Christianity as Mystical Fact
GA 8
II. The Mysteries and Mystery Wisdom
[ 1 ] A kind of mysterious veil hangs over the manner in which spiritual needs were satisfied during the older civilizations by those who sought a deeper religious life and fuller knowledge than the popular religions offered. If we inquire how these needs were satisfied, we find ourselves led into the dim twilight of the Mysteries, and the individual seeking them disappears for a time from our view. We see that the popular religions cannot give him what his heart desires. He acknowledges the existence of the gods, but knows that the ordinary ideas about them do not solve the great problems of existence. He seeks a wisdom that is jealously guarded by a community of Priest-sages. His aspiring soul seeks a refuge in this community. If he is found by the sages to be sufficiently Prepared, he is led up by them, step by step, to higher knowledge in a way that is hidden from the eyes of the Profane, What then happens to him is concealed from the uninitiated. He seems for a time to be entirely remote from earthly life and to be transported into a hidden world.
When he reappears in the light of day, a different, quite transformed person is before us. We see a man who cannot find words sublime enough to express the momentous experience through which he has passed. Not merely metaphorically, but in a most real sense does he seem to have gone through the gate of death and to have awakened to a new and higher life. He is, moreover, quite certain that no one who has not had a similar experience can understand his words.
[ 2 ] This was what happened to those who were initiated into the Mysteries, into that secret wisdom withheld from the people, and which threw light on the greatest problems. This secret religion of the elect existed side by side with the popular religion. Its origin vanishes, as far as history is concerned, into the obscurity in which the origin of peoples is lost. We find this secret religion everywhere among the ancients as far as we know anything concerning them; and we hear their sages speak of the Mysteries with the greatest reverence. What was it that was concealed in them? And what did they unveil to the initiate?
[ 3 ] The enigma becomes still more puzzling when we learn that the ancients looked upon the Mysteries as something dangerous. The way to the secrets of existence led through a world of terrors, and woe to him who tried to gain them unworthily. There was no greater crime than the betrayal of secrets to the uninitiated. The traitor was punished with death and the confiscation of his property. We know that the poet Æschylus was accused of having reproduced on the stage something from the Mysteries. He was only able to escape death by fleeing to the altar of Dionysos and by legally proving that he had never been initiated.
[ 4 ] What the ancients say about these secrets is significant, but at the same time ambiguous. The initiate is convinced that it would be a sin to tell what he knows, and also that it would be sinful for the uninitiated to hear it. Plutarch speaks of the terror of those about to be initiated, and compares their state of mind to preparation for death. A special mode of life had to precede initiation, tending to give the spirit the mastery over sensuality. Fasting, solitude, mortifications and certain exercises for the soul were the means employed. The things to which man clings in ordinary life were to lose all their value for him. The whole trend of his life of sensation and feeling was to be changed.
There can be no doubt as to the purpose of such exercises and tests. The wisdom which was to be offered to the candidate for initiation could only produce the right effect upon his soul if he had previously purified the life of his lower sensations. He was introduced to the life of the spirit. He was to behold a higher world, but he could not enter into relations with that world without previous exercises and trials. These relations were the crucial point.
In order to judge these matters aright it is necessary to gain experience of the intimate facts concerning the life of cognition. We must feel that there are two widely divergent attitudes towards that which the highest knowledge gives. In the first instance, the world surrounding us is the real one. We feel, hear, and see what goes on in it, and because we thus perceive things with our senses, we call them real. And we reflect about events in order to get an insight into their connections. On the other hand, what wells up in our soul is at first not real to us in the same sense. It is merely thoughts and ideas. At the most we see in them only images of sense-reality. They themselves have no reality, for we cannot touch, see, or hear them.
[ 5 ] There is another relation to the world, A person who clings to the kind of reality described above will hardly understand it, but it comes to certain people at a certain moment in their lives. Their whole relation to the world is completely reversed. They then call the images that well up in the spiritual life of their souls truly real, and they assign only a lower kind of reality to what the senses hear, touch, and see. They know that they cannot prove what they say, that they can only relate their new experiences, and that when relating them to others they are in the position of a man who can see and who imparts his visual impressions to one born blind. They venture to impart their inner experiences, trusting that there are others round them whose spiritual eyes, to be sure, are still closed, but whose intelligent comprehension may be aroused through the force of what they hear. For they have faith in humanity and want to give it spiritual sight. They can only lay before it the fruits their spirit has gathered. Whether another sees them depends on his receptivity to what the spiritual eye sees.1It was said above that those whose spiritual eyes are opened are able to see into the spiritual world. The conclusion must not on this account be drawn that only one who possesses spiritual sight is able to form an intelligent opinion about the results arrived at by the initiate. Spiritual sight is needed only for research. What is afterwards communicated can be understood by everyone who gives fair play to his reason and preserves an unbiased sense of truth. And such a person may also apply the results of research to life and derive satisfaction from them without himself having spiritual sight.
There is something in man which at first prevents him from seeing with the eyes of the spirit. It is not primarily within his horizon. He is what his senses make him, and his intellect is only the interpreter and judge of them. The senses would ill fulfil their mission if they did not insist upon the truth and infallibility of their evidence. An eye must, from its own point of view, uphold the absolute reality of its perceptions. The eye is right as far as it goes, and is not deprived of its due by the eye of the spirit. The latter only allows us to see the things of sense in a higher light. Nothing seen by the eye of sense is denied, but a new brightness, hitherto unseen, radiates from what is seen. And then we know that what we first saw was only a lower reality. We see that still, but it is immersed in something higher, which is spirit. It is now a question of whether we sense and feel what we see, The person who lives only in the sensations and feelings of the senses will look upon impressions of higher things as a Fata Morgana, or mere Play of fancy. His feelings are focussed only on the things of sense. He 8rasps emptiness when he tries to lay hold of spirit forms. They elude him when he gropes for them. In short, they are thoughts only. He thinks them but does not live in them, They are images, less real to him than fleeting dreams, They rise up like bubbles while he faces his own reality; they disappear before the massive, solidly built reality of which his senses tell him.
It is otherwise with one who has altered his perceptions and feelings with regard to reality. For him that reality has lost its absolute stability and value. His senses and feelings need not become dulled, but they begin to doubt their unconditional authority. They leave room for something else. The world of the spirit begins to animate the space left.
[ 6 ] At this point a possibility comes in which may prove terrible. A man may lose his sensations and feelings of outer reality without finding a new reality opening up before him. He then feels himself as if suspended in the void. He feels bereft of all life. The old values are gone and no new ones have arisen in their place. The world and man no longer exist for him. Now, this is by no means a mere possibility. It happens at one time or another to everyone who seeks higher knowledge. He comes to a point at which the spirit represents all life to him as death. He is then no longer in the world, but under it, in the nether world. He is passing through Hades. Well for him if he sink not! Happy, if a new world open up before him! Either he dies away or he appears to himself transformed. In the latter case he beholds a new sun and a new earth. Out of the fire of the spirit the whole world has been reborn for him.
[ 7 ] It is thus that the initiates describe the effect of the Mysteries upon them. Menippus relates that he journeyed to Babylon in order to be taken to Hades and brought back again by the successors of Zarathustra. He says that he swam across the great water on his wanderings, and that he passed through fire and ice. We hear that the mystics were terrified by a flashing sword, and that blood flowed. We understand this when we know from experience the point of transition from lower to higher knowledge. We ourselves had felt as if all solid matter and things of sense had dissolved into water, and as if the ground were cut away from under our feet. Everything which we had previously felt to be alive had been killed. The spirit had passed through the life of the senses like a sword piercing a warm body; we had seen the blood of sensuality flow.
[ 8 ] But a new life had appeared. We had risen from the nether-world. The orator Aristides relates this: “I thought I touched the god and felt him draw near, and I was then between waking and sleeping. My spirit was so light that no one who is not initiated can describe or understand it.” This new existence is not subject to the laws of lower life. Growth and decay no longer affect it. One may say much about the Eternal, but words of one who has not been through Hades are “mere sound and smoke.” The initiates have a new conception of life and death. Now for the first time do they feel they have the right to speak about immortality. They know that one who speaks of it without having been initiated talks of something which he does not understand. The uninitiated attribute immortality only to something which is subject to the laws of growth and decay. The mystics, however, did not desire merely to gain the conviction that the kernel of life is eternal. According to the view of the Mysteries, such a conviction would be quite valueless, for this view holds that the Eternal as a living reality is not even Present in the uninitiated. If such a person spoke of the Eternal, he would be speaking of something non-existent, It is rather this Eternal itself that the mystics seek., They have first to awaken the Eternal within them, then they can speak of it. Hence the hard saying of Plato is quite real to them, that the uninitiated sinks into the mire,2“The sinking into the mire” spoken of by Plato must also be interpreted in the sense referred to in the previous note. and that only one who has passed through the mystical life enters eternity. And it is only in this sense that the words in Sophocles’ Fragment can be understood: “Thrice-blessed are the initiated who come to the realm of the shades. They alone have life there. For others there is only misery and hardship.”
[ 9 ] Is one, therefore, not describing dangers when speaking of the Mysteries? Is it not robbing a man of happiness and of a most precious part of his life to lead him to the portals of the nether-world? Terrible is the responsibility incurred by such an act. And yet ought that responsibility to be evaded? These were the questions which the initiate had to put to himself. He was of the opinion that his knowledge bore the same relation to the soul of the people as light does to darkness. But innocent happiness dwells in that darkness, and the mystics were of the opinion that that happiness should not be sacrilegiously interfered with. For what would have happened in the first place if the mystic had betrayed his secret? He would have uttered words and only words. The sensations and feelings which would have evoked the spirit from the words would have been absent. To accomplish what was lacking, preparation, exercises, trials, and a complete change in the life of sense would be necessary. Without this the hearer would have been hurled into emptiness and nothingness. He would have been deprived of what constituted his happiness without receiving anything in exchange. One may also say that nothing could have been taken away from him, for mere words would have changed nothing in his life of feeling. He would only have been able to feel and experience reality through his senses. Nothing but a life-destroying premonition would have been given him. This could only have been construed as a crime.3What was said about the impossibility of o imparting the teachings of the Mysteries has reference to the fact that they could not be communicated to those unprepared in the same form in which the initiate experienced them; but they were always communicated to those outside in such a form as was possible for the uninitiated to understand. For instance, the myths gave the old form in order to communicate the content of the Mysteries in a way that was generally comprehensible.
The foregoing does not altogether apply to the attainment of spiritual knowledge in our time. Today spiritual knowledge can be conceptually understood, because in more recent times man has acquired a conceptual capacity that formerly was lacking. Nowadays some people can have cognition of the spiritual world through their own exeriences conceptually.
The wisdom of the Mysteries resembles a hothouse plant that must be cultivated and fostered in seclusion. Anyone bringing it into the atmosphere of everyday ideas brings it into air in which it cannot thrive. It withers away to nothing before the caustic verdict of modern science and logic. Let us, therefore, divest ourselves for a time of the education we gained through the microscope and telescope and the habit of thought derived from natural science, and let us cleanse our clumsy hands which have been too much occupied with dissecting and experimenting, in order that we may enter the pure temple of the Mysteries. For this a truly unprejudiced attitude is necessary.
