The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] In a sense, we stand today at the starting point of the founding of the Anthroposophical Society in the strict sense, and on such an occasion we should once again remind ourselves of the importance and significance of our cause. Admittedly, what the Anthroposophical Society aims to be for modern culture should not, in principle, differ from what we have always pursued here within our circles as ‘theosophy.’ But perhaps the addition of this new name may serve to remind our souls once again of the seriousness and dignity with which we wish to work within our spiritual movement, and it is from this perspective that the theme of this lecture series has been chosen. We wish to discuss a theme at the very foundation of our anthroposophical endeavor, one that will be most suitable in every way for pointing out to us the importance and significance of our spiritual movement for contemporary cultural life.

[ 2 ] Perhaps some have been surprised to find brought together two spiritual currents that seem quite far apart, as expressed on the one hand in the great Eastern poem of the Bhagavad Gita and on the other hand in the letters of the one so closely associated with the founding of Christianity: the Apostle Paul. We will best recognize the closeness of these two spiritual currents if, by way of introduction, we point out today how, on the one hand, that which is connected with the great poetry of the Bhagavad Gita presents itself in our present time, and how, on the other hand, that which was founded at the very beginning of Christianity—Pauline thought—protrudes into it. Much in the spiritual life of our present day is different from what it was even a relatively short time ago, and it is precisely this difference in the spiritual life of the present compared to the spiritual life of a past that has only recently come to a close that makes something like the theosophical or anthroposophical spiritual current necessary.

[ 3 ] Let us consider how people in a time not so long ago, when they began to engage with the spiritual life of their own era, actually, as I already emphasized in my lecture series in Basel and Munich, had to deal with three millennia: one pre-Christian millennium and two not yet fully concluded millennia, which are permeated and suffused by the Christian spiritual current. What could a person say to themselves who, not long ago—when one could not yet speak of the legitimacy of a theosophical or anthroposophical spiritual current as we understand it today—was immersed in the spiritual life of humanity? They could say to themselves: What actually extends into the present is something that can be sought, at most, in a millennium preceding the Christian era. For it is not until this millennium of the pre-Christian era that individual human beings, so to speak, begin to have significance as personalities for spiritual life. However great, mighty, and gigantic some aspects of the spiritual currents of earlier times may shine upon us: the personalities, the individualities, do not stand out from what underlies the spiritual currents. If we look back at what we cannot strictly count, in the narrower sense we now mean, as belonging to the last millennium before the Christian era—if we look back at the ancient Egyptian or Chaldean-Babylonian spiritual currents—we survey, so to speak, a coherent spiritual life. It is only in Greek spiritual life that things truly begin to take shape in such a way that the individualities appear before us as fully spiritually alive. We find great, powerful teachings and vast perspectives reaching far out into the vastness of the world in the Egyptian era and the Chaldean-Babylonian era; it is only in Greece that things begin to take shape in such a way that we look upon individual personalities—a Socrates or Pericles, a Phidias, a Plato, an Aristotle. The personality as such comes to the fore. That is the distinctive feature of spiritual life over the last three millennia. And I do not mean only the significant personalities, but the impression that spiritual life makes on every single individuality, every personality. It is the personality that matters in these three millennia, if we may put it that way. And the spiritual currents are significant in that personalities have a need to participate in spiritual life, that personalities find inner comfort, hope, peace, inner bliss, and inner security through the spiritual currents.

[ 4 ] And because, until relatively recently, people tended to be interested in history only insofar as it unfolded from one individual to another, they lacked a deep, penetrating understanding of what lay before the last three millennia. It was with Greek civilization that the history began which, until very recently, was the only one we understood, and then, at the turn of the first and second millennia, came what follows the great being of Christ Jesus.

[ 5 ] What Greek culture has given us stands out prominently in the first millennium. And this Greek culture stands out in a unique way: at its very foundation lie the Mysteries. What flowed from these—as we have often described—was passed on to the great poets, philosophers, and artists in all fields. For if we wish to truly understand Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, we must seek the sources for their understanding in what flowed from the Mysteries. If we wish to understand Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, we must seek the sources of their philosophy in the Mysteries. Not to mention such towering figures as Heraclitus. In my book *Christianity as a Mystical Fact*, you can see how he is entirely grounded in the Mysteries.

