische Plastiker der Materie anvertraute, innerliches Erlebnis, nicht äußerlich mit den Augen Angeschautes - da geht diese Linie, diese Fläche, was man dann in den Ton oder in das Plastilin hineinschmierte -, sondern es war tatsächlich sein inneres Erlebnis, das nachgeschaffen war den schaffenden Kräften der Natur und das anvertraut wurde dem äußeren Stoff.

Und so ist es bei jeder Art Kunst. In dem Augenblick, wo innerhalb der Menschheitsentwicklung diese Kunst auf der Höhe steht -und es gibt ja in der Menschheitsentwicklung auf der Erde immer solche Epochen, in denen das Spirituelle mehr als in anderen Epochen herunterkommt aus den geistigen Welten, in denen sozusagen die Menschen aufgefordert werden, durch die Fenster, die in das Spirituelle hineingehen, hineinzublicken und dasjenige, was in spirituellen Welten lebt, hinunterzutragen auf die Erde. Damit nehmen die Künste ihren Anfang. Es folgen dann immer mehr naturalistisch geartete Zeitalter, in denen entwickelt sich das Epigonenhafte der Künste manchmal zu größerer äußerer formeller Vollkommenheit, als die betreffende Kunst bei ihrem Ausgangspunkte hatte, aber bei ihrem Ausgangspunkte hat die Kunst den lebendigeren, kraftvolleren, enthusiastischeren spirituellen Impuls. Da hat sie ihre wahre Realität, ihre wahre, aus dem ganzen Menschen herauskommende Praktik, die nicht bloß eine Praktik sein kann des äußerlichen formellen Schaffens, sondern wie eine Praktik sein muss des Physischen, Seelischen und Geistigen.

Dass in der Menschheitsentwicklung dies immer so war, konnte einem den Mut geben - nachdem schon einmal, ich möchte sagen diese Eurythmie wie ein Schicksalsvogel hereingeflogen war in die anthroposophische Bewegung -, diese Eurythmie immer weiter und weiter auszubilden. Denn anthroposophische Bewegung will ja für die Gegenwart diesen spirituellen Impuls, der gerade unserer Gegenwart angemessen ist, zur Geltung bringen, Offenbarung bringen. Sie ist tatsächlich in aller Bescheidenheit der Ansicht, dass ein solcher spiritueller Impuls gerade jetzt wiederum in die Menschheit kommen müsse. Daher kann dieser spirituelle Impuls nicht anders, als sich auch ausdrücken durch eine besondere Kunstform, in die er hineinströmt. Und diese besondere Kunstform ist eigentlich in der Eurythmie gegeben. Das wird man immer mehr und mehr einsehen.

In Bezug auf andere Kunstformen wird Anthroposophie berufen sein, Vertiefung, Erweiterung, Belebung herbeizuführen. Die Eurythmie konnte geradezu nur auf anthroposophischem Boden erwachsen, konnte nur durch dasjenige ihre Impulse erlangen, was eben aus unmittelbarer anthroposophischer Anschauung auch hervorgehen kann.

Diejenige Offenbarungsart, durch die der Mensch sein Wesen nach außen für andere Menschen kundgibt, das ist ja die Sprache. Durch die Sprache offenbart sich der Mensch am allerinnerlichsten. Und so ist denn zu denjenigen Künsten, die mehr entweder das räumlich Äußere oder das zeitlich Äußere zu ihrem Vorwurf nehmen, hinzugetreten zu allen Zeiten - entsprechend den einzelnen Zeitaltern gewissermaßen die verschiedenen Künste begleitend - die Kunst, die sich durch die Sprache zur Offenbarung bringt, die Dichtung. Diese Kunst der Sprache - ich nenne die Dichtung ausdrücklich, wir werden nachher sehen, dass dies berechtigt ist, eine «Kunst der Sprache» -, sie ist universeller als die anderen Künste, denn sie kann die anderen Künste in ihren Formen in sich aufnehmen. Man kann davon sprechen, dass die Dichtkunst die Sprachkunst ist - bei dem einen Dichter mehr plastisch, bei dem andern Dichter mehr musikalisch wirkt. Ja, man kann auch von einer malerisch wirkenden Dichtkunst sprechen und so weiter.

Die Sprache ist in der Tat ein universelles Ausdrucksmittel der menschlichen Seele. Und derjenige, der unbefangen in Urzeiten der Menschheitsentwicklung auf Erden hineinschauen kann, der kann schen, dass in gewissen alten Ursprachen tatsächlich ein tief künstlerisches Element in der Menschheitsentwicklung waltete. Nur waren diese Ursprachen viel mehr als die heutigen Zivilisationssprachen aus dem ganzen Menschen herausgeholt. Wir kommen sogar, wenn wir unbefangen diese Entwicklung verfolgen zu Ursprachen, die sich äußerten fast wie ein Singen, aber so, dass der Mensch lebendig begleitet dasjenige, was er spricht, mit Bewegungen seiner Beine, mit Bewegungen seiner Arme, sodass eine Art von Tanzen dann zum Sprechen hinzutrat bei gewissen Ursprachen, wenn irgendetwas in gehobener Form oder in beabsichtigt kultusartiger Form zum Ausdrucke gebracht werden sollte.

Man empfand die Begleitung des aus der Kehle dringenden Wortes mit der menschlichen Gebärde gerade in Urzeiten der Menschheitsentwicklung als etwas wie Selbstverständliches. Und richtig beurteilen wird man das, was da waltete, nur dann, wenn man sich Mühe gibt, darauf hinzuweisen, wie in der Tat dasjenige, was sonst nur als begleitende Gebärde beim Sprechen auftritt, selbstständig Leben gewinnen kann. Man kommt nämlich dann darauf, dass die Gebärde, die durch Arme und Hände ausgeführt wird, in künstlerischer Beziehung nicht nur geradeso ausdrucksvoll, sondern sogar viel ausdrucksvoller sein kann als die Sprache. Ich will schon zugeben, dass man ja nicht immer und überall ganz vorurteilslos sich diesen Dingen hingibt. Es gibt zum Beispiel da oder dort gewisse Antipathien gegen die das Sprechen begleitenden Gebärden. Und ich habe schon gesehen, dass es Leute gibt, die halten es sogar für etwas - ja Unvornehmes, wenn irgendjemand seine Rede mit besonderen Gebärden begleitet. Sodass manchmal auch heute schon die Attitüde eingerissen ist, während des Redens seine Hände in die Taschen zu stecken. Mir war das immer eine höchst unsympathische Attitüde. Ich habe mir daher niemals hier Taschen machen lassen, damit ich das gar nicht machen kann.

Nun ist tatsächlich dasjenige, was durch Arme und Hände sich ausdrücken kann, etwas, was in ungemein hohem Grade das Innere des Menschen offenbaren kann. Ich muss zum Beispiel sagen, es juckt mich manchmal förmlich in den Fingern, einen Aufsatz zu schreiben über einen mir sehr lieben, vor einigen Jahren verstorbenen Philosophen, Franz Brentano. Ich habe ja über ihn manches geschrieben, aber ich möchte auch noch einen anderen Aufsatz einmal schreiben, auf das Folgende gehend. Wenn Franz Brentano den Katheder bestieg, sich hinstellte aufs Podium, da war die ganze Philosophie, die man sonst bei Brentano in ihrer geistvollen Weise bewundern konnte, die man durch Begriffe ausdrücken konnte, die man schildern konnte eben mit philosophischen Abstraktionen, diese Philosophie war viel wunderschöner als alles dasjenige, was Brentano selber sagte. Und dasjenige, was er über sie sagen kann, kam zum Ausdruck durch die Art und Weise, wie er seine Arme und Hände bewegte, wenn er sprach, wie er das Blatt, das sein Konzept enthielt, hinhielt. Es war eine ganz besondere Art der Bewegung, die immer darauf hinging, gewissermaßen zugleich durch das Blatt wie etwas Wichtiges und doch wieder wie etwas Gleichgültiges in die Gebärde hinein strömen zu lassen. Sodass man sah, wie, ich möchte sagen die ganze Philosophie sich ausdrückte in dieser Gebärde, die während einer Vortragsstunde die mannigfaltigsten Formen annahm.

Dieser Franz Brentano ist besonders dadurch bemerkenswert, dass er eine Psychologie begründet hat - darinnen weicht er von allen anderen Psychologen, Spencer, Stuart Mill und anderen, dadurch ab, dass er unter die psychologischen Kategorien nicht den Willen rechnet. Nun, ich kenne alle Beweise und Auseinandersetzungen, die Franz Brentano über diese seine Theorie gegeben hat. Keine wirkt auf mich so überzeugend, wie die Art und Weise, wie er nun das Blatt hielt - und in dem Augenblicke, wie er nun die Handgebärde, die Armgebärde machte, aus seiner ganzen Philosophievertretung der Wille entschwand, während das Gefühl und die Idee sich in mächtiger Weise entfalteten, der Wille entschwand. Dieses Präponderieren der Idee und des Gefühles und das Entschwinden des Willens, das lag in jeder Handbewegung, die er machte. Sodass ich wirklich gar nicht anders können werde, als den Aufsatz zu schreiben: Die Philosophie Franz Brentanos, sich offenbarend aus seiner Armbewegung, aus seiner ganzen Geste. Denn da scheint sie mir vielmehr drinnen zu liegen, als in alledem, was man sonst [in] philosophisch gehaltener Weise über die Sache zu sagen weiß.