The important point for the mystic is at first the soul mood in which he approaches that which he feels as the highest, as the answers to the riddles of existence. Just in our day, when only gross physical science is recognized as containing truth, it is difficult to believe that in the highest things we depend upon the keynote of the soul. It is true that knowledge thereby becomes an intimate personal concern. But this is what it really is to the mystic. Tell some one the solution of the riddle of the universe! Give it to him ready-made! The mystic will find it to be nothing but empty sound, if the personality does not meet the solution half-way in the right manner. The solution in itself is nothing; it vanishes if the necessary feeling is not kindled at its contact. A divinity may approach you: it is either everything or nothing. Nothing, if you meet it in the frame of mind with which you confront everyday matters; everything, if you are prepared and attuned to the meeting. What the divinity is in itself is a matter that does not affect you; the important point for you is whether it leaves you as it found you or makes a different man of you. But this depends entirely on yourself. You must have been prepared by a special education, by a development of the inmost forces of your personality for the work of kindling and releasing what a divinity is able to kindle and release in you. Everything depends upon the way in which you receive what is offered you.
Plutarch has told us about this education, and of the greeting which the mystic offers the divinity approaching him: “For the god, as it were, greets each one who approaches him with the words, ‘Know thyself!” which is surely no worse than the ordinary greeting, ‘Welcome!” Then we answer the divinity in the words, ‘Thou art” and thus we affirm that the true, primordial, and only adequate greeting for him is to declare that he is. In that existence we really have no part here, for every mortal being, during its existence between birth and death, merely manifests an appearance, a feeble and uncertain image of itself. If we try to grasp it with our understanding, it is like water which, when tightly compressed, runs over merely through the pressure, spoiling what it touches. For the understanding, pursuing a too definite conception of each being that is subject to chance and change, loses its way, now in the origin of the being, now in its destruction, and is unable to apprehend anything lasting or really existing. For, as Heraclitus says, we cannot swim twice in the same wave, neither can we lay hold of a mortal being twice in the same state, for, through the violence and rapidity of movement, it is destroyed and recomposed; it comes into being and again decays; it comes and goes. Therefore, that which is becoming can never attain real existence, because growth neither ceases nor pauses. Change begins in the germ, and forms an embryo; then there appears a child, then a youth, a man, and an old man; the first beginnings and successive ages are continually annulled by the ensuing ones. Hence it is ridiculous to fear the one death, when we have already died in so many ways, and are still dying. For, as Heraclitus says, not only is the death of fire the birth of air, and the death of air the birth of water, but the change may be still more, plainly seen in man. The strong man dies when he becomes old, the youth when he becomes a man, the boy on becoming a youth, and the child on becoming a boy. What existed yesterday dies today, what is here today will die tomorrow. Nothing endures or is a unity, but we become many things, whilst matter plays around one image, one common form. For if we were always the same, how could we take pleasure in things which formerly did not please us, how could we love and hate, admire and blame opposite things, how could we speak differently and give ourselves up to different passions, unless we were endowed with a different shape, form, and different senses? For no one can very well enter a different state without change, and one who is changed is no longer the same; but if he is not the same, he no longer exists and is changed from what he was, becoming someone else. Sense perception only led us astray, because we do not know real being, and mistook for it that which is only an appearance.4Plutarch’s Moral Works, On the Inscription EJ at Delphi, pp. 17-18.
[ 11 ] Plutarch repeatedly described himself as an initiate. What he portrays here is a condition of the life of the mystic. The human being achieves a degree of wisdom by means of which his spirit sees through the illusory character of sense life. What the senses regard as being, or reality, is plunged into the stream of becoming; and man is in this respect subject to the same conditions as all else in the world. Before the eyes of his spirit he himself dissolves; his entity is broken up into parts, into fleeting phenomena. Birth and death lose their distinctive meaning and become moments of appearing and disappearing, like any other happenings in the world. The highest cannot be found in the connection between development and decay. It can only be sought in what is really abiding, in what looks back to the past and forward to the future.
To find that which looks backward and forward means a higher stage of cognition. This is the spirit, which is manifesting in and through the physical. It has nothing to do with physical becoming. It does not come into being and again decay as do sense-phenomena. One who lives entirely in the world of sense carries the spirit latent within him. One who has pierced through the illusion of the world of sense has the spirit within him as a manifest reality. The man who attains to this insight has developed a new principle within himself. Something has happened within him similar to what occurs in a plant when it adds a colored blossom to its green leaves. True, the forces causing the flower to grow were already latent in the plant before the blossom appeared, but they only became a reality when this took place. In the same way, divine, spiritual forces are latent in the man who lives merely in his senses, but they only become a manifest reality in the initiate. In this consists the transformation that takes place in the mystic. By his development he has added a new element to the world as it had been. The world of sense made him a sense man, and then left him to himself. Nature had thus fulfilled her mission. What she is able to do with the forces operative in man is exhausted; not so the forces themselves. They lie as though spellbound in the merely natural man and await their release. They cannot release themselves. They vanish into nothingness unless man seizes upon them and develops them, unless he calls into actual being what is latent within him.
Nature evolves from the most imperfect to the perfect. She leads beings, through a long series of stages, from inanimate matter through all living forms up to physical man. Man looks around and finds himself a changeable being with physical reality; but he also senses within himself the forces from which this physical reality arose. These forces are not the changeable, for they have given birth to the factor of change. They are within man as a sign that there is more life within him than he can physically perceive. What can grow out of them is not yet there. Man feels something flash up within him which created everything, including himself; and he feels that it is this which will inspire him to higher creative activity. This something is within him; it existed before his manifestation in the flesh, and will exist afterwards. By means of it he became, but he may lay hold of it and take part in its creative activity.
Such are the feelings that animated the ancient mystic after initiation. He feels the Eternal and the Divine. His activity is to become a part of that divine creative activity. He may say to himself: “I have discovered a higher ego within me, but that ego extends beyond the bounds of my sense existence. It existed before my birth and will exist after my death. This ego has created from all eternity, it will go on creating in all eternity. My physical personality is a creation of this ego. But it has incorporated me within it, it works within me, I am a part of it. What I henceforth create will be higher than the physical. My personality is only a means for this creative power, for this divine that exists within me.” Thus did the mystic experience his birth into the divine.
[ 12 ] The mystic called the power that thus flashed up within him his true spirit, his daimon. He was himself the product of this spirit. It seemed to him as though a new being had entered him and taken possession of his organs, a being standing between his sense personality and the all-ruling cosmic power, the divinity.
The mystic sought this true spirit. He said to himself: “I have become a human being in mighty nature. But nature did not complete her task: this completion I must take in hand myself. Yet I cannot accomplish it in the crude kingdom of nature to which my physical personality belongs. What it is possible. to develop in that realm has already been developed. Therefore I must leave this kingdom and take up the building in the realm of the spirit at the point where nature left off. I must create an atmosphere of life not to be found in outer nature.”
This atmosphere of life was prepared for the mystic in the Mystery temples. There the forces slumbering within him were awakened, there he was changed into a higher creative spirit-nature. This transformation was a delicate process. It could not bear the untempered atmosphere of everyday life. But once completed, its result was that the human being stood as a rock, founded on the Eternal and able to defy all storms. But it was impossible for him to reveal his experiences to any one unprepared to receive them.
[ 13 ] Plutarch says that the Mysteries provided “the deep- est information and interpretation of the true nature of the daimons.” And Cicero tells us that from the Mysteries, “when they are explained and traced back to their meaning, we learn the nature of things rather than that of the gods.”5Plutarch: On the Decline of the Oracles; Cicero: On the Nature of the Gods. From such statements we see clearly that for the mystics there were higher revelations about the nature of things than what popular religion was able to impart. Indeed, we see that the daimons, that is, the spiritual beings, and the gods themselves needed explaining. Therefore initiates went back to beings of a higher nature than daimons and gods, and this was characteristic of the essence of the wisdom of the Mysteries.
The people represented the gods and daimons in images borrowed from the world of sense reality. Would not one who had penetrated into the nature of the Eternal doubt the eternal nature of such gods as these? How could the Zeus of popular imagination be eternal since he bore the qualities of a perishable being? One thing was clear to the mystics: that man arrives at a conception of the gods in a different way from the conception of other things. An object belonging to the outer world compels us to form a very definite idea of it. Compared with this our conception of the gods is freer, even somewhat arbitrary. The control by the outer world is absent. Reflection shows us that what we set up as gods cannot be externally verified. This places us in logical uncertainty; we begin to feel that we ourselves are the creators of our gods. Indeed, we ask ourselves: What led us to venture beyond physical reality in our life of conceptions? The mystic was obliged to ask himself such questions; his doubts were justified. “Look at all representations of the gods,” he might think to himself. “dre they not like the beings we meet in the world of sense? Did not man create them for himself by giving or withholding from them, in his thought, some quality belonging to beings of the sense world? The savage lover of the chase creates a heaven in which the gods themselves take part in glorious hunting, and the Greek peopled his Olympus with divine beings whose models were taken from his own surroundings.”
[ 14 ] The philosopher Xenophanes (575-480 B.C.) drew attention to this fact with ruthless logic. We know that the older Greek philosophers were entirely dependent on the wisdom of the Mysteries. We will later prove this in detail, basing it on Heraclitus. What Xenophanes says may without question be taken as the conviction of the mystic. It runs thus:
[ 15 ] “Men, who picture the gods as created in their own human forms, give them human senses, voices, and bodies. But if cattle and lions had hands and knew how to use them like men in painting and working, they would paint the forms of the gods and give shape to their bodies like their own. Horses would create gods in horse-form, and cattle would make gods resembling cattle.”
[ 16 ] Through insight of this kind man may begin to doubt the existence of anything divine, He may reject all mythology and only recognize as reality what is forced upon him by his sense perception. But the mystic did not become a doubter of this kind. He saw that the doubter would be like a plant saying: “My crimson flowers are null and futile, because I am complete within my green leaves. What I may add to them is only adding illusive appearance.” Just as little also could the mystic rest content with gods thus created, the gods of the people. If the plant could think it would understand that the forces which created its green leaves are also intended to create crimson flowers, and it would not rest till it had investigated those forces and come face to face with them. This was the attitude of the mystic toward the gods of the people. He did not repudiate them or say they were futile, but he knew they had been created by man. The same forces, the same divine element, which are at work in nature, are at work in the mystic. They create within him images of the gods. He wishes to see the force that creates the gods; it does not resemble the popular gods; it is of a higher nature. Xenophanes alludes to it thus: [ 17 ] “There is one god greater than all gods and men. His form is not like that of mortals, his thoughts are not their thoughts.”
[ 18 ] This god was also the God of the Mysteries. He might have been called a hidden God, for the human being could never find him with his senses only. Look at outer things around you: you will find nothing Divine. Exert your reason: you may be able to detect the laws by which things appear and disappear, but even your reason will show you nothing divine. Saturate your imagination with religious feeling, and you may be able to create images which you take to be gods; but your intellect will pull them to pieces, for it will prove to you that you created them yourself and borrowed the material from the sense world. As long as you look at outer things simply in your capacity of a reasonable being, you must deny the existence of God; for God is hidden from the senses and from that intellect of yours which explains sense perceptions. God lies hidden, spellbound in the world, and you need his own power to find him. That power you must awaken in yourself.
