The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Sixth Lecture

[ 1 ] Yesterday, an attempt was made to provide a mental image of the revelation of Krishna and its relationship to what occurs later in the evolution of humanity: the revelation through the Christ. It was specifically pointed out that the revelation of Krishna can appear to us as the culmination of a long evolutionary current in human history, the culmination of the clairvoyant, the primitive clairvoyant epoch of human development. If, from this perspective, we once again bring before our soul what we were able to gain yesterday regarding this culminating conclusion of the Krishna revelation, we can say: What has been gained within this revelation is present in human development precisely because of this, but it has reached a certain conclusion and cannot actually be further elevated. Certain teachings that came down at that time must simply be accepted—one might say—throughout the entire subsequent development, just as they were given then.

[ 2 ] It is now necessary to examine the very peculiar nature of this revelation from a certain perspective. One might call this revelation one that does not reckon with time and the sequence of time in the strictly human sense. Everything that does not reckon with time as a real factor is already contained in the teachings of Krishna. What is meant by this?

[ 3 ] Every spring we see plants sprouting from the ground, watching them grow and mature, bear fruit, and release seeds; and from these seeds, when they are sown back into the earth, we see the same plants sprout in the same way the following year, grow to their full height, and develop seeds once more. Thus this process repeats itself from year to year. — If we consider time spans that are initially within human comprehension, then we must say: We are dealing here with a true repetition. The lilies of the valley, the primroses, the hyacinths—they look the same every year. What they are repeats itself in them in the same form, in the same way, every year. In a certain sense, we can extend this even to the animals and find something similar there. For when we consider the individual animal—the individual species of lion, the individual species of hyena, the individual species of monkey—we find that, in a certain sense, what is to become of such a being is predisposed from the very beginning. Therefore, we speak with some justification of not applying the concept of “education” in the strict sense to animals. Uninformed people, however, have in recent times begun to apply all sorts of educational and pedagogical concepts to animals as well. But this can neither be regarded as the main point, nor can it be taken into account in a proper characterization. Basically, we also see repetition confirmed in nature when we consider short periods of time. We see spring, summer, autumn, and winter repeating regularly throughout the centuries. And only if we consider very long periods of time—such as those initially beyond the scope of human observation—would we perceive something like the necessity of accounting for the concept of time; we would see ancient times, where things unfolded differently than in our own, and could, for example, address the fact that the way the sun rises and sets in the present has changed over into a distant, distant future. But these are areas that only emerge when we enter into the actual Spiritual Science. For what human beings can initially observe—one might say, for the astronomical realm—repetition also applies: the repetition of the same or the similar, as we see it particularly clearly in the annual return of plant forms. In this repetition, time as such has no deeper meaning. It is not, in any essential sense, a factor with real effect simply by virtue of being time.

[ 4 ] The situation is different when we consider the life of an individual. As you all know, we also divide human life into successive, recurring periods. We distinguish one such period from birth until the completion of teething, that is, until about the seventh year; then a period from the seventh to the fourteenth year, until sexual maturity; then one from the fourteenth to the twenty-first year, and so on. In short, we distinguish seven-year periods in the individual human life. We can already say that certain things repeat themselves in these seven-year periods. But far more striking than mere repetition is something else, namely the progressive change, the progress itself that has taken place. For the human being is quite different in the second seven-year period than in the first, and again different in the third. We cannot say: just as the plant repeats itself within the plant, so too would the human being of the first seven-year period repeat itself in the second seven-year period, and so on. Here we see time playing a real role in human life as it progresses. It means something.

[ 5 ] And when we see how what is significant for the individual human being can be applied to all of humanity, we can say: In the successive development of all humanity, both of these aspects reveal themselves to us in a certain way. We need only consider the so-called post-Atlantean era. In the post-Atlantean era, we distinguish the ancient Indian culture as the first post-Atlantean cultural period, the primordial Persian as the second, the Egyptian-Chaldean as the third, the Greco-Latin as the fourth, our present one as the fifth, and two more will follow ours until another great catastrophe occurs. This progression of evolution shows many similarities across the successive periods, which can in a certain sense be compared to the repetition of the same, as we observe, for example, from year to year in the plant kingdom. We see how such periods unfold in that, in a certain way, at the beginning of such epochs, certain revelations come to humanity; as it were, a stream of spiritual life is given to humanity as an impulse, just as in every spring the impulse is given to the plants of the earth. And then we see how, upon this first impulse, the rest is built, bears fruit, and dies away when the period comes to an end, just as plants die away as winter approaches. But alongside this, something appears in the successive periods that is similar to the progress of the individual human being, and of which we can say that time plays a role, proving itself to be a real factor. It is not merely that in the second, primordial Persian epoch the seeds are sown anew, as they were in the first epoch, or that in the third period it is again as it was in the first, but the impulses are always different, always more intensified, always new, just as it is in human life that the individual seven-year periods have their own differentiation and progress.

