The Rudolf Steiner Archive

8. Astral Nature and Ego. Amfortas and Parzival

[ 1 ] Yesterday I attempted to draw attention to two legends—the Legend of Paradise and the Legend of the Grail—and to highlight how these two legends actually represent occult imaginings that can be truly experienced when the right moment arises. When a person, independent of their physical and etheric bodies—as they are unconsciously during sleep—consciously perceives through clairvoyance and is stimulated for these perceptions by their physical body, then the Legend of Paradise arises; when they are stimulated by their etheric body, then the Legend of the Grail arises. Now it must be pointed out that such legends are, so to speak, presented as poems or as religious legends and are made accessible in a certain way during a specific age of humanity. The original source of such legends, which appear to us in the form of poetry or religious writings in the physical history of human development, stems precisely from the Mysteries, in which their content was first established through clairvoyant observations. And in the composition of such legends, it is particularly necessary that the utmost care be taken to strike precisely that content and tone which is especially appropriate to the age and the people to whom such legends are given.

[ 2 ] In the lectures that have been given, we have explained how, through anthroposophical-occult development, the human being undergoes certain changes in their physical body and their etheric body. We will have to examine the astral body and the Self in even greater detail and then return briefly to the physical and etheric bodies. Thus we see that when a human being allows this self-development to take place in order to progress through the absorption of spiritual wisdom and truth, this then brings about changes in the members of their spiritual and physical organization. Now we know from the description given in the Akashic Records regarding the various fields of development that, even in the course of the entirely normal historical development of humanity, these various aspects of human nature undergo a change, as it were, by their very nature.

[ 3 ] We know that in ancient Indian times, the first cultural period following the great Atlantean catastrophe, the processes of the human etheric body were at work; we know that during the ancient Persian cultural period, the changes in the human astral body were of particular significance; during the Egyptian-Chaldean period, the changes in the human feeling soul; and during the Greek-Latin period, the changes in the human intellectual or emotional soul. In our time, the changes in the human conscious soul are of particular significance. And now it is important that, when a legend is given to any age—let us say, that age in which the intellectual or emotional soul undergoes a particular change, where the facts within this intellectual or emotional soul are particularly important—that it be given in such a way that this age is taken into special consideration; that within the Mystery centers from which these legends flow, one says to oneself: The legend must be of such a nature that the changes taking place during our age in the human intellectual or emotional soul are equipped precisely against any harmful influences of this legend and that they are particularly suited to the beneficial influences of this legend.

[ 4 ] So it cannot be that the member of a mystery school entrusted with the task of communicating such a legend to the world is, so to speak, merely following his innermost impulse; rather, he must follow what his age dictates. It is precisely when we make relevant observations in this direction that we will better understand the changes taking place, particularly in the human astral body, when a person undergoes esoteric-occult development.

[ 5 ] This astral body exists separately in the esotericist or in those who are undergoing a serious anthroposophical development, who have made anthroposophy the focus of their lives. However, in the ordinary person, it does not exist as loosely or as independently as it does in the person described above who is in the process of development. This astral body becomes independent in a certain way, separating itself in the person undergoing development. It does not unconsciously slip into a kind of sleep state, but it becomes independent, separates itself, and undergoes, as it were, in a different way what the human being otherwise undergoes in the sleep state; through this, the astral body enters the state appropriate to it. In the ordinary human being who lives out in the exoteric world, this astral body is connected to the other bodies; the other bodies exert their corresponding influence upon it. The individual, distinctive characteristic of such a human being is not taken into account. But when this astral body is torn away, it asserts its own peculiarities. And what, then, are the peculiarities of the astral body?

