Christianity as Mystical Fact
GA 8
1. Mysteries and Mystery Wisdom
[ 1 ] Something like A veil of secrecy conceals the manner whereby spiritual needs were satisfied for those within the older civilizations who sought a deeper religious and cognitive life than was offered by the religions of the people. We are led into the obscurity of enigmatic cults when we inquire into the satisfaction of these needs. Each individual who finds such satisfaction withdraws himself for some time from our observation. We see that the religion of the people cannot give him what his heart seeks. He acknowledges the gods, but he knows that in the ordinary conceptions of the gods the great enigmas of existence are not disclosed. He seeks a wisdom which is carefully guarded by a community of priest-sages. He seeks refuge in this community for his striving soul. If the sages find him mature they lead him step by step to higher insight, in a manner hidden from the eyes of those outside. What happens to him now is concealed from the uninitiated. For a time he appears to be entirely removed from the physical world. He appears to be transported into a secret world. And when he is returned to the light of day a different, entirely transformed personality stands before us. This personality cannot find words sufficiently sublime to express how significant his experiences were for him. He appears to himself as though he had gone through death and awakened to a new and higher life, not merely figuratively, but in highest reality. And it is clear to him that no one can rightly understand his words who has not had the same experience.
[ 2 ] Thus it was with those persons who through the Mysteries were initiated into that secret wisdom, withheld from the people, and which shed light upon the highest questions. This “secret” religion of the elect existed side by side with the religion of the people. So far as history is concerned, its source fades into the obscurity where the origin of peoples is lost. We find this “secret” religion everywhere among ancient peoples insofar as we can gain insight concerning them. The sages of these peoples speak of the Mysteries with the greatest reverence. What was concealed in them? And what did they reveal to one who was initiated into them?
[ 3 ] The enigma becomes still more puzzling when we realize that at the same time the ancients regarded the Mysteries as something dangerous. The way leading to the secrets of existence went through a world of terrors. And woe to him who tried to reach them unworthily. There was no greater crime than the “betrayal” of these secrets to the uninitiated. The “traitor” was punished with death and confiscation of property. We know that the poet Aeschylus was accused of having brought something from the Mysteries to the stage. He was able to escape death only by fleeing to the altar of Dionysus and producing legal evidence that he was not an initiate.2Aeschylus was acquitted by the Areopagus on a charge of revealing the Eleusinian Mysteries. When charged with betraying the Mysteries, he replied, “I said the first thing which occurred to me.” Cf. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea III, 1. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata II, 14: “Aeschylus, who divulged the Mysteries on the stage, was acquitted when being tried in the Areopagus on his showing that he had not been initiated.”
[ 4 ] What the ancients say about these secrets is rich in meaning and can be variously interpreted. 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 those about to be initiated, comparing their state of mind to a preparation for death. Initiation had to be preceded by a special mode of life. This aimed at bringing sensuality under the control of the spirit. Fasting, solitary life, mortification and certain exercises of the soul served this purpose. The things to which man clings in ordinary life were to lose all value for him. The whole course of his experience and feeling had to take a different direction. There can be no doubt about the meaning of such exercises and tests. The wisdom to be offered to the neophyte could produce the right effect upon his soul only if he had previously changed his lower world of experience. He was inducted into the life of the spirit. He was to behold a higher world. He could find no relationship to this world without previous exercises and tests. Everything depended just on this relationship. Whoever wishes to understand these things correctly must have known by experience the intimate facts of the life of cognition. He must know by experience that two widely divergent relationships are possible in relation to what is offered by the highest cognition. The world surrounding man is his real world at first. He feels, hears and sees its processes. Because he perceives them with his senses he calls them real and thinks about them in order to gain insight into their connections. On the other hand, what rises in his soul is not real to him at first in the same sense. It is “mere” thoughts and ideas. At most, he sees in them pictures of material reality. They themselves have no reality. One cannot touch them; one cannot hear nor see them.
