The Rudolf Steiner Archive

The lecture presented here is the 3rd of 12 lectures in the series entitled A Living Knowledge of Nature, the Fall of the Intellect into Sin, the Spiritual Resurrection.

Within this course of lectures I intend to speak of things which are connected with the preceding lectures, but which bring results of spiritual science drawn from a deeper source and show how the human being is placed in the universe. We speak of man in such a way that we envisage, to begin with, his physical organization and his etheric or vital body revealed to spiritual investigation; and then we speak of the astral body and of the Ego organization. But we do not yet grasp man's structure if we simply enumerate these things in sequence, for each of these members has a different place in the universe. We are able to grasp man's position in the cosmos only if we understand how these different members are placed in the universe.

When we study the human being, as he stands before us, we find that these four members of human nature interpenetrate in a way which cannot at first be distinguished; they are united in an alternating activity, and in order to understand them we must first study them separately, as it were, and consider each one in its special relation to the universe. We can do this in the following way, by setting out, not from a more general aspect, but from a definite standpoint.

Bear I mind, to begin with, the more peripheric aspect of man, the external boundary, what is outside him. From other anthroposophical studies we know that we discover certain senses only when we penetrate, as it were, below the surface of the human form, into man's inner life. But essentially speaking, also the senses which transmit us a knowledge of our own inner being, have to be sought in regard to their starting point, and to begin with in a very unconscious way, on the inner side of the surface of man's being. We may therefore say: Everything in man existing in the form of senses should be looked for on the surface. It suffices to bear in mind one of the more prominent senses; for example, the eye or the ear—these show that the human being must obtain certain impressions from outside. How matters really stand in regard to these senses should, of course, be studied more deeply, by a more profound research. This has already been done here for some of the human senses. But the way in which these things appear in ordinary life induces us to say: A sense organ—for example, the eye or the ear—perceives things through impressions coming from outside.

Man's position on earth easily enables us to see that the chief direction which determines the influences enabling him to have sensory perceptions can approximately be described as “horizontal.” A more accurate study would also show us that this statement is absolutely correct; for when perceptions apparently come from another direction, this is an illusion. Every direction relating to perception must in the end follow the horizontal. And the horizontal is the line which runs parallel to the surface of the earth. If I now draw this schematically, I would therefore have to say: If this is the surface of the earth, with the perceiving human being upon it, the chief direction of his perceptions is the one which runs parallel to the earth. All our perceptions follow this direction. And when we study the human being, it will not be difficult to say that the perceptions come from outside; they reach, as it were, man's inner life from outside. What meets them from inside? From inside we bring towards them our thinking, the power of forming representations or thoughts.

If you consider this process, you cannot help saying: When I perceive through the eye, I obtain an impression from outside, and my thinking power comes from inside. When I look at the table, its impression comes from outside. I can retain a picture of the table in my memory through the representing or thinking power which comes from within. We may therefore say: If we imagine a human being schematically, the direction of his perceptions goes from the outside to the inside, whereas the direction of his thinking goes from the inside to the outside.

What we thus envisage, is connected with the perceptions of the earthly human being in ordinary life, of the earthly human being appearing to us externally in the present epoch of the earth's development. The things mentioned above are facts evident to the ordinary human consciousness. But if you study the anthroposophical literature, you will find that there are other possibilities of consciousness differing from those which exist for the earthly human being in ordinary life.

I would now ask you to form, even approximately and vaguely, a picture of what the earthly human being perceives. You look upon the colours which exist on earth, you hear sounds, you experience sensations of heat, and so forth. You obtain contours of the things you perceive, so that you perceive their shape, and so forth.

But all the things in our environment, with which we have thus united ourselves, only constitute facts pertaining to our ordinary consciousness. There are, however, other possibilities of consciousness, which remain more unconscious in the earthly human being and are pushed into the depths of his soul life; yet they are just as important, and frequently far more important in human life than the facts of consciousness which exhaust themselves in what I have described so far.

For the human constitution which man has here on earth, the things below the surface of the earth are just as important as those which exist in the earth's circumference. The circumference of the earth, what exists around the earth, may be perceived by the ordinary senses and grasped by the representing capacity which meets sense perception. This fills the consciousness of the ordinary human being living on the earth.

But let us consider the inside of the earth. Simple reflection will show you that the inside of the earth is not accessible to ordinary consciousness. We may, to be sure, make excavations reaching a certain depth and in these holes—for example in mines—observe things in the same way in which we observe them on the earth's surface. But this would be the same as observing a human corpse. When we study a corpse, we study something which no longer constitutes the whole human being, but only a residue of man as a whole. Indeed, those who are able to consider such things in the right way must even say: We are then looking upon something which is the very opposite of man. The reality of earthly man is the living human being walking around, and to him belong the bones, muscles, etc. which exist in him. The bone structure, the muscular structure, the nerve structure, the heart, lungs, etc. correspond to the living human being and are as such true and real. But when I look upon the corpse, this no longer corresponds to the living human being. The form which lies before me as corpse, no longer requires the existence of lungs, of a heart, or of a muscular system. Consequently these decay. For a while they maintain the form given to them, but a corpse is really an untruth, for it cannot exist in the form in which it lies before us; it must dissolve. It is not a reality. Similarly the things I perceive when I dig a hole into the earth are not realities.

The closed earth influences the human being standing upon it, differently from the things which exist in such a way that when the human being stands upon the earth, he beholds them through his senses, as the earth's environment.

If, to begin with, you consider this from the soul aspect, you may say: The earth's environment is able to influence man's senses and it may be grasped by the thinking or representing capacity pertaining to ordinary human consciousness. Also what is inside the earth exercises an influence upon man, but it does not follow the horizontal direction; it rises from below. In our ordinary state of consciousness, we do not perceive these influences rising from below in the same way in which we perceive the earth's environment through the ordinary senses. If we could perceive what rises up from the earth in the same way in which we perceive what exists in the earth's environment, we would need a kind of eye or organ of touch able to feel into the earth, without our having to dig a hole into it, so that we could reach or see through (durchgreifen) the earth in the same way in which we see through air when we behold something. When we look through air, we do not dig a hole into it; if we first had to dig a hole into air, in order to look at it, we would see our environment in the same way in which we would see the earth in a coal mine. Hence, if it were not necessary to dig a hole into the earth in order to see its inside, we would have to have a sense organ able to see without the need of digging holes into the earth, an organ for which the earth, such as it is, would become transparent to sight or touch. In a certain way this is the case, but in ordinary life these perceptions do not reach human consciousness. For what the human being would then perceive are the earth's different kinds of metals.

Consider how many metals are contained in the earth. Even as you have perceptions in your air-environment—if I may use this expression—even as you see animals, plants, minerals, artistic objects of every kind, so perceptions of the metals rise up to you from the earth's inside. But if perceptions of the metals could really reach your consciousness, they would not be ordinary perceptions, but imaginations. And these imaginations continually reach man, by rising up from below. Even as the visual impressions come, as it were, from the horizontal direction, so the radiations of metals continually reach us from below; yet they are not visual perceptions of the minerals, but something pertaining to the inner nature of minerals, which works its way up through us and takes on the form of imaginations or pictures. But the human being does not perceive these pictures; they are weakened. They are suppressed, as it were, because man's earthly consciousness is not able to perceive imaginations. They are weakened down to feelings.

If, for example, I imagine all the gold existing in some way in the caverns of the earth, and so forth, my heart really perceives an image which corresponds to the gold in the earth. But this picture is an imagination, and for this reason ordinary human consciousness cannot perceive it, for it is dulled down to a life feeling, an inner vital feeling, which cannot even be interpreted, less still perceived, in its corresponding image. The same applies to the other organs, for the kidneys perceive in a definite image all the tin which exists in the earth, and so forth.

All these impressions are subconscious and they do not appear in the general feelings that live in the human being. You may therefore say: The perceptions coming from the earth's environment follow a horizontal direction and are met from within by the thinking or representing power; from below come the perceptions of metals—above all, of metals—and they are met by feeling, in the same way in which ordinary perceptions are met by the thinking capacity. This process, however, remains chaotic and unreal to the human beings of the present time. From these impressions they only derive a general life-feeling.

If the human being on earth had the gift of imagination, he would know that his nature is also connected with the metals in the earth. In reality, every human organ is a sense organ, and although we use it for another purpose, or apparently do so, it is nevertheless a sense organ. During our earthly life, we simply use our organs for other purposes. For we really perceive something with each organ. The human being is in every way a great sense organ, and as such, he has differentiated, specified sense organs in the single organs of his body.

You therefore see that from below, the human being obtains perceptions of metals and that he has a life of feeling corresponding to these perceptions. Our feelings exist in contrast to everything coming to us from the earth's metals, even as our thinking or representing power exists in contrast to everything which penetrates into our sense perceptions from the earth's environment.

But in the same way in which the influences of the metals reach us from below, so we are influenced from above by the movements and forms of the celestial bodies in the world's spaces. We have sense perceptions in our environment, and similarly we have a consciousness which would manifest itself as inspired consciousness, as inspirations coming from every planetary movement and from every constellation of fixed stars. Even as our thinking capacity streams towards our ordinary sense perceptions, so we send out to the movements of the celestial bodies a force which is opposed to the impressions derived from the stars, and this force is our will. What lies in our will power, would be perceived as inspiration, if we were able to use the inspired state of consciousness.

You therefore see that by studying man in this way, we must say to ourselves: In his earthly consciousness we find, to begin with, the condition in which he is most widely awake: his life of sensory perceptions and of thoughts. During our ordinary, earthly state of consciousness, we are completely awake only in this life of sensory perceptions and thoughts. Our feeling life, on the other hand, only exists in a dreaming state. There, we only have the intensity or clearness of dreams, but dreams are pictures, whereas our feeling life is the general soul constitution determined by life; that is to say, feeling. But at the foundation of feeling lie the metal influences coming from the earth. And the consciousness based on the will lies still deeper. I have frequently explained this. Man does not really know the will that lives in him. I have often explained this by saying: The human being has the thought of stretching out his arm, or of touching something with his hand. He can have this thought in his waking consciousness and may then look upon the process of touching something. But everything that really lies in between, the will which shoots into his muscles, etc., all this remains concealed to our ordinary consciousness, as deeply hidden as the experiences of a deep slumber without dreams. We dream in our feelings and we sleep in our will. But the will which sleeps in our ordinary consciousness responds to the impressions coming from the stars, in the same way in which our thoughts respond to the sense impressions of ordinary consciousness. And what we dream in our feelings is the counter-activity which meets the influences coming from the metals of the earth.

In our present waking life on earth, we perceive the objects around us. Our thinking capacity counteracts. For this we need our physical and etheric body. Without the physical and etheric body we could not develop the forces which work in a horizontal direction—the perceptive and thinking forces. If we imagine this schematically we might say: As far as our daytime consciousness is concerned, the physical and etheric bodies become filled with sense impressions and with our thinking activity. When the human being is asleep, his astral body and his Ego organization are outside. They receive the impressions which come from below and from above. The Ego and the astral body really sleep in the metal streams rising up from the earth, if I may use this expression, and in the streams descending from the planetary movements and the constellations of fixed stars.

What thus arises in the earth's environment exercises no influence in a horizontal direction, but exists in form of forces which descend from above, and in the night we live in them.

If you could attain the power of imagination by setting out from your ordinary consciousness, so that the imaginative consciousness would really exist, you would have to achieve this in accordance with the demands of the present epoch of human development; namely, in such a way that every human organ is seized by the imaginative consciousness. For example, it would have to seize not only the heart, but every other organ. I have told you that the heart perceives the gold which exists in the earth. But the heart alone could never perceive the gold. This process takes place as follows: As long as the Ego and astral body are connected with the physical and etheric bodies, as is normally the case, the human being cannot be conscious of such a perception. Only when the Ego and the astral body become to a certain extent independent, as is the case in imagination, so that they do not have to rely on the physical and etheric bodies, we may say: The astral body and the Ego organization acquire, near the heart, the faculty of knowing something about these radiations coming from the metals in the earth. We may say: The center in the astral body for the influences which come from the gold radiations, lies in the region of the heart. For this reason we may say: The heart perceives—because the real perceptive instrument in the astral body pertaining to this part, to the heart—not the physical organ, but the astral body, perceives.

If we acquire the imaginative consciousness, the whole astral body and also the whole Ego organization must enable the parts corresponding to every human organ to perceive. That is to say, the human being is then able to perceive the whole metal life of the earth—differentiated, of course. But details in it can only be perceived after a special training, when he has passed through a special occult study, enabling him to know the metals of the earth. In the present time, such a knowledge would not be an ordinary one. And today it should not be applied to life in a utilitarian way. It is a cosmic law that when the knowledge of the earth's metals is used for utilitarian purposes in life, this would immediately entail the loss of the imaginative knowledge.

Last part—It may, however, occur that owing to pathological conditions, the intimate connection which should exist between the astral body and the organs is interrupted somewhere in man's being, or even completely, so that the human being sleeps, as it were, quite faintly, during his waking condition. When he is really asleep, his physical body and his etheric body on the one hand, and his astral body and his Ego on the other, are separated; but there also exists a sleep so faint that a person may walk about in an almost imperceptible state of stupor—a condition which may perhaps appear highly interesting to some, because such people have a peculiarly “mystical” appearance; they have such mystical eyes and so forth. This may be due to the fact that a very faint sleeping state exists even during the waking condition. There is always a kind of vibration between the physical and etheric body and the Ego organization and astral body. There is an alternating vibration. And such people can be used as metal feelers—they feel the presence of metals. But the capacity to feel the presence of special metal substances in the earth is always based on a certain pathological condition.

Of course, if these things are only viewed technically and placed at the service of technical-earthly interests, it is, cruelly speaking, quite an indifferent matter whether people are slightly ill or not; even in other cases, one does not look so much at the means for bringing about this or that useful result. But from an inner standpoint, from the standpoint of a higher world conception, it is always pathological if people can perceive not only horizontally, in the environment of the earth, but also vertically, in a direct way, not through holes. What thus comes to expression, must, of course, be revealed in a different way. If we take a pen and write down something, this is contained in the ordinary life of thought; this must be lifeless. But the ordinary life of thought drowns in light (“verleuchtet”)—if I may use this expression in contrast to “darkens” (“verdunkelt”)—the perception coming from below; consequently, it is necessary to use different signs from those we use, for example, when we write or speak; different signs must be used when specific metal substances in the earth are perceived through a pathological condition. I observe, for example, that also water is a metal. Pathological people may actually be trained, not only to have unconscious perceptions, but also to give unconscious signs of these perceptions—for example, they can make signs with a rod placed in their hand.

What is the foundation of all this? It is based on the fact that there is a faint interruption between the Ego and astral body on the one hand, and the physical and etheric body on the other, so that the human being does not only perceive what is, approximately speaking, at his side, but by eliminating his physical body he becomes a sensory organ able to perceive the inside of the earth, without having to dig holes into it.

But when this direction exercises its influence, a direction which is normally that of feeling, then one cannot use the expressions which correspond to the thinking capacity. These perceptions are not expressed in words. They can only be expressed, as already indicated, through signs.

Similarly, it is possible to stimulate perceptions descending from above. They have a different inner character; they are no longer a perception of metals, but inspiration, conveying the movements or the constellation of the stars. In the same way in which the human being perceives the earth's constitution as rising up from below, he now perceives, descending from above, something which again arises through pathological conditions, when the Ego is in a more loose connection with the astral body. He then perceives, descending from above, something which really gives the world its division of time, the influence of time. This enables him to look more deeply into the world's course of events, not only in regard to the past, but also in connection with certain events which do not flow out of man's free will, but out of the necessity guiding the world's events. He is then able to look, as it were, prophetically into the future. He casts a gaze into the chronological order of time.

With these things I only wished to indicate that through certain pathological conditions it is possible for man to extend his perceptive capacity. In a s o u n d and h e a l t h y way this is done through imagination and inspiration.

Perhaps the following may explain what constitutes sound and unsound elements in this field. For a normal person it is quite good if he has—let us say—a normal sense of smell. With a normal sense of smell he perceives objects around him through smell; but if he has an abnormal sense for any smelling object in his environment, he may suffer from an idiosyncrasy, when this or that object is near him. There are people who really get ill when they enter a room in which there is just one strawberry; they do not need to eat it. This is not a very desirable condition. It may, however, occur that someone who is not interested in the person, but in the discovery of stolen strawberries, or other objects which can be smelled, might use the special capacity of that person.

If the human sense of smell could be developed like that of dogs, it would not be necessary to use police dogs, for people could be used instead. But this must not be one. You will therefore understand me when I say that the perceptive capacity for things coming from below and from above should not be developed wrongly, so as to be connected with pathological conditions, for these are positively destructive for man's whole organization.

To train people to sense the presence of metals would therefore be the same as training them to be bloodhounds, police dogs, except that here—if I may use this expression—the humanly punishable element is far more intensive. For only through pathological conditions can such things appear in this or that person. All the things which generally come towards you in an ignorantly confused and nebulous way, will be understood in regard to their theory, and also by judging them as they have to be judged, within man's whole connection with the world. This is one aspect of the matter.

The other aspect is that there is also a right application of such a knowledge. A person who is endowed with the imaginative power of knowledge, must not use the imaginative forces of the astral body, located in the region of the heart, to procure gold. He may, however, apply these forces to recognize the construction, the true tasks, the inner essence of the heart itself. He may apply them in the meaning of human self-knowledge. In physical life this also corresponds to the right application of—let us say—the sense of smell, of sight, and so forth. We learn to know every organ in man when we are able to put together what we discern as coming from below or from above.

For example, you learn to know the heart when you recognize the gold contained in the earth, which sends out streams that may be perceived by the heart, and when, on the other hand, you recognize the current of will descending from the sun; that is to say, when you recognize the counter-current of the sun current in the will. If you unite these two streams, the joint activity of the sun's current from above, streaming down from the sun's zenith, and of the gold perceived below—if the gold contained in the earth stirs your imagination, and the sun your inspiration, you will obtain knowledge of the human heart, heart knowledge. In a similar way it is possible to gain knowledge of the other organs. Consequently, if the human being really wants to know himself, he must draw the elements of this knowledge from the influences coming from the cosmos.

This leads us to a sphere which indicates even more concretely than I have done on previous occasions man's connection with the cosmos. If you add to this the lectures which I have just concluded on the development of natural science in more recent times, you will gather, particularly from yesterday's lecture, that on the present stage of natural science man learns to know essentially lifeless substance, dead matter. He does not really learn to know himself, his own reality, but only his lifeless part. A true knowledge of man can only arise from the joint perception of the lifeless organs which we recognize in man, the organs in their lifeless state, and all we are able to recognize from below and from above in connection with these organs.

This leads to a knowledge based on full consciousness. An earlier, more instinctive knowledge was based upon an interpolation of the astral body which was different from that of today. Today the astral body is interpolated in such a way that man, as an earthly human being, may become free. This entails that he should recognize in the first place what is dead, and this pertains to the present, then the life foundation of the past through that which rises up from below—from the earth's metals—and finally the life-giving forces descending from above as star influences and star constellations.

A true knowledge of man will have to seek in every organ this threefold essence: the lifeless or physical, the basis of life or the psychical, and the life-giving, vitalizing forces, or the spiritual.

Everywhere in human nature, in every detail connected with it, we shall therefore have to seek the physical-bodily, the psychical, and the spiritual. Logically, its point of issue will have to be gained from a true estimate of the results so far obtained in the field of natural science. It is necessary to see that the present stage of natural science leads us everywhere to the grave of the earth and that the living essence must be discovered and lifted out of the earth's grave.

We discover this by perceiving that modern spiritual science must endow old visions and ideas (Ahnungen) with life. For these always existed. In these days I have given advice to people working in different spheres; I would advise those studying history of literature that when they speak of Goetheanism, they should keep to Goethe's ideas expressed in the second part of “Wilhelm Meister”, in “Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahren”, where we find the description of a woman who is able to participate in the movements of the stars, owing to a pathological condition of soul and spirit. At her side we find an astronomer. And she is confronted by another character, by the woman who is able to feel the presence of metals. And at the side of this woman we find Montanus, the miner, the geologist. This contains a profound foreboding, far profounder than the truths in physics discovered since Goethe's time in the field of natural-scientific development, great as they are, for these natural-scientific truths pertain to man's circumference. But in the second part of “Wilhelm Meister” Goethe drew attention to something pertaining to the worlds with which man is connected—with the stars above, with the earth's depths below.

Many things of this kind may be found, both in the useful fields and in the luxury fields of science. But also these things will only be drawn to the surface as real treasures of knowledge, when Goetheanism, on the one hand, and spiritual science on the other, will be taken so earnestly that many things of which Goethe had an inkling will be illumined by spiritual science; and also spiritual science may thus change into something giving us a historical sense of pleasure when we see that Goethe had a kind of idea of things which now arise in form of knowledge, and which he elaborated artistically in his literary works.

With all these things, however, I wish to point out that when we speak of scientific strivings within the anthroposophical movement, these should be followed with that deep earnestness which does not bring with it the danger of Anthroposophy being deduced from modern chemistry, or modern physics, modern physiology, and so forth, but which includes the single branches of science in the real stream of living anthroposophical knowledge. One would like to hear of chemists, physicists, physiologists, medical men speaking in an anthroposophical way. For it leads to no progress if specialists succeed in forcing anthroposophy to speak chemically, physically or physiologically. This would only rouse opposition, whereas there should at last be a progress, evident in the fact that Anthroposophy reveals itself as Anthroposophy also to these specialists, and not as something which is taken in accordance with its terminology, so that terminologies are thrown over things which one already knows, even without Anthroposophy. It is the same whether anthroposophical or other terminologies are applied to hydrogen, oxygen, etc., or whether one adheres to the old terminologies. The essential thing is to take in Anthroposophy with one's whole being, then one becomes a true Anthroposophist, also as a chemist, physiologist, physician, etc.

In these lectures, in which I was asked to describe the history of scientific thought, I wished to bring, on the basis of a historical contemplation, truths that may bear fruit. For the anthroposophical movement absolutely needs to become fruitful, really fruitful, in many different fields.

Our Atlantean ancestors differed more from the men of to-day than may be imagined by anyone who is wholly limited to the world of sense for his knowledge. This difference extends not only to the outward appearance, but also to mental capacities. Their science and also their technical arts, their whole civilisation, differed much from that of our day. If we go back to the early times of Atlantean humanity we shall find there a mental capacity altogether different from our own. Logical reasoning, the calculatory combinations upon which all that is produced at the present day is based, were entirely wanting in the early Atlanteans, but in place of these they possessed a highly-developed memory. This memory was one of their most prominent mental faculties. For example, they did not count as we do by the application of certain acquired rules. A multiplication table was something absolutely unknown in early Atlantean times. No one had impressed upon his understanding the fact that three times four were twelve. A person's ability to make such a calculation, when necessary, rested on the fact that he could remember cases of the same or a similar kind. He remembered how this was done on former occasions. Now it must be clearly understood that whenever a new faculty is developed in a being, an old one loses its force and precision. The man of the present day has the advantage over the Atlantean of possessing a logical understanding and an aptitude for combination; but on the other hand his memory power has waned. We now think in ideas, the Atlantean thought in pictures; and when a picture rose in his mind he remembered many other similar pictures which he had formerly seen, and then formed his judgment accordingly. Consequently all education then was quite different from that of later times. It was not intended to provide the child with rules or to sharpen his wits. Rather was life presented to him in comprehensive pictures, so that subsequently he could call to remembrance as much as possible, when dealing with this or that circumstance. When the child had grown up and had reached maturity, he could remember, no matter what he might have to do, that something similar had been shown to him in the days of his instruction. He saw clearly how to act when the new event resembled something already seen. When absolutely new conditions arose, the Atlantean found himself compelled to experiment; while the man of to-day is spared much in this direction, being furnished with a set of rules which he can easily apply in circumstances new to him. Such a system of education gave a strong uniformity to the entire life. Things were done again and again in exactly the same way during very long periods of time. The faithfulness of memory offered no scope for anything at all approaching the rapidity of our own progress. A man did what he had always seen done before; he did not think, he remembered. Not he who had learnt much was held as an authority, but he who had experienced a great deal and could therefore remember much. It would have been impossible in Atlantean times for anyone who had not reached a certain age to be called upon to decide on any affair of importance. Confidence was placed only in one who could look back on a long experience.

What is here said does not refer to Initiates and their schools, for they indeed are beyond the average development of their time. And for admission into such schools, age is not the deciding factor, but rather the consideration, whether the candidate in his former incarnations has acquired the ability to assimilate the higher wisdom. The confidence placed in Initiates and their agents in Atlantean times was not based on the extent of their personal experience, but on the age of their wisdom. For an Initiate, his own personality has ceased to have any importance; he is entirely at the service of the Eternal Wisdom, and therefore the characteristics of any period of time have no weight with him.

Thus, while the power of logical thinking was still wanting, especially in the earlier Atlanteans, they possessed in their highly developed power of memory something which gave a special character to their whole activity. But other powers are always bound up with the nature of one special human force. Memory is nearer to the deeper foundations laid by Nature in man than is the power of reason; and in connection with the former, other impulses were developed which bore greater resemblance to those lower nature forces than the motive forces of human action at the present day. Thus the Atlantean was master of what is called the Life-Force. Just as we now draw from coal the force of warmth, which is changed into the force of propulsion in our methods of traffic, so did the Atlanteans understand how to use the germinal force of living things in the service of their technical works. An illustration of this may be given as follows: Let us think of a grain of corn; in it slumbers a force; this force acts in such a way that out of the grain of corn the stalk sprouts forth. Nature can awaken this sleeping force in the grain, but the man of to-day cannot do so at will. He must bury the grain in the earth, and leave its awakening to the forces of Nature. The Atlantean could do something more. He knew what to do in order to transform the force in a heap of corn into mechanical power, just as the man of our day can transform into a like power the force of warmth in a heap of coal. In Atlantean times plants were not cultivated merely for use as food, but also in order that the slumbering force in them might be rendered serviceable to their commerce and industry. Just as we have contrivances for transforming the latent force of coal into the power to propel our engines, so had the Atlanteans devices for heating by the use of plant-seeds in which the life-force was changed into a power applicable to technical purposes. In this way were propelled the air-ships of the Atlanteans, which soared a little above the earth. These air-ships sailed at a height rather below that of the mountains of Atlantean times, and they had steering appliances, by means of which they could be raised above these mountains.

We must picture to ourselves that with the advance of time all the conditions of our earth have greatly changed. These air-ships of the Atlanteans would be quite useless in our days. Their utility lay in the fact that at that time the atmosphere enveloping our earth was much denser than now. Whether, according to the scientific conceptions of the present day, such an increased density of the air can be easily conceived, need not concern us here. Science and logical thought can never, from their very nature, determine what is possible and what impossible. Their task is only to explain what has been proved by experience and observation. And the density of the air here spoken of is, in occult experience, as much a certainty as any given fact of the world of sense can be to-day. And just as firmly established is the fact—perhaps even more inexplicable to the physics and chemistry of our time—that in those days the water over the whole earth was much more fluid than it is now. And owing to its fluidity, water (being driven by means of the life-force in seeds) could be used by the Atlanteans for technical purposes impossible to-day. On account of the densification of water, it has become impossible to set it in motion and to guide it in the same premeditated manner as was once possible. From this it is sufficiently evident that the civilisation of Atlantean times differed fundamentally from our own, and it will also be readily conceivable that the physical nature of an Atlantean was quite different from that of the contemporary man. Water when drunk by the Atlantean could be worked upon by the life-force within his own body in quite another way than is possible in the physical body of to-day. And thus it arose that the Atlantean could use his physical strength at will, quite otherwise than ourselves. He had, as it were, the means within himself of increasing physical forces when he required them for his own use. It is only possible to picture the Atlanteans correctly when one knows that they had conceptions of fatigue and the loss of strength absolutely different from our own.

An Atlantean settlement, as may be gathered from what has already been said, bore a character in no way resembling that of a modern town. But there was a much closer resemblance between it and Nature. We can only give a faint suggestion of the real picture when we say that in early Atlantean times—till about the middle of the third sub-race—a settlement resembled a garden in which the houses formed themselves out of trees whose branches were intertwined in an artistic manner. Whatever the hand of man fashioned at that time grew naturally in like manner. Man, too, felt himself entirely akin to Nature, and so it arose that his social instinct was quite different from our own. Nature is indeed the common property of all men; and whatever the Atlantean built up with Nature for its foundation, he regarded as common property, precisely as the man of to-day thinks it only natural to regard as his own private property that which his acuteness and his reason have produced.