Wer sich eben in dieses unbefangen vertieft, der kommt darauf, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, dass ja zum Schluss dasjenige, was wir als Ausatmungsluft durch unsere Atmungsorgane, die Sprach- und Gesangsorgane treiben, was wir herausstoßen, wenn es vokalisiert wird, was wir durch Lippen, Zähne, Gaumen formen im Herausstoßen, dass das ja auch nichts anderes ist als die Luftgebärde. Nur wird die Luftgebärde in einer solchen Weise in den Raum hineingestellt, dass man sie durch dasjenige, was sie im Raume erzeugt, eben für das Ohr hören kann. Wenn man nun durch wirkliche sinnlich-übersinnliche Schau sich hineinversetzen kann in diese Luftgebärde, in dasjenige, was der Mensch macht, indem er Vokale ausspricht, indem er Konsonanten ausspricht, indem er Sätze ausspricht, indem er Reime formt, Jamben oder Trochäen formt, wenn man sich in diese Luftgebärde hineinzuversetzen vermag, so sagt man sich: Ach, die zivilisierten Sprachen haben ja furchtbare Konzessionen an die Konvention gemacht. Sie sind schließlich Ausdrucksmittel geworden für die wissenschaftliche Erkenntnis, Ausdrucksmittel für das, was man sich im Leben mitteilen will. Ihre ursprüngliche Seelenhaftigkeit haben sie verloren. Es gilt eigentlich für die zivilisierte Sprache schon das, was der Dichter so schön sagt: «Spricht die Seele, so spricht, / ach, schon die Seele nicht mehr.»

Man kann aber nun dasjenige, was man lernen kann an den Luftgebärden, was man schauen kann an den Luftgebärden durch sinnlich-übersinnliches Schauen, durch Arme und Hände nachahmen, durch die Bewegung des ganzen Menschen nachahmen. Dann entsteht sichtbar ganz dasselbe, was in der Sprache wirkt. Und dann kann man den Menschen hinstellen so, dass er jene Bewegung ausführt, die eigentlich der Sprach- und Singorganismus immer ausführt. Und dadurch entsteht die sichtbare Sprache, der sichtbare Gesang. Diese sind eben die Eurythmie.

Weiter will ich sie charakterisieren, nachdem dieses übersetzt ist.

Meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden!

Wenn man die Sprache selbst betrachten kann mit künstlerischem Sinn, so stellt sich Ihnen gewissermaßen für die einzelnen Äußerungen der Sprache ein Imaginatives hin vor die Seele. Man muss nur hinweg können von dem abstrakten Charakter, den die Sprache in der Tat gerade bei den vorgerückteren Zivilisationen in der Gegenwart schon erlangt hat. Da redet man ja eigentlich, ohne dass man mit seinem menschlichen Wesen in der Sprache noch drinnen steckt.

Die Sprache ist ja ganz aus dem ganzen menschlichen Wesen herausgeboren. Nehmen wir irgendeinen Vokal. Er drückt immer aus dasjenige, was die Seele im Umfange ihres Fühlens erlebt. Entweder der Mensch will dasjenige ausdrücken, was im Staunen lebt: a; oder er will dasjenige ausdrücken, was eine Art Sich-Halten gegen einen Widerstand offenbart: e; oder er will ausdrücken seine Selbstbehauptung, sein Sich-Hineinstellen in die Welt: i. Er will ausdrücken sein Staunen, oder wohl auch sein Anschmiegen an irgendetwas: ei.

Das wird sich natürlich für die verschiedenen Sprachen verschieden gestalten, weil die verschiedenen Sprachen ja aus verschieden geartetem Empfindungsleben hervorgehen. Aber alles Vokalische drückt ursprünglich ein seelisches Fühlen aus, das sich nur verbindet mit dem Gedanken, der aus dem Kopfe kommt und dann ins Sprachliche übergeht. Und wie das bei den Vokalen in der Sprache ist, so ist es bei dem Tönen im Musikalischen. Es drückt immer das gefühlsmäßige Erleben der Seele der Sprachton, der Sprachbuchstabe, die Sprachwendung, die Gestaltung, die Formung des Satzes und so weiter aus. Und ebenso beim Singen drückt der Ton das Leben der Seele aus.

Studieren wir die Konsonanten. Wir finden bei den Konsonanten, dass sie Nachahmungen desjenigen sind, was äußerlich um uns herum ist. Der Vokal stammt aus dem Inneren, will das Innere, gewissermaßen die volle Seele nach außen ergießen. Der Konsonant stammt aus dem Erfassen der Dinge. Wie wir sie umgreifen, auch nur mit den Augen umgreifen, das wird in den Konsonanten hinein geformt. Der Konsonant malt, zeichnet die äußere Form der Dinge. Ursprünglich liegt in der Tat im Konsonanten eine Art imaginativen Nachmalens dessen, was draußen in der Natur vorhanden ist.

Diese Dinge kommen ja bei manchen Sprachforschern immer in ganz einseitiger Weise zum Vorschein. Es gibt in Bezug auf die Entstehung der Sprache - von denjenigen aufgestellt, die ganz außerhalb des Erkennens der Sprache eigentlich leben, aber eben diejenigen sind, die wissenschaftliche Theorien machen -, es gibt zwei berühmte Sprachtheorien: die Bimbam-Theorie und die Wauwau-Theorie. Die Bimbam-Theorie, die nimmt an, dass so wie in der Glocke - ganz im Extrem -, so in jedem Ding innerlich eine Art Laut liegt, der dann vom Menschen nachgeahmt wird. Es soll alles in diese Nachahmungstheorie hineinkommen - und nach dem auffälligsten Laute-Nachahmen, dem Bimbam der Glocke, hat man diese Theorie die Bimbam-Theorie genannt. Wenn man «wave» sagt, ahmt man die Bewegung der Welle nach, was ja in der Tat so ist. - Die andere Theorie- Wauwau-Theorie — könnte auch heißen: Muhmuh-Theorie. Diese glaubt wiederum, dass die Sprache durch Umgestaltung, Vervollkommnung der Tierlaute entstanden ist. Und weil ein auffälliger Tierlaut der ist: «Wauwau», so hat man diese Theorie die Wauwau-Theorie genannt.

Nun, alle diese Theorien zeichnen sich darinnen aus, dass sie von irgendeiner Seite her etwas Wahres enthalten. Es sind ja niemals die wissenschaftlichen Theorien ganz falsch. Es ist das an ihnen bemerkenswert, dass sie immer eine Viertels- oder Achtels- oder Sechzehntels- oder eine Hundertstels-Wahrheit enthalten, die dann die Leute in suggestiver Weise gefangen nimmt. Aber das Wahre ist, dass der Vokal immer aus dem Scelenleben entspringt, der Konsonant immer in dem Erfühlen, Nachbilden des äußeren Gegenstandes ist. Man bildet nach dasjenige, was der äußere Gegenstand tut, indem man die Ausatmungsluft mit den Lippen hält oder mit den Zähnen oder mit der Zunge gestaltet oder mit dem Gaumen formt. Indem da die Konsonanten gebildet werden, also diese Luftgebärde geformt wird, wird bei den Vokalen das Innere nach außen strömen gelassen. Die Konsonanten, die bilden dann plastisch in Gestaltungen dasjenige nach, was eben ausgedrückt werden soll.

Und so, wie sich der einzelne Laut formt, der einzelne Buchstabe, so formen sich dann die Sätze, so formt sich in der dichterischen Sprache dasjenige, was eben wirkliche Luftgebärde wird. Wir können heute schon an der Dichtung bemerken, wie der Dichter eigentlich kämpfen muss gegen das Abstrakte in der Sprache. Ich habe schon gesagt: Wir reden, ohne dass wir eigentlich noch mit unserer Seele in die Sprache selber hineinströmen, ohne dass wir aufgehen in der Sprache. Wer fühlt denn noch dieses Verwundern, dieses Erstaunen, dieses Perplex-Werden, dieses Sich-Aufbäumen bei den Vokalen. Wer fühlt das sanfte rundliche Umweben eines Dinges, das Gestoßen-Werden eines Dinges, das Nachahmen des Eckigen, das Ausgeschweifte, das Samtartige, das Stachelige bei den einzelnen Konsonanten. Und doch ist das alles in der Sprache enthalten. Und wir können, indem wir uns durch ein Wort durchwinden, so wie das Wort ursprünglich aus der ganzen Menschenwesenheit hervorgegangen ist, so können wir an einem Worte alles Mögliche erleben: «Himmelhochjauchzend, / Zu Tode betrübt», den ganzen Menschen, hinauf- und hinuntergehend die Skalen der Gefühle, die Skalen der Anschauung der äußeren Dinge.

Das alles kann ja in Imaginationen hinaufgehoben werden, wie die Sprache auch ursprünglich aus Imaginationen hervorgegangen ist. Und so empfindet derjenige, der solche Imaginationen haben kann, wie ein i immer sich in einem solchen Bilde vor die Seele hinstellt, dass das Bild eine Selbstbehauptung ausdrückt, das Gewahrwerden des gestreckten Muskels im Arm zum Beispiel. Wenn jemand mit der Nase besonders geschickt ist, kann er dasselbe auch mit der Nase machen. Man kann es auch mit dem Sehstrahl machen, aber man macht es natürlich, weil die Arme und Hände das Ausdrucksvollste sind, wirklich künstlerisch mit den Armen. Aber darauf kommt es an, dass dieses Streckgefühl, dieses Hineinstoßen bei dem ausgestreckten Glied, bei dem i zum Ausdruck kommt. e stellt sich so hin, dass - wenn wir schon die ausgeatmete Luft zum Vorbilde nehmen in der e-Bewegung -, dass etwas wie gekreuzte Ströme sich als Imagination vor uns hinstellen. Daher das e in der Eurythmie, Alle diese Bewegungen sind ebenso wenig willkürlich, wie willkürlich sind die Sprachlaute oder die Gesangstöne selbst.