[ 6 ] Now, what has come to humanity over the course of time has come to it in such a way that, one might say, the things that constitute the sum total of knowledge have been revealed to people slowly and gradually. Not all the currents of national character have always had a sense of everything at the same time. Thus we see that in that current of human evolution which coincided precisely with the Mystery of Golgotha, there is, in a certain sense, a lack of a sense of time as a real factor. This sense of time as a real factor is, in essence, lacking in the entire Eastern tradition of knowledge. It is particularly characterized by a sense of the repetition of the same. Hence, everything that asserts itself in relation to the repetition of the same is grasped in a magnificent way by Eastern knowledge.

[ 7 ] What comes to mind when we consider the repetition of the same in successive cultural periods? Let us take the example of plant growth. There we see how, in spring, plants sprout from the earth. We are dealing with their creation. We see how these plants grow and flourish until they reach a certain peak, how they then die off again, and, in dying, already carry within them the seed of a new plant. We are thus dealing with a threefold step in becoming: with coming into being, with growing and flourishing, and with dying off, and in dying off we have again the seed of something similar. Where time is not particularly important, where repetition is what matters, this repetitive principle is always best grasped in the number three. Grasping the meaning of repetitive becoming through the number three lay particularly in the gifts of Eastern wisdom, lay especially in the wisdom that preceded Christianity. And the greatness of this ancient worldview lies, to a certain extent, in its one-sided inclination toward the timeless, so to speak, toward the repetitive process. And where it comes to an end, we encounter everywhere the Trinities, which are, in essence, the clairvoyant expression of what lies behind becoming, passing away, and restoration. Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu—this trinity underlies everything as creative powers. In the era preceding the revelation of Krishna, it was recognized as a trinity—let us say of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva—to be attained through clairvoyance. And the image of this trinity is present everywhere where time is conceived of as nothing other than the successive repetition of the same.

[ 8 ] This is the significance, in terms of recognizing a new era, of the emergence of the ability to view things historically—that is, to take time into account in what actually matters for evolution, to regard time as a real factor. But it was reserved in particular for the West to develop a historical sense, to see through history in its truth. And this is where the two evolutionary currents of the East and the West differ: the East views the world in a non-historical, ahistorical way—but in the highest perfection—while the West, prompted by an impulse, begins to view the world historically. And the impetus for a historical perspective stems from the ancient Hebrew worldview. It provides the first impulse for historical perception.

[ 9 ] Let us now examine side by side what the true essence of Eastern worldviews is. We are always told of the recurring world ages. We are told what happens at the beginning of the first, and what happens at the end of the first world age. Then we are told of the beginning of the second world age, the end of the second world age, the beginning of the third, and the end of the third world age. And indeed, the mystery of the world’s becoming is presented at the time of Krishna in such a way that it is said: When the ancient culture of the third world-age had become barren and arid, when the ancient culture was entering its autumn and winter, Krishna appeared as the son of Vasudeva and Devaki to gather together for the future—that is, for the fourth period—what could be carried over as a germ, as a new seed, from the third into the fourth period. The individual world ages appeared to one like the successive years in relation to plant growth. Cycles of time whose content is repetition—that is the essential element of Eastern worldviews.

[ 10 ] Now let us compare these worldviews—in their deepest structure, in their timelessness—with what we encounter right at the beginning of the Old Testament. Oh, what a striking difference there is from the Eastern worldviews! There we see a continuous, real timeline unfolding. First we are led to Genesis, to Creation, and the history of humanity is linked to Creation. We see a continuous progression through the seven days of Creation, through the time of the patriarchs; from Abraham down through Isaac and Jacob—all becoming, all history. Where is there repetition? The first day of Creation is not repeated in an abstract way in the second. The patriarchs are not repeated in the prophets. The era of the kings does not repeat the era of the judges, and so on. Then the time of captivity begins. Everywhere we are led through the entire dramatic progression, where time plays a real role just as it does in the life of each individual. Throughout the entire Old Testament, time is shown to us as a real factor in events, apart from what is repeated. Progress is what enters the narrative of the Old Testament as a distinctive element. The Old Testament is the first major example of a historical perspective. Through it, the legacy of the historical perspective is handed down to the West.