Anyone who familiarises himself with the idea that the Atlanteans were endowed with such mental and physical powers as have been depicted, will likewise learn to understand that at still earlier periods mankind presents an aspect which but very faintly reminds us of what we are accustomed to see to-day. And not only man, but Nature which surrounds him, has also changed enormously in the course of time. [With regard to the time-periods at which the conditions shown held sway, something more will be said in the course of these communications. For the present the reader is warned not be surprised if the few figures given him in the previous chapter seem to contradict what he finds elsewhere.] The forms of plant and animal have altered; the whole of terrestrial Nature has undergone a transformation. Regions of the earth which were formerly inhabited have been destroyed, and others have arisen.

The forefathers of the Atlanteans lived on a part of the earth which has disappeared, the principal portion of which lay to the south of what is Asia to-day. In Theosophical literature they are called Lemurians. After passing through various stages of evolution the greater number fell into decadence. They became a stunted race, whose descendants, the so-called savages, inhabit certain portions of the earth even now. Only a small number of the Lemurians were capable of advancing in their evolution, and it was from these that the Atlantean Race developed. Still later something similar occurred. The great mass of the inhabitants of Atlantis fell into decadence; and the so-called Âryans, to which race belongs the humanity of our present civilisation, sprang from a small division of these Atlanteans. According to the nomenclature of the “Secret Doctrine,” Lemurians, Atlanteans, and Âryans are Root-Races of humanity. If we think of two such Root-Races preceding the Lemurian, and two following the Âryan in the future, we have altogether seven. The one always arises out of the other in the manner pointed out in the case of the Lemurian, Atlantean, and Âryan Races. And each Root-Race has physical and mental qualities entirely different from those of that which precedes it. While, for example, the Atlantean brought his memory and everything in connection with it to a high degree of development, the duty of the Âryan of the present is to develop thought-power and all that appertains thereto.

But each Root-Race itself must pass through different stages, and these again are always sevenfold. At the beginning of a time-period belonging to a Root-Race, its leading characteristics appear in an immature state; they gradually reach maturity, and then at last decadence. Thus, the members of a Root-Race are divided into seven sub-races. However, it must not be imagined that one sub-race immediately disappeared on the development of a new one. On the contrary, every one of them continued to exist for a long time, while others flourished beside it. Thus there are always dwellers on the earth, living side by side, but showing the most varied stages of evolution.

The first sub-race of the Atlanteans arose from a portion of the Lemurian Race which was greatly advanced and capable of further evolution. For instance, in this latter race the gift of memory showed itself only in its very earliest beginnings, and even so much did not appear until the latest stages of its evolution. It must be realised that a Lemurian could indeed make images of his experiences, but could not preserve them as recollections; he immediately forgot what he had pictured to himself. That, in spite of this, he lived to a certain extent a civilised life; for instance, that he possessed tools, erected buildings, and so on, was not due to his own imagination, but to an inner mental force which was instinctive. Yet we must not imagine an instinct similar to that which animals possess at the present time, but an instinct of another order.

The first sub-race of the Atlanteans is called in Theosophical literature the Rmoahal. The memory of this race was especially derived from vivid sense-impressions. Colours which the eye had seen, tones which the ear had heard, continued to operate long within the soul. This was manifested in the fact that the Rmoahals developed feelings quite unknown to their Lemurian ancestors. For instance, adherence to that which had been experienced in the past constituted part of such feelings.

Now the development of speech depended on that of memory. As long as man did not remember the past, there could be no narration of experiences by means of speech. And because the first rudiments of a memory appeared in the latest Lemurian period, it was only then possible that the ability to give names to things heard and seen could begin to appear. It is only those who have the faculty of recollection who can make any use of a name which has been given to an object; and consequently it was in the Atlantean period that speech found its development. And with speech a tie was formed between the human soul and things exterior to man, since he then produced the spoken word from within himself, and this spoken word appertained to the objects of the outer world. Through communication by means of speech a new bond also arose between man and man. All this, indeed, was still in an elementary form at the time of the Rmoahals; but nevertheless it distinguished them profoundly from their Lemurian ancestors.

Now the forces in the souls of these first Atlanteans still retained something of the force of Nature. Man was then in a certain manner more nearly related to the Nature-spirits surrounding him than were his descendants. Their soul forces were more Nature forces than are those of the men of the present, and so, too, the spoken word which they uttered had something of the might of Nature. Not only did they name objects, but their words contained a power over things and over their fellow-creatures. The word of the Rmoahal possessed more than mere meaning; it had also power. When we speak of the magic force of words we indicate something which was a far greater reality at that time, and for those men, than it is for men of the present. When a Rmoahal pronounced a word, this word developed a force akin to that of the object designated by it. Hence it is that words had the power of healing at that time, and that they could hasten the growth of plants, tame the rage of animals, and produce other such effects. All this force gradually faded away among the later Atlantean sub-races. It might be said that that fullness of strength which was a product of Nature wasted away little by little. The men of the Rmoahal race regarded such fullness of strength altogether as a gift from mighty Nature herself; and this relation of theirs with Nature bore for them a religious character. Speech was, to them, something especially sacred, and the misuse of certain tones in which dwelt a significant power was to them an impossibility. Every individual felt that such misuse must bring him terrible injury. The magic of such words, they thought, would change into its opposite; that which rightly used would cause a blessing would bring the author to ruin if wrongly employed. In a certain innocence of feeling the Rmoahals ascribed their power less to themselves than to Divine Nature working in them.

It was otherwise in the second sub-race (the so-called Tlavatli peoples). The men of this race began to feel their own personal value. Ambition, an unknown quality among the Rmoahals, showed itself in them. We might say that the faculty of memory grew into the comprehension of life in communities. He who could look back on certain deeds demanded from his fellow-men some recognition of his ability. He claimed that his work should be held in remembrance, and it was this memory of deeds that was the basis on which rested the election, by a group of men allied to each other, of a certain one as leader. A kind of kingship arose. Indeed, this recognition extended beyond death. The remembrance, the commemoration of forefathers, or of those who, during life, had one merit, arose in this way, and thus in single family groups there grew up a kind of religious reverence for the dead—in other words, ancestor-worship. This has continued to spread into much later times and has taken the most varied forms. Among the Rmoahals a man was still esteemed only according to the degree in which for the moment he was able to make himself valuable by the greatness of his power. Did anyone want recognition for what he had done in former days, then he must show by new deeds that he still possessed the old power. He must call to remembrance his old achievements by the performance of new ones. That which had once been done was valueless in itself. Not until the second sub-race was the personal character of a man of so much account that his past life was taken into consideration in the estimation of it.

A further result of the power of thought in drawing men to live together appeared in the fact that groups of men were formed who were united by the remembrance of deeds done in company. The forming of such groups originally depended wholly upon the forces of Nature, on their common parentage. By his own intelligence man had as yet added nothing to that which Nature had made of him. One mighty personality now enlisted a great company to share in a common undertaking; and the remembrance of this work, being retained by all, built up a social group.

This manner of living together in social groups only impressed itself forcibly when the third sub-race (the Toltec) was reached. It was therefore the men of this race who first founded what may be called a commonwealth, the earliest kind of statecraft. The leadership, the government, of this commonwealth passed from ancestors to descendants. That which had formerly continued only in the memory of their fellow-men, the father now transferred to the son. The deeds of their forefathers would be kept in remembrance by the whole race. The achievements of an ancestor continued to be cherished by his descendants. However, we must clearly understand that in those times men really had the power to transfer their gifts to their offspring. Education was based upon the representation of life in comprehensive pictures, and the efficacy of this education depended on the personal force which proceeded from the teacher. It was not an intellectual power which he sought to excite, but rather those gifts which were more instinctive in character. By such a system of education the father's ability was really, in most cases, transferred to the son.

Under conditions like these, personal experience won for itself more and more importance in the third sub-race. When one group of human beings severed itself from another group, it brought with it for the foundation of its new community the vivid recollection of what it had experienced in its former surroundings. But all the same, these memories contained something with which they were not in sympathy, something in which they did not feel at ease. In this connection, therefore, they sought something new, and thus conditions improved with every new settlement of the kind. And it was only natural that the improved conditions should find imitators. These were the facts on which rested the foundation of those flourishing commonwealths that arose in the time of the third sub-race, and are described in Theosophical literature. The personal experiences undergone found support from those who were initiated into the eternal laws of mental development. Mighty rulers received initiation in order that personal ability might have its full provision. A man gradually prepares himself for initiation by his personal ability. He must first develop his forces from below upwards, so that enlightenment may then be imparted to him from above. Thus arose the King-Initiates and Leaders of the people among the Atlanteans. In their hands lay a tremendous amount of power, and great, too, was the reverence paid to them.

But in this fact lay also the cause of their fall. The development of memory led to enormous personal power. The individual began to wish for influence by means of this power of his; and the greater the power grew, the more did he desire to use it for himself. The ambition which he had developed became selfishness, and this gave rise to a misuse of forces. When we consider what the Atlanteans were able to do by their command of the life-force, we can understand that such misuse must have had tremendous consequences. An enormous power over Nature could be placed at the service of personal self-love.

And this was what happened in full measure during the period of the fourth sub-race (the original Turanians). The members belonging to this race, who were instructed in the mastery of the forces mentioned, made manifold use of these to satisfy their wayward wishes and desires. But these forces put to such a use naturally destroy one another in their action. It is as if the feet of a man wilfully moved forwards while at the same time the upper part of his body desired to go backwards.

Such destructive action could only be arrested by the cultivation of a higher force in man. This was thought-power. The effect of logical thinking is to restrain selfish personal wishes. We must seek the origin of this logical thought in the fifth sub-race (the original Semites). Men began to go beyond the simple remembrance of the past, they began to compare their various experiences. The faculty of judgment developed, and wishes and desires were regulated according to this discernment. Man began to calculate, to combine. He learnt to work in thoughts. Whereas formerly he had abandoned himself to every wish, he now asked himself whether, on reflection, he approved of the wish. While the men of the fourth sub-race wildly rushed after the satisfaction of their desires, those of the fifth began to hearken to the inner voice. And this inner voice had the effect of checking the desires, even if it could not crush the demands of the selfish personality.

Thus did the fifth sub-race implant within the human soul the interior impulses of action. In his own soul man must decide what to do and what to leave undone. But, while man thus gained thought-power inwardly, his command over the external forces of Nature was being lost. The forces of the mineral kingdom can be controlled only by means of this combining thought, not by the life-power. It was therefore at the cost of the mastery of the life-force that the fifth sub-race developed thought-power. But it was just by so doing that they created the germs of a further evolution of humanity. Now it is no longer possible for thought alone, working entirely within the man, and no longer able to command Nature directly, to bring about such devastating results as did the misused forces of earlier times, even if the personality, self-love, and selfishness were ever so great. Out of this fifth sub-race was chosen its most gifted portion, which outlived the destruction of the Fourth Race and formed the nucleus of the Fifth,—the Âryan race, whose task it is to bring to perfection the power of thought and all that belongs thereto.

The men of the sixth sub-race—the Akkadian—trained their thought-power still more highly than did the fifth. They distinguished themselves from the so-called original Semites by bringing into use in a wider sense the faculty mentioned. It has been said that the development of thought-power did not indeed allow the demands of the selfish personality to attain such destructive results as were possible in earlier races; but that, nevertheless, these demands were not killed out by it. The original Semites at first regulated their personal affairs as their reason suggested. In place of crude desires and lust, prudence appeared. Other conditions of life presented themselves. Whereas the races of former times inclined to recognize as their leader him whose deeds were deeply engraved in the memory, or who could look back on a life rich in recollections, such a rôle was now rather adjudged to the wise man; and if formerly that was considered decisive which was still fresh in the memory, so now that was regarded as best which appealed most strongly to the reason. Under the influence of thought men once clung to a thing till it was considered insufficient, and then in the latter case it came about naturally that he who had a novelty capable of supplying a want should find a hearing. A love of novelty and a longing for change were, however, developed by this thought-power. Everyone wanted to carry out what his own sagacity suggested; and thus it is that restlessness begins to appear in the fifth sub-race, leading in the sixth to the necessity of placing under general laws the capricious ideas of the single individual. The glory of the states of the third sub-race lay in the order and harmony caused by a common memory. In the sixth this order had to be obtained by deliberately constructed laws. Thus in the sixth sub-race must be sought the origin of law and legislation. And during the third sub-race the segregation of a group of human beings took place only when in a manner they were compelled to leave, because they no longer felt comfortable within the prevailing conditions, brought about by recollection. It was essentially different in the sixth. The calculating power of thought sought novelty as such; it urged men to enterprise and new undertakings. Thus the Akkadians were an enterprising people inclined towards colonization. It was commerce especially that fed the young and germinating power of thought and judgment.

In the seventh sub-race—the Mongolian—thought-power also developed; but in them existed qualities of the earlier sub-races, especially of the fourth, in a much greater degree than in the fifth and sixth. They remained true to their sense of memory. And so they came to the conclusion that the most ancient must also be the wisest, must be that which could best defend itself against the attack of thought. They had indeed lost the command of the life-force, but that which developed in them as thought-power had in itself something of the power of this life-force. It is true they had lost the power over life, but never the direct, instinctive belief in the existence of such a power. This force, indeed, became to them their God in Whose service they performed everything which they considered right. Thus they appeared to their neighbours to be possessed of a mystic power, and the latter yielded to it in blind faith. Their descendants in Asia and in some European regions showed, and still show, much of this peculiarity.

The power of thought implanted in man could only attain its full value in evolution when, in the Fifth Race, it acquired a new impulse. After all, the Fourth could only place this power at the service of that which had been fostered by the gift of memory. It was not until the Fifth was reached that such forms of life were attained as could find their instrument in the faculty of thought.

In the lectures which it has been my lot to deliver, I have often drawn attention to an observation which might be made in real life, and which shows the necessity of seeking everywhere below the surface of life's appearances, instead of stopping at first impressions. It runs somewhat as follows.—A man is walking along a river bank and, while still some way off, is seen to pitch headlong into the water. We approach and draw him out of the stream, only to find him dead; we notice a boulder at the point where he fell and conclude at first sight as a matter of course that he stumbled over the stone, fell into the river and was drowned. This conclusion might easily be accepted and handed down to posterity—but all the same it could be very wide of the mark. Closer inspection might reveal that the man had been struck by a heart-attack at the very moment of his coming up to the stone, and was already dead when he fell into the water. If the first conclusion had prevailed and no one had made it his business to find out what actually occurred, a false judgment would have found its way into history—the apparently logical conclusion that the man had met his death through falling into the water. Conclusions of this kind, implying to a greater or lesser degree a reversal of the truth, are quite customary in the world—customary even in scholarship and science, as I have often remarked.

For those who dedicate themselves heart and soul to our spiritual-scientific movement, it is necessary not only to learn from life, but incessantly to make the effort to learn the truth from life, to find out how it is that not only men but also the world of facts may quite naturally transmit untruth and deception. To learn from life must become the motto of all our efforts; otherwise the goals we want to reach through our Building¹ as well as in many other ways will be hard of attainment. Our aim is to play a vital part in the genesis of a world-era; a growth which may well be compared with the beginning of that era which sprang from a still more ancient existence of mankind—let us say the time to which Homer's epics refer. In fact, the entire configuration, artistic nature and spiritual essence of our Building attempts something similar to what was attempted during the happenings of that transitional period from a former age to a later one, as recounted by Homer. It is our wish to learn from life, and, what is more, to learn the truth from life.

There are so very many opportunities to learn from life, if we wee willing. Have we not had such an opportunity even in the last day or two? Are we not justified in making a start with such symptoms, particularly with one that has so deeply moved us? Consider for a moment!² On Wednesday evening last, many of our number either passed by the crossroads or were in the neighbourhood, saw the wagon overturned and lying there, came up to the lecture and were quite naturally, quite as a matter of course, aware of nothing more than that a cart had fallen over. For hours, that was the sole impression—but what was the truth of the matter? The truth was that an eloquent karma in the life of a human being was enacted; that this life so full of promise was in that moment karmically rounded off, having been required back in the worlds by the Spiritual Powers. For at certain times these Powers need uncompleted human lives, whose unexpended forces might have been applied to the physical plane, but have to be conserved for the spiritual worlds for the good of evolution. I would like to put it this way. For one who has saturated himself with spiritual science, it is a plainly evident fact that this particular human life may be regarded as one which the gods require for themselves; that the cart was guided to the spot in order that this karma might be worked out, and overturned in order to consummate the karma of this human life. The way in which this was brought home to us was heartrending, and rightly so. But we must also be capable of submerging ourselves in the ruling wisdom, even when it manifests, unnoticed at first, in something miraculous. From such an event we should learn to look more profoundly into the reality. And how indeed could we raise our thoughts more fittingly to that human life with which we are concerned, and how commemorate more solemnly its departure from earth, than by forthwith allowing ourselves to be instructed by the grave teaching of destiny which has come to us in these days.

Yet it is a human trait to forget only too promptly the lessons which life insistently offers us! It is on this account that we have to call to our aid the practice of meditation, the exercise of concentrated thinking, in order to essay any comprehension of the world at all adequate to spiritual science; we must strive continually towards this. And I would like to interpose this matter now, among the other considerations relative to our Building, because it will serve as an illustration for what is to follow concerning art. For let us not hold the implications of our Building to be less than a demand of history itself—down to its very details.

In order to recognise a fact of this kind in full earnest, it must be our concern to acquire the possibility, through spiritual science, of reforming our concepts and ideas, of winning through to better, loftier, more serious, more penetrating and profound concepts and ideas concerning life, than any we could acquire without spiritual science.

From this standpoint let us ask the downright question What then is history, and what is it that men so often understand by history? Is not what is so often regarded as history nothing more at bottom than the tale of the man who is walking along a river's bank, died from a heart attack, falls into the water, and of whom it is told that he died through drowning? Is not history very often derived from reports of this kind? Certainly, many historical accounts have no firmer foundation. Suppose someone had passed by the cross-roads between 8 and 9 o'clock last Wednesday evening and had had no opportunity of hearing anything about the shattering event which had taken place there: he could have known nothing, only that a cart had been overturned, and that is how he would report it. Many historical accounts are of this kind. The most important things lying beneath the fragments of information remain entirely concealed; they withdraw completely from what is customarily termed history. Sometimes possibly one can go further and say that external reports and documents actually hinder our recognition of the true course of history. That is more particularly so if—as happens in nearly every epoch—the documents present the matter one-sidedly and if there are no documents giving the other side, or if these are lost. You may call this an hypothesis but it is no hypothesis, for what is taught as history at the present time rests for the most part upon such documents as conceal rather than reveal the truth.

The question might occur at this point: How is any approach to the genesis of historical events to be won? In all sorts of ways spiritual science has shown us how, for it does not look to external documents but seeks to discern the impulses which play in from the spiritual worlds. Hence it naturally cannot describe the outward course of events as external history does, It recognises inward impulses everywhere. Moreover, the spiritual investigator must be bold enough, when tracing these impulses on the surface, to hold fast to them in the face of outer traditions. Courage with regard to the truth is essential, if we would take up our stand on the ground of spiritual science, The transition can be made by attempting to approach the secrets of historical “coming into being” otherwise than is usually done.

Consider all the extant 13th and 14th century documents about Italy, from which history is so fondly composed. The tableau, the picture, obtained by thus assembling history out of such documents brings one far less close to the truth one can get by studying Dante and Giotto, and allowing what they created out of their souls to work upon one. Consider also what remains of Scholasticism, of its thoughts, and try to reflect upon, to reproduce in yourself, what Dante, Giotto and Scholasticism severally created—you will get a truer picture of that epoch than is to be had from a collection of external documents. Or someone may set himself the task of studying the rebellion of the Protestant spirit of the North or of Mid-Europe against the Catholicism of the South. What can you not find in documents! Yet it is not a question of isolated facts, but of uniting one's whole soul with the active, ruling, weaving impulses at work. You come to know this rising up of the Protestant spirit against the Catholic spirit through a study of Rembrandt and the peculiar nature of his painting. Much could be brought forward in this way.

And so it comes about that historical documents are often more of a hindrance than a help. Perhaps the type of history bookworm who subsists upon documentary evidence would be elated by a pile of material on Homer's life, or Shakespeare's. From a certain point of view, however, one could say: Thank God there is no such evidence! We must only be wary not to exaggerate a truth of this kind, not to press it too far. We must indeed be grateful to history for leaving us no documents about Homer or Shakespeare. Yet something might here be maintained which is one-sidedly true—one sided, but true, for a one sided truth is nevertheless a truth. Someone might exclaim: How we must long for the time when no external documents about Goethe are available.

Indeed, with Goethe it is often not merely disturbing, but an actual hindrance, to know what he did, not only from day to day but sometimes even from hour to hour. How wonderful it would be to picture for oneself the experience undergone by the soul of a man who at a particular time of life spoke the fateful words:

“ I've studied now Philosophy
And Jurisprudence, Medicine,
And even, alas! Theology,
From end to end, with labour keen;
And here, poor fool! with all my lore
I stand, no wiser than before.”

“Faust”, Part I,
(Tr. Bayard Taylor)

If one wished to find the answer oneself in the case of such men, one might well yearn for the time when all the Leweses, and so on, whatever their names may be, no longer tell us what Goethe did the livelong day in which this or that verse was set down. And what a hindrance in following the flight of Goethe's soul up to the time in which he inscribed these words:

“The sun-orb singe, in emulation
‘Mid brother spheres, his ancient round. . .”

What a hindrance it is that we are able to refer to the many volumes of his notebooks and correspondence, and to read how Goethe spent this period. This view is fully justified from one angle, but not from every angle; for although it is fully justified in the case of Homer, Shakespeare, and so on, it is one sided with regard to Goethe, since Goethe's own works include his “Truth and Poetry” (“Dichtung und Wahrheit”). An inherent trait of this personality is that something about it should be known, since Goethe felt constrained to make this personal confession in “Truth and Poetry”. Hence the time will never come when the poet of “Faust” will appear to humanity in the same light as the poet of the “Iliad” or the “Odyssey”. So we see that a truth brought home to us from one side only can never be given a general application; it bears solely on a particular, quite individual case.

Yet the matter must he grasped still more profoundly. Spiritual science tries to do this. By pointing out certain symptoms, I have repeatedly endeavoured to show that modern culture aspires towards spiritual science. In my Rätsel der Philosophie³ I have tried to show how this is particularly true of philosophy. In the second volume you will notice that the development of philosophy presses on towards what I have sketched in the concluding chapter as “Prospect of an Anthroposophy”. That is the direction taken by the whole book. Of course this could not have been done without some support from our Anthroposophical Society, for the outer world will probably make little of the inner structure of the book as yet.

I said that Goethe must be regarded differently from Homer. On the same grounds I would like to add: Do we then not come to know Homer? Could we get to know him by any better means than through his poems, although he lived not only hundreds but even thousands of years ago? Do we not get to know him far better in that way than we ever could from any documents? Yes, Homer's age was able to bring forth such works, through which the soul of Homer is laid bare. Countless examples could be given. I will mention one only one, however, which is connected with the deepest impulses of that turning-point during the Homeric age, much as we ourselves hope and long for in the change from the materialistic to the anthroposophical culture.

We know that in the first book of the Iliad we are told of the contrast between Agamemnon and Achilles: the voices of these two in front of Troy are vividly portrayed. We know further that the second book begins by telling us that the Greeks feel they have stood before Troy quite long enough, and are yearning to return to their homeland. We know, too, that Homer describes the events as if the Gods were constantly intervening as guiding divine-spiritual powers. The intervention of Zeus is described at the beginning of this second book. The Gods, like the Greeks below, are sleeping peacefully; so peacefully, indeed, that Herman. Grimm, in his witty way, suggests that the very snoring of the heroes, of the Gods and of the Greeks below, is plainly audible. Then the story continues:

Now all other gods and chariot-driving men slept all night long, only Zeus was not holden of sweet sleep; rather was he pondering in his heart how he should do honour to Achilles and destroy many beside the Achaians' ships And this design seemed to his mind the best, to wit, to send a baneful dream upon Agamemnon son of Atreus. So he spake, and uttered to him winged words: ‘Come now, thou baneful Dream, go to the Achaians' fleet ships, enter into the hut of Agamemnon son of Atreus, and tell him every word plainly as A charge thee Bid him call to arms the flowing-haired Achaians with al' speed, for that now he may take the wide-wayed city of the Trojans. For the immortals that dwell in the halls of Olympus are no longer divided in counsel, since Hera hath turned the minds of all by her beseeching, and over the Trojans sorrows hang.’

So spake he, and the Dream went his way when he had heard the charge. With speed he came to the Achaeans' fleet ships, and went to Agamemnon son of Atreus, and found him sleeping in his hut, and ambrosial slumber poured over him. So he stood over his head in seeming like unto the son of Neleus, even Nestor, whom most of all the elders Agamemnon honoured.”⁴

Zeus, then, sends the Dream down from Olympus to Agamemnon. He gives the Dream a commission, The Dream descends to Agamemnon, approaching him in the guise of Nestor, who we have just learned, is one of the heroes in the camp of the allies.

“In his likeness spake to him the heavenly Dream: ‘Sleepest thou, son of wise Atreus tamer of horses? To sleep all night through beseemth not one that is a counsellor, to whom peoples are entrusted and so many cares belong. But now hearken straightway to me, for I am a messenger to thee from Zeus, who though he be afar yet hath great care for thee and pity. He biddeth thee call to arms the flowing-haired Achaians with all speed, for that now thou mayest take the wide-wayed city of the Trojans. For the immortals that dwell in the halls of Olympus are no longer divided in counsel, since Hera hath turned the minds of all by her beseeching, and over the Trojans sorrows hang by the will of Zeus. But do thou keep this in thy heart, nor let forgetfulness come upon thee when honeyed sleep shall leave thee.’ ”

This, then, is what takes place. Zeus, the presiding genius in the events, sends a Dream to Agamemnon in order that he should bestir himself to fresh action. The Dream appears in the likeness of Nestor, a man who is one of the band of heroes among whom Agamemnon is numbered. The figure of Nestor, whose physical appearance is well-known to Agamemnon, confronts him and tells him in the Dream what he should do. We are further told that Agamemnon convenes the elders before he calls an assembly of the people. And to the elders he recounts the Dream just as it had appeared to him:

“Hearken, my friends. A dream from heaven came to me in my sleep through the ambrosial night, and chiefly to goodly Nestor was very like in shape and bulk and stature. And it stood over my head and charged me saying: ‘Sleepest thou, son of wise Atreus tamer of horses?’ ”

(Atreus' son then tells the elders what the Dream had said. None of the elders stands up excepting Nestor alone, the real Nestor, who utters the words:)

“My friends, captains and rulers of the Argives, had any other of the Achaians told us this dream we might deem it a false thing, and rather turn away there from; but now he hath seen it who of all Achaians avoweth himself far greatest. So come, let us call to arms as we may the sons of the Achaians ...”

Do we not gaze unfathomably deep into Homer's soul, when we know—are able to know, to perceive, by means of spiritual science—that he can recount an episode of this kind? Have we not described how what we experience in the spiritual world clothes itself in pictures, and how we have first to interpret the pictures, how we should not permit ourselves to be misled by them? Homer spoke at a time when the present clairvoyance did not yet exist; at a time, rather, when the old form of clairvoyance had just been lost. And in Agamemnon he wanted to portray a man who is still able to experience the old atavistic clairvoyance in certain episodes of life. As a military commander he is still led to his decisions through the old clairvoyance, through dreams. We know what Homer knows and believes and how he regards the men he writes about; and suddenly, in pondering on what is described in this passage, we see that the human soul stands here at the turning-point of an era.

Yet that is not all. We do not only behold in Agamemnon, through Homer, a human soul into which clairvoyance still plays atavistically, nor do we only recognise the pertinent description of this clairvoyance; but the whole situation lies before us in a wonderfully magical light. Homer is humorous enough to show us expressly that it is Nestor who appeared to Agamemnon; the same Nestor who is subsequently present and himself holds forth, Now Nestor has spoken in favour of carrying out the Dream's instructions. The people assemble; but Agamemnon addresses them quite differently from what is implied in the Dream, saying that it is a woeful business, this lingering before Troy: “Let us flee with our ships to our dear native land”, he exclaims. So that the people, seized by the utmost eagerness, hasten to the ships for the journey home. Thus it rests finally with the persuasive arts of Odysseus to effect their about-turn and the beginning of the siege of Troy in real earnest. Here, in fact, we gaze into Homer's soul and discern in Agamemnon a lifelike portrayal of the transition from a man who is still led by the ancient clairvoyance to a man who decides everything out of his own conclusions. And so with an overwhelming sense of humour he shows us how Agamemnon speaks to the elders while under the influence of the Dream, and later how he speaks to the crowd, having bade farewell to the spiritual world and being subject now, to external impressions alone. Homer's way of depicting how Agamemnon outgrows the bygone age and is placed on his own feet, on the spearhead of his own ego, is wonderful indeed. And he further implies that from henceforward everything must undergo a like transition, so that men will act in accordance with what the reason brings to pass, with what we term the Intellectual or Mind Soul, which must be ascribed pre-eminently to the ancient Greeks. Because Agamemnon is only just entering the new era and behaves in a quite erratic and contradictory way, first in accordance with his clairvoyant dream and then out of his own ego, Homer has to call in Odysseus, a man who reaches his decisions solely under the influence of the Intellectual Soul. Wonderful is the way in which two epochs come up against each Other here, and wonderfully apposite is Homers picture of it!

