The Rudolf Steiner Archive

My dear Friends,

We shall find that a study of the history of dramatic art can throw considerable light for us on the problems that face us in that field today. For only gradually has dramatic art made its way into the evolution of mankind. What for us comprises the essentially dramatic has really only found its way, bit by bit, into the evolution of mankind; and, as we know too well, inartistic features that are hostile to the development of the art have also been continually intruding themselves. And now a time has come when to all that the centuries have so far produced, many quite new things have to be added; for mankind has advanced in evolution. Anyone who has to take part in the staging of plays will moreover receive encouragement and stimulus for his work by making a deep, esoteric study of plays that have at different epochs provided a standard or basis for the development of acting and of stage work altogether.

There are three important factors to be borne in mind when we are considering the production of a play. I do not mean that we must adhere to them pedantically, but rather that we should have an artistic perception of where and to what extent each enters into the play we have in hand. They are important for us because they have been so first for the author; they have influenced him in his composition of the play—of that written text which, as we saw, is for the actor neither more nor less than what the score is for the musician.

Taking these three in order, we find that the first hovered like an overpowering presence above the drama of ancient times, the drama that originated in the Mysteries. I mean destiny.

Look at the plays of ancient Greece. Everywhere we are shown how powerfully destiny works into human life. Man himself is of very little account; it is destiny, heaven-sent destiny, that works into his life all the time. Realising this, we can appreciate the genuine artistic impulse that lay behind the tendency to obliterate more or less whatever was individual in the human being—giving him a mask, and even going so far as to make use of instruments in order to conceal the individual quality of his voice. We can well understand how this conception of God-given destiny led to an effacement of the human individuality. Looking back then to the drama of ancient times, we find that it displayed on the stage the grand and all-powerful working of destiny; therein lay its achievement. We need only call to mind the tragedies concerned with the myth of Oedipus to see at once how true this is.

There are, however, two things that occupy a prominent place in modern drama, of which you will find little or no sign in these early dramas where the attention is centred upon the working of destiny. As a matter of fact, they could only find their way into drama as the Age of Consciousness drew near for man, the Age of the Spiritual Soul.¹

The interchange of love between human beings could not be dramatised on the stage in the way it is today until the souls of men had begun to receive each its more individual form. In the drama of ancient times you will, it is true, find love, but a love that bears the stamp of destiny and is dependent also on social relationships. An outstanding example is the figure of Antigone in the well-known play of Sophocles. But that love between the sexes which enters later with such compelling power into drama, even itself forms and shapes the drama—becomes possible only with the dawn of the Age of Consciousness.

The other thing that you will miss in the early days of dramatic art is humour. Look, for example, at the plays of Aristophanes, who has been dubbed the scoffer, and compare them with the plays of the time when the impulse of the Age of Consciousness was beginning to make itself felt. You may take any number of plays of the Aristophanes type, and you will constantly find satyrs taking part in them; but you will look in vain for the humour that sets something free in man, that gives wings to human life. That does not show itself in drama until man is entering upon the Age of Consciousness.

Note too, that this is also the time when men's gaze, as they look upon the stage, begins to be turned aside from destiny, begins rather to take a kind of delight in the way that man makes himself master and shaper of destiny. Attention and interest are now, in fact, being increasingly directed, instead of to destiny, to character. So here we have come to the second factor that we have to consider in staging a play—character. The dramatist puts on the stage men and women as we meet with them in life; and as his presentation of them develops, they become more and more interesting.

We shall not yet find a power of vision that can command the whole compass of man's individuality. People are still portrayed rather more as types; and we have, instead of the old masks, the character masks. Among the Latin peoples, who took such delight in drama and were so gifted in its performance, we find these character masks—striking evidence of a dawning interest in man as an individual with a character of his own. The feeling for character still labours under the limitations of this connection with type. It is nevertheless the human being, the individual human being, who is so to speak given the mask of the character-type to which he is adjudged to belong.

There was also a very good understanding in those days of the close relation of human beings to their environment. The character mask, it was felt, can be truly appreciated only when it is seen on the background of the part of the world to which it belongs. Hence the folk masks of those times. We find them particularly in Italy; but other countries soon began to follow suit. These folk masks bear witness to an interest, not merely in men and women, nor even merely in character-types ; they mark the beginning of an interest in what character owes to milieu. And this interest spread far and wide, reaching even to Shakespeare, in whom we can still clearly recognise an appreciation of the bearing of milieu upon character.