These are the teachings which were given to the candidate for initiation. And now there began for him the great cosmic drama with which he was closely bound up. The action of the drama meant nothing less than the deliverance of the spellbound god. Where is God? This was the question asked by the soul of the mystic. God is not existent, but nature exists. And in nature he must be found. There he has found an enchanted grave. It was in a higher sense that the mystic understood the words “God is love.” For God has infinitely expanded that love, he has sacrificed himself in infinite love, he has poured himself out, fallen into number in the manifold of nature. Things in nature live and he does not live in them. He slumbers within them. He lives in man, and man can experience his life within himself. If we are to give him existence, we must deliver him by the creative power within us.
The human being now looks into himself. As latent creative power, as yet without existence, the Divine lives in his soul. In the soul is a place where the spellbound god may wake to liberty. The soul is the mother who is able to conceive the god by nature. If the soul be impregnated by nature she will give birth to the divine. God is born from the union of the soul with nature—no longer a hidden, but a manifest god. He has life, perceptible life, moving among men. He is the spirit freed from enchantment, the offspring of the spellbound God. He is not the great God, who was and is and is to come, yet he may be taken, in a certain sense, as his revelation. The Father remains in the unseen; the Son is born to man out of his own soul. Mystical knowledge is thus an actual event in the cosmic process. It is the birth of a divine offspring. It is an event as real as any natural event, only enacted upon a higher plane.
The great secret of the mystic is that he himself creatively delivers his divine offspring, but that he first prepares himself to recognize him. The uninitiated man has no feeling for the father of that god, for that Father slumbers under a spell. The Son appears to be born of a virgin, the soul having seemingly given birth to him without impregnation. All her other children are conceived by the sense world. Here the father may be seen and touched, having the life of sense. The divine Son alone is begotten of the hidden, eternal Father - God himself.
Mysterien und Mysterienweisheit
[ 1 ] Etwas wie ein geheimnisvoller Schleier liegt über der Art, wie innerhalb der alten Kulturen diejenigen ihre geistigen Bedürfnisse befriedigten, welche nach einem tieferen religiösen und Erkenntnisleben suchten als die Volksreligionen bieten konnten. In das Dunkel rätselvoller Kulte werden wir geführt, wenn wir der Befriedigung solcher Bedürfnisse nachforschen. Jede Persönlichkeit, die solche Befriedigung findet, entzieht sich für einige Zeit unserer Beobachtung. Wir sehen, wie ihr zunächst die Volksreligionen nicht geben können, was ihr Herz sucht. Sie anerkennt die Götter; aber sie weiß, daß in den gewöhnlichen Anschauungen über die Götter die großen Rätsel fragen des Daseins sich nicht enthüllen. Sie sucht eine Weisheit, die sorglich eine Gemeinschaft von Priesterweisen hütet. Sie sucht Zuflucht bei dieser Gemeinschaft für die strebende Seele. Wird sie von den Weisen reif befunden, so wird sie von ihnen auf eine Art, die sich dem Auge des Außenstehenden entzieht, von Stufe zu Stufe hinaufgeführt zu höherer Einsicht. Was mit ihr nun vorgeht, verhüllt sich den Uneingeweihten. Sie scheint der irdischen Welt für einige Zeit völlig entrückt. Wie in eine geheime Welt versetzt erscheint sie. — Und wenn sie wieder dem Tageslicht gegeben ist, steht eine andere, eine völlig verwandelte Persönlichkeit vor uns. Eine Persönlichkeit, die nicht Worte findet, die erhaben genug sind, um auszudrücken, wie bedeutungsvoll das Erlebte für sie gewesen ist. Sie erscheint sich nicht bildlich bloß, sondern im Sinne höchster Wirklichkeit wie durch den Tod hindurchgegangen und zu neuem höheren Leben erwacht. Und sie ist klar darüber, daß niemand ihre Worte recht verstehen kann, der nicht ein Gleiches erlebt hat.
[ 2 ] So war es mit den Personen, welche durch die Mysterien eingeweiht wurden in jenen geheimnisvollen Weisheitsinhalt, der dem Volke entzogen wurde und der über die höchsten Fragen Licht brachte. Neben der Volksreligion bestand diese «geheime» Religion der Auserwählten. Ihr Ursprung verschwimmt für den geschichtlichen Blick in das Dunkel des Völkerursprungs. Man findet sie bei den alten Völkern überall, soweit man darüber eine Einsicht gewinnen kann. Die Weisen dieser Völker reden mit der größten Ehrerbietung von den Mysterien. — Was wurde in ihnen verhüllt? Und was enthüllten sie dem, der in sie eingeweiht wurde?
[ 3 ] Das Rätselhafte ihrer Erscheinung wird erhöht, wenn man gewahr wird, daß die Mysterien von den Alten zugleich als etwas Gefährliches angesehen wurden. Durch eine Welt von Furchtbarkeiten führte der Weg zu den Geheimnissen des Daseins. Und wehe dem, der unwürdig zu ihnen gelangen wollte. — Kein größeres Verbrechen gab es als den «Verrat» der Geheimnisse an Uneingeweihte. Mit dem Tode und der Güterkonfiskation wurde der «Verräter» gestraft. Man weiß, daß der Dichter Äschylus angeklagt wär, einiges von den Mysterien auf die Bühne gebracht zu haben. Er konnte dem Tode nur entgehen durch die Flucht zu dem Altar des Dionysos und durch den gerichtlichen Nachweis, daß er gar kein Eingeweihter war.
[ 4 ] Vielsagend aber auch vieldeutig ist, was die Alten über diese Geheimnisse sagen. Der Eingeweihte ist überzeugt, daß es sündhaft ist, zu sagen, was er weiß; und auch daß es für den Uneingeweihten sündhaft ist, es zu hören. Plutarch spricht von dem Schrecken der Einzuweihenden und vergleicht den Zustand derselben mit der Vorbereitung zum Tode. Eine besondere Lebensweise mußte den Einweihungen vorangehen. Sie war dazu angetan, die Sinnlichkeit in die Gewalt des Geistes zu bringen. Fasten, einsames Leben, Kasteiungen und gewisse seelische Übungen sollten dazu dienen. Woran der Mensch im gewöhnlichen Leben hängt, sollte allen Wert für ihn verlieren. Die ganze Richtung seines Empfindungs- und Gefühlslebens mußte eine andere werden. — Man kann nicht im Zweifel sein über den Sinn solcher Übungen und Prüfungen. Die Weisheit, die dem Einzuweihenden dargeboten werden sollte, konnte nur dann die rechte Wirkung auf seine Seele tun, wenn er vorher seine niedere Empfindungswelt umgestaltet hatte. In das Leben des Geistes wurde er eingeführt. Er sollte eine höhere Welt schauen. Zu ihr konnte er ohne vorherige Übungen und Prüfungen kein Verhältnis gewinnen. Es kam eben auf dieses Verhältnis an. Wer über diese Dinge recht denken will, muß Erfahrungen über die intimen Tatsachen des Erkenntnislebens haben. Er muß empfinden, daß es zwei weit auseinanderliegende Verhältnisse gibt zu dem, was die höchste Erkenntnis darbietet. — Die Welt, die den Menschen umgibt, ist zunächst seine wirkliche. Er tastet, hört und sieht ihre Vorgänge. Er nennt diese deshalb, weil er sie mit seinen Sinnen wahrnimmt, wirklich. Und er denkt über sie nach, um sich über ihre Zusammenhänge aufzuklären. — Was dagegen in seiner Seele aufsteigt, ist ihm zuerst nicht in demselben Sinne Wirklichkeit. Es sind das eben «bloße» Gedanken und Ideen. Bilder der sinnlichen Wirklichkeit sieht er höchstens in ihnen. Sie haben selbst keine Wirklichkeit. Man kann sie ja nicht betasten; man hört und sieht sie nicht.
[ 5 ] Es gibt ein anderes Verhältnis zu der Welt. Wer unbedingt an der eben geschilderten Art von Wirklichkeit hängt, wird es kaum begreifen. Es stellt sich für gewisse Menschen in einem Zeitpunkte ihres Lebens ein. Für sie kehrt sich das ganze Verhältnis zur Welt um. Sie nennen Gebilde, die in dem geistigen Leben ihrer Seele auftauchen, wahrhaft wirklich. Und was Sinne hören, tasten und sehen, dem schreiben sie nur eine Wirklichkeit niederer Art zu. Sie wissen, daß sie, was sie da sagen, nicht beweisen können. Sie wissen, daß sie von ihren neuen Erfahrungen nur erzählen können. Und daß sie mit ihren Erzählungen dem Andern so gegenüberstehen wie der Sehende mit der Mitteilung der Wahrnehmungen seines Auges dem Blindgeborenen. Sie unternehmen die Mitteilung ihrer inneren Erlebnisse in dem Vertrauen, daß um sie andere stehen, deren geistiges Auge zwar noch geschlossen ist, deren gedankliches Verstehen aber durch die Kraft des Mitgeteilten ermöglicht werden kann. Denn sie haben den Glauben an die Menschheit und wollen geistige Augenaufschließer sein. Sie können nur hinlegen die Früchte, die ihr Geist selbst gepflückt hat; ob der andere sie sieht, hängt davon ab, ob er Verständnis hat für das, was ein Geistesauge schaut.1Es wird oben gesagt, daß diejenigen, deren geistige Augen geöffnet sind, in das Gebiet der geistigen Welt schauen können. Daraus möge aber nicht der Schluß gezogen werden, daß nur derjenige ein verständnisvolles Urteil über die Ergebnisse des Eingeweihten haben kann, welcher selbst die «geistigen Augen » hat. Diese gehören nur zum Forschen; wenn dann das Erforschte mitgeteilt wird, dann kann es jeder verstehen, welcher seine Vernunft und seinen unbefangenen Wahrheitssinn sprechen läßt. Und ein solcher kann diese Ergebnisse auch im Leben anwenden und sich Befriedigung aus ihnen holen, ohne daß er selbst schon die «geistigen Augen» hat. — Es ist im Menschen etwas, was ihn zunächst hindert, mit Geistesaugen zu sehen. Er ist zuerst gar nicht dazu da. Er ist, was er seinen Sinnen nach ist; und sein Verstand ist nur der Erklärer und Richter seiner Sinne. Diese Sinne würden ihre Aufgabe schlecht erfüllen, wenn sie nicht auf der Treue und Untrüglichkeit ihrer Aussagen beständen. Ein Auge wäre ein schlechtes Auge, das nicht von seinem Standpunkte aus die unbedingte Wirklichkeit seiner Gesichtswahrnehmungen behauptete. Das Auge hat für sich Recht. Es verliert auch sein Recht nicht durch das Geistesauge. Dies Geistesauge läßt nur zu, daß man die Dinge des sinnlichen Auges in einem höheren Lichte sieht. Man leugnet dann auch nichts von dem, was das sinnliche Auge geschaut hat. Aber von dem Gesehenen strahlt ein neuer Glanz aus, den man früher nicht gesehen hat. Und dann weiß man, daß man zuerst nur eine niedere Wirklichkeit gesehen hat. Man sieht nunmehr dasselbe; aber man sieht es eingetaucht in ein Höheres, in den Geist. Es handelt sich nun darum, ob man auch empfindet und fühlt, was man sieht. Wer allein dem Sinnlichen gegenüber mit lebendigen Empfindungen und Gefühlen dasteht, der sieht in dem Höheren eine Fata Morgana, ein «bloßes» Phantasiegebilde. Seine Gefühle sind eben nur auf das Sinnliche hingeordnet. Er greift ins Leere, wenn er die Geistesgebilde fassen will. Sie ziehen sich vor ihm zurück, wenn er nach ihnen tasten will. Sie sind eben «bloße» Gedanken. Er denkt sie; er lebt nicht in ihnen. Bilder sind sie ihm, unwirklicher als hinhuschende Träume. Als Schaumgebilde steigen sie auf, wenn er sich seiner Wirklichkeit gegenüberstellt; sie verschwinden gegenüber der massiven, in sich fest gebauten Wirklichkeit, von der ihm seine Sinne mitteilen. -Anders der, welcher seine Empfindungen und Gefühle gegenüber der Wirklichkeit verändert hat. Für den hat diese Wirklichkeit ihre absolute Standfestigkeit, ihren unbedingten Wert verloren. Nicht stumpf brauchen seine Sinne und seine Gefühle zu werden. Aber sie fangen an, an ihrer unbedingten Herrschaft zu zweifeln; sie lassen Raum für etwas anderes. Die Welt des Geistes fängt an diesen Raum zu beleben.
