Duality of Voice

by Emil Sutro

NATIONAL TRAITS OF CHARACTER

What constitutes a given number of people a nation, besides their history, their political organization, and the geographical position of their territory? What makes every member belonging to a nation, whether he lives within its territory or has emigrated therefrom, a different being from every member of any other nation? What makes each member of a nation resemble every other member thereof, not only in regard to vocal expression but also in regard to general cast of features, build of body, movements, gesticulations, etc., and in what may be summed up as national traits of character?

No one will deny the fact that such differences exist, as between Germans, Frenchmen, and Englishmen, for instance. This difference is not racial, as they all belong to the Caucasian race. It can scarcely be climatic with nations whose territory is adjacent to each other; nor is it likely to be religious, historical, or political. There is nothing very decidedly different in the situation and composition of these various nations and the individuals of which they are composed, except their language.

I maintain that language is not only the main point of difference, but that it is the cause and origin of all other main points of difference. As language is the main gift which distinguishes men from animals, so it is also the principal distinguishing mark as between one nation and another. I maintain, and expect to prove, that the language—that is, any specific language—acquired in childhood becomes an integral part of a person's organization, as positively so as any of his other natural faculties; and that he cannot change it, that is, in an idiomatically correct manner, without changing, to some extent, the drift of his entire organism. As soon as I began to succeed in speaking the English language as it is spoken in this country, idiomatically correct, I changed my nature, to some extent, from that of a German to that of an American; nor is it possible to learn to speak any language idiomatically correct without undergoing a similar change. Not alone my mode of vocal expression, but my motions, my habits, nay, my very features, yes, even my way of thinking, in some respects, have been subjected to such a change; modified, of course, by heredity, previous habits, and the constant reversion of all this by the frequent recurrence to my native tongue. In using the term "idiomatically correct" I mean of course that mode of expression which is peculiar to a language, its general cast, and which is representative of its genius and spirit.

To what do I attribute so powerful an influence?

It is not easy to say this comprehensively in a few words. I will say this much, however: That, language being the outcome of streams of the vital fluid passing into and out of our composition in a systematic manner, each system varying with every other system, our vital organs are differently affected, in conformity with the manner and the rotation in which these streams reach these different organs; in other words, in conformity with the manner in which we breathe for our language. This influence is not confined to the vocal expression of a nation. It is influential with and extends to the special mode of vocal expression in separate districts, provinces, localities, and cities; nay, it extends to families and single members belonging to such families, each separate member's expression being the product of his special mode of breathing, and differing in some respects from that of every other member of the same family; such difference in the mode of breathing being the reflection of every individual soul.

The bent of the soul in individual cases determines the flow of these streams, the same as the bent of the national soul determines the same for the entire nation. Or, which perhaps would be more correct, the flow of these streams determines the bent of the individual as well as national soul. The influence being reciprocal, it would be difficult to state, as it is with all matters of this kind, which preponderates, which gives the first impulse. It is of the same order as the old question (never to be solved) aptly expressed in the homely query, "Which was created first, the hen or the egg?"

It is interesting to note the manner in which the vital streams affecting the character of the two peoples in regard to whom I have had the opportunity for many years of making my observations, the Anglo-Saxon and the German, take their course. With the former the point of gravitation is located in the abdomen; with the latter in the thorax.

This gives the Anglo-Saxon a circuitous route for his expression in coming to the surface; his mode of respiration being the following:

He inspires into the thorax posteriorly, next into the abdomen anteriorly. He then expires from the abdomen posteriorly, and from the thorax anteriorly; vocal expression accompanying the last movement.

A German's mode of respiration is as follows: He inspires into the abdomen posteriorly, expiring from the abdomen anteriorly; he then inspires into the thorax anteriorly and expires from the same posteriorly, the latter movement only being accompanied by sound. You will notice that in the former case the breath to be expired and to be accompanied by sound has been held in the thorax until the abdomen has gone through an inspiration and an expiration; while with Germans, inspiration into the abdomen as well as into the thorax are succeeded by expiration from the same, a direct proceeding as against the indirect of the Anglo-Saxon. Thus the former secures a force reserved and held and to be drawn upon as it is needed, while the latter pours forth his vital force in a continuous stream as soon as it is engendered.

The point of gravitation determines the mode of breathing and the production of vocal utterance. With Anglo-Saxons, the point of gravitation being located in the abdomen, their speech tends from below, upward; with Germans, the point of gravitation being located in the thorax, their speech tends from above, downward. The direction of Anglo-Saxon expression is from the abdomen, where it has its root, to the thorax; that of the German is from the thorax, where it has its root, to the abdomen. It will scarcely be necessary for me to say to the reader, over and over again, "Try this," "Try that"; I wish it to be understood, once for all, that this recommendation is to be tacitly implied as accompanying every statement, every proposition, every assertion I make. Personally I can go through any one and all of the performances at any time and at a moment's notice. In making these experiments, speak or sing after breathing in the prescribed manner. The prescribed manner being the one in which the impression is made and from which the expression is produced as a matter of course and of necessity. An Anglo-Saxon will not be able to utter a word spoken or sung in his language after breathing in the German fashion, nor will a German be able to do so in his language after breathing in the Anglo-Saxon manner. Change either manner of breathing but in the least, and you will not be able to express yourself in either German or English; but you may thus be able to express yourself in some other language. It is, of course, understood that we breathe into the abdomen through the œsophagus, into the thorax through the trachea.