[ 6 ] Well, my dear friends, I have already pointed out this peculiarity, perhaps to the horror of some of you here. This peculiarity of the human astral body on Earth is, in fact, egoism. And when the astral body, apart from the other influences arising from the other aspects of human nature, asserts its very own characteristic, this is precisely egoism—the striving to be exclusively within and with oneself. This is inherent to the astral body. And for the astral body as such, it would be bad and harmful—it would represent an imperfection within it—if it could not be permeated by the power of egoism, if it could not say to itself: I want, in essence, to achieve everything solely through myself; I want to process everything I work on within myself; I want to devote all my care solely to myself. This is the proper disposition of the astral body. If we take this into account, we will understand how esoteric development, precisely in this direction, can give rise to certain dangers. For example, through esoteric development—because it necessarily has to free up the astral body to some extent—such people who, let us say, without regard for all that true theosophy seeks to impart, place themselves on the ground of a not entirely serious theosophy, it is precisely such people who may particularly accentuate this characteristic of the astral body—egoism—in the course of their esoteric development. This observation can be made in many theosophical and occult societies: while selflessness and universal love for humanity are indeed preached and constantly reiterated as moral principles, it is precisely egoism that flourishes through the natural detachment of the astral body. For the observer of the soul, there is certainly something on the one hand that is entirely justified, and on the other hand that is cause for concern, when universal love of humanity is made into a frequently stated principle—mind you, I do not say a principle, but a frequently stated principle; for under certain conditions of the soul’s life, people most readily and most frequently speak of what they have least, of what they realize they lack most, and we can often observe that principles are emphasized most strongly precisely where they are most lacking.

[ 7 ] Universal love for humanity should, in any case, become something in the course of human development that completely dominates the soul, lives within the soul as a matter of course, and in relation to which one feels: You should not speak of it in vain so often; you should not mention it unnecessarily too often. Just as a well-known commandment states: ‘You shall not take the name of God in vain’—so could it become a commandment of genuine, true humanity: ‘You shall not utter the demand for universal love of humanity, which is meant to constitute the fundamental character of your soul, too often in vain.’ For if silence regarding certain things is a far better means of education than speech, it is especially true of such matters that silence and quiet cultivation within the heart are a far, far better means of developing the relevant quality than frequent verbal expression.

[ 8 ] Now, the expression of this exoteric principle has nothing to do with what has just been described as the most fundamental characteristic of the astral body: egoism, the striving to be within oneself, to be with oneself, to be through oneself. The question now arises: How is it possible to view this—let us feel free to use the term—quality of the astral body that initially seems abhorrent to us, namely that it wants to be an absolute egoist, in the proper light? Let us proceed by starting from simple facts of life.

[ 9 ] There are cases where selfishness extends even into everyday life, and where we must, in a sense, regard the expansion of selfishness as a necessary aspect of life. Consider, for example, the fundamental nature of a mother’s love and try to understand how selfishness extends from the mother to the child. One might say: The more one delves into less educated masses—and one might say—the lion-like way in which mothers defend their children, the more one realizes how an attack on her child means an attack on herself. Her self is extended to the child, and it is such that the mother would perceive an attack on a part of herself no differently than an attack on her child. For what she feels within herself, she transfers to the child, and we could find nothing better for the ordering of the world than if, in this way, egoism were transferred from one being to another, and one being were to regard the other, as it were, as part of itself, and precisely for that reason extend its egoism to that being. We see, then, that egoism ceases to develop its dark sides when the being expands, when the being transfers its feeling and thinking into another being and regards this as belonging to itself. By extending their egoism to the child on the one hand, mothers also lay claim to the child as their property; they, too, count it as part of themselves, they do so in the same way as the astral body does: everything that is connected with me, through me, to me, with me, and so on.

[ 10 ] We could see something similar even in cases more trivial than maternal love. Let us take a person who owns a house, a farm, and fields and works on them. Let us suppose that this person had—well, call it a quirk if you will—he had the quirk of loving his house, farm, fields, and workers as much as his own body; he regarded the matter, as it were, in such a way that his body is extended, and that he loves his house, yard, and fields and his people together just as some lady, under certain circumstances, loves her dress as part of her own body. Here, one’s own being extends over one’s surroundings, so to speak. Now, if the care of the person in question extends to this environment to such an extent that he guards all that has been mentioned here and defends against every attack as if it were directed at his own body, then—one must say—the fact that this entire sphere is enveloped by his egoism is something extraordinarily beneficial to the matter.