[ 6 ] Eine Möglichkeit liegt hier, die furchtbar sein kann. Es ist die, daß der Mensch seine Empfindungen und Gefühle für die unmittelbare Wirklichkeit verliert und sich keine neue vor ihm auftut. Er schwebt dann wie im Leeren. Er kommt sich wie abgestorben vor. Die alten Werte sind dahin, und keine neuen sind ihm erstanden. Die Welt und der Mensch sind dann für ihn nicht mehr vorhanden. -Das ist aber gar nicht eine bloße Möglichkeit. Es wird für jeden, der zu höherer Erkenntnis kommen will, einmal Wirklichkeit. Er langt da an, wo der Geist für ihn alles Leben für Tod erklärt. Er ist dann nicht mehr in der Welt. Er ist unter der Welt — in der Unterwelt. Er vollzieht die -Hadesfahrt. Wohl ihm, wenn er nun nicht versinkt. Wenn sich vor ihm eine neue Welt auftut. Er schwindet entweder dahin; oder er steht als Verwandelter neu vor sich. In letzterem Falle steht eine neue Sonne, eine neue Erde vor ihm. Aus dem geistigen Feuer ist ihm die ganze Welt wiedergeboren.
[ 7 ] Und so schildern die Eingeweihten, was durch die Mysterien aus ihnen geworden ist. Menippus erzählt, daß er nach Babylon gereist sei, um von den Nachfolgern des Zoroaster in den Hades und wieder zurück geführt zu werden. Er sagt, daß er auf seinen Wanderungen durch das große Wasser geschwommen sei; daß er durch Feuer und Eis gekommen sei. Man hört von den Mysten, daß sie durch ein gezücktes Schwert erschreckt worden seien, und daß dabei «Blut floß». Man versteht solche Worte, wenn man die Durchgangsstätte von der niederen zu der höheren Erkenntnis kennt. Man hat ja selbst gefühlt, wie alle feste Materie, wie alles Sinnliche zu Wasser zerflossen ist; man hatte ja allen Boden verloren. Alles, was man vorher als lebend empfunden hatte, war getötet worden. Wie ein Schwert durch den warmen Körper geht, ist der Geist durch alles sinnliche Leben gegangen; man hat das Blut der Sinnlichkeit fließen sehen.
[ 8 ] Aber ein neues Leben ist erschienen. Man ist aus der Unterwelt emporgestiegen. Der Redner Aristides spricht davon. «Ich glaubte den Gott zu berühren, sein Nahen zu fühlen, und ich war dabei zwischen Wachen und Schlaf; mein Geist war ganz leicht, so daß es kein Mensch sagen und begreifen kann, der nicht «eingeweiht» ist.» Dieses neue Dasein ist nicht den Gesetzen des niederen Lebens unterworfen. Werden und Vergehen berühren es nicht. Man kann viel über das Ewige sprechen; wer nicht das damit meint, was die aussagen, die nach der Hadesfahrt davon sprechen, dessen Worte sind «Schall und Rauch». Die Eingeweihten haben eine neue Anschauung von Leben und Tod. Sie halten sich nun erst befugt, von Unsterblichkeit zu sprechen. Sie wissen, daß wer ohne Kenntnis derer, die aus den Weihen heraus von Unsterblichkeit sprechen, etwas von ihr sagt, das er nicht versteht. Ein solcher schreibt nur einem Dinge die Unsterblichkeit zu, das den Gesetzen des Werdens und Vergehens unterworfen ist. — Nicht die bloße Überzeugung von der Ewigkeit des Lebenskerns wollen die Mysten gewinnen. Nach der Auffassung der Mysterien wäre eine solche Überzeugung ohne allen Wert. Denn nach solcher Auffassung ist in dem Nicht-Mysten das Ewige gar nicht lebendig vorhanden. Spräche er von einem Ewigen, so spräche er von einem Nichts. Es ist vielmehr dieses Ewige selbst, was die Mysten suchen. Sie müssen in sich das Ewige erst erwecken; dann können sie davon sprechen. Daher hat für sie das harte Wort des Plato volle Wirklichkeit, daß in Schlamm versinkt, 2Das «Versinken im Schlamm», von dem Plato spricht, muß auch im Sinne dessen gedeutet werden, was eben zur Seite 21 als Bemerkung hinzugefügt worden ist. wer nicht eingeweiht; und daß nur der in die Ewigkeit eingeht, der mystisches Leben durchgemacht hat. So nur auch können die Worte in dem Sophokles-Fragment verstanden werden: «Wie hochbeglückt gelangen jene ins Schattenreich — die eingeweiht sind. Sie leben dort allein -den andern ist nur Not und Ungemach bestimmt.»
[ 9 ] Schildert man also nicht Gefahren, wenn man von den Mysterien redet? Ist es nicht ein Glück, ja ein Lebenswert höchster Art, den man demjenigen raubt, den man an das Tor der Unterwelt führt? Furchtbar ist doch die Verantwortlichkeit, die man dadurch auf sich lädt. Und dennoch: dürfen wir uns dieser Verantwortlichkeit entziehen? So waren die Fragen, die sich der Eingeweihte vorzulegen hatte. Er war der Meinung, daß zu seinem Wissen sich das Volksgemüt verhält, wie zum Licht das Dunkel. Aber in diesem Dunkel wohnt ein unschuldiges Glück. Es war die Meinung der Mysten, daß in dieses Glück nicht frevelhaft eingegriffen werden dürfe. Denn was wäre es zunächst denn gewesen: wenn der Myste sein Geheimnis «verraten» hätte? Er hätte Worte, nichts als Worte gesprochen. Nirgends wären die Empfindungen und Gefühle gewesen, die aus diesen Worten den Geist geschlagen hätten. Dazu hätte ja die Vorbereitung, hätten die Übungen und Prüfungen, hätte der ganze Wandel im Sinnesleben gehört. Ohne diese hätte man den Hörer in die Leerheit, in die Nichtigkeit geschleudert. Man hätte ihm genommen, was sein Glück ausmachte; und man hätte ihm nichts dafür geben können. Ja man hätte ihm nicht einmal etwas nehmen können. Denn mit bloßen Worten hätte man sein Empfindungsleben ja doch nicht ändern können. Er hätte nur bei den Dingen seiner Sinne Wirklichkeit fühlen, erleben können. Nicht mehr als eine furchtbare, lebenzerstörende Ahnung hätte man ihm geben können. Als ein Verbrechen hätte man das auffassen müssen. Es kann dies nicht mehr volle Gültigkeit haben für die Erringung der Geist-Erkenntnis in der Gegenwart. Diese kann begrifflich verstanden werden, weil die neuere Menschheit eine Begriffsfähigkeit hat, welche der alten fehlte. Heute kann es solche Menschen geben, die Erkenntnis der geistigen Welt durch eigenes Erleben haben; und ihnen können solche gegenüberstehen, die dieses Erlebte begrifflich verstehen. Eine solche Begriffsfähigkeit fehlte der älteren Menschheit. Es gleicht die alte Mysterienweisheit einer Treibhauspflanze, die in Abgeschlossenheit gehegt und gepflegt werden muß. Wer sie in die Atmosphäre der Alltagsanschauungen trägt, der gibt ihr eine Lebensluft, in der sie nicht gedeihen kann. Vor dem kaustischen Urteil moderner Wissenschaftlichkeit und Logik zerschmilzt sie in nichts. Entäußern wir uns deshalb eine Zeitlang aller Erziehung, die uns Mikroskop, Fernrohr und naturwissenschaftliche Denkweise gebracht haben; reinigen wir unsere täppisch gewordenen Hände, die zuviel mit Sezieren und Experimentieren beschäftigt waren, damit wir in den reinen Tempel der Mysterien treten können. Dazu ist wahre Unbefangenheit notwendig.3Was gesagt ist über die Unmöglichkeit, die Lehren der Mysterien mitzuteilen, bezieht sich darauf, daß sie in der Form, in welcher sie der Eingeweihte erlebt, nicht dem Unvorbereiteten mitgeteilt werden können; in der Form aber, in welcher sie verstanden werden können von dem nicht Eingeweihten, wurden sie immer mitgeteilt. Die Mythen gaben zum Beispiel die alte Form, um den Inhalt der Mysterien in allgemein verständlicher Art mitzuteilen.
