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Waldorf Education and Anthroposophy I
GA 304

23 April 1922, Stratford-on-Avon

VIII. Shakespeare and the New Ideals

From the announcement of the theme of today’s lecture “Shakespeare and the New Ideals,” it might be expected that I would speak, above all, about new ideals. But I am convinced that it is not so necessary to speak of new ideals today as it is to speak of a wider question, namely the following: How are men and women of our time to regain the power to follow ideals? After all, no great power is required to speak about ideals; indeed, it is often the case that those who speak most about these great questions, expanding beautiful ideals in abstract words out of their intellect, are those who lack the very power to put ideals into practice. Sometimes, speaking of ideals amounts to no more than holding onto illusions in the mind in order to pass over life’s realities.

At this festival, however, we have every cause to speak of what is spiritual as a reality. For this festival commemorates Shakespeare, and Shakespeare lives in what is spiritual in all that he created; he lives in it as in a real world. Receiving Shakespeare into our minds and souls might therefore be the very stimulus to give us men and women of today the power, the inner impulse to follow ideals, to follow real, spiritual ideals. We shall see our true ideals aright if we bear in mind how transitory many modern ideals have been and are, and how magnificently firm are many old ideals that still hold their own in the world by their effectiveness. Do we not see wide circles of believers in this or that religion, who base their innermost spiritual life and their inner mobility of spirit on something of the past, and gain from it the power of spiritual upliftment? And so we ask how is it that many modern ideals, beautiful as they are, and held for a while with great enthusiasm by large numbers of people, before long vanish as into a cloud, whereas religious or artistic ideals of old carry their full force into humanity not just through centuries but even through millennia?

If we ask this question, we are brought back repeatedly to the fact that, whereas our modern ideals are generally no more than shadow pictures of the intellect, the old ideals were garnered from real spiritual life, from a definite spirituality inherent in the humanity of the time. The intellect can never give human beings real power from the depths of their being. And, because this is so, many modern ideals vanish and fade away long before what speaks to us, through the old religious faiths, or through the old styles of art, from hoary antiquity. Returning to Shakespeare with these thoughts in mind, we know that a power lives in his dramatic work that not only always gives us fresh enthusiasm but also kindles within us—in our imaginations, in our spiritual natures—our own creative powers. Shakespeare has a wonderfully timeless power and, in this power, he is modern, as modern as can be.

Here, from the point of view of the connection between human ideals and Shakespeare, I might perhaps call to mind what I mentioned last Wednesday, namely Shakespeare’s deeply significant influence on Goethe. Countless books and treatises have been written on Shakespeare out of academic cleverness—exceptional cleverness. Taking all of the learned works on Hamlet alone, I think that one could fill library shelves that would cover this wall. But, when we seek to find what it was in Shakespeare that worked on such a man as Goethe, we finally come to the conclusion that absolutely nothing relating to that is contained in all that has been written in these books. They could have remained unwritten. All of the effort that has been brought to bear on Shakespeare stems from the world of the human intellect, which is certainly good for understanding facts of natural science and for giving such an explanation of external nature as we need to found for our modern technical achievements, but which can never penetrate what stands livingly and movingly before us in Shakespeare’s plays.

Indeed, I could go further. Goethe, too, from this standpoint of intellectual understanding, wrote many things on Shakespeare’s plays by way of explanation—on Hamlet, for example—and all of this, too, that Goethe wrote, is, in the main, one-sided and barren. However, what matters is not what Goethe said about Shakespeare, but what he meant when he spoke from his inmost experience, for example, when he said, “These are no mere poems! It is as though the great leaves of fate were opened and the storm-wind of life were blowing through them, turning them quickly to and fro.” These words are no explanation, but voice the devotion of his spirit. Spoken from his own humanity, they are very different from what he himself wrote by way of explanation about Hamlet.

Now, we might ask, why is it that Shakespeare is so difficult to approach intellectually? I shall try to give an answer in a picture. Someone has a vivid dream in which the characters enact a whole incident before the dreamer. Looking back on it later with the intellect, she or he might say that this or that figure in the dream acted wrongly; here is an action without motive or continuity, here are contradictions. But the dream cares little for such criticism. Just as little will the poet care how we criticize with our intellect and whether we find actions contradictory or inconsistent. I once knew a pedantic critic who found it strange that Hamlet, having only just seen the ghost of his father before him, should speak the monologue, “To be or not to be,” saying in it that “no traveller returns” from the land of death. This, the man of learning thought, was really absurd! I do not mean to say that Shakespeare’s dramatic scenes are dream scenes. Shakespeare experiences his scenes in full, living consciousness. They are as conscious as can be. But he uses the intellect only insofar as it serves him to develop his characters, to unfold them, to give form to action. He does not make his intellect master of what is to happen in his scenes.

I speak here from the anthroposophical view of the world. This view I believe, does contain the great ideals of humanity. Perhaps, therefore, I may mention at this point a significant experience that explains fully—by means of “artistic seership”—something that was first known through feeling. I have already had occasion to speak about the way in which “exact clairvoyance” is being cultivated at the Goetheanum, the school of spiritual science in Dornach, Switzerland. I have described the paths to this exact clairvoyance in the books translated into English as How to Know Higher Worlds, Theosophy, and An Outline of Occult Science. By means of certain exercises, carried out no less precisely than in the learning of mathematics, we can strengthen our soul faculties. Gradually, we can so develop our powers of thought, feeling, and will that we are able to live with our souls consciously—not in the unconsciousness of sleep or in dreams—outside the body. We become able to leave behind the physical body with its intellectualistic thought—for this remains with the physical body—in full consciousness. Then we have “imaginations,” by which I do not mean such fanciful imaginings as are justified in artistic work, but I mean true imaginations, true pictures of the spiritual world surrounding us. Through what I have called “imagination,” “inspiration,” and “intuition,” we learn to perceive in the spiritual world. Just as we consciously perceive this physical world and, through our senses, learn to build an understanding of it as a totality from the single sensory impressions of sound and color, so from the spiritual perceptions of exact clairvoyance we learn to build up an understanding of the spiritual world as a totality. Exact clairvoyance has nothing to do with hallucinations and illusions that enter a human being pathologically, always clouding and decreasing consciousness. In exact clairvoyance, we come to know the spiritual world in full consciousness, as clearly and as exactly as when we do mathematical work. Transferring ourselves into high spiritual regions, we experience pictures comparable, not with what are ordinarily known as visions, but rather with memory pictures. But these are pictures of an absolutely real spiritual world.

All of the original ideals of humanity in science, art, and religion were derived from the spiritual world. That is why the old ideals have a greater, more impelling power than modern intellectual ideals. The old ideals were seen in the spiritual world through clairvoyance, a clairvoyance that was at that time more instinctive and dreamlike. They were derived and taken from a spiritual source. By all means let us recognize quite clearly that certain contents of religious faith are no longer suited to our time. They have been handed down from ancient times. We need once more wide-open doors to look into the spiritual world and to take thence, not such abstract ideals as are spoken of on every side, but the power to follow the ideal and the spiritual in science, in art, and in religion.

If we approach Shakespeare with such powers of seeing into the spiritual world, we shall experience something quite specific, and it is of this that I wish to speak. Shakespeare can be understood with true and artistic feeling; exact clairvoyance is, of course, not necessary to have a full experience of his power. But exact clairvoyance can show us something most significant, which will explain why it is that Shakespeare can never let us feel he has left us, why it is that he is forever giving us fresh force and impulse. It is this: whoever has attained exact clairvoyance by developing the powers of thought, feeling, and will can carry over into the spiritual world what we have experienced here of Shakespeare. This is possible. What we have experienced here in the physical body—let us say that we have been entering deeply into the character of Hamlet or Macbeth—we can take this experience over into the spiritual world. We can see what lived in Shakespeare’s deep inner life only when we compare it with the impressions that we are able to take over into the spiritual world from poets of more modern times. I do not wish to mention any particular poet by name—I know that everyone has his or her favorite poets—but any one of the naturalistic poets, particularly of recent years, could be mentioned. If we compare what we take over from Shakespeare with what we have in the spiritual world from these poets, we discover the remarkable fact that Shakespeare’s characters live! When we take them over into the spiritual world, they act. They act differently, but they bring their life here into the spiritual world. Whereas, if we take over the characters created by a modern naturalistic poet into the spiritual world, they really behave more like dolls than human beings! They have no life in them at all, no movement! Shakespeare’s men and women keep their life and character. But the characters of many other poets, derived from naturalism, are just like wooden dolls in the spiritual world! They go through a kind of freezing process! Indeed, we ourselves are chilled by contact with such modern poetry in the spiritual world.

I am not saying this out of any kind of emotion, but as a matter of experience. With this experience in mind, we may ask again: what was it that Goethe felt? “It is as though the great book of fate is opened in Shakespeare, and life’s stormy wind is turning its pages quickly to and fro.” Goethe knew and felt how Shakespeare created from the full depths of the spiritual world. This has given Shakespeare his real immortality: this makes him ever new. We can go through a play of Shakespeare’s and experience it ten, twenty, a hundred times!

Ladies and gentlemen, you have had before you within the last few days the scene from Much Ado about Nothing where the Friar kneels down beside the fallen heroine and utters his conviction of her innocence. It is something unspeakably deep and true, and there is hardly anything in modern literature to be compared with it. Indeed, it is most often the intimate touches in Shakespeare that work with such power and reveal his inner life and vitality.

Or again, in As You Like It, where the Duke stands before the trees and all of the life of nature in the Forest of Arden, and says that they are better counselors than those at court, for they tell him something of what he is as a human being. What a wonderful perception of nature speaks from the whole of this well known passage! “. . . tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. . . .” Here is an understanding of nature, here is a reading of nature! It is true that the more modern poets can also indicate such things, but we often feel that in them it is something second-hand. In Shakespeare, we feel that he is himself everything. Even when they both say the same, it is altogether different whether Shakespeare says it or some other poet.