Es gibt Leute, die sagen: Ja, wir wollen doch nicht, dass da etwas so Abgezirkeltes uns gegeben wird, dass da in der Bewegung der eine Laut wie der andere so ausgedrückt werden muss. Wir wollen Gebärden haben, die spontan aus dem Menschen herauskommen. - Man kann ja die Lust haben zu solchen Sachen, aber dann soll man nur auch gleich die Lust haben, dass es keine deutsche, französische oder englische Sprache geben kann, damit der Mensch in seiner Freiheit nicht gestört wird; dass jeder sich in einem andern Laut ausdrücken kann, wie er will. Er kann ja auch sagen: Seine Freiheit wird gehemmt dadurch, dass er Englisch oder in einer anderen Sprache reden muss. - Die Freiheit wird eben gar nicht gehemmt. Aber die Schönheit in der Sprache kann erst dadurch geschaffen werden, dass der Mensch da ist. Die Schönheit in der eurythmischen Bewegung kann erst dadurch geschaffen werden, dass die Eurythmie erst da ist. Die Freiheit wird gar nicht dadurch beeinträchtigt. Diese Einwände entstammen eben durchaus der Einsichtslosigkeit. Und so wurde die Eurythmie tatsächlich geschaffen, geschaffen als eine Sprache durch, ich möchte wirklich sagen: die ausdrucksvollsten menschlichen Organe, Arme und Hände.

Das könnte man heute sogar schon wissenschaftlich einsehen. Nur weiß die Wissenschaft von dieser Sache, obwohl sie eigentlich mit nicht Wenigem, was sie weiß, auf dem richtigen Weg ist, sie weiß ungefähr so viel von der Sache, als derjenige von einem Kalbe vor sich hat, der einen Kalbsbraten auf dem Teller hat, nämlich einen ganz kleinen Teil. Die Wissenschaft weiß, dass das Sprachzentrum in der linken Gehirnhemnisphäre liegt und dass das zusammenhängt mit demjenigen, was das Kind sich aneignet in der Bewegung des rechten Armes. Linkshänder haben ihr Sprachzentrum in der rechten Gehirnhälfte. Man kennt also nicht das ganze Kalb, aber den Braten. Man kennt also einen Teil des Ganzen, einen kleinen Teil des Zusammenhangs zwischen den Vorgängen, den Lebensvorgängen in dem einen Arm und der Entstehung der Sprache.

In Wahrheit entsteht überhaupt die ganze Sprache durch die zurückgehaltene Bewegung der menschlichen Gliedmaßen. Und wir hätten keine Sprache, wenn nicht während der naiven, selbstverständlich elementarisch-kindlichen Entwicklung das Kind in sich die Tendenz hätte, namentlich Arme und Hände zu bewegen. Diese Bewegung wird zurückgehalten, wird konzentriert in die Sprachorgane, die ein Abbild sind desjenigen, was sich eigentlich äußern will in den Armen und Händen - und als Begleitung in den anderen Gliedmaßen des Menschen. Der Ätherleib - ich kann ja zu Ihnen nach den Vorträgen vom Vormittag vom Ätherleib immer sprechen -, der Ätherleib spricht niemals mit dem Munde, er spricht immer mit den Gliedmaßen. Und nur dasjenige, was der Ätherleib ausführt, indem der Mensch spricht, das wird auf den physischen Leib übertragen. Sie können schon ohne Gebärde mit den Händen in der Tasche meinetwillen beim Reden dastehen, wie wenn Sie Starrkrampf bekommen hätten und reden würden, aber Ihr Ätherleib macht umso lebendigere Bewegungen, weil er dagegen protestiert.

Und so sehen Sie, wie tatsächlich auf eine so natürliche Weise aus der menschlichen Organisation diese Eurythmie, wie hervorgeholt wird die Sprache durch die Natur selbst aus dieser menschlichen Organisation.

Der Dichter muss gegen die konventionelle Sprache kämpfen, um aus ihr wiederum dasjenige herauszuholen, was die Sprache zu einer Hindeutung machen könnte auf das Übersinnliche. Und ebenso ist es beim Gesang. Und so sehen wir denn, dass der Dichter, wenn er ein wirklicher Künstler ist - das sind nicht einmal ein Prozent von denjenigen Leuten, die Gedichte fabrizieren -, wenn er ein wirklicher Dichter ist, legt er ja nicht den Hauptwert auf den Prosainhalt der Worte. Der ist ja nur die Gelegenheit, um das eigentlich Künstlerische zum Ausdrucke zu bringen. Wie für den Bildhauer nicht der Ton oder der Marmor die Hauptsache ist, die das Künstlerische macht, sondern dasjenige, was wird durch das Formen, so ist das Dichterisch-Künstlerische dasjenige, was durch die imaginative Gestaltung des Lautes, was durch die musikalische Gestaltung des Lautes entsteht. Das ist dann dasjenige, was durch Rezitation und Deklamation zum Ausdrucke kommen muss.

In unserem heutigen, etwas unkünstlerischen Zeitalter deklamiert und rezitiert man so, dass man das Prosaische gern pointiert. Es glaubt [im Grunde genommen heute jeder], rezitieren und deklamieren zu können, der überhaupt reden kann. Aber Rezitation und Deklamation ist ebenso eine Kunst wie die anderen Künste, denn es handelt sich darum, dasjenige, was in einer schon geheimen Eurythmie, was in der Gestaltung, in der imaginativen, in der plastisch-malerischen Gestaltung der Worte, in der musikalischen, rhythmischen, taktvollen, melodiösen Gestaltung der Worte liegt, dass das in der Sprachbehandlung zum Ausdrucke kommt.

Goethe hat mit seinen Schauspielern seine Jambendramen wie ein Kapellmeister mit dem Taktstock einstudiert, wie ein Kapellmeister seine Musikstücke studiert mit seiner Kapelle, weil es ihm nicht ankam auf den bloßen Prosagehalt, sondern auf das Herausarbeiten desjenigen, was durch eine geheime Eurythmie in der Sprachbehandlung, Sprachgestaltung lag. Schiller hatte bei seinen berühmtesten Gedichten gar nicht den Prosainhalt im Sinne. Da hätte meinetwillen «Das Lied von der Glocke» entstehen können, aber auch ein ganz anderes Gedicht - seinem Inhalte nach. Denn zuerst hatte er ein unbestimmtes melodiöses Motiv, das er in der Seele erlebte, etwas Musikalisches, daran wie Perlen um einen Kettenfaden gelegt die Worte. So [fädelte] er die Prosaworte an die musikalischen Motive.

Soweit ist eigentlich nur eine Sprache dichterisch-künstlerisch, als sie entweder plastisch-malerisch gestaltet ist oder musikalisch gestaltet ist. Frau Doktor Steiner hat in jahrelanger Arbeit diese besondere Art der Rezitations- und Deklamationskunst herauszuarbeiten versucht. Das ist dasjenige, was nun möglich macht, wie man in einem Orchester verschiedene Instrumente verbindet, so wirklich zu orchestralem Zusammenwirken zu verbinden dasjenige, was im Bühnenbilde in der eurythmisch-sichtbaren Sprache zum Ausdrucke kommt mit demjenigen, was nun schon in der Sprachbehandlung eurythmisch durch das Sprechen, durch das Rezitieren und Deklamieren selber zum Ausdrucke kommt. Sodass man auf der einen Seite die sichtbare Eurythmie hat und auf der anderen Seite die nicht nun im Tone allein, sondern in der Sprachbehandlung liegende geheime Eurythmie.

Und für das Künstlerische der Dichtung kommt es nicht darauf an, dass wir sagen: «Der Vogel singt», sondern es kommt darauf an, dass wir an einer bestimmten Stelle mit Enthusiasmus zu sagen haben nach dem, was vorangeht oder folgt: «Der Vogel singt.» Oder dass wir zu sagen haben in zurückgehaltenem Ton mit einem ganz anderen Tempo: «Der Vogel singt.» Auf diese Gestaltung kommt es an. Und das ist gerade dasjenige, was nun auch in die Eurythmie, in die eurythmische Behandlung übergehen kann.

Daher kann man eben als Ideal anstreben dieses orchestrale Zusammenwirken dieses eurythmisch sichtbar Dargestellten und des in der Rezitation und Deklamation Auftretenden. Mit der prosaischen Rezitation und Deklamation, wie sie heute vielfach beliebt werden, kann man die Eurythmie nicht begleiten. Danach würde man nicht eurythmisieren können, weil gerade da das Seelenvolle, was der Mensch offenbaren will - sei es durch die hörbare, sei es durch die sichtbare Sprache -, zum Ausdruck kommen soll.