[ 11 ] Only slowly and gradually do people come to understand what is revealed to them over the course of time. And so it can be said that, time and again, just when new revelations come in a certain sense, a kind of regression to the past takes place. Great and significant things were revealed at the beginning of the Theosophical Movement. Yet the curious thing is that, right from the start, the historical perspective has had little influence on this Theosophical life. You can see this for yourself, in particular, if you take a look at an otherwise excellent and commendable book, Sinnett’s *Esoteric Buddhism*. All the chapters there that are steeped in history will be quite acceptable to the Western mind. But alongside this is another element, which we might call the “ahistorical element”—that peculiar element where there is talk of great and small cycles, of the progression through rounds and races, and wherever the matter is presented as if repetition were the main thing—how the third round follows the second, how one master race follows another, one subrace follows another, and so on. One really enters into a kind of mechanical cycle and places the main emphasis on repetition. This was a relapse into a way of thinking that humanity had already overcome.

[ 12 ] The mode of thought that proves most appropriate to Western culture, however, is the historical one. And what is the consequence of this historical element of Western culture? Precisely the recognition of the single focal point of all earthly becoming. The East viewed becoming as the recurring process of plant growth each year. Thus, in every period, the individual great Initiates appeared and repeated—or at least, one tends to emphasize what they repeated—what had already existed before. One emphasizes, particularly in an abstract way, that each is merely the particular manifestation of the one thing that continues to develop from epoch to epoch. One had a particular interest in portraying the continuously developing same in the same way that, in the plant world, one observes what reveals itself as form and does not distinguish between the individual years. Only in a special case does a person observe how the individual years differ, even in plant life. When describing a lily or a vine leaf, it does not matter to them whether the plant grew in 1857 or in 1867; for lilies are alike—they are manifestations of the one species of lily. However, one might say that where this general, repetitive, homogeneous “Apollonian” aspect also transitions into the “Dionysian” in plant growth, there the human being attaches particular importance to the fact that the individual “vintages” differ: in the wine vintages. There, it matters to him to distinguish; but otherwise he has no interest in saying: This is the form of the lily from the year 1890 or 1895.

[ 13 ] Thus, in a certain sense, the Orient had no real interest—though one must not force the comparison—in distinguishing the embodiment of the Bodhisattva in the third age from that in the second or first age. It was the embodiment of “the One.” This focus on the One, this abstract narrowing down to the Same, constitutes the ahistorical nature of the Oriental perspective, and it essentially constitutes the ahistorical nature of all perspectives of the pre-Christian eras, with the exception of the historical perspective of the Old Testament. With the Old Testament, historical perspective emerged in a preparatory form—and with the New Testament, in greater perfection. Here, then, it is essential to view the line of becoming as such, as a whole. One must not merely look at what recurs in the individual cycles, but at what constitutes the focal point of all becoming. And then it becomes clear that one is right to say: It is simply absurd to speak of there being no such focal point of becoming.

[ 14 ] This is the point at which the various peoples across the globe must first come to an understanding regarding historical development, where they must first realize that this historical perspective is absolutely essential for a truly realistic view of humanity. We will still be able to witness this today, even if it is not some fanatical or denominational form of Christianity but a genuinely sincere one that is brought to the East and seeks only to assert itself objectively alongside the other religions of the East; then it will be said: You have only the one God, who incarnated only once in Palestine; but we have many incarnations of God; in that respect, we are ahead of you. This response will be entirely natural from the Oriental’s point of view. It is connected to his special aptitude for perceiving the repetition of the one. For the Westerner, however, it must be the case that the whole has a center of gravity. Therefore, when one speaks of multiple incarnations of Christ, this is the same error as if someone were to say: “Yes, it is nonsense to claim that a balance needs only one fulcrum, with the load on one side and the weights on the other; let us support the balance at two, three, or four points!”—but that is nonsense. A balance can have only one point of support. And if one wishes to understand the whole process of becoming, one must seek out that one point of support, that one center of gravity, and not believe that one is better off by seeking successive incarnations of Christ. In this regard, the nations and peoples across the globe will have to come to an understanding that, in the course of history, the historical way of thinking—the historical perspective—had to emerge first as that which is, in the highest sense, worthy of humanity.

