Rilke's Question

living the question

background photo  by Mor Shani on Unsplash

The Questionable Question

In his Letters to a Young Poet, the beloved Bohemian poet Rainer Maria Rilke gives his reader three bytes of advice :::

౨ don't expect answers to your questions from the outside,

ৎ love the questions themselves, and above all else

୭ live the questions now.

But what exactly does Rilke mean by 'question'?

The English word question comes from the Latin verb quaerere = to search, explore, investigate, make an effort to understand, gain knowledge.

When question was adopted into the English language, it came via the French question (= |'kɛstjɔ̃|); and the full range of meanings did not quite make it across the linguistic bridge between speakers of Latin and Anglo-Saxon.

Of course, we know that all of the above listed meanings can be associated with the word question (= |ˈkwesʧən|) now. But that wasn't necessarily the case for English speakers back in the 13hundreds. Upon arrival on the British Isles, the noun question carried the sense of a ‘philosophical or theological problem’. The same verbal symbiont also came in handy to describe difficulty, doubt, suspicion, and critique.

The Old French |'kɛstjɔ̃| had already been in use in the sense of inquiry, legal inquest, interrogation, and torture. 〰 To be fair, difficult |ˈkwesʧənz| can sometimes torture the human mind too.

In this context, however, English speakers filled the word ~ explicitly or implicitly ~ with the questioning of a person suspected of a crime. Upholders of the legal pillars of society in medieval England believed that ‘judicial torture’ would make a guilty person confess the truth, whereas an innocent person could not… which justified the gruesome practice.

In Middle English the noun question came into use in the sense of debate, verbal contention, litigation and accusation.

Something being ‘out of the question’ meant it was not important to be considered in a legal dispute.

And ’no questions asked’ was another way of saying accountability is not required.

The verb 'to question' is part of the English language since the late 15 c. 〰 used in the sense of inquire, seek to know, ask, but also to interrogate, torture, dispute, doubt.

As a motherword, question has produced a small word family :::

Query (noun/ verb) mainly refers to the expression of doubt, skepticism, and suspicion.

An inquiry (from around 1300) was “a judicial examination of facts to determine truth”. It could also be used in the sense of asking for specific information, or seeking knowledge for the purpose of learning.

The brutal practice of inquisition, introduced by the Roman Catholic Church since 382 C.E. and brought to England around 1500 c., marks one of the darkest chapters in European history, when questioning became the key weapon to eradicate indigenous knowledge, sacred practices, and wise elders.

The ’noble’ quest (from 1300), now associated with the Heroic Journey ~ originally an inquest, judicial inquiry ~ first became a specific term in reference to the seeking game in the hunt. In the medieval romance of late 14 c. it was a useful word for the “adventure undertaken by a knight, especially the search for the Holy Grail.”

The English poet Geoffrey Chaucer (1342/43 – 1400) introduced a useful word in this context:

questmonger refers to someone who “profits from an unjust action at law.”

Acquire, conquer, exquisite, prerequisite, querulous, quiz and require are all familiar descendants of the word which at first sight can appear as an ‘innocent question’.

Questionnaire (from 1901 = a list of questions by which information is gathered from specific people) continues to be a popular tool in criminology, market research, job applications, assessments in schools and educational institutions, opinion polling, immigration procedures etc.

It is unlikely that the above associations were on the forefront of Rilke's mind when he wrote about 'questions'. The reason for this is ~ at least partially ~ due to the fact that he used an entirely different word. Rilke wrote those letters to Franz Kappus in German, so he used the noun Frage and the verb fragen.

A Frigging Fresco

The German terms regularly translated into ‘question’ in English (and French) are Frage (= noun) or fragen (= verb). These words lead us down a different path, way back to the Anglo-Saxon fregnan/frignan. They were also adopted in Old English in the forms freine, freyne, and frignan/ frygnan.

The Anglo-Saxon root frig (frigu) means love, affection, favour. It has produced various offspring in European languages, including English. To give you an idea, here is a brief overview :::

Frig survived in the Icelandic fregn, meaning intelligence.

In English, frigging has been used since the 15 c. as a verb in the sense of moving about restlessly. Half a century later, the meaning had morphed into masturbating. In the 1920s, this present continuous form of frig became popular as a euphemism for the other f-word, which has been a strict taboo for so long, that etymologists have a hard time tracing its origins (although that might be an excuse).

The Middle English verb fyken (= move restlessly, fidget) is a close cousin. Fike [from Old Norse fikjask = to desire eagerly; climb up nimbly] has also inspired the German verb ficken. The official dictionary translation is to move about briskly, but beware of using it in German speaking countries in this sense! ~ everyone will think you are talking about f**cking.