The Italian would observe, for example, that persons of social distinction, who have a certain standing in life, and who have also money in their purses and are accordingly able to maintain a good position in society—such persons, he would observe, are to be met with especially in Venice. And so in the folk-plays of those times the Pantalone—for that was the name given to this character—would always appear on the stage in Venetian dress. He would tend also to speak with something of a Venetian accent. There, then, we have one of these character masks. We are, you see, coming away from the working of destiny, for here it is man who stands before us and claims our attention.

Let us now look at another character mask that meets us in these plays. (There were, you must know, hundreds of such plays, literally hundreds, genuine products all of the Italian genius, and you will find the wealthy ‘Merchant of Venice’ in every one of them.) The second character mask is the man of learning; and he appears in the form of a shrewd and clever lawyer. This clever lawyer always hails from Bologna, and wears the traditional robes of a lawyer who has graduated in the University of Bologna. That then is the second. The third is the scoundrel, the dodger, known as Brighella. He comes from the common people, and is always in company with the Harlequin, the simpleton, who also hails from the common people. These two fellows, the scoundrel and the simpleton, are from Bergamo and will always be dressed in Bergamese style.

And then there were the serving-women, ladies of some experience in life, who—incidentally—were capable for the most part of getting the control of the household into their own hands. It appears that in those days such ladies generally came from Rome; their costumes were accordingly in Roman style. The writers and producers of these plays were, you see, observant; no detail escaped them.

There, then, we have the transition from destiny to character. You can see what a thorough-going change it wrought in drama. And I think even the brief sketch I have given you of its history will help you to understand how important it is for the student of dramatic art to study this development of character in drama—learning to observe how characters group themselves in types, and how character grows out of milieu. When he has worked through such a study, the student will be more fitted to undertake the ‘individual’ parts of the modern stage, he will be able to tackle them with elemental force and energy.

As he studies these plays, the student will also realise what a liberating and lively humour the people of those days possessed. For it was not merely the authors who were responsible for the plays. As a matter of fact authors did not play a role of any particular importance in those days. The text of a play, as it came from their hands, could not even truthfully be called a ‘score' for the actor; before it could go down with the audience, he would have to add to it considerably from his own resources. It was quite taken for granted that the actor would supply witty sallies here and there on his own account.

Dramas of this kind show unmistakably that destiny is disappearing from the stage, and the spectators are being presented with plays where it is the characters that determine the action. This is also the moment when the stage begins to realise that it has to reckon with the audience, that it cannot ignore them.

And now, from destiny and character, from out of these two, emerges our third factor in drama: action, or plot.

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At the opening of a play, before the plot began to unfold and reveal how character and destiny are at work there, an ‘Exclamator’, as he was called (for they used the Latin word), would come forward—rather in the way the Prologue does in our Christmas Plays—and give a kind of summary of the moral of the play. For the stage did a great deal in those days to influence social life and behaviour.

You are not to conclude from this that the manners and morals of those times were anything to boast of; on the contrary, it implies that they were rather loose and that there was ample reason for the stage to do something for their improvement. It is always important, you know, to look at facts from the right angle!

I would like now to describe to you one such drama. Do not take it as an exact description of a particular one (as I said before, there are hundreds of them); it will, however, be characteristic, and will provide you with a good illustration of what I want to say later.

Let us suppose then that at the beginning of one of these dramas we are faced with a situation that is created entirely by the typical characters that are there in the play. In a spot that may perhaps be not very far away from where we are now meeting, some gipsies have made their encampment. The gipsies are referred to as the ‘heathen’.

The play proceeds somewhat as follows. (The story corresponds quite well with one or another of these plays, but my intention is to make my description general and typical.) We have then, to begin with, the man Ruedi and his wife Greta, and they are talking together. Ruedi tells Greta she must take care to lock up all their valuables, because the heathen are in the neighbourhood; things are sure to be stolen, for the heathen live by stealing. Greta replies that she has of course already done this; she does not need any reminder from him. ‘But I tell you what, you drunken lout,' she goes on to say, ‘you put far more money than the heathen steal into the pockets of the alehouse keeper. And there's got to be an end of that; it can't go on any longer.’