[ 15 ] It happened gradually, as this historical way of viewing the becoming of humanity—one might say—began with the most primitive conditions. There we find that this historical development is first hinted at to us in the Old Testament through the recurring emphasis on how the essence of the Old Testament people is such that one can say they belong to the blood of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; it flows through the successive generations, and what develops is, in essence, a form of blood descent, of the perpetuation of blood. Just as a human being shows progress through the succession of stages in their life, so that time plays a role in this, so it is the case with the entire Old Testament people. And if one goes into the finer details, one will indeed be able to view this course of the generations of the Old Testament people in a manner similar to the life of an individual human being, insofar as it develops naturally, insofar as it develops within itself what, so to speak, can be developed in a human being by virtue of physical endowment. What could come about through the fact that the fatherly was always passed on to the son, and so on and so forth, is described to us in the Old Testament. And what could arise in terms of confessions of faith through the descendants always holding fast to those with whom they were blood-related is described. What happens in the natural life of the individual human being through the blood is applied to the entire body of the Old Testament people. And just as in the individual human being, at a certain time, the soul element emerges particularly, so to speak, and plays a special role, so too—and this is particularly interesting—is this already recorded in the historical development of the Old Testament.

[ 16 ] Let us consider the child. There we will see that the natural aspect predominates in the child. The needs of the body take precedence at first. The soul is still contained within the body; it does not yet wish to emerge fully. The body’s well-being is brought about by pleasant impressions from the outside world. Unpleasant, distressing impressions from the outside world are also reflected in the child’s emotional expressions. Then the person grows up. Through what develops naturally within them, the soul gradually gains the upper hand, and we enter a stage of life—it will vary from person to person, but essentially this occurs in one’s twenties—when the person truly brings forth what is soulful within them. What are purely physical pains and needs will recede; the soul’s configuration comes to the fore. Then the time comes when the person becomes better able to allow this soul life within themselves to recede more into the background. This, again, lasts longer for some, shorter for others. Perhaps one person will also remain entirely committed to holding on to this soul life peculiar to them throughout their entire life. But there is also something else at work, even though people often really bring out who they are in their twenties, so that it seems to them as if the world had been waiting only for the specific spiritual quality they possess. This comes to the fore especially when someone has strong intellectual aptitudes, for example, when someone has particular philosophical aptitudes. It then appears as though the world had been waiting only for him to come and establish the right philosophical system, for only his soul is suited to this. But the right and good can also emerge from this. Then comes the time when one begins to see what the world can offer through others, when one allows other things to speak through oneself, when one takes in what has been accomplished so far.

[ 17 ] Just as the individual human being is, so the Old Testament portrays the entire body of the ancient Hebrew people. We see how everything develops through the racial characteristics of this people during the time of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and how everything depends on the fact that this people possesses precisely these blood and racial characteristics. And if you follow what is described there, you will say: Up to a certain point, certain racial characteristics appear in the Old Testament as the source of its impulses. Then comes the time when this people develops its soul, which takes on the form of how the individual human being expresses his or her soul in their twenties. That is where the prophet Elijah appears, for the prophet Elijah appears as the entire distinctive soul of the ancient Hebrew people. Then come the other prophets, of whom I was able to tell you a few days ago that they are the souls of the most diverse initiates from other peoples, gathered within the Old Testament people. There the soul of this people listens to what the souls of the other peoples have to say. As in a great harmony, as in a symphony, what remains of Elijah and what the souls of the other peoples have to say through the other prophets, who are embodied in the Old Testament people, blend together.

[ 18 ] Thus does this body of the ancient Hebrew people mature. And in a certain sense, it dies by taking into its faith and confession only the spiritual, that which remains spiritual, as we see so beautifully in the portrayal of the Maccabees. One might say: In this depiction of the Maccabees, the aged people of the Old Testament appear, gradually settling down to rest as an aged people, yet directly proclaiming the consciousness of the eternity of the human soul through the sons of the Maccabees. The eternity of the individual confronts us as the consciousness of the people. And now, as the body of the people itself perishes, it is as if this soul remains as a seed of the soul in a completely new form. Where is it, this soul?