[ 5 ] Another relationship to the world exists. A person who clings at all costs to the kind of reality described above, will hardly grasp it. It enters the lives of certain people at a certain moment. Their whole relationship to the world is reversed. They call truly real the images which arise in the spiritual life of their soul. They assign only a lower form of reality to what the senses hear, touch and see. They know they cannot prove what they say. They know they can only recount their new experiences. And they know that in recounting 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 undertake the communication of their inner experiences, trusting that they are surrounded by others, who, although their spiritual eye is still closed, have a logical understanding which can be strengthened through the power of what they hear. They believe in humanity and wish to open spiritual eyes. They can only offer the fruits their spirit itself has gathered; whether another sees the fruits depends upon whether he has comprehension for what is seen by a spiritual eye.c4It is said above that those whose spiritual eyes are opened can behold the realm of the spiritual world. It should not, however, be concluded from this that a logical judgment about the results of initiation can be formed only by one who himself has “spiritual eyes.” These are necessary only for research. When the results of the research are communicated, everyone can understand who allows his intelligence and unprejudiced sense of truth to speak. Such a person also can use these results in life and gain satisfaction from them without as yet possessing “spiritual eyes” himself. Something existing in man at first prevents him from seeing with the eyes of the spirit. First of all he is not here for this purpose. He is what his senses represent him to be, and his intellect is only the interpreter and judge of his senses. These senses would fulfill their mission badly if they did not insist upon the truth and infallibility of their evidence. From its own point of view, an eye must uphold the absolute reality of its perceptions, otherwise it would be a bad eye. The eye is quite right, so far as it goes. It is not deprived of its rights by the spiritual eye. This spiritual eye allows us to see what the material eye sees, but in a higher light. Nothing the material eye sees is denied. But a new radiance, hitherto unseen, shines from it. Then we know that what we first saw was but a lower reality. We see this still, but it is immersed in something higher, in the spirit. Now it is a question of whether we experience and feel what we see. Whoever is able to bring living experience and feeling to the material world only, will regard the higher world as a Fata Morgana or as “mere” phantasy-images. His feelings are directed entirely toward the material world. When he tries to grasp spirit images, he seizes emptiness. When he gropes after them, they withdraw from him. They are “mere” thoughts. He thinks them; he does not live in them. They are pictures, less real to him than fleeting dreams. Compared with his reality they are like images made of froth which vanish as they encounter the massive, solidly-built reality of which his senses tell him. It is a different matter for the person whose experience and feelings with regard to reality have changed. For him that reality has lost its absolute stability, its unquestioned value. His senses and his feelings need not become blunted. But they begin to doubt their absolute authority; they leave space for something else. The world of the spirit begins to animate this space.
[ 6 ] At this point a dreadful possibility exists. A man may lose his experience and feeling of direct reality without finding any new reality opening before him. He is then suspended in a void. He seems to himself dead. The old values have disappeared and no new ones have taken their place. The world and man no longer exist for him. This is by no means a mere possibility. At some time or other it happens to everyone who wishes to attain higher cognition. He reaches a point where to him the spirit interprets all life as death. Then he is no longer in the world. He is beneath the world—in the nether world. He accomplishes the—journey to Hades. It is well for him if he is not submerged. It is well for him if a new world opens before him. Either he disappears, or is confronted by a new self. In the latter case a new sun and a new earth appear to him. Out of spiritual fire the whole world has been reborn for him.
[ 7 ] Thus the initiates describe what happened to them through the Mysteries. Menippus relates that he journeyed to Babylon in order to be taken to Hades and brought back again by the successors of Zoroaster. He says that on his travels he swam across the great water and that he passed through fire and ice. We hear that the mystics were terrified by a drawn sword and that “blood flowed.” We understand such sayings when we know the point of transition from lower to higher cognition. We ourselves have felt how all solid matter, all the material world, has dissolved into water; we have lost the ground from beneath our feet. Everything we had previously experienced as living has been killed. The spirit has passed through material life as a sword pierces a warm body; we have seen the blood of sensuality flow.
[ 8 ] But a new life has appeared. We have climbed up from the nether world. The orator Aristides relates, “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 one who is not ‘initiated’ cannot speak of it nor understand it.” This new existence is not subject to the laws of lower life. Growth and decay do not affect it. Much may be said about the eternal, but one's words will be “but sound and smoke,”3Goethe, Faust, Part I, 3456–3458: Feeling is all in all;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Beclouding Heaven's glow.