[ 6 ] Then we see how, with the second millennium, the Christian impulse flows into the development of the spirit, and we see the second millennium unfold in such a way that this Christ impulse, so to speak, gradually absorbs Greek culture and unites with it. The entire second millennium unfolds in such a way that the powerful Christ impulse unites with what has come over from Greek culture in living tradition and in living life in general. So that we see how, very slowly and gradually, Greek wisdom, Greek feeling, and Greek artistry organically connect with the Christ impulse. That is the course of the second millennium.

[ 7 ] Then begins the third millennium of the culture of the individual. We may say that in this third millennium, we see how Greek culture continues to exert its influence in a different way. We see this, for example, when we look at artists such as Raphael, Michelangelo, and Leonardo da Vinci. In the third millennium, Greek culture no longer lives on alongside Christianity as it did in the culture of the second millennium. In the second millennium, Greek culture was not embraced as a historical figure, as something viewed from the outside; in the third millennium, people must turn directly toward Greek culture. We see how Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael allow the great, re-emerging works of art to influence them, how Greek culture is being absorbed in an ever more conscious manner. It had been absorbed unconsciously in the second millennium; in the third millennium, it is being absorbed more consciously and ever more consciously.

[ 8 ] We see how this Hellenism is consciously incorporated into the worldview, for example in the figure of the philosopher Thomas Aquinas, who is compelled to reconcile the principles derived from Christian philosophy with the philosophy of Aristotle. Greek culture is also consciously incorporated here, so that Greek culture and Christianity converge in a conscious manner in philosophical form, just as they do in artistic form with Raphael, Michelangelo, and Leonardo. And this entire trend continues to rise through spiritual life, even as a certain religious opposition emerges in Giordano Bruno and Galileo. Despite all this, we find everywhere that Greek ideas and concepts, particularly regarding the view of nature, reappear: a conscious absorption of Greek culture!

[ 9 ] But we cannot go back any further than to the Greeks. And in every soul—not merely in the learned or highly educated, but in every soul, down to the simplest person—there spreads and lives a spiritual life into which Greek and Christian thought have consciously merged. From the university to the peasant’s cottage, Greek and Christian ideas are absorbed through these concepts.

[ 10 ] Something peculiar emerges in the 19th century—something that, in essence, only Theosophy or Anthroposophy is truly called upon to develop and bring to fruition. Here, in a single phenomenon, we witness something truly momentous unfolding. When the marvelous poem of the Bhagavad Gita first became known in Europe, great minds were captivated by the grandeur of this poem and by its profound content. And it may remain unforgettable that a mind as profound as Wilhelm von Humboldt, upon becoming acquainted with it, was able to say that it was the most profound philosophical poem he had ever encountered. And he was able to utter the beautiful words that it had been worth growing as old as he had, because he had still been able to come to know the Bhagavad Gita, the great song of the spirit that resounds from ancient, sacred, Oriental antiquity.

[ 11 ] And how wonderful it is that, slowly—though not yet on a large scale—much of the wisdom of the ancient East found its way into the 19th century, particularly through the Bhagavad Gita. For this Bhagavad Gita is not like other sacred texts that have come down to us from the ancient East. Other writings always present us with Eastern thought and feeling from this or that particular perspective. In the Bhagavad Gita, however, we encounter something of which we can say: it is the confluence of all the various directions and perspectives of Eastern thought, perception, and feeling. That is the significance of the Bhagavad Gita.

[ 12 ] Let us take a look at ancient India. If we disregard the less significant details, we find three distinct spiritual currents, so to speak, emerging from the mists of Indian antiquity. The intellectual current that confronts us already in the earliest Vedas and which then underwent further development in the later Vedic literature is a very specific intellectual current—we will characterize it shortly—it is, if we may say so, a one-sided but very specific intellectual current. Then we encounter a second spiritual current in Sankhya philosophy, again a specific spiritual direction, and finally we encounter a third nuance of Eastern spiritual current in Yoga. Thus we have set before our soul the three most significant Eastern spiritual currents: the Vedic, Sankhya, and Yoga currents. What appears to us as Kapila’s Sankhya system, what we encounter in Patanjali’s yoga philosophy and in the Vedas, are currents of thought with a specific nuance—currents of thought that, because they possess this specific nuance, are in a sense one-sided, and which derive their greatness precisely from this one-sidedness.