Ruedi is rather taken aback, for Greta is a woman of force and energy. After standing silent for a minute or two, he heaves a deep sigh and stammers out: ‘Well, well, I suppose I'd better go to the gipsies and get them to tell me what a bad lot I am; after all, they're fortune-tellers as well as thieves.’

‘You great fool,' says Greta, ‘to believe the gipsies. It's all nonsense what they say. You'd much better save your money instead of running after them.’

But Ruedi is not going to be put off. Before he sets out, however, he goes to the stables and warns the stableman too about the heathen, ordering him to lock up the stables and carry the manure out to the fields. And now the stableman gets talking, and discloses to Ruedi that Greta has hidden away in the stable eight good Rhenish gulden, in those times quite a small fortune. He, the stableman, knows the spot where they are buried. Then the ‘stupid’ Ruedi begins to be sly. But first of all he goes off to the gipsies to have his fortune told.

So here destiny enters the story; but note how! People no longer believe in it, it is all left to the gipsies.

The gipsy woman says to Ruedi: ‘Well, my man, you are a thoroughly good sort; but you have a bad-tempered wife, and she makes life miserable for you. And you yourself, you know, you drink too much!’

Heavens alive, thinks Ruedi, she knows a lot! There's something in fortune-telling after all.

‘But now, look here!’ continues the gipsy,’ you go and get yourself some better clothes and walk about the village with an air, and you'll be made headman of the village—only, you'll have to drink less! ’

Ruedi is delighted with the idea. And now what the stableman told him will come in very useful. First, however, the gipsy wants her fee. Why, of course!—but Ruedi hasn't any money. Greta never gives him any. Then he has a bright idea. ‘You told me just now that if I put on fine clothes I shall be made headman of the village. When I am, I'll help you gipsies in your thieving. That shall be your payment.’ This suits the gipsy-woman splendidly; a headman's connivance will be of more worth to the gipsies than any fee.

And now Ruedi goes back home, his head full of the idea that he must get some fine new clothes and be made headman of the village. So he goes to the stable, digs up the eight gulden and hands them to the stableman to take to the neighbouring town.

Arrived there, the stableman goes to the wool merchant and says to him: ‘My master who lives outside the town wants to see some materials of different colours, I am to take them to him to choose from; he is having some new clothes made, for he is going to be headman of the village.’

‘But I don't know your master,' replies the merchant, ‘and how am I to know what might happen to my cloth?’

‘Oh, don't you worry,' says the stableman, ‘he's a perfectly honourable man. You let me take the cloth; it'll be quite all right.’ The eight gulden the stableman pockets, and the rolls of stuff he turns into money in some way of his own. And so he comes back empty-handed, having cheated his master of the eight gulden and the merchant of the rolls of cloth.

His master inquires what has happened. ‘I've left the eight gulden with the merchant,' replies the stableman, ‘and he says you must go yourself and choose the material in his shop; meantime he has the money safe.’ The money is, of course, not with the merchant at all; the stableman has taken it for himself.

At this point a scene is inserted where we are shown Greta pouring out her woes to a friend of hers. She has discovered that the gulden she buried in the stable have disappeared. What if the cow has eaten them and dies in consequence!

And now Ruedi makes his way to the wool merchant's—and behold, the merchant has not the cloth. Ruedi hasn't it either. The merchant has also not the money; nor has Ruedi. The stableman is standing by, and the merchant declares he will sue him. He will, he says, put the matter in the hands of a lawyer; and he'll find a first-rate one, he will! (Here they come, you see, the character types.)

Well, Ruedi and his stableman go home again. But a little while later a messenger comes running in great haste, beginning—in the good stage instinct of those times—to call out to them while he is still a long way off, summoning them both to come at once to the wool merchant's.

As soon as they arrive there the merchant starts inveighing loudly against the stableman—and one can well understand it. He becomes quite abusive, and rails against him, calling him all sorts of hard names The man feels terribly insulted and declares that he will on his part bring an action against the merchant, and they will soon see what comes of that!

The merchant raises no objection; he knows he has right on his side and feels confident of the issue. The stableman, however, is a kind of Brighella, and it is he who procures the cleverer lawyer.