Ebenso, wie man nun das Rezitatorische und Deklamatorische mit Eurythmie begleiten kann, so kann man eben auch das am Instrument musikalisch Angeschlagene begleiten. Nur muss man sich klar sein, dass die Eurythmie nicht ein Tanz ist, sondern ein bewegtes Singen ist, etwas anderes ist, als ein Tanz. Die Leute kommen natürlich zur Eurythmie, sehen einen bewegten Menschen - ich habe sogar schon einen Journalisten nicht persönlich kennen lernen, sondern von ihm lesen können, der gesagt hat: Ja, wenn man die Eurythmie auf der Bühne anschaut, es bewegen sich die Menschen, es muss doch Tanz sein, also muss man es auch als Tanz beurteilen können! - Ja, nicht wahr, es ist eben gerade an demjenigen, was hier auftritt als Toneurythmie als Begleitung der Instrumentalmusik, zu sehen, wie man das Tanzen von dem unterscheiden kann, was dieser sichtbare Gesang, die Eurythmie ist. Es ist ein Singen durch Bewegungen des einzelnen Menschen oder von Menschengruppen, nicht ein Tanzen.

Und wenn auch die anderen Glieder — Beine und so weiter, meinetwillen auch der Kopf oder, wie vorher gesagt, die Nase, meinetwillen die Ohren - neben der Bewegung der Arme und der Hände in Betracht kommen, so ist es wie zu einer Art von Unterstützung, wie wenn wir ja auch das Sprachliche, das gewöhnliche Sprachliche unterstützen. Wenn wir einen Jungen ermahnen, so sprechen wir die Ermahnung aus, machen aber auch das entsprechende Gesicht dazu. Das muss natürlich in dezenter Weise dazu gemacht werden, sonst ist es fratzenhaft. So werden auch diejenigen Bewegungen, die tanzend oder mimisch sind, wenn sie hinzukommen zu dem Eurythmischen, sie werden fratzenhaft, wenn sie aufdringlich sich hinzugesellen, sie werden brutal, oder sie werden in einer gewissen Weise undezent, während dasjenige, was in der wirklichen Eurythmie zum Ausdrucke kommt, eben die reinste Offenbarung der menschlichen Seele ist in der Sichtbarkeit.

Das ist das Wesentliche: In der Sichtbarkeit wird gesungen, wird gesprochen. Und man kann auch sagen, dass dies alles wirklich aus der inneren Organisation des menschlichen Wesens hervorgehen kann. Derjenige, der sagt: Mir ist Sprache, mir ist die Musik genug, warum soll man noch irgendwie weiter ausdehnen das Künstlerische, ich verlange nach keiner Eurythmie - der hat natürlich von seinem Standpunkte aus recht. Man hat ja immer recht, wenn man auch ein Philister ist, von seinem philiströsen Standpunkte aus. Warum denn nicht einen solchen Standpunkt haben? Alles hat seine gewisse Berechtigung, sicher; aber ein künstlerischer Standpunkt, ein wirklich innerlicher Standpunkt ist das nicht, denn derjenige, der eine wirkliche künstlerische Natur ist, hat alles Interesse daran, dass die Kunst so weit reiche, wie nur irgend möglich. So wie dem Bildhauer das Erz, der Ton, der Marmor sich ergeben, wie sich dem Maler die Farben ergeben, wenn sich die aus der Natur hervorgeholte, auf natürliche Weise entwickelte Eurythmie als ein Kunstmittel ergibt, so hat derjenige, der eine künstlerische Natur ist, ich möchte sagen den intensiven Enthusiasmus, die Kunst wirklich auch auf dieses Terrain hin zu verbreiten.

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Manches noch auf die Einzelheiten der Bewegung Deutende können Sie ersehen, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, aus diesen Eurythmiefiguren. Ich möchte nur andeutend hinweisen darauf, wie in diesen Eurythmiefiguren Einzelnes aus den eurythmischen Bewegungen, aus der eurythmischen Charakterisierung von Attitüden und so weiter zur Offenbarung kommen kann. Diese Eurythmiefiguren sind so gemeint, dass sie nur dasjenige wiedergeben wollen, was für irgendein eurythmisches Motiv in die wirkliche eurythmische Bewegung übergeht. Sodass also nach drei Richtungen hin das Eurythmische in dieser Figur festgehalten ist: festgehalten ist die Bewegung als solche, festgehalten das Gefühl, das in der Bewegung liegt, und festgehalten der Charakter, der sich aus dem Seelischen heraus in die Bewegung hineingießt.

Nur sind diese Eurythmiefiguren in einer ganz besonderen Weise eben ausgeführt. Sie dürfen in diesen Eurythmicfiguren nicht irgendwie plastische Nachbildungen der menschlichen Gestalt und dergleichen sehen. Das gehört in die Plastik, in die Malerei. Hier in diesen Eurythmiefiguren sollte nur dasjenige, was im Menschen eurythmisch wird, wirklich dargestellt werden. Es konnte sich also nicht darum handeln, etwa die ruhende Menschengestalt schön plastisch zum Ausdruck zu bringen. Wer glaubt, in der Eurythmie sehen zu müssen ein schönes Menschengesicht, der gibt sich einem Irrtum gegenüber der Eurythmie hin. Man kann ebenso gut ein hässliches Menschengesicht sehen in der Eurythmie, denn es kommt nicht darauf an, ob das Menschengesicht schön ist oder hässlich, jung oder alt und so weiter und so weiter, sondern es kommt darauf an, wie dieser Mensch, der eurythmisiert, seine ganze menschliche Wesenheit in die gestalteten und gestaltenden Bewegungen übergehen lassen kann.

Sodass also zum Beispiel dieses hier (Eurythmiefigur b) dem bErlebnis entspricht. Ja, hier haben Sie die Vorstellung, wohin schaut dieses Gesicht? Man könnte nun fragen: Schaut es hinauf, schaut es geradeaus? Das kommt dabei zunächst gar nicht in Betracht, sondern es kommt etwas anderes in Betracht. Zunächst ist festgehalten in der ganzen Ausgestaltung der Figuren die Bewegung, die bei der Eurythmie ausgeführt wird, also sagen wir zum Beispiel die Bewegung der Arme, der Beine. Und dann ist festgehalten in der Schleierhaltung, indem man den Schleier irgendwie erfasst, ihn anzieht, ihn wirft, ihn fallen lässt, ihn wellt. Man kann dadurch die Bewegung, die mehr intellektuell ausdrückt das Seelenleben durch die Eurythmie, man kann durch diese Schleierbewegung die Bewegung vertiefen gefühlsmäßig.

Es ist immer rückwärts auf den Figuren angegeben, was die einzelnen Farben bei den einzelnen Figuren bedeuten. Dann ist immer angegeben an gewissen Stellen - wie hier am Kopfe -, wo der Eurythmisierende, indem er seine Bewegung ausführt, die Muskeln stärker anspannt. Wenn also zum Beispiel diese Bewegung bei einem so hinschauenden Gesichte (siehe Eurythmiefigur) ausgeführt wird, dann deutet dieses Blaue hier an, dass hier an der Stirne der Muskel besonders gespannt wird, und ebenso im Nacken, währenddem hier die Muskeln freier, lässiger bleiben. Der Eurythmisierende kann ganz genau unterscheiden, ob er einen Arm lässig hinausbewegt oder ob er den Muskel spannt, den Finger spannt, ob er in der Beugelage spannt dasjenige, was zu der Beugung hintreibt oder ob er das lässig bloß im Winkel gebeugt sein lässt. Durch diese vom Eurythmisierenden selbst innerlich gefühlte Muskelspannung kommt Charakter in die Bewegung hinein.

Sodass man also sagen kann: In der Gestaltung der Bewegung liegt dasjenige, was mehr eben bloß der Ausdruck ist für das, was die Seele durch die sichtbare Sprache sagen will. Wie aber die Worte auch ihren Timbre, ihren besonderen Ton haben durch das Gefühl, das da drinnen ist, so wird die Bewegung durch die Art und Weise wie Furcht, wenn sie im Satze zum Ausdrucke kommt, Freude, Entzücken zum Ausdrucke kommt, so wird das von dem Eurythmisierenden in die Bewegung hineingelegt. Und das kann er dann, wenn er sich des Schleiers bedienen kann, durch das wellende Bewegen, Heben, Senken und so weiter des Schleiers zum Ausdrucke bringen. Sodass die vom Schleier begleitete Bewegung die gefühlsmäßige Bewegung ist. Und die von der inneren Muskelspannung begleitete Bewegung ist die Bewegung, die den Charakter in sich trägt. Wenn der Eurythmisierende in der richtigen Weise seine Muskeln spannt ‚oder lässig lässt, so geht das in der Empfindung über auf den Zuschauer, und man empfindet tatsächlich dasjenige, was einem gar nicht interpretiert zu werden braucht, tatsächlich dasjenige, was nach Charakter, Gefühl und Bewegung in der eurythmischen Sprache liegen kann.

Die Figuren sind angeregt von Miss Maryon. Sie werden auch von ihr ausgeführt. Sie sind aber in der weiteren Gestaltung nach meinen Angaben gemacht. Sie können von Miss Maryon in Dornach im Goetheanum bezogen werden. Es handelte sich auch in künstlerischer Beziehung bei diesen Figuren sowohl in Bezug auf das Ausschneiden wie auf die Farbengebung darum, das Rein-Eurythmische ganz loszulösen von dem, was am Menschen nicht eurythmisch ist. In dem Augenblicke, wo der Eurythmisierende sein charmantes Gesicht zeigt, gehört das nicht zum Eurythmisieren, sondern dasjenige, was er an dieser Muskelspannung, von der ich gesprochen habe, aus seinem Gesichte zu machen versteht. Und daher ist es nicht eine rein künstlerische Empfindung, wenn man etwa einen schönen Eurythmisten mehr liebt als einen weniger schönen Eurythmisten. Es kommt bei allen diesen Dingen nicht an auf dasjenige, was der Mensch ist als Mensch in der nicht eurythmischen Attitüde. Von dem muss ganz abgesehen werden. - Und so ist gerade bei der Gestaltung dieser Figuren nur so viel fixiert, als am Menschen durch die eurythmische Bewegung selbst zum Ausdrucke kommt.