In trying propositions like the one now under consideration, it may not be easy for persons who have not previously given any thought to matters of this kind to successfully try them. You must give yourself up to these things, must be at home for them only, for a period at least, until you have become thoroughly engrossed with them. It is not a study to be superficially attained. You must enter into it with your whole soul, your entire being. If you do, you will eventually become as familiar with the principles underlying these matters as you are with the letters of the alphabet, or the figures representing the numerals, and be able to apply the same in as easy a manner and for as various purposes as you do these.

Their indirect mode of breathing of Anglo-Saxons produces a deliberate mode of speech; while German breathing, being direct, produces a speech as rapid in its formation as in its utterance. Action being the counterpoise of speech, is of the inverse order of the latter. English speech being slow and deliberate, English action is rapid and direct; German speech being rapid and direct, German action is slow and deliberate. English character, the same as English speech, is distinguished by patience and forbearance; these, when finally exhausted, are succeeded by sudden and violent outbreaks. German character, the same as German speech, is alternately exuberant and depressed; contented, but also of a disposition to find fault whenever the occasion may arise.

Anglo-Saxons, in consequence of their indirect mode of expression, are in possession of a reserve force always at their command, but only called upon on special occasions; hence long-continued forbearance, and then—a blow for liberty. With Germans, in consequence of their direct mode of expression, their vital force is continuously being engendered, and as continuously being exhausted. Hence, they are in the habit of constantly protesting, and as constantly submitting to the status quo.

The character of Anglo-Saxons, in viewing things from a practical standpoint, is as far removed from the ideal as it is from the pessimistic. It is neither exuberant, overstrained, exalted, nor despondent; but cool, well balanced, and matter-of-fact. It is not like the German:

"Himmelhoch jauchzen, zu Tode betruebt."
("Raised to the sky with delight;
Depressed to the ground with despair.")

A German is influenced according to whether he can or cannot, while losing sight of the real, satisfy his craving for the ideal, for which, in his direct and impulsive nature, he is constantly yearning; which the Anglo-Saxon, seeing it is beyond his reach, abandons as impracticable.

To comprehend the ideal of whatsoever nature, the German, with endless patience, tries to solve the most complicated problems; after solving them he is often satisfied with the result in the abstract; while the practical Anglo-Saxon uses this result for his utilitarian purposes. The philosophical German patiently unravels a Gordian knot; the practical Anglo-Saxon, "Alexander-like, cuts it in two with his sword" ("Wie Alexander haut ihn auseinander"). Germans love education for its own sake; it makes of them superior beings, giving them treasures more highly prized than any others, and far more lasting. Anglo-Saxons, on the other hand, get their education for a purpose, and with a view to their worldly advancement. While with Germans education is "Selbstzweck" (its reward consisting in its possession), with Anglo-Saxons its reward consists in its application. The question so often agitated in this country, whether a university education may or may not be of benefit (that is, in furthering his worldly advancement) to any one not intending to embrace one of the learned professions, would never arise in Germany; practical value and education being things apart, the latter taking first rank always and never being subordinated to the former.

Schiller says:

"[Der Edle] legt das Hohe in das Leben,
Doch er sucht es nicht darin."

("[Our aim should be] the noble to inculcate into life,
And not to search for it therein.")

I am inclined to think that the opposite of this is the usual tendency with Anglo-Saxons.

Many other causes might be cited, many other results. These, however, must answer the present purpose, which is, to show that the course taken by the vital streams in breathing, besides affecting their speech, affects the character of nations.

All this might be summed up in saying: The point of gravitation with Anglo-Saxons being located in the abdomen, which represents the material side of life, their being is primarily rooted in the material, and reaches the ideal by way of the material. The German, on the other hand, having his point of gravitation in the thorax, which represents the spiritual part of our existence, reaches the material by way of the ideal, in which his being is primarily rooted.

I owe the reader an apology for anticipating in using the terms "streams of life" and "the point of gravitation." These are not words without a definite meaning, however; on the contrary, they are of the greatest significance and of a very definite meaning. Still, I must tax his patience for a proper explanation thereof till I shall be able to reach them in due course of time. We cannot approach the steep crest of a hill by a straight line of ascent, but must patiently wind around and around its circumference to be able to finally reach its summit.