And now the trial begins, the stableman's lawyer having in the meantime instructed him how to behave in court. The judge puts his learned questions, all in best Bologna manner The peasant grows more and more bewildered, confuses the cloth with the money, and the money with the cloth. When he should be answering about the eight gulden, he keeps talking of the cloth, and vice versa, and all because the lawyer puts him out by talking incessantly.

And now it is the stableman's turn to be questioned. But all he says in reply is: veiw!¹ A fresh question is put to him. Once more he answers: veiw! Still another question. Again the same reply: veiw! The lawyer has advised him, you see, to be completely stupid and say nothing but veiw! Eventually the judge finds this too silly. ‘He's just crazy; one can do nothing at all with a fellow like that!’—and he sends the parties home. And so the whole affair comes to a humorous end.

And now it turns out that in the course of the conversation between them, the stableman had promised his lawyer the eight gulden. These the lawyer now receives, in payment for his advice to say nothing but veiw! The stableman has the cloth. As for the peasant and the merchant, they have had all their trouble for nothing The spectator, however, goes home well pleased; he has enjoyed watching the characters unfold as the play proceeds. Pieces of this kind were played by the hundred—full of true humour, a natural, elemental humour of the common folk. And they were well played, for the players put their whole heart into their acting.

Thus, at the dawn of the Age of Consciousness, does the drama of character push its way into the drama of destiny, and take root there and grow. That is how the drama of character first began. And you will not easily find for your students a better subject for study than these very plays; for they are built up with quite remarkable skill. They can well form a basis for the study of delineation of character.

A school of dramatic art should arrange for courses of instruction in the history of the whole treatment of drama, and especially of character, beginning with the end of the fifteenth century. This kind of character drama was popular throughout the Latin countries at the end of the fifteenth century, and also in Switzerland. Afterwards, it spread to Germany and by the sixteenth century was everywhere in vogue. That is to say, at secular times of the year. For the Christmas Plays are survivals of the drama of destiny; in them we see destiny working in from the worlds beyond. So that we have in those times, on the one hand, within the rather austere forms of Christian tradition, a continued adherence to destiny, and then also this original and elemental up-springing of character in drama. Both are there, side by side; and that is what makes this second stage in the evolution of drama an extraordinarily fruitful field for study.

The mask of ancient times, that actually hid the human being, has now given place to the character mask, and we shall soon be approaching the time when we have before us on the stage human individualities. But please remember that there are good and well-founded reasons for making a special study in our day of this first beginning of character in drama. A student can learn a great deal from such a study.

Let me remind you at this point of the development we traced in Schiller's dramas a few days ago. We were studying this development from a rather different point of view; we can, however, clearly see that Schiller was all the time experimenting between the two kinds of play, inclining now more to the drama of destiny, now again more to the drama of character. Highly gifted dramatist as he was, Schiller did not know how to bring together the elements of character and destiny.

Take Wallenstein. We cannot truthfully say that destiny is here an organic part of the drama. Destiny and character are joined up externally rather in the way one cements bricks! Then again later on, in Die Braut von Messina, we find Schiller once more trying, as it were, to drag in destiny. Only in Demetrius does he at length, after many attempts, succeed in weaving together destiny and character, weaving them together to form genuine dramatic action.

Character drama is important also for opening the way to comedy. True, preparatory steps in that direction had been taken in Roman times; for there was, you know, in Rome a kind of anticipation of the Age of Consciousness. But it is tragedy that stands in the foreground throughout the centuries of classical antiquity. Satire will not infrequently come to expression in some comic afterpiece, but we do not find what can properly be called comedy until, with the coming of the Age of Consciousness, love and humour make their appearance on the stage.

If you can succeed in carrying in your mind's eye a clear picture of how drama has evolved, that will help you in your work as producer. You will then be able to approach with the right mood and feeling, on the one hand, plays where the more tragic and solemn elements prevail and, on the other hand, plays that are in a lighter vein and belong more in the realm of comedy. Your study will have given you fresh guidance for the staging of the two kinds of play.