[ 11 ] Under certain circumstances, what we call love can be very selfish. Just take a look at life; try to examine how often what we call love is selfish. But a form of egoism that extends beyond the individual can also be very selfless—that is, it can protect, cherish, and nurture what belongs to it with tremendous care. It is precisely from such a thing that we should learn that life cannot be reduced to concepts. We speak of egoism and altruism, and one can construct very fine systems with such concepts as egoism and altruism. The facts undermine such systems; for when egoism extends its interest in the environment to the point where it regards it as belonging to itself and nurtures and cares for it in this way, then egoism becomes selflessness. And when altruism becomes such that it seeks to make the whole world happy only with what it itself desires, when it seeks to impose its thoughts and feelings on the whole world with all its might and adopts the principle: “And if you do not want to be my brother, then I will smash your skull”—then even altruism can become very selfish. Reality, which lives in forces and facts, cannot be pinned down within concepts, and a large part of what stands in the way of human progress lies in the fact that, time and again, the belief arises in immature minds and spirits that reality can somehow be grafted into concepts.

[ 12 ] The astral body is characterized by the fact that it is self-centered. The consequence of this is that any development that liberates the astral body must take into account that the human being’s interests will expand, becoming ever broader and broader. Indeed, if our astral body is to detach itself in the proper way from the other members of human nature, then the interest of our astral body must extend to the entire Earth and all of humanity. Indeed, the interests of humanity on Earth must become our own; we must cease to link our interests solely to the personal; everything that concerns humanity—not only in our own time, but everything that has ever concerned humanity throughout the entire development of the Earth—must arouse our deepest interest; we must come to regard not only those who are related to us by blood, not only what pertains to our home, farm, and fields, as a continuation of our own, but make everything that constitutes the development of the Earth our own concern.

[ 13 ] If, in our astral body, we take an interest in all earthly matters—if all earthly matters become our own—then we may surrender to the egotism of our astral body. But it is essential that the interests of humanity on Earth become our own interests. Consider from this perspective the two legends I spoke of yesterday! When they are given to humanity, they are given with the intention that human beings may be lifted from every individual interest to the general interest of the Earth.

[ 14 ] The legend of Paradise takes humanity directly back to that starting point of Earth’s development where humanity had not yet entered its first incarnation, or where it is just entering it, where Lucifer approaches it, where it still stands before the course of development as a whole, where it can truly take all of humanity’s interests into its own heart. The greatest conceivable educational legend, the greatest conceivable educational problem, lies in the story of Paradise, in that narrative which lifts humanity up to the perspective of all humanity, which instills an interest capable of speaking to every human heart, and which also imprints itself upon every human heart. When the images of the Paradise legend, as we have sought to understand them, penetrate the human soul, the effect is that the astral body becomes imbued with them, and that under the influence of this human being—whose horizon has expanded to encompass the entire Earth—the astral body is also permitted to make everything that now enters its sphere a matter of interest. It has trained itself to regard the interests of the Earth as its own interests. Try, my dear friends, to contemplate in all seriousness and with full dignity what universal educational power actually lies in such a legend, what spiritual impulse lies within it.

[ 15 ] The situation is similar with the Grail legend. While the Paradise legend is, so to speak, intended for the human race on Earth, insofar as this race turns back to the origin, to the starting point of Earth’s development, while the legend of Paradise is thus intended to lift us up to the horizon of the entire development of humanity, the legend of the Grail is intended to plunge us into the deepest interior of the astral body, into the very core interests of this astral body; for when left to its own devices, it becomes an egoist concerned only with its own core interests.

[ 16 ] When it comes to the interests of the astral body, one can really only stray in two directions. These two directions are the path toward Amfortas and, before Amfortas achieves complete redemption, the path toward Parzival. In between lies the proper development of the human being, insofar as the astral body is concerned. This astral body thus strives to develop the forces of egoism within itself. But if it introduces personal interests into this egoism, then it becomes corroded; it is, as it were, shrunk down to the individual personality, whereas it should be expanding across the entire earth. This must not happen! For if it does, the entire human personality is wounded by the effect of the personality, which finds its “I” expression in the blood: one strays toward the Amfortas side. Amfortas’s fundamental error lies in the fact that he carries into the sphere where the astral body should have earned the right to be egoistic—that he carries into this sphere whatever personal desires and wishes may still exist in the human being. At that moment, it is disastrous to carry personal interests into the sphere where the astral body should be detaching itself from them; then one is the wounded Amfortas.