[ 19 ] This soul of Elijah is, at the same time, the soul of the Old Testament people; it enters into John the Baptist and lives within him. Since he is imprisoned and then beheaded by Herod, what happens to this soul? We have already hinted at this. This soul becomes independent, leaves the body, but continues to work like an aura, and into the realm of this aura enters Christ Jesus. But where is the soul of Elijah, the soul of John the Baptist? It is indicated clearly enough in the Gospel of Mark. The soul of John the Baptist, the soul of Elijah, becomes the group soul of the Twelve; it lives in the Twelve and continues to live in the Twelve. This is indicated to us—one might say—in a very, very remarkable way, in the manner of an artistic depiction, by the fact that before the Gospel of Mark speaks of the death of John the Baptist, it tells us, so to speak, of the teaching method of Christ Jesus toward the great multitude and toward his individual disciples. We have spoken of this. But this changes when the soul of Elijah is released from John the Baptist, when it lives on in the Twelve as a group soul. And this is hinted at. For from that point on—read it for yourself, you will notice it quite clearly—Christ makes higher demands of his Twelve than before. He demands that they understand higher things. And what is very remarkable is precisely what they are supposed to understand and what it is that he later reproaches them for, because they do not understand it. Read this book carefully! I have already pointed out one aspect of this: that there is mention of a multiplication of loaves when Elijah comes to the widow at Zarephath, and that when the soul of Elijah is released from John the Baptist, another multiplication of loaves is reported. But now Christ specifically demands of his disciples that they understand the meaning of this multiplication of the loaves very clearly. Before this, he does not speak such words to them. But then, when they are to understand what the fate of John the Baptist is after his beheading by Herod, what happens with the five loaves and the five thousand, where the pieces are gathered into twelve baskets, and what happens with the seven loaves and the four thousand, where the pieces are gathered into seven baskets, then he says to them:

“Do you still not understand? Is your soul still in darkness?

You have eyes but do not see, ears but do not hear, and do not remember when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand. How many baskets full of pieces did you gather up then? They said to him, ‘Twelve.’

And when I distributed the seven loaves among the four thousand, how many baskets full of fragments did you gather? And they said to him, ‘Seven.’

And he said to them, ‘Do you still not understand?’ (8:17–21.)

[ 20 ] He severely reproaches them for being unable to understand what is contained in these revelations. Why? Because he means: Now the spirit of Elijah has been set free; it lives within you, and you must gradually prove yourselves worthy so that it may penetrate your soul, so that you may understand higher things than you have understood before. When Christ Jesus spoke to the crowd, he spoke in parables, in images, because these people were still the echo of those who had seen the supersensible in the imaginations, in imaginative knowledge; so that he had to speak to the crowd in the manner in which the ancient clairvoyants spoke. He was able to explain it to those who emerged as his disciples from the Old Testament people in a Socratic manner, that is, according to ordinary reason. He was able to explain the parables to them. He was able to speak to the new sensibility, to what had become customary for humanity after the old clairvoyance had faded. But because the spirit of Elijah approached the Twelve as a group soul, permeating them like a shared aura, they became clairvoyant in a higher sense—or at least were able to become so—and could perceive, as the Twelve together, enlightened by the spirit of Elijah-John, what they could not attain as individuals. This is what Christ sought to educate them toward.

[ 21 ] What was he trying to teach them? What, after all, is the real meaning of this whole story of the multiplication of the loaves—the first time by distributing five loaves among five thousand people, with the leftovers filling twelve baskets; the second time by distributing seven loaves among four thousand people, with the leftovers filling seven baskets? Yes, that has always been a peculiar thing for Bible commentators. Today, the commentators have agreed to say: The people simply had bread with them; and when they were arranged in rows, they took out their pieces of bread. That is, so to speak, the consensus today, even among those who want to hold fast to the Gospel. However, if one takes these things in this superficial way, they sink down to mere outward trappings, to an external ceremony. One doesn’t know why the whole story is told then. On the other hand, of course, one must not think of black magic either; for the actual conjuring up of a plentiful amount of bread from five, or rather seven, loaves would be black magic. But it cannot be a matter of black magic, nor of a process that seems particularly tailored for the Philistines, as if people had brought bread and unpacked it. Something special is meant here. I have already pointed this out in my interpretation of the various other Gospels, and it is made clear enough in the Gospel itself what this is about.