Thus the great question comes before us: how is it that, in Shakespeare, there is this living quality that is so intimately related to the supersensible? Whence comes the life in Shakespeare’s dramas? This question leads us to see how Shakespeare, working as he did in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was able to create something that still had living connections with the life of the most ancient drama. And this most ancient drama, as it speaks to us from Aeschylus, from Sophocles, is in turn a product of the mysteries, those ancient cultic, artistic actions that derive from the most ancient, instinctive, inner spiritual knowledge. We can understand what inspires us so in true art, if we seek the origin of art in the mysteries.

If I now make some brief remarks on the ancient mysteries as the source of the artistic sense and artistic creative power, the objection can of course very easily be made that what is said on this subject from the standpoint of exact clairvoyance is unsupported by sufficient proof. Exact clairvoyance, however, brings us into touch not only with what surrounds us at the present day but also, most empathically, with the world of history, with the historical evolution of humanity, and of the universe. Those who follow the method that I have described in my books can themselves investigate what exact clairvoyance has to say upon the subject of the mysteries.

When speaking of the mysteries, we are looking back into very ancient times in human evolution, times when religion, art, and science did not yet stand separately, side by side, as they do today. Generally, people are insufficiently aware of the changes—the metamorphoses—that art, religion, and science have undergone before reaching the separation and differentiation that they experience today. I will mention only one thing to indicate how, to some extent, modern anthroposophical knowledge brings us into contact again with older forms of true artistic life.

Across the centuries, the works of earlier painters—those, say, before the end of the thirteenth and during the fourteenth centuries—come down to us. We need only think of Cimabue. Thereafter, something that has rightly held sway in modern painting enters into painting. This is what we call perspective. In the paintings in the dome of the Goetheanum in Switzerland, you can see how we are returning once again to the perspective which lies in the colors themselves—where we have a different feeling in the blue, the red, and the yellow. It is as though we were leaving the ordinary physical world: the third dimension of space ceases to have significance, and we work in two dimensions only.

Thus, a painter can return to a connection with the ancient instinctive spiritual experience of humanity. It is this possibility that modern anthroposophy seeks to give through all that I have said concerning exact clairvoyance.

Looking back at the life of ancient, instinctive clairvoyance, we find it connected equally with the artistic, the religious, and the scientific; that is, with the whole of the ancient form of knowledge. There was always an understanding for the union of religion, art, and science—which in those days meant a revelation of divine cosmic forces—in the mystery cults. Insofar as they were a manifestation of divine forces, the mystery cults entered deeply into humanity’s religious feelings; insofar as they were already what we call today artistic—what we cultivate in art—they were the works of art for the people of that time. And, insofar as those ancient peoples were aware that true knowledge is gained, not by seeking it one-sidedly through the head, but through the experience of the whole being, the ancient mysteries in their development were also mediators for human knowledge as it then was. Today, on the other hand, according to the modern view, knowledge can be acquired simply by taking ordinary consciousness—remaining as we are—and observing nature, forming concepts from the facts of nature.

Our modern way of approaching the world in order to gain knowledge of it is not the same as it was in ancient times. In the old way, to look into the spiritual world, one had to lift oneself to a higher level of one’s humanity. Of course, this ancient way of knowing was not the same as our present exact clairvoyance. Nevertheless, the human being did see into the spiritual world. The mystery rites were enacted, not to display something for the outer eye, but to awaken inner experience in the whole human being. Mighty destinies formed the subject of these mystery rites. Through them, human beings were brought to forget their ordinary selves. They were lifted out of ordinary life. Although in a dream and not as clearly as is required today, they entered the state of living outside their bodies. That was the purpose of the mysteries. By the witness of deeply-moving scenes and actions, the mysteries sought to bring the neophyte to the point of living and experiencing outside the physical body.

There are certain fundamental experiences characteristic of life outside the body. One great experience is the following. In the physical body, our ordinary life of feeling is interwoven with the organic processes in our own body. But when we are outside the body, our feeling encompasses everything that surrounds us. We experience in feeling all of the life around us. Imagine that a person is outside the physical body with his or her soul and spiritual life and experiences spiritually—not with the intellect’s ice-cold forces, but with the forces of the soul, with feeling and emotion. Imagine what it feels like to experience outside the body in this way. It is a great sympathy with all things—with thunder and lightning, with the rippling of the stream, the welling forth of the river spring, the sighing of the wind—and a feeling of togetherness also with other human beings, as well as with the spiritual entities of the world. Outside the body, one learns to know this great empathy.

Now, united with this great feeling of empathy, another fundamental feeling also comes over the human being in the face of what is at first unknown. I refer to a certain sense of fear. These two feelings—the feeling of empathy with all the world, and the feeling of fear—played a great part in the ancient mysteries. When the pupils had strengthened themselves in their inner lives so that they were able, without turning away and without losing their inner control, to bear both the living empathy with the world and the fear, then they were ripe enough and sufficiently evolved really to see into the spiritual worlds. They were then ready to live and experience the spiritual world. And they were ready, too, to communicate to their fellow human beings knowledge drawn from spiritual worlds. With their feeling, they could work down from the spiritual worlds into this world, and a new poetic power was revealed in their speech. Their hands became skilled to work in colors; they were able to command the inner rhythm of their organism so that they could become musicians for the benefit of other human beings. In this way, they became artists. They could hand down from the mysteries what the primeval religions gave to humanity. Anyone who looks into the Catholic Mass with inner spiritual knowledge knows that it is the last shadow-like reflection of what was living in the mysteries.

At first, what was living in the mysteries had its artistic and its religious side. Afterward, these two separated. In Aeschylus and in Sophocles we already see the artistic element, as it were, lifted out of the mysteries. There is the divine hero, Prometheus. In Prometheus, the human being comes to know something of the deeply-moving, terrifying experiences, the inner fear of the mysteries. What was living in the mysteries, in which the neophytes were initiated into a higher stage of life, becomes in Prometheus a picture, though permeated with living dramatic power. Thus drama became an image of the deepest human experiences. Aristotle, who was already, in a sense, an intellectual, still lived in some of the old traditions. He knew and experienced how drama was a kind of echo of the ancient mysteries. For this reason, Aristotle said, putting into words what was an echo of the ancient mysteries living on in Aeschylus and Sophocles, what has been dismissed by learned men again and again in their books: “Drama is the representation of a scene calling forth sympathy and fear, in order that human beings may be purified of physical passions, that they may undergo catharsis.” We cannot understand what this catharsis, or purification, means unless we look back into the ancient mysteries and see how people were purified of what is physical and lived through mighty experiences in the supersensible, outside their physical bodies. Aristotle describes what had already become a picture in Greek drama. Afterward, this passed over to later dramatists, and we see in Corneille and Racine something that is a fulfillment of Aristotle’s words. We see characters clothed, as it were, in fear and compassion—compassion that is none other than the ancient sympathy and experience with all the world that the human being experienced outside the body. The fear is always there when the human being faces the unknown. The supersensible is always, in a sense, the unknown.

Shakespeare entered into the evolution of drama in his time. He entered into a world that was seeking a new dramatic element. Something transcending ordinary human life lives in drama. Shakespeare entered deeply into this. He was inspired by that ancient dramatic power which, to a certain extent, was still felt by his contemporaries. And he worked in such a way that we feel in Shakespeare that more than a single human personality is at work: the spirit of his century is at work and, with it, the spirit of the whole of human evolution. Shakespeare still lived in that ancient feeling, and so he called something to life in himself that enabled him to form his dramatic characters and human figures, not in any intellectual way, but by living right within them himself. The characters of Shakespeare’s plays come, not from human intellect, but from a power kindled and fired in the human being. It is this power that we must seek again if we would develop the true ideal of humanity.

Let us come back to the unification of art, science, and religion. This is our aim at the Goetheanum in Dornach. By the development of exact clairvoyance, we come to understand what was at work in the ancient mysteries. The element that the mystery dramatists placed, as yet externally, before their audiences was still at work in Shakespeare who recreated it in a wonderfully inward way.

It is no mere outer feature of Shakespeare’s plays that we find in them about a hundred and fifty names of different plants and about a hundred names of birds, everywhere intimately, lovingly interwoven with human life. All of this is part of the single whole in Shakespeare.

Shakespeare took the continuous current that flows through human evolution from the ancient Mysteries—their cults and rites—wholly into his inner life. He took this impulse of the ancient mysteries and his plays come forth like dreams that are awake and real. The intellect with its explanations, its consistencies and inconsistencies, cannot approach them. As little as we can apply intellectual standards to a Prometheus or an Oedipus, just so little can we apply them to Shakespeare’s plays.

Thus, in a wonderful way, we see in Shakespeare’s own person a development that we can call a mystery development. Shakespeare comes to London where he draws on historical traditions for his material. In his plays, he is still dependent on others. We see then how, from about 1598 onward, a certain inner life awakens. Shakespeare’s own artistic imagination comes to life. He is able to stamp his characters with the very interior of his being. Sometime later, when he has created Hamlet, a kind of bitterness toward the external physical world comes over him. We feel as though he were living in other worlds and judging the physical world differently—as though he were looking down from the point of view of other worlds. We then see him emerge from this inner deepening of experience with all of its inner tragedy. First, Shakespeare learns the external dramatic medium. Next, he goes through deepest inwardness—what I would call the meeting with the World Spirit, of which Goethe spoke so beautifully. Then he re-enters life with a certain humor, and his work carries with it the loftiest spirituality joined with the highest dramatic power. Here, I am thinking, for example, of The Tempest, one of the most wonderful creations of all humankind, one of the richest products of the evolution of dramatic art. In it, Shakespeare, in a living, human way, is able to lay his ripe philosophy of life into every character and figure.

So, having seen the art of drama derive from the ancient mysteries whose purpose was the living evolution of humanity, we can understand how it is that such an educational power goes out from Shakespeare’s plays. We can see how Shakespeare’s work, which arose out of a kind of self education given by nature herself, which he then lifted to the highest spirituality, can work in our schools and penetrate the living education of our youth. Once we have thus experienced their full cosmic spirituality, Shakespeare’s dramas must be livingly present with us when we consider the great educational questions of the day. But we must be active with all of the means at our disposal, for only by the deepest spirituality shall we find in Shakespeare the answer to these questions.