—Priest translation, 1941, p. 101 who does not speak of the same thing as those who speak of it after the journey to Hades. The initiates have a new conception of life and death. Now for the first time they are entitled to speak about immortality. They know that whoever speaks of immortality without the knowledge gained through initiation does not understand it. The uninitiated attribute immortality only to something which is subject to the laws of growth and decay. The mystics did not desire to gain the mere conviction that the kernel of life is immortal. In their view, such a conviction would be worthless. This is because they believed the non-mystic simply does not have the eternal living within him. If he were to speak of the eternal, he would speak of nothing. The mystics seek the eternal itself. They must first awaken the eternal within themselves; then they can speak of it. Therefore Plato's severe saying has full reality for them: Whoever is not initiated is submerged in the mire,c5The “sinking into the mire” of which Plato speaks must also be interpreted in the sense of the previous comment. and he alone enters eternity who has experienced mystical life. Only in this way can the words in the fragment from Sophocles be understood:
“Thrice happy they, who, having seen these rites,
Then pass to Hades: there to these alone
Is granted life, all others evil find.1Sophocles, Fragment 719.”
[ 9 ] Are not dangers described in speaking of the Mysteries? Is it not robbing men of happiness, of the most valuable part of life, to lead them to the gate of the nether world? Terrible is the responsibility incurred by such an act. And yet, may we shirk this responsibility? These were the questions the initiate had to ask himself. In his opinion his knowledge was to the soul of the people as light is to darkness. But in this darkness dwells innocent happiness. The mystics were of the opinion that this happiness should not be interfered with wantonly. For what would have happened in the first place had the mystic “betrayed” his secret? He would have spoken words, nothing but words. Nothing at all would have happened through the experiences and feelings, which should have evoked the spirit from these words. For this, preparation, exercises, tests and the complete change of sense-experience would have been necessary. Without these, the hearer would have been flung into emptiness, into nothingness. He would have been deprived of what gave him happiness without being able to receive anything in exchange. It might be said that one could not have taken anything from him. For certainly mere words could not change his life of experience. He could only have experienced reality through the objects of his senses. One could have given him nothing but a dreadful, life-destroying apprehension. This could be regarded only as a crime.c6What is said about the impossibility of communicating teachings of the Mysteries refers to the fact that they cannot be communicated in the form in which the initiate experiences them to anyone who is unprepared. But they always have been communicated in the form in which they could be understood by the non-initiate. For example, the myths provided the ancient form for communicating the content of the Mysteries in a generally comprehensible manner. The above is no longer fully valid today for the acquisition of spiritual cognition. The latter can be understood conceptually because modern man has a capacity to form concepts which the ancients lacked. Today people can be found who have cognition of the spiritual world through their own experience; they can be confronted by others who comprehend these experiences conceptually. Such a capacity for forming concepts was lacking in the ancients.
Ancient Mystery wisdom is like a hothouse plant which must be cherished and cared for in seclusion. To bring it into the atmosphere of everyday conceptions is to put it in an element in which it cannot flourish. It withers away to nothing before the caustic verdict of modern science and logic. Let us therefore divest ourselves for a time of all the education we have received through the microscope, telescope and the ways of thought derived from natural science; let us purify our hands which have become clumsy and have been too busy dissecting and experimenting, so that we may enter the pure temple of the Mysteries. For this a truly unprejudiced mind is necessary.