“And the apostles gathered around Jesus and told him everything they had done and taught.

And he said to them, ‘Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while.’ (6:30–31.)

[ 22 ] We should take this saying to heart. Christ Jesus sends the apostles to a secluded place so that they may rest a little—that is, so that they may enter a state that one experiences precisely when one withdraws into solitude. And what do they see there? What do they see there in this different state? They are led into a kind of new clairvoyance, into which they are brought by the spirit of Elijah-John coming upon them. Up to that point, Christ had been interpreting the parables for them; now he allows a new clairvoyance to come upon them. And what do they see? They see the development of humanity in comprehensive images; they see the future; they see how the people of the future are gradually drawing near to what the impulse of Christ is. What is recounted here as the twofold multiplication of the loaves, the disciples saw in the spiritual realm. It is an act of clairvoyance. And as an act of clairvoyance, it is like any other act of clairvoyance: it flashes by at first if one is unaccustomed to it. That is why the disciples do not understand it for so long.

[ 23 ] This is precisely what will occupy us more and more intensely in the following lectures—it is most evident in the Gospel of Mark—namely, that the narratives of external sensory experience give way to the depiction of clairvoyant moments, and that we can only understand the Gospel if we approach it from the perspective of spiritual research. There one stands, let us say, in the time in question, after the beheading of John, having allowed the Christ impulse to take effect; He stands there in the world. To the outer sensory gaze, Christ Himself initially appears as a solitary figure who cannot accomplish much. But to the clairvoyant gaze trained in the present sense, time comes into view! Christ steps not only among those who were in Palestine at that time, but also among those who will arise in all subsequent generations. They all gather around him, and what he can give them, he gives to thousands upon thousands. And this is how the Apostles, the Twelve, see him. This is how they see him working, starting from that time and throughout the millennia, how he spiritually casts the impulse into all perspectives of the future, how all future human beings come forth. This is what they behold. It is a process in which they are connected to Christ in a special way in the spirit.

[ 24 ] We must bear in mind, in particular, that from this point on, the spiritual begins to permeate the entire narrative of the Gospel of Mark. How unique this is, and how the Gospel continues to grow and grow when we take this into account, will be a topic of discussion in the following lectures. But for now, let us draw attention to one thing. Let us point to a scene that can only be understood through this method of research based on Spiritual Science. It is the scene that took place shortly after the one just mentioned.

“Then Jesus and his disciples went into the villages near Caesarea Philippi. As they were walking along, he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say I am?’

They replied, “Some say you are John the Baptist; others say you are Elijah; and still others say you are one of the prophets.”

“But what about you,” he asked, “who do you say I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Christ.”

And he warned them not to tell anyone about him.

And he began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and be raised after three days.

And he spoke of this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.

But he turned and, seeing his disciples, rebuked Peter thus: “Get behind me, Satan! You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of man.” (8:27–33.)

[ 25 ] One might say: a tough nut to crack for Gospel scholarship! For what exactly is contained in this passage? In fact, unless one is willing to delve into spiritual research, everything in it is such that it cannot be understood. Christ asks the disciples: “Who do people say that I am?” And they answer: “Some say you are John the Baptist.” But John the Baptist had been beheaded shortly before, and Christ had already been teaching while John the Baptist was still alive. Are people speaking utter nonsense when they take Christ for John the Baptist, even though John the Baptist is still alive? If they say he is Elijah or another prophet, that would still be acceptable. But now, Peter says: “You are the Christ”—that is, he proclaims something truly magnificent, something that only the holiest part of him can speak. And a few lines later, is Christ supposed to say to him: “Satan, get behind me! You are speaking not as God would, but as a human being”? Can anyone believe that, after Peter has said these magnificent things, the Christ would call him “Satan”? Or can one understand it if it is said beforehand: “He warned them not to tell anyone about this,” that is to say: Don’t tell anyone that Peter considers him to be the Christ? And then it continues: “He began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things, be rejected, be killed, and be raised after three days. And he spoke of this quite openly.” And then, after Peter rebukes him for this, he calls Peter a “Satan.” And the most curious thing in all of this is that it says: “And Jesus and his disciples went out to the villages of Caesarea Philippi” and so on; it is always recounted how they speak to him, and then it is said again: “And he began to teach them” and so on. But then it says: “But he turned around, and when he saw his disciples, he rebuked Peter.” So it is said earlier: He spoke to them, he taught them. Yes, did he do all that with his back turned to them? For it then says: “He turned around and saw his disciples.” Did he then turn his back on them and speak into the air?