[ 17 ] But the other form of deviation can also lead to disaster, and does not lead to disaster only if the being exposed to this disaster is as steeped in innocence as Parzival. Parzival repeatedly sees the Holy Grail being carried past. In a sense, he commits an injustice. Every time the Holy Grail is carried past, the question is on his lips: for whom is this meal actually intended? Yet he does not ask, and in the end the meal is over without him having asked. Therefore, he must depart after this meal without having the opportunity to retrieve anything left behind. It is truly as if a person not yet fully mature were to have a moment of clairvoyance in the night, as if he were separated, as by an abyss, from what is contained within the castle of his physicality, and were to cast a glance inside; but then, without having gained the corresponding insight—that is, without having asked the question—everything would close off from him once more. Even if he were to wake up, he would not be able to enter that castle again. — What, exactly, is Parzival missing?

[ 18 ] We have heard what the Holy Grail contains. It contains that which the physical instrument of the human being on Earth must nourish itself with—the extract, the purely mineral extract, which is derived from all foods and which combines in the noblest part of the human brain with the noblest sensory impressions, impressions that enter us through the senses. Yes, to whom is this food to be given? Actually, it is to be given—this becomes clear to us when we move from the exoteric poetic depiction into the esoteric mystery depiction—actually, it is to be given to the person who has gained an understanding of what makes a human being ripe to gradually and consciously rise to what this Holy Grail is. How, then, does one acquire the ability to consciously rise to what the Holy Grail is?

[ 19 ] In the poetry, there are subtle hints as to whom the Holy Grail is actually intended for. This becomes even more apparent when one delves into the mystical interpretation of the Grail legend. In the original Grail legend, the ruler of the castle is a Fisher King, a king over a people of fishermen. There was another who was also among a people of fishermen, but who did not wish to be king of these fishermen, but rather something else among them; who spurned ruling over them as a king, who brought them something other than what the ruling king did: Christ Jesus. The implication is thus that the deviation in the case of the Fisher King—for that is actually Amfortas in the original legend—that this deviation in the case of the Fisher King is the one that leads to one side. He is, so to speak, not quite worthy to truly receive salvation through the Grail. He is not worthy for the reason that he wants to rule his people of fishermen with force; he does not allow the spirit to reign among these fishermen.

[ 20 ] At first, Parzival is not yet inwardly open enough to ask with self-assurance: What is the Grail for? — What is needed now? — In the case of the Fisher King, it was necessary for him to put aside his personal interests and expand his concern to the same extent as Christ Jesus’ concern for all humanity. For Parzival, it is necessary that he raise his interest beyond mere innocent observation to an inner understanding of what is the same in every human being, what belongs to all humanity: the gift of the Holy Grail. Thus, in a wondrous way, the ideal of the Mystery of Golgotha hovers right in the middle between Parzival and Amfortas, or the original Fisher King. And it is delicately hinted at precisely at the decisive point of the legend that, on the one hand, the Fisher King has carried too much personality up into the spheres of the astral body, and on the other hand stands Parzival, who has carried too little universal world interest up there, who is still too naive, too insensitive to the universal world interest. This is precisely what is so profoundly educational about the Grail legend—that it could work its way into the souls of the disciples of the Holy Grail in such a way that one had before one something like a balance: on one side what was with Amfortas, and on the other what was with Parzival; that one then knew that balance must be established. When the astral body follows its very own interest, it will rise to that horizon of the most universal humanity, which is then attained when the word is made truth: Where two are united in my name, I am in their midst, no matter where in the development of the Earth these two may be found.