Such are the ideals that humanity needs so sorely. We have a wonderful natural science in our time, but it places a world that is dense and material before us. It can teach us nothing else than the final end of it all in a kind of universal death. And, when we consider natural evolution, as it is given to us in the thoughts of the last centuries, it seems like something strange and foreign when we look up to our spiritual ideals. So we ask whether the religious ideal has a real force, adequate to the needs of the civilized world today. But it has not. We must regain this real force by rising to the spiritual world. Only then, by spiritual knowledge and not by mere belief, shall we find the strength in our ideals to overcome all material aspects in the cosmos. We must be able to lift ourselves up to the power that creates from truly religious ideals, the power to overcome the world of matter in the universe.

We can do this only if we yield ourselves to the spiritual conception of the world and, for this, Shakespeare can be a great leader. Moreover, it is an intense social need that there be a spiritual conception of the world working in our time. Do not think that I am speaking out of egotism when I refer once again to Dornach in Switzerland, where we are cultivating what can lead humanity once more into the reality of the spiritual, into the true spiritual nature of the world. Only because of this were we able to overcome many of those contending interests working in people today and so sadly splitting them into parties and differing sections in every sphere of life. I could mention that, from 1913 until now, almost without a break, through the whole period of the war, while nearby the thunder of the cannon was heard, members of no less than seventeen nations have been working together in Dornach. That seventeen nations could work together peacefully during the greatest of all wars, this, too, seems to me a great ideal in education. What is possible on a small scale should be possible on a large scale, and human progress—human civilization—needs it. And, precisely because we favor an international advance in human civilization, I point to Shakespeare as a figure who worked in all humanity. He gave all humanity a great inspiration for new human ideals, ideals that have a meaning for international, universal humanity.

Therefore, let me close on this festival day with these words of Goethe, words that Goethe was impelled to speak when he felt the fullness of the spirituality in Shakespeare. There then arose from his heart a saying that, I think, must set its stamp on all our understanding of the great poet, who will remain an eternal source of inspiration to all. Conscious of this, Goethe uttered these words on Shakespeare with which we may close our thoughts today: “It is the nature of spirit to inspire spirit eternally.” Hence, we may rightly say, “Shakespeare for ever and without end!”

Shakespeare und die Neuen Ideale

Vielleicht hat mancher erwartet aus der Ankündigung des Themas meines heutigen Vortrages über «Shakespeare und die neuen Ideale», daß ich über besondere neue Ideale sprechen werde. Allein es ist meine Überzeugung, daß es heute nicht so notwendig ist, über neue Ideale zu sprechen, als namentlich darüber, wie die Menschheit der Gegenwart überhaupt wiederum die Kraft gewinnt, Idealen nachzugehen. Über Ideale sprechen, das erfordert im Grunde genommen keine große Kraft, und zuweilen ist es so, daß diejenigen Menschen am meisten über dergleichen große Fragen, hohe, schöne Ideale in abstrakten Worten aus dem Intellekt heraus sprechen, denen die Kraft zu den Idealen eigentlich fehlt. Manchmal ist das Reden über Ideale nur ein Hegen, ein Fassen von Illusionen, um über die Realien des Lebens hinwegzukommen. Aber bei diesem Feste hier ist eine Veranlassung, gar sehr von dem Realen des Geistigen zu sprechen, denn dieses Fest ist ein Erinnerungsfest für Shakespeare, und Shakespeare lebt mit all seinem Schaffen durchaus im Geistigen, zugleich aber in einer idealen Welt. Und so könnte es wohl vor allen Dingen das Aufnehmen Shakespeares in unser eigenes Gemüt, in unsere eigene Seele sein, das gerade dem heutigen Menschen die Kraft, den inneren Impuls dazu gibt, wenn ich mich des Ausdruckes bedienen darf: Idealen nachzugehen. Und solche Ideale, wir können sie dann im richtigen Sinn ins Auge fassen, wenn wir uns daran erinnern, wie vorübergehend manches moderne Ideal war und ist, wie fest, wie grandios in der Welt dastehend durch ihre Wirksamkeit manche alten Ideale sind. Wir sehen weitere Kreise von Bekennern dieser oder jener Religion, dieser oder jener Weltanschauung, Bekenner, welche durchaus ihr innerstes geistiges Leben, ihre innere geistige Beweglichkeit aus demjenigen nehmen, was vergangen ist, und welche die Kraft gewinnen für eine geistige Erhebung aus solchem Vergangenen. Und wir fragen uns: Woher kommt es, daß manches so schöne moderne Ideal wie in Nebel zerrinnt, das bei wenigen Menschen allerdings von großem Enthusiasmus begleitet ist, aber dennoch bald zerronnen ist, während religiöse, künstlerische Ideale und Stile der alten Zeiten nicht nur Jahrhunderte, sondern Jahrtausende hindurch in die Menschheit ihre volle Kraft tragen? - Wenn wir uns fragen, warum dies so ist, kommen wir immer wieder und wiederum darauf zurück, daß diese Ideale gesammelt sind aus einem wirklich geistigen Leben, einer gewissen Spiritualität der Menschheit. Während unsere gewöhnlichen Ideale zumeist nur Schattenbilder des Intellektes sind - der Intellekt kann niemals dem Menschen aus dem Inneren seines Wesens heraus wirkliche Kraft geben -, zerrinnen manche moderne Ideale gegenüber demjenigen, was an alten Religionsbekenntnissen, aus alten Kunststilen aus dem grauesten Altertum zu uns herauf spricht. Wiederum aber, wenn wir mit einer solchen Gesinnung an Shakespeare herangehen, wissen wir, daß in Shakespeares Dramatik eine Kraft liegt, die uns immer wieder und wiederum nicht nur neu begeistert, sondern aus unserer eigenen Imagination heraus eigene Schöpferkräfte, unsere eigene Phantasie, unsere eigene Geistigkeit in der wunderbarsten Weise anregt. Wir wissen, daß Shakespeare eine wunderbare Kraft ist; daß sie sich heute, wenn wir uns derselben hingeben, so modern ausnimmt, wie nur irgendeine moderne Kraft sein kann. Und ich darf, indem ich gerade einmal von dieser Seite von dem Zusammenhang der menschlichen Ideale mit Shakespeare sprechen möchte, erinnern an dasjenige, woran ich schon am letzten Mittwoch angeknüpft habe, an das Bedeutsame, was von Shakespeare ausgegangen ist auf Goethe.

Über Shakespeare ist ungeheuer viel aus einer sehr geistvollen Gelehrsamkeit heraus geschrieben worden. Und wenn man alle diejenigen gelehrten Werke nehmen wollte, welche über «Hamlet» allein geschrieben sind, ich glaube, man könnte eine Bibliothek füllen damit, die über die ganze Wand sich erstreckte. Aber wenn man nachforscht, was auf einen Goethe aus Shakespeare gewirkt hat, dann kommt man dazu, sich zu sagen: Nichts von alledem, was in diesen Werken darinnen steht, gar nichts. Das hätte alles ungeschrieben bleiben können, das ist alles von der Welt an Shakespeare herangebracht, eine gewisse Kraft des menschlichen Intellekts, die gut ist, naturwissenschaftliche Tatsachen zu begreifen, die gut ist, die äußere Natur, wie wir sie heute haben müssen als Grundlage für unsere Technik, zu erklären und zu begreifen, die aber niemals imstande ist, in dasjenige hineinzudringen, was beweglich in Shakespeares Dramen vor uns steht,