On the British Isles, fiken has found a home in Scotland since the 1570s in the sense of to cause trouble ~ offshoots are fiky (= causing trouble about trifles, 1768), and fikery (= vexatious trouble, 1823).

Some sources suggest that frisk (= lively, brisk; fresh) is related too, which would mean that fresco and fresh belong to the same clan as well.

Fresco  was born in Italy and spread across the lingua franca of Renaissance painting 〰 the word referred to creating artwork on fresh plaster, a method made famous by Michelangelo (1475 – 1564) and fellow artists.

Al fresco dining has nothing to do with painting, but both meanings of the word are associated with freshness and capture the gusto of a mediterranean dolce vita.

Fresh [from Old German frisc = fresh, unsalted, sweet; pure; eager] was adopted into English in this sense around 1200. From around 1300 it's also bin used in the sense of new, recent, young.

The German verb fragen and its associated noun Frage have sprung from the same source ::: F•R•G

They are such unassuming words that readily take them for granted and assume to know what they mean. Many meanings run through F•R•a•G•e alongside. They can blend, like tributaries flowing in parallel, heading for a common mouth.

Fragen implies searching, exploring, finding something new, delving deeper into new meaning, setting out to discover fresh solutions, begging, praying, demanding, wishing (for new things or a fresh start), investigating, desiring fulfilment (of hearfelt wants or needs), observing and listening with attention, seeking and examining with the goal to acquire new knowledge, looking at ourselves or the world with a fresh mindset or simply making an inquiry about sth. unknown.

Fragen is born of an intention, desire, urge or need to know.

Fragen is young, fresh, passionate, and open.

Fragen implies not knowing. It offers an opportunity

to awaken beginner's mind and focus on the process of discovery.

Cuoreosity ~ a Way of Being

With all this in mind, let’s return to Rilke’s ‘Frage’. In his Letters to a Young Poet he offers his own unique definitions of ‘Frage’, which have captured the imagination of many readers in many languages for over a century.

On the 17th of February 1903, in the third paragraph of his first letter to Franz Xaver Kappus, Rilke responds to a couple of questions, which his 'pen pal' must have written first:: “You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before.” etc.

In the following lines ~ in response to Kappus’ request for advice ~ Rilke shuts the floodgates on this  flow of forlorn questions :: “I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now.” 〰 This is not a question. It is a request, an appeal, a command.

Rilke explains to Kappus that no one can advise or help him in his search. He asks him to turn his attention inward. From this new perspective, he implores his fellow poet to find out whether the urge to write has spread its roots into the very depths of his heart.

“Confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?”

Must I write? 〰 This is the big 'Frage' Rilke offers to each and every writer, poet, novelist, essayist, artist or creator in any medium. It is as valid now as it was over a century ago.

Would I have to die if I was barred from giving expression to the creative forces stirring in my soul?

On July 16th 1903, in his 4th letter to Kappus, Rilke writes a passage which has become famous and synonymous with his wisdom (keeping in mind that Rilke himself is only 27 years old at the time).

“You are so young,” he beseeches Franz Kappus, an Austrian soldier with poetic ambitions and seven years his junior, to love the process of seeking, the living with uncertainty, the experience of unknowing. He compares this state of mind with "locked chambers, and books written in a very foreign language."

“Don’t search for the answers now,” he insists, “they cannot be given to you, because you would not be able to live them.”

On his blog Cuoreosity, Canadian poet and therapist Jamie Millard offers a new word for precisely this state of mind. "Cuoreosity celebrates this human experience of becoming at the threshold that intersects curiosity, resilience, and the essence of our innermost being." 

Cuoreosity [from Italian cuore = heart + osity = quality of being] the word captures the essence of the journey of living the questions. Read more about cuoreosity here.

This brings us to Rilke’s third piece of advice 〰 “Live your cuoreosity now. Then you might find yourself gradually, and without noticing, living into the answer some distant day.”

The theme of living through the questions into the answers also comes up in Rilke’s poetry, of course. Skirting the 'q-word', with stunning simplicity and elegance, he weaves an evocative scene around the needless striving for understanding life in “Du musst das Leben nicht verstehen” ~ one of his early poems:

You don’t Have to Understand Life

You don’t have to understand life,
then it becomes a celebration.
Let each day happen and arrive,
like blossoms blown towards a child
from every whiff of wind while walking on.

To gather them, collect and save
would never cross the youngster’s mind.
But from the tangled curls of hair
wherein the flowers would be kept ensnared
those two young hands release and bare
the lovely tender years towards new finds.

(Rainer Maria Rilke, first published in 1899 ~ translation © Veronika Bond, 2023)