It is in the nature of things that language and the ear are closer to each other than language and the eye. They belong together like sword and sheath, like foot and stirrup.
The course of the word is from the mouth to the ear; it is spoken, heard word. We also hear the word where we use the eye for assistance, as when reading, or the sense of touch, as with Braille. We always read "by detour" through hearing – that is, when we skim over lines and pages, we mentally voice the content. This also applies to ideograms; in countries where pure pictorial writing is used, one can see how the reader silently moves their lips.
That communication could also be possible through other senses is proven by the educational successes with the deaf and mute; Diderot's Discours dedicated to this topic is still worth reading. For Helen Keller, blindness was added – meaning she was entirely dependent on the sense of touch for her education. Even in this, the superiority of this sense over all others is revealed.
Language through pure optics, signaled or sign language, always remains a tool. It is promoted in times of emergency, as well as in periods and spaces where oppression prevails. It is no coincidence that gesturing is so well developed in Sicily. Silent communication carries a demonic character; it contradicts the human norm. In the encounter of armies, there was a tense prelude, during which signals guided the formation. With automatism, the formation and use of signs increases. Many of them signal danger or death. In silent films, extended contexts were to be understood through visions, but they had to be musically accompanied, as the impression of silent events was ghostly.
When we still speak of a language of images, it is a term broadened by extension. Language is the spoken, heard word. Just as the sense of touch is the foundation for all perception, hearing is the foundation for understanding. What we mentally grasp from the impressions of the other senses, we translate into language and thus for the ear.
Reason, as the highest intellectual relation, is what is heard. The formation of this expression is characteristic of the German language; most neighboring languages use ratio as the root. A word of wide scope is the Greek logos; it encompasses in many meanings both objective and subjective reason, spirit as cosmic and as human power.
Agreement prevails where reason governs. For forms of high agreement, images from the acoustic domain are often chosen: the powers act in unison, in concert, in harmony, in accord.
To understand, although coming from different roots, is essentially to hear; "Do you understand me?" means: "Do you hear my voice?" and, more insistently: "Do you hear my word?"
"I hear" is a formula of intellectual presence, as is "J’écoute" in the French telephone language. Correspondingly, the listener, the one who lends us their ear, is in a state of heightened attention. Listeners grant intellectual power. A circle of listeners can be mobilized faster than a readership, based on the fact that with spoken words, the transmission from eye to ear language is eliminated. However, a circle of readers is more reliable and lasts longer. There is not only an inner eye, but also an inner ear, that resonates during reading; both are more incorruptible than the physical organ.
The arrangement from mouth to ear is immediate; it goes back to elemental relations. This becomes apparent when the old orders fall and the cards are reshuffled. For a moment, people become equal to each other. But then, one sees them regroup: they align around the leaders. The power of the speaker is never greater than in areas that have been chaotic or leveled. In every revolution, speech is the primary means. It forms groups in the manner of sound figures; the content is less important than the diction. Already here, limits are placed on egalitarianism. Expropriation must be limited to goods acquired by tradition, meaning through the handover from hand to hand. It remains powerless against elemental means of power. These include eloquence, with its sometimes fantastic influence through diction, that is, the transmission from mouth to ear. In cases of nearly equal possession, some individuals hold immense power.
Reason is connected to hearing, but also to agreement. The rule of reason is based on conviction, much like piety is dependent on faith. Speaking and listening, commanding and obeying, are aligned with each other. In the face of imminent danger, in the circle of the elements, language takes on a commanding tone, as on ships in a storm or in armies in battle. Commands are formulas designed to be executed, not considered. In this sense, the order of commands, the "maneuvers," has an automatic character attached to it.