Consider first how it is with tragedy. Simply from the insight that you have acquired in this kind of study, you will go to work in the following way. Please do not imagine it is a matter of theories and definitions. What you have to do is to prove by experience how you yourself develop an insight that can give birth to artistic creation. That is the only right way; and it is what I have been trying to show you in today's lecture.

The first part of a tragedy (sometimes called the ‘exposition’), where the spectators are to be made acquainted with the situation, where their interest has to be aroused, will have to be played slowly; and the slowness should be achieved, not so much by slow speaking or acting as by pauses, pauses between the speeches, pauses even between the scenes. This will ensure that you make contact with your audience; they will then the more easily unite themselves, inwardly and sympathetically, with the situation.

But now, as the play proceeds, new persons or events intervene, and it becomes uncertain how things will turn out. This is the middle of the play, where the plot reaches its climax. Here you will again need a rather slow tempo, but the slowness has this time to be in the speaking and in the gesturing; the play will thus still move slowly, but without pauses. Not of course entirely so; the speaker must have time to take breath, and the spectator too! But you should definitely shorten the pauses, and to that degree slightly quicken the tempo.

Then comes the third part, which has to bring the solution. If this last part were played in the same tempo, it would leave the audience a little sour and dissatisfied. It is important to increase the pace here and let the play end in a quicker tempo.

Here then, in this third part of the play, there has to be an inner quickening of tempo, showing itself both in speech and in gesture.

Tragedy

(I) in slow tempo: pauses
(II) in slow tempo: without pauses
(III) in quickened tempo.

If these stages are observed, your acting will not fail of those imponderable qualities that make for contact with the audience. And you will find that the right tempo for speech and gesture comes of itself out of the feeling that your study and training beget in you. Thus, the main point for the production of tragedy is that everything be in right measure and proportion.

Something quite else comes into consideration for comedy. (Our modern plays stand rather between the two; so that for their production one can learn from both.) When we come to comedy, it is character that begins to take the prominent place. Such a piece as I described just now can be very helpful to you, if you want to learn how to set about producing a comedy; for plays of this kind, abounding in the simple, primitive humour of the people, can always be begun in the way I will now describe.

The first thing is to see that your actor, who will reveal his character in his speaking, expresses himself with an instinctive enjoyment of his part, so that the audience feel at once: Yes, there he is—the Pantalone. today, of course, we put individual men and women on the stage, not types; nevertheless, we can set to work on the artistic shaping of our comedy on the same lines—that is, begin by letting the characters display themselves in their speech and gesture, and in no uncertain terms. We need not go so far as some miserable producers who, for example, if they put a barber on the stage, think it necessary he should be ostentatiously scraping the lather off a customer's chin. No occasion for grotesque demonstrations of that sort. But we should take pains in this first part of the play to let the several characters stand out in strong relief. As you see, we are here not concerned, as in tragedy, with the measure or tempo of the acting, but rather with its content.

As we go on towards the middle of the play, the interest will centre on the various conflicting factors that emerge and that leave us in some doubt as to how it is all going to end. And here it would actually be a little risky to continue entering with intensity into the individual characters; rather must the emphasis be laid on the plot. The whole character of the speaking must centre the hearer's attention on the plot. At this point the earlier comedies favoured the inventive actor. For the book of words left him extraordinarily free; he could extemporise here and there, expressing his astonishment, for instance, when something happens that gives the whole plot an unexpected turn—and so forth. Actors were in this way able on their own initiative to emphasise certain incidents or features in the plot.

And then, at the end of a comedy, particular emphasis should be laid on destiny. This is important. The acting must show how destiny breaks in upon the course of events and brings it all to a happy conclusion.

Comedy

(I) The emphasis is on the Characters.
(II) The emphasis is on the Plot.
(III) The emphasis is on Destiny.

If one is to produce a comedy successfully, with emphasis first on the characters, then on the plot, and finally on the working of destiny, one must of course do one's best to acquire a lively and sympathetic understanding of what destiny and character and plot are in their essential nature.