Now I would ask you: Do we know Homer from a certain aspect when we know such a trait? Certainly we know him. And that is how we must come to know him if we want rightly to understand world-history—an impossible task if nothing but external documents were available. Many other traits could be brought forward, out of which the figure of Homer would emerge and stand truly before us. We can come close to him in this way, as we never could with a personality built up only from historical documents. Just think what is really known of ancient Greek history! Yet through traits of this kind we can approach Homer so closely that we get to know him to the very tip of his nose, one might say! At one time there were men who approached Homer in this way, until a crude type of philology came in and spoilt the picture. Thus does one know Socrates, as Plato and Xenophon depict him; so also Plato himself, Aristotle, Phidias. Their personalities can be rounded off in a spiritual sense. And if we thus hold these figures before our mind, a picture arises of Hellenism on the physical plane. To be sure, one must call in the aid of spiritual science. As the sun sheds its light over the landscape, so does spiritual science illumine for us the figure of Homer as he lived, and equally of Aeschylus, Socrates, Plato, Phidias.

Try for a moment to visualise Lycurgus, Solon or Alcibiades as a part of Greek history. How do they present themselves? As nothing but spectres. Whoever has any understanding of an Individuality in the true sense must recognise that in the framework of history they are just like spectres, for the features that history sets itself to portray are so abstract as to have a wholly spectral quality. Nor are the figures of later ages which have been deduced from external documents any less spectral in character.

I am saying all this in the hope that gradually—yes, even in things that people treat as so fixed and stable that the shocks of the present time are treated as mere foolishness—spiritual science in the hearts of our friends may acquire the strength and courage to bring home an understanding that a new impulse is trying to find its way into human evolution. But for this we shall need all our resources; one might say that we shall need the will to penetrate into the true connections that go to make up the world, and the power of judgment to perceive that the true connections do not lie merely on the surface. In this regard it is of surpassing importance that we should learn from life itself. For very often—to a far greater extent than one might at first suppose—error finds its way into the world through a superficial reliance on the external pattern of facts, which really can do nothing but conceal the truth, as we saw in the cases described. In the field of philosophy particularly, it is my hope that precisely through the mode of presentation in the second volume of the “Rätsel der Philosophie” many will find it possible to recognise the connection between the philosophic foundations of a world-conception, as presented in the “Philosophy of Spiritual Activity” and the “Outline of Occult Science”. If on the one hand we are looking for a presentation of the spiritual worlds as this offers itself to clairvoyant knowledge, then on the other hand there must be added to the reception of this knowledge a penetration of the soul with the impulses which arise from the conviction, that man does not confront the truth directly in the world, but must first wrest the truth from it. The truth is accessible only to the man who strives, works, penetrates into things with his own powers; not to the man who is ready to accept the first appearances of things, which are only half real. Such a fact is easily uttered in this abstract form, but the soul is inclined over and over again to back away from accepting the deeper implications of what is said.

I believe many of those who have tried to enter into spiritual science with all the means now at their disposal will understand how in our Building, for example, the attempt has been made through the concord of the columns with their motifs and, with everything expressed in the forms, to enable the soul to grow beyond what is immediately before it. For a receptive person, beginning to experience what lies in the forms of the Building, the form itself would immediately disappear, and, through the language of the form, a way would open out into the spiritual, into the wide realms of space. Then the Building would have achieved its end. But in order to find this way, much has still to be learnt from life.

Is it not a remarkable Karma for all of us, gathered here for the purpose of our Building, to experience through a shattering event the relationship between Karma and apparently external accident? If we call to our aid all the anthroposophical endeavours now at our disposal, we can readily understand that human lives which are prematurely torn away—which have not undergone the cares and manifold coarsenings of life and pass on still undisturbed—are forces within the spiritual world which have a relationship to the whole of human life; which are there in order to work upon human life. I have often said that the earth is not merely a vale of woe to which man is banished from the higher worlds by way of punishment. The earth is here as a training-ground for human souls. If, however, a life lasts but a short while, if it has but a short time of training, then forces are left over which would otherwise have been used up in flowing down from the spiritual world and maintaining the physical body. Through spiritual science we do not become convinced only of the eternality of the soul and of its journey through the spiritual world, but we learn also to recognise what is permanent in the effect of a spiritual force by means of which a man is torn from the physical body like the boy who was torn from our midst on the physical plane. And we honour, we celebrate, his physical departure in a worthy manner if, in the manner indicated and in many other ways, we really learn, learn very much, from our recent experience, Through Anthroposophy, one learns to feel and to perceive from life itself.

• 1. The First Goetheanum, later destroyed by fire.
• 2. Note by translator: A seven-year old boy was smothered by an overturned horse-drawn removal van, quite unnoticed since darkness had already set in. The boy, who was in the habit of running an errand for his mother at this hour, normally went another way.
• 3. Riddles of Philosophy
• 4. The Iliad, Book II. (Macmillan, 1949)

For many years now, I have been giving the lectures on spiritual science during the winter season from this very place. I have always tried to begin these lectures with a consideration of the connection between the particular view of the spiritual world that is represented within this spiritual science, as it is meant here, and the general spiritual life. And already last winter, I tried — which must be particularly obvious in our present fateful time — to turn my attention to the feelings that are currently living within the German people, to that time of German spiritual development in which, out of the very core of the German being, a connection, a living together with the spiritual world, was sought in a truly idealistic form. In our time, in which the German nation must defend itself against a world of enemies in its existence, in its hopes for existence, it must be particularly obvious to look to the time of which one of the most popular historians of the German nation says: it is the time in which the idealistic spirits of this German nation have shown that even in times of extreme distress, in times of extreme hostility, the German character is able to salvage that greatness which can be saved by cultivating the spiritual life, as it appears to be inherent in the very deepest characteristics of this nation. We need not fall into the error of our opponents, who today believe, in such a strange and peculiar way, that they must particularly characterize the importance of their own nation by belittling the nature of the opponents. We need not fall into the error, for example, of those of whom we now hear that the German Weltanschauung itself must have seduced them into leading the German people into the most savage warfare. We can, without making the mistake of belittling our opponents, turn our attention to what the German people believe, must believe, according to their very nature: that their world-historical task is rooted in the deepest inwardness of their nature. And there is no need, as so many of Germany's enemies do today, to form an opinion about the popular, be it one's own or that of another people, out of direct hatred and antipathy in the present.

And so let us take as our starting-point for today's consideration an idea which an outstanding mind, relatively calm, was able to form in a time long before our own fateful time. This idea was formed by Wilhelm von Humboldt, Schiller's great friend, who was able to delve so wonderfully into the essence of the development of humanity, who knew how to depict the needs of man within the development of world history in such a subtle way, In 1830, when Wilhelm von Humboldt looked back on what Schiller's friendship meant to him, but also on what Schiller's significance for the development of the German people was, on what Schiller's entire intellectual development was, he expressed himself in the following way about the German essence:

Thus someone who has devoted much thought to the feelings that go with knowing this points to what he had to believe lies in the task and the immediate destiny of the German people.

And when we look at what has shaped the German character from the spiritual side in the great age when German idealism raised Germanness to the stage of thought; and when we point to the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century with all what had developed up to the immediate phase of development of our time, then we see something that cannot be grasped by the certainly significant but not very lofty concept, let us say, of the internationality of science and the like, which, insofar as it concerns science, is self-evident. But what emerged so powerfully in Germany's greatest periods in terms of intellectual development was that at that time, through those minds that felt so intimately connected to German nationality, such as Fichte, for example, the question of the whole significance of knowledge, of what man can achieve through the knowledge that he develops as science; the question of the relationship of this knowledge to the secret of the world, to the eternal-working, eternal-spiritual in the world itself. That knowledge has been called into question, that knowledge itself has become a mystery, and that it is precisely through this tendency towards the mysteriousness of knowledge that man has had to make the matter of this knowledge a personal and yet objective and factual human interest, that is the tremendously significant thing is how one can feel connected in every fiber of one's being to what man can achieve through an ideal in his striving, through the pursuit of knowledge; how one can strive for knowledge full of light and yet still raise the question: Can one go beyond this knowledge, or rather must one go beyond this knowledge if one wants to arrive at the deepest thing that connects man to the eternal sources of existence? And the reason why this riddle could present itself to the German soul in its best minds in a particularly intense way lies in the fact that during the period of German idealism, the striving asserted itself to have knowledge not only as something that something that teaches you about the world in terms of concepts, something you can stand coolly opposed to in your desire to dissect the phenomena of the world, but to have knowledge as something that lives in the whole soul and sustains the human being. It was precisely out of this yearning for the vitality of knowledge, out of this intimate feeling of connection with knowledge, that the great riddles of knowledge arose. It seems as if one only wants to have knowledge, only wants to cultivate a science, if this science can really live in such a way that one can also find the way to the sources of existence in the experiencing of knowledge.

It is appealing to see how German minds want to live in their knowledge, in their science, in a much higher sense than is usually meant when one speaks of the connection between life and science. Last winter, in a similar context, I tried to characterize Fichte's idiosyncrasy, this noble German spirit who, in one of the most difficult times in the development of the German people, placed his spiritual striving entirely at the service of his people, who, from the depth of his spirit, found the most wonderful words of power to inspire German enthusiasm. The way in which he felt connected with the pursuit of knowledge, and how he strove to rise to German idealism, is part of what Fichte was able to be to his people. A picture that has been preserved for us can illustrate this beautifully. Forberg, who heard Fichte speak when he tried to bring to life, from the depths of his striving for wisdom, what he saw as his connection with the weaving, ruling world spirit, said the following beautiful words about Fichte's way of speaking about spiritual matters:

And if one wants to characterize Fichte's German nature, one must point out how, by wanting to rule in the realm of concepts, he sought within this realm of concepts something that was more than what is often called concepts and ideas, something that was a revival of those forces of the human soul, which are one with the creative powers of all existence, those creative powers that live outside in nature, that have placed man himself in nature, that guide and direct historical life, that interweave and permeate all existence. But in order to gain such a view in full vitality, Fichte could not stop at the abstractness of the concepts, at concepts that are only views. For this he needed concepts that were directly experienced and imbued with soul by an element of activity that not only illuminates the human soul, but also strengthens it, so that this human soul, by first withdrawing from the external world, feels connected to the very innermost part of reality. And so Johann Gottlieb Fichte directed his contemplation to something living in the human soul, something that is being willed into existence. And what he sensed there, as flowing into his will, he experienced as if the divine spiritual forces that permeate and interweave the world were entering the soul, and the soul itself felt at rest within the divine experience. If one wishes to call this trait in Johann Gottlieb Fichte mystical, then one must remove from this expression everything that brings any kind of nebulousness into the world view; one must then bring this concept together with everything that is the highest energy of knowledge in Fichte's entire striving. Then German idealism appears as if compressed into a focal point, not only when Fichte talks about German nationality, but especially when he speaks of the highest matters to which his thinking and, one might say, his inner experience turns. In his attempt to visualize the ruling will in his own soul and to make it come alive before those to whom he speaks, he speaks about this will as if he were aware that the innermost essence of the whole world lives in this will. He speaks as if he himself felt the exalted will of the world pulsating in the human soul's own will, when this human soul, in its striving for knowledge, goes back to the innermost outflow and activity of the will itself. Fichte speaks wonderful words here:

Thus Fichte addresses what he senses as the will of the world by deepening his quest for knowledge, so that it may find what, in the innermost part of the soul, holds that soul together with the sources of existence; that from which the soul must create if it wants to feel that its creation in harmony with the historical and eternal powers that guide all existence itself. That science, through an idealistic consideration of life, must lead to such a grasp of human inwardness that in this inwardness, at the same time, the innermost of the world's existence in human striving is embraced, that is the basic feature of German idealism. And with this idealism, Fichte's philosophical comrades basically also face the great riddles of existence. |

From a certain point of view, I tried last winter to present this very arena of thought within German idealism and the world view of this German idealism. I undertook to show how Fichte tried to grasp the world through the experience of the innermost nature of the human will itself, by wanting to grasp the human soul where the will can delve into it. I wanted to show how Fichte, in his attempt to penetrate to the human ego in its essence, could not be satisfied with grasping this ego in being or in mere thinking, in the sense of Descartes with his “I think , therefore I am”, but how Fichte wanted to grasp the self, the innermost essence of the human soul, in such a way that there lies in it something that can never lose its existence because it can create this existence anew in every moment. Fichte wanted to show the living, ever creative will as the source of the human ego; not by a judgment of the kind: I think, that is something, therefore I am — not by that did Fichte want to find the essence of the ego, but by showing that even if this ego were not in any given moment, or if it could be said of it, on the basis of some evidence, that it were not, then this judgment would be invalid on the grounds that this ego is a creative one, because it can, in every moment, generate its existence anew out of the depths of this ego. In this perpetual re-creation, in this continuity of the creative, in this connection with the creative of the world, Fichte tried to recognize the essence of the ego in the will, to preserve it in the will, to shape the striving for knowledge in a living way.

And Schelling, Fichte's philosophical companion, who in many respects went so far beyond him, placed himself before nature in such a way that nature was not for him what it otherwise is in many respects for external science: a sum of phenomena that one dissects; rather, for Schelling, nature was to the human spirit in its nature, except that the human spirit stands in the present, experiences itself, but nature has lived through this spirit, so that it now rests enchanted in it, so that it hides behind its veil and reveals itself through its external appearances. Just as one regards a person in relation to his physiognomy, not only describing this physiognomy formally like a statue, but looking through the physiognomy to what is the living soul life, what looks through the physiognomic features, what spiritualizes and warms the outer form. Through the outer phenomena of nature, through the outer revelations as through the physiognomy of nature, Schelling wanted to go back to what is spiritual in nature, to unite the spirit in the soul with the spirit in nature. And from this arose in him that one-sided but bold way of striving for knowledge, which is expressed in Schelling's saying: “To comprehend nature is to create nature!” That in the human soul there could be something that only needs to be dragged into creative, living existence, and by so doing, not creating the outer phenomena of nature, but creating images that are the same as what lives behind nature, is expressed in the words: “To understand nature is to create nature!” Today, there is truly no need to take this philosophy of German idealism dogmatically; one need not be a follower of it, that is not the point. What is important is to get to know the power and inner soul from which such a direction of spiritual life arises. And so someone could be an opponent of the dogmas of German idealism in the fullest sense of the word, but find something resiliently alive, something that carries the future, in the way the human soul wanted to penetrate into the deepest secrets of existence back then.

And in this context, we may refer to Hegel, the third in this series, who was not afraid to ascend into the coldest realms of pure thought. For Hegel believed that when the soul withdraws from all the warmth of external observation, from all direct resting in natural existence, when it is all alone with the concepts that live in the soul in such a way that this soul is no longer present with its arbitrariness in the thinking of the concepts, but the soul abandons itself to the process of how one concept arises from the other, how concepts prevail within her, without her turning in any way to anything other than to these prevailing pure, crystal-clear and transparent concepts, which she lets prevail and weave within her as they themselves want, not as the soul wills, - then, Hegel believed, in this process, in this flowing of concepts, a union of the soul with the ruling world spirit itself, which lives out itself in concepts, which, through the millions of years, by sending its concepts commanding through infinity, allowed the outer world to emerge from the condensation of these concepts and then placed man into it so that man can awaken in his soul these concepts from which the world itself emerged. Is it really one-sided, the way Hegel delves into the world of existence by trying to penetrate to the sources of existence by squeezing out all other reality from the pure world of concepts? Is it one-sided in the sense that the World-Spirit, which flows and weaves through the world as if it were a mere logician, conjure up the world out of pure logic, this striving, which arises directly from the German essence and German nature, also shows how the German spirit, in its striving for knowledge, by its very nature seeks to connect with that which lives in the soul, that which can be directly beheld in the soul in its inwardness and which, by being thus beheld, simultaneously seizes the spirit flowing in the world. The fundamental principle of this striving is the seizing of the world-spirit by the spirit developed in the soul. And even if the right way of relating to world-life and its knowledge can only be solved by the human soul in a reasonably satisfactory way in the farthest, farthest future, the way in which it has been attempted within German idealism , this way of seeking the world spirit is so intimately connected with the German essence and at the same time it is the way in which, in our time, the eternal must be sought in the temporal human soul.

One can see how closely interwoven with German striving this kind of knowledge is when, at the dawn of the newer spiritual striving, one looks at how two phenomena confront each other at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century; that is, the time when those forces first emerged that gave the newer world view the impulses for European development. It is interesting to see how the German soul relates to this dawn of intellectual life, for example, by juxtaposing two images from the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century. Regardless of one's own opinion of this remarkable spirit, let us consider him only in the context of the development of modern spiritual striving, if one places Jakob Böhme and compares him with a contemporary striving spirit in Western Europe, with a spirit who is also characteristic of his people, as Jakob Böhme is characteristic of his people, with Montaigne.

Montaigne is also a great and important figure, expressing one of the elements that arise at the dawn of the modern intellectual life. He is the great doubter. He is the one who, from within French culture, receives the following impulse: Let us look at the world. It reveals its secrets to us through our senses. We will try to reveal these secrets through our thinking. But who can say, in any way, that the senses do not deceive; that what is revealed to the senses from the depths of the world can somehow have a connection, which can be visualized, with the sources of existence. And who can deny, this great doubter asks, that if one does not rely on the senses, but on judgment, on thinking, if one seeks evidence and each piece of evidence in turn demands evidence, and the new proof in turn demands another proof, that one can then proceed along the chain of proofs and must also proceed, because everything that one believes to have proven appears fleeting when one looks at it more closely. Neither thinking nor sensual observation can provide any certainty. Therefore, a wise man, according to Montaigne, is one who does not seek such certainty at all; who has an inner irony about the phenomena of the world and about the knowledge of the sources of existence; who knows that although one can reflect on and observe all things , but that one thereby acquires only a knowledge that one can just as well admit as reject, without having any hope of attaining anything else through spiritual striving than precisely such a thing to which one can only relate doubtfully and ironically.

At the same time, within the German being stands Jakob Böhme, who undertakes the journey into the depths of the human soul by means of mere inner development of soul powers, by mere immersion in what the soul can draw up from its depths. And in the fact that he finds these depths of the human soul in the way he believes he is able to find them, he was clear about it, he was convinced that by descending into the depths of the human soul, he at the same time hears the sources of all existence, natural and spiritual, of all comprehensive existence, flowing into these depths. For Jakob Böhme, descending into the depths of the soul also means reaching out into the divine spiritual life that governs the world. And so Jakob Böhme sought this path; that in this path there can be no question of doubt or of an ironic mood in the Montaignean sense, because Jakob Böhme in his way is clear about the fact that he lives in the spirit, because one cannot doubt that in which one lives, in which one co-creates by immersing oneself in it. And one would like to say: Only a revival of this endeavor of Jakob Böhme's in a higher form lies in what lives on the scene of German idealism through the spirits just mentioned. And these just mentioned spirits basically all turn their gaze to a personality who – however much this has been doubted from a narrow-minded point of view – in her entire being, in her entire nature, emerged from the deepest popular German culture, to Goethe. And Fichte, the philosopher who was only struggling for clarity, who was never satisfied if he could not express what he had to say in concepts with sharp outlines, Fichte, who could be considered a dry, sober man of knowledge — that was not his way, but that is what characterizes his striving characterizes – who could be thought of as far, far removed from Goethe in the nature of his being, – Fichte addressed beautiful words to Goethe in which he wanted to express how he tried to align himself with the highest that he strove to bring forth, with what Goethe was by nature. When Fichte had brought the first, most abstract, one might say coldest, most historical, form of his “Wissenschaftslehre” to print, he presented the book to Goethe and wrote to him:

“I regard you and have always regarded you as the representative (of the purest spirituality of feeling) at the present level of humanity. It is to you that philosophy rightly turns. Your feeling is the same touchstone!”

Words that each of the others could have addressed to Goethe in the same way, and indeed each of them did address to Goethe in one way or another, as history shows.

And when Schiller, in his “Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man”, which, as I allowed myself to characterize here last winter, have been far too little appreciated, tried to answer the question from the depths of Kantian philosophy: How must the human soul strive in order to truly come to live together with the spirit of the world in freedom in the harmonious interaction of all its powers? And when Schiller turned his gaze to Goethe, he saw in him something like the German spirit in one of its centers, seeking to bring forth before the world, out of the deepest inwardness of his being, the highest that he had come to. Schiller admired the pure, free humanity of the ancient Greeks, that pure, free humanity that, on the one hand, is allowed to turn to external nature, but which does not allow this nature to have such an external hold on it as the more recent spiritual striving, in which man becomes unfree in his striving in the face of the coherence of nature. This Greek nature, which on the other hand became so aware of itself in the depths of its soul that it sensed itself as nature itself, also in its innermost being, this Greek element, which stood before Schiller's soul like a model of all human striving and living, Schiller saw it shine anew in Goethe's nature and life in the face of the newer spirit of the people. And Schiller characterized this at about the same time as Fichte wrote the words just quoted to Goethe, in a letter to Goethe with the following words:

"For a long time now, although from a considerable distance, I have been watching the course of your mind and have noted the path you have set out on with ever-renewed admiration. You seek what is necessary for nature, but you seek it by the most difficult route, which any weaker force would do well to avoid. You take all of nature to get light on the individual; in the totality of its manifestations, you seek the explanatory basis for the individual. Step by step, you ascend from the simple organization to the more complicated, in order to finally build the most complicated of all, the human being, genetically from the materials of the entire structure of nature. By recreating him in nature, as it were, you seek to penetrate his hidden technology. A great and truly heroic idea, which shows sufficiently how much your mind holds the rich totality of its conceptions together in a beautiful unity. You could never have hoped that your life would be enough for such a goal, but even just to embark on such a path is worth more than any other ending – and you have chosen, like Achilles in the Iliad, between Phthia and immortality. If you had been born a Greek, or even an Italian, and if from your cradle you had been surrounded by a refined nature and idealizing art, your path would have been infinitely shortened, perhaps made entirely superfluous. You would have absorbed the form of the necessary into the first view of things, and with your first experiences the great style would have developed in you. Now that you have been born a German, now that your Greek spirit has been thrown into this Nordic creation, you had no choice but to either become a Nordic artist yourself or to replace what reality withheld from your imagination by the application of your powers of thought, and thus to give birth to a Greece from within and in a rational way, so to speak.” The creative force that arises from the deepest inwardness, that not only creates the present, but that even gives birth to the past anew out of its own essence: the Goethean spirit. In this letter, Schiller selflessly characterizes it wonderfully, in which he truly laid the foundation for the friendship between these two minds, Goethe and Schiller; Schiller wonderfully characterizes this inwardness of the creation of the Goethean spirit. And truly, Goethe appears in the image of German idealism with all his striving.

Therefore, out of the striving of Goethe's personality, a poetic figure could arise that – I do not believe that one has to be prejudiced to say this – is uniquely placed in world literature and in the whole of world creation, the figure of Faust. How does he stand there, this Faust? As the highest representative of human striving, but still – after all, he is a university professor at heart – as a representative of the striving for knowledge, for knowledge! And right at the beginning of Faust, what becomes a riddle, what becomes a big question? Knowledge itself, the striving for knowledge becomes a question! Two elements come to life in this Faustian legend. And one must point out this living out of the two elements if one wants to understand the basic character of Goethe's Faustian creation on the one hand and, on the other hand, its connection with the innermost nature of German spiritual striving.

Of course, the term magic and everything connected with it is not exactly popular today. But Goethe was compelled to place his Faust before magic, after knowledge and insight had become a question, a riddle, for Faust. And the fact that today we are able to separate everything that is conventionally associated with the concept of magic from a deeper spiritual striving will be my particular task tomorrow in the lecture where I want to speak about the eternal powers of the human soul. But the way in which Goethe has Faust turn to magic can perhaps be thought of as quite separate from all the wild superstition and nebulous striving associated with the word magic and with magical striving in general. One can overlook secondary matters and look at the main thing, namely, the fundamental human striving as expressed in Faust. Why must Faust, who has really been involved in all human sciences, wanted to gain clarity in all human sciences about that which underlies existence as a source, why must Faust turn to magic, to a completely different way of interacting with nature than is the case with the ordinary pursuit of knowledge? Why? Because Faust has experienced everything that can be experienced in the pursuit of knowledge; because he has experienced everything that can be felt by a person who has a yearning for the depths of the nature of the world; everything that can be felt by a person when he feels alive in himself, which external science can comprehend. This science visualizes the laws of nature in concepts, in ideas. But do I exist with these concepts, or do I only have something in these concepts that weaves itself as a ghost in my own soul and that perhaps, with regard to this image, is clearly, but not with regard to its life, directly connected to the sources of existence? What forces itself into the soul as a question of this kind can be felt in different ways. It can be felt weakly, but it can also be felt strongly, so that the enigma that lives itself into the soul through these feelings becomes like a nightmare from which this human soul wants to free itself. For the soul can say to itself: All this knowledge is only something that one forms on the basis of existence. All this knowledge is something that has been subtracted from existence. But I must still descend into existence with what I experience in myself.

What one might say Schelling believed in his presumptuousness, Faust cannot believe: that by living in concepts, one creates in nature. Rather, he wants to descend into nature. He wants to seek out nature where it lives in creation. He wants to unfold an activity that is such that the human soul accomplishes it, but which, in that this activity is within the soul, is both creating nature and creating soul at the same time. Because Faust cannot do this in any other way, he tries to do it by seeking to invigorate within himself the path that ancient magicians have tried. Faust tries to have something in his soul that does not merely depict nature in terms within him, but that appears to him in what lives and creates behind appearances. He seeks to bring the spiritual in the creative power of nature, which flows and weaves through the world, which surges up and down in the tides of life and the storm of action, not only into knowledge, but seeks to connect with it in a living way. He seeks the path to it in such a way that the spiritual creation of nature stands beside him, as the soul of a human being stands embodied here in physical existence, so that one experiences existence, not just knows about it.

And in this way Faust stands before nature in the same way as—one need only point to a spirit like Jakob Böhme, in his own way, one need only look at that which underlies German philosophical striving in the idealistic period—Faust, yearning , yearning for knowledge, expecting certain achievements, to which he wants to rise, so in the face of nature, so next to nature, as befits the innermost life and weaving of the German spirit: to create nature in the soul and to let it become living science, living knowledge. That is why Goethe has to bring his Faust together with magic.

There is something else that Goethe brings together with his Faust, something that perhaps even more than the magical element that confronts us in the first scenes and then continues in what I would call a directly dramatic way, while it loses itself as a magical element – which seems perhaps even more wonderful than this magical element for this Goethean Faustian poem, which is now also intimately interwoven with the spiritual striving of the German people.

Let us try – as I said, without pronouncing dogmatically or in any way on the value – to place ourselves in the position of Jakob Böhme; let us try to bring to life before our soul one of the aspects of Jakob Böhme's striving. A great question confronts Jakob Böhme with regard to the riddle of existence, the question that arises from the contemplation of the world when one says: The world is governed by the World Spirit in its goodness, in its wisdom. He who is able to immerse himself in the spirit of the world senses the surging of the world's wisdom, the surging of the world's benevolence. But evil intrudes, evil in the form of suffering, evil in the form of human deeds. If we do not look at the abstraction of the thought, but at a striving for knowledge that is based on feeling and emotion, a striving for knowledge that takes hold of the whole person, we stand in awe at the way in which Jakob Böhme raises the question of the origin of evil. He cannot avoid saying to himself: the spirit of the world, the divine spirit of the world, must be thought of as connected with the sources of life; but one does not find the origin of evil by immersing oneself in the spirit of the world. And yet evil is there. — With tremendous intensity, the question of the origin of evil arises in the quest for knowledge of Jakob Böhme. He seeks to answer it by asking about evil, as one might ask about the origin of the deeds of light. What Jakob Böhme has developed in depth can only be illustrated here through this comparison, for the sake of brevity. For, just as one can never derive from the light that which appears as the deeds of light, but always needs darkness for this; just as one can never derive darkness, with which light must appear together, from the light itself, but rather one must go to this source of light if one wants to examine the deeds of light in external nature, Jakob Böhme attempts to find the essence, not merely the principle, of evil, not in the Divine either, but in that which takes its place beside the Divine, like the shadow, like the darkness beside the light, which one does not seek in the light, but for which one does not need reasons in the same way as for the light itself. He seeks to find it by undertaking the previously characterized journey into the depths of the soul and at the same time trying to grasp the existence of the world at its sources in the soul. Thus he does not confront evil as something that can be recognized in a concept, but as something that he tries to grasp in its reality. In his attitude towards evil as something that cannot be grasped conceptually but only in reality, Schelling is followed in his very significant treatise “Philosophical Investigations Concerning the Essence of Human Freedom and the Related Objects”, 1809. Schelling consciously follows Jakob Böhme in his search for evil.

