EURYTHMY 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 to-morrow 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 to-morrow,
when you witness the performance; for a practical demonstration is,
after all, where art is concerned, of more value than any lecture.
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