Es wäre überhaupt gut, wenn man namentlich in der Entwicklung der Kunst auf das schr viel sehen würde, dass man loslöst von dem, was nicht in den Bereich einer Kunst gehört, dasjenige, was gerade aus den Mitteln dieser Kunst heraus und aus den Motiven dieser Kunst heraus zum Ausdrucke kommen soll. Man muss ja in dieser Beziehung tatsächlich gerade dann, wenn es sich um eine so unmittelbare und so ehrliche und aufrichtige Offenbarung handelt des menschlichen Seelen- und Geisteslebens und auch Körperlebens, wie es bei der Eurythmie ist, wirklich sehen, wie die Offenbarung sich unterscheidet von dem am Menschen, was eben nicht Offenbarung ist in der betreffenden Kunst. So habe ich auch immer gesagt, wenn ich gefragt worden bin: Wie alt kann man sein, wenn man eurythmisieren will? - ich habe immer gesagt: Eine Altersgrenze gibt es nicht; von drei Jahren angefangen bis neunzig Jahre kann man durchaus in der Eurythmie seine Persönlichkeit stellen, denn es kann jedes Lebensalter wie ja sonst auch seine Schönheiten offenbaren, so auch durchaus in der Eurythmie seine Schönheiten offenbaren.

Wenn man dies nimmt, was ich bisher gesagt habe, so bezieht sich das auf die Eurythmie als Kunst, als reine Kunst. Und als reine Kunst ist sie auch zunächst ausgebildet worden, die Eurythmie. Damals, 1912, als sie entstanden ist, dachte man überhaupt nur an das Künstlerische, sie als Kunst vor die Welt hinzustellen.

Dann, als die Waldorfschule begründet worden ist, hat es sich herausgestellt, dass die Eurythmie auch ein wichtiges Erziehungsmittel sein kann. Und wir sind tatsächlich dazu gekommen, die pädagogisch-didaktische Bedeutung der Eurythmie voll würdigen zu können. Wir haben die Eurythmie als einen obligatorischen Lehrgegenstand in der Waldorfschule von der untersten bis zur höchsten Klasse für Knaben und Mädchen eingeführt. Und es zeigt sich da in der Tat, dass dasjenige, was da als sichtbare Sprache oder Gesang von den Kindern angeeignet wird, tatsächlich von ihnen in einer so selbstverständlichen Weise angeeignet wird, wie in ganz jungen Jahren die Tonsprache oder der Gesang angeeignet werden. Das Kind findet sich ganz von selbst in das Eurythmisieren hinein.

Und es zeigt sich dabei, dass die anderen Arten von Gymnastik alle eigentlich gegenüber der Eurythmie etwas Einseitiges haben. Denn die anderen Arten von Gymnastik tragen gewissermaßen den materialistischen Vorurteilen unserer Zeit Rechnung und gehen mehr vom Körperlichen aus. Das Körperliche wird durchaus bei der Eurythmie auch berücksichtigt, aber es wirkt bei der Eurythmie zusammen Leib, Seele und Geist, sodass man eine beseelte und durchgeistigte Gymnastik in der Eurythmie hat. Das fühlt das Kind. Es fühlt in jeder Bewegung, die es macht, wie es nicht nur aus einer körperlichen Notwendigkeit heraus die Bewegung macht, sondern wie es die Bewegung macht, indem es zugleich das Seelische und das Geistige überfließen lässt in den bewegten Arm, den ganzen bewegten Körper. Das Eurythmische erfasst das Kind im tiefsten Innern der Seele.

Und da wir jetzt schon Jahre der Waldorfschule hinter uns haben, können wir ja sehen, was da besonders herausgebildet wird: Die Willensinitiative, die ja der Mensch in der Gegenwart so sehr braucht, die wird besonders kultiviert durch die Eurythmie als pädagogisch-didaktisches Mittel in der Schule. Aber man muss durchaus sich klar sein darüber, dass, wenn man einseitig bloß die Eurythmie in die Schule hineinstellen würde, sie nicht als Kunst würdigen, so würde man ja die Schule missverstehen. Eurythmie gehört zunächst als Kunst in das Leben hinein wie die anderen Künste. Und wie wir die anderen Künste lehren, wenn sie draußen blühen, so kann auch Eurythmie in der Schule nur gelehrt werden, wenn sie wirklich als Kunst der Zivilisation anerkannt und gewürdigt wird.

Dann wiederum, als durch eine größere Anzahl von Ärzten, die sich innerhalb unserer anthroposophischen Bewegung gefunden haben, die Pflege des Therapeutisch-Medizinischen aus dem Anthroposophischen herauskam, da wurde auch das Begehren rege, diese aus der gesunden Natur des Menschen herausgeholten Bewegungen, wo sich der Mensch tatsächlich so äußert, so offenbart, wie es seinem Organismus angemessen ist, auch in der Therapie, in der Heilkunst zu verwerten. Die Eurythmie ist ja in dieser Beziehung wirklich dasjenige, was aus dem Menschen herauswill. Derjenige, der eine Hand versteht, der weiß doch, dass eine Hand nicht da ist, damit man sie als ruhend anschaut, Die Finger haben gar keinen Sinn, wenn man sie nur als ruhende anschaut. Die Finger haben einen Sinn, wenn sie greifen, umfassen, wenn sie in Bewegung versetzt werden aus ihrer ruhigen Form. Man sieht ihnen schon die Bewegung an. So ist der ganze Mensch: Dasjenige, was als Eurythmie aus der Bewegung hervorgehen kann, ist eben das gesunde Überfließen seines Organbaues in die Bewegung. Sodass man - natürlich nicht so, wie sie hier als Kunst auftritt, sondern in umgestalteten, ähnlichen, aber doch wieder anders gearteten Bewegungen - diese Eurythmie als Heileurythmie in der Therapie verwenden kann, indem man sie als Hilfsmittel bei der Therapie in der Erkrankung verwendet, wo man weiß: Diese Bewegung wirkt zurück in der Gesundung auf diese oder jene Organe.

Wiederum haben wir gute Erfolge damit bei unseren Kindern in der Waldorfschule erzielt. Da ist es allerdings notwendig, dass man eine wirkliche Einsicht in die Kindernatur hat. Man hat ein Kind, das ist in einer gewissen Weise schwach, kränklich. Man gibt ihm diejenigen Bewegungen, die es gesund machen. Und da ergeben sich tatsächlich - man kann das in aller Bescheidenheit sagen - die allerglänzendsten Resultate. Aber das alles wird nur mit allen Dependancen bestehen können, wenn die Eurythmie als Kunst voll entwickelt wird. Da muss allerdings gestanden werden: Wir sind im Anfange. Aber ein Stückchen weit haben wir es doch gebracht mit der Eurythmie, und wir suchen sie immer weiter auszubilden. Anfangs gab es zum Beispiel nicht die stummen Formen am Anfang und Ende eines Gedichtes, die wiedergeben das, was in Bezug auf das Einleitende gegeben werden kann und wiederum der Ausklang gegeben werden kann. Anfangs gab es nicht die Beleuchtungen, die auch so aufzufassen sind, dass nicht etwa für die einzelne Situation irgendein Lichteffekt zu erfolgen hat, sondern es hat sich selber Licht-Eurythmie ergeben. Nicht darauf kommt es an, wie der eine Lichteffekt zu dem gerade stimmt, was im einzelnen Moment auf der Bühne vorgeht, sondern die ganze Lichteurythmie: Das Spielen des einen Lichteffektes in den anderen hinein, das ergibt selber eine Lichteurythmie, die denselben Charakter und dieselbe Empfindungsart in sich trägt wie dasjenige, was in der Bewegung der Menschen oder des einzelnen Menschen sonst auf der Bühne zum Ausdruck kommt, Und so wird noch manches in der Ausgestaltung des Bühnenbildes in der weiteren Vervollkommnung der Eurythmie zu demjenigen kommen müssen, was man jetzt schon an ihr sehen kann.

Ja, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, ich könnte noch die ganze Nacht fortsprechen über die Eurythmie, bis ich dann gleich mit dem morgigen Vormittagsvortrag fortsetzen könnte. Allein ich denke, das würde Ihnen doch nicht gut bekommen - und den anwesenden Eurythmisten auch nicht gerade. Denn das wird doch die Hauptsache sein, dass man alles, was man jetzt als eine Ausführung gehört hat, morgen beim Besuch der Vorstellung verwirklicht vor sich sieht, denn die richtige Anschauung soll in der Kunst die Hauptsache sein.

Lecture on Eurythmy

Ladies and gentlemen!

Eurythmy has actually grown out of the anthroposophical movement as a gift of fate. It was in 1912 when an anthroposophical family lost their father, and the daughter was looking for a profession, a profession that was to be drawn from the anthroposophical movement. And so, after many different ideas had been considered, a kind of spatial movement art, which did not yet exist at that time, was inaugurated on this occasion. And so the very first principles and forms of eurythmy grew out of the instruction given to this young lady.