Ja, ich möchte noch weiter gehen. Auch hier könnte mancherlei über Shakespeare gesagt werden, manch eine Erklärung über «Hamlet» abgegeben werden. Man kann von dem Standpunkt ausgehen: dasjenige, was Goethe über Shakespeare, über «Hamlet» gesagt hat, ist alles im Grunde genommen einseitig und falsch. Aber auf dasjenige kommt es nicht an, was Goethe gesagt hat über Shakespeare, sondern auf etwas ganz anderes kommt es an, darauf, was Goethe meinte, wenn er aus seinem Innersten sprach, wenn er zum Beispiel die folgenden Worte sagte, die keine Erklärung, aber eine Hingabe des ganzen innersten Geistes sind. Er sagt: Das sind keine Gedichte, das ist etwas wie die großen gewaltigen Blätter des Schicksals, die aufgeschlagen sind und durch die der Sturmwind des Lebens bläst und rasch eines nach dem andern hin und wider blättert. Das ist ganz anders aus dem Menschen gesprochen, als wenn Goethe selbst über «Hamlet» spricht. Und wir können uns nun fragen: Warum kommt man mit intellektualistischen Erklärungen so wenig an Shakespeare heran? Ich will es an einem Bilde zeigen. - Wenn ein Mensch lebhaft träumt und die Traumfiguren eine bestimmte Traumhandlung vollführen, können wir mit unserem Intellekt nachher sagen: Diese oder jene Person im Traum hat falsch gehandelt, da ist etwas nicht motiviert, da sind Widersprüche. Aber der Traum wird sich wenig darum kümmern. Ebensowenig wird sich der Dichter darum kümmern, ob wir es mit unserem Intellekt kritisieren, wenn etwas unmotiviert ist, ob es sich widerspricht und so weiter. Ich kannte einen pedantischen Kritiker, der es sonderbar fand, daß Hamlet, nachdem er gerade den Geist seines Vaters gesehen, den Monolog sagt von «Sein oder Nicht-Sein» und dabei ausspricht, daß von dem Lande des Todes noch kein Wanderer zurückgekehrt sei; das könne eigentlich nicht ein und derselbe Dichter sagen. So meinte der trockene Gelehrte. Nun will ich jedoch damit nicht sagen, daß die Shakespeareschen dramatischen Handlungen Traumhandlungen sind. Sie sind gewöhnliche Handlungen; aber so, wie wenn der Mensch noch nicht ganz in seiner physischen Persönlichkeit darin ist oder schon draußen ist beim Einschlafen, so ist es bei Shakespeare, daß er im vollen lebendigen Bewußtsein seine Handlungen erlebt, aber den Intellekt dabei nur soweit gebraucht, als man ihn nötig hat, um zu dienen, die Figuren auszugestalten, die Figuren aufzurollen, Handlungen zu formen, aber ihn nicht zum Meister desjenigen zu machen, was geschehen soll. Indem ich hier auf dieses aufmerksam machen darf - da ich ja spreche vom Gesichtspunkt der, wie ich glaube, die großen Ideale der Menschheit enthaltenden anthroposophischen Weltanschauung -, darf ich eine wichtige Erfahrung vor Ihnen erzählen, welche das, was man mehr als eine Ahnung zunächst haben kann, so wie ich es ausgesprochen habe, dann völlig erklärt, aber erklärt im seherisch-künstlerischen Sinne. Ich habe in diesen Tagen schon zweimal sprechen dürfen von demjenigen, wie im Goetheanum, der Freien Hochschule in Dornach in der Schweiz, gepflegt wird exakte Clairvoyance. Die Wege habe ich ja beschrieben in den Büchern, die unter dem Titel «Knowledge of Higher Worlds and Its Attainment», «Theosophy» und «Occult Science - An Outline» ins Englische übersetzt sind. Da kommt der Mensch durch gewisse Übungen, die so exakt verlaufen wie man Mathematik lernt, dazu, seine seelischen Kräfte so kraftvoll zu machen, daß man die Denkkraft, die Willenskraft, die Gefühlskraft zuletzt so handhaben lernt, daß man mit seiner Seele bewußt, nicht schlafend unbewußt, auch nicht träumend, außerhalb des Leibes ist, daß man also zurückläßt mit vollem Bewußtsein den physischen Leib mit seinem intellektualistischen Denken - das bleibt beim physischen Leib -, daß man nun Imaginationen hat, die nicht Phantasie-Imaginationen sind, wie sie für die Kunst berechtigt sind, sondern Ausdruck von demjenigen, was in der heutigen Welt vorhanden ist aus der spirituellen Welt, die uns überall umgibt. Wir lernen schauen durch Imagination, Inspiration und Intuition Wesenhaftes von der geistigen Welt, so wie sonst von der physischen Welt. Wir lernen durch unsere Sinne aus den Farben, aus den Tönen heraus bewußt betrachten durch diese exakte Clairvoyance eine geistige Welt; nicht durch Halluzinationen, Illusionen, die immer in den Menschen hineinarbeiten und sein Bewußtsein herabdämmern, sondern wir lernen die geistige Welt kennen im vollen Bewußtsein, das so exakt ist wie das Bewußtsein, wenn ich Mathematik treibe. In die hohen geistigen Regionen können wir uns auf diese Weise versetzen, können Bilder darinnen haben, die nur zu vergleichen sind mit unseren Erinnerungsbildern, die nicht zu vergleichen sind mit Visionen, die aber durchaus reale geistige Weltbilder sind. Nun halte ich es für meine Pflicht, hinzuweisen darauf, daß wir aufzunehmen haben dasjenige, was wir durch den Geistesforscher empfangen, was wir lernen zu schauen, was aus der Geisteswelt da herausgekommen ist an allen ursprünglichen Idealen in Wissenschaft, Kunst, Religion der Menschheit. Alle alten Ideale haben deshalb so große Impulsivität gegenüber den intellektualistischen modernen Idealen, weil sie der Geisteswelt entstammen, durch Clairvoyance, die damals allerdings instinktiv und traumhaft war, weil sie aus einer solchen geistigen Welt hervorgeholt sind. Mögen wir heute klar erkennen, daß gewisse religiöse Inhalte nicht mehr für unsere Zeit passen: sie sind aber aus der alten Zeit hereingetragen worden durch Clairvoyance in das gewöhnliche Leben. Wir brauchen wiederum offene Tore, um in die geistige Welt hineinzuschauen, um herauszuholen nicht abstrakte Ideale, von denen überall gesprochen wird, aber um die Kraft zu gewinnen, dem Idealen, dem Geistigen, dem Spirituellen in Wissenschaft, in Kunst, in Religion nachzugehen.

Wenn man mit solchem Schauen darinsteht in der geistigen Welt und nun an Shakespeare herantritt, so bietet sich eine ganz besondere Erfahrung dar. Von dieser Erfahrung will ich Ihnen sprechen. Man kann Shakespeare begreifen aus wahrem, tiefem Bewußtsein heraus, aus tiefem Gefühl heraus. Man braucht natürlich, um Shakespeare voll zu erleben, nicht exakte Clairvoyance, aber diese exakte Clairvoyance kann auf etwas hinweisen; sie kann uns klarmachen, warum Shakespeare uns nicht verlassen wird, warum er uns immer wieder gewisse Impulse gibt. Da kann der, der es zu exakter Clairvoyance gebracht hat durch Entwickelung von Denk-, Gefühls- und Willenskraft, er kann das, was er aus Shakespeare aufgenommen hat, hinübertragen in die geistige Welt. Diese Erfahrung kann man durchaus gemacht haben. Man kann hineinnehmen in die geistige Welt hinüber, was man hier erlebt hat: «Hamlet», «Macbeth» und so weiter kann man hinübernehmen in die geistige Welt. Da kann man aber erst sehen, was im tiefsten Inneren Shakespeares lebte, wenn man das vergleicht mit irgend etwas anderem, mit einem anderen Dichter der neueren Zeit, dessen Eindrücke man hinübernehmen kann. Ich will keine besonderen Dichter nennen - es könnte im Grunde genommen jeder erwähnt werden -, da ja jeder Vorliebe hat für einen bestimmten. Jeder eigentlich naturalistische Dichter kann genannt werden, namentlich die naturalistischen Dichter seit vierzig bis fünfzig Jahren. Wenn man vergleicht dasjenige, was man drüben in der geistigen Welt hat, mit dem, was man aus Shakespeare hinübergenommen hart, dann findet man das Eigentümliche: Shakespeares Gestalten leben! Indem man sie hinüberträgt, machen sie andere Handlungen; aber das Leben, das sie hier haben, das bringt man hinüber in die geistige Welt; während, wenn man selbst von manchem modernen idealistischen Dichter die Gestalten hinüberbringt in die geistige Welt, sie sich wie hölzerne Puppen ausnehmen: sie sterben ab, sie haben keine Beweglichkeit. Man kann Shakespeare in die geistige Welt mitnehmen so wie einen bekannten anderen Dichter der neueren Zeit. Man nimmt von Shakespeare aus solche Gestalten mit, welche sich drüben zu benehmen wissen. Die Gestalten vieler anderer Dichter aber, die aus bloßem Naturalismus kommen, sind Puppen drüben, sie werden dann eine Art Erfrieren durchmachen; man erkältet selbst in der geistigen Welt an dieser modernen Dichtung. Das sage ich nicht aus einer Emotion heraus, aber aus Erfahrung heraus. Hat man aber diese Erfahrung, dann kann man sagen: Was hat Goethe gefühlt? Da ist es bei Shakespeare, wie wenn das große Buch der Natur aufgeschlagen wäre, und die Blätter rasch hin und wider geblättert würden vom Sturmwind des Lebens. Goethe wußte, daß Shakespeare aus allen Tiefen der geistigen Welt heraus schuf, und er empfand das. Das ist dasjenige, was Shakespeare zu der eigentlichen Unsterblichkeit verholfen hat, was Shakespeare wiederum neu macht. Wir können zehn-, zwanzig-, hundertmal ein Shakespearesches Drama erleben, nehmen wir es im Ganzen oder im Einzelnen auf.

Sie haben in diesen Tagen jene Szene sehen können, wo der Mönch vor der hingeworfenen Helena hinkniet und seine Überzeugung über ihre Schuldlosigkeit ausdrückt. Es ist etwas ungeheuerlich Tiefes und Wahres, mit dem sich kaum etwas vergleichen läßt in der neueren Literatur; es sind manchmal gerade die Intimitäten an Shakespeare, die so bedeutsam wirken und seine innere Lebendigkeit aufweisen. Oder in dem Stück «Wie es euch gefällt», wo der Herzog in dem Ardennenwalde vor den Bäumen im Walde steht und die Natur schaut: Das sind bessere Ratgeber als das am Hof Erlebte - spricht er aus -, denn diese Ratgeber sagen mir etwas darüber, was ich als Mensch bin. - Und welch wunderbare Naturanschauung spricht gerade an dieser Stelle aus Shakespeare, indem er sagt: Die Bäume sprechen, die Quellen werden zur Schrift. - Er lernt die Natur verstehen, er lernt die Natur lesen. Darauf kann Shakespeare hinweisen, darauf kann sekundär ja auch ein neuerer Dichter hindeuten. Beim neueren Dichter empfinden wir das Sekundäre; bei Shakespeare empfinden wir, daß er in seinem Erlebnis darinsteht, daß er unmittelbar das alles ganz selbst erlebt hat. Selbst wenn beide dasselbe sagen, ist es ganz anders, ob Shakespeare oder ein neuerer Dichter es sagt.

Da tritt die große Frage vor uns hin: Wie kommt es, daß bei Shakespeare diese mit dem Übersinnlichen verwandte Lebendigkeit besteht, woher kommt überhaupt das Leben in Shakespeares Drama? Da aber werden wir hingeführt zu sehen, wie Shakespeare aus dem 16., 17. Jahrhundert heraus etwas zu schaffen in der Lage ist, was doch noch einen lebendigen Zusammenhang hat mit dem Leben des ältesten Dramas; und das älteste Drama, das zu uns herüberspricht von Äschylos, von Sophokles, das ist wiederum ein Produkt der Mysterien, jener alten kultischen und künstlerischen Veranstaltungen, welche hervorgeholt sind aus der ältesten instinktiven, inneren, tiefsten sprituellen Erkenntnis. Dasjenige, was uns an wahrer Kunst so begeistert, wir können es verstehen, wenn wir den Ursprung in den Mysterien suchen.