[ 10 ] For the mystic, everything depends primarily upon the frame of mind in which he approaches what he feels to be the highest, the answers to the enigmas of existence. Particularly in our time, when only things pertaining to physical science are recognized as deserving cognition, it is difficult to believe that for the highest things, everything depends on a frame of mind. Cognition thereby becomes an intimate concern of each personality. For the mystic, however, it is so. Tell someone the solution of the world-enigma! Hand it to him ready-made! The mystic will consider it nothing but empty sound if the individual does not confront this solution in the right manner. The solution is nothing in itself; it disintegrates if it does not kindle in his feeling the particular fire which is essential. Let a divine being approach you! It may be nothing or everything. Nothing, if you meet it in the frame of mind in which you confront everyday things. Everything, if you are prepared and attuned to it. What it is in itself is a matter which does not concern you; the point is whether it leaves you as you were or makes a different man of you. But this depends solely on you. You must have been prepared by the education and development of the most intimate forces of your personality so that what the divine is able to evoke may be kindled and released in you. What is brought to you depends upon the reception you prepare for it. Plutarch has given an account of this education; he has spoken of the greeting the mystic offers the divine being who approaches him: “For the god addresses each one of us as we approach him here with the words ‘Know Thyself,’ as a form of welcome, which certainly is in no wise of less import than ‘Hail;’ and we in turn reply to him ‘Thou art,’ as rendering unto him a form of address which is truthful, free from deception and the only one befitting him alone, the assertion of Being. The fact is that we really have no share in Being, but everything of a mortal nature is at some stage between coming into existence and passing away, and presents only a dim and uncertain semblance and appearance of itself; and if you apply the whole force of your mind in your desire to apprehend it, it is like unto the violent grasping of water, which, by squeezing and compression, loses the handful enclosed, as it spurts through the fingers; even so Reason, pursuing the exceedingly clear appearance of every one of those things that are susceptible to modification and change, is baffled by the one aspect of its coming into being, and by the other of its passing away; and thus it is unable to apprehend a single thing that is abiding or really existent. ‘It is impossible to step twice in the same river’ are the words of Heraclitus, nor is it possible to lay hold twice of any mortal substance in a permanent state; by the suddenness and swiftness of the change in it there ‘comes dispersion and, at another time, a gathering together;’ or, rather, not at another time nor later, but at the same instant it both settles into its place and forsakes its place; ‘it is coming and going.’ Wherefore that which is born of it never attains unto being because of the unceasing and unstaying process of generation, which, ever bringing change, produces from the seed an embryo, then a babe, then a child and in due course a boy, a young man, a mature man, an elderly man, an old man, causing the first generations and ages to pass away by those which succeed them. But we have a ridiculous fear of one death, we who have already died so many deaths, and still are dying! For not only is it true, as Heraclitus used to say, that the death of fire is birth for air, and the death of air is birth for water, but the case is even more clearly to be seen in our own selves: the man in his prime passes away when the old man comes into existence, the young man passes away into the man in his prime, the child into the young man, and the babe into the child. Dead is the man of yesterday, for he is passed into the man of to-day; and the man of to-day is dying as he passes into the man of to-morrow. Nobody remains one person, nor is one person; but we become many persons, even as matter is drawn about some one semblance and common mold with imperceptible movement. Else how is it that, if we remain the same persons, we take delight in some things now, whereas earlier we took delight in different things; that we love or hate opposite things, and so too with our admirations and our disapprovals, and that we use other words and feel other emotions and have no longer the same personal appearance, the same external form, nor the same purposes in mind? For without change it is not reasonable that a person should have different experiences and emotions; and if he changes, he is not the same person, he has no permanent being, but changes his very nature as one personality in him succeeds to another. Our senses, through ignorance of reality, falsely tell us that what appears to be is.”5Plutarch, Moralia, De E apud Delphos, 392 A–E. (The E at Delphi, 17 and 18.)
[ 11 ] Plutarch often shows himself to be an initiate. What he portrays for us here is an essential condition of the life of a mystic. Man acquires a wisdom by means of which his spirit sees through the illusory character of material life. Everything the material nature regards as existence, as reality, is plunged into the stream of evolving life. And man himself fares the same as the other things of the world. He disintegrates before the eyes of his spirit; his totality is dissolved into parts, into transitory phenomena. Birth and death lose their distinctive significance; they become moments of coming into existence, and decay like everything else which happens. The highest cannot be found in connection with growth and decay. It can only be sought in something truly lasting, which looks back to what has been and forward to what is to come. To find what looks backward and forward is a higher stage of cognition. It is the spirit, which is revealed in and through the material world. This spirit has nothing to do with material growth. It does not come into existence nor decay in the same manner as do sense phenomena. Whoever lives only in the world of the senses has this spirit latent within him; whoever sees through the illusory character of the world of the senses has it as a revealed reality within him. Whoever achieves this insight has developed a new organ within him. Something has taken place in him, as in a plant which at first has only green