There is something more that the actor can do. Latent within him are deep feelings and perceptions, and these he should now evoke. What I am going to recommend may seem to you, my dear friends, to be rather external, but you should not on that account belittle it. If you will receive it and follow it out earnestly and with understanding, it will have a wonderful effect. It will awaken in your heart and soul a fine perception for how you are to set about acting—first tragedy, and then comedy. And as you continue to live with it, to live with it in meditation, you will also be helped to carry into real meditative experience the exercises of a more general nature in connection with your calling, that I have already given for your meditation and concentration. Take, for example, what I showed you the other day when we drew the circle of the vowels and found, on one side of the circle the development of tragedy, and on the other side the development of comedy Imitate in your soul the path followed by a drama of tragedy, and your soul will be so attuned that it will develop the skill required for the speaking and producing of your tragedy.

Where a meditation is intended to prepare us for a right treatment of tragedy, very much will depend on how far we are able, during the meditation, to attain inwardly what I described yesterday as liberation from our spoken part. This, my dear friends, must first be attained. We have to carry our preparation of the part up to the point where we have such command of it that we could go through it in our sleep. And then we must be able also to look at it, as it were, from without, taking an active and sympathetic interest in it and in the whole speaking of it (that speaking which we ourselves have created and formed), entering into it with heart and feeling, and also with will and with thought.

The actors of an older time were given meditations to prepare them for their task; and I would like now to give you a brief formula on the same lines. Approaching the words in the mood that belongs to tragedy, try to concentrate your soul with all inner warmth into just that mood that you need for the understanding of tragedy—for that kind of understanding which has actual formative power. And you will see, as you meditate the words you will attain this understanding. But you will need to repeat the meditative preparation over and over again. Go through it now and

then, when you have a few moments' leisure—you might be taking a walk one day, and come upon a secluded spot where you can sit and think quietly for a little. Here then are the words: Ach ( this is merely a preparatory interjection)—

Ach, Fatum,
Du hast
stark mich<
umfasst,
nimm weg
den Fall
in den Abgrund.²

I use the Latin word Fatum because, to begin with, the soul must be held steadily in the a and u that evoke the tragic mood: u giving the suggestion of fear, and a bespeaking awed amazement. Then, when we come to stark mich, note that i enters in, to take its part in the tragedy. Note too that farther on the vowels follow one another exactly as they do on the circle:

nimm weg
den Fall
in den Abgrund.

If you will meditate these words, letting speak in them, above all, the feeling that is called up within you by that inner perception of sound which you have acquired in your training, then the words can become for you a kind of foundation upon which you can build the production of your drama of tragedy.

Ach, Fatum,
Du hast
stark mich
umfasst,
nimm weg
den Fall
in den Abgrund.

These words give the mood for tragedy. If for a long time you have repeatedly held before you such a meditation, then you will assuredly find the right inner mood for tragedy when you need it.

For comedy, on the other hand, we have to go back to exercises of a more whimsical and subtle kind, that were not practised with the deep fervour that belongs to exercises for tragedy. (Tragedy, you must remember, is a child of the Mysteries.) None the less, even these exercises for humorous plays had a powerful esoteric influence. They were able actually to beget humour in the actor, and then they did not as it were take it back again but let it pour full stream into the speaking

For if you are going to produce comedy (and please when I use the word ‘produce’, do not take it in a merely external sense), you must be able to laugh in the words. I do not mean you should be perpetually tittering. There are persons who like to draw attention to their remarks by constantly tittering and laughing a little as they speak, a habit that is apt to leave one with the impression that there is not much point or meaning in what is being said. For the actor to bring laughter into his feeling for sound is quite a different matter. It works as true art—in spite of its popularity! There were always in an older time comedians who did this, just as surely as in the early Middle Ages you find priests taking part in the solemn and sublime dramas that were directly connected with the Church. And these early comedians, from among whom in course of time the first professional actors were recruited, laboured always to attain to a deep inner understanding of their work on the stage.

Here then I will again put before you a brief formula from olden times. It was not given merely to make tongue and palate elastic and plastic,—a result that we saw could be attained by cultivating sound-perception; these words, as one meditates them, turn into laughter. They must of course be meditated aloud. And then you will find you have to laugh.

Try practising aloud, as often as you can, this little string of words that I will now write on the blackboard. And, as you say them, enter into the speaking of them with your whole heart and feeling.