[ 26 ] As you can see, this single passage contains a whole tangle of ambiguities. One can only wonder why such things are accepted without seeking true, genuine, and real explanations. But go through the commentaries on the Gospels: either such passages are glossed over, or the most bizarre interpretations are cited. There were also disputes and discussions; but few would claim that they have become wiser through such discussions.

[ 27 ] Now let us simply take note of what has been said and hold it before our souls. After we have indicated that following the death of John the Baptist—since the Elijah-John soul passes over as a group soul into the disciples—the first true “miracle” is performed, the meaning of which we will come to understand more and more clearly, we encounter a completely incomprehensible passage in which it is described: Christ Jesus speaks to his disciples, asking them: “What do the people think is happening now?” Is it not true that this question may also be put this way; for what mattered most to the people was the source of the effects now taking place. To this the disciples reply: “People think it has to do with”—if we may use a trivial expression—“John the Baptist, or with Elijah, or with one of the other prophets; and that it is because of this that the effects we have just observed are taking place.”—“But what do you believe,” asks Christ Jesus, “is the source of these things?” Then Peter says: “They come from the fact that you are the Christ.” With this, Peter, in the sense of the Gospel of Mark, has presented himself in his insight as the pivotal point in human development. For what has he actually said with this? Let us consider what he has said.

[ 28 ] Those who were the great leaders of humanity in the previous age were the Initiates who had been guided through the sacred Mysteries up to the final act of Initiation. They were the ones who had approached the gates of death, who had plunged into the elements, who had remained outside their bodies for three days, yet during those three days had been in the supersensible worlds, and who had then been raised again and were now scouts and messengers from the supersensible worlds. These were always the great leaders of humanity, the Initiates who had become so in this way. Peter now says: “You are the Christ,” that is to say: You are a leader who has not passed through the Mysteries in this way, who has come from the cosmos and is now a leader of humanity. Historically, what otherwise took place in its own way during the Initiation is now to be brought onto the stage of the Earth. What Peter expressed was something immense. What, then, had to be said to Peter? One had to tell him: This is something that must not be revealed to the masses; this is something about which the holiest, most ancient laws say must remain a mystery. One must not speak of the mysteries. — At that very moment, this had to be said to Peter.

[ 29 ] The whole point of humanity’s further development, however, is that with the Mystery of Golgotha, what had previously taken place only in the depths of the mysteries has been brought out into the realm of world history. Through what happened on Golgotha—the three days in the tomb, the Resurrection—what had otherwise taken place in the depths, in the darkness of the Mysteries, has been brought out onto the stage of world history. In other words: What was considered a sacred law—that one must remain silent about this mystery—the time has now come when this must be broken. Human beings have established laws according to which one must remain silent about the mysteries. But now the mysteries must be revealed through the Mystery of Golgotha. A decision in the soul of Christ—the greatest decision in world history—is that He has resolved: what until now, according to human law, had to be kept secret must now be revealed before all eyes, before world history.

[ 30 ] Let us imagine for a moment a world-historical reflection within Christ, a moment of world-historical contemplation: I look upon the entire development of humanity. Through its laws, it forbids me to speak of death and resurrection, of the raising up, of the sacred mystery of initiation. No. I have, after all, been sent down to Earth by the gods to reveal it. I must not be guided by what people say; I must be guided by what the gods tell me. — The decision to reveal the mysteries is taking shape at this very moment. And Christ must cast from his soul the indecision that might arise from his desire to uphold in evolution what human commandments have prescribed. Depart from me, indecision, and grow within me, resolve, to set before all humanity that which until now has been in the depths of the Mysteries! — Regarding his own resolve, as he must reject what might make him indecisive, the Christ says: “Depart from me!” and resolves at this very moment to carry out that for which he has been sent down to Earth by his God.

[ 31 ] What we are dealing with here is the greatest monologue in world history, one that has ever taken place in the entire evolution of the Earth: the monologue of God on the revelation of the mysteries. No wonder that the monologue of God is not immediately comprehensible to the human intellect, that we must dig deep if we wish to make ourselves even somewhat worthy of understanding this monologue of God, through which the work of God proceeds a step further. More on this tomorrow.