In this state, the freedom of the individual is abolished, much like how an electrical current directs matter in the atoms. In its place, orders emerge within which movement becomes both instinctive and rational. Elemental life grows with the mechanical. The state, res publica, in which everyone has a voice, transforms into the dictatura, where one only hears the captain, just as on ships. An order purely based on command will never be dispensable in times of crisis. The Romans knew this, but even then, freedom appeared as a mistress because it summoned and dismissed violence as needed. It is the difference between dico and dicto that defines this. Dictare is the intensification of dicere. In this verb lies the strong spell, the formulaic character that language can acquire. The will of the speaker is enhanced by the notion that the listener is forced to write it down, thus immortalizing it. The pactum, the conventum, the agreement, where things are handled, that is, taken care of from hand to hand, contrasts with the dictatum, the command from mouth to ear, given by the master to the obedient. Dictated peace and peace dictated are therefore contradictions in terms; peace is concluded, meaning it is founded on reciprocity, or it is not peace.
Among the arts, music addresses the ear. The name itself already indicates that musical life is primarily felt within it. Of the nine Muses, it is Euterpe who presides over it, especially the art of playing the flute. But one must also place Erato and Terpsichore by her side, the Muses of dance and song, whose images and statues are adorned with the lyre, with Terpsichore’s being seven-stringed and Erato’s a larger, nine-stringed one.
Poetry has much in common with music. Both meet in rhythm, meter, and euphony. Poetry is assigned language, from which music is independent. However, they unite in song. There is also no poet who does not know the wordless foundation of language.
Music and architecture are often compared; architecture has been called "frozen music." This judgment belongs to those that root themselves over time, though upon closer inspection, their necessity is not always apparent. Commonalities in structure, composition, and harmony connect music equally with all other arts. Pure experience teaches, however, that musicality and plastic creativity often meet in a person, and many musicians are also found among doctors. The tertium comparationis lies here in the sense of touch, for one is neither a musician, nor a doctor, nor a sculptor without a sense of touch. There is also abundant evidence for the kinship between painting and poetry, already noted by Simonides – the French, for example, are a nation of painters and writers.
On the other hand, music and metaphysics are twin disciplines. They are both branches of reason, that is, of the sense of the world, which takes the ear as its gateway. The difference lies in the fact that music keeps the eyes closed, while metaphysics opens them, as it depends on insight.
Metaphysics is centered in the conscious, while music is centered in the unconscious world. The former is assigned to the head, although the body "thinks along," while the latter belongs to the whole body. We saw that language, when mentioning the foot, often intends to refer to the whole body, as in "head and foot." In this sense, melody in dance moves the whole body, not just the foot. In lands where dance reaches deep into the primal, one will experience how irresistibly the melody can enchant the people. There, one will also encounter the relationship between rhythm and ecstasy, the connection to the cosmic reason. Here, distinctions melt, and dances accompany the celebrations of war and love, as well as the course of the festive year. This scarcely stirs the surface anymore; priesthoods who danced had already become rare in antiquity, and they only appear as isolated instances in our time.
Just as simple figures always underlie such relationships, here it is the swarm. Swarming time is high time, a festive union of life. Occasionally, on the shores of lakes or in bee gardens, individuals unite into higher forms, into clouds, columns, or circles, and this does not merely mean a summation, but also a new, higher reality. The buzzing of wings, which instrumentalizes these dances, becomes finer and finer, like the vibration of strings that stretch, and the swarm ever more intimately transforms into a large body that rises and falls, pulsating and breathing. The wings are not just organs for elevation and music-making; they are symbols of ecstasy. Often, they are sexual markers; in some species, they are used solely for swarming and are discarded like wedding trains when the flight ends. This loss recalls the falling of petals, which follows pollination.
Finally, attention should be drawn to the musicality of the snake, the creature entirely shaped as a foot. Beautiful, how it, struck by the power of sound, rises and seeks a higher form.
So much for language and the ear. The senses are like the rings in Nathan the Wise – they testify to a sense in their limitations. What we perceive is only a fragment; our reason is small. Admiration, veneration, and the silence of humans have, therefore, always been directed toward the whole, of which their thought can only grasp a part.