Wenn ich nun einige aphoristische Bemerkungen über das Mysterienwesen und das Hervorgehen des künstlerischen Sinnes und künstlerischen Schaffens aus diesem Mysterienwesen geben werde, so kann natürlich sehr leicht eingewendet werden, daß dasjenige, was vom Standpunkt einer exakten Clairvoyance über diesen Gegenstand gesagt wird, nicht genügend durch Beweise gestützt sei. Allein dasjenige, was exakte Clairvoyance gibt, ist Ja nicht nur die Bilderwelt, die uns in der Gegenwart umgibt, sondern durchaus auch die Welt des geschichtlichen Daseins, der historischen Entwickelung der Menschheit und des Kosmos überhaupt. Derjenige, der sich dieser Methode, wie ich sie in meinen Büchern geschildert habe, bedient, kann selber dasjenige nachprüfen, was diese exakte Clairvoyance über das Mysterienwesen zu sagen hat. Wenn man über die Mysterien spricht, so weist man zurück in sehr alte Zeiten der Menschheitsentwickelung, in welchen Religion, Kunst und Wissenschaft noch nicht so getrennt nebeneinander dastanden, wie das heute der Fall ist. Es bringen sich die Menschen oftmals nicht genügend zum Bewußtsein, welche Wandlungen, welche Metamorphosen Kunst, Religion und Wissenschaft durchgemacht haben, bis sie zu einer solchen Trennung, einer solchen Differenzierung gekommen sind, auf der sie heute stehen. Ich will nur ein Einziges erwähnen, um einigermaßen darauf hinzudeuten, wie gerade die hier gemeinte heutige anthroposophische Erkenntnis wiederum hineinführt in ältere Formen, nicht in symbolisch-allegorisch-künstliche Gestaltung, sondern in wirkliches Künstlertum. Zu uns leuchtet herüber dasjenige, was die älteren Maler zu Ende des 13., 14. Jahrhunderts geleistet haben. Man braucht sich nur an Cimabue zu erinnern. Dann tritt etwas in die Malerei ein, was die moderne Malerei mit Recht beherrscht: dasjenige, was wir Raumesperspektive nennen. Es wird in den Kuppeln im Goetheanum in Dornach gezeigt, wie wir wieder zurückgehen nach jener Perspektive, welche in den Farben selbst liegt, daß man anders das Blaue, das Rote, das Gelbe empfindet, daß man zugleich aus der gewöhnlichen physischen Welt herauskommt, daß die dritte Dimension des Raumes aufhört eine Bedeutung zu haben. Man kommt dazu, nur in zwei Dimensionen zu arbeiten. Das ist die große Bedeutung desjenigen, was in der Kunst dem Maler zur Verfügung steht, was er mit der Farbe ausdrücken kann. Aber wie er wieder zurückkehrt zu den älteren, instinktiven, geistigen Erlebnissen der Menschheit, das will uns die moderne Anthroposophie auf ganz besondere Weise geben durch das von mir Gesagte über exakte Clairvoyance.

Wenn man zurückschaut auf das, was alte Clairvoyance wollte - es hängt ebenso zusammen mit dem Künstlerischen, mit dem Religiösen, mit dem Wissenschaftlichen, mit der alten Erkenntnis überhaupt. Eines gab es in den alten Kultusstätten des Mysterienwesens: Das Verständnis für die Zusammengehörigkeit von Religion, Kunst und Wissenschaft, die zu gleicher Zeit schon sein sollten eine Offenbarung der göttlichen Weltenkräfte. Indem sie eine Manifestation der göttlichen Kräfte waren, versenkten sie sich in die menschlichen Gefühle des Religiösen; indem sie schon waren, was wir heute in der Kunst pflegen, waren diese Kultushandlungen die künstlerischen Werke der Menschheit; und indem man sich bewußt war, daß wahre Erkenntnis gewonnen werden kann, wenn nicht einseitig der Mensch diese Erkenntnis sucht, war die alte mysterienhafte Kulturentwickelung zugleich die Vermittlerin der damaligen menschlichen Erkenntnis. Nach der heutigen Anschauung glaubt man Erkenntnis erringen zu können, wenn man einfach das Bewußtsein nimmt und nun hingeht an das, was man in der Natur beobachten kann, und sich Begriffe bildet von Naturtatsachen. So wie man heute an die Welt herangeht, um Erkenntnis zu gewinnen, war das in alter Zeit nicht der Fall. Der Mensch mußte erst zu einer höheren Stufe seiner Menschlichkeit hinaufsteigen, um dann in der alten Art - die nicht dieselbe ist wie die exakte Clairvoyance - hineinzuschauen in die geistige Welt. Aber er schaute hinein. Dazu waren die Kultushandlungen nicht da, um dem Menschen etwas für seine Augen zu zeigen, sondern dazu, daß der Mensch etwas erlebte. Es waren gewaltige Schicksale, die dem Menschen vorgeführt wurden und die den Gegenstand dieser Kultushandlungen, dieser Mysterienhandlungen bildeten.

Der Mensch wurde dadurch, daß er seinen gewöhnlichen Menschen vergaß, herausgehoben aus dem gewöhnlichen Leben, so daß er in den Zustand kam, wo er - aber es war nicht so klar, wie es heute sein muß, nur wie ein Traum - außerhalb seines Leibes war. Das war das Ziel der Mysterien: die Menschen durch erschütternde Handlungen zu dem zu bringen, daß sie außerhalb des Leibes erlebten. Nun sind also gewisse Erlebnisse da außerhalb des Leibes. Das eine große Erlebnis haben wir, während wir in unserem Leibe leben, während wir in unserem Organismus sind, wenn wir das, was außerhalb von uns ist, erleben mit unseren Gefühlen. Wir haben ein Miterleben desjenigen, was außer uns ist.

Wenn Sie sich vorstellen, daß der Mensch mit seinem Seelisch-Geistigen außerhalb seines Physischen ist und daß er draußen immer geistig miterlebt, nicht mit eisigen Verstandeskräften, sondern miterlebt mit Kräften der Seele, mit Gefühlsemotionen, wenn Sie sich vorstellen, was der Mensch dann außerhalb seines Leibes erlebt, dann lernen Sie etwas kennen: das ist das Mitfühlen - man lernt es auch mit anderen Menschen - mit Blitz und Donner, mit dem Rauschen des Baches, dem Sprudeln der Quelle, dem Sausen des Windes, aber auch mit den geistigen Entitäten der Welt. Außerhalb seines Leibes lernt man auch das wirklich miterleben. Damit aber wird verbunden ein anderes Gefühl, das den Menschen überkommt, wenn er dem zunächst Unbekannten gegenübersteht. Es ist ein gewisses Gefühl der Furcht, der Angst. Beide Gefühle spielten die größte Rolle in den alten Mysterien: dieses Gefühl des Miterlebens der Welt und dieses Gefühl der Furcht. Und wenn der Mensch sich so stark gemacht hatte in seinem Inneren, daß er nun ertragen konnte dieses Miterleben der Welt, daß er ertragen konnte auch die Furcht, ohne sich dabei innerlich zu ergeben oder abzuwenden, dann war er geeignet, dann war er so weit entwickelt, daß er nun in die geistige Welt wirklich hineinschauen konnte, daß er die geistige Welt miterleben konnte, daß er seinen Mitmenschen Erkenntnisse überliefern konnte von geistigen Welten, aber auch mit diesem Gefühl wiederum in diese geistige Welt wirkte; daß seine Sprache eine neue poetische Kraft offenbarte, daß seine Hand geeignet wurde, die Farben zu beherrschen, daß er seine innere Rhythmik so handhaben konnte, daß er zum Musiker der Menschen wurde. Er wurde zum Künstler. Er konnte das den Menschen überliefern, was die Urreligionen dem Menschen gaben, durchaus aus dem Mysterium heraus. -— Wer heute das katholische Meßopfer mit innerer menschlicher Erkenntnis durchschaut, der weiß: es ist dieses das letzte schattenhafte Bild desjenigen, was in den Mysterien lebend war. - Das, was so in den Mysterien lebte, es hatte seine künstlerische, seine religiöse Seite. Die trennten sich später. Indem wir auf Äschylos hinschauen, auf Sophokles hinschauen, haben wir schon den Teil herausgehoben aus den Mysterien, der der künstlerische Einschlag war. Wir haben den göttlichen Helden Prometheus; er soll erleben, wie der Mensch Erschütterndes durchmachen kann, wie der Mensch innerliche Schreckens- und Furchtzustände durchmachen kann. Zum Bilde war dasjenige geworden — das aber im Menschen wie dramatisches Darstellen wurde -, was in den alten Mysterien lebendig war, um im Menschen zu einer höheren Stufe hinaufzuheben, was in Mysterien initiiert werden sollte. So war dies ein Nachbild geworden der tiefsten menschlichen Erlebnisse. - Aristoteles hatte doch noch einige Traditionen von der Art, wie das alte Drama hervorgegangen ist aus den Mysterien. Aristoteles hat jenen Satz geprägt, den die Gelehrten überall in Büchern behandelt haben, die überall in Bibliotheken zu finden sind; er hat etwas hingeschrieben, was noch ein Nachklang der alten Mysterien war, was in Äschylos und Sophokles weiterlebte: daß das Drama die Darstellung einer Handlung ist, die Mitleid und Furcht erregt, damit der Mensch gereinigt werden könne von physischen Leidenschaften, damit er die Katharsis durchmache. - Man versteht nicht, was diese Katharsis, diese Reinigung bedeutet, wenn man nicht zurückschauen kann in die alten Mysterien und sehen kann, wie die Menschen vom Physischen gereinigt wurden, außerhalb ihres Leibes erleben konnten das Übersinnliche in mächtigen Erlebnissen.

Aristoteles hat schon das geschildert, was zum Bilde geworden war in dem Drama. Das ist auf die neueren Dramatiker dann übergegangen, und wir sehen, wie in Corneille, in Racine Aristoteles wirkt; wie nachgebildet wird dem toten Aristoteles, wie gestaltet, gekleidet wird die Handlung in Furcht und Mitleid - was aber nichts anderes ist als das frühere Miterleben der geistigen Welt, wenn der Mensch außerhalb seines Leibes war. Aber die Furcht ist immer da, wenn der Mensch vor dem Unbekannten steht, und das Übersinnliche ist immer gewissermaßen etwas Unbekanntes.

Es wird in der neueren Entwickelung nicht mehr mit vollem Verständnis auf die alten Mysterien hingeblickt, wo man hinausgeführt wurde von der menschlichen in eine höhere Gotteswelt, wo hereinragte die höhere Gotteswelt in diese menschliche Welt. Die Menschheit entwikkelte nicht weiter diesen alten Standpunkt, der dieser alten Dramatik zugrunde gelegen hat; dies konnte nicht mehr die Entwickelung der späteren Menschheit sein.