[ 21 ] I ask you, on this very point, not to take the part for the whole, but to consider today’s and tomorrow’s observations together, for the individual part can give rise to misunderstandings; but it is absolutely necessary that, at this point, the human astral body be raised in its development toward the horizon of humanity in a very special way, so that the most general interests of humanity become its own interests, so that it feels offended, wounded, and sorrowful within itself whenever humanity is harmed anywhere. For this, it is necessary that when the human being gradually reaches the point where his astral body becomes free and independent of the other members of human nature through esoteric development, he then first of all arms and protects himself, particularly against the arbitrary influences of other astral bodies; for when the astral body becomes free, it is no longer protected by the physical and etheric bodies, which serve as a kind of stronghold for the astral body. It is free, it becomes permeable, and the forces present in other astral bodies can very easily influence it. Astral bodies stronger than one’s own can exert influence over him if he cannot arm himself through his own powers. It would be disastrous if someone were to advance all the way to the free mastery of their astral body and yet remain as innocent regarding the relationship of the astral body as Parzival is at the beginning. That is not possible; for then all manner of influences emanating from astral bodies could have a corresponding effect on their astral body.

[ 22 ] You see, my dear friends, in a certain sense, what has just been alluded to can also have significance in the outer, exoteric world. People, after all, live throughout the world within certain individual religious systems. These religious systems have their cults; they have their rituals. These rituals surround the person with what are, in fact, imaginations drawn from higher worlds with the aid of the astral body. The moment such a religious community accepts a person, they are surrounded by imaginations that liberate their astral body while the rite acts upon them; at least for brief moments, the astral body becomes free to a certain degree within any religious rite. And the stronger the rite is, the more it suppresses the influences of the etheric and physical bodies, the more it works with such means that the astral body is emancipated, the more the astral body is drawn out of the etheric and physical bodies during the corresponding ceremony. That is why—forgive the expression; it might seem as though I were using it with a certain mockery, but it is no mockery— it is therefore nowhere as dangerous to sleep as in church, because during sleep the astral body already separates from the physical and etheric bodies anyway, and because what takes place in the rite takes root in the astral body; for it has been brought down from the higher worlds with the help of astral bodies. So the so-called “church sleep,” which is, after all, a very popular practice for many in some regions, should actually be avoided. This applies more to churches that have a ritual, and less to those religious communities that, in accordance with modern views, have already departed from a certain ritual or limit themselves to a minimum of ritual. Here, these matters are not discussed with any preference or aversion toward this or that creed, but purely in accordance with objective facts. Thus, when a person has emancipated their astral body from the other aspects of human nature, they are easily influenced by the impulses and forces that have in turn been acquired through astral bodies. And here also lies the possibility that a personality who has attained free use of their astral body, if they are stronger than another who can also, in a certain sense, emancipate their astral body, may exert an immense influence over the latter. It is then literally as if the forces of the astral body of the stronger personality were being transferred to that of the weaker personality. And when one then observes the weaker personality clairvoyantly, it actually carries within its astral body the images and imaginations of the stronger astral personality.

[ 23 ] You can see how morality must necessarily flourish in an environment where the occult is to be cultivated; for, of course, one cannot cultivate the occult without, in reality, striving to emancipate the astral bodies from the other aspects of human nature. But the most pernicious thing is when, in the field of occultism, the stronger personalities still strive in some way for power for their personal interests and personal intentions. In truth, only those personalities who completely renounce any personal influence are truly qualified to work in the occult field; and the greatest ideal of the occultist who is to achieve something legitimate is to desire to achieve nothing at all through his personality; to exclude, as far as possible, whatever he personally likes or dislikes from all that he intends to effect. Therefore, anyone who has sympathies or antipathies toward this or that and wishes to work in the occult must, so to speak, carefully gather these sympathies and antipathies only for his most private sphere and allow them to apply only there; in any case, on the ground where an occult movement is to flourish, he must not himself nurture or cultivate any of these personal antipathies and sympathies. And as paradoxical as it may sound, one can nevertheless say: The most indifferent thing for the occult teacher is actually his teaching itself; the most indifferent thing is the teaching that he can, after all, truly impart only according to his talents and temperament. It will have meaning only if he does not actually care personally about the teaching as such, but cares only to the extent that this teaching can help souls. For this reason, no occult teacher will ever impose any part of his knowledge on an age if he knows that this part of the knowledge is of no use to that age, that it could only be suitable for another age. All of this must be taken into account when speaking of the peculiar nature of the astral body under the influence of occult development.