It is precisely this eurythmy that belongs to those consequences of the anthroposophical movement that have always grown in such a way that the first beginnings were taken as a twist of fate and then stood before us in much the same way as I did – I discussed this here one evening a few days ago — standing before the column forms in the Goetheanum, which, through artistic creation, gained a life of their own, so to speak, and had something quite different from what had originally been put into them.

This is always the case when one devotes oneself to artistic creation, or indeed to human creation in general, to the creative forces of nature. Just as the creative forces of nature themselves work out of infinity, so to speak, so that one can always discover much more from what emerges than what one initially put into it, so it is when one connects with the creative forces and powers of nature in artistic creation. One then not only carries out narrowly limited impulses, but ultimately becomes a kind of tool for the creative powers of the world, and much more grows out of the work than one could originally have intended.

This eurythmy was then initially practiced and taught in very small circles. Then Dr. Steiner took it up at the beginning of the war, and as a result it gained more and more in scope, but also in content. What eurythmy is today has actually only come about since those first principles were laid down in 1912. And we are constantly working, because what eurythmy is today is only a beginning; we are constantly working on its development and perfection. But it has, I would say, unlimited possibilities for perfection. And that is why, when we are long gone, it will undoubtedly find its further development and refinement and then be able to stand alongside the older arts as a younger art form.

The arts have never arisen solely from intellectual human intentions, nor have they ever arisen from the principle of to imitate nature in any way in any field, but they have always arisen when hearts, human hearts, have found each other, have been able to receive impulses from the spiritual world, and these impulses have found it necessary to embody themselves, to realize themselves through this or that external material. For each of the individual arts — architecture, sculpture, painting, music, and so on — it can be demonstrated everywhere how certain spiritual impulses came to human beings from higher worlds, how particularly suitable natures took up these impulses. And what has, so to speak, been shadowed from higher worlds into human creativity in the physical world has given rise to the arts.

Certainly, the arts then continued in their development in such a way that they became naturalistic, that the original impulses were lost and a kind of external imitation took place. But this external imitation is never the origin of the arts. Today — I will just cite this as an example — when a sculptor or painter has to reproduce the human self, the first thing that comes to mind is how to achieve this reproduction based on a model. It can be proven that sculpture did not reach its peak in Greece by working from a model, that is, by imitating the external appearance of the senses, but rather that during the age in which Greek sculpture flourished, people still felt something within themselves from their etheric body, from this etheric body that contains the actual formative and growth forces of the human being. In the best Greek period, people discovered what it meant to use the etheric body to bring an arm and a hand into a certain attitude, and they felt the muscle posture and muscle position in this attitude. They experienced inwardly, as it were, the width of the arm, the stretching power of the arm, the stretching power of the fingers. And this inner experience was reflected in his material, in the external matter. So it was what the Greek sculptor entrusted to the material, an inner experience, not something seen externally with the eyes – where this line goes, this surface, which was then smeared into the clay or plasticine – but it was actually his inner experience that was recreated according to the creative forces of nature and entrusted to the external material.

And so it is with every kind of art. At the moment when this art is at its peak in human development — and there are always such epochs in human development on earth in which the spiritual descends from the spiritual worlds more than in other epochs, in which, so to speak, human beings are called upon to look through the windows that lead into the spiritual and to bring down to earth what lives in the spiritual worlds. This is how the arts begin. This is followed by increasingly naturalistic ages, in which the epigonic nature of the arts sometimes develops into greater external formal perfection than the art in question had at its starting point, but at its starting point, art has the more lively, powerful, enthusiastic spiritual impulse. This is where it has its true reality, its true practice coming from the whole human being, which cannot be merely a practice of external formal creation, but must be a practice of the physical, soul, and spiritual.

The fact that this has always been the case in human development could give one the courage – after eurythmy had already flown into the anthroposophical movement like a bird of destiny – to continue developing eurythmy further and further. For the anthroposophical movement wants to bring to bear, to reveal, this spiritual impulse that is appropriate to our present time. In all modesty, it is of the opinion that such a spiritual impulse must come to humanity again, especially now. Therefore, this spiritual impulse cannot help but express itself through a special art form into which it flows. And this particular art form is actually found in eurythmy. This will become more and more apparent.

In relation to other art forms, anthroposophy will be called upon to bring about deepening, expansion, and revitalization. Eurythmy could only grow on anthroposophical ground, could only gain its impulses from what can emerge from direct anthroposophical observation.

The form of revelation through which human beings reveal their nature to other human beings is language. Through language, human beings reveal their innermost selves. And so, in addition to the arts that focus more on either the spatial exterior or the temporal exterior, the art that reveals itself through language, poetry, has accompanied the various arts throughout the ages, in accordance with the individual eras, so to speak. This art of language—I explicitly call poetry an “art of language,” and we will see later that this is justified—is more universal than the other arts, because it can incorporate the other arts in its forms. One can say that poetry is the art of language – more plastic in one poet, more musical in another. Yes, one can also speak of a pictorial poetry, and so on.

Language is indeed a universal means of expression for the human soul. And those who can look impartially into the early days of human development on earth can see that in certain ancient proto-languages, a deeply artistic element actually prevailed in human development. Only these proto-languages were drawn out of the whole human being much more than today's civilized languages. If we follow this development impartially, we even come to primordial languages that expressed themselves almost like singing, but in such a way that the person vividly accompanied what they were saying with movements of their legs and arms, so that a kind of dancing was added to the speech in certain primitive languages when something was to be expressed in an elevated form or in an intentionally cult-like form.

In the early days of human development, accompanying the words that came from the throat with human gestures was considered something natural. And we can only properly assess what was happening then if we make an effort to point out how what otherwise only appears as an accompanying gesture when speaking can take on a life of its own. One then comes to the conclusion that gestures made with the arms and hands can be just as expressive as language in an artistic context, and indeed even more expressive. I readily admit that people do not always approach these things without prejudice. For example, there is a certain antipathy here and there towards gestures that accompany speech. And I have seen that there are people who even consider it somewhat—indeed, inelegant—when someone accompanies their speech with special gestures. So much so that even today, the attitude of putting one's hands in one's pockets while speaking has become established. I have always found this a highly unsympathetic attitude. I have therefore never had pockets made here, so that I cannot do this at all.

Now, what can be expressed through arms and hands is something that can reveal a great deal about a person's inner self. For example, I must say that I sometimes feel a real urge to write an essay about a philosopher who was very dear to me and who died a few years ago, Franz Brentano. I have written a lot about him, but I would also like to write another essay on the following topic. When Franz Brentano climbed onto the lectern and stood on the podium, all the philosophy that one could otherwise admire in Brentano in its witty way, which could be expressed in terms that could be described with philosophical abstractions, this philosophy was much more beautiful than anything Brentano himself said. And what he could say about it was expressed by the way he moved his arms and hands when he spoke, how he held up the sheet of paper containing his concept. It was a very special kind of movement, which always tended to let something important and yet something indifferent flow into the gesture through the sheet of paper, as it were. So that one could see how, I would say, the whole philosophy was expressed in this gesture, which took on the most varied forms during a lecture.

This Franz Brentano is particularly remarkable in that he founded a school of psychology—in which he differs from all other psychologists, Spencer, Stuart Mill, and others, in that he does not include the will among the psychological categories. Now, I am familiar with all the evidence and arguments that Franz Brentano has given in support of his theory. None of them convince me as much as the way he held the sheet of paper—and the moment he made that hand gesture, that arm gesture, the will disappeared from his entire philosophical representation, while feeling and idea unfolded in a powerful way, the will disappeared. This preponderance of idea and feeling and the disappearance of will was evident in every hand movement he made. So that I really have no choice but to write the essay: The Philosophy of Franz Brentano, Revealed in His Arm Movement, in His Entire Gesture. For it seems to me to lie there rather than in all that one otherwise knows how to say about the matter in a philosophical manner.

Anyone who delves into this impartially will come to the conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, that ultimately what we expel as exhaled air through our respiratory organs, our speech and singing organs, what we push out when it is vocalized, what we form with our lips, teeth, palate when we expel it, is nothing other than an air gesture. Only the air gesture is placed in the room in such a way that it can be heard by the ear through what it produces in the room. If one can now, through real sensual-supersensual vision, put oneself into this air gesture, into what man does when he pronounces vowels, when he pronounces consonants, when he pronounces sentences, when he forms rhymes, forms iambs or trochees, if one is able to put oneself into this air gesture, then one says to oneself: Ah, civilized languages have made terrible concessions to convention. They have ultimately become means of expression for scientific knowledge, means of expression for what one wants to communicate in life. They have lost their original soulfulness. What the poet so beautifully says actually applies to civilized language: “When the soul speaks, / alas, it is no longer the soul that speaks.”

But now you can imitate what you can learn from the air gestures, what you can see in the air gestures, through sensual-supersensual seeing, through your arms and hands, through the movement of your whole body. Then you can visibly create the very same thing that is at work in language. And then one can place the human being in such a way that he performs the movement that the speech and singing organism actually always performs. And this creates visible speech, visible singing. These are precisely what eurythmy is.

I will characterize it further after this has been translated.

My dear audience!

If one can view language itself with artistic sensibility, then, in a sense, an imaginative image arises before the soul for the individual expressions of language. One must only be able to move beyond the abstract character that language has indeed already attained in the more advanced civilizations of the present. There, one actually speaks without one's human being still being present in the language.