Und Shakespeare war in die Entwickelung des Dramas der damaligen Zeit hineingestellt, in jene Welt, die nach einer anderen Dramatik damals suchte, so, daß in der Dramatik etwas von einem über das gewöhnliche Menschliche Hinweggehenden lebe. Da hinein hat sich Shakespeare eingelebt, und angeregt durch das, was an jener dramatischen Kraft seiner Zeit von Menschen noch gefühlt werden kann, gab er sich demjenigen hin, was so wirkt, daß man das Gefühl hat: in Shakespeare wirkt mehr als eine einzelne menschliche Persönlichkeit, in Shakespeare wirkt der Geist seines Jahrhunderts, und damit im Grunde genommen der Geist der ganzen Entwickelung der Menschheit. Indem in Shakespeare noch etwas darinnen gewesen war von jenem alten Fühlen, machte er in sich rege dasjenige, was nun nicht eine intellektuelle Gestaltung von dieser oder jener Wesenheit oder diesem oder jenem Menschen ist, sondern er lebte selber in diesen Gestalten noch darinnen. So wurden die Gestalten seiner Dramen etwas, was nicht aus menschlichem Intellekt heraus, sondern was aus der entzündeten Kraft des Menschen heraus gekommen ist, die wir wieder suchen müssen, wenn wir zur Entwickelung wirklicher Menschheitsideale kommen wollen. Dann aber müssen wir zur Intuition wieder kommen.

Das wird im Goetheanum in Dornach gesucht, und es darf gesagt werden, daß dort die Menschheit wiederum auf die exakte Clairvoyance verwiesen wird. Was noch in Shakespeare wirkt, was er auf der einen Seite in so wunderbarer Weise geschaffen hat, was die Mysteriendramatiker noch äußerlich hingestellt haben vor den Menschen, und was Shakespeare ausgearbeitet hat, kann verständlich gemacht werden. Es ist nicht eine Äußerlichkeit, daß man in Shakespeares Dramen etwa hundertfünfzig Pflanzennamen findet, daß man etwa hundert Vogelnamen findet: das alles gehört mit Shakespeare zum Ganzen, was als ein fortlaufender Strom sich entwickelt von den alten Kultusimpulsen der Mysterien her, was er ganz in das Menschenleben hereinnahm. Dadurch werden seine Dramen wach und wirklich, nicht durch das, was der Mensch hineinlegt, motiviert oder nicht motiviert... Ebensowenig wie man einen solchen Maßstab bei dem Prometheus, bei dem Ödipus anwenden darf, darf man ihn bei Shakespeare anwenden. Und in wunderbarer Weise sehen wir in Shakespeares eigener Persönlichkeit die Mysterienentwickelung. Er kommt nach London, er ist hineingestellt in das dramatische Leben, er dichtet wie andere, er wendet sich in bezug auf seine Stoffe auf das Gebiet historischer Überlieferungen, er ist abhängig von der Dramatik der anderen. Wir sehen, wie in diesen Jahren die eigentliche künstlerische Phantasie erwacht, so daß von 1598 an er das Innere seines Wesens seinen Gestalten aufzudrücken vermag; wir sehen, wenn er etwa seinen «Hamlet» gedichtet hat, daß er ihm mit dem gewöhnlichen Bewußtsein nicht nachkommen kann. Es ist etwas, wie wenn man fühlen würde, daß er in anderen Welten erlebte, daß er die physische Welt anders beurteilte. Und solche Verinnerlichung verläuft mit einer Art innerer Tragik in Shakespeare. Nachdem er erst erlebt hat das äußere dramatische Milieu, dann die tiefste Innerlichkeit - ich möchte sagen, das Begegnen mit dem Weltengeist, von dem Goethe in so schöner Weise sprach -, kommt er wieder mit einem gewissen Humor in die Dramatik hinein; Humor, der die höchsten Kräfte ebenso in sich trägt, wie zum Beispiel im «Sturm» eine der wunderbarsten Schöpfungen der ganzen Menschheit, eine der reichsten Entwickelungen der dramatischen Kunst. So kann Shakespeare eine reife Weltanschauung überall in das lebendige menschliche Schaffen hineinverlegen.

Damit aber, daß wir die Dramatiker zurückführen können auf das alte Mysterienwesen, das es abgezielt hatte auf eine lebendige Entwickelung der Menschheit, wird uns begreiflich, warum aus der Dramatik Shakespeares eine solche erzieherische Kraft ausgeht. Wenn wir es ernst meinen mit diesen neuen Idealen, dann können wir sagen: Wir können wissen, wie das, was aus einer Art von Selbsterziehung hervorgegangen ist — wie ich eben geschildert habe - bis zu seiner höchsten geistigen Erhebung, nun auch in den Schulen wirken kann; wie es hineindringen kann in die lebendigen erzieherischen Kräfte unserer Jugend. Das ist es, was aus der Erfahrung der ganzen kosmischen Spiritualität uns so recht heute aktuell macht Shakespeares Dramen und die großen Erziehungsfragen der Zeit. Aber mit allen Mitteln müssen wir geistig tätig sein, denn wir werden aus Shakespeare diese Fragen nur dann beantworten, wenn wir sie mit tiefster Spiritualität, aus voller Geistigkeit heraus beantworten. Wir brauchen das, denn es sind diejenigen Ideale, die die Menschheit so sehr nötig hat. Wir haben eine großartige Naturwissenschaft; sie gibt uns eine dichte, stoffliche Welt, sie kann nichts anderes lehren als das Ende, welches in eine Art Weltentod führen wird. Wir schauen auf die natürliche Entwickelung hin, wir finden sie aus den Anschauungen der letzten Jahrhunderte herausgehend als etwas Fremdes, wenn wir zu unseren Idealen hinaufschauen. Hat aber das unreligiöse Ideal durch die ganze zivilisierte Welt hin eine reale Kraft? Nein! Wir müssen sie erst wieder erwerben, müssen zu den geistigen Welten aufsteigen, um diese Kraft zu erwerben, die alles überwinden kann, die selbst zur starken Naturkraft werden kann, nicht nur zum Glauben. Wir müssen uns aufschwingen können zu dem, was aus religiösen Idealen etwas schafft, was im Kosmos das Stoffliche überwindet. Das können wir nur, wenn wir der geistigen Weltanschauung uns hingeben. Ein großer Führer kann Shakespeare sein zu dieser geistigen Weltanschauung.

Es ist aber auch ein starkes soziales Bedürfnis für das Wirken dieser geistigen Weltanschauung in der Gegenwart da. Rechnen Sie es mir nicht so an, als wenn ich aus Egoismus heraus diese Entwickelung wollte, weil gerade in Dornach in der Schweiz das gepflegt wird, was die Menschheit wiederum hineinführen kann in die Wirklichkeit, in das Geistige, in die wahre Spiritualität der Welt. Allein gerade deshalb ist es in Dornach möglich gewesen, manches zu überwinden, was heute Interessen der Menschheit sind, die aber leider diese Menschheit spalten; einander widerstrebende Interessen, die Parteien geschaffen haben in allen möglichen Gebieten. Und gesagt werden darf vielleicht, daß — während meist in Dornach siebzehn Repräsentanten der gegenwärtigen Zivilisation vom Jahre 1913 bis jetzt in Eintracht arbeiteten durch die ganze Kriegsepoche hindurch - wir in der Nachbarschaft die Kanonen donnern hörten, in denen der menschliche Unfriede aneinanderprallte. Und daß Repräsentanten von siebzehn Nationen in dem größten der menschlichen Kriege friedlich zusammenarbeiten konnten, scheint mir auch ein großes Ideal der Erziehung zu sein. Was so im kleinen, das könnte auch im großen möglich sein, und das braucht der menschliche Fortschritt, die menschliche Zivilisation. Deshalb, weil wir einen Fortschritt der menschlichen Zivilisation wollen, muß ich hinweisen auf eine solche Gestalt, die in der ganzen Menschheit wirkte, die der ganzen Menschheit große Anregung gegeben hat zu denjenigen neuen menschlichen Idealen, die für die internationale allgemeine Menschheit Bedeutung haben. Deshalb muß ich auf Shakespeare hinweisen, deshalb lassen Sie mich schließen an diesem festlichen Tage mit Worten, die ich behandelt habe in meinen Auseinandersetzungen - mit Worten Goethes, die er empfunden hat, indem er bei Shakespeare volle, totale Spiritualität und Geistigkeit empfunden hat. Da entrang sich ihm ein Satz, der, wie es mir scheint, tonangebend sein muß für alle Shakespeare-Auffassung, die da bleiben muß ein ewiger Quell der Anregung für alle zivilisierten Menschen. Und im Bewußtsein davon hat Goethe die Worte gebraucht über Shakespeare, mit denen wir diese Betrachtung schließen können: «Es ist die Eigenschaft des Geistes, daß er den Geist ewig anregt.» Deshalb muß man mit Recht mit Goethe sagen: «Shakespeare und kein Ende!»

Shakespeare and the New Ideals

Perhaps some of you expected that, given the title of my lecture today, “Shakespeare and the New Ideals,” I would be talking about specific new ideals. However, it is my conviction that today it is not so necessary to talk about new ideals as it is to talk about how humanity today can regain the strength to pursue ideals in the first place. Talking about ideals does not really require much strength, and sometimes it is those people who lack the strength to pursue ideals who talk most about such grand questions and lofty, beautiful ideals in abstract terms from their intellect. Sometimes talking about ideals is just a way of cherishing and clinging to illusions in order to escape the realities of life. But this celebration here is an occasion to speak very much about the reality of the spiritual, for this celebration is a commemoration of Shakespeare, and Shakespeare lives with all his work entirely in the spiritual realm, but at the same time in an ideal world. And so it could well be, above all, the absorption of Shakespeare into our own minds, into our own souls, that gives today's people the strength, the inner impulse, if I may use the expression, to pursue ideals. And we can then contemplate such ideals in the right sense when we remember how temporary many modern ideals were and are, how firmly, how magnificently some old ideals stand in the world through their effectiveness. We see wider circles of adherents to this or that religion, this or that worldview, adherents who draw their innermost spiritual life, their inner spiritual vitality, from what has passed, and who gain the strength for spiritual elevation from such past events. And we ask ourselves: Why is it that some beautiful modern ideals, which are accompanied by great enthusiasm in a few people, nevertheless soon fade away, while religious and artistic ideals and styles of olden times carry their full power into humanity not only through centuries but through millennia? When we ask ourselves why this is so, we come back again and again to the fact that these ideals are gathered from a truly spiritual life, a certain spirituality of humanity. While our ordinary ideals are mostly only shadows of the intellect—the intellect can never give man real power from within his being—some modern ideals pale in comparison to what speaks to us from ancient religious beliefs and ancient art styles from the gravest antiquity. But again, when we approach Shakespeare with such a mindset, we know that there is a power in Shakespeare's dramas that not only inspires us again and again, but also stimulates our own creative powers, our own imagination, our own spirituality in the most wonderful way from our own imagination. We know that Shakespeare is a wonderful force; that today, when we surrender ourselves to it, it seems as modern as any modern force can be. And as I would like to speak about the connection between human ideals and Shakespeare from this perspective, I would like to recall what I already touched on last Wednesday, namely the significant influence that Shakespeare had on Goethe.