[ 13 ] In the Bhagavad Gita, we find the harmonious interpenetration of all three spiritual currents. What Vedic philosophy had to say, we find reflected in the Bhagavad Gita; what Patanjali’s yoga had to offer humanity, we find it again in the Bhagavad Gita; what Kapila’s Sankhya had to offer, we find it in the Bhagavad Gita. And we do not find it presented to us as a mere conglomeration, but rather as three limbs harmoniously flowing together into a single organism, as if they had always belonged together. This is the greatness of the Bhagavad Gita: that it describes in such a comprehensive way how this Eastern spiritual life receives its tributaries, on the one hand from the Vedas, on the other from Kapila’s Sankhya philosophy, and on the third from Patanjali’s Yoga.

[ 14 ] First, we will briefly outline what each of these three intellectual movements has to offer.

[ 15 ] The Vedic tradition is, in the truest sense, a philosophy of unity—the most spiritual form of monism conceivable. Monism, spiritual monism: this is the Vedic philosophy, which is then further developed in Vedanta. If we wish to understand Vedic philosophy, we must first bear in mind that this Vedic philosophy proceeds from the premise that human beings find within themselves a deepest core that is their true self, and that what he initially perceives in ordinary life is a kind of expression or imprint of this self of his, that human beings can develop, and that their development increasingly draws forth the depths of the true self from the depths of the soul. Thus, a higher self lies dormant within the human being, and this higher self is not what the person of the present moment immediately knows, but rather what is at work within them, toward which they are evolving. Once a person has attained what lives within him as the Self, then, according to Vedic philosophy, he will become aware that this Self is one with the all-encompassing Self of the world as a whole, that he does not merely rest within this all-encompassing World-Self with his own Self, but is one with this World-Self. And he is so one with this world-Self that he relates to this world-Self in two ways through his being. Just as one physically inhales and exhales, so, we might say, does the Vedantist conceive of the relationship of the human Self to the world-Self. Just as one inhales and exhales, and just as there is the general air outside and the portion of air we have inhaled inside, so too is there outside the general, all-encompassing Self that lives and weaves through everything, and one inhales it when one is devoted to the contemplation of the spiritual Self of the world. One breathes it in spiritually with every sensation one has of this Self; one breathes it in with everything one takes into one’s soul. All insight, all knowledge, all thought and feeling is spiritual breathing. And what we thus take into our soul as a fragment of the world-Self—which, however, remains organically connected to this world-Self—that is Atman: the breathing that, in relation to ourselves, is like the breath of air we inhale and which cannot be distinguished from the universal air. Thus Atman is within us, yet cannot be distinguished from what is the all-pervading Self of the world. And just as we exhale physically, so there is a devotion of the soul through which it turns its very best, in a prayer-like and sacrificial manner, toward this Self. This is like spiritual exhalation: Brahman. Atman and Brahman, like inhalation and exhalation, make us participants in the all-pervading Self of the world.

[ 16 ] Vedic religion presents us with a monistic-spiritual philosophy that is, at the same time, a religion. And the flower and fruit of this Vedic tradition is that feeling of oneness with the universal Self—which pervades and interweaves the world—with the unified essence of the world, a feeling that brings such bliss to humanity and soothes us in our innermost being and at the highest level. Vedic tradition deals with this connection of humanity to the unity of the world, with this standing of humanity at the very center of the entire great spiritual cosmos; it deals—we cannot say the Vedic word, for Veda is already a word—it deals with the word Veda, which is given, which, according to Vedic conception, is itself breathed forth by the all-pervading Being of Unity, and which the human soul can take into itself as the highest expression of knowledge.

[ 17 ] By assimilating the words of the Vedas, one assimilates the best part of the all-pervading Self; one attains awareness of the connection between the individual human self and this all-pervading Self of the world. What the Vedas say is the Word of God, which is creative and is reborn in human knowledge, thus uniting human knowledge with the creative principle that permeates and weaves through the world. Therefore, what was written in the Vedas was regarded as the divine Word, and the one who penetrated them was regarded as the possessor of the divine Word. The divine Word had come into the world in a spiritual manner and was present in the Vedic texts. Those who penetrated these texts participated in the creative principle of the world.