Goethe, from the depths of the German soul, sensed this riddle of evil in a completely different way. Just think what a challenge it was to create a work of poetry in the way that Goethe did in his Faust. On the one hand, Goethe had to present a purely inward striving, which, after all, could only be expressed, one might think, by depicting a person who presents himself to the world lyrically. Goethe seeks to bring it to dramatic life as Faust stands before the world. He does this, however, by allowing what lives in the soul to shine through in such a way that it is inwardly alive in the soul and becomes external. The dramatic not only places the human being in the world as he stands in it lyrically, but also as he stands in it actively. This enables Goethe, as a dramatist must, to lead man out of subjectivity, out of the mere inwardness of the being into the outer world. But one should try to imagine what a challenge lay in what can be characterized in the following way. Now Faust is to strive, as man does when he lets the riddles of existence take effect on him, to go forward in the world, to become a fighter in the world. And yet such struggles, which arise from the riddles of knowledge, are inner struggles. As a rule, man stands alone in this, and as a rule nothing dramatic is connected with it. Dramas proceed differently, in that one simply lets the interior of the human soul unroll. What enabled Goethe to transform what is basically only an internal matter of the human soul into a vivid dramatic image? Simply by the fact that, just as he brings the human soul out into nature through magic on the one hand, on the other hand he brings this human soul out into the big wide world by trying to show that when one seeks out seeks out evil and wants to experience it in its reality, one cannot understand it merely as an inner principle and seek an inner explanation for it, but one must step out into life as it confronts one full of life. Therefore, Goethe cannot direct his attention to evil in such a way that he finds something in him that is mere philosophy, but he must direct his attention to the essence, to one who fights Faust, to one who is the embodiment of evil, who is as alive as the principle of evil as man is alive here in his physical body. And he must be able to feel and show that the fight against evil is not just an abstract, inward struggle, but that it is a struggle that is waged hourly, momentarily, in which man lives. In everything he does, he essentially encounters evil. Thus this obstacle was overcome. What is otherwise an abstract philosophical principle was brought into direct existence, into essential existence. Walking, changing, acting, fighting were brought about, which one otherwise speaks about. For these reasons, on the one hand, the magical element had to be revived in Faust, in that Faust tries to penetrate the shell of nature. On the other hand, evil had to be contrasted with Faust as something essential, something that is much more than what is usually called an idea or a concept; something that is usually conceived as living only within the soul had to be embodied, placed out into the world. And so in poetry, too, there was a need to resort to that deepening of the conception of evil which we find as such a wonderful fundamental trait of the German spiritual striving, from Jakob Böhme up through all the deeper German spirits who cannot satisfy themselves by seeking evil only in philosophical concepts, but who want to go out into the world. And in going out into the world, they encounter evil just as one encounters another human being in the physical world. In order to spiritually unlock the inner world, the striving had to connect with such a view of evil. That is to say, just as nature is to be sensed through magic to its sources, so spiritual life is to be placed in the context of human life by showing evil itself as a spiritually active being. Thus, as a poet, Goethe elevates man to the realm of the ideal, but of the living ideal.

And he was faced with a dilemma in yet another way: he, the great artist, of whom Schiller said that he could give birth to a Greece out of his own inwardness. He was faced with a dilemma in yet another way, one that we may only gradually come to see in its full significance. In Faust, we see the striving human being. Many commentators on Faust have emphasized the fact that Goethe did a great deed in having Faust redeemed, in not allowing Faust to perish, as was the case in earlier representations of Faust, but in having him redeemed, because, in accordance with the newer world view, one must assume that within man lie the forces that can achieve victory over evil. Yes, what this actually means for the overall view of the Faust epic is something that is not usually considered. One says, offhand: Goethe's Faust could only become what it is if Goethe had the idea from the very beginning to take into account the innermost nature of man in such a way that Faust could be redeemed. One imagines a drama, one imagines a work of art that takes place in time and that is supposed to be great, in such a way that one knows from the beginning what must come out in the end. And that is what it should actually be. For man, as one so often says, must bring with him his convictions from the highest riddles of life. Actually, nothing more and nothing less is expressed by this than that “Faust” should, by its very nature, be the most boring piece of writing in the world. After all, every pedant today knows, or at least believes he knows, that if man strives correctly, he should ultimately be redeemed. And now one of the greatest poets is to present a grandiose world poem in order to show this self-evident truth through all possible forms! And yet, Goethe has succeeded in embodying the thought just expressed, not in some abstract way, but in presenting living life before us through a long, long series of images. Why? Simply because he has shown how that which, when inwardly conceived in abstract thoughts, would be a mere truism, a matter of course, is set forth in life in a completely different way; because he attempts to extend life, on the one hand, in the direction of the magical , on the other hand, towards the spiritual side; because the striving for nature is not a striving for knowledge but a magical one; because the striving for evil or the recognition of evil is not just a philosophical matter but a matter of life. How does something become a matter of life that is otherwise only the soul's inner, abstract striving? It becomes a matter of life when the human being, when he stands before nature in the same way that Faust stands before nature in the sense of his striving, wants to go beyond abstract knowledge. He wants to go beyond that which can only live in concepts, which spins itself out as ideas, as concepts. He wants to enter into the sphere of nature, where there is creative life, with which the soul's own creative life connects, in order to go beyond nature's creation through mere abstract conceptual life.

But when you take hold of the matter in full life, you enter into that in man from which man in turn emerges by being able to acquire consciousness in his concepts. One need only go back to what, for example, the Greek Stoics strove for in their earnest quest for knowledge. They wanted a wisdom that would smooth the world, that would survey the world, and that would have nothing to do with human passion. Man should become dispassionate, dispassionate, in order to feel his soul absorbed in the calm conceptual grasping of the wisdom that pervades the world. Why did the Stoics want this? Because they felt that one comes out of a certain intoxication of life, out of a half-unconscious immersion in life, by coming to dispassionate understanding. Stoicism consists precisely in the search for a life free of intoxication.

Now, in the course of human evolution, the personality that is to be represented in Faust stands before nature in such a way that knowledge becomes a question for it, the very thing by which man tries to save himself from the intoxication of life. He can enter into the intoxication of life by immersing himself with the creative powers of the soul, but he does not absorb the same powers with which he has just risen, but rather he submerges himself seeking to connect the foundations of the soul with the foundations of nature. But from this arises what is now the error of Faust in the first part of the story, the submerging into sensuality, into sensual life, even into the outer trivial life, which he must undergo in his own personality because he is to connect what lives in his own personality, what lives in the depths of his soul, with what lives in the depths of world existence. The task of the first part of Faust and also of a large part of the second part is to present in a lively way the error by which man can be tested in his soul.

To what extent man, by wanting to grasp the world personally, the world in its power through knowledge, exposes himself to the danger of being submerged in the personal and being drawn into the whirlpool of life, is depicted in “Faust”. And that does not depend on some abstract doctrine, but on the will, on the character of this Faust. It is only through this that the poem becomes a poem. And on the other hand, since the human being strives for a real knowledge of evil and is not satisfied with a principal, conceptual understanding of evil, he must break through the ordinary life of the soul; for there he finds only concepts, ideas and feelings. He must go through this soul life, he must go to the place where man, without seeing the essential reality through the senses, perceives an essential reality through the pure soul experiences, from the spirit. This becomes the task of the one who wants to recognize evil in its reality through direct experience. This becomes the task of Faust in relation to Mephistopheles. But man cannot approach evil at all as he is at first. It is virtually impossible to approach evil as man is at first; for one must know the world, and one can only know it by knowing it in the soul. One must form concepts. One must have in one's soul that which can be experienced in one's soul. After all, as newer philosophers have so rightly and so wrongly asserted, one cannot transcend one's consciousness. But if one remains in consciousness, evil remains only an abstract concept, does not appear in essence.

Faust is faced with a great, so to speak, impossible task. But great, as it says in “Faust” itself, is “he who desires the impossible”. Faust is faced with the virtually impossible task of going beyond that which is the sole source of his consciousness, of going out of consciousness. This will be his further path, the path out of the ordinary consciousness of the soul. Tomorrow we will speak about the path of knowledge out of the ordinary consciousness to those realms where the spirit is grasped directly as spirit. This stands before Faust as a task. He cannot find evil in its essential nature in the field to which consciousness is initially directed. Therefore, he must again, and now not in a general, trivial, abstract way, come to find the reconciliation of man with existence, but in the way that he is able to do so as an individual human being. It must be shown how he finds his way out of ordinary consciousness to an understanding of life that now comes from deeper forces of the soul.

Thus we see Faust going, I might say, everywhere touching and feeling the existence of the world, feeling it inwardly, to see where he can find the gate through which he can penetrate into the inner being. Thus we see how he soars so high that, having transformed the soul and transformed it more and more, he really descends in experience to those depths towards which Jacob Boehme strove and which are then hinted at to us in the second part of “Faust” that Faust finds something widest, greatest, highest and at the same time deepest, which he had already striven for in his walk to the Mothers, in that his senses fail him, in that he goes blind and in his inner being inner bright light comes to life. Out of the ordinary consciousness, to a different consciousness, to a consciousness that slumbers in the depths of the soul, as the depths of the sources of nature slumber under the shell of nature that one sees with the outer senses, to a deeper consciousness that always accompanies man between birth and death, but that is not present in the ordinary field of consciousness. Faust must be guided in two ways through the strengthening of the spiritual life to the gates that lead from the abstractness of the idea to the livingness of spiritual existence itself: As a magician, Faust knocks at the gate of existence, which leads from mere observation of nature to co-creation with nature; in his dealings, in the living, dramatic dealings with Mephistopheles and with all that is structured by them, Faust knocks at the other gate, at that other gate that leads from the ordinary consciousness of the soul to a superconscious, supersensible consciousness, which opens up a spiritual world, from which evil also really originates, behind the ordinary existence of the soul, just as external natural revelation is only the expression of that which lives and moves entirely in nature.

Through the connection with what, one can say, is peculiar to the German national spirit, Goethe created a piece of writing that could only become a piece of writing in the most difficult sense. For the most non-sensuous, the most distant from the senses, the purely inward, was to be shaped dramatically. But this inwardness can only become dramatic if it is expanded in two directions. And Goethe sensed the necessity of this expansion in two directions. In doing so, he created the possibility of placing this unique poetry, which in a sense no one else in another nation would have conceived in the same way, into the world evolution.

If one has these thoughts, one can perhaps still raise the question: Yes, but did Goethe not actually create a work of art that requires a great deal of preparation to understand? It almost seems that way. For the commentaries that scholars, both German and non-German, have written about Goethe's “Faust” fill several libraries, not just one. But if one were to believe that a great deal of preparation is needed to understand the Faust epic, then the thought must arise: what did Goethe actually make this Faust epic out of? Was it the result of a philosophical quest? Was it speculation about the magical foundations of nature? Or was it speculation about the sources and origins of evil? No, truly not! He saw the puppet show, a pure folk performance, the folk play of Faust, which was presented to the simplest minds. He transformed what lives and breathes in it according to his own mind. The Faust legend, therefore, presents us with a work of art and a work of the spirit in the best sense of the words. If we look only at the most general aspect of its origin, it shows how this summit of German intellectual life has its source in the most direct folklore, that is, in the most elementary of the folk spirit, and how German idealistic intellectual striving is connected with the essence of the German folk spirit. It can also be proved historically from the origin of the highest poetry of mankind from the simplest folk drama. This is a significant world-historical drama, that a spirit that can delve so deeply into the folklore in its inner work, like Goethe, is able to create something supreme out of the most primitive folklore, something supreme that, as we have been able to show, is also connected to the most significant philosophical pursuit, to the philosophical idealistic pursuit in Germany's great intellectual period. In Faust — as I said, these things must not be taken dogmatically — we see the striving Fichte. How? Fichte does not seek to grasp being and the ego by bringing thought to consciousness, as Descartes and Cartesius did. Instead, Fichte seeks to grasp being and the ego by connecting with the world-creating powers that play into the inner soul, so that the ego creates itself in every moment. We see this, only translated into the dramatic will, into the directly living, flashing up again in Faust. Faust is not satisfied with the self that human striving for knowledge was able to convey to him, but he wants to experience his own self directly in the spiritual world. The whole progress of the dramatic action in 'Faust' consists in the fact that the ego, in its dealings with the world, creates itself anew, always elevating itself. Fichte lives in Goethe's Faust; Schelling also lives in Goethe's Faust, in that Faust, on the one hand, seeks to unite the truth of magic with his soul, but also seeks true striving in the depths of the soul seeks the true striving in the depths of the soul; in that which cannot be found in the ordinary life of the soul, in thinking, feeling and willing, he seeks it in his dealings with the representative of evil, as a direct spirit. Faust truly seeks out nature where it lives in creation. Schelling had, I might say, presumptuously explained it when he said: To understand nature is to create nature! Fichte stands on healthier ground when he says: To understand nature is to live with one's own creation in the creation of nature. But one can see how the power for a deeper striving for knowledge, for the sources of existence, also lives in Fichte. Hegel strove for the sober thought, and one cannot be more sober than Hegel. The world spirit with which the soul in Hegelian philosophy seeks to unite itself becomes a mere logical spirit. To think of the divine spirit of the world as a logical soul that only builds the world logically! It must not be taken dogmatically, but it must be taken as an expression of the striving that remains mystical even in the most extreme logic, that seeks a union of the deepest part of the soul with the summit of the whole existence of the world itself in nature and history. Hegel must also be taken in this way, that one cannot find one's own self in what the senses provide us, but only in what the human soul can achieve within itself when it comes out of the sensual world. This is also what Hegel's philosophy strives for. And Faust, after his eyesight has gone, is illuminated by a brighter light within. What Hegel seeks on the right path, only to fail to perceive as the right goal, is what Faust seeks: to let one's own self merge with the world-self, to unite with it, and thus to experience the world-self in one's own self.

As Wilhelm von Humboldt said, can we not say that this German striving has not only tried in a beautiful way to establish harmony between philosophy – if one wants to call the pursuit of a worldview such – and poetry, and art in general, but that the German spirit has also brought this striving to external expression in a very unique way in Faust? Is not the very essence of Germanness characterized in this harmonious blending of the creations of the imagination with the quest of the sense of truth? Is it not otherwise in the world, where one finds that the imagination creates in freedom, but in unreality? The sense of truth creates according to the necessities of existence, but it does not come to a real life through this, only to an objectification, to a representation of experience. To bring fantasy out of its unreality and to animate that which it is able to create in such a way that the created lives together with the living spirit, so that harmony, harmonious harmony between poetry and philosophy can also exist in a work of art for once – that is what Goethe attempts, out of the whole originality and the truly not at all philosophical nature of his being. And when he has achieved this harmonizing of poetry and philosophy, of imagination and philosophy, by connecting with the most popular sources of the German spirit, then we may say: just as this Goethean work (we might also show it in other of his works, but it is most clearly and explicitly shown in his “Faust” — shows itself in connection with what the idealistic German world view has sought; there it is, as it now stands before us, seemingly the spiritual heritage of a few who prepare themselves especially for it. One can also see that, basically, supporters and opponents have tried to come to terms with the paths taken in the Goethe, Schiller, Schelling and Hegel era in the further course of German intellectual life up to our time. Infinite efforts have been made to understand the paths taken at that time along which one can find the sources of existence. But anyone who delves deeper into the ideas of those who lived in the arena of German idealism may come to the conclusion that what was developed there need not remain the property of only a few, of only a few individuals. Of course, if today we want to delve into the world view as presented by Fichte, Schelling and Hegel themselves, if we get involved in their books, it is understandable that we will soon close the books again if we do not want to make a special study of them. For it is understandable to say: All this is quite incomprehensible. Nor is there any criticism to be made of those who claim that it is incomprehensible and indigestible. But there is a possibility, and this possibility is actually offered by human development, that what appears to be an indigestible good for a few can become quite popular, can really find its way into the whole spiritual cultural life of humanity. In order to grasp the cosmic striving of man in the way it was grasped in German idealism, it was necessary that some people should devote themselves entirely to the particular formulation of concepts and ideas, that they should attempt this in a solitude of spiritual life that stands alone as such.

But it does not have to stay that way. It is possible to popularize that which lives in Fichte's thoughts, which are so abstract, so abstruse, and, as many might say from their point of view, so convoluted – I know that for many people I am saying something paradoxical, but time will teach that it is correct – if you live into the spirit and the way of thinking, to present it in such a way that it can be directly conveyed to the boy or girl in earliest youth; that it can be understood in the way one understands something that lies completely in the nature of human life if one wants to grasp this human life. And so with all the other spiritual heroes! It can be done just as it can with the Grimm fairy tales. It takes no more spiritual activity of the soul to recognize, feel and sense Goethe, Fichte, Schelling and Hegel in the depths of their creations than it does to grasp a fairy tale in the right imaginative way, as it is in the Grimm fairy tales. But the path will first have to lead people to live with something that belongs to the highest that humanity has gone through in terms of knowledge and poetry. And that is the significance of this idealistic striving of the German spirit. If one can show how one can grasp the essence of the soul in a simple way by appealing to the creative powers that lie within everyone, if one can show how these powers can be accessed in the right way, then one can bring this to people in a simple, elementary and direct way, whereas Fichte, to find it for the first time, needed a particularly high level of intellect. The same applies to everything else. But is what I am saying really so incredible? I do not think that anyone who remembers how he learned to understand the Pythagorean theorem at school will find it so incredible. But that does not mean that he is inclined to consider himself a Pythagoras, although the spiritual level and power of Pythagoras was necessary to first discover the Pythagorean theorem. An intense stream of spiritual world experience will flow from what the best German minds have sought in lonely, abstruse thoughts within German idealism, down to the most ordinary aspirations and lives of human beings.

And there is much, infinitely much, in this ordinary striving of man, if he is able to relate to the ever-creative and to feel that the human ego is creatively creative in the infinite. It is only by merging with the creative forces of nature that the human soul will be able to experience and feel the great beauties of nature as it reveals itself. And in a similar way, this applies to the other elements of this German intellectual life.

One must feel this, then the right feeling comes over one for the connection of the German striving with the entire world striving. And to revive this feeling in our days, it seems certainly appropriate to our destiny-bearing time. And it already belongs to that in which the German soul finds its strength. In conclusion, an example of this.

Even before the unity of the German people, the new German state, came about out of the context of the world, out of history, an unknown spirit writes beautiful words in his contemplation of Goethe's “Faust”. It was in 1865. I only quote these words of an otherwise quite unknown interpreter of Faust because they express what countless others have felt in exactly the same way. Since the emergence of the elevation in German idealism, which we have spoken of again today, countless of the best German minds have felt the connection between the paths that the idea takes in idealism into the spirit of nature and into the deeper foundations of the soul-spiritual itself. They felt that there is a connection between what the German spirit at its height has created for thought, what it has given to humanity as the sum of thoughts and artistic creations, and a connection between all this and what can also live in the German deed, in what the German people have to do when they have to carry out their world struggles on a different stage than that of thought. The connection between German intellectual life and German action was most deeply felt by those who knew how to place German thought and German idealistic work highest in their way of thinking. And from the contemplation of the past of German idealism, with its ascent to the heights where thought introduces to the life of the spirit—from the contemplation of this sphere of German idealism, there has always emerged the most beautiful hope that the German people will find the impulse for action from the same source when they need it.

What could be shown by many can be exemplified by one – and deliberately by one who is little known, Kreyssig, an explainer of Faust. Kreyssig, in 1865, wrote a paper about Goethe's “Faust” in which he tried to clarify, in his own way, what Goethe actually wanted with his “Faust.” He concludes with the words:

“And so we would then also know the overall impression that the contemplation of this giant monument of our great educational epoch, which after all remained unfinished and fragmentary, leaves behind, here we cannot summarize it better than in the simple memory of a passage from the famous legacy of the then 75-year-old poet to the younger world, which was preparing to take on new paths.”

Kreyssig cites Goethe's own thoughts, where he envisages the way in which Goethe sought a path into the spiritual world into old age. Kreyssig states how the power that leads into this spiritual world seems to him to be connected with the power that German action is to create in distant, distant times, which Goethe, as an old man, could only guess at:

The earnest style, the high art of the ancients,
The primeval secret of eternal forms,
It is familiar with men and with gods,
It will leaf through books as readily as through rocks.
For what Homer created and the Scipios
Will never live in the learned hothouse!
They wanted to transplant us into the hothouse;
But the German oak grew to the whole!
A storm of growth has overtaken it,
It has taken the glass of the hothouse with it.
Now grow, O oak, grow to the delight of the world.
I can already see new solar auras flying.
And when my gray eyelashes close,
a mild light will still pour forth,
from whose reflection of those stars
the late grandchildren will learn to see,
and in prophetically higher visions
to accomplish greater things for the world and humanity.

And the “Faust” interpreter adds - in 1865 -:

"Let us add the wish that the words of the master, who looks down on us with a mild light from better stars, may come true for his people, who are seeking their way to clarity in darkness, confusion and struggle, but, God willing, with indestructible strength, and that “in those higher accounts of God and humanity, which the poet of 'Faust' expects from the coming centuries, German action too, no longer as a symbolic shadow, but in beautiful, life-affirming reality, may one day find its place and its glorification alongside German thought and German feeling!"

Thus thought a German personality in 1865 of the German idea in connection with the hoped-for German deed. How the disembodied souls of such personalities may look upon the field in which the German deed is called upon for its realization today!

But precisely in connection with the faith, love and hope of such personalities, and especially of those personalities who, either through creation or understanding, have stood within the world view of German idealism, it may be said: the German need not, if he wants to recognize the impulses that are to inspire him, disparage any opponent. He has only to reflect on what he must believe, according to the innermost part of his being, to be his world-task. He must therefore reflect that he looks up to the way in which it has been handed down by his fathers, his ancestors, to his time; how it has become a force for the present, and how from this force, which is before his eyes, which lives in his soul, from the present hope may spring into the future.

Indeed, in the context of the present with German idealism, one can say from the innermost feeling: By looking to the past of thought or to what he has striven for outside of thought, the German feels feel his world task; he may feel it in this fateful time, he may feel it out of his love for his past and out of his faith in the power of the present, which becomes his when he has the right love for what the past has brought him. And from this love and from this faith, from this dual relationship between past and present, will spring in the right way that which, transcending blood and pain, allows us to glimpse a blessed present: German hope for the future. Thus, by delving into the idealism of the German essence, we can create a triad of love for the German past, faith in the German present, and hope for the German future.

Today I would like to discuss certain research results that are suitable for understanding many a puzzling aspect of the time, because only by understanding it is it possible to act in such a way that our actions are integrated as part of all human activity in the evolution of the world. One must place human life in a period of time in a part of the great scope of life on earth.

Therefore, today I would like to discuss a development in the post-Atlantean period from a particular point of view. This winter in particular, many things have become clear to me, enabling me to say something important and characteristic about the time.

Yesterday it was shown how thinking has become unreal, no longer powerfully intervening in the present. Where does this come from? Because it is naturally necessary in the course of development. It is sometimes more important to do something right in a small circle than to give abstract thoughts and program points.

Let us consider the first post-Atlantean cultural period. Not even in the Middle Ages did people feel, think and want things as they do today. The state and mood of the soul change much more than one might think.

Let us now turn our spiritual gaze back to the primeval Indian period, which does not fall within the time when writing originated. Life was quite different then than it was later. From one point of view, you will already see how it was different from the other times. Today, a person grows old by turning 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 years old. In the case of a child in the first years of life, the expressions of the soul are still entirely physical. Up to the ages of 7, 14, 21, from child to youth to maiden, the phenomena are parallel to the processes in the body and soul. The education of the soul must go hand in hand with the processes in the body. From a certain age onwards, the human being becomes independent of the body – when they feel like an adult.

Today, it would be considered an imposition to read Schiller's “Tell” and Goethe's “Iphigenia” at the age of 35; one would have read them as a young man. Learning more at a later age is an imposition. Today, writers start at the age of 20.

The soul then becomes independent of the body. This was quite different in the ancient Indian cultural period. There, until the age of fifty, the human being remained dependent on the physical and felt physically as a developing being. The change of the body is therefore so important. In those days, for example, it was known that a fifty-year-old had gone through five to six decades of what the body itself could give - for example, growth. Up to the age of 35, forces are integrated, the physical body increases. The spiritual life is contained in this growth. And when these forces break away, then, in healthy physicality, one feels that all material creation is based on the Father-God. The paternal principle, which rules and surges in everything, is felt to arise from one's own nature, from one's own bodily nature. Then, at the age of 35, the descent begins again.

Today, people do not experience this. In those days, however, people felt that their strength was no longer rising from the paternal. They became aware, now in a subdued consciousness, that their strength was reaching a standstill, but then people felt connected to the spiritual environment, right up to heaven. What later came down as Christ revealed himself as a cosmic principle.

Then, after the middle of life, one became aware of the ossification, the sclerotization of the body. In the states of sleep, the human being perceived the spirit, that which later became the Holy Spirit. Through this, people were witnesses here in life to the Father, Son and Spirit principle.

In the age of ancient Persia, this consciousness had already receded, and was only tangible until the 40s, from the 42nd to the 48th year. The experience of the spirit principle had already become weaker, and the independence of the spirit was already less emphasized. But the social life was quite different. Young people looked up to the old with reverence because they knew that they had experienced the Father, the Son and the Spirit within themselves. They also understood death earlier. In the Egyptian period, this experience only extended into the thirties, from the 35th to the 42nd year. After that, man no longer came to an inner experience of dependence on the spirit. Therefore, there is no longer any understanding of the spirit in the Chaldean-Egyptian period. But there was still a sense of what later became of the spirit of the surging, weaving, oscillating Christ-life.

In the Greco-Latin cultural period, it lasted until the 28th to 35th year (747 BC-1413 AD). Then one could only speak of the spirit in the mysteries, because normally one no longer felt it; only the Christ principle was felt. But this cosmic Christ principle ceased, only the Father principle could be experienced. But the people of this epoch still experienced the soul-spiritual within themselves, only they no longer experienced the outer spiritual.

Then it goes back to the 34th, then to the 33rd year. Then the possibility of knowing anything other than the physical was cut off. Then the great and powerful event occurred - in the fourth post-Atlantic period - that in the body of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, who had previously been swaying up and down in the vicinity, that the Christ developed in the body of Jesus of Nazareth from the age of 30 to 33. Through this, a principle was gained for humanity that would otherwise have been lost. Mankind became ever younger, the Christ overcame death and introduced the son principle on Earth.

When one makes the discovery for the first time, how the year of the death of Christ coincides with the 33rd year of mankind, then one experiences a moment when one senses the very basis of the Mystery of Golgotha. That means an enormous amount. Christianity can only be deepened by deepening our understanding. We still know very little today, and it is becoming more and more important to know more and more about the mystery of Golgotha. All knowledge can only be a servant to help us grasp this mystery in the right way.

Then came our time, when a person is only capable of development up to the age of 27. Humanity is, in its declining age, 27 years old today. That is why spiritual science must appear. If we do not give our soul momentum, we will not get older than 27.

It took a great deal for me to bring this secret out of the underground. This immaturity - up to 27 - we therefore also find in older people - this immaturity continues to shine and have an effect. In Helsingfors, I have already described how the imperfect, the immature, manifests itself in abstract ideals, how youth speaks of this, which has all the characteristic features of immaturity. Woodrow Wilson's ideal of the freedom of nations is such an ideal. These are all beautiful ideas, but: Wilson writes a note that is intended to make peace, and leads his own country into war. You cannot rule the world with such ideals.

People lick their fingers when they have really nice ideas. But what good are they if they are not immersed in reality? - “The most capable should be in the right place.” - Such ideas, however beautiful they may be, are worth nothing if they are not immersed in reality. Eucken's philosophy is beautiful, but nowhere immersed in reality.