An enormous amount has been written about Shakespeare from a very intellectual scholarly perspective. And if one were to take all the scholarly works written about Hamlet alone, I believe one could fill a library that stretched across the entire wall. But if you investigate what Shakespeare's influence on Goethe was, you come to the conclusion that none of what is written in these works had any effect whatsoever. All of it could have remained unwritten; it is all brought to Shakespeare from the world, a certain power of the human intellect that is good at to comprehend scientific facts, which is good, to explain and comprehend the external nature that we must have today as the basis for our technology, but which is never capable of penetrating what stands before us in Shakespeare's dramas.

Yes, I would like to go even further. Here, too, many things could be said about Shakespeare, many explanations given about “Hamlet.” One can start from the standpoint that what Goethe said about Shakespeare, about “Hamlet,” is basically one-sided and wrong. But what Goethe said about Shakespeare is not what matters; what matters is something else entirely, namely what Goethe meant when he spoke from his heart, when he said, for example, the following words, which are not an explanation but a surrender of his innermost spirit. He says: These are not poems, they are something like the great, mighty pages of fate, which are open and through which the storm wind of life blows, quickly turning one page after another. This is spoken from a completely different place within the human being than when Goethe himself speaks about Hamlet. And we can now ask ourselves: Why do intellectual explanations come so little to Shakespeare? I want to illustrate this with an image. When a person dreams vividly and the dream characters perform a certain dream action, we can say afterwards with our intellect: This or that person in the dream acted wrongly, something is not motivated, there are contradictions. But the dream will not care much about that. Nor will the poet care whether we criticize it with our intellect if something is unmotivated, if it contradicts itself, and so on. I knew a pedantic critic who found it strange that Hamlet, after seeing his father's ghost, recites the “To be or not to be” monologue and says that no traveler has ever returned from the land of death; that this could not actually be said by the same poet. So said the dry scholar. Now, I do not mean to say that Shakespeare's dramatic plots are dream plots. They are ordinary plots; but just as when a person is not yet fully in their physical personality or is already outside it when falling asleep, so with Shakespeare, he experiences his plots in full living consciousness, but only uses his intellect to the extent necessary to serve, to develop the characters, to unravel the characters, to shape the plots, but not to make him the master of what is to happen. In drawing your attention to this here — since I am speaking from the point of view of what I believe to be the great ideals of humanity contained in the anthroposophical worldview — I would like to share with you an important experience which, as I have said, can initially be more than a mere inkling, but which then explains everything completely, explained in a seerish-artistic sense. I have already had the opportunity to speak twice in recent days about how precise clairvoyance is cultivated at the Goetheanum, the School of Spiritual Science in Dornach, Switzerland. I have described the methods in the books that have been translated into English under the titles Knowledge of Higher Worlds and Its Attainment, Theosophy, and Occult Science: An Outline. Through certain exercises, which are as precise as learning mathematics, the human being comes to make his soul forces so powerful that he learns to handle the power of thought, the power of will, and finally the power of feeling in such a way that he is consciously, not unconsciously asleep, nor dreaming, outside the body, leaving behind with full consciousness the physical body with its intellectual thinking—which remains with the physical body—and now having imaginations that are not fantasies, as they are justified in art, but expressions of what is present in today's world from the spiritual world that surrounds us everywhere. We learn to see through imagination, inspiration, and intuition the essence of the spiritual world, just as we do of the physical world. Through our senses, through colors and sounds, we learn to consciously observe a spiritual world through this precise clairvoyance; not through hallucinations or illusions, which always work their way into people and dim their consciousness, but we learn to know the spiritual world in full consciousness, which is as precise as the consciousness I have when I do mathematics. In this way, we can transport ourselves into the higher spiritual regions and have images there that can only be compared to our memory images, which cannot be compared to visions, but which are thoroughly real spiritual world images. Now I consider it my duty to point out that we have to take in what we receive through the spiritual researcher, what we learn to see, what has come out of the spiritual world in all the original ideals in science, art, and religion of humanity. All the old ideals have such great impulsiveness compared to the intellectualistic modern ideals because they originate from the spiritual world, through clairvoyance, which at that time was instinctive and dreamlike, because they were brought forth from such a spiritual world. May we clearly recognize today that certain religious content is no longer appropriate for our time: but it has been brought in from ancient times through clairvoyance into ordinary life. We need open gates again to look into the spiritual world, not to bring out abstract ideals that are talked about everywhere, but to gain the strength to pursue the ideal, the spiritual, the spiritual in science, in art, in religion.

When one stands in the spiritual world with such a view and now approaches Shakespeare, a very special experience presents itself. I want to tell you about this experience. One can understand Shakespeare out of true, deep consciousness, out of deep feeling. Of course, one does not need exact clairvoyance to fully experience Shakespeare, but this exact clairvoyance can point to something; it can make it clear to us why Shakespeare will not leave us, why he gives us certain impulses again and again. Those who have attained exact clairvoyance through the development of their powers of thought, feeling, and will can carry what they have absorbed from Shakespeare over into the spiritual world. This experience can certainly be had. One can take what one has experienced here into the spiritual world: Hamlet, Macbeth, and so on can be taken over into the spiritual world. But only there can one see what lived in Shakespeare's innermost being, when one compares it with something else, with another poet of more recent times, whose impressions one can take over. I don't want to name any particular poets — basically, any could be mentioned — since everyone has a preference for a particular one. Any naturalistic poet can be mentioned, namely the naturalistic poets of the last forty to fifty years. If you compare what you have in the spiritual world with what you have taken from Shakespeare, you will find something peculiar: Shakespeare's characters live! When you transfer them, they perform different actions; but the life they have here is carried over into the spiritual world; whereas, when you carry over the characters of some modern idealistic poets into the spiritual world, they look like wooden dolls: they die, they have no mobility. You can take Shakespeare into the spiritual world just like any other well-known poet of modern times. One takes with one from Shakespeare those characters who know how to behave over there. But the characters of many other poets, who come from mere naturalism, are puppets over there; they then undergo a kind of freezing; one catches a cold even in the spiritual world from this modern poetry. I say this not out of emotion, but out of experience. But once one has had this experience, one can say: What did Goethe feel? With Shakespeare, it is as if the great book of nature were open and the pages were being rapidly turned by the stormy winds of life. Goethe knew that Shakespeare created from all the depths of the spiritual world, and he felt this. This is what has helped Shakespeare to achieve true immortality, what makes Shakespeare new again. We can experience a Shakespearean drama ten, twenty, a hundred times, taking it in as a whole or in detail.

You may have seen the scene where the monk kneels before Helena, who has thrown herself down, and expresses his conviction of her innocence. It is something tremendously profound and true, with which hardly anything in modern literature can be compared; it is sometimes precisely the intimacies in Shakespeare that have such a significant effect and reveal his inner vitality. Or in the play “As You Like It,” where the Duke stands in front of the trees in the Ardennes forest and observes nature: These are better advisors than what I have experienced at court, he says, because these advisors tell me something about what I am as a human being. And what a wonderful view of nature Shakespeare expresses at this very point when he says: The trees speak, the springs become writing. He learns to understand nature, he learns to read nature. Shakespeare can point this out, and a more recent poet can also hint at it secondarily. With the more recent poet, we sense the secondary nature of it; with Shakespeare, we sense that he is standing in his experience, that he has experienced all of this directly himself. Even if both say the same thing, it is quite different whether Shakespeare or a more recent poet says it.

This brings us to the big question: How is it that Shakespeare's work has this vitality related to the supernatural? Where does the life in Shakespeare's drama come from? But this leads us to see how Shakespeare, coming from the 16th and 17th centuries, is able to create something that still has a living connection with the life of the oldest drama; And the oldest drama that speaks to us from Aeschylus and Sophocles is in turn a product of the mysteries, those ancient cultic and artistic events that were drawn from the oldest instinctive, innermost, deepest spiritual knowledge. We can understand what it is about true art that inspires us so much when we seek its origin in the mysteries.

If I now offer a few aphoristic remarks on the nature of the mysteries and the emergence of artistic sensibility and artistic creation from this nature of the mysteries, it can of course very easily be objected that what is said about this subject from the standpoint of exact clairvoyance is not sufficiently supported by evidence. But what exact clairvoyance provides is not only the world of images that surrounds us in the present, but also the world of historical existence, the historical development of humanity and the cosmos in general. Those who use this method, as I have described it in my books, can verify for themselves what this exact clairvoyance has to say about the nature of the mysteries. When we speak of the mysteries, we are referring back to very ancient times in human development, when religion, art, and science did not exist as separate entities, as is the case today. People often do not sufficiently realize what changes, what metamorphoses art, religion, and science have undergone until they have arrived at such a separation, such a differentiation, as they have today. I will mention just one thing to indicate to some extent how the anthroposophical knowledge referred to here leads back to older forms, not to symbolic-allegorical-artificial design, but to true artistry. What the older painters achieved at the end of the 13th and 14th centuries shines through to us. One need only remember Cimabue. Then something enters painting that rightly dominates modern painting: what we call spatial perspective. The domes in the Goetheanum in Dornach show how we return to that perspective which lies in the colors themselves, that one perceives blue, red, and yellow differently, that one simultaneously leaves the ordinary physical world, that the third dimension of space ceases to have any meaning. One comes to work in only two dimensions. This is the great significance of what is available to the painter in art, what he can express with color. But how he returns to the older, instinctive, spiritual experiences of humanity is what modern anthroposophy wants to give us in a very special way through what I have said about exact clairvoyance.