[ 18 ] The situation is different with Sankhya philosophy. When we first encounter it as it has been handed down to us, we find in it precisely the opposite of a doctrine of unity. If we wish to compare Sankhya philosophy, we can compare it with the philosophy of Leibniz. Sankhya philosophy is a pluralistic philosophy. The individual souls that we encounter—human souls and divine souls—are not traced by Sankhya philosophy back to a single source, but are accepted as individual souls that have existed, so to speak, from eternity, or at least as souls whose origin is not sought in a single unity. The pluralism of souls confronts us in Sankhya philosophy. The independence of each individual soul is sharply emphasized, as it pursues its development in the world, self-contained in its being and essence.

[ 19 ] And in contrast to the pluralism of souls stands what is called the prakritic element in Sankhya philosophy. We cannot adequately describe it with the modern word “matter,” because that word has a materialistic connotation. However, in Sankhya philosophy, this is not what is meant by the substantial, which stands in contrast to the multiplicity of souls and which, in turn, cannot be reduced to a single unity.

[ 20 ] We must first consider the multitude of souls and what we might call the material basis—a primal flood, as it were, flowing through the world in space and time, from which the souls draw the elements for their external existence. The souls must clothe themselves in this material element, which cannot be reduced to a unity with the souls themselves.

[ 21 ] And so it is in Sankhya philosophy that it is primarily this material element, when carefully studied, that confronts us. In Sankhya philosophy, attention is not so much directed toward the individual soul. The individual soul is accepted as something that is truly there, that is entangled and connected with the material basis, and that takes on the most diverse forms within this material basis, thereby manifesting itself outwardly in various forms. A soul clothes itself with the fundamental material element, which is conceived, so to speak, as having existed from eternity just like the individual soul. The spiritual expresses itself through this fundamental material element. Through this, the spiritual assumes various forms. And it is the study of these material forms in particular that confronts us in Sankhya philosophy.

[ 22 ] Here, so to speak, we have the most primordial form of this material element—a kind of spiritual primordial flood into which the soul first plunges. If we were to turn our gaze to the early stages of evolution, we would find, as it were, an undifferentiated state of the material element and, submerged within it, the multitude of souls undergoing further evolution. The first thing, then, that confronts us as a form—not yet differentiated from the unity of the primordial flood—is the spiritual substance itself, which lies at the starting point of evolution.

[ 23 ] The next thing that emerges, with which the soul can already clothe itself individually, is the Buddhi. So when we imagine a soul clothing itself with the primordial flood substance, this expression of the soul does not yet differ from the generally undulating element of the primordial flood. By clothing itself not only in this first existence of the generally undulating primordial flood, but in what can emerge next, the soul can clothe itself in Buddhi.

[ 24 ] The third element that takes shape, allowing souls to become increasingly individual, is Ahamkara. These are ever lower and lower forms of primordial matter. So we have primordial matter, its next form, buddhi, and yet another next form, ahamkara. The next form is manas, the next form is the sense organs, the next form is the finer elements, and the final form is the material elements that we have in the physical environment.

[ 25 ] Thus, we have, so to speak, a line of evolution in the sense of Sankhya philosophy. At the top is the most subtle element of a spiritual primordial flood, and as it becomes increasingly dense, it descends to what surrounds us in the gross elements from which the gross human body is also constructed. In between are the substances from which, for example, our sense organs are woven, and the finer elements from which our etheric or life body is woven. Mind you, all of these are sheaths of the soul in the sense of Sankhya philosophy. Even that which originates from the first primordial flood is a sheath of the soul. The soul is only present within it again. And when the Sankhya philosopher studies the Buddhi, Ahamkara, Manas, the senses, and the finer and coarser elements, he is referring to the increasingly dense sheaths in which the soul expresses itself.

[ 26 ] We must be clear that the way Vedic philosophy and the way Sankhya philosophy present themselves to us—and indeed, the only way they can present themselves to us—is because they were developed in those ancient times when there was still an ancient form of clairvoyance, at least to a certain degree.

[ 27 ] And the Vedas and the tenets of Sankhya philosophy came into being in various ways. The Vedas are based entirely on an original inspiration that was still present in primordial humanity like a natural predisposition; they were inspired without, so to speak, man doing anything other than preparing himself in his entire being to receive the divine inspiration that came of its own accord calmly and serenely within himself.