Today's man is only capable of development up to the age of 27. We must understand that in the future, the spiritual-seclely must be developed independently. In the sixth post-Atlantic period, man is only capable of development from the age of 14 to 21, then no longer. Then “dementia praecox” will occur, which is not pleasant. Only truth, which is immersed in reality, is suitable for life practice. How do people think today? They think in an almost unreal way. They fall in love with their concepts. Later they themselves will become rigid and will fight the spiritual terribly. In the past, there were councils as a spiritual remedy. Later, in the sixth post-Atlantic period, souls will also be cured by remedies. The “sound mind” that causes man to consist only of body will be instilled against the views of the spirit. Such a decline must come if today's humanity continues to sleep thoughtlessly. What this humanity needs are harsh truths; not just those in which one pleasantly indulges. Humanity needs to be helped. Humanity suffers from a fear of spiritual knowledge. Hence materialism, hence the helpless fear of spiritual science. For spiritual science leads you into responsibility for the spiritual development of humanity. Those who sleep through the times do not notice this. But this spiritual slumber weighs heavily on them. I will give you an example: an essay on the cultural-political movement in Austria in the 1890s – spirit in politics. The thoughts are clever, but not immersed in reality.

Without understanding today, one cannot act.

Second example: Russians are mystically inclined, they say today, and thus throw sand into their eyes out of inability. In truth, it is like this:

Mysticism – Middle Ages
Intellect – West
Russia – both together
(rather good = appropriately good
two = between – doubt)

One would like to have something other than tongue and words to indicate what time has so severely

Therefore, opposing forces are at work to extinguish the light of life in spiritual science. Contradictions such as the following are part of life today: mysticism is the highest knowledge – and: mysticism is foolish enthusiasm.

Spiritual science must speak the language of life, which is as deeply serious as life itself. It cannot be measured with the ordinary philistine language.

It is precisely because spiritual science is so intimately connected with the needs of the time, precisely for this reason, that now – when everything, I might say, is preparing itself for it, on the one hand, spiritual science is really beginning to be taken seriously here and there, where it can be taken seriously – that the opposing spiritual forces are setting about extinguishing the light of life of this spiritual science.

Do you see that it is necessary to apply completely new concepts and standards to cognition when approaching spiritual science from the usual, conventional cognition of today? People do not want to see this. And so this lamentable, infinitely foolish talk can arise, with all kinds of contradictions, which of course comes from spite, but not only from that, but above all from lack of understanding and from the will to lack of understanding. How can contradictions be pointed out in that which has emerged within spiritual science and its philosophical basis? Of course, anyone who does not take the standpoint of spiritual science but judges in a materialistic way can find such contradictions. But anyone who knows that spiritual science must be immersed in life must consider this immersion in life.

Take a specific case! Suppose someone says: Mysticism is the stream of knowledge through which a person attempts to unite his own inner being with the spiritual that permeates and interweaves the world. Now take my Philosophy of Freedom or the writing Truth and Science, where the proof is to be provided that through purified thinking man enters into connection with the web of the world; then I must say: these books in particular correspond completely to the definition of true mysticism. I must therefore say: I claim the expression “true mysticism” for my world view. Therefore, when I want to point out today's mysticism, am I not allowed to point out all the confused talk, [am I not allowed to] denounce this nonsense as mysticism? I must indeed denounce it, must reject it, must therefore have the pure concept of mysticism in mind on the one hand, on the other hand, because I have life in mind, I must have the nonsense in mind as well. If someone comes along who looks at one side and says: “There he says that mysticism is the ideal of knowledge”; and on the other side he says: “Mysticism is based on all kinds of ecstasy” – contradiction!

Such contradictions are part of life, and anyone who walks with life can always find these contradictions. But one must first succumb to abstractions if one wants to present such contradictions at all.

Or take another thing, my dear friends! Today, of course, it is easy to say: I have presented the significance of Haeckelism for the scientific knowledge of the world. Yes, my dear friends, just take the following. Suppose someone describes Goethe's activity as a theater director; he takes into account nothing but what Goethe did as a theater director; but he points out that he was not a theater director like a Mr. So-and-so so, but [that he] was Goethe; that as a theater director, he carried out his duties in such a way that, in the background, he was always completely Goethe as a theater director; then he can certainly describe Goethe's activity as a theater director. Let us assume that someone who has shown in “Philosophy of Freedom” and “Truth and Science” how scientific materialism is rejected, who has shown how in everything matter as such rests on the spirit, may afterwards also show how the spirit reveals itself to matter, reveals itself in the phenomena that Haeckel described. For the one who wrote about Haeckel in 1899 and presented the justified, /gap in the transcript] who in 1894 established the refutation of materialism, for whom the representation means something quite different than for the one who did not have “Truth and Science”, “Philosophy of Freedom” but rather took Haeckel's own point of view.

Now, one can understand the matter and will say: Of course, anyone who can appreciate Goethe as a whole may also portray Goethe as a theater director. The one who is a Holzbock – a journalist is named just like that, excuse me! – can portray Goethe as a theater director as if he were portraying Mr. So-and-so, and he cannot have more spirit in the portrayal. But the one who, in the complete spirit of Goethe, portrays Goethe as a theater director, that means something completely different. And so my characterization of Haeckel is something completely different, after the two books mentioned above [gap in the transcript], and one could assume [that it is not a materialist who is describing, but someone who describes the spiritual reality everywhere. ]. Therefore, anyone who is malicious can depict the contradictions. Goethe as a playwright, Goethe as the author of Faust, Goethe as theater director! Someone may say: Now this person used to think that Goethe is the author of Faust, and now he has revealed himself: He believes that Goethe is just a theater director! — Brought to its logical effect, what the folly is about the representation of Haeckelism is no different than if someone speaks like this.

But it is necessary, my dear friends, for the truth to come to light, [that] one approaches spiritual science with the assumption that this spiritual science must speak a different language than abstract, rational and therefore materialistic science, [even] if it sometimes behaves in a spiritual or spiritualistic way. Today, one can be a follower of spiritualism and, precisely for that reason, be a blatant materialist in one's concepts, because, as a spiritualist, one is trying to have the spirit in front of oneself in the material phenomenon. However, one does not arrive at the truth if one does not decide to recognize how spiritual science must speak the language of life and must therefore be as versatile as life, and must therefore speak a different language than the one that has been spoken so far. For it would not be true, my dear friends, if I were to tell you that spiritual science must intervene so deeply in the impulses of humanity; it would not be true if I did not have to emphasize to you at the same time: spiritual science must speak a language in such a way that it cannot be approached and criticized in the ordinary philistine language; it must be misunderstood. But one must have this prerequisite that one must misunderstand it as a result.

Of course, in this respect, because all the floodgates have been opened to it, one can criticize spitefulness; because when someone speaks from life, they themselves open all the floodgates to allow criticism to approach. You can also do it like Goesch, who takes everything I have said against one or the other and leaves out what I have said for one or the other; then you can [gap in transcript].

What must develop within that school of thought through which anthroposophically oriented spiritual science flows is, above all, a real sense of truth. Above all, one must have a real sense of truth in relation to events; one must never allow it to be reduced to adjusting any event to one's subjective needs, but one must describe events according to their objectivity. If someone has as little sense of truth as the Imperial Court Councillor Professor Max Seiling, he can, for example, write the sentence that is true, like all the other sentences by Professor Max Seiling are true, namely just as philistine and untrue: Well, yes, Dr. Steiner joined the Theosophical Society in order to represent the truths or the insights or the assertions of the Theosophical Society.

Of course, [Seiling] knows very well that this is an objective untruth. For what was the matter? I started giving lectures in Berlin in 1900, 1901, based on what had emerged from my own research; those lectures were then printed in excerpt in the book “Mysticism in the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life”. At that time I had read nothing at all of the literature that the English Theosophical Society had produced, and I may confess to you that this literature was absolutely far too amateurish for me — if I am to express my personal opinion. The matter was presented from the direct progress of my research. I had read nothing. What happened? It happened that these lectures, as they were available in print at the time, were translated into the “Theosophical Review” without my involvement; some of them were translated. As a result, I was invited to join the Theosophical Society. I never deigned to say anything other than what came from my own research.

I didn't go after Haeckel either. Why shouldn't I have written that, since I wasn't connected to the Theosophical Society [gap in the transcript]. If you want to cure your cabbage with something sensible, why shouldn't that be done! Why shouldn't those who believe in cabbage be brought to their senses?

I was in London. Mead, who was still an acquaintance of Blavatsky's and who contributed a great deal to Theosophical literature in a scholarly way, told me at the time: “This book ‘Mysticism in the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life’ contains everything that is justified in literature; the rest is nothing!”

Why should I not have said to myself: Well then, so be it, let people accept it! — That they then became furious when they saw how things developed, and when they had taken the cabbage to that over-cabbage state with the Alcyones — that they then became furious and raving mad about the further assertion of where the gap in the transcript] and the theosophical worldview are established at the same time, you couldn't let that stand. But there was never any break in the continuous development of what I had presented in my lectures and books. Of course, I do not speak of the Hierarchies in Philosophy of Freedom and Truth and Science; that was not my task. Besides, from the very fact that I have presented the matter from the most diverse sides, I have the right to expect that the same terms will not be applied to me as to many others. I have written a “Theosophy”; but before that I wrote the “Philosophy of Freedom”, “Truth and Science”, “Goethe's World View”, and before that I had written the book, which was then called “World and Life Views in the 19th Century”, and in it I set down much of what you can still see today, which was later developed, which was only a germ at the time.

I have written a “Theosophy”; now what is contained in my world view is clearly indicated: “He is a theosophist!” This is just as clear as if someone had written a “chemistry” and one demanded of him that he had a chemical world view. I have written a book called “Theosophy” in which what is written in it is written from the point of view of Theosophy, just as one describes a certain area of the world. But the fact that someone should only have chemical thoughts when he has written a “chemistry” /gap in the transcript] means not building a system out of concepts, but judging from life; not setting up some new system, not founding some kind of sectarian movement, but grasping the spirituality of life in its various aspects in order to bring it to the world's consciousness, that is what matters: the truly concrete spirituality.

You see, therefore, that it is simply an objective untruth when Seiling claims today that I would somehow simply copy the things of the Theosophical Society after having copied Haeckelianism for a while. One must have the will to truth, and that can only come from the will to spirituality.

You can see, therefore, the sources from which what is asserting itself so spitefully today comes — in the addiction to insane inventions —, namely, to eliminate spiritual science in the form in which it actually arises out of the needs and longings of the time, because it cannot be fought. Fighting it is considered too inconvenient, because this spiritual science will emerge victoriously from this fight. Therefore, what is necessary now, when one wants to get involved in such things, must not be taken lightly. But I know that those of our dear friends who have a heart and mind for the seriousness of what is at stake in anthroposophically oriented spiritual science will probably agree with the two measures I have mentioned to you. The first: In the future, these private gatherings, which initially arose from the center of society and led to the most incredible gossip, must be avoided.

I am sorry that I have to mention this here in Hamburg as well, although Hamburg is one of the cities that are more or less far removed from what is now occurring in such an untruthful manner. But all members need to know. One must not come with the objection that has just been raised in Munich, for example: “Everyone has to suffer because of these rioters.” – These rioters have been talked about long enough, something must be done that will permanently point out the seriousness of the situation and the sacredness of spiritual science for a long time.

And the other necessary measure is that I authorize everyone, insofar as they themselves want, to talk about what has ever occurred or been said in these gatherings. What spiritual science is does not need to shy away from the light of day. Spiritual science can be brought into the full light of day with all esotericism. It needs to shy away from nothing, absolutely nothing, in the full light of day.

Please forgive me, my dear friends, for having to point this out in all seriousness here in the presence of this society; but I have tried to make it clear that it is connected with higher, more far-reaching points of view points of view, for the reason that what is intended in anthroposophically oriented spiritual science creates out of a reality, creates out of the full reality, out of the developing reality. And it is necessary that we finally grasp this, that if we immerse ourselves in that which is currently to be overcome, we cannot arrive at a critique of it that not only speaks of something else, but must also speak of this other in a different way, must speak a completely new language. It is certainly a witty truth, my dear friends, when someone hears a person, when an Italian hears someone speak and says: “That's a language? That's nonsense, it contradicts every word I think!” The other person is speaking German. - It is very witty to say: “Every word contradicts the Italian.” You just have to learn the language first if you want to understand German when you are Italian.

If you do not want to learn the - I would like to say - novel language in which spiritual science has to appear, then it is impossible to come to an understanding of spiritual science.

My dear friends, it is absolutely necessary to grasp this quite deeply. This is one of the things that must be asserted again and again. Becoming friends with life, penetrating life, becoming related to life - that is what is necessary.

And in the face of the seriousness that today's seeker must have, one can still make very special discoveries about those people in the present who believe that they can criticize this seriousness today. I once had to say the following at a general assembly in Berlin: When I approached Nietzsche years ago, the truth as such came before my soul in Nietzsche. What does truth mean in life? That can become a mystery; the role of truth in life? And it becomes a bloody mystery; / gap in the transcript] one gives one's heart's blood to answer the question about the value of truth, the question that is posed in such a haunting way in Nietzsche's “Beyond Good and Evil”, even though Nietzsche, bleeding to death precisely because of this question, soon afterwards fell into madness. The question is posed in such a way that one must penetrate to the very depths of the sources of human knowledge. This is a question that one must solve with one's heart's blood.

Max Seiling finds, because I said at the time: “How can the problem arise according to the value of truth? One must solve this question with one's heart's blood. Especially with Nietzsche one can see it arise.

can see it happening.” Of course, one then comes to the important realization of our anthroposophically oriented dictum, ‘Wisdom lies only in truth,’ but that can initially be a problem to be solved with the heart's blood. Max Seiling, when people told him that I had the “tastelessness” to speak of the bleeding heart, he had to read it in the “Mitteilungen” to believe that I had the “tastelessness” to speak like that.

Today, we have to learn this and at the same time be convinced that Max Seiling von den Widersprüchen against the dictum had not yet spoken before his brochure was rejected, and only then came to speak as he then spoke after it had been rejected. It is important to see what flows from mere spite, from mere unwillingness to face the truth, not only from a general, but also from a deeper point of view.

Dear ones, when one insults the other, it is necessary that the one who insults be treated with the first principle of the Anthroposophical Society, namely lovingly and benevolently, and that the one who is attacked should ask for forgiveness. The attacker is a person one should feel sorry for, and the one who is attacked should think: 'How easy it is to go wrong!' Therefore, it is unconscionable of me – and there will be those who say so even now – that I point out Seiling's slanders and invective in this way and do not say: 'He rants in the most hateful way, but I find it appropriate that, above all, general philanthropy should prevail and say: Well, it is understandable that such fruits must also come into the world, one must be grateful that someone points out the contradictions, not merely needing to believe in authority. — Certainly, this judgment is also possible; but you will see how far we would get with it.

The previous talk should provide the basic mood for the today's explanations. In that talk, I wanted to show in particular that in the basic mood of the theosophist nothing of fanaticism should be contained. It has maybe arisen from the whole tone of the last talk that one should not consider the reasons against theosophy, as if one should disprove them bit by bit in this talk. One should rather consider them in such a way that they show a part of those thoughts, sensations, and feelings that arise to someone who approaches theosophy from the today's consciousness. Putting it another way, one should not consider the arguments against theosophy as unjustified but as highly entitled arguments in the sense of modern consciousness, as those which arise as real and not only as putative difficulties. However, from it I feel justified to speak in this talk in such a way that everything that I argue for theosophy today is considered in the same light as the refutations of theosophy I gave “tentatively” as it were in the previous talk.

I have there characterised the contents of theosophy briefly with few words, and I have said how one has to think about the origins of theosophy, about the real origins of that knowledge. These origins do not arise to the usual normal consciousness, but they arise only if the human being submits himself to certain inner exercises that reach beyond the normal experience, and cause that condition which happens, otherwise, while falling asleep—but in completely different way—that all the outer impressions are quiet and also all thoughts and sensations which evoke them. Unless then by the processes of the soul life the unconsciousness of sleep occurs, but such strong inner forces are unfolded that the consciousness remains, and if forces are brought up from the soul which slumber, otherwise, under the surface of the consciousness, then a higher intuitive faculty appears in the soul. Then such a soul is on a higher level in the same situation as a blind-born who is successfully operated and sees the world of light and colours spread out. In the same sense, all things and beings of the spiritual world are around us of which theosophy or spiritual science speaks. However, they can dawn on us if the spiritual eyes, the spiritual ears are woken from slumbering as it were by inner mental-spiritual energy. Then a new world appears before us.

I have said that the outer science must take offence at such a thing just because it strives seriously and conscientiously for making the contents of knowledge independent from the human subject. Since one argues rightly that that which the human being experiences in his inside is nothing but something subjective that everybody experiences different which can have an individual subjective validity only. If the human being may get from his subjective soul experiences to convictions about another world different from the physical world—an opponent of theosophy may say—, he may sort that out for himself. For one cannot prove this in the same way as those things which we get as knowledge with experiments, scientific observation or historical research.—Hence, some people will probably accept these things and say, indeed, the outer research has its limits; it cannot lead us into the areas that are maybe the most valuable ones to us; but everybody has to sort out for himself what exceeds the outer research, because everybody must have an individually coloured picture of that which exceeds sense perception.

However, if this were right, one could not maintain theosophy, then everything would be only something that every single human being would have for himself as his subjective conviction, and theosophy could not at all claim any objective validity. However, this is not in such a way. The human being can only find out this if he does the soul exercises to get to such origins of the supersensible knowledge.

In such an orienting talk, I can indicate only sketchily, what it concerns. From the comparison of the waking state with the sleeping one arises that the forces of our soul can grow weak with falling asleep and do no longer bring up cognitive forces from the depths. Hence, the darkness of unconsciousness spreads out while falling asleep. Therefore, that who wants to go through this state consciously has artificially to cause such moments of seclusion from the outside world in which he still has an inner experience. He has to evoke strong inner forces. You attain them by meditation and concentration of thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Unless we consider that only which the outer world gives us as a mediator of knowledge or as impulses of our action, but if we start delving into important, strong impressions of the outside world at first, while we solve these strong impressions from the outside world using them not directly, but taking them in our souls—separated from the outside, then we gradually develop forces slumbering in the soul. I would like to show that at an example.

We can see how one human being helps the other. This can cause such a strong impulse of compassion in our souls that this impulse moves us to tears. We may be minded in such a way that we get such an impulse of compassion every time when we see such an action. This can be increased in us in such a way that we ourselves act benevolently if we see the hardship of a fellow man that we can have empathy with him and are stimulated to an action of compassion from the impression of the outside world. Perhaps we can advance so far that we unfold the same feeling that expresses itself in the tears even if we have faced a picture of such an action only. There are numerous people who, for example, if they read a novel get to a passage where only the picture of human misery and human compassion is conjured up before their souls, and then tears appear. They are touched by that which is only a picture of outer reality so that in their souls a similar impulse is released as it can be released, otherwise, only by an outer impression of physical reality.

However, if we assume now that we think in the usual consciousness simply about such an action, then we will already notice that this impulse is endlessly weaker that we are not able to increase it in such a way that it moves us to tears.

If we are able by soul exercises to think a thought which is associated with compassion, with helpfulness, with empathy without being induced from the outside world anyhow,

If we let such a thought emerge freely and can delve into it in such a way that we completely identify with it,

If we let this picture become strong so that it shakes our soul in such a way as it can happen, otherwise, only by an outer impression,

We have made a start with a “feeling meditation.”

If you let such a feeling meditation be active in yourself not once, not fifty times, but over and over again, you notice that such a meditation conjures up forces into such feelings from our soul which develop it internally. To someone who does such exercises these pictures appear which are still vivid in another way than possibly pictures of usual imagination are. If you delve into such meditations repeatedly, you experience yourself really in such a way, as if you were full of inner life as you only feel, otherwise, if you have impressed the inwardness into your outer body.—Yes, while the soul is stressed and penetrated with that which the meditation emits and immediately enters our consciousness, you experience something so that you say to yourself, I live now with everything with which I have secluded myself, otherwise, in sleep from my physical body. I live in it so strongly and vividly as I only can live if I am in my physical body and my eyes and ears and the other senses carry the outer impressions to me.

What I characterise here one cannot prove anyhow theoretically but only experience. After one has experienced it, it is available in our consciousness as an immediate feeling: Now you are free of your outer body; now, however, you do not live in nothing, but in a spiritual-mental essentiality that is as real as the experiences of the physical body.—Such a consciousness has to exist before doing research in the spiritual world. Someone who has attained such a consciousness is possibly as far as somebody who has prepared everything for an outer experiment, so that he only needs to set all things in motion to recognise a physical principle by this experiment. Then he is so far that he can penetrate into the origins of the spiritual world that are always around us.

However, I have to stress repeatedly that such soul exercises are only necessary to do research to experience in the spiritual world; however, they are not necessary to understand what the spiritual researcher gets down from the spiritual worlds and tells as results. Since the messages of theosophy can be understood with the natural feeling of truth and with healthy logic. The spiritual researcher can only investigate the facts and beings of the spiritual world, however, every unprejudiced person can understand them with natural feeling of truth and healthy logic.

Thus, we have to say, the origins of this worldview that we call theosophy are gained only by developing the soul. If now anybody wants to argue, everything that the human being produces this way as knowledge that is not controlled by the outer reality is the opposite of scientificity in modern sense because it is something individual and, besides, every human being must get to something different. On the other side, one has to stress that it is, indeed, completely right which is said this way but only for certain preparatory levels of soul development. The human being has to survive some serious fights and many a thing that only is significant for himself if he wants to advance to such knowledge. He probably gets to know how difficult it is to separate himself from the world to which we belong anyway with these subjective soul experiences. Immense difficulties thereby arise. There many things happen in us that apply only to us.

Then, however, you reach a point of soul development where you know immediately: now I am way beyond the subjective; now I experience truth, which is free of everything subjective. Now one has the immediate feeling, one has penetrated into the world of spiritual-mental realities. A simple consideration shows that there is also within our usual sciences a particularly prominent one with which knowledge is gained in such a way, as I have just characterised: mathematics. Already with the simplest mathematical operations, you can convince yourself that truth is gained with entire isolation of the soul. He who has found, however, such a truth knows that everybody who carries out the same operations must get most certainly to the same results. Nobody can recognise the theorem of Pythagoras—even if one visualises the operations of thought on the board—other than that one experiences the suitable relations internally. Someone who has worked once internally on the theorem of Pythagoras knows that everybody must get to the same result. Thus, it is with the mathematical cognition. Now we can say that the method of spiritual research takes place after the same principle as in mathematics that one considers as the surest science. Millions of people may think different about a mathematical theorem, somebody who has experienced it in his inside once knows that it is true. That also applies to the knowledge that you attain in the spiritual world.

Somebody who wants to do epistemological objections could say, one attains the mathematical truths in the deepest inside of the soul, but one cannot directly apply them to existence. Indeed, we can figure relations out in reality with the mathematical knowledge—somebody may say—, but no mathematics can decide on whether beings really exist who carry these mathematical principles in themselves; one has to experience reality in other ways than with mathematical judgements.

This objection is completely justified. It belongs even to those, which one holds to the theosophist, so that he cannot easily defend theosophy. However, with this objection, one has to consider that the human being does not experience with mathematical judgements what he experiences if he rises to a supersensible world. No mathematical judgement can give the view of the own ego as an object of the own ego, as if we leave our personality and look at ourselves. We cannot find our ego as an object with mathematical judgements. The view of the own ego is essential. With the mathematical judgements, we remain within our personality, with them we cannot penetrate into the outer reality. At the moment when we face ourselves, we have withdrawn from our body with a part of our being and have entered into objectivity. We feel in the things, we are inside of reality. This is the difference, the fact that mathematics gets, indeed, to inner certainty, but does not reach reality. Against it, the supersensible knowledge reaches reality. Hence, someone who advances on the way of spiritual research also gets to a new concept, a new idea of reality. Now with this new concept of reality that is at the same time a visual conception the human being can approach the consideration of human life. We want to bring that home to ourselves with the help of an example.

For the sensory view, the human being enters existence at birth and he finishes it at death. For the time before birth or conception and for the time after death the outer sense perception cannot recognise anything of man's objective nature. However, if the human being faces himself and has learnt to look from without at the human being in the just characterised way, her realises at the same time that this outer nature, which the senses can perceive, is based on something supersensible that is the real creator of this sensory organism. He realises that from the moment of birth on the mysterious human development begins. There we can realise how from a deep subsoil of human existence in the still uncertain features of the child certain trains gradually impress themselves, how his gestures and abilities develop more and more certain from within outwardly. The brain, the tool of our thinking, develops after birth still long; it is still transformed and organised. Now, however, the brain is the tool of our mental experience. If we look at this human life spiritual-scientifically, we have to ask ourselves, when does the moment take place in the human life where the mental-spiritual is completely able to use its tool, the brain? This is not yet the case in the first childhood years. Since, otherwise, the child did not need to attain many things by the impressions of the outside world and by imitation, and we did not need to educate the child. Only in the course of the first years, we can gradually use the tool of the brain. We can express this spiritual-scientifically in such a way: our brain becomes able first in the course of our life to become the tool of the ego.

When we are somewhat older—twenty years or more—, we have completely learnt to use our brain, to go back to former life epochs, then the spiritual-scientific observation shows that the brain has been only worked out during the early childhood. It becomes obvious to the spiritual researcher that that which is later in the human being to use the brain is the same as that which has worked on the development of the brain from forces that no sensory eye can see. Someone who approaches these matters with reason can say, so you state that you behold a childish spiritual atmosphere around the child head and that from this childish atmosphere, from a kind of head aura spiritual forces are emitted which work on the brain of the child, so that it can later become the tool of the ego. Then, you state, this head aura, which like an astral form surrounds the child head, slips into the inside to use this as tool from within on which it itself has worked in childhood. Thus, you state that that which uses the brain is a spiritual thing in childhood. It moves from without inwards, is active in the human organism first, then it enters into its inside and considers and understands as ego the world with the tool which has come about with its own power. No tool can be put into the service of the intelligent human culture that the human intelligence itself has not produced.

If you have attained such a spiritual view that you behold the spiritual-mental of the human being working on the configuration of your figure as it develops in life, then you can almost say to yourself: therefore, it is the spiritual-mental that is involved in that which is its physical.—You may still say to yourself, so we have to acknowledge the mental-spiritual in such a way that it exists before the physical-bodily because the physical-bodily has to be developed only.—However, you have to advance with observing and have to ask yourself then, is that spiritual-mental which has formed the brain the same for all human beings that works before birth on the human being? Alternatively, is it anything individual for every human being?

Of course, a real observation of life cannot help admitting that every human being is built individually that he has, hence, individual abilities that depend on the use of his outer instruments, on his outer forces, and, hence, he cannot be built up by a general human nature but by a human individuality.

That is, if we ascend to the creator of the human figure that appears to the clairvoyant in the aura of the child, we have to say, it is created completely individually. If we look as an expert educator at the adolescent human being, we can see how certain abilities appear, with one human being this way and with the other that way. About these abilities, we have to say, they search for that which is available just in a certain cultural region, for example, one child has an artistic talent, the other has a manual talent, a third an intellectual one, and so on.

Where from does that originate which appears in our present life? What urges the adolescent child to such performances that are given in our culture? That has developed beyond the child for which it strives. The child has this or that ability, this or that particular talent. If, however, we want to recognise this coherence, we have to go back in our culture to former states. If such a child were not related to that which happens on earth, it could be, indeed, inclined to something general, but not to something particular that originated from our cultural life. Hence, it is comprehensible that the child must have acquired certain relationships with that which it searches within the culture for its ability. Hence, we cannot think different, the souls which embody themselves and show this or that ability were already on earth once and have prepared themselves at that time to that for which they develop such affinity.

However, in the normal consciousness we can only think this. Then, however, we realise that spiritual science can ascend from this mere possibility of thinking to the view of the facts. Now one can ask, where can one observe the childish aura outwardly, which immerses itself in the inside to use the brain as its tool?

Yes, this moment appears very clear. Every human being who tries to remember his former living conditions gets to a certain point only—then memory breaks off, and at most still the parents or those who were around him can tell him what was before. However, every human being has to suppose that his ego also existed in the times that he cannot remember. To the precise observer this time coincides with the time when the human being learns as a child to say “I" to himself; that is when the ego-consciousness appears. Up to this time, the memory of a human being also goes back. What exists before the awakening of the ego-consciousness escapes from memory. Here we have the time: the child that has said: “John is there”, “Mary is there”, says now: “I am there.” At the time when the human being starts feeling as an ego, the clairvoyant consciousness beholds the childish aura moving into him.