Izt'—this is really the word jetzt (now), but it has to be spoken here as izt—

Izt' fühl ich
wie in mir
linklock-hü
und lockläck-hi
völlig mir
witzig
bläst³

your soul; you will laugh inwardly, in your soul. Naturally, you cannot expect to attain that by deepening your feelings as for tragedy! And this has now to be your ideal—to carry into your speaking a laughing soul. Then will your work as producer be full of humour, the humour that has power of itself to produce and form a comedy.

And try to practise it, making with linklock-hü this movement (see first Drawing) and with lockläck-hi this movement (see second Drawing), so that you repeat the whole formula thus:

Izt' fiihl ich
wie in mir
linklock-hü
und lockläck-hi
völlig mir
witzig
bläst.

Try to live your way into this little formula, giving it its full development and speaking it always three times in succession—with the linklock-hü, pulling the upper lip upwards and the lower downwards, so that the lips are puckered; and with lockläck-hi flattening the creases out again.

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As you continue repeating it, it will make you laugh in your soul; you will laugh inwardly, in your soul. Naturally, you cannot expect to attain that by deepening your feelings as for tragedy! And this has now to be your ideal—to carry into your speaking a laughing soul. Then will your work As producer be full of humour, the humour that has power of itself to produce and form a comedy.

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• 1. The Age of the Spiritual (or Consciousness) Soul is the epoch of man's development in which we are now living and which began in the fifteenth century.
• 1. Pronounced very like our word’ five’. The sounds do not make a word at all in German.
• 2. fate,
  Thou hast laid
  firm hand
  upon me;
  suffer me not
  to fall
  into the abyss!
• 3. Inside me I feel
  how linklock-hä
  and lockläck-hi
  go wittily
  whispering
  on!

In the lectures which I have given recently you will have seen that everything was directed towards so bringing together world-phenomena that eventually a really comprehensive knowledge of man might result. Everything we have been studying here has had the knowledge of man as its goal. Such a knowledge of man will only become possible when it begins with the lowest forms of the world of phenomena and relates them to everything that is revealed to man as the material world. But what begins in this way with the study of the entire world of matter must end with the study of the world of the hierarchies. It is in proceeding from the lowest forms of material up to the highest forms of spiritual existence that we must seek to discover what will eventually lead to a true knowledge of man. For the present we will use the lectures I am now able to give you to make a kind of sketch of such a knowledge of man.

We must be quite clear about the fact that what we now recognise as man is a product of that long cosmic evolution which I have always synthesized as the Saturn-Sun-Moon-and-Earth-evolution. The Earth-evolution is not yet completed. But let us be clear about what man owes to this Earth-evolution in the narrower sense, to the epoch, that is to say, which is subsequent to the evolution of old Moon. You see, when you move your arms and stretch them out, when you move your fingers, when you carry out any kind of external movement, everything in your organism which enables you to move your arms and legs, your head, your lips, and so on—and the forces upon which man's external movements depend enter into the most inward parts of the human organism—all this was vouchsafed to man by Earth-evolution in the narrower sense. If, on the other hand, you look into everything connected with the development of the metabolism, which is enclosed by man's outer skin, if you look at all the metabolic functions within the physical body, here you have a picture of what man owes to the Moon-evolution. And you have a picture of what man owes to the old Sun-evolution when you look into everything within him which involves some kind of rhythmic process. Breathing and blood-circulation are of course the most important of these rhythmic processes, and these man owes to the old Sun-evolution. Everything comprised in the system of nerves and senses, which in men of today is distributed over the whole body, this man owes to the old Saturn-evolution.

In regard to all this, however, you must bear in mind that the human being is a whole and that world-evolution is a whole. When today we draw attention to the old Saturn-evolution in the way I did in my “Occult Science”, we mean the period of evolution previous to the primordial epochs of the Sun-Moon-and-Earth-evolution. But this is only one Saturn-evolution, that from which the Earth resulted. But during the period in which the Earth was evolving, a Saturn-evolution also came into being. This Saturn-evolution is included in the Earth-evolution; it is, so to speak, the youngest Saturn-evolution. The one that did not reach the Earth-evolution is the oldest. The Saturn-evolution which was inserted into old Sun is younger; the one inserted into old Moon is younger still. And the Saturn which today imbues the Earth, and is actually responsible for certain aspects of its warmth-organization, this Saturn is the youngest of all. We, with our human nature, are a part of this Saturn-evolution.

Thus are we