[ 28 ] The situation was different with the study of Sankhya philosophy. It was, so to speak, similar to how we learn today, except that modern learning is not imbued with clairvoyance. Back then, it was imbued with clairvoyance. It was clairvoyant science, inspiration, as if bestowed by grace from above: Vedic philosophy. Science that was sought after just as we seek science today, but sought after by people who still possessed clairvoyance—that was Sankhya philosophy.

[ 29 ] For this reason, Sankhya philosophy leaves the truly spiritual element, so to speak, untouched. It states: In what can be studied in the supersensible outer forms, the souls are imprinted; but what we study are the external forms, the forms that present themselves to us in such a way that the souls clothe themselves in these forms. Therefore, we find a developed system of forms as they appear to us in the world—just as we find a body of natural facts in our science—except that Sankhya philosophy looks all the way to the supersensible perception of these facts. Sankhya philosophy is a science which, although attained through clairvoyance, remains a science of external forms that does not penetrate to the soul itself. The soul remains, in a certain sense, untouched by the study. The one devoted to the Vedas feels his religious life to be one and the same with the life of wisdom. Sankhya philosophy is a science, a knowledge of the forms in which the soul expresses itself. And alongside this, a religious devotion of the soul may certainly exist among its adherents alongside Sankhya philosophy. And how this soul-life then integrates itself into the forms—not the soul-life itself, but how it integrates itself—this is what is investigated in Sankhya philosophy.

[ 30 ] Sankhya philosophy distinguishes between the soul that preserves its own independence to a greater extent and the soul that becomes more deeply immersed in matter. We are dealing here with a spiritual element that, although immersed, preserves its spiritual nature within material forms. A spiritual entity that is thus immersed in the outer form but announces itself as spiritual, reveals itself, lives in the Sattva element. A spiritual entity that is immersed in the form but is, so to speak, overgrown by the form, does not assert itself against the form, lives in the Tamas element. And that in which the soul maintains a certain balance with the outer form lives in the rajas element. Sattva, rajas, tamas—the three gunas—are essential characteristics of what we call Sankhya philosophy.

[ 31 ] The spiritual current that speaks to us through yoga, on the other hand, is different. It addresses the soul itself, directly addressing this soul, and seeks ways and means to engage the human soul in immediate spiritual life, so that the soul ascends from the point where it stands in the world to ever higher and higher stages of spiritual being. Thus, Sankhya is the contemplation of the soul’s sheaths, and yoga is the guidance of the soul toward higher and ever higher stages of inner experience. Devotion to yoga is therefore a gradual awakening of the soul’s higher powers, so that the soul immerses itself in something that is not part of its everyday life and that can open up ever higher and higher stages of being to it. Yoga is therefore the path to the spiritual worlds, the path to the liberation of the soul from external forms, the path to an independent inner life of the soul. The other side of Sankhya philosophy is yoga. Yoga gained its great significance when that inspiration—as if coming from a grace above—which had still inspired the Vedas, could no longer be present. Yoga had to be practiced by those souls who, belonging to a later epoch of humanity, no longer received anything revealed to them of their own accord, but had to work their way up to the heights of spiritual being from the lower levels.

[ 32 ] Thus, in ancient Indian times, we encounter three sharply distinct spiritual currents: the Vedas, the Sankhya, and the Yoga. And today we are called upon, so to speak, to reconnect these spiritual currents by bringing them up from the depths of the soul and the world in a way that is appropriate for our age.

[ 33 ] You can also find all three currents in our spiritual science. Read what I attempted to describe in my *Secret Science*, in the first chapters on the human constitution, on sleeping and waking, on life and death; then you will have what we might call, in today’s terms, Sankhya philosophy. Then read what is said about the evolution of the worlds from Saturn to our time, and you will have Vedic philosophy as it applies to our time. And read the final chapters, which deal with human development, and you will have yoga as it applies to our time. Our time must organically unite what shines upon us from ancient India as three sharply nuanced spiritual currents: Vedic philosophy, Sankhya philosophy, and yoga.

[ 34 ] For this reason, the magnificent work of poetry that is the Bhagavad Gita—which, in a profoundly poetic way, embodies a synthesis of these three currents—must touch our time in the deepest possible way. And we must seek something like a kinship between our own spiritual striving and the deeper content of the Bhagavad Gita. Our present-day spiritual currents intersect with the older spiritual currents not only in general terms, but also in specific details.