From this fact, we may conclude that our memory is determinative in no way of the existence of our ego. We are also allowed to stress that beyond doubt there is a time in our life where the ego exists and still the human being cannot find this ego in his memory. However, someone who would like to believe that the ego awakes only then or would be impressed into the human being when the child learns to say "I", would believe something absurd. If our ego extends more backward than our memory reaches, we also are not surprised if spiritual science states that it is possible to expand the ego even more—behind birth to former lives. However, one just gets gradually to the view of the ego in these stadia of development which are not accessible to the normal consciousness, with particular soul exercises, meditations et cetera. I would like to describe the most elementary of such soul exercises here.

The human being has to develop a particular mood in himself that one may call “calmness” if he wants to behold into the future. If he can behold with calmness into the future, he has reached a lot to attain the higher beholding. One can describe this mood possibly in such a way: the human being says to himself, the world may praise us, it may condemn us, this or that may be imposed to us in future, dreadful or nice things—I shall stand upright and accept everything that may come with equanimity and face future intrepidly.

You can describe this very easily—but you can attain it only with long soul practise of meditative kind. If the human being develops this mood in himself, he learns to push the gate open at first that separates the usual consciousness from the experiences of the first childhood; then he learns to look into the first childhood years and then even further. Briefly, he makes the retrospect of former lives on earth accessible to himself. We bring in as a special method of it the achievement of an intrepid mood for the future. With absolute calmness toward the future, we acquire the possibility to pursue the course of our ego up to the point where the ego-consciousness appears in life. Then, however, the spiritual researcher does not want to stop, but he can extend his consciousness beyond the usual measure, and the repeated lives on earth can become reality to him.

One can still argue a lot against that which I have indicated today. However, I wanted only to give the ways on which you can find the methods to defend theosophy. I could only break the first ground, but the pursuit of this way can gradually lead to defending theosophy against such attacks that are completely justified, seen from the other side.

It is similar if these attacks concern the moral area. There we had to say that those have a certain authorisation who say, your teaching of reincarnation almost supports egoism. Since people may say to themselves, we have to do the good; since if we do the bad, we have to harvest the fruits of the bad in the future life. However, if we do the good, we harvest the fruits of the good. It is subtle egoism only which arises from it. One can expand this also to the work of karma. If we dwell on this idea, we may possibly say the following, we consider a human being, for example, who says to himself, I want to do the good, because the good brings me good fruits, and it is not advantageous to do the bad, because I have to carry the fruits of the bad, so I abstain from it.—We compare such a human being with another who thinks in a upright way about the things with which he is concerned, we assume, for example, parents who have the principle of educating their children to competent human beings. If we could ask these parents, why they do this, we would maybe get the answer, when we have grown old once, we have children who are able to cope with life who can support us then.—There we have a case that shows us that the good is done because of the fruits, which are to be expected once, because such an education is carried out certainly also from a selfish viewpoint.

Where to may such a viewpoint still lead, even if it is selfish? Since the fact that people have the viewpoint to educate their children to capable persons, so that they have support in old age, this is at first—quite objectively considered—a thing that one cannot manage with moral declamations. It is rather something that shows that the proposition of the philosopher is true: preaching morality is easy, founding morality is hard.—However, that is not to say that one should not educate his children from such a viewpoint, but that one recognises how the human beings have become under such an influence. If the parents use any care to educate their children to capable human beings, and then the children become capable in life, they do not only help their parents, but they are also useful members of the human society. However, we can notice an additional effect. If the parents start educating their children in such a way—even if their viewpoint was selfish at first—, then something unselfish awakes soon with such an education. That is reached which could not be reached by mere preaching moral: life itself educates us from egoism to altruism.

Just as with education, it is with the principle that we may have if we do the good and omit the bad, so that we have the fruits of the present life in the next life. This is selfish at first, but we know that the human nature has such an egoism. However, it does not concern that that is in such a way, but it concerns the question: how does life overcome egoism?

There we can realise that a human being can accept the teaching of karma in such a way that he says to himself, I abstain from the bad because it brings me bad fruits, and I will do the good because I have the good fruits. However, then under the influence of this principle the selfish attitude changes gradually into an unselfish one.

Hence, we have to say, if any ethics puts up ever so nice principles, nevertheless, it resembles—if it only preaches the good—a person who stands before an oven and says, dear oven, you know that it is your nature to warm up the room.—There you may preach long; it does not become warm. However, if we spare our sermon and give coal and wood as fuel into the oven, it makes the room warm, and then we found its oven morality without preaching. That also applies to the human beings. The expert of psychology is clear in his mind how little is done in life by mere preaching morality. Morality has to flow as a force into the human nature. If we give the soul the karma doctrine as fuel material, then it is maybe accepted at first because of egoism, but the soul forces are thereby stoked up, so that then from egoism the unselfish action can arise.

Thus, theosophy as doctrine does not only concern ethics, but we understand it as a sum of ideas that work in the soul and change us into other human beings. Nobody understands the karma doctrine in such a way that he says, I still have many lives before myself; I still have time up to the next life to become a decent human being.—Nobody can think this way. Someone who penetrates himself with the karma doctrine knows: you experience the fruits of your current life in the next life; now you lay the foundation for a decent, human being you can be in the next life. However, if you do not create the causes for a decent human being now, you cannot become one in the next life.

If you understand the karma doctrine correctly, you cannot carry egoism too far. Ssince it will persuade us any time to transform not only egoism into altruism, but also to realise that we do not fatalistically build on that which destiny imposes to us. We recognise that we ourselves have caused what works then in our karma.

Now I would still like to come on that which could be argued from the religious view against theosophy. There one may say, the theosophist acknowledges that in the human being something highest lives, as a drop is from the sea of the divine. There that which the human being can gain to himself is put, so to speak, like a divine force into the human soul, and then with such an attitude one cannot develop that devotion to that Being that interweaves the world. The mood—anybody may say—which the really religious human being feels in the most unselfish devotion to God who penetrates the universe would be impaired by the theosophical mood which transfers a spark of the divine into the human being as his “higher ego” which gradually struggles through to the viewpoint of Paul: not I—but Christ in me. One has to say, everything that the human being can recognise is got out from that which interweaves the universe.

Is not anything else possible? If one understands that which I have represented in the best sense, you may say to yourself, so a part of God's power lives in you. You are given not only to yourself, but you stand there with a part of God's power. If you have proceeded for a while—in this or in the next life—then consider what was your duty there. It was your duty to develop the seeds of God's power, which are laid in you—in other words, to make yourself more and more similar to that which this power demands from you. Gradual development, gradual perfection becomes the duty, so that God's power can arise in you more and more active. Theosophy does not demand such a religious feeling that consists only of the mere devotion to the divine, but such one that says to itself, I have to work on my perfection. If I do not do this, I let God's seeds in myself undeveloped, and then I do not become a picture, but a caricature of the divine. However, this must not happen. I have the duty to perfect myself.

That is active devotion to the divine. That is a religious mood that calls on the human being to do more and more for his knowledge, to care more and more for his moral, to be keener and keener to develop those forces that have been put as divine forces into his soul. Thus, we live with a religious mood in the future that does not provide a passive devotion to the divinity, but a mood that demands from us to make our egos more and more divine. Toward the divine that interweaves and lives in the universe, it would be the biggest breach of duty if we left our egos imperfect. We are not allowed to leave the talent unused that we have received; we have to make the most of our talents. One has to take this active mood into consideration if one speaks about the religious element that can come from theosophy.

Thus, you can realise that there are many things, which one brings in as elements to show that theosophy can strengthen life on one side, can change egoism into altruism, and cause a religious mood which can unfold an active piety for the future. We considered the other side of the question last time. We may say, the objections and refutations are entitled which one may argue against theosophy, but then we can position ourselves against these objections in such a way as I have stated now. Then we can ask our whole human being, not only our mind and our reason unilaterally, and we can say to ourselves, nevertheless, maybe it is true that there are things that begin where reason stops. Then we must set our whole human being in motion, and he has to decide. However, every single soul can decide this. Hence, theosophy is the spiritual element that speaks most intensely to the human individuality, while it calls upon the human individuality to the highest decision even compared with reason.

If the human being feels to be put into such living and holy impulses, he gradually finds the way which reveals him: you stand here on this earth; you belong as a physical-sensory human being to the physical-sensory world, and you belong with your soul and mind to a spiritual world.

You receive your mission from the spiritual world, and you have to impress into the whole earth development what you have brought down from the spiritual world. You have the mission to be a mediator between the earth process and the spiritual that forces its way to the earth, which wants to flow into the earth existence. If you learn to recognise by theosophical meditation that it is in such a way, and you can change the theosophical deepening into a disposition which gives you that infinitely blissful fulfilment of your mind, of your heart which can express itself in the consciousness of the connection with the temporal, the transient as well as with the everlasting, then you can say to yourself that you are rooted with your being in the everlasting that you are bound, indeed, as a sensory human being to the earth, but only to realise the everlasting in earthly form with your mission.

Theosophy can become such an attitude, if it changes in the human being with a basic mood that one can artistically express with the words:

The things of cosmic space
Speak to the human senses,
They change in the course of time.
The human soul lives recognising,
Spatially unlimited and not
Confused by the course of time,
In the realm of the eternal spirit.

[ 1 ] The creator of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious”, Eduard von Hartmann, died on June 6, 1906. The world view that emerged in this work must arouse the warm interest of anyone who is interested in the intellectual currents of our age. And the creation of Eduard von Hartmann is one of those that are born entirely out of the character of the soul life of the last third of the nineteenth century. And more than from any other achievement of the immediate past, important directions of this soul life will be able to be derived from Eduard von Hartmann in the future. For he has followed up the aforementioned “Philosophy of the Unconscious”, which appeared as early as 1869, with numerous other works in which he has expressed his views on the most diverse major questions of humanity and also on many of the endeavors and intellectual currents of his era. None of these writings has achieved anywhere near the success of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious”. In a short time, it made Eduard von Hartmann a famous man. And not only within the German-speaking areas, but far beyond them. The work was translated into a number of languages.

[ 2 ] The significance of this success is all the more impressive when viewed in the context of the character of the time in which the book was published, and when one considers how much the world view represented in it was actually opposed to all the inclinations of Eduard von Hartmann's contemporaries. In it, he advocated a point of view from which insight could be gained into the spiritual foundations behind sensual reality. Hartmann sought to explore and reveal this spiritual reality in a truly bold manner. And his contemporaries in the broadest circles were tired and even weary of such research. This was the case with both the learned and the unlearned. In many cases, people had lost all understanding of philosophical thought. The unlearned had realized that none of the great hopes that had been aroused by the brilliant philosophical views of the first half of the century had been fulfilled. Whether this realization was really justified or whether it was based on a delusion because one had never really come to a true understanding of the spirit of these world views is not to be further discussed here. To characterize Eduard von Hartmann's appearance, it is sufficient to consider that the belief had become general that there was actually nothing to this whole way of philosophizing; that it only led to idealistic airy creations that stand on no firm ground and therefore cannot help man when he seeks satisfaction for the great riddles of his existence. Only Schopenhauer's writings have had a certain effect since the 1850s, due to their easy comprehensibility and because they spoke with warmth about important, immediate questions of humanity in a way that was particularly contemporary at that time. It was precisely the retreat of idealistic confidence and spiritualized hope for life that permeated the creations of Fichte, Schelling and Hegel that led to Schopenhauer, the “philosopher of pessimism”, achieving a late impact. Many people despaired of any kind of spiritual uplift being able to bring true elevation in life. Therefore, they willingly submitted to the arguments of a philosopher who even tried to prove the insignificance of life in a very pleasing form. But by the time the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” appeared, the inclination towards Schopenhauer had already largely disappeared.

[ 3 ] But no particular inspiration could come from the official centers of work in the field of philosophy. For there, with the loss of understanding for the previous philosophers, a certain perplexity had set in. There was a lack of all mental acuity, indeed of all courage, to really face the great world problems. They labored endlessly to explore how far human cognitive powers could actually go, and in doing so, they never got to the point of seriously recognizing anything, because they were constantly asking the same question over and over again: whether it was even possible to recognize anything at all. Kant's ideas were endlessly raked over in order to “orient oneself by them”. Anyone who has looked into the whole business can understand that this official philosophy could not have any effect on wider circles. Hermann Lotze had indeed attempted to describe a large, comprehensive body of ideas in his “Mikrokosmos” (1856-1864). But he could not succeed in conquering the field against a spiritual power that was then trying to take over the lost posts of philosophy everywhere. Lotze's approach was too diffuse, too much like a feuilleton. Gustav Theodor Fechner had also made many attempts to recognize the spiritual connections of the world. In 1851, he published “Zend-Avesta, or on the Nature of Heaven and the Hereafter”, in 1864 “On the Physical and Philosophical Theory of Atoms”, and in 1861 “On the Question of the Soul, a Journey through the Visible World to Find the Invisible”. At the time, these writings also had no profound effect. And that is understandable, because they came at a time when the natural sciences had taken a significant upswing. In them, people believed they could find the only sure ground of “facts” that could be trusted. And Fechner's way of looking at things was not such that the powerful advance from that side could have been repulsed by it. Due to a peculiar chain of circumstances, Fechner's achievements have only found a few supporters in our time. And this 'fact' shows the decreasing influence of scientific materialism today. In the last half of the nineteenth century, it had indeed earned real merits in the advancement of the human spirit. (Compare what was said about this in the previous article: “Haeckel, The World's Mysteries and Theosophy.”) And Gustav Theodor Fechner's way of philosophizing certainly offers some beautiful points of view and some quite fruitful suggestions. But in the main it builds a fantastic edifice of ideas on the basis of rather arbitrary analogies. And anyone who today believes that Fechner's revival can overcome the decaying materialism has neither gained the right relationship to natural science nor to true spiritual research, which is so urgently needed at present.

[ 4 ] Hartmann's appearance therefore fell in a time that was averse to all philosophizing and had turned its interest entirely to natural science. From this, people sought to construct a world view that, given the circumstances, had to be quite materialistic. Matter and its forces were to be the only reality, and all spiritual phenomena were to be nothing more than an expression of material effects. Those who thought differently were simply assumed by large sections of society to have not yet overcome their old prejudices and to have not yet arrived at the “only reasonable” philosophy of reality.

[ 5 ] And into this fell a phenomenon like the “philosophy of the unconscious”. Eduard von Hartmann took a challenging position towards natural science. He did not ignore the facts of natural science. Rather, he showed his full acquaintance with them everywhere. Indeed, it was precisely by making a particular use of facts from the field of natural science that he sought to prove that the spirit rules behind all sensory phenomena. The results that he arrived at through his purely speculative thinking are indeed very different from the spiritual facts that are reached by the actual spiritual research given in occultism. But in an age that was very much inclined towards a materialistic attitude, they were nevertheless numerous and ingenious demonstrations in favor of a world view that takes the spiritual into account. How many people had believed that they had clearly proven that natural science had forever “driven out the spirit”. And now someone dared to prove the “spirit” as real, precisely on the basis of what natural science itself teaches in many cases.

[ 6 ] The manner in which Hartmann has attempted this can only be indicated here in a few lines. Only a few of the many facts Hartmann has used may be mentioned here. For example, consider the so-called reflex movements of animals and of man. The eye closes when it is confronted with an impression that threatens it. Rational, conscious thought does not have time to become active. We are not dealing here with a process that is guided by the consciousness of the animal or human being. Nevertheless, it proceeds in such a way that reason is in it, and if conscious reason had to organize a similar process, it could not turn out differently. It is guided by an unconscious reason that is active within it or behind it. But reason can only give rise to the phenomena of such a fact; it cannot carry out the process itself. A will is needed for this. But again, this will is not a power of the conscious soul. It is therefore present as an unconscious one. Thus, in addition to unconscious reason, there is also an unconscious will behind the sensory facts. Another fact is given by instinctive actions. One need only look at the rational way in which animals build their homes, how they carry out actions that bear the character of expediency. Eduard von Hartmann derives his view from the healing power of nature, indeed from the creative work of the artist and the genius in general, which flows from the source of unconsciousness. To characterize this view, it is permissible to quote the sentences that are found in my book Welt- und Lebensanschauungen im neunzehnten Jahrhundert (World and Life Views in the Nineteenth Century) (Volume II, pp. 164-165, Berlin, Siegfried Cronbach) for this purpose:

[ 7 ] "Man cannot - in the sense of Eduard von Hartmann - be content with the observation of facts. He must progress from facts to ideas. These ideas cannot be something that is arbitrarily added to the facts by thinking. There must be something corresponding to them in the things and events. These corresponding ideas cannot be conscious ideas, because such only come about through the material processes of the brain. Without a brain, there is no consciousness. We must therefore imagine that the conscious ideas of the human mind correspond to an unconscious ideal in reality. Like Hegel, Hartmann also regards the idea as the real thing in things, which exists in them beyond what is merely perceptible, accessible to sensory observation. However, the mere idea content of things could never bring about a real event in them. The idea of a sphere cannot push the idea of another sphere. The idea of a table cannot make an impression on the human eye either. A real event presupposes a real force. To gain an idea of such a force, Hartmann draws on Schopenhauer. In his own soul, man finds a force through which he gives reality to his own thoughts and decisions, the will. Just as the will expresses itself in the human soul, it presupposes the existence of the human organism. Through the organism, the will is a conscious one. If we want to think of a force in things, we can only imagine it as similar to the will, the only force that we know directly. But again, we must disregard consciousness. So, outside of us, there is an unconscious will in things, which gives ideas the possibility of becoming real. The content of ideas and will in the world, in their union, constitute the unconscious basis of the world. – Even though the world exhibits a thoroughly logical structure on account of its content of ideas, it owes its real existence to the illogical, irrational will. Its content is rational; that this content is a reality has its reason in the irrationality.»

[ 8 ] It is clear that Hartmann assumes a spiritual world as the basis of the one that reveals itself to man through his . external senses. This is what his view of the world has in common with occult knowledge. Only the way in which both arrive at this spiritual world is what distinguishes them. Occult knowledge shows that man does not need to stop at the outer senses in terms of his perceptive faculty. It says: There are dormant abilities in man; and if he develops these in the same way as he has developed his external senses up to now, then he will perceive the spiritual world directly, just as he perceives the ordinary sensual world with his eyes and ears. The philosophy of Eduard von Hartmann does not recognize such a development of man to a higher capacity for perception. For it, there is no perception other than that of the external senses. One can only combine the perceptions of these external senses, examine them with the intellect, dissect them, and reflect on their causes. Then one comes to realize that behind what one sees, hears, etc., there is something else that one does not perceive. This imperceptible spiritual reality is thus recognized through logical conclusions. It must remain a mere world of thought for man. — If occult knowledge advances on the basis of a higher human faculty of perception to a richly structured spiritual world, Hartmann's supersensible world of thought remains meager. It is composed only of the two elements, the unconscious will and the unconscious idea.

[ 9 ] If we realize this, it will be easy to see what is lacking in Eduard von Hartmann's view of the world to enable it to rise to the spiritual world. But such clarity will enable us to do justice to it within its limits. It is precisely because Hartmann does not go beyond sensory perception that he feels all the more compelled to look around him in this sensory world and to see exactly where it already requires thorough thinking to speak of a spiritual basis. This is Hartmann's strength in the face of scientific materialism. He can show how the conclusions of natural science are reached only by superficial observation of the facts. He can prove that the results of natural science itself urge us to seek spiritual causes in all phenomena. In this way he is able, for example, to give the materialistic natural scientists a picture of their own science which differs considerably from their own. This caused the materialistic-minded natural scientists to raise a vehement objection to the “philosophy of the unconscious”. They declared the creator of the same to be a dilettante in the field of natural science. With such a manner one usually has a very easy stand vis-à-vis a larger public. The public does not examine things closely. When the “experts”, who, according to the public, must know what they are talking about, say: “This philosophy is no good, because the philosopher does not understand the facts he is talking about”: the public will swear by such a statement. And the philosopher may then present the best reasons for his view: that does not help him at all.

[ 10 ] Hartmann recognized the futility of such a path. Therefore, he chose a much more clever one to refute the scientific materialists thoroughly. A path against which there was absolutely nothing to save the scientific superficiality. Allow me to present this path of Eduard von Hartmann's in such a way that I can reproduce what I have already said about it, namely in a lecture that I gave on February 20, 1893, at the Vienna Scientific Club and which was printed in the July 1893 issue of the Monatsblätter des wissenschaftlichen Klubs in Wien: “In one chapter of his book (the ‘Philosophy of the Unconscious’), Eduard von Hartmann attempted to deal with Darwinism from a philosophical perspective. He found that the prevailing view of the time could not withstand logical reasoning, and sought to deepen it. The result was that he was accused of dilettantism by natural scientists and condemned in the strongest possible terms. In numerous essays and writings, he was accused of lacking insight into scientific matters. Among the opposing writings was one by an unnamed author. The statements made in it were described by respected natural scientists as the best that could be said against Hartmann's views. The experts considered the philosopher to have been completely refuted. The famous zoologist Dr. Oskar Schmidt said that the work of the unknown author had “fully confirmed the conviction of all those who are not sworn to the unconscious that Darwinism – and Schmidt meant the view of it held by the natural scientists – is right”. And Ernst Haeckel, whom I also regard as the greatest German natural scientist of the present day, wrote: 'This excellent work says everything in essence that I myself could have said about the «philosophy of the unconscious ' — When a second edition of the work appeared later, the name of the author was on the title page: Eduard von Hartmann. The philosopher had wanted to show that it was not at all impossible for him to familiarize himself with the scientific way of thinking and to speak the language of natural scientists if he wanted to. Hartmann thus provided proof that it is not the philosophers who lack an understanding of natural science, but rather the representatives of the latter who lack insight into philosophy.” - That was indeed a harsh lesson that Eduard von Hartmann taught the materialistic natural scientists. Even if it cannot be said that the latter were driven to some thoroughness in relation to spiritual research by it: Hartmann's position towards them and probably also that of spiritual research in general has been put in a world-historically significant light by it.

[ 11 ] If the “philosophy of the unconscious” is thus vastly superior to materialistic natural science, then Eduard von Hartmann placed himself from the outset in an awkward position with regard to spiritual research, due to his epistemology, which, to a certain extent, follows Kantian lines. He characterized the common view of man as naïve realism. He said: “This common view sees real things in the perceptions of the senses. Now, however, it can easily be shown that this view is wrong. For the fact that man sees an object in a certain color, perceives it with a certain smell, etc., is due only to the fact that his eyes, his olfactory organ, etc., are built in a certain way. If he had other organs instead of eyes and olfactory organs, he would perceive something completely different. Thus, perceptions are not real things, but only phenomena that are caused by the sensory organs in their own way. The ordinary person who considers them real is therefore living in a delusion. Rather, one must assume that the true reality lies behind the perceptions of the senses as a cause. And it is precisely for this reason that Hartmann seeks to overcome the naive realism of the ordinary person. He seeks to fathom through thinking what lies behind the apparent true reality. In doing so, he admits in a certain limited sense that man can develop to a higher level of knowledge. He sees his own point of view as one that slumbers in every person, and to which the naive realist only does not rise.

[ 12 ] How close it would have been, now that Hartmann had already gone so far, to say to himself: Could one not rise to an even higher level of knowledge? Could there not be a higher capacity for knowledge, which would also make my point of view appear to be a delusion, just as the point of view of naive realism appears to me? Hartmann never wanted to draw this obvious conclusion. That is why occult knowledge has always remained completely incomprehensible to him. This was due to the limitations of his mind. He was simply unable to go beyond a certain point. He did, however, make every effort in a certain respect. When Sinnett's “Esoteric Teaching of Secret Buddhism” appeared in the 1880s, thus giving the theosophical trend of the times its first literary expression, Hartmann wrote a detailed essay on this book. Now, it can be said that in that Sinnett book, theosophy was presented in a much too dogmatic way to be of much help to a thorough thinker, and that the “secret Buddhism” contained too much stereotyped, even directly erroneous, which made access difficult; but one must nevertheless find that Hartmann fell victim to a certain type of his mind in this direction of research, as he also did with other phenomena of spiritual research. He had encapsulated himself at an early stage in the thought-forms he had once established, and thus lost any possibility of even understanding anything else. Therefore, for him, a relationship to other research was never possible other than a purely comparative one, in which he would simply compare every other thought with his own and then say: what agrees with me is right; what does not is wrong. In a certain sense, therefore, Eduard von Hartmann's critical attitude towards the achievements of others was such that in individual cases there was no need to wait to hear what he would say. Anyone who was familiar with his philosophy and then took up a different point of view could always know what Hartmann would say about the latter, even before he himself had spoken.

[ 13 ] Hartmann also dealt with minor contemporary phenomena of spiritual research, such as hypnotism and spiritualism, without arriving at anything other than a rather stereotyped registration in his thought forms. This is why many of Eduard von Hartmann's later books are far less inspiring than his first. Of course, he modified his original results in some points, and that is why it is wrong for the public to judge him mostly according to his first creation, the “Philosophy of the Unconscious”. He often complained bitterly about this one-sided assessment of his philosophy. But the reason for this is also that, with regard to his fundamental ideas, Hartmann has not provided anything in many of his later writings that any expert in his principles could not actually develop for themselves. There are few authors in relation to whom it can be said with as much justification as with Hartmann: in order to gain what they offer in their later works, one no longer actually needs them. A reasonably talented person can, for example, construct for himself the essentials of what is contained in the “Categories” or in the “History of Metaphysics” in the sense of Hartmann, if he knows and understands his previous writings.

[ 14 ] It is easy to misunderstand what constitutes Hartmann's pessimism. The fact that he was originally influenced by Schopenhauer's school of thought has given the “philosophy of the unconscious” a pessimistic slant. However, it should not be overlooked that Hegel and Schelling, with their by no means pessimistic way of thinking, also had an equally strong influence on Hartmann as Schopenhauer. It would go far beyond the scope of this article to discuss Hartmann's relationship to the three philosophers mentioned or to other thinkers. Therefore, without such an elaboration, Hartmann's relationship to pessimism will be briefly characterized.

[ 15 ] Since the “philosophy of the unconscious” sees the spirit of the world as composed of two elements, the unconscious will and the unconscious idea, it cannot regard the course of world development as entirely rational and good. For although the idea is rational and logical for it, the will is not. But the world can only have come into being through the will. It has already been said above that a force is necessary for real creation. The powerless idea can create nothing. Hartmann therefore comes to the conclusion that the world is there at all because of the irrational will, and the idea can do nothing but take possession of the will in order to annul creation again. The process of the world consists, then, in the idea feeling itself unsatisfied by the fact that it has been called into existence by the will; it thus feels creation as its suffering, and strives to free itself from this suffering. It is again permissible to quote a few sentences from my book “Welt- und Lebensanschauungen im neunzehnten Jahrhundert” (pp. 165f.) in this connection: “The reign of the irrational is expressed in the existence of pain, which torments all beings. Pain outweighs pleasure in the world. This fact, which can be explained philosophically from the illogical will element of existence, is sought by Eduard von Hartmann to be substantiated by careful consideration of the relationship between pleasure and pain in the world. Anyone who does not indulge in any illusions, but objectively considers the evils of the world, cannot come to any other conclusion than that pain is present to a far greater extent than pleasure. From this, however, it follows that non-existence is to be preferred to existence. But non-existence can only be achieved if the logical-rational idea destroys the will, existence. Hartmann therefore sees the world process as a gradual destruction of the irrational will by the rational world of ideas. The highest moral task of man should be to help overcome the will.” It is clear that the ‘philosophy of the unconscious’ is diametrically opposed to occult spiritual research. For the latter, in a nutshell, must see the world and thus also man in a developmental current that ultimately leads everything to the divine, that is, to the good original being.

[ 16 ] But in Hartmann's case, this comprehensive pessimism is combined with a strange subordinate optimism. For his pessimism is not intended to lead to a turning away from existence, but on the contrary, to a devoted participation in it. He believes that only this pessimism can lead to moral action.

[ 17 ] As long as man believes that pleasure and happiness can be attained, he will not - according to Eduard von Hartmann's assumption - give up the selfish pursuit of them. Only one thing can bring real healing from all egoism. That is the realization that all belief in pleasure and happiness is an illusion. If a person is clear about this, then he will give up all such striving. Now one could say, however, that under such conditions all existence is pointless; and the “philosophy of the unconscious” would therefore actually have to recommend to man the annihilation of his existence. Hartmann replies that absolutely nothing would be achieved if the individual wanted to extinguish his existence. For what ultimately suffers is not only the individual spirit, but the All-Spirit. If suffering is to cease, the existence of the All-Spirit itself must be extinguished. This cannot be achieved by the individual destroying himself, but rather by the individual placing his work in the service of the whole. All the work of humanity must work together to ultimately free the All-Spirit from its suffering. The whole development of civilization is nothing other than working towards this goal. The development of the world consists in the redemption of the Godhead from the suffering of existence through the work of humanity. The individual must renounce his own happiness and place all his efforts at the service of the redemption of the deity. It cannot be the task here to show how Hartmann, in a rather fantastic way, presupposes that humanity could be educated to this end, ultimately through a common decision, through a united striving to radically destroy existence and to redeem the deity.