Language is born entirely from the whole human being. Let us take any vowel. It always expresses what the soul experiences in the scope of its feelings. Either the human being wants to express what lives in wonder: a; or he wants to express what reveals a kind of holding on against resistance: e; or he wants to express his self-assertion, his placing himself in the world: i. He wants to express his wonder, or perhaps also his clinging to something: ei.

This will of course take different forms in different languages, because different languages arise from different kinds of emotional life. But everything vocal originally expresses a soul feeling that is only connected with the thought that comes from the head and then passes into language. And as it is with the vowels in language, so it is with the tones in music. The sound of speech, the letters of the language, the turns of phrase, the structure and form of the sentence, and so on, always express the emotional experience of the soul. And in the same way, when we sing, the sound expresses the life of the soul.

Let us study the consonants. We find that consonants are imitations of what is around us externally. The vowel comes from within, wanting to pour out the inner self, the whole soul, so to speak. The consonant comes from the perception of things. How we perceive them, even if only with our eyes, is formed into the consonants. The consonant paints, draws the outer form of things. Originally, the consonant is in fact a kind of imaginative reproduction of what is present outside in nature.

These things always come to light in a very one-sided way for some linguists. With regard to the origin of language – as posited by those who actually live completely outside the realm of language cognition, but who are precisely those who develop scientific theories – there are two famous language theories: the Bimbam theory and the Wau-wau theory. The Bimbam theory assumes that, just like in a bell—in the extreme—there is a kind of sound inside every thing, which is then imitated by humans. Everything is supposed to fit into this imitation theory – and after the most striking sound imitation, the bim-bam of the bell, this theory was named the Bimbam Theory. When you say “wave,” you imitate the movement of a wave, which is indeed the case. - The other theory—the woof-woof theory—could also be called the moo-moo theory. This theory believes that language arose through the transformation and perfection of animal sounds. And because a conspicuous animal sound is “woof-woof,” this theory has been called the woof-woof theory.

Well, all these theories are characterized by the fact that they contain some truth from some perspective. Scientific theories are never completely wrong. What is remarkable about them is that they always contain a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth, or a hundredth of the truth, which then captivates people in a suggestive way. But the truth is that vowels always arise from the life of the soul, while consonants are always found in the feeling and imitation of external objects. One imitates what the external object does by holding the exhaled air with the lips or shaping it with the teeth or tongue or forming it with the palate. As the consonants are formed, that is, as this air gesture is shaped, the vowels allow the inner to flow outward. The consonants then plastically reproduce in formations what is to be expressed.

And just as the individual sound, the individual letter, is formed, so too are the sentences formed, so too is that which becomes a real air gesture formed in poetic language. We can already see in poetry today how the poet actually has to struggle against the abstract in language. I have already said: we speak without actually pouring our soul into the language itself, without becoming absorbed in the language. Who still feels this wonder, this amazement, this perplexity, this rebelling at the vowels? Who feels the gentle, rounded weaving of a thing, the jostling of a thing, the imitation of the angular, the elaborate, the velvety, the prickly in the individual consonants? And yet all this is contained in language. And by winding our way through a word, just as the word originally emerged from the whole of human existence, we can experience all kinds of things in a word: “Sky-high with joy, / Dead with grief,” the whole human being, going up and down the scales of feelings, the scales of perception of external things.

All of this can be elevated in imagination, just as language originally emerged from imagination. And so, those who are capable of such imagination feel how an “i” always presents itself to the soul in such an image, that the image expresses self-assertion, the awareness of the stretched muscle in the arm, for example. If someone is particularly skilled with their nose, they can do the same with their nose. You can also do it with your gaze, but you do it naturally because the arms and hands are the most expressive, really artistic with the arms. But what matters is that this feeling of stretching, this pushing in with the outstretched limb, is expressed in the i. One stands in such a way that – if we take the exhaled air as a model in the e movement – something like crossed streams appear before us as an image. Hence the e in eurythmy. None of these movements are arbitrary, just as the speech sounds or singing tones themselves are not arbitrary.

There are people who say: Yes, we don't want something so calculated to be given to us, where one sound has to be expressed like another in the movement. We want gestures that come spontaneously from the human being. - You may well feel like doing such things, but then you should also feel like there should be no German, French, or English language, so that people are not disturbed in their freedom; that everyone can express themselves in a different sound, as they wish. They can also say: their freedom is inhibited by the fact that they have to speak English or another language. Freedom is not restricted at all. But the beauty in language can only be created through the presence of human beings. The beauty in eurythmic movement can only be created through the presence of eurythmy. Freedom is not impaired by this at all. These objections stem entirely from a lack of insight. And so eurythmy was actually created, created as a language through, I would really like to say, the most expressive human organs, the arms and hands.

Today, this can even be understood scientifically. However, although science is on the right track with much of what it knows, it knows about as much about this subject as someone who has a roast veal on their plate knows about a calf, namely a very small part. Science knows that the language center is located in the left hemisphere of the brain and that this is related to what the child learns through the movement of the right arm. Left-handed people have their language center in the right hemisphere of the brain. So we don't know the whole calf, but we know the roast. We know a part of the whole, a small part of the connection between the processes, the life processes in one arm and the development of language.

In truth, language as a whole arises from the restrained movement of the human limbs. And we would have no language if, during the naive, naturally elementary childhood development, the child did not have the tendency to move its arms and hands in particular. This movement is restrained, concentrated in the speech organs, which are a reflection of what actually wants to express itself in the arms and hands — and as an accompaniment in the other limbs of the human being. The etheric body — I can always talk to you about the etheric body after the morning lectures — the etheric body never speaks with the mouth, it always speaks with the limbs. And only what the etheric body does when a person speaks is transferred to the physical body. You can stand there with your hands in your pockets without gesturing while you speak, as if you had tetanus, but your etheric body will make all the more lively movements because it is protesting against this.

And so you see how, in such a natural way, this eurythmy is brought out of the human organism, how speech is brought out of this human organism by nature itself.

The poet must fight against conventional language in order to extract from it that which could make language a hint of the supersensible. And it is the same with singing. And so we see that the poet, if he is a real artist — and that is not even one percent of those people who produce poetry — if he is a real poet, does not place the main value on the prosaic content of the words. That is only the opportunity to express what is actually artistic. Just as for the sculptor it is not the clay or the marble that is the main thing that makes the artistic, but what is created through the shaping, so the poetic-artistic is what is created through the imaginative shaping of sound, through the musical shaping of sound. That is what must be expressed through recitation and declamation.

In our somewhat unartistic age, declamation and recitation tend to emphasize the prosaic. [Basically, everyone today] believes that anyone who can speak at all can recite and declaim. But recitation and declamation are just as much an art as the other arts, because they involve expressing in speech what lies in a kind of secret eurythmy, in the shaping, in the imaginative, plastic-pictorial shaping of words, in the musical, rhythmic, tactful, melodious shaping of words.

Goethe rehearsed his iambic dramas with his actors like a conductor with his baton, just as a conductor studies his pieces of music with his orchestra, because he was not interested in the mere prose content, but in bringing out what lay in a secret eurythmy in the treatment of language, in the shaping of language. Schiller did not have the prose content in mind at all in his most famous poems. As far as I am concerned, “Das Lied von der Glocke” (The Song of the Bell) could have been written, but also a completely different poem – in terms of its content. For at first he had an indefinite melodious motif that he experienced in his soul, something musical, and then he strung the words together like pearls on a chain. In this way, he [strung] the prose words onto the musical motifs.

In fact, a language is only poetic and artistic when it is either sculpturally and pictorially designed or musically designed. Dr. Steiner has spent years trying to develop this special art of recitation and declamation. This is what now makes it possible, just as one combines different instruments in an orchestra, to truly combine in orchestral cooperation that which is expressed in the stage picture in the eurythmic-visible language with that which is already expressed eurythmically in the treatment of language through speaking, reciting, and declaiming itself. So that on the one hand we have visible eurythmy and on the other hand the secret eurythmy that lies not only in the tone but also in the treatment of speech.

And for the artistic nature of poetry, it is not important that we say, “The bird sings,” but rather that we say with enthusiasm at a certain point, depending on what precedes or follows: “The bird sings.” Or that we say in a restrained tone with a completely different tempo: “The bird sings.” It is this form that matters. And that is precisely what can now also be transferred to eurythmy, to eurythmic treatment.

Therefore, one can strive for the ideal of this orchestral interaction between what is represented eurythmically and what appears in recitation and declamation. Eurythmy cannot be accompanied by the prosaic recitation and declamation that are so popular today. It would not be possible to perform eurythmy because it is precisely there that the soulfulness that the human being wants to reveal – whether through audible or visible language – should be expressed.

Just as recitation and declamation can be accompanied by eurythmy, so too can music played on an instrument. However, it must be clear that eurythmy is not a dance, but rather a form of moving singing, something different from a dance. People naturally come to eurythmy and see a moving person – I have even read about a journalist, whom I have not met personally, who said: Yes, when you watch eurythmy on stage, the people are moving, so it must be dance, and therefore it must also be possible to judge it as dance! Yes, isn't it true that it is precisely in what is performed here as tone eurythmy accompanying instrumental music that one can see how dancing can be distinguished from what this visible singing, eurythmy, is. It is singing through the movements of individuals or groups of people, not dancing.