[ 24 ] In our age—even as it was taking shape and as it has continued to develop—there is yet another complication. What, then, is the essence of our age? Our age is that of the development of the conscious soul. Nothing is so closely linked to the egoism that clings to the narrowest, most personal interests as the conscious soul. Therefore, in no other age is there such a temptation to confuse the most personal interests with the general interests of humanity as in our age. This age has, after all, had to gradually draw the interests of humanity, as it were, into the human ego, namely into that part of the human ego which is the consciousness soul. We see how, as we approach our age, human interests are crowding together toward the point of the ego, toward the point of egotism. In this regard, it is immensely instructive to ask oneself in all seriousness whether something like what, for example, St. Augustine wrote in his Confessions would ever have been possible in ancient Greece.

[ 25 ] That would have been absolutely out of the question. The Greek was, by his very nature, such that his inner self was in a certain harmony with the outer world, so that external interests were at the same time internal interests, and internal interests extended into the external world. Take Greek culture as a whole: it is such that one must still assume everywhere a certain interconnectedness of the human inner world with the outer world. One can only understand Greek art, the Greek tragedians, the Greek historians, and philosophers if one knows how, among the Greeks, the spiritual still poured out into the outer world and the outer world naturally merged with the inner. Compare this to something like Augustine’s Confessions. Everything is alive for him; within himself he seeks, he digs, he explores. Try to trace the entire personal, individual touch throughout Augustine’s writings; you will find it. One must say: Augustine lived long before the dawn of our age; but he prepares the way for it; he is the spirit in whose writings we find, long before the sunrise, the first dawn of the age that is entirely tailored to the conscious soul. This can be perceived in every line of Augustine, and every line of Augustine, to a more refined sensibility, differs from all that was possible in ancient Greek culture.

[ 26 ] And now, knowing this—that Augustine lives in opposition to an age in which egotism, man’s preoccupation with his own inner self even within the physical body, is becoming a defining characteristic of that age— then one can understand that someone like Augustine, who has broader interests alongside this and looks at the entire course of human development, feels a genuine shudder when confronted by a human being who suggests that, in a certain upward development, the astral body must naturally evolve into a kind of egoism. Augustine attacks egoism with purity, nobility, and grandeur. One might say he attacks egoism selflessly. But he finds himself in an age where humanity has detached itself from the great interests of the outer world. Consider how, even in the third post-Atlantean epoch, every Egyptian raised his gaze to the starry worlds and read human destinies in the stars—how the soul was connected to universal interests. Of course, this could only be achieved when human beings were still able to maintain their astral body separately from the physical body through the ancient elemental clairvoyance. That is why Augustine had to shudder when he encountered a person who, as it were, reminded him: with higher development, egoism grows first! He can understand this, he feels it, his instinct tells him so: after all, he is living toward the age of egoism. So when a person stands before him who represents a higher development beyond that of the physical body, he senses: things are moving toward egoism. And at the same time, he cannot comprehend that this person still conveys a universal human interest.

[ 27 ] Try to grasp the feeling of how Augustine, according to his own account, stood before the Manichaean bishop Faustinus—for it is him I have described. When he stood before him, Augustine felt what a person can feel who, so to speak, nobly confronts the age of egoism and seeks only to protect that age from egoism through inner strength, and who must turn away from a person such as the Manichaean bishop Faustinus. He turned away from him because he represented to him that which appears as something one must not touch; for he harbors within himself something for which the age of egoism can never find understanding in exoteric life. Thus the Manichaean bishop Faustinus stands opposite the Church Father Augustine. He, who is moving toward the age of the consciousness-soul, is confronted by a human being who, in the manner in which such a thing can be preserved within an occult world current, maintains the connection with the spiritual world and thus, from his point of view, rightly shudders at the fundamental characteristic of the astral body, before which Augustine shudders.