If we look back at what ancient clairvoyance sought to achieve, we see that it is connected with the artistic, the religious, the scientific, and with ancient knowledge in general. There was one thing in the ancient cult sites of the mystery cults: an understanding of the interconnectedness of religion, art, and science, which at the same time were already meant to be a revelation of the divine forces of the world. By being a manifestation of the divine forces, they immersed themselves in the human feelings of the religious; by already being what we cultivate in art today, these cultic acts were the artistic works of humanity; and by being aware that true knowledge can be gained if man does not seek this knowledge one-sidedly, the ancient mystery-filled cultural development was at the same time the mediator of human knowledge at that time. According to today's view, it is believed that knowledge can be gained simply by taking consciousness and turning to what can be observed in nature, and forming concepts of natural facts. The way we approach the world today in order to gain knowledge was not the case in ancient times. Human beings first had to ascend to a higher level of humanity in order to then look into the spiritual world in the ancient way — which is not the same as exact clairvoyance. But they did look into it. The cult rituals were not there to show human beings something with their eyes, but to enable them to experience something. It was powerful destinies that were presented to human beings and that formed the subject of these cult rituals, these mystery rituals.

By forgetting their ordinary human nature, people were lifted out of ordinary life, so that they entered a state where they were outside their bodies – but it was not as clear as it must be today, only like a dream. That was the goal of the mysteries: to bring people to the point where they experienced things outside their bodies through shocking acts. So now there are certain experiences outside the body. We have one great experience while we live in our bodies, while we are in our organism, when we experience what is outside of us with our feelings. We have a shared experience of what is outside of us.

If you imagine that the human being is outside his physical body with his soul and spirit, and that he always experiences things spiritually outside, not with icy powers of the intellect, but with the powers of the soul, with emotional feelings, if you imagine what the human being then experiences outside his body, then you will learn something: that is empathy — you also learn it with other people — with lightning and thunder, with the murmur of the brook, the bubbling of the spring, the whistling of the wind, but also with the spiritual entities of the world. Outside of your body, you also learn to truly experience this. But this is connected with another feeling that comes over people when they are confronted with the initially unknown. It is a certain feeling of fear, of anxiety. Both feelings played the greatest role in the ancient mysteries: this feeling of experiencing the world and this feeling of fear. And when the human being had become so strong within himself that he could now endure this experience of the world, that he could also endure the fear without surrendering or turning away inwardly, then he was ready, then he was so far developed that he could now truly look into the spiritual world, that he could experience the spiritual world, that he could pass on insights about spiritual worlds to his fellow human beings, but also that he could influence this spiritual world with this feeling; that his language revealed a new poetic power, that his hand became capable of mastering colors, that he could handle his inner rhythm so well that he became a musician of the people. He became an artist. He was able to pass on to people what the ancient religions gave to people, entirely out of the mystery. — Anyone who today sees through the Catholic Mass with inner human insight knows that it is the last shadowy image of what was alive in the mysteries. — What lived in the mysteries had its artistic and religious side. These later separated. When we look at Aeschylus, at Sophocles, we have already highlighted the part of the mysteries that was the artistic influence. We have the divine hero Prometheus; he is to experience how human beings can go through shocking events, how human beings can go through inner states of terror and fear. What was alive in the ancient mysteries had become an image — but one that became a dramatic representation in human beings — in order to raise to a higher level in human beings what was to be initiated in the mysteries. Thus this had become an afterimage of the deepest human experiences. Aristotle still had some traditions of the way in which ancient drama emerged from the mysteries. Aristotle coined the phrase that scholars everywhere have discussed in books that can be found in libraries everywhere; he wrote something that was still an echo of the ancient mysteries, which lived on in Aeschylus and Sophocles: that drama is the representation of an action that arouses pity and fear, so that man may be purified of physical passions, so that he may undergo catharsis. One cannot understand what this catharsis, this purification, means unless one can look back at the ancient mysteries and see how people were purified of the physical and could experience the supernatural in powerful experiences outside their bodies.

Aristotle already described what had become the image in drama. This was then passed on to the newer dramatists, and we see how Aristotle influences Corneille and Racine; how the dead Aristotle is imitated, how the action is shaped and clothed in fear and pity – which is nothing other than the earlier experience of the spiritual world when man was outside his body. But fear is always present when man faces the unknown, and the supernatural is always, in a sense, something unknown.

In more recent developments, the ancient mysteries are no longer viewed with full understanding, where one was led out of the human world into a higher divine world, where the higher divine world penetrated into this human world. Humanity did not further develop this ancient viewpoint, which was the basis of this ancient drama; this could no longer be the development of later humanity.

And Shakespeare was placed in the development of the drama of that time, in that world which was looking for a different kind of drama at that time, so that something beyond the ordinary human would live in the drama. Shakespeare settled into this, and inspired by what can still be felt of the dramatic power of his time, he devoted himself to something that gives one the feeling that more than a single human personality is at work in Shakespeare; in Shakespeare, the spirit of his century is at work, and with it, basically, the spirit of the entire development of humanity. Because there was still something of that ancient feeling in Shakespeare, he brought to life within himself not an intellectual creation of this or that being or this or that human being, but he himself still lived within these figures. Thus the characters in his dramas became something that did not come from human intellect, but from the ignited power of the human being, which we must seek again if we want to develop true human ideals. But then we must return to intuition.

This is what is sought at the Goetheanum in Dornach, and it can be said that there humanity is once again referred to exact clairvoyance. What still works in Shakespeare, what he created in such a wonderful way on the one hand, what the mystery dramatists have still placed before people externally, and what Shakespeare worked out, can be made understandable. It is not an externality that one finds about 150 plant names in Shakespeare's dramas, that one finds about 100 bird names: all this belongs with Shakespeare to the whole, which develops as a continuous stream from the ancient cult impulses of the mysteries, which he brought entirely into human life. This is what makes his dramas alive and real, not what people put into them, motivated or unmotivated... Just as one cannot apply such a standard to Prometheus or Oedipus, one cannot apply it to Shakespeare. And in a wonderful way, we see the development of the mysteries in Shakespeare's own personality. He comes to London, he is placed in dramatic life, he writes poetry like others, he turns to the field of historical tradition for his material, he is dependent on the drama of others. We see how in these years his true artistic imagination awakens, so that from 1598 onwards he is able to impress the innermost being of his characters; we see, for example, when he wrote his “Hamlet,” that he cannot keep up with it with ordinary consciousness. It is as if one could feel that he experienced other worlds, that he judged the physical world differently. And such internalization proceeds with a kind of inner tragedy in Shakespeare. After first experiencing the external dramatic milieu, then the deepest inwardness—I would say, the encounter with the world spirit, of which Goethe spoke so beautifully—he returns to drama with a certain humor; humor that carries within it the highest powers, as, for example, in “The Tempest,” one of the most wonderful creations of all humanity, one of the richest developments of the dramatic art. In this way, Shakespeare can transfer a mature worldview into all areas of living human creativity.

But by tracing the dramatists back to the ancient mystery cults, which aimed at the living development of humanity, we can understand why Shakespeare's drama exerts such an educational power. If we are serious about these new ideals, then we can say: We can know how that which has emerged from a kind of self-education — as I have just described — can now also work in schools, reaching its highest spiritual elevation; how it can penetrate the living educational forces of our youth. This is what makes Shakespeare's dramas and the great educational questions of our time so relevant to us today, based on the experience of cosmic spirituality as a whole. But we must be spiritually active by all means, for we will only be able to answer these questions from Shakespeare if we answer them with the deepest spirituality, from a place of complete spirituality. We need this, for these are the ideals that humanity so desperately needs. We have a magnificent natural science; it gives us a dense, material world, but it can teach us nothing other than the end, which will lead to a kind of death of the world. We look at natural development and, based on the views of the last centuries, we find it strange when we look up to our ideals. But does the irreligious ideal have any real power throughout the civilized world? No! We must first acquire it again, we must ascend to the spiritual worlds in order to acquire this power, which can overcome everything, which can itself become a strong natural force, not just a belief. We must be able to rise to what creates something out of religious ideals, something that overcomes the material in the cosmos. We can only do this if we devote ourselves to the spiritual worldview. Shakespeare can be a great guide to this spiritual worldview.

But there is also a strong social need for the work of this spiritual worldview in the present. Please do not take it as if I wanted this development out of selfishness, because it is precisely in Dornach, Switzerland, that what can lead humanity back into reality, into the spiritual, into the true spirituality of the world, is being cultivated. It is precisely for this reason that it has been possible in Dornach to overcome many of the interests that are of concern to humanity today but which, unfortunately, divide humanity; conflicting interests that have created parties in all kinds of areas. And it may be said that while seventeen representatives of contemporary civilization worked in harmony in Dornach from 1913 until now, throughout the entire war era, we heard the cannons thundering in the neighborhood, where human discord clashed. And that representatives of seventeen nations were able to work together peacefully in the greatest of human wars seems to me to be a great ideal of education. What is possible on a small scale could also be possible on a large scale, and that is what human progress, human civilization, needs. Therefore, because we want progress in human civilization, I must point to a figure who had an impact on all of humanity, who gave all of humanity great inspiration for those new human ideals that are important for international humanity as a whole. That is why I must point to Shakespeare, and that is why I would like to conclude on this festive day with words that I have discussed in my debates—with words of Goethe's, which he felt when he sensed full, total spirituality and intellectuality in Shakespeare. A sentence escaped him which, it seems to me, must set the tone for all interpretations of Shakespeare, which must remain an eternal source of inspiration for all civilized people. And with this in mind, Goethe used the words about Shakespeare with which we can conclude this reflection: “It is the nature of the spirit that it eternally inspires the spirit.” That is why we must rightly say with Goethe: “Shakespeare and no end!”