[ 10 ] Es kommt für den Mysten zuerst auf die Stimmung an, in der er sich dem naht, was er als das Höchste, als die Antworten auf die Rätselfragen des Daseins empfindet. Gerade in unserer Zeit, in der man als Erkenntnis nur das Grob-Wissenschaftliche anerkennen will, wird es schwer, zu glauben, daß es in den höchsten Dingen auf eine Stimmung ankomme. Die Erkenntnis wird ja dadurch zu einer intimen Angelegenheit der Persönlichkeit gemacht. Für den Mysten ist sie aber eine solche. Man sage jemand die Lösung des Welträtsels! Man gebe sie ihm fertig in die Hand! Der Myste wird finden, daß alles leerer Schall ist, wenn nicht die Persönlichkeit in der rechten Art dieser Lösung gegenübertritt. Diese Lösung ist nichts; sie zerflattert, wenn nicht das Gefühl das besondere Feuer fängt, das notwendig ist. Eine Gottheit trete dir entgegen! Sie ist entweder nichts oder alles. Nichts ist sie, wenn du ihr entgegentrittst in der Stimmung, in der du den Dingen des Alltags begegnest. Sie ist alles, wenn du für sie vorbereitet, gestimmt bist. Was sie für sich ist, das ist eine Sache, die dich nicht berührt: ob sie dich läßt, wie du bist, oder ob sie aus dir einen anderen Menschen macht: darauf kommt es an. Aber das hängt lediglich von dir ab. Eine Erziehung, eine Entwicklung intimster Kräfte der Persönlichkeit muß dich vorbereitet haben, damit in dir entzündet, ausgelöst werde, was eine Gottheit vermag. Es kommt auf den Empfang an, den du dem bereitest, was dir entgegengebracht wird. Plutarch hat von dieser Erziehung Mitteilung gemacht; er hat von dem Gruß erzählt, den der Myste der Gottheit bietet, die ihm entgegentritt: «Denn der Gott begrüßt gleichsam einen jeden von uns, der sich ihm hier nahet, mit dem: Kenne dich selbst, was doch gewiß um nichts schlechter ist als der gewöhnliche Gruß: Sei gegrüßt. Wir aber erwidern darauf der Gottheit mit den Worten: Du bist, und bringen ihr damit den Gruß des Seins als den wahren, ursprünglichen und allein ihr zukommenden. -Denn wir haben eigentlich hier keinen Anteil an diesem Sein, sondern eine jede sterbliche Natur, indem sie zwischen Entstehung und Untergang in der Mitte liegt, zeigt bloß eine Erscheinung und ein schwaches und unsicheres Wähnen von sich selbst; bemüht man sich nun mit dem Verstande sie zu erfassen, so geht es wie bei stark zusammengepreßtem Wasser, welches bloß durch den Druck und das Zusammenpressen gerinnt und das, was von ihm umfaßt wird, verdirbt; der Verstand nämlich, indem er der allzu deutlichen Vorstellung eines jeden der Zufälle und der Veränderung unterworfenen Wesens nachjagt, verirrt sich bald zum Ursprung desselben, bald zu seinem Untergang, und kann nichts Bleibendes oder wirklich Seiendes auffassen. Denn man kann, wie Heraklit sich ausdrückt, nicht zweimal in derselben Welle schwimmen, und ebensowenig ein sterbliches Wesen zweimal in demselben Zustand ergreifen, sondern durch die Heftigkeit und Schnelligkeit der Bewegung zerstört es sich und vereinigt sich wieder; es entsteht und vergeht; es geht herzu und geht weg. Daher das, was wird, nie zum wahren Sein gelangen kann, weil die Entstehung nie aufhört oder einen Stillstand hat, sondern schon beim Samen die Veränderung anfängt, indem sie einen Embryo bildet, dann ein Kind, dann einen Jüngling, einen Mann, einen Alten und einen Greis, indem sie die ersten Entstehungen und Alter stets vernichtet durch die darauffolgenden. Daher ist es lächerlich, wenn wir uns vor dem einen Tode fürchten, da wir schon auf so vielfache Art gestorben sind und sterben. Denn nicht bloß, wie Heraklit sagt, ist der Tod des Feuers das Entstehen der Luft, und der Tod der Luft das Entstehen des Wassers, sondern man kann dieses noch deutlicher an dem Menschen selbst wahrnehmen; der kräftige Mann stirbt, wenn er ein Greis wird, der Jüngling, indem er ein Mann wird, der Knabe, indem er ein Jüngling wird, das Kind, indem es ein Knabe wird. Das Gestrige ist Sterben in dem Heutigen, das Heutige stirbt in dem Morgenden; keines bleibt oder ist ein Einziges, sondern wir werden Vieles, indem die Materie sich um ein Bild, um eine gemeinschaftliche Form herumtreibt. Denn wie könnten wir, wenn wir stets dieselben wären, jetzt an andern Dingen Gefallen finden als früherhin, die entgegengesetzten Dinge lieben und hassen, bewundern und tadeln, anderes reden, anderen Leidenschaften uns ergeben, wenn wir nicht auch eine andere Gestalt, andere Formen und andere Sinne annähmen? Denn ohne Veränderung läßt sich nicht wohl in einen andern Zustand kommen, und der, welcher sich verändert, ist auch nicht mehr derselbe; wenn er aber nicht derselbe ist, so ist er auch nicht mehr und verändert sich aus eben diesem, indem er ein anderer wird. Die sinnliche Wahrnehmung verführte uns nur, weil wir das wahre Sein nicht kennen, was bloß scheint, dafür zu halten.» (Plutarch, Über das «EI» zu Delphi, 17 und 18 ).
[ 11 ] Plutarch charakterisiert sich des öfteren als einen Eingeweihten. Was er uns hier schildert, ist Bedingung des Mystenlebens. Der Mensch gelangt zu einer Weisheit, durch die der Geist zunächst die Scheinhaftigkeit des sinnlichen Lebens durchschaut. In den Fluß des Werdens wird alles eingetaucht, was die Sinnlichkeit als Sein, als Wirklichkeit anschaut. Und wie das mit allen anderen Dingen der Welt geschieht, so auch mit dem Menschen selbst. Vor seinem Geistesauge zerflattert er selbst; seine Ganzheit löst sich in Teile, in vergängliche Erscheinungen auf. Geburt und Tod verlieren ihre auszeichnende Bedeutung; sie werden zu Augenblicken der Entstehung und des Vergehens wie alles dasjenige, was sonst geschieht. In dem Zusammenhang von Werden und Vergehen kann das Höchste nicht gefunden werden. Es kann nur gesucht werden in dem, was wahrhaft bleibend ist, was zurückschaut auf das Vergangene und vorschaut auf das Zukünftige. Es ist eine höhere Erkenntnisstufe: dieses Rück- und Vorschauende zu finden. Es ist der Geist, der sich in und an dem Sinnlichen offenbart. Er hat nichts zu tun mit dem sinnlichen Werden. Er entsteht nicht und vergeht nicht in derselben Art wie die Sinneserscheinungen. Wer allein in der Sinnenwelt lebt, hat diesen Geist als verborgenen in sich; wer die Scheinhaftigkeit der Sinnenwelt durchschaut, hat ihn als offenbare Wirklichkeit in sich. Wer zu solchem Durchschauen gelangt, hat ein neues Glied an sich entwickelt. Es ist mit ihm etwas vorgegangen wie mit der Pflanze, die erst nur grüne Blätter hatte und dann eine farbige Blüte aus sich treibt. Gewiß: die Kräfte, durch welche die Blume geworden, lagen verborgen schon vor Entstehung der Blüte in der Pflanze, aber sie sind erst mit dieser Entstehung zur Wirklichkeit geworden. Auch in dem nur sinnlichen Menschen liegen verborgen die göttlich-geistigen Kräfte; aber erst in dem Mysten sind sie offenbare Wirklichkeit. Darin liegt die Verwandlung, die mit dem Mysten vorgegangen ist. Er hat zur vorher vorhandenen Welt, durch seine Entwicklung, etwas Neues hinzugefügt. Die sinnliche Welt hat aus ihm einen sinnlichen Menschen gemacht und ihn dann sich selbst überlassen. Die Natur hat damit ihre Sendung erfüllt. Was sie selbst mit den im Menschen wirksamen Kräften vermag, ist erschöpft. Aber noch nicht sind diese Kräfte selbst erschöpft. Sie liegen wie verzaubert in dem rein natürlichen Menschen und harren ihrer Erlösung. Sie können sich nicht selbst erlösen; sie verschwinden in Nichts, wenn der Mensch sie nun nicht ergreift und weiter entwickelt; wenn er nicht das, was in ihm verborgen ruht, zum wirklichen Dasein erweckt. — Die Natur entwickelt sich vom Unvollkommensten zum Vollkommenen. Vom Leblosen führt sie durch eine weite Stufenreihe die Wesen durch alle Formen des Lebendigen bis zum sinnlichen Menschen. Dieser schließt in seiner Sinnlichkeit die Augen auf und wird sich als sinnlich-wirkliches, als veränderliches Wesen gewahr. Aber er verspürt auch noch die Kräfte in sich, aus denen diese Sinnlichkeit geboren ist. Diese Kräfte sind nicht das Veränderliche, denn aus ihnen ist ja das Veränderliche entsprungen. Der Mensch trägt sie in sich als Zeichen, daß mehr in ihm lebt, als was er sinnlich wahrnimmt. Was durch sie werden kann, ist noch nicht. Der Mensch fühlt, daß in ihm etwas aufleuchtet, was alles geschaffen, mit Einschluß seiner selbst; und er fühlt, daß dieses Etwas das sein wird, was ihn zu höherem Schaffen beflügeln wird. Es ist in ihm, es war vor seiner sinnlichen Erscheinung und wird nach dieser sein. Er ist durch es geworden, aber er darf es ergreifen und selbst an seinem Schaffen teilnehmen. Solche Gefühle leben in dem alten Mysten nach der Einweihung. Er fühlte das Ewige, das Göttliche. Sein Tun soll ein Glied werden in dem Schaffen dieses Göttlichen. Er darf sich sagen: ich habe in mir ein höheres «Ich» entdeckt, aber dieses «Ich» reicht hinaus über die Grenzen meines sinnlichen Werdens; es war vor meiner Geburt, es wird nach meinem Tode sein. Geschaffen hat dieses «Ich» von Ewigkeit; schaffen wird es in Ewigkeit. Meine sinnliche Persönlichkeit ist ein Geschöpf dieses «Ich». Aber es hat mich eingegliedert in sich; es schafft in mir; ich bin sein Teil. Was ich nunmehr schaffe, ist ein Höheres als das Sinnliche. Meine Persönlichkeit ist nur ein Mittel für diese schaffende Kraft, für dieses Göttliche in mir. So hat der Myste seine Vergottung erfahren.
[ 12 ] Ihren wahren Geist nannten die Mysten die Kraft, die also in ihnen aufleuchtete. Sie waren die Ergebnisse dieses Geistes. Wie wenn ein neues Wesen in sie eingezogen und von ihren Organen Besitz ergriffen hätte, so kam ihnen ihr Zustand vor. Es war ein Wesen, das zwischen ihnen, als sinnlichen Persönlichkeiten, und zwischen der allwaltenden Weltenkraft, der Gottheit, stand. Diesen seinen wahren Geist suchte der Myste. Ich bin Mensch geworden in der großen Natur: so sprach er zu sich. Aber die Natur hat ihr Geschäft nicht vollendet. Diese Vollendung muß ich selbst übernehmen. Aber ich kann es nicht in dem groben Reiche der Natur, zu der auch meine sinnliche Persönlichkeit gehört. Was in diesem Reiche sich entwickeln kann, ist entwickelt. Deshalb muß ich heraus aus diesem Reiche. Ich muß im Reiche der Geister weiter bauen, da, wo die Natur stehen geblieben ist. Ich muß mir eine Lebensluft schaffen, die in der äußeren Natur nicht zu finden ist. Diese Lebensluft wurde für die Mysten in den Mysterientempeln bereitet. Dort wurden die in ihnen schlummernden Kräfte erweckt; dort wurden sie in höhere, schaffende, in Geistnaturen umgewandelt. Ein zarter Prozeß war diese Verwandlung. Er konnte die rauhe Tagesluft nicht vertragen. Hatte er aber seine Aufgabe erfüllt, dann war der Mensch durch ihn ein Fels geworden, der im Ewigen gegründet war und der allen Stürmen trotzen konnte. Nur durfte er nicht glauben, daß er anderen in unmittelbarer Form mitteilen könne, was er erlebt.
[ 13 ] Plutarch teilt mit, daß in den Mysterien «die größten Aufschlüsse und Deutungen über die wahre Natur der Dämonen zu finden seien». Und von Cicero erfahren wir, daß in den Mysterien, «wenn sie erklärt und auf ihren Sinn zurückgeführt werden, mehr die Natur der Dinge als die der Götter erkannt werde» (Plutarch, Über den Verfall der Orakel; und Cicero, Über die Natur der Götter). Aus solchen Mitteilungen ersieht man klar, daß es für Mysten höhere Aufschlüsse gab über die Natur der Dinge, als jene waren, welche die Volksreligion zu geben vermochte. Ja, man sieht daraus, daß die Dämonen, also die geistigen Wesenheiten, und die Götter selbst einer Erklärung bedurften. Man ging also zu Wesenheiten zurück, die höherer Art als Dämonen und Götter sind. Und solches lag im Wesen der Mysterienweisheit. Das Volk stellte Götter und Dämonen in Bildern vor, deren Inhalt ganz der sinnlich-wirklichen Welt entnommen war. Mußte nicht derjenige, der die Wesenheit des Ewigen durchschaute, an der Ewigkeit solcher Götter irre werden! Wie sollte der Zeus der Volksvorstellung ein ewiger sein, da er die Eigenschaften eines vergänglichen Wesens an sich trug? — Eines war den Mysten klar: zu seiner Vorstellung von den Göttern kommt der Mensch auf andere Art als zu der Vorstellung anderer Dinge. Ein Ding der Außenwelt zwingt mich, mir eine ganz bestimmte Vorstellung von ihm zu machen. Dieser Art gegenüber hat die Bildung der Göttervorstellungen etwas Freies, ja Willkürliches. Der Zwang der Außenwelt fehlt. Das Nachdenken lehrt uns, daß wir mit den Göttern etwas vorstellen, für das es keine äußere Kontrolle gibt. Das versetzt den Menschen in eine logische Unsicherheit. Er fängt an, sich selbst als den Schöpfer seiner Götter zu fühlen. Ja, er frägt sich: wie komme ich dazu, in meiner Vorstellungswelt über die physische Wirklichkeit hinauszugehen? Solchen Gedanken mußte der Myste sich hingeben. Da lagen für ihn berechtigte Zweifel. Man sehe sich, so mochte er denken, nur alle Göttervorstellungen an. Gleichen sie nicht den Geschöpfen, die man in der Sinneswelt antrifft? Hat sich sie der Mensch nicht geschaffen, indem er diese oder jene Eigenschaften von dem Wesen der Sinneswelt weggedacht oder hinzugedacht hat? Der Unkultivierte, der die Jagd liebt, schafft sich einen Himmel, in dem die herrlichsten Götterjagden abgehalten werden. Und der Grieche versetzt in seinen Olymp Götter-persönlichkeiten, zu denen die Vorbilder in der wohlbekannten griechischen Wirklichkeit waren.
[ 14 ] Mit rauher Logik hat der Philosoph Xenophanes (575 bis 480) auf diese Tatsache hingewiesen. Wir wissen, daß die älteren griechischen Philosophen durchaus von der Mysterienweisheit abhängig waren. Von Heraklit ausgehend, soll das noch im besonderen bewiesen werden. Deshalb darf, was Xenophanes sagt, ohne weiteres als Mystenüberzeugung genommen werden. Es heißt:
[ 15 ] Menschen, die denken die Götter nach ihrem Bilde geschaffen,
Ihre Sinne sollen sie haben und Stimme und Körper.
Aber wenn Hände besäßen die Rinder oder die Löwen,
Um mit den Händen zu malen und Arbeit zu tun wie die Menschen
Würden der Götter Gestalten sie malen und bilden die Leiber
So, wie sie selber an Körper beschaffen wären ein jeder,
Pferde den Pferden und Rinder den Rindern gleichende Götter.
[ 16 ] Zum Zweifler an allem Göttlichen kann der Mensch werden durch solche Einsicht. Er kann die Götterdichtungen von sich weisen und nur als Wirklichkeit anerkennen, wozu ihn seine sinnlichen Wahrnehmungen zwingen. Aber zu einem solchen Zweifler wurde der Myste nicht. Er sah ein, daß dieser Zweifler einer Pflanze gleicht, die sich sagte: meine farbige Blume ist null und eitel; denn abgeschlossen bin ich mit meinen grünen Blättern; was ich zu ihnen hinzufüge, vermehrt sie nur um einen trügerischen Schein. Aber ebensowenig konnte der Myste bei also geschaffenen Göttern, bei den Volksgöttern, stehen bleiben. Könnte die Pflanze denken, so würde sie einsehen, daß die Kräfte, welche die grünen Blätter geschaffen haben, auch bestimmt sind, die farbige Blume zu schaffen. Aber sie würde nicht ruhen, diese Kräfte selbst zu erforschen, um sie zu schauen. Und so hielt es der Myste mit den Volksgöttern. Er leugnete sie nicht, er erklärte sie nicht für eitel; aber er wußte, daß vom Menschen sie geschaffen sind. Dieselben Naturkräfte, dasselbe göttliche Element, die in der Natur schaffen, schaffen auch im Mysten. Und in ihm erzeugen sie Göttervorstellungen. Er will diese götterschaffende Kraft schauen. Sie gleicht nicht den Volksgöttern; sie ist ein Höheres. Auch darauf deutet Xenophanes:
[ 17 ] Ein Gott ist unter Göttern der größte und unter den Menschen,
Weder in Körper den Sterblichen ähnlich noch gar an Gedanken.
[ 18 ] Dieser Gott war auch der Gott der Mysterien. Einen «verborgenen Gott» konnte man ihn nennen. Denn nirgends — so stellte man sich vor — ist er für den bloß sinnlichen Menschen zu finden. Wende deine Blicke hinaus auf die Dinge; du findest kein Göttliches. Strenge deinen Verstand an; du magst einsehen, nach welchen Gesetzen die Dinge entstehen und vergehen; aber auch dein Verstand weist dir kein Göttliches. Durchtränke deine Phantasie mit religiösem Gefühl; du kannst die Bilder von Wesen schaffen, die du für Götter halten magst, doch dein Verstand zerpflückt sie dir, denn er weist dir nach, daß du sie selbst geschaffen und dazu den Stoff aus der Sinnenwelt entlehnt hast. Sofern du als verständiger Mensch die Dinge um dich herum betrachtest, mußt du Gottesleugner sein. Denn Gott ist nicht für deine Sinne und für deinen Verstand, der dir die sinnlichen Wahrnehmungen erklärt. Gott ist eben in der Welt verzaubert. Und du brauchst seine eigene Kraft, um ihn zu finden. Diese Kraft mußt du in dir erwecken. Das sind die Lehren, die ein alter Einzuweihender empfing. Und nun begann für ihn das große Weltendrama, in das er lebendig verschlungen wurde. In nichts Geringerem bestand dieses Drama als in der Erlösung des verzauberten Gottes. Wo ist Gott? Das war die Frage, die dem Mysten sich vor die Seele stellte. Gott ist nicht, aber die Natur ist. In der Natur muß er gefunden werden. In ihr hat er sein Zaubergrab gefunden. In einem höheren Sinne faßt der Myste die Worte: Gott ist die Liebe. Denn Gott hat diese Liebe bis zum äußersten gebracht. Er hat sich selbst in unendlicher Liebe hingegeben; er hat sich ausgegossen; er hat sich in die Mannigfaltigkeit der Naturdinge zerstückelt; sie leben, und er lebt nicht in ihnen. Er ruht in ihnen. Er lebt im Menschen. Und der Mensch kann das Leben des Gottes in sich erfahren. Soll er ihn zur Erkenntnis kommen lassen, muß er diese Erkenntnis schaffend erlösen. — Der Mensch blickt nun in sich. Als verborgene Schöpferkraft, noch Dasein-los, wirkt das Göttliche in seiner Seele. In dieser Seele ist eine Stätte, in der das verzauberte Göttliche wieder aufleben kann. Die Seele ist die Mutter, die das Göttliche aus der Natur empfangen kann. Lasse die Seele von der Natur sich befruchten, so wird sie ein Göttliches gebären. Aus der Ehe der Seele mit der Natur wird es geboren. Das ist nun kein «verborgenes» Göttliches mehr, das ist ein offenbares. Es hat Leben, wahrnehmbares Leben, das unter den Menschen wandelt. Es ist der entzauberte Geist im Menschen, der Sproß des verzauberten Göttlichen. Der große Gott, der war, ist und sein wird, der ist er wohl nicht; aber er kann doch in gewissem Sinne als dessen Offenbarung genommen werden. Der Vater bleibt ruhig im Verborgenen; dem Menschen ist der Sohn aus der eigenen Seele geboren. Die mystische Erkenntnis ist damit ein wirklicher Vorgang im Weltprozesse. Sie ist eine Geburt eines Gottessprossen. Sie ist ein Vorgang, so wirklich wie ein anderer Naturvorgang, nur auf einer höheren Stufe. Das ist das große Geheimnis des Mysten, daß er selbst seinen Gottessprossen schaffend erlöst, daß er sich zuvor aber vorbereitet, um diesen von ihm geschaffenen Gottessprossen auch anzuerkennen. Dem Nicht-Mysten fehlt die Empfindung von dem Vater dieses Sprossen. Denn dieser Vater ruht in Verzauberung. Jungfräulich geboren erscheint der Sproß. Die Seele scheint unbefruchtet ihn geboren zu haben. Alle ihre anderen Geburten sind von der Sinnenwelt empfangen. Man sieht und tastet hier den Vater. Er hat sinnliches Leben. Der Gottes-Sproß allein ist von dem ewigen, verborgenen Vater-Gott selbst empfangen.
Mysteries and mystery wisdom
[ 1 ] Something like a mysterious veil lies over the way in which, within the ancient cultures, those who sought a deeper religious and cognitive life than the popular religions could offer satisfied their spiritual needs. We are led into the darkness of mysterious cults when we investigate the satisfaction of such needs. Every personality that finds such satisfaction eludes our observation for some time. We see how at first the popular religions cannot give her what her heart seeks. She recognizes the gods; but she knows that in the ordinary views of the gods the great mysteries of existence are not revealed. She seeks a wisdom that carefully guards a community of priestly wisdom. It seeks refuge in this community for the striving soul. If it is found to be mature by the wise, it is led by them from step to step up to higher insight in a way that eludes the eye of the outsider. What happens to it is concealed from the uninitiated. For a time, she seems to be completely removed from the earthly world. She appears as if she has been transported into a secret world - and when she is returned to the light of day, another, a completely transformed personality stands before us. A personality who cannot find words sublime enough to express how meaningful the experience has been for her. She does not appear figuratively mere, but in the sense of highest reality as having passed through death and awakened to a new higher life. And she is clear about the fact that no one can really understand her words unless they have experienced something similar.
[ 2 ] So it was with the people who were initiated through the Mysteries into that mysterious wisdom which was withdrawn from the people and which shed light on the highest questions. This "secret" religion of the elect existed alongside the religion of the people. Its origins are blurred by the historical view into the darkness of the origin of peoples. It can be found everywhere among the ancient peoples, as far as we can gain an insight into it. The sages of these peoples speak of the mysteries with the greatest reverence. - What was concealed in them? And what did they reveal to those who were initiated into them?
[ 3 ] The mysteriousness of their appearance is heightened when one realizes that the Mysteries were also regarded by the ancients as something dangerous. The path to the mysteries of existence led through a world of horrors. And woe betide anyone who tried to reach them unworthily. - There was no greater crime than "betraying" the secrets to the uninitiated. The "traitor" was punished with death and confiscation of goods. We know that the poet Aeschylus was accused of having brought some of the mysteries onto the stage. He could only escape death by fleeing to the altar of Dionysus and proving in court that he was not an initiate at all.
[ 4 ] What the ancients say about these mysteries is meaningful but also ambiguous. The initiate is convinced that it is sinful to say what he knows; and also that it is sinful for the uninitiated to hear it. Plutarch speaks of the terror of the initiates and compares their state to the preparation for death. A special way of life had to precede the initiations. It was designed to bring sensuality under the control of the spirit. Fasting, solitary life, mortification and certain spiritual exercises were to serve this purpose. Whatever man clings to in ordinary life should lose all value for him. The whole direction of his sensory and emotional life had to change. - There can be no doubt about the meaning of such exercises and trials. The wisdom that was to be offered to the initiate could only have the right effect on his soul if he had first transformed his lower emotional world. He was introduced to the life of the spirit. He was to see a higher world. He could not gain a relationship with it without prior exercises and tests. It was this relationship that mattered. Whoever wants to think rightly about these things must have experience of the intimate facts of the life of knowledge. He must feel that there are two widely divergent relationships to what the highest knowledge offers. - The world that surrounds man is first of all his real world. He feels, hears and sees its processes. He calls them real because he perceives them with his senses. And he thinks about them in order to clarify their connections. - What arises in his soul, on the other hand, is not initially real to him in the same sense. They are "mere" thoughts and ideas. At most, he sees images of sensual reality in them. They themselves have no reality. They cannot be touched; they cannot be heard or seen.
[ 5 ] There is a different relationship to the world. Those who are absolutely attached to the kind of reality just described will hardly understand it. It arises for certain people at a certain point in their lives. For them, the whole relationship to the world is reversed. They call entities that emerge in the spiritual life of their soul truly real. And what the senses hear, feel and see, they attribute only a lower kind of reality to. They know that they cannot prove what they are saying. They know that they can only tell about their new experiences. And that with their stories they face the other person in the same way as the sighted person does with the communication of the perceptions of his eye to the blind person. They undertake the communication of their inner experiences in the confidence that there are others around them whose spiritual eye is still closed, but whose mental understanding can be made possible by the power of what they have shared. For they have faith in humanity and want to be spiritual eye-openers. They can only lay down the fruits which their spirit has plucked itself; whether the other sees them depends on whether he has understanding for what a spiritual eye sees.1It is said above that those whose spiritual eyes are open can see into the realm of the spiritual world. But this should not lead to the conclusion that only those who have the "spiritual eyes" themselves can have an understanding judgment of the initiate's findings. These belong only to research; when what has been researched is then communicated, anyone who lets his reason and his unbiased sense of truth speak can understand it. And such a one can also apply these results in life and derive satisfaction from them without already having the "spiritual eyes" himself. - There is something in man that initially prevents him from seeing with spiritual eyes. At first he is not there for this purpose. He is what he is according to his senses; and his mind is only the explainer and judge of his senses. These senses would fulfill their task badly if they did not insist on the faithfulness and infallibility of their statements. An eye would be a bad eye if it did not assert the unconditional reality of its visual perceptions from its point of view. The eye is right in itself. Nor does it lose its right through the mind's eye. This spiritual eye only allows us to see the things of the sensual eye in a higher light. One then denies nothing of what the sensual eye has seen. But a new brilliance radiates from what you have seen that you did not see before. And then one knows that at first one has only seen a lower reality. One now sees the same thing; but one sees it immersed in a higher one, in the spirit. It is now a question of whether one also senses and feels what one sees. He who stands alone with living sensations and feelings towards the sensual, sees in the higher a mirage, a "mere" figment of the imagination. His feelings are only directed towards the sensual. He reaches into the void when he wants to grasp the spiritual formations. They retreat from him when he wants to touch them. They are just "mere" thoughts. He thinks them; he does not live in them. They are images to him, more unreal than scurrying dreams. They rise up as foamy formations when he confronts his reality; they disappear in the face of the solid, firmly built reality of which his senses inform him. -It is different for those who have changed their sensations and feelings towards reality. For him, this reality has lost its absolute stability, its unconditional value. His senses and feelings need not become dull. But they begin to doubt their absolute dominance; they leave room for something else. The world of the spirit begins to animate this space.
[ 6 ] There is a possibility here that can be terrible. It is that man loses his sensations and feelings for the immediate reality and no new one opens up before him. He then floats as if in a void. He feels as if he has died. The old values are gone and no new ones have arisen for him. The world and man are then no longer there for him. -But this is not a mere possibility. It becomes a reality for everyone who wants to attain higher knowledge. He arrives at the point where the spirit declares all life to be death. He is then no longer in the world. He is under the world - in the underworld. He completes the descent into Hades. Blessed is he if he does not sink now. If a new world opens up before him. He either fades away; or he stands before himself anew as a transformed man. In the latter case, a new sun, a new earth stands before him. The whole world is reborn to him from the spiritual fire.
[ 7 ] And so the initiates describe what has become of them through the Mysteries. Menippus says that he traveled to Babylon to be led to Hades and back again by the successors of Zoroaster. He says that he swam through the great waters on his travels; that he passed through fire and ice. One hears from the mystics that they were frightened by a drawn sword and that "blood flowed". One understands such words when one knows the place of passage from the lower to the higher knowledge. One has felt for oneself how all solid matter, how all sensuality has melted into water; one had lost all ground. Everything that had previously been perceived as alive had been killed. As a sword passes through the warm body, the spirit has passed through all sensual life; one has seen the blood of sensuality flowing.
[ 8 ] But a new life has appeared. One has risen from the underworld. The orator Aristides speaks of this. "I believed I could touch the god, feel his approach, and I was between waking and sleep; my spirit was so light that no one who is not "initiated" can say and understand it." This new existence is not subject to the laws of the lower life. Becoming and passing away do not affect it. One can talk a lot about the eternal; whoever does not mean what those who speak of it after the descent into Hades say, their words are "smoke and mirrors". The initiates have a new view of life and death. Only now do they consider themselves authorized to speak of immortality. They know that whoever speaks of immortality without the knowledge of those who speak of it from the consecrations, says something about it that he does not understand. Such a one ascribes immortality only to a thing that is subject to the laws of becoming and passing away. It is not the mere conviction of the eternity of the core of life that the Mystics want to gain. According to the view of the Mysteries, such a conviction would be without any value. For according to such a view, the eternal does not exist alive in the non-mystic. If he spoke of an eternal, he would be speaking of nothing. Rather, it is this eternal itself that the mystics seek. They must first awaken the eternal within themselves; then they can speak of it. That is why Plato's harsh saying that sinking into mud has full reality for them, 2the “sinking into mud” of which Plato speaks must also be interpreted in the sense of what has just been added as a remark on page 21. who is not initiated; and that only he enters eternity who has gone through mystical life. This is the only way to understand the words in the Sophocles fragment: "How delighted those who are initiated enter the realm of shadows. They live there alone—the others are destined only for misery and adversity."
[ 9 ] So are we not describing dangers when we speak of the mysteries? Is it not a happiness, indeed a life value of the highest kind, that one robs from the one whom one leads to the gate of the underworld? After all, the responsibility that one thereby takes upon oneself is terrible. And yet: can we evade this responsibility? These were the questions the initiate had to ask himself. He was of the opinion that the popular mind relates to his knowledge as darkness relates to light. But in this darkness dwells an innocent happiness. It was the opinion of the mystics that this happiness should not be sacrilegiously interfered with. For what would it have been in the first place if the Myst had "betrayed" his secret? He would have spoken words, nothing but words. Nowhere would have been the feelings and emotions that would have struck the spirit from these words. The preparation, the exercises and tests, the whole change in the sensory life would have been part of it. Without these, the listener would have been hurled into emptiness, into nothingness. What constituted his happiness would have been taken from him, and nothing could have been given in return. Indeed, nothing could even have been taken from him. For his emotional life could not have been changed by mere words. He could only have felt, experienced reality in the things of his senses. Nothing more than a terrible, life-destroying premonition could have been given to him. It should have been seen as a crime. This can no longer be fully valid for the attainment of knowledge of the spirit in the present. This can be understood conceptually because the newer humanity has a conceptual ability that the old one lacked. Today there can be people who have knowledge of the spiritual world through their own experience; and they can be confronted by those who understand this experience conceptually. The older mankind lacked such a conceptual ability. The ancient wisdom of the Mysteries is like a hothouse plant that must be nurtured and cared for in seclusion. Whoever brings it into the atmosphere of everyday views gives it an air of life in which it cannot flourish. It melts into nothing before the caustic judgment of modern science and logic. Let us therefore for a time divest ourselves of all the education that microscopes, telescopes and scientific thinking have brought us; let us cleanse our hands, which have become too busy with dissection and experimentation, so that we can enter the pure temple of the mysteries. This requires true impartiality.3What is said about the impossibility of communicating the teachings of the Mysteries refers to the fact that they cannot be communicated in the form in which the Initiate experiences them to the unprepared; but in the form in which they can be understood by the uninitiated, they have always been communicated. The myths, for example, gave the old form to communicate the content of the mysteries in a generally understandable way.
[ 10 ] For the mystic, the first thing that matters is the mood in which he approaches what he perceives as the highest, as the answers to the riddles of existence. Especially in our time, in which people only want to recognize the grossly scientific as knowledge, it is difficult to believe that the highest things depend on a mood. Knowledge is thereby made into an intimate matter of personality. For the mystic, however, it is such a matter. Tell someone the solution to the riddle of the world! Give it to him ready-made! The myst will find that everything is empty sound unless the personality confronts this solution in the right way. This solution is nothing; it flutters away if the feeling does not catch the special fire that is necessary. A deity confronts you! It is either nothing or everything. It is nothing when you meet it in the mood in which you encounter the things of everyday life. It is everything when you are prepared for it, in tune with it. What it is for itself is a matter that does not affect you: whether it leaves you as you are or whether it makes you into a different person: that is what matters. But that depends only on you. An education, a development of the most intimate powers of the personality must have prepared you so that what a divinity is capable of may be kindled in you. It depends on the reception you give to what is offered to you. Plutarch spoke of this education; he spoke of the greeting that the Myste offers to the deity who confronts him: "For the god greets, as it were, each one of us who approaches him here with this: Know thyself, which is certainly no worse than the usual greeting: Hail. But we reply to the deity with the words: You are, and thus bring her the greeting of being as the true, original and solely hers. -For we have actually here no share in this being, but every mortal nature, lying in the middle between origin and destruction, shows only an appearance and a weak and uncertain sense of itself; if one now tries to grasp it with the intellect, it is like strongly compressed water, which merely coagulates through the pressure and compression and spoils what is embraced by it; for the mind, in pursuing the all too clear conception of every being subject to chance and change, soon strays to its origin, soon to its destruction, and can grasp nothing permanent or really existing. For, as Heraclitus expresses it, one cannot swim twice in the same wave, nor can one grasp a mortal being twice in the same state, but by the violence and rapidity of movement it destroys itself and reunites; it comes into being and passes away; it comes to and goes from. Therefore that which comes into being can never attain to true being, because generation never ceases or comes to a standstill, but begins the change as early as the seed, forming an embryo, then a child, then a youth, a man, an old man and an old man, always destroying the first formations and ages by those that follow. Therefore it is ridiculous for us to fear one death, since we have already died and are dying in so many ways. For not only, as Heraclitus says, is the death of fire the birth of air, and the death of air the birth of water, but one can perceive this even more clearly in man himself; the strong man dies when he becomes an old man, the youth when he becomes a man, the boy when he becomes a youth, the child when he becomes a boy. Yesterday is dying in today, today is dying in tomorrow; none remains or is a single thing, but we become many things as matter drifts around an image, around a common form. For how could we, if we were always the same, now take pleasure in other things than before, love and hate the opposite things, admire and blame, speak differently, surrender to other passions, if we did not also take on a different shape, different forms and different senses? For without change it is impossible to enter into another state, and he who changes is no longer the same; but if he is not the same, he is no longer the same and changes for this very reason, by becoming another. It is only because we do not know true existence that we are seduced by sensory perception into mistaking what merely appears to be so." (Plutarch, On the "EI" at Delphi, 17 and 18 ).
[ 11 ] Plutarch often characterizes himself as an initiate. What he describes here is a condition of the mystical life. Man attains a wisdom through which the spirit first sees through the illusory nature of sensual life. Everything that sensuality regards as being, as reality, is immersed in the flow of becoming. And just as this happens with all other things in the world, it also happens with man himself. He himself flutters away before his spiritual eye; his wholeness dissolves into parts, into transient phenomena. Birth and death lose their distinctive meaning; they become moments of coming into being and passing away like everything else that happens. The highest cannot be found in the context of becoming and passing away. It can only be sought in that which is truly permanent, that which looks back to the past and looks forward to the future. It is a higher level of knowledge: to find this looking back and looking forward. It is the spirit that reveals itself in and through the sensual. It has nothing to do with sensory becoming. It does not arise and does not pass away in the same way as sensory phenomena. Whoever lives in the sense world alone has this spirit within him as a hidden one; whoever sees through the illusory nature of the sense world has it within him as a revealed reality. He who reaches this kind of insight has developed a new member in himself. Something has happened to him like the plant that first had only green leaves and then sprouts a colorful blossom. Certainly, the forces that gave rise to the flower were already hidden in the plant before the blossom came into being, but they only became real with this development. The divine-spiritual forces also lie hidden in the merely sensual human being; but only in the mystic are they a manifest reality. Therein lies the transformation that has taken place with the mystic. He has added something new to the pre-existing world through his development. The sensual world has turned him into a sensual human being and then left him to his own devices. Nature has thus fulfilled its mission. What it itself can do with the forces at work in man has been exhausted. But these powers themselves are not yet exhausted. They lie enchanted in the purely natural human being and await their redemption. They cannot redeem themselves; they disappear into nothingness if man does not seize them and develop them further; if he does not awaken to real existence that which lies hidden within him. - Nature develops from the imperfect to the perfect. From the lifeless it leads the beings through a wide series of stages through all forms of the living to the sensual human being. In his sensuality he opens his eyes and becomes aware of himself as a sensual-real, changeable being. But he also senses the forces within himself from which this sensuality is born. These forces are not the changeable, because the changeable has arisen from them. Man carries them within himself as a sign that more lives in him than what he sensually perceives. What can become through them is not yet. Man feels that something lights up within him which creates everything, including himself; and he feels that this something will be that which will inspire him to higher creation. It is in him, it was before his sensual appearance and will be after it. He has become through it, but he may grasp it and participate in its creation himself. Such feelings live in the old mystic after the initiation. He felt the eternal, the divine. His actions should become a part of the creation of this divine. He may say to himself: I have discovered a higher "I" in myself, but this "I" reaches beyond the limits of my sensual becoming; it was before my birth, it will be after my death. This "I" has created from eternity; it will create for eternity. My sensual personality is a creature of this "I". But it has incorporated me into itself; it creates in me; I am its part. What I now create is something higher than the sensual. My personality is only a means for this creating power, for this divine in me. This is how the Myste experienced his deification.
[ 12 ] The mystics called their true spirit the power that shone forth within them. They were the results of this spirit. As if a new being had entered them and taken possession of their organs, so their condition seemed to them. It was a being that stood between them, as sensual personalities, and between the omnipotent world power, the Godhead. The Myste sought this true spirit of his. I have become man in the great nature: thus he said to himself. But nature has not completed its work. I must accomplish this perfection myself. But I cannot do it in the coarse realm of nature, to which my sensual personality also belongs. What can develop in this realm is developed. Therefore I must leave this realm. I must continue to build in the realm of the spirits, where nature has come to a standstill. I must create for myself an air of life that cannot be found in outer nature. This air of life was prepared for the Mystics in the Mystery Temples. There the forces slumbering within them were awakened; there they were transformed into higher, creative, spiritual natures. This transformation was a delicate process. It could not tolerate the harsh air of the day. But once he had fulfilled his task, man had become a rock through him, founded in the eternal and able to withstand all storms. But he was not allowed to believe that he could communicate what he experienced to others in a direct form.
[ 13 ] Plutarch states that "the greatest insights and interpretations about the true nature of demons can be found in the mysteries". And from Cicero we learn that in the mysteries, "when they are explained and traced back to their meaning, the nature of things is recognized more than that of the gods" (Plutarch, On the Decay of Oracles; and Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods). From such statements it is clear that the mystics were able to provide higher insights into the nature of things than those provided by popular religion. Indeed, one can see from this that the demons, i.e. the spiritual entities, and the gods themselves needed an explanation. One therefore went back to beings of a higher nature than demons and gods. And this was the essence of mystery wisdom. The people presented gods and demons in images whose content was taken entirely from the sensual-real world. Should not those who understood the essence of the eternal be misled by the eternity of such gods! How could the Zeus of the popular imagination be an eternal one, since he bore the characteristics of a transient being? - One thing was clear to the mystics: man arrives at his conception of the gods in a different way from his conception of other things. A thing in the outside world forces me to form a very specific idea of it. In contrast to this way, the formation of ideas of the gods has something free, even arbitrary about it. The compulsion of the outside world is absent. Reflection teaches us that with the gods we imagine something for which there is no external control. This places man in a state of logical uncertainty. He begins to feel that he is the creator of his gods. Indeed, he asks himself: how do I come to go beyond physical reality in my imaginary world? Myste had to indulge in such thoughts. He had justified doubts. Just look, he thought, at all the ideas of the gods. Are they not like the creatures one encounters in the sensory world? Has not man created them by adding or subtracting these or those qualities from the essence of the sensory world? The uncultivated man who loves the chase creates a heaven for himself in which the most glorious hunts for the gods are held. And the Greek places gods-personalities in his Olympus for whom the models were in the well-known Greek reality.
[ 14 ] The philosopher Xenophanes (575 to 480) pointed out this fact with harsh logic. We know that the older Greek philosophers were thoroughly dependent on mystery wisdom. Starting with Heraclitus, this will be demonstrated in particular. Therefore, what Xenophanes says can be taken without further ado as mystical conviction. It says:
[ 15 ] People who think the gods created in their image,
Their senses they shall have and voice and body.
But if hands possessed the oxen or the lions,
To paint with their hands and do work like men
They would paint the forms of the gods and form the bodies
As they themselves would be in body each one,
Horses like horses and oxen like cattle.
[ 16 ] Man can become a doubter of everything divine through such insight. He can reject the divine poems and only recognize as reality what his sensual perceptions force him to do. But the Myste did not become such a doubter. He realized that this doubter is like a plant that says to itself: my colorful flower is null and vain; for I am finished with my green leaves; what I add to them only increases them by a deceptive appearance. But neither could the Myste remain with the gods thus created, with the gods of the people. If the plant could think, it would realize that the forces that created the green leaves are also destined to create the colored flower. But it would not rest to investigate these forces itself in order to see them. And so the Myste did with the folk gods. He did not deny them, he did not declare them to be vain; but he knew that they were created by man. The same forces of nature, the same divine element that create in nature, also create in the Mystic. And in him they create ideas of the gods. He wants to see this god-creating power. It is not like the popular gods; it is something higher. Xenophanes also points to this:
[ 17 ] A god is the greatest among gods and among men,
Neither like mortals in body nor even in thought.
[ 18 ] This god was also the god of mysteries. He could be called a "hidden god". For nowhere - so one imagined - can he be found by the merely sensual human being. Turn your eyes outwards to things; you will not find anything divine. Exert your intellect; you may understand the laws according to which things come into being and pass away; but even your intellect shows you nothing divine. Imbue your imagination with religious feeling; you can create images of beings that you may take for gods, but your intellect will tear them apart, for it will prove to you that you have created them yourself and borrowed the material for them from the world of the senses. Insofar as you as an understanding human being look at the things around you, you must be a denier of God. For God is not for your senses and for your intellect, which explains sensual perceptions to you. God is just enchanted in the world. And you need his own power to find him. You must awaken this power in yourself. These are the teachings that an old initiate received. And now the great world drama began for him, in which he was swallowed up alive. This drama consisted of nothing less than the redemption of the enchanted God. Where is God? That was the question that confronted the mystic's soul. God is not, but nature is. He must be found in nature. In it he has found his magic tomb. In a higher sense the mystic puts the words: God is love. For God has taken this love to the extreme. He has given himself in infinite love; he has poured himself out; he has fragmented himself into the multiplicity of natural things; they live, and he does not live in them. He rests in them. He lives in man. And man can experience the life of God in himself. If he is to let him come to knowledge, he must redeem this knowledge by creating it. - Man now looks into himself. As hidden creative power, still without existence, the divine works in his soul. In this soul there is a place where the enchanted divine can come to life again. The soul is the mother that can receive the divine from nature. If the soul allows itself to be fertilized by nature, it will give birth to the divine. It is born from the marriage of the soul with nature. This is no longer a "hidden" divine, it is a revealed one. It has life, perceptible life that walks among men. It is the disenchanted spirit in man, the offspring of the enchanted divine. The great God, who was, is and will be, he is certainly not; but in a certain sense he can be taken as its revelation. The Father remains quietly hidden; the Son is born to man from his own soul. Mystical knowledge is thus a real process in the world process. It is the birth of a sprout of God. It is a process as real as another natural process, only on a higher level. This is the great secret of the mystic, that he himself creates and redeems his sprout of God, but that he first prepares himself to recognize this sprout of God which he has created. The non-mystic lacks the perception of the father of this sprout. For this father rests in enchantment. The sprout appears virgin-born. The soul seems to have given birth to it unfertilized. All its other births are conceived by the sense world. One sees and feels the father here. He has sensual life. The offspring of God alone is conceived by the eternal, hidden Father-God himself.