leaves and then puts forth a colored blossom. Certainly, the forces through which the flower developed were already latent in the plant before the blossom came into existence, but they became reality only when this latter took place. Divine spiritual forces also are latent in the purely material man, but they are a revealed reality only in the mystic. Therein lies the transformation that has taken place in the mystic. By his development he has added something new to the existing world. The material world has made a material man of him and then left him to himself. Nature has fulfilled her mission. Her potential connection with the forces working within man is exhausted. But these forces themselves are not yet exhausted. They lie as though spellbound in the purely natural man, awaiting their release. They cannot release themselves; they vanish into nothing if man himself does not grasp them and develop them further, if he does not awaken to real existence what slumbers hidden within him. Nature evolves from the least to the most perfect. Nature leads beings by an extensive series of stages from the inanimate through all forms of life up to material man. Man in his material nature opens his eyes and becomes aware of himself in the material world as a real being, capable of transforming itself. He still observes in himself the forces out of which this material nature is born. These forces are not the object of transformation because they gave rise to the transformation. Man bears them within himself as an indication that something lives within him, transcending his material perception. What may come into existence through these forces is not yet present. Man feels something light up within him which has created everything, including himself; and he feels that this something will spur him to higher achievement. It is within him; it existed before his material appearance, and will be there after it. Through it he has come into being, and he may grasp it, and himself participate in his creation. Such feelings lived in the ancient mystic after initiation. He felt the eternal, the divine. His deeds will become a part of the creative activity of the divine. He may say to himself: I have discovered a higher “I” within me, but this “I” surpasses the boundaries of my material growth; it existed before my birth, it will exist after my death. Creatively this “I” has worked throughout eternity; creatively it will work in eternity. My material personality is a creation of this “I.” But it has incorporated me within it; creatively it works in me; I am a part of it. What I am now able to create is something higher than the material. My personality is only a medium for this creative force, for this divine, within me. In this way the mystic experienced his apotheosis.
[ 12 ] The mystic named the force thus kindled within him, his true spirit. He was the result of this spirit. It seemed to him as though a new being had entered him and taken possession of his organs. This was a being which stood between his material personality and the Sovereign Power of the cosmos, the Godhead. The mystic sought his true spirit. He said to himself, I have become man in the great natural world. But nature has not completed her task. I myself must take over this completion. However, I cannot do this in the gross realm of nature to which my material personality also belongs. Whatever can develop in this realm has developed. Therefore I must escape from this realm. I must continue to build in the sphere of the spiritual, where nature has stood still. I must create for myself a breathing space which cannot be found in outer nature. This breathing space was prepared for the mystics in the Mystery temples. There the forces slumbering within them were awakened; there they were transformed into higher creative spirit-natures. This transformation was a delicate process. It could not endure the rough elements of the outdoors. When the process was completed, through it man had become a rock grounded in the eternal, able to defy all storms. But he was not permitted to believe that he could communicate his experiences in their direct form to others.
[ 13 ] Plutarch informs us that in the Mysteries “it is possible to gain the clearest reflections and adumbrations of the truth about the daemons.”6Plutarch, Moralia, De defectu oraculorum, 417 C. (The Obsolescence of Oracles, 14.) And from Cicero we learn that “those occult Mysteries ... when interpreted and explained prove to have more to do with natural science than with theology.”7Cicero, De natura Deorum I, 119. From such communications we see clearly that for the mystic there existed a higher insight into natural science than the religion of the people could give. Moreover this shows that the daemons, that is, the spiritual beings, and the gods themselves required explanation. Beings are approached who are of a higher nature than the daemons and gods. And this is in the nature of Mystery wisdom. The people pictured gods and daemons in images taken entirely from the world of material reality. Surely one who could penetrate the essence of the eternal was bound to lose confidence in the eternalness of such gods! How could Zeus, as the people pictured him, be eternal when he had the characteristics of a mortal being?—One thing was clear to the mystic: man attains his idea of the gods in a different manner from his ideas about other things. An object in the external world compels me to form a definitive idea of it. In contrast to this the formation of ideas of the gods has something free, even arbitrary, about it. The compulsion of the external world is lacking. Reflection teaches us that with the gods we imagine something for which there is no external control. This puts man into a state of logical uncertainty. He begins to feel that he is the creator of his gods. He even asks himself: How do I come to transcend physical reality in my world of ideas? The mystic must devote himself to such thoughts. The doubts which then beset him were justified. He could think to himself: Let us simply look at all these ideas of the gods. Are they not similar to the creatures we meet in the world of the senses? Has not man created them by mentally adding or subtracting this or that quality essentially belonging to the world of the senses? The barbarian who loves hunting creates a heaven for himself in which the most glorious hunts of the gods take place. The Greek peoples Olympus with divinities having their prototype in the reality which is well known to him.