[ 18 ] Even if one has to admit that in such extreme points of philosophical thought the “philosophy of the unconscious” loses itself in unfathomable depths, it cannot escape the discerning reader that Hartmann has made many beautiful statements in particular. One such must be seen in particular in the discussion of the various moral viewpoints in his “Phenomenology of the Moral Consciousness”. There he has listed all possible moral views of life, from crass egoism to religious selfless devotion to work in the service of humanity as a whole. And even though a touch of pessimism lies over all these statements, with the paradoxical goal of redeeming the world spirit from its suffering: anyone who is able to disregard this radical end point can still gain a great deal from Hartmann's individual works. The same can be said of the book: “The Religious Consciousness of Humanity in the Gradual Sequence of its Development”. Here Hartmann wants to show how, in the course of history, humanity gradually struggles through the various religious standpoints to the worship of that All-Spirit, as it is conceived of as “the Unconscious”. To him, all previous religions appear as a preliminary stage of the “religion of the spirit”. That the “spirit” lives in each individual, and that life must consist in the redemption of this suffering spirit: this is to be the content of such a future religion. Christianity, too, can only be a preliminary stage to this “religion of the spirit”. It gives itself over – Hartmann believes – to the illusion that the All-Spirit suffered in one person, the Son of God: but the sum of all persons must take the place of this one person. All must feel themselves to be suffering sons of the One Spirit, called to redemption. Hartmann is convinced that the scientific theology of the new age must lead to a “self-destruction of Christianity”. It must ultimately dissolve through the contradiction that arises from reflecting on the impossibility of the work of redemption being brought about by a single individual. If Hartmann's explanation once again reveals a complete misunderstanding of Christianity, the creator of the “Philosophy of the Unconscious” has nevertheless provided many important details in this area, and in this respect he is far superior to contemporary theologians and philosophers in terms of his acumen and independence of thought.

[ 19 ] It would be interesting to also explain how, despite the inadequacy of his basic principles, Hartmann also achieved much that was excellent in the individual in his “Aesthetics”. However, due to a lack of space, this must be left out of consideration here.

[ 20 ] Eduard von Hartmann offers much that is stimulating to anyone who studies him. And he cannot be without benefit to spiritual research. In him we have a personality who, on the one hand, shows an energetic struggle to free himself from the prejudices of the materialistic spirit of the age, but who, on the other hand, cannot rise to the realm of real spiritual insight. In his case, one can see how the way of thinking of the present takes away the freedom of the spirit to such real vision. — And there is one more thing that should not be overlooked about this personality. Hartmann not only dealt with the highest questions of life, but he also penetrated all the questions of the time: cultural questions, politics, social economics, legal questions, etc. And everywhere he proves himself to be a thinker who wants to remain firmly on the ground of reality, who does not want to lose himself in fantastic utopias and abstract future perspectives. Yes, his sense of reality in this respect is in a strange contrast to his radical, and really often bottomless, dreams in the highest questions and goals of humanity. His conservatism in politics and socialism sometimes has something philistine about it, but it is also very healthy. That is why he will also be valuable for the spiritual researcher in this respect. The latter has every reason to beware of fantasies and to remain firmly grounded in reality. Hartmann can provide an excellent example of this. Whether one wants to accept this or that from him is not so important; but it is important that one can always receive fruitful suggestions from him.

This lecture is the 10th of 12 lectures given by Rudolf Steiner at Dornach, Switzerland, during January of 1923. The title these lectures were published under is: A Living Knowledge of Nature, the Fall of the Intellect into Sin, the Spiritual Resurrection.

In my last lectures, I spoke of man's fall into sin and of an ascent from sin. I spoke of this ascent as something that must arise in the present age from human consciousness in general, as a kind of ideal for man's striving and willing. I have pointed out the more formal aspect of the fall of man, as it appears in the present time, by showing how the fall of man influences intellectual life. What people say concerning the limitations of our knowledge of Nature, really arises from the view that man has no inner strength enabling him to reach the spiritual, and that he must therefore renounce all efforts that might lift him above earthly contemplation. I said that when people speak to-day of the limits of knowledge, this is only the modern intellectual interpretation of how man was cast down into sin; this was felt in older times and particularly during the Middle Ages. To-day I should like to speak more from a material aspect, in order to show that modern humanity cannot reach the goal of the evolution of the earth, if the views acquired in a more recent age—especially in the course of an intellectual development—do not change. Through the consciousness of sin, the general consciousness of to-day has, to a certain extent, suffered this very fall of man. Modern intellectualism already bears the marks of this fall and decay; indeed, the decay is so strong that, unless the intellectual civilisation of the present time changes, there is no hope of attaining mankind's goal in the evolution of the earth. To-day it is necessary to know that in the depths of the human soul forces are living that are, as it were, better than the present state of the consciousness of our civilisation. It is necessary to contemplate quite clearly the nature of the consciousness of our civilisation.

The consciousness of our civilisation arose, on the one hand, from a particular conception of the thinking human being, and, on the other hand, from a particular conception of the willing human being. To-day man uses his thinking chiefly in order to know as much as possible of the outer kingdoms of Nature, and to grasp human life with the methods of thinking gained through the usual way of looking at Nature. To-day natural science teaches us to think, and we consider social life, too, in the light of this thinking, acquired through the natural sciences as they are known to-day.

Many people believe that this conception of the thinking human being, of man who observes Nature and thinks, is an unprejudiced conception. All kinds of things are mentioned that science is unprejudiced, and so on. But I have shown repeatedly that these arguments are not of much value. For, everything that a thinker applies when he is bent on his scientific investigations (according to which other people then arrange their life) has evolved from earlier ways of thinking. Modern thinking is the direct outcome of mediaeval thinking. I have pointed out already that even the arguments of the opponents of mediaeval thinking are thought out with the methods of thinking that have evolved from mediaeval thinking. An essential trait of mediaeval thinking which entered modern thinking is that the activity of thought is contemplated only in the form in which it is applied in the observation of the outer phenomena of Nature. The process of thinking is ignored altogether and there is no philosophy leading to the contemplation of thinking itself. No notice at all is taken of the process of thought and of its inner living force.

The reason for this lies in the considerations that I have already set forth. Once I said that a modern man's thoughts on Nature are really corpses, all our thoughts on the kingdoms of Nature are dead thoughts. The life of these thought corpses lies in man's pre-earthly existence. The thoughts that we form to-day on the kingdoms of Nature and on the life of man are dead while we are thinking them; they were endowed with life in our pre-earthly existence.

The abstract, lifeless thoughts that we form here on earth in accordance with modern habits of thinking were alive, were living elementary beings during our pre-earthly existence, before we descended to a physical incarnation on earth. Then, we lived in these thoughts as living beings, just as to-day we live in our blood. During our life on earth, these thoughts are dead and for this reason they are abstract. But our thinking is dead only as long as we apply it to Nature outside: as soon as we look into our own selves it appears to us as something living, for it continues working there, within us, in a way which remains concealed from the usual consciousness of to-day. There it continues to elaborate what existed during our pre-earthly life. The forces that seize our organism when we incarnate on earth, are the forces of these living thoughts. The force of these living, pre-earthly thoughts makes us grow and forms our organs. Thus, when the philosophers of a theory of knowledge speak of thinking, they speak of a lifeless thinking. Were they to speak of the true nature of thinking; not of its corpse, they would realise the necessity of considering man's inner life. There they would discover that the force of thinking, which becomes active when a human being is born or conceived, is not complete in itself and independent, because this inner activity of thought is the continuation of the living force of a pre-earthly thinking.

Even when we observe the tiny child (I will not now consider the embryo in the mother's body) and it's dreamy, slumbering life on earth, we can see the living force of pre-earthly thinking in its growth and even in its fretful tempers, provided we have eyes to see. Then we shall understand why the child slumbers dreamily and only begins to think later on. This is so, because in the, beginning of its life, when the child does nothing but sleep and dream, thoughts take hold of its entire organism. When the organism gradually grows firmer and harder, the thoughts, no longer seize the earthly and watery elements in the organism, but only the air element and the fire or warmth element. Thus we may say that in the tiny child thought takes possession of all four elements. The later development of a child consists in this, that thought takes hold only of the elements of air and fire. When an adult thinks, his force of thinking is contained only in the continuation of the breathing process and of the process which spreads warmth throughout his body.

Thus the force of thinking abandons the firmer parts of the physical organism for the air-like, evanescent, imponderable parts of the body. Thus thinking became the independent element that it now is, and bears us through the life between birth and death. The continuation of the pre-earthly force of thinking asserts itself only when we are asleep, i.e. when the weaker force of thinking acquired on earth no longer works in the warmth and air of the body. Thus we may say that modern man will understand something of the true nature of thinking only if he really advances towards an inner contemplation of man, of himself. Any other theory of knowledge is quite abstract.

If we bear this in mind rightly we must say that whenever we contemplate the activity that forms thoughts and ideas, our gaze opens out into pre-earthly existence.

Mediaeval thinking, still possessing a certain amount of strength, was not allowed to enter pre-earthly existence. Man's pre-existence was declared dogmatically as a heresy. Something that is forced upon mankind for centuries gradually becomes a habit. Think of the more recent evolution of humanity—take, for instance, the year 1413; people habitually refrained from allowing their thoughts to follow lines that might lead them to a pre-earthly existence, because they were not allowed to think of pre-earthly existence. People entirely lost the habit of directing their thoughts to a pre-earthly existence. If men had been allowed to think of pre-earthly life (they were forbidden this, up to 1413), evolution would have taken quite another direction. In this case we should very probably have seen this is a paradox, but it is true indeed we may say that undoubtedly we should have seen that when Darwinism arose in 1858, with its exterior theories on Nature's evolution, the thought of pre-earthly existence would have flashed up from all the kingdoms of Nature, as the result of a habit of thinking that took into consideration a pre-earthly existence. In the light of the knowledge of human pre-existence, another kind of natural science would have arisen. But men were no longer accustomed to consider pre-earthly life, and a science of Nature arose which considered man—as I have often set forth—as the last link in the chain of animal evolution. It could not reach a pre-earthly, individual life, because the animal has no pre-earthly, individual life.

Therefore we can say: When the intellectual age began to dawn, the old conception of the fall of mankind was responsible for the veto on all thoughts concerning pre-existence. Then science arose as the immediate offspring of this misunderstood fall of man. Our science is sinful, it is the direct outcome of the misunderstanding relating to the fall of man. This implies that the earth cannot reach the goal of its evolution as long as the natural sciences remain as they are; man would develop a consciousness that is not born of his union with a divine-spiritual origin, but of his separation from this divine-spiritual origin.

Hence present-day talk of the limitations of knowledge is not only a theoretical fact, for what is developing under the influence of intellectualism positively shows something that is pushing mankind below its level. Speaking in mediaeval terms, we should say that the natural sciences have gone to the devil.

Indeed, history speaks in a very peculiar way. When the natural sciences and their brilliant results arose (I do not mean to contest them to-day), those who still possessed some feeling for the true nature of man were afraid that natural science might lead them to the devil. The fear of that time—a last remnant of which can be seen in Faust, when he says farewell to the Bible and turns to Nature—consisted in this, that man might approach a knowledge of Nature under the sign of man's fall and not under the sign of an ascent from sin. The root of the matter really lies far deeper than one generally thinks. Whereas in the early Middle Ages there were all kinds of traditions consisting in the fear that the devilish poodle might stick to the heels of the scientist, mankind has now become sleepy, and does not even think of these matters.

This is the material aspect of the question. The view that there are limits to a knowledge of Nature is not only a theory; the fall and decay of mankind, due to its fall in the intellectual-empirical sphere, indeed exists to-day.

If this were not so, we should not have our modern theory of evolution. Normal methods of research would show, reality would show the following: There are, let us say, fish, lower mammals, higher mammals, man. To-day, this represents more or less the straight line of evolution. But the facts do not show this at all. You will find, along this whole line of evolution, that the facts do not coincide.

Marvels are revealed by a real scientific investigation of Nature; what scientists say about Nature is not true. For, if we consider the facts without any prejudice we obtain the following: Man, higher mammals, lower mammals, fish. (Of course, I am omitting details.) Thus we descend from man to the higher mammals, the lower mammals, etc. until we reach the source of origin of all, where everything is spiritual, and in the further evolution of man we can see that his origin is in the spirit. Gradually man assumed a higher spirituality. The lower beings, also, have their origin in the spirit, but they have not assumed a higher spirituality. Facts show us this.

Man
Higher Mammals
Lower Mammals
Fish.

Correct views of these facts could have been gained if human habits of thinking had not obeyed the veto on belief in pre-existence or pre-earthly life. Then, for instance, a mind like Darwin could not possibly have reached the conclusions set forth above; he would have reached other conclusions deriving from habits of thought, not from necessities dictated by scientific investigation.

Goethe's theory of metamorphosis could thus have been continued in a straight line. I have always pointed out to you that Goethe was unable to develop his theory of metamorphosis. If you observe with an unprejudiced mind how matters stood with Goethe, you will find that he was unable to continue. He observed the plant in its development and found the primordial plant (Urpflanze). Then he approached the human being and tried to study the metamorphosis of the human bones. But he came to a standstill and could not go on.

If you peruse Goethe's writings on the morphology of the human bony system you will see that, on the one hand, his ideas are full of genius. The cleft skull of a sheep which he found on the Lido in Venice, showed him that the skull-bones are transformed vertebrae, but he could not develop his idea further than this.

I have drawn your attention to some notes that I found in the Goethe-Archives when I was staying at Weimar. In these notes Goethe says that the entire human brain is a transformed spinal ganglion. Again, he left it at this point. These notes are jotted down in pencil in a note-book and the last pencil-marks plainly show Goethe's discontent and his wish to go further. But scientific research was not advanced enough for this. To-day it is advanced enough and has reached long ago the point of facing this problem. When we contemplate the human being, even in his earliest embryonic stages, we find that the form of the present skull-bones cannot possibly have evolved from the vertebrae of the spine. This is quite out of the question. Anyone who knows something of modern embryology argues as follows: what we see in man to-day, does not justify the statement that the skull-bones are transformed vertebrae. For this reason we can indeed say that when Gegenbauer investigated this matter once more at a later date, results proved that as far as the skull-bones and especially the facial bones were concerned, matters stood quite differently from what Goethe had assumed.

But if we know that the present shape of the skull-bones leads us back to the bones of the body of the preceding incarnation, we can understand this metamorphosis. Exterior morphology itself then leads us into the teaching of repeated lives on earth. This lies in a straight line with Goethe's theory of metamorphosis. But the stream of evolution that finally led to Darwin and still rules official science, cannot advance as far as truth. For the misunderstood fall of man has ruined thinking and has caused its decay. The question is far more serious than one is inclined to imagine to-day.

We must realise that the consciousness of mankind has changed in the course of time. For instance, we may describe something as beautiful. But if we ask a philosopher of today to explain what beauty is (for he should know something about these things, should he not?), we shall receive the most incredibly abstract explanation. “Beautiful” is a word which we sometimes use rightly, instinctively, out of our feeling. But modern man has not the slightest notion of what, for instance, a Greek imagined when he spoke of the beautiful, in his meaning of the word. We do not even know what the Greek meant by “Cosmos.” For him it was something quite concrete. Take our word “Universe.” What a confused jumble of thoughts it contains! When the Greek spoke of the Cosmos, this word held within it something beautiful, decorative, adorning, artistic. The Greek knew that when he spoke of the whole universe he could not do otherwise than characterise it with the idea of beauty. Cosmos does not only mean Universe—it means Nature's order of laws which has become universal beauty. This lies in the word “Cosmos.”

When the Greek saw before him a beautiful work of art, or when he wished to mould the form of a human being, how did he set to work? By forming it in beauty. Even in Plato's definitions we can feel what the Greek meant when he wished to form the human being artistically. The expression that Plato used means more or less the following: “Here on earth man is not at all what he should be. He comes from heaven and I have so portrayed his form that men may see in it his heavenly origin.” The Greek imagined man in his beauty, as if he had just descended from heaven, where of course, his exterior form does not resemble that of ordinary human beings. Here on earth human beings do not look as if they had just descended from heaven. Their form shows everywhere the Cain-mark, the mark of man's fall. This is the Greek conception. In our age, when we have forgotten man's connection with a pre-earthly, heavenly existence, we may not even think of such a thing.

Thus we may say that “beautiful” meant for the Greek that which reveals its heavenly meaning. In this way the idea of beauty becomes concrete. For us today it is abstract. In fact, there has been an interesting dispute between two authorities on aesthetics—the so-called “V” Vischer (because he spelt his name with a “V”), the Swabian Vischer, a very clever man, who wrote an important book on aesthetics (important, in the meaning of our age), and the formalist Robert Zimmermann, who wrote another book on aesthetics. The former, V-Vischer defines beauty as the manifestation of the idea in sensible form. Zimmermann defines beauty as the concordance of the parts within the whole. He defines it therefore more according to form, Vischer more according to content.

These definitions are really all like the famous personage who drew himself up into the air by his own forelock. What is the meaning of the expression “the appearance of the idea in sensible form?” First we must know what is meant by “the idea.” If the thought-corpse that humanity possesses as “idea” were to appear in physical shape, nothing would appear. But when we ask in the Greek sense: what is a beautiful human being? this does indeed signify something. A beautiful human being is one whose human shape is idealised to such an extent that it resembles a god. This is a beautiful man, in the Greek sense. The Greek definition has a meaning and gives us something concrete.

What really matters is that we should become aware of the change in the content of man's consciousness and in his soul-disposition in the course of time. Modern man believes that the Greek thought just as he thinks now. When people write the history of Greek philosophy—Zeller, for instance, who wrote an excellent history of Greek philosophy (excellent, in the meaning of our present age)—they write of Plato as if he had taught in the 19th century at the Berlin University, like Zeller himself, and not at the Platonic Academy. When we have really grasped this concretely, we see how impossible it is, for obviously Plato could not have taught at the Berlin University in the 19th century. Yet all that tradition relates of Plato is changed into conceptions of the 19th century, and people do not realise that they must transport their whole disposition of soul into an entirely different age, if they really wish to understand Plato.

If we acquire for ourselves a consciousness of the development of man's soul-disposition, we shall no longer think it an absurdity to say: In reality, human beings have fallen completely into sin, as far as their thoughts about external Nature and man himself are concerned.

Here we must remember something which people today never bear in mind—indeed, something which they may even look upon as a distorted idea. We must remember that the theoretical knowledge of to-day, which has become popular and which rules in every head even in the farthest corner of the world and in the remotest villages, contains something that can only be redeemed through the Christ. Christianity must first be understood in this sphere.

If we were to approach a modern scientist, expecting him to understand that his thinking must be saved by the Christ, he would probably put his hands to his head and say: “The deed of Christ may have an influence on a great many things in the world, but we cannot admit that it took place in order to redeem man from the fall into sin on the part of natural science.” Even when theologians write scientific books (there are numerous examples in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, one on ants, another on the brain, etc., and in most cases these books are excellent, better than those of the scientists, because the style is more readable), these books also breathe out, even more strongly, the need of taking a true Christology seriously. This means that particularly in the intellectual sphere we need a true ascent from sin, which must work against man's fall.

Thus we see that intellectualism has been contaminated by what has arisen out of the misunderstandings relating to the consciousness of sin—not out of the Fall as such, but from the misunderstandings with regard to the consciousness of sin. This consciousness of sin, which can be misunderstood so easily, must place the Christ in the centre of the evolution of the earth, as a higher Being, and from this point it must find the way out from the Fall. This requires a deeper and more detailed study of human evolution, also in the spiritual sphere.

You see, if we study mediaeval scholasticism as it is usually studied to-day, let us say as far back as Augustine, we shall achieve nothing. Nothing can result, because nothing is seen except that the modern scientific consciousness continues to evolve. The higher things, extending beyond this, are ignored.

In this hall I once tried to give an account of mediaeval scholasticism, showing all the connections. I gave a short course of lectures on Thomism and all that is connected with it. But it is a painful fact, and one that is of little help to our anthroposophical movement, that such ideas are not taken up. The relationship between the brilliant scientific conditions of to-day and the new impulse which must enter science is not sought. If this is not sought, then our scientific laboratories, which have cost so much real sacrifice, will remain unfruitful.

For these, progress would best be achieved by taking up such ideas and by avoiding futile discussions on atomism. In all spheres of fact, modern science has reached a point where it strives to cast aside the mass of sterile thoughts contained in modern scientific literature. Enough is known of the human being, anatomically and physiologically, to reach, by the right methods of thoughts, even such a bold conclusion as that of the metamorphosis of the form of the head from the bodily form of the preceding life. Naturally, if we cling to the material aspect, we shall not reach this point. Then we shall argue, very intelligently, that the bones must in this case remain physical matter, in order that they may undergo a gradual material metamorphosis in the grave! It is important to bear in mind that the material form is an external form and that it is the formative forces that undergo a metamorphosis.

On the one hand thinking has been fettered, because darkness has been thrown over pre-existence. On the other hand, we are concerned with post-existence, or the life after death. Life after death can be understood only with the aid of super-sensible knowledge. If super-sensible knowledge is rejected, life after death remains an article of faith, accepted purely on the ground of authority. A real understanding of the process of thinking leads to a pre-existent life, provided such thoughts are not forbidden. A knowledge of post-existent life can, however, only be acquired through super-sensible knowledge. Here the method described in my “Knowledge of the Higher Worlds” must be introduced. But this method is rejected by the consciousness of our times.

Thus two influences are at work: on the one hand, the continued effects of the decree prohibiting thought on man's pre-existence; on the other hand, the rejection of super-sensible knowledge. If both continue to work, the super-sensible world will remain an unexplored region, inaccessible to knowledge, i.e. it will remain an article of faith, and Christianity, too, will remain a matter of faith, not of knowledge. And Science, that claims the name of “science,” will not allow itself to have anything to do with the Christ. Thus we have our present-day conditions.

At the beginning of to-day's considerations, I said, with regard to the consciousness that is filled to-day with intellectualism, that humanity has slipped entirely into the consequences of the Fall. If this persists, humanity will be unable to raise itself. This means that it will not reach the goal of the evolution of the Earth. Modern science makes it impossible to reach the goal of the evolution of the Earth. Nevertheless, the depths of the human soul are still untouched: If man appeals to these soul-depths and develops super-sensible knowledge in the spirit of the Christ-impulse he will attain redemption once more, even in the intellectual sphere redemption from the intellectual forces, that have fallen—if I may express it in this way—into sin.

Consequently, the first thing which is needed is to realise that intellectual and empirical scientific research must become permeated with spirituality. But this spirituality cannot reach man as long as the content of space is investigated merely according to its spatial relationships, and the events taking place in the course of time are investigated merely in their chronological sequence.

If you study the shape of the human head, especially with regard to its bony structure, and compare it with the remainder of the skeleton (skull-bones compared to cylindrical bones, vertebrae and ribs) you will obtain no result whatever. You must go beyond time and space, to conceptions formed in spiritual science, for these grasp the human being as he passes from one earthly life to another. Then you will realise that to-day we may look upon the human skull-bones as transformed vertebrae. But the vertebrae of the present skeleton of a human being can never change into skull-bones in the sphere of earthly existence. They must first decay and become spiritual, in order to change into skull-bones in the next life on earth.

An instinctively intuitive mind like Goethe's sees in the skull-bones the metamorphosis of vertebrae. But spiritual science is needed in order to pursue this intuitive vision as far as the domain of facts. Goethe's theory of metamorphosis acquires significance only in the light of spiritual science. For this reason it could not satisfy even Goethe. This is why a knowledge gained through anthroposophical science is the only one that can bring man into a right relationship to the Fall and the re-ascent from sin. For this reason too, anthroposophical ideas are to-day something which seeks to enter into human evolution not only in the form of thoughts but as the content of life.

Permit me to turn now to a consideration of something that might be couched in more learned terms – though then I should need more time. I should like to make a point about the art of poetry by means of an illustration. It must, however, be more than an illustration: it should point to the reality. Everyone whose sense for true knowledge can extend to the artistic will grasp what I mean.

We refer to the Fall of Man. We speak of how man broke away from those regions he inhabited while still under the direct influence of the Godhead, where the Godhead still held sway in his will. It is true that we speak of the Fall of Man as a necessary preparatory stage of freedom: but we also speak of the Fall in such a way that, to the extent that he became man forsaken by God, man lost that divinely inwoven strength in the interweaving of his words. We refer to the Fall of Man because we feel that there is something in our present thoughts that was not there for the humanity of primordial times. At that period there was still to be found in the weaving and undulating of human thoughts the presence of a divine-spiritual potency. In thinking, man still felt that God was thinking in him. With the attainment of human independence, especially in its preparatory stages, came about what we call the Fall of Man. But humanity was forever longing to return to its primal innocent state. Particularly when man felt himself raised into the super-sensible, in a sacred, but also in an artistic experience of exaltation, he felt that this was simultaneously a reversion to the primal innocent state. And when Homer says:

Sing, O Muse, of the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles

this is an invocation of the time when man lived at a cosmic level, and had immediate access to the world of the gods, being himself a psychic-spiritual entity. All this corresponded, indeed, to the reality. And in art man saw a vivid reminiscence of that primaeval period of innocence. This takes us right into the details of art – and especially poetry, which is interwoven so intimately with human experience.

Let us now survey a later time. Let us look, for example, at the time of our own poets. Their inclinations are toward rhyme: Why? It is because man, if he were to weave and live artistically and poetically with the divine-spiritual in the original state of innocence, would have to adhere to the syllable, and its quantity, metre and weight. But he cannot do this. Man has passed from the uttering of syllables in his primal state, to the fallen condition and the speaking of words, where he is drawn to the outer physical world of the senses. To create poetry means to long for a return to primitive innocence. We have still to “chant and sing” in the time of the Fall, but we have, so to speak, to do penance. We must go through with the transition to the word and the prosaic; but we have to do penance, and this we do in terminal rhyme and organization in stanzas. If we go back to ancient times, however, when mankind lived in closer proximity to the primaeval innocent state, things were quite different – at least as regards many peoples, particularly the Germanic peoples. They did not at first return to the primaeval state of innocence with a chanting of end-rhymes and strophic organization, in penance for the prosaic word. They drew to a halt before the word and, before the word came into being, they diverted their sensitivities in the direction of the syllable; they did not return to the primaeval state of innocence through an atonement, through an expiation, as it were, but retained a vivid memory of it in their alliterations.

Alliterative poetry expresses man’s yearning to stop at the syllable and not proceed to the word, to hold on to the syllable and, in uttering it, to achieve the inner harmonies of a poetic mode of speech. We might say that alliteration and terminal rhyme are comparable in the sphere of sensibility to the recollection of the state of innocence that we have in alliteration; and that they represent an atonement or expiation for the Fall into the word, through terminal rhyme and stanzaic organization.

It is indeed the case that art and poetry take to themselves all-embracingly whatever is universally human. This is why it is so congenial to return to the age of Nordic poetry. Here we see the poetic urge of a people wishing to attest man’s recognition of his divine-spiritual origin through not proceeding from syllable to word, but holding on to the syllable in alliteration.