[ 35 ] You will have noticed that in my *Secret Science* an attempt is made to derive things entirely from within themselves. Nowhere is there any reliance on historical sources. Anyone who truly understands what is said cannot find, in any statement about Saturn, the Sun, and the Moon, that these things were derived from historical accounts; they are drawn from the matter itself. But how peculiar: what bears the stamp of our time nevertheless resonates at crucial points with what echoes to us from ancient times. Here is just a small sample: In the Vedas, at a certain point concerning cosmic evolution, we read something that can be expressed in the following words: Darkness was shrouded in darkness at the very beginning; all of this was an indistinguishable flood. A vast void arose, permeated everywhere by warmth. — And now I ask you to recall what has been drawn from the matter itself regarding the constitution of Saturn, where the substance of Saturn is spoken of as a substance of warmth, and to sense the resonance between this, so to speak, newest development in esoteric science and what is said there in the Vedas. The next passage reads: Then first sprang the Will, which was the first seed of thought, the connection between the existing and the non-existing. And they found this connection in the Will. — And recall how, in the New Initiation, we speak of the spirits of the Will. In all that we have to say in the present, the echo of the ancient is not sought, but the harmony arises quite of its own accord, because truth was sought there and truth is sought again on our own ground.

[ 36 ] And now, in the Bhagavad Gita, we encounter, as it were, the poetic glorification of the three spiritual currents just described. At a significant moment in world history—significant for that ancient time—we are presented with the great teaching that Krishna himself imparts to Arjuna. The moment is significant because it is the moment when the ancient blood ties are loosening. In everything that is now to be said in these lectures on the Bhagavad Gita, you must remember what has been emphasized time and again: how blood ties, racial solidarity, and tribal solidarity had a very special significance in ancient times and only gradually receded. Remember everything that is said in my writing: “Blood is a very special sap.”

[ 37 ] When these blood ties begin to weaken, it is precisely this weakening that gives rise to the great struggle described in the Mahabharata, of which the Bhagavad Gita is an episode. There we see how the descendants of two brothers—still blood relatives—part ways in terms of their spiritual orientations; how that which blood once united as a shared worldview now diverges; and that is why the struggle arises, because at this point of separation the struggle must arise, where the blood ties also lose their significance for clairvoyant insights, and with this separation the subsequent spiritual formation begins. For those for whom the old blood ties have no significance, Krishna appears as a great teacher. He must be the teacher of the new age, raised above the old blood ties. How he becomes the teacher, we shall describe tomorrow. But we can already say what the entire Bhagavad Gita shows us: how Krishna incorporates the three spiritual currents now described into his teaching. In organic unity, he imparts them to his disciple. How must this disciple stand before us? He looks up on one side to the father and on the other to the father’s brother. The siblings are no longer to be close to one another; they are to part ways. But now another spiritual current is also to take hold of one line and the other. Then Arjuna’s soul stirs: What will become of things when that which was held together by blood ties is no longer there? How is the soul to position itself within spiritual life if this spiritual life can no longer flow as it once did, under the influence of the old blood ties? It seems to Arjuna that everything must fall apart. And that things must change, that this must not happen—that is the essence of the great teaching of Krishna.

[ 38 ] Now Krishna shows his disciple—who is to live through the transition from one age to the next—how the soul must assimilate elements from all three spiritual currents if it is to achieve harmony. We find the Vedic doctrine of unity correctly presented in Krishna’s teachings, as well as the essence of the Sankhya doctrine and the essence of yoga. For what actually lies behind all that we are yet to learn from the Bhagavad Gita? Krishna’s proclamation goes something like this: Yes, there is a creative Word of the world that contains the creative principle itself. Just as the sound of a human being, when speaking, ripples through, weaves through, and permeates the air, so does it ripple through, weave through, and permeate all things, creating and ordering existence. Thus the Vedic principle breathes in all things. Thus it can be received by human cognition within the life of the human soul. There is a ruling, weaving Word of Creation; there is a rendering of the ruling, weaving Word of Creation in the Vedic texts. The Word is the Creative Principle of the world; it reveals itself in the Vedas. This is one aspect of the teachings of Krishna.