And even if the other limbs — legs and so on, for my sake also the head or, as I said before, the nose, for my sake the ears — are taken into consideration alongside the movement of the arms and hands, it is like a kind of support, as when we also support speech, ordinary speech. When we admonish a boy, we express the admonition, but we also make the appropriate facial expression. Of course, this must be done in a discreet manner, otherwise it becomes grotesque. In the same way, movements that are dance-like or mimetic, when added to eurythmy, become grotesque if they are intrusive, they become brutal, or they become indecent in a certain way, whereas what is expressed in real eurythmy is precisely the purest revelation of the human soul in visibility.

That is the essential point: singing and speaking take place in the visible world. And one can also say that all this can truly arise from the inner organization of the human being. Those who say: Language is enough for me, music is enough for me, why should we expand the artistic realm any further, I have no need for eurythmy – they are of course right from their point of view. One is always right, even if one is a philistine, from one's philistine point of view. Why not have such a point of view? Everything has its justification, of course; but it is not an artistic point of view, a truly inner point of view, because anyone who is truly artistic has every interest in art reaching as far as possible. Just as the sculptor has ore, clay, and marble at his disposal, just as the painter has colors at his disposal, so too does the artist, when eurythmy, which has been drawn from nature and developed in a natural way, becomes an artistic medium, have, I would say, an intense enthusiasm for truly spreading art into this realm.


You can see some of the details of the movement, dear audience, from these eurythmy figures. I would just like to point out how individual elements of the eurythmic movements, the eurythmic characterization of attitudes, and so on, can be revealed in these eurythmy figures. These eurythmy figures are intended to reflect only that which, for any eurythmic motif, is transferred into the actual eurythmic movement. So that the eurythmic element in this figure is captured in three directions: the movement as such is captured, the feeling that lies in the movement is captured, and the character that pours into the movement from the soul is captured.

However, these eurythmic figures are executed in a very special way. You should not see them as plastic replicas of the human form or anything of the sort. That belongs in sculpture or painting. Here, in these eurythmic figures, only that which becomes eurythmic in the human being should be truly represented. It could not be a matter of expressing the resting human form in a beautiful sculptural way. Anyone who believes that they must see a beautiful human face in eurythmy is mistaken about eurythmy. One can just as easily see an ugly human face in eurythmy, because it does not matter whether the human face is beautiful or ugly, young or old, and so on and so forth. What matters is how this person, who is performing eurythmy, can allow their entire human being to flow into the movements that are being formed and shaping.

So, for example, this one (eurythmy figure b) corresponds to the b-experience. Yes, here you have the idea of where this face is looking. One might now ask: Is it looking up, is it looking straight ahead? That is not the first thing to consider, but something else comes into consideration. First of all, the entire design of the figures captures the movement that is performed in eurythmy, for example, the movement of the arms and legs. And then it is captured in the veil posture, by somehow grasping the veil, pulling it, throwing it, letting it fall, waving it. In this way, the movement that more intellectually expresses the life of the soul through eurythmy can be deepened emotionally through this veil movement.

The meaning of the individual colors in the figures is always indicated backwards on the figures. Then it is always indicated at certain points – such as here at the head – where the eurythmist tenses the muscles more strongly while performing the movement. So, for example, when this movement is performed with a face looking like this (see eurythmy figure), the blue here indicates that the muscle on the forehead is particularly tense, as is the muscle in the neck, while the muscles here remain freer and more relaxed. The eurythmist can distinguish very precisely whether he is moving an arm casually or whether he is tensing the muscle, tensing the finger, whether he is tensing what drives the bending in the bent position or whether he is simply letting it bend casually at an angle. This muscle tension, which is felt internally by the eurythmist himself, brings character into the movement.

So one can say that the shaping of the movement is more than just an expression of what the soul wants to say through visible language. But just as words have their timbre, their special tone, through the feeling that is inside them, so the movement is imbued by the eurythmist with the way in which fear, when it is expressed in a sentence, or joy or delight is expressed. And he can then express this, if he can make use of the veil, through the undulating movement, lifting, lowering, and so on of the veil. So that the movement accompanied by the veil is the emotional movement. And the movement accompanied by inner muscle tension is the movement that carries the character within itself.

When the eurythmist tenses or relaxes their muscles in the right way, this is conveyed to the audience through their feelings, and they actually feel what does not need to be interpreted at all, namely what can be found in the eurythmic language in terms of character, feeling, and movement.

They are also performed by her. However, they are further developed according to my instructions. They can be obtained from Miss Maryon in Dornach at the Goetheanum. In artistic terms, both in terms of cutting and coloring, the aim with these figures was to completely separate pure eurythmy from what is not eurythmic in human beings. The moment the eurythmist shows his charming face, this is not part of eurythmy, but rather what he understands how to make of his face with the muscle tension I have spoken of. And therefore it is not a purely artistic feeling when one loves a beautiful eurythmist more than a less beautiful eurythmist. In all these things, what matters is not what the person is as a human being in a non-eurythmic attitude. That must be completely disregarded. And so, in the creation of these figures, only as much is fixed as is expressed in the human being through the eurythmic movement itself.

It would be good, especially in the development of art, to see clearly that one should detach from what does not belong to the realm of art, that which should be expressed precisely through the means of this art and the motives of this art. In this regard, especially when it comes to such an immediate, honest, and sincere revelation of human soul, spirit, and physical life as in eurythmy, one must really see how the revelation differs from that in humans which is not a revelation in the art in question. So I have always said, when asked: How old can you be if you want to do eurythmy? – I have always said: There is no age limit; from the age of three to ninety, you can definitely express your personality in eurythmy, because every age of life can reveal its beauty, just as it does in other areas, and it can also reveal its beauty in eurythmy.

What I have said so far refers to eurythmy as an art, as pure art. And eurythmy was initially developed as a pure art. Back in 1912, when it was created, the only thing people thought about was the artistic aspect, presenting it to the world as an art form.

Then, when the Waldorf School was founded, it became apparent that eurythmy could also be an important educational tool. And we have indeed come to fully appreciate the pedagogical and didactic significance of eurythmy. We have introduced eurythmy as a compulsory subject in the Waldorf School from the lowest to the highest grades for boys and girls. And it is indeed apparent that what the children learn as visible language or singing is actually acquired by them in such a natural way, just as they acquire tonal language or singing at a very young age. The child finds its way into eurythmy quite naturally.

And it becomes apparent that the other types of gymnastics are all somewhat one-sided compared to eurythmy. This is because the other types of gymnastics take into account the materialistic prejudices of our time and are based more on the physical. The physical aspect is certainly also taken into account in eurythmy, but in eurythmy the body, soul, and spirit work together, so that eurythmy is a form of gymnastics that is animated and spiritualized. The child feels this. In every movement it makes, it feels how it is not only moving out of physical necessity, but how it is moving by allowing the soul and spirit to flow into the moving arm, the whole moving body. Eurythmy touches the child in the deepest part of its soul.

And now that we have years of Waldorf school behind us, we can see what is particularly developed there: the initiative of the will, which people so badly need in the present day, is cultivated in particular through eurythmy as a pedagogical and didactic tool in school. But it must be clear that if eurythmy were introduced into schools in a one-sided manner, without appreciating it as an art form, then the school would be misunderstood. Eurythmy belongs in life as an art form, just like other arts. And just as we teach the other arts when they flourish outside, eurythmy can only be taught in schools if it is truly recognized and appreciated as an art of civilization.

Then again, when a large number of doctors who had found their way into our anthroposophical movement began to apply anthroposophy to therapeutic medicine, there was also a growing desire to use these movements, drawn from the healthy nature of the human being, where the human being actually expresses and reveals himself in a way that is appropriate to his organism, in therapy and in the art of healing. In this respect, eurythmy is truly that which wants to come out of the human being. Anyone who understands a hand knows that a hand is not there to be looked at as something at rest. The fingers have no meaning at all if they are only looked at as something at rest. The fingers have a purpose when they grasp, when they are set in motion from their resting position. You can already see the movement in them. So it is with the whole human being: what can emerge from movement as eurythmy is precisely the healthy overflowing of his organ structure into movement. So that one can use this eurythmy as therapeutic eurythmy in therapy – not, of course, as it appears here as an art, but in transformed, similar, yet different movements – by using it as an aid in the treatment of illness, where one knows that this movement has a healing effect on this or that organ.

Once again, we have achieved good results with this in our children at the Waldorf school. However, it is necessary to have a real insight into the nature of children. You have a child who is in a certain way weak, sickly. You give them the movements that will make them healthy. And then, in all modesty, the most brilliant results are achieved. But all this will only be possible with all the dependencies if eurythmy is fully developed as an art. It must be admitted, however, that we are still in the early stages. But we have made some progress with eurythmy, and we are always looking to develop it further. In the beginning, for example, there were no silent forms at the beginning and end of a poem that reflect what can be given in relation to the introduction and, in turn, what can be given in the conclusion. In the beginning, there was no lighting that could be interpreted as meaning that a particular lighting effect had to be created for a particular situation, but rather light eurythmy emerged of its own accord. What matters is not how one light effect corresponds to what is happening on stage at a particular moment, but the whole light eurythmy: the interplay of one light effect with another results in a light eurythmy that has the same character and the same kind of feeling as what is otherwise expressed in the movement of the people or the individual on stage. And so, in the further perfection of eurythmy, many things in the design of the stage set will have to come to what can already be seen in it now.

Yes, my dear audience, I could continue talking about eurythmy all night long, until I could continue with tomorrow morning's lecture. But I don't think that would do you any good — nor the eurythmists present here. For the main thing will be to see everything that has now been heard as a performance realized before your eyes tomorrow when you attend the performance, because the right view should be the main thing in art.