In the nineteenth century Wilhelm Jordan tried, as you know, to revive alliteration, when our language had advanced far beyond all possibility of reverting to the earlier state of innocence. From a certain point of view it is indeed a praiseworthy undertaking, provided one is always conscious of the fact that it was an attempt to raise a sacred treasure at a time when man had been long alienated from the gods. This attempt by Wilhelm Jordan is still informed by a good – indeed by the best of aesthetic intentions: an understanding of how to conduct art to the universally human. I was myself still able to hear how Jordan wanted his alliteration spoken; in particular, I have heard it done by his brother. All the same, I think it best to speak the alliteration only in so far as it is still appropriate to our more advanced language. This was attempted, too, in the field of recitative art as cultivated over the last decades by Frau Dr. Steiner. She will therefore endeavour to give you an example from the poems of Wilhelm Jordan, showing how alliteration holds its place in the whole field of poetic creation, and how we must try (in terms of either declamation or recitation) to interpret the alliterative poet. Though it may seem a trifle impertinent to say so, we shall not find what is wanted along the lines followed by Jordan’s brother. We must defer more to the genius of the language, rather than to a poetic intention – albeit an extraordinarily well-meaning one – which does not always accord with the genius of the language. I refer here, of course, not to the poetry, but to the brother’s way of reciting. On the other hand it does show how much strength – how much primaeval strength, as Johann Gottlieb Fichte once said of the German language – still remains in the German language today, if one knows how to handle it. What emerges with particular force in this poem is just how much of that primaeval strength Wilhelm Jordan could wrest from the language with his alliteration. And in these hard times, the still unharnessed strength of the language, notably in Central Europe, can prove a comfort to us – a comfort in that it fills our hearts with the conviction that whatever external or material fate may befall Central Europe, the German spirit will not wither away; the German spirit still holds its reserves of original, archaic energy and primordial power in readiness, and when the right moment comes it will find them. [Note 31]

In the best sense, I would say, they were sought by the poet who wished to enter again into the poetic innocence of former times through a revival of alliteration. Let us now conclude with a performance of an alliterative poem. [Note 32]

[Modern English efforts in alliteration are largely confined to reproducing in contemporary language the older sagas and poems. This is another version of Beowulf, and our extract is the climactic episode of the slaying of Grendel:

From the stretching moors, from the misty hollows,

Grendel came creeping, accursed of God,

A murderous ravager minded to snare

Spoil of heroes in high-built hall.

Under clouded heavens he held his way

Till there rose before him the high-roofed house,

Wine-hall of warriors gleaming with gold.

Nor was it first of his fierce assaults

On the home of Hrothgar; but never before

Had he found worse fate or hardier hall-thanes!

Storming the building he burst the portal,

Though fastened of iron, with fiendish strength;

Forced open the entrance in savage fury

And rushed in rage o’er the shining floor.

A baleful glare from his eyes was gleaming

Most like to a flame. He found in the fall

Many a warrior sealed in slumber,

A host of kinsmen. His heart rejoiced;

The savage monster was minded to sever

Lives from bodies ere break of day,

To feast his fill of the flesh of men. But he

was not fated to glut his greed

With more of mankind when the night was ended!

The hardy kinsman of Hygelac waited

To see how the monster would make his attack.

The demon delayed not, but quickly clutched

A sleeping thane in his swift assault,

Tore him in pieces, bit through the bones,

Gulped the blood, and gobbled the flesh,

Greedily gorged on the lifeless corpse,

The hands and the feet. Then the fiend stepped nearer,

Sprang on the Sea-Geat lying outstretched,

Clasping him close with his monstrous claw.

But Beowulf grappled and gripped him hard,

Struggled up on his elbow; the shepherd of sins

Soon found that never before had he felt

In any man other in all the earth

A mightier hand-grip; his mood was humbled,

His courage fled; but he found no escape!

He was fain to be gone; he would glee to the darkness,

The fellowship of devils. Far different his fate

From that which befell him in former days!

The hardy hero, Hygelac’s kinsman

Remembered the boast he had made at the banquet;

He sprang to his feet, clutched Grendel fast,

Though fingers were cracking, the fiend pulling free.

The earl pressed after; the monster was minded

To win his freedom and flee to the fens.

He knew that his fingers were fast in the grip

Of a savage foe. Sorry the venture,

The raid that the ravager made on the hall.

There was din in Heorot. For all the Danes,

The City-dwellers, the stalwart Scyldings,

That was a bitter spilling of beer!

The walls resounded, the fight was fierce,

Savage the strife as the warriors struggled.

The wonder was that the lofty wine-hall

Withstood the struggle, nor crashed to earth,

The house so fair; it was firmly fastened

Within and without with iron bands

Cunningly smithied; though men have said

That many a mead-bench gleaming with gold

Sprang from its sill as the warriors strove.

The Scylding wise men had never weened

That any ravage could wreck the building,

Firmly fashioned and finished with bone,

Or any cunning compass its fall,

Till the time when the swelter and surge of fire

Should swallow it up in a swirl of flame.

Continuous tumult filled the hall;

A terror fell on the Danish folk

As they heard through the wall the horrible wailing,

The groans of Grendel, the foe of God

Howling his hideous hymn of pain,

The hell-thane shrieking in sore defeat.

He was fast in the grip of the man who was greatest

Of mortal men in the strength of his might,

Who would never rest while the wretch was living,

Counting his life-days a menace to man.

Many an earl of Beowulf brandished

His ancient iron to guard his lord,

To shelter safely the peerless prince.

They had no knowledge, those daring thanes,

When they drew their weapons to hack and hew,

To thrust to the heart, that the sharpest sword,

The choicest iron in all the world,

Could work no harm to the hideous foe.

On every sword he had laid a spell,

On every blade; but a bitter death

Was to be his fate; far was the journey

The monster made to the home of fiends.

Then he who had wrought such wrong to men,

With grim delight as he warred with God,

Soon found his strength was feeble and failing

In the crushing hold of Hygelac’s thane.

Each loathed the other while life should last!

There Grendel suffered a grievous hurt,

A wound in the shoulder, gaping and wide;

Sinews snapped and bone-joints broke,

And Beowulf gained the glory of battle.

Grendel, fated, fled to the fens,

To his joyless dwelling, sick unto death.

He knew in his heart that his hours were numbered,

His days at an end. For all the Danes

Their wish was fulfilled in the fall of Grendel.

The stranger from far, the stalwart and strong,

Had purged of evil the hall of Hrothgar,

And cleansed of crime; the heart of the Nero

Joyed in the deed his daring had done.

Trans. C. W. Kennedy.

I should like to help everyone understand, if I can, the characteristics of the spiritual realms we are studying in these lectures. For this reason, I am going to add a little story to shed light on the questions we have already considered and on those ahead of us.¹³

Some time ago Professor Capesius was inwardly quite disturbed and puzzled. It came about in the following way. You will have noticed in The Portal of Initiation that Capesius is a historian, a professor of history. Occult research has shown me that a number of well-known modern scholars have become historians through a particular connection with an Egyptian initiation in the third post-Atlantean epoch, either directly within an initiation cult or else by being attracted in some way or other to the Temple Mysteries. You will notice that Capesius is a historian who depends not only on external documents; he tries also to penetrate to the historical ideas that have played a part in human evolution and in the development of civilization.

I must admit that in characterizing Capesius in The Portal of Initiation, The Probation of the Soul, and The Guardian of the Threshold, I was continuously aware of his link to the Egyptian cult of initiation shown in detail in Scenes Seven and Eight of The Souls' Awakening. We must keep in mind that what Capesius's soul experienced during his Egyptian incarnation forms the foundation for his later destiny and for his present-day soul. Capesius has therefore become a historian, concerned in his professional life chiefly with what has been brought about in successive epochs by the varying character of peoples, civilizations and individuals.

One day, however, Capesius came across some literature about the philosophy of Haeckel. Up to then he had not paid much attention to these ideas, but now he studied various articles on Haeckel's atomistic view of the world. This was the reason for his tortured state of mind; a peculiar mood descended on him when he met this atomistic philosophy at a relatively late period in his life. His reason told him: We really cannot get behind natural phenomena properly unless our explanations involve atoms by way of a mechanistic conception of the universe. In other words, Capesius came more and more to recognize what is, in a sense, the one-sided correctness of atomism and a mechanistic view of nature. He was not one to fight fanatically against a new idea, for he had confidence in his own intelligence, which seemed to find these ideas necessary to explain the natural phenomena around him. Yet it troubled him. He said to himself, “How desolate, how unsatisfying for the human soul this conception of nature is. How poorly it supports any ideas one would like to acquire about spirit and spiritual beings or about the human soul!”

Capesius was thus driven back and forth by doubt; therefore he set out—almost instinctively, I might say—on the walk he so often took when his heart was heavy, to the Baldes' little cottage. Talking over things with those warmhearted people had many times provided him with a real emotional lift, and what Felicia Balde gave him in her wonderful fairy tales had refreshed him. And so he went there. As Dame Felicia was busy in the house when he arrived, he met first his good friend Felix, whom he had gradually grown fond of. Capesius confided his troubles to Felix, describing the doubts that the knowledge of Haeckelism and the atomistic theory had brought. He explained how logical it seemed to apply it to the phenomena of nature, but on the other hand how barren and disheartening such a conception of the universe is. In his distress, Capesius more or less sought help for his state of soul from his fatherly friend.

Now Felix is quite a different character from Capesius. He goes his own unique way. Turning aside at once all Haeckel's ideas and theories, he explained how the matter really stands. He said: “Certainly there must be atoms; it is quite correct to talk about them. But we have to understand that atoms, in order somehow to form the universe, must stratify and arrange themselves in such a way that their relationships correspond in measure and number; the atoms of one substance form a unit of four, another of three, another of one or two; in this way the substances of earth came about.”

It seemed to Capesius, who had a good grasp of history, that this was somewhat Pythagorean. He felt that a Pythagorean principle had the upper hand in Felix, who was arguing that there is nothing we can do about the atoms themselves but that within them we find the wisdom of measure and number. More and more complicated became the argument, with ever more complicated numerical relationships, where—according to Felix—cosmic wisdom in combining the atoms revealed itself as a spiritual principle among them. More and more complicated became the structures that Father Felix built up for Capesius, who gradually was overcome by a peculiar mood. You could describe it by saying that he had to strain every nerve so much in deciphering this complicated stuff that, even though the subject interested him immensely, he had to suppress a desire to yawn and to sink into a kind of dream state.

Before our good professor dropped completely into a dream, however, Dame Balde joined them and listened for a while to the expounding of numbers and structures. She sat there patiently, but she had a peculiar habit. When something not altogether pleasant or congenial bothered her, and she had to control her boredom, she would clasp her hands together and twirl her thumbs around each other; whenever she did this, she was able to swallow her yawns. And now after she had twirled her thumbs for a short time, there came a pause. She could finally try to stir up Capesius with a refreshing story, and so Felicia told her good friend the following tale.

Once upon a time there stood in a very lonely region a great fortress. Within it lived many people, of all ages; they were more or less related to one another and belonged to the same family. They formed a self-contained community but were shut off from the rest of the world. Round about, far and wide, there were no other people nor human settlements to be found, and in time this state of things made many of the people uneasy. As a result, a few of them became somewhat visionary, and the visions that came to them might well, from the manner in which they appeared, have been founded on reality.

Felicia told how a great number of these people had the same vision. First, they saw a powerful figure of light, which seemed to come down out of the clouds. It was a figure of light bringing warmth with it as it came down and sank into the hearts and souls of the people in the fortress. It was really felt—so ran Felicias' story—that something of glory had come down from the heights of heaven in this figure Of light from above.

But soon, Felicia continued, those who had the vision of light saw something more. They saw how from all sides, from all around the mountain, as though crawling out of the earth, there came all kinds of blackish, brownish, steel-grey figures. Whereas it was a single figure of light coming from above, there were many, many of these other forms around the fortress. Whereas the figure of light entered into their hearts and their souls, these other beings—one could call them elemental beings—were like besiegers of the fortress.

For a long time the people, of whom there was a fairly great number, dwelled between the figure from above and those besieging the fortress from outside. One day, however, it happened that the form from above sank down still further than before, and that the besiegers come closer in towards them. An uncomfortable feeling spread among the visionaries in the fortress—we must remember that Felicia is telling a fairy tale—and these visionaries, as well as all the others, fell into a kind of dream state. The figure from above divided into separate clouds of light, but these were seized upon by the besiegers and darkened by them, so that gradually the people of the fortress were held in a dream. The earth life of the people was thereby prolonged for centuries, and when they came to themselves, they found that now they were divided into small communities scattered over many different parts of the earth. They lived in small fortresses that were copies of the great, original one they had inhabited centuries before. And it was apparent that what they had experienced in the ancient fortress was now within them as strength of soul, soul richness and soul health. In these smaller fortresses they could now bravely carry on all sorts of activities, such as farming, cattle raising and the like.

They became capable, hard working people, good farmers, healthy in soul and body.

When Dame Felicia had finished her story, Professor Capesius felt as he usually did, pleasantly cheered. Father Felix, however, found it necessary to provide some explanation for the images of the story, for this was the first time Felicia had told this particular tale. “You see,” Felix began, “the figure that came from above out of the clouds is the luciferic force, and the figures that came from outside like besiegers are the ahrimanic beings....” and so on; Felix's explanations became more and more complicated. At first Dame Felicia listened, clasping her hands together and twirling her thumbs, but finally she said, “Well, I must get back to the kitchen. We're having potato pancakes for supper and I don't want them to get too soft.” So she slipped away.

Capesius sank into such a heavy mood through Felix's explanations that he no longer could listen properly and though he was really very fond of Father Felix, he could not altogether hear what was being explained.

I must add that what I have just been relating happened to Capesius at a time when he had already met Benedictus and had become what one could call his pupil. He had often heard Benedictus speak about the luciferic and ahrimanic elements, but though Capesius is an extremely intelligent man, he never could quite fathom these remarks of Benedictus. Something seemed to be missing; he could not begin to understand them. So this time when he left the Balde cottage, he turned over in his mind the story of the fortress that multiplied itself. Almost every day he pondered the tale.

When he later came to Benedictus, Benedictus noticed that something had taken place in Capesius. Capesius himself was aware that every time he recalled the story of the fortress, his soul was peculiarly stirred within him. It seemed as if the story had worked upon his inner being and strengthened it. Consequently he was continually repeating the tale to himself—as if in meditation. Now he came to Benedictus, who perceived that the forces of Capesius' soul had been newly strengthened.

Benedictus began therefore to speak about these things in a special way. Whereas earlier Capesius—perhaps because of his great learning—would have had more trouble grasping it all, he now understood everything extremely well. Something like a seed had fallen into his soul with Felicia's story and this had fructified his soul forces.

Benedictus said the following. Let us look at three different things: First, consider human thinking, human concepts, the thoughts that a person carries around within himself and ponders when he is alone to help him understand the world. Everyone is able to think and to try to explain things to himself in complete solitude. For this he doesn't need another person. In fact, he can think best when he shuts himself up in his own room and tries as best he can, in quiet, self-contained pondering, to understand the world and its phenomena.

Now then, said Benedictus, it will always happen to a person that a feeling element of soul rises up into his solitary thoughts, and thus there will come to every individual thinker the tempting attraction of the luciferic element. It is impossible for someone to ruminate and cogitate and philosophize and explain everything in the world to himself without having this impulse coming out of soul sensitivity as a luciferic thrust into his thinking. A thought grasped by an individual human being is always permeated to a great extent by the luciferic element.

Capesius had earlier understood very little when Benedictus spoke about luciferic and ahrimanic elements, but now it was clear to him that there must lurk in the solitary thoughts a person forms in himself the allurements of luciferic temptation. Now, too, he understood that in the human activity of individual thought Lucifer will always find a hook with which he can snatch a human being out of the forward-moving path of world evolution; then, because a person separates himself with this kind of thinking from the world, he can be brought to the lonely island that Lucifer—himself separated from the rest of the cosmic order—wants to establish, setting up on that island everything that separates itself into a solitary existence.

Benedictus, after directing Capesius's attention to the nature of lonely, personal, inner thinking, said, Now let us look at something else. Consider what writing is: a remarkable factor of human civilization. When we look at the character of thought, we have to describe it as something that lives in the individual human being. It is accessible to Lucifer who wants to lead our soul qualities out of the physical world and isolate them. This solitary thinking, however, is not accessible to Ahriman, for it is subject to the normal laws of the physical world—that is, it comes to life and then passes away. Writing is different. A thought can be put into writing and snatched from destruction; it can be made permanent. I have sometimes pointed out that Ahriman's effort is to reclaim what is alive in human thinking as it goes toward destruction and to anchor it in the physical sense world. That is what typically happens when you write something down. The thoughts that otherwise would gradually disperse are fixed and preserved for all time—and thus Ahriman can invade human culture.

Professor Capesius is not the sort of reactionary who wants to forbid the teaching of writing in the early grades, but he understood that with all the books and other reading matter people are piling up around themselves, the ahrimanic impulses have entered the evolution of human culture. Now he could recognize in solitary thought the luciferic temptation, in what is written or printed, the ahrimanic element. It was clear to him that in the external physical world, human evolution cannot exist without the interplay of ahrimanic and luciferic elements everywhere in everything. He realized that even in our forward-moving evolution, writing has gained greater and greater importance (and to recognize this, one does not have to be clairvoyant but need only look at the developments of the last couple of hundred years). Ahriman is therefore continually gaining in importance; Ahriman is seizing more and more influence. Today when the printed word has acquired such immense significance—this was quite clear to Capesius—we have built great ahrimanic strongholds. It is not yet the custom (spiritual science has not brought things completely to the point where the truth can be openly spoken in public) that when a student is on his way to the library, he would say, “I've got to hole up and cram for an exam in such and such a subject down at Ahriman's place!” Yet that would be the truth. Libraries, great and small, are Ahriman's strongholds, the fortresses from which he can control human development in the most powerful way. One must face these facts courageously.

Benedictus then had something more to explain to Capesius. On the one hand, he said, we have the thoughts of the individuals, on the other, the written works that belong to Ahriman—but between them there is something in the center. In whatever is luciferic we have a single whole; men strive after unity when they want to explain the world to themselves in thought. In what is written, however, we have something that is atomistic. Benedictus now disclosed what Capesius could understand very well, for his mind and heart had been so enlivened by Dame Felicia's tale.

Between these two, solitary thought and writing, we have the Word. Here we cannot be alone as with our thinking, for through the spoken word we live in a community of people. Solitary thinking has its purpose and a person needs no words when he wants to be alone. But speech has its purpose and significance in the community of other human beings. A word emerges from the solitude of the single individual and unfolds itself in the fellowship of others. The spoken word is the embodied thought but at the same time, for the physical plane, it is quite different from thought. We need not look at the clairvoyant aspects I have mentioned in various lectures; external history shows us—and being a historian, Capesius understood this very well—that words or speech must originally have had quite a different relationship to mankind from what they possess today.

The further you go back into the past, you actually come—as occult research shows—to one original language spoken over the whole world. Even now when you look back at ancient Hebrew—in this regard the Hebrew language is absolutely remarkable—you will discover how different the words are from those in our own languages of western Europe. Hebrew words are much less ordinary and conventional; they possess a soul, so that you can perceive in them their meaning. They themselves speak out their inner, essential meaning. The further you go back in history, the more you find languages like this, which resemble the one original language. The legendary Tower of Babel is a symbol of the fact that there was really once a single primeval human language; this has become differentiated into the various folk and tribal languages. That the single common language disintegrated into many language groups means that the spoken word moved halfway towards the loneliness of thought. An individual does not speak a language of his own, for then speech would lose its significance, but a common language is now found only among groups of people. Thus the spoken word, has become a middle thing between solitary thought and the primeval language. In the original common language one could understand a word through its sound quality; there was no need to try to discover anything further of meaning, for every word revealed its own soul. Later, the one language became many. As we know, everything to do with separation plays into Lucifer's hands; therefore as human beings created their different languages, they opened the door to a divisive principle. They found their way into the current that makes it easy for Lucifer to lift human beings out of the normal progress of the world, foreseen before his own advent; Lucifer can then remove them to his isolated island and separate them from the otherwise progressive course of human evolution.

The element of speech, the Word, finds itself therefore in a middle state. If it had been able to remain as originally foreseen, without Lucifer's intervention, it would belong to a central divine position free from the influence of Lucifer and Ahriman; then, in accordance with the progress of the divine world order, mankind could have set sail on a different current. But language has been influenced on the one side by Lucifer. While a thought grasped in solitude is the complete victim of the luciferic forces, the Word itself is laid hold of only to a certain extent.

On the other hand, writing, too influences language; the further mankind progresses, the more significant is the effect of the printed word on spoken language. This comes about when folk dialects, which have nothing to do with writing, gradually disappear. A more elegant kind of speech takes their place, and this is even called “literary speech.” The name indicates how speech is influenced by writing, and you can still notice how this happens in many localities. I am often reminded how it happened to me and my schoolmates. In Austria where there are so many dialects all mixed up together, the schools insisted on the pupils' learning the “literary speech,” which the children to a great extent had never spoken. This had a peculiar result; I can describe it quite frankly, for I myself was exposed to this literary language over a long period of my life, and only with the greatest effort could I get rid of it. It sometimes even now slips through. Literary speech is peculiar in this: that one speaks all the short vowels long and all the long vowels short, whereas dialect, the language born out of the spoken word, pronounces them correctly. When you mean the Sonne, “sun” that is up there in the sky, dialect says d'Sunn. Someone, however, who has gone through an Austrian school is tempted to say, Die Soone. Dialect says, der Sun for Sohn (“son”); the school language says der Sonn.

English	German	Dialect	Literary Speech
sun	Sonne (short vowel)	Sunn (short)	Soone (long)
son	Sohn (long vowel)	Sun (long)	Sonn (short)

This is an extreme example from an earlier time, of course, but it illustrates my point.

You see how writing works back on the spoken language: it generally does work back on it. If you look at how things have developed, you will find that language has already lost what grows out of the earth and soil and is most vital, most elemental, most organic; people speak more and more a book language. This is the ahrimanic element in writing, which continually influences the spoken word from the other side. However, someone who wants to go through a normal development will easily notice from the three things Benedictus gave Capesius as examples, how senseless it is to wish to eliminate Ahriman and Lucifer from human evolution.

Consider these three activities: solitary thought, the spoken word, and writing. No sensible person, even when he fully recognizes the fact of Lucifer's influence on thinking and Ahriman's influence on writing, will wish to root out Lucifer where he is so obviously at work, for this would mean forbidding solitary thought. Admittedly, for some people this would be a most comfortable arrangement, but chances are that none would be willing to advise it openly. On the other hand, we would not want to do away with writing. Just as the positive and negative electric charge indicates a polarity in external physical nature, we will also have to agree that the contrasting ahrimanic and luciferic elements have also to exist. They are two polarities, neither of which we can do without, but they must be brought into the right relationship to measure and number. Then the human being can move between them in the middle ground by way of the spoken word—for indeed the Word was meant to be the vessel for wisdom and insight, the vehicle of thoughts and mental images. A person could say, “I must so train myself in using words that through them I allow everything self-willed and merely personal to be corrected. I must take into my soul the wisdom that past ages have unlocked out of the word. I must pay attention not only to my own opinion, not only to what I myself believe or can recognize correctly through my own ability, but I must respect what has come down through the various cultures, through the efforts and wisdom of the various races in human evolution.” This would mean bringing Lucifer into the right relationship to the Word. We would not do away with isolated thinking but, realizing that the spoken word belongs to the community, we would try to trace it back through long periods of time. The more we do this, the more we give Lucifer his rightful influence. Then instead of merely submitting to the authority of the Word, we protect its task of carrying earth wisdom from one epoch of civilization to the next.

On the other hand, if someone fully understands the matter, he must take it on himself not to submit to the rigid authoritarian principle that belongs to writing—whether it be most holy in content or completely profane—for otherwise he will fall victim to Ahriman. It is clear that for the external materialistic world we have to have writing, and writing is what Ahriman uses to detach thinking from its course toward destruction; this is his task. He wants to hold thinking back from flowing into the stream of death: writing is the best means of keeping thoughts on the physical plane. In full consciousness, therefore, we must face the fact that writing, which carries the ahrimanic element in itself, must never gain the upper hand over mankind. Through our vigilance we must keep the Word in the middle position, so that on the left and on the right—both in our thinking and in our writing—the two polar opposites, Lucifer and Ahriman, are working together at the same time. This is where we should stand and it will be the right place if we are clear in mind and heart that there must always be polarities.

Capesius took hold of all this that he heard, with his soul forces strengthened by Felicia. His attitude to what Benedictus was explaining was quite different now from earlier explanations that Benedictus had given him of the luciferic and ahrimanic elements. Fairy tales flowing out of the spiritual world were more and more fructifying the forces of his soul, so that Capesius himself perceived how inwardly strengthened and fortified his soul capacities had become. In Scene Thirteen of The Souls' Awakening this is represented; a soul force within Capesius designated as Philia appears to him as a spiritually tangible being, not as a merely abstract element of his soul. The more Philia becomes alive in his soul as a real being the more Capesius understands what Benedictus expected from him. At the time when he had first heard the enlivening story of the fortress that multiplied itself into a great number of such buildings, it did not at first affect him. In fact, he almost began to slumber; then when Father Felix was talking about the atoms, he really was practically asleep. Now, however, with his soul so matured, Capesius recognized the threefoldness inherent in the whole stream of world evolution: on one side the luciferic solitary thought, on the other, the ahrimanic writing, the third, the middle state, the purely divine. He now understood the number three as the most significant factor in cultural development on the physical plane; he surmised that this number three can be found everywhere. Capesius viewed the law of number in a different way than before; now, through the awakening of Philia within him, he perceived the nature of number in world evolution. Now too, the nature of measure became clear: in every threefoldness there are two polarities, which must be brought into an harmonious balance with each other. In this, Capesius recognized a mighty cosmic law and knew that it must exist, in some way or other, not only on the physical plane but also in higher worlds. We shall have to enlarge upon this later in more precise descriptions of the divine spiritual world. Capesius surmised that he had penetrated to a law acting in the physical world as though hidden behind a veil and in possessing it, he had something with which he could cross the threshold. If he were to cross the threshold and enter the spiritual world, he must then leave behind him everything stimulated merely by physical experience.

Number and measure—he had learned to feel what they are, to feel them deeply, to fathom them, and now he understood Benedictus, who brought up other things, at first fairly simple ones, to make the principle fully clear. “The same predominance of the triad, of polarity or opposition in the triad, of harmonious balance,” Benedictus told Capesius, “is found in other areas of our life. Let us look from another point of view at thinking, mental images, or ideas. First of all you have mental images; you work out for yourself the answers to the secrets of the universe. The second would be pure perception; let us say, simply listening. Some people are more likely to ponder about everything introspectively. Others don't like to think but will go around listening, will receive everything through listening, then take everything on authority, even if it's the authority of natural phenomena, for there is, of course, a dogma of external experience, when one is pushed around willingly by the superficial happenings of nature.”

Benedictus could soon show Professor Capesius also that in lonely thinking there lies the luciferic attraction, whereas in mere listening, or in any other kind of perceiving, there is the ahrimanic element. But one can keep to the middle path and move between the two, so to speak. It is neither necessary to stop short at abstract, introspective thinking wherein we shut ourselves away within our own souls like hermits, nor is it necessary to devote ourselves entirely to seeing or hearing the things our eyes and ears perceive. We can do something more. We can make whatever we think so inwardly forceful that our own thought appears before us like a living thing; we can immerse ourselves in it just as actively as we do in something heard or seen outside. Our thought then becomes as real and concrete as the things we hear or see. That is the middle way.

In mere thought, close to brooding, Lucifer assails man. In mere listening, either as perception or accepting the authority of others, the ahrimanic element is present. When we strengthen and arouse our soul inwardly so that we can hear or see our thoughts while thinking we have then arrived at meditation. Meditation is the middle way. It is neither thinking nor perceiving. It is a thinking that is as alive in the soul as perception is, and it is a perception of what is not outside man but a perception of thoughts. Between the luciferic element of thought and the ahrimanic element of perception, the life of the meditating soul flows within a divine-spiritual element that alone bears in itself the rightful progress of world events. The meditating human being, living in his thoughts in such a way that they become as alive in him as perceptions of the outside world, is living in this divine, on-flowing stream. On his right are mere thoughts, on his left the ahrimanic element, mere listening; he shuts out neither the one nor the other but understands that he lives in a threefoldness, for indeed life is ruled and kept in order by number. He understands, too, that between this polarity, this antithesis of the two elements, meditation moves like a river. He understands that in lawful measure the luciferic and ahrimanic elements must be balanced in meditation.

In every sphere of life the human being can learn this cosmic principle of number and measure that Capesius learned after his soul had been prepared through Benedictus's guidance. A soul that wants to prepare itself for knowledge of the spiritual world gradually begins to search everywhere in the world, at every point that can be reached, for the understanding of number, above all the number three; it begins then to see polar opposites revealed in all things and the necessity for these opposites to balance each other. A middle condition cannot be a mere flowing onward, but we must find ourselves within the stream directing our inner vision to the left and to the right, while steering our vessel, the third, middle thing, safely between the left and right polarities.

In recognition of this, Capesius had learned through Benedictus how to steer in the right way upwards into the spiritual world and how to cross its threshold. And this every person will have to learn who wants to find his way into spiritual science; then he will really come to an understanding of the true knowledge of higher worlds.

• 13. See also Rudolf Steiner, Three lectures on the Mystery Dramas, (Spring Valley, Anthroposophic Press, 1983).