[ 39 ] And the human soul is capable of understanding how the Word manifests itself in the forms of being. Human knowledge comes to understand the laws of being by grasping how the individual forms of being express the spiritual-soul aspect in accordance with these laws. The doctrine of the forms of the world, of the lawful configurations of being, of the world law and its mode of operation—this is Sankhya philosophy, the other side of the Krishna doctrine. And just as Krishna makes it clear to his disciple that behind all existence lies the creative Word of the World, so he makes it clear to him that human cognition can recognize the individual forms, that is, can take in the laws of the world. The Word of the World, the law of the world, as expressed in the Vedas and in Sankhya: this is what Krishna reveals to his disciple.

[ 40 ] And he also speaks to him of the path that leads the individual disciple upward, where he may once again partake in the knowledge of the Word of the World. Krishna thus speaks of yoga as well. Krishna’s teaching is threefold: it is the teaching of the Word, of the Law, and of devout devotion to the Spirit.

[ 41 ] Word, Law, and Devotion—these are the three currents through which the soul can undergo its development. These three currents will always influence the human soul in one way or another. We have just seen how modern spiritual science must seek out these three currents in a new and innovative way. But the ages differ, and the threefold worldview is brought to the human soul in the most varied ways. Krishna speaks of the Word of the World, of the Word of Creation, of the shaping of being, of the devotional deepening of the soul, of yoga.

[ 42 ] The same trinity appears to us again in a different form, only in a more concrete, more vivid way, in a being itself that is conceived as walking upon the earth, embodying the divine Word of Creation. The Vedas: having come to humanity in an abstract form. The divine Logos of which the Gospel of John speaks: alive and the creative Word itself! And that which confronts us in Sankhya philosophy as the lawful grasping of the forms of the world: translated into history in the ancient Hebrew revelation, it is what Paul calls the Law. And as faith in the risen Christ, the Third appears to us in Paul. What yoga is to Krishna is, in Paul—only translated into the concrete—the faith that is to take the place of the law.

[ 43 ] Thus, the Trinity—Veda, Sankhya, and Yoga—is like the dawn of what later rose as the sun. The Veda, in turn, appears in the very essence of Christ himself, now entering historical development in a concrete, living way—not pouring out abstractly into the vastness of space and time, but as a single individuality, as the living Word. The law appears to us in Sankhya philosophy in that which shows us how the material basis, the Prakritic, takes shape, down to the gross matter. The law reveals how the world has come into being and how individual human beings take shape within this world. This is expressed in ancient Hebrew jurisprudence, in all that constitutes Mosaic law. Insofar as Paul, on the one hand, refers to this law of ancient Hebrew times, he refers to Sankhya philosophy; insofar as he refers to faith in the Risen One, he points to the sun of that for which the dawn has appeared in yoga.

[ 44 ] Thus, in a unique way, what confronts us in the first elements emerges as the Veda, Sankhya, and Yoga. What confronts us as the Veda appears in a new, yet now concrete form as the living Word from which all things are created, and without which nothing that has come into being was created, and which yet became flesh in the course of time. Sankhya appears as the historical representation, as the lawful representation of how the world of the Elohim became the world of phenomena, the world of gross materiality. Yoga transforms into what in Paul has become the saying: “Not I, but Christ in me”; that is to say, that when the Christ-force permeates and takes up the soul, the human being ascends to the heights of the Godhead.

[ 45 ] Thus we see how a unified plan is indeed present in world history, how the Eastern tradition serves as a preparation, and how it provides, as it were, in more abstract forms, what confronts us in such a remarkable way in more concrete forms within Pauline Christianity. We shall see that it is precisely through grasping the connection between the great poetry of the Bhagavad Gita and the Pauline Epistles that the deepest mysteries of what might be called the working of spirituality in the entire education of the human race will be revealed to us. Because one must sense such a newness in the modern era, this modern era had to go beyond mere Hellenism and develop an understanding of what lies beyond the first pre-Christian millennium—what confronts us there as the Vedas, Sankhya, and Yoga. And just as Raphael in art and Thomas Aquinas in philosophy had to turn back to Greek culture, so we shall see how in our time a conscious balance must arise between what the present seeks to achieve and what lies further back than Greek culture, reaching into the depths of Oriental antiquity. We can certainly allow these depths of Oriental antiquity to draw near to our souls if we contemplate those various spiritual currents in the wonderfully harmonious unity in which they confront us, in what Humboldt calls the greatest philosophical poem, the Bhagavad Gita.