[ 28 ] Let us move forward a few centuries. There, at the University of Paris, we encounter a man who has become little known in literary circles, for what he wrote does not provide a mental image of his personality. What he wrote appears pedantic, but personally he must have made a magnificent impression; personally, he seems above all to have had such an effect that he brought, as it were, something like a renewal of the Greek worldview into his entire surroundings. He was the true Renaissance man. He died in 1518 and worked at the University of Paris until then. This personality related, so to speak, to the essence of Hellenism—albeit in a much more exoteric way—just as the Manichaean bishop Faustinus related to Manichaeism, which, after all, had incorporated into its traditions, among many other things, all the good and great aspects of the third post-Atlantean, the Egyptian-Chaldean cultural period.

[ 29 ] There is, then, this Manichaean bishop Faustinus, who appears in connection with Augustine and who, precisely because he is a Manichaean, has preserved the occult foundations of the third post-Atlantean cultural epoch. In 1518, a man died in Paris who conveyed certain—albeit exoteric—aspects of the underlying currents of the fourth post-Atlantean cultural epoch. This made him seem eerie to those active in traditional Christianity in his circle at the time. The monks regarded him as their mortal enemy, but he made a great impression on Erasmus of Rotterdam when the latter was staying in Paris. Yet it seemed to Erasmus of Rotterdam as if the external environment were ill-suited to what actually lived within this remarkable soul. And when Erasmus left again and went to England, he once wrote to the man who had since become his friend, urging him to free himself from his physical body, which was ravaged by gout, and to fly through the air to England, for there he would find much more in the external environment that corresponded to what he felt in his soul. That this personality, who was active at that time, was able to bring Greek feeling and Greek sensibility to life in a vivid way becomes particularly clear to us when we consider the relationship of the subtle Erasmus of Rotterdam to this personality. Thus did this personality—one might say—live precisely at the dawn of the Age of Egoism; having died in Paris in 1518, he lived as an enemy of those who sought to adapt the lives of human souls to the Age of Egoity and who felt a kind of shudder toward such a soul, which was able to work precisely because it sought to conjure up a different age—the Greek age—in which, so to speak, the human being was closer to the egoity of the astral body. This personality made a thoroughly favorable impression on Erasmus of Rotterdam. This personality was named Faustus Andrelinos.

[ 30 ] In the 16th century, Central Europe was home to a figure who is portrayed as a sort of wandering minstrel; the relevant folk tale recounts that he turned his back on traditional theology. This figure subsequently refused to call himself a theologian any longer, calling himself a man of the world and a physician; he set the Bible aside for a time and devoted himself to the study of nature. Now, the study of nature, especially in the age when the transition from all manner of the old to all manner of the new was taking place, is such that it brings astral egoity closer to humanity, just as Manichaeism and ancient Greek culture did. Thus astral egoity brought close to people what at that time stood at the dividing line between old alchemy and new chemistry, old astrology and new astronomy, and so on. This peculiar flickering and shimmering of natural science between the old and the new standpoint brought people, when they set the Bible aside for a while, into contact with a kind of astral realm where one must grapple with egoity. No wonder that it sent a shudder through those who sought to reconcile their traditions with the age of egoity, where the conscious soul had already fully come into its own. And in Central Europe arose the legend of the third Faust, of Johannes Faust, also called Georg Faust, who was, after all, a real historical figure. And the 16th century welded together all the dread of the egoity of the astral body by fusing the three Fausts—that of Augustine, that of Erasmus, and the Faust of Central Europe—into a single figure, into that figure of the Central European folk tale, which then also becomes Marlowe’s Faust. From this Faust, Goethe created his own Faust through a complete reversal, in which he seeks to make clear to us: there is the possibility not to shudder at the bearer of that which brings us into contact with astral reality, but rather to understand him better, so that he may show a development, so that we may utter the words: “We can redeem him.” Entire eras grappled with the question of the egoity of the astral body, and in entire legendary poems, indeed even in history, one senses humanity’s shuddering at the egoity of the astral body and humanity’s longing to solve the problem of this astral body in the right way, in a manner corresponding to the wise guidance of the world and the esoteric development of the individual soul.