[ 14 ] The philosopher Xenophanes (575–480 B.C.) referred to this fact with crude logic. We know that the older Greek philosophers were absolutely dependent on Mystery wisdom. This will be demonstrated in relation to Heraclitus in particular. For this reason the saying of Xenophanes can be accepted without reservation as a conviction based on mystic knowledge. He says:
[ 15 ] “But men have the idea that gods are born,
And wear their clothes, and have both voice and shape.
But had the oxen or the lions hands,
Or could with hands depict a work like men,
Were beasts to draw the semblance of the gods,
The horses would them like to horses sketch,
To oxen, oxen, and their bodies make
Of such a shape as to themselves belongs.”8Xenophanes, Elegaic Poems 14, 15.
[ 16 ] Through such insight man may become doubtful of everything divine. He may reject the legends of the gods and acknowledge as reality only that which his material perceptions compel him to acknowledge. But the mystic did not become such a doubter. He understood that the doubter was like a plant which said to itself: My colored blossom is vain and worthless, for I am complete in my green leaves; what I add to them only increases the illusory appearance. But neither could the mystic remain content with the gods thus created, the gods of the people. If the plant could think, it would understand that the forces which had created the green leaves are also destined to create the colored blossom. And it would not rest until it had investigated these forces for itself in order to see them. So it was for the mystic in relation to the gods of the people. He did not deny them nor declare them to be vain, but he knew that they were created by man. The same natural forces, the same divine elements which work creatively in nature also work creatively in the mystic. In him also they engender ideas of the gods. He wishes to see this force which is creating gods. It is not like the gods of the people; it is something higher. Xenophanes also indicates this:
[ 17 ] “One God there is, 'midst gods and men supreme;
In form, in mind, unlike to mortal men. ”9Xenophanes, Elegaic Poems (On Nature) 23.
[ 18 ] This God was also the God of the Mysteries. He could be called “a hidden God,” for nowhere—so it was thought—is He to be found by the purely material man. Direct your gaze outward toward objects; you find no divinity. Exert your intelligence; you may understand the laws by which things come into existence and decay, but your intellect shows you nothing divine. Saturate your fantasy with religious feeling; you can create pictures of beings which you may take to be gods, but your intellect dissects them for you, for it proves to you that you yourself created them, and borrowed the material for their creation from the material world. Insofar as you, as intellectual man, consider the things about you, you must deny the gods. For God is not there for your senses or intellect, which explain material perceptions. God is magically concealed in the world. And you need His own force in order to find Him. This force you must awaken within yourself. These are the teachings which a neophyte of ancient times received. Then began for him the great cosmic drama in which he was engulfed alive. This drama consisted of nothing less than the release of the spellbound God. Where is God? This was the question the mystic put before his soul. God is not, but nature is. He must be found in nature. In nature He has found an enchanted tomb. The words, “God is Love,” are grasped by the mystic in a higher sense. For God has carried this Love to its uttermost. He has given Himself in infinite Love; He has diffused Himself; He has divided Himself into the manifold variety 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 cognition he must release this cognition creatively in himself. Man now gazes into himself. As a hidden creative force, as yet unincarnated, works the divinity in his soul. In this soul is a place where the spellbound divinity can come to life again. The soul is the mother who by nature can conceive the divinity. If the soul is fructified by nature it will give birth to a divinity. Out of the marriage of the soul with nature a divinity will be born. This is no longer a “hidden” divinity; it is revealed. It has life, perceptible life, and walks among men. It is the released spirit in man, the offspring of the spellbound divinity. It is not the great God, who was, is and will be, but it can be taken as His revelation in a certain sense. The Father rests in concealment, the Son is born to man out of his own soul. Thus mystic cognition is a real event in the cosmic process. It is the birth of an offspring of God. It is an event as real as any other natural event, only on a higher level. This is the great secret of the mystic, that he himself creatively releases his divine offspring, but he also prepares himself beforehand to acknowledge this divine offspring created by himself. The non-mystic lacks the experience of the father of this offspring. For this father slumbers under a spell. The offspring appears to be virginally born. The soul appears to have borne him without fructification. All its other offspring are conceived by the material world. In their case the father can be seen and touched. He has material life. The divine offspring alone is conceived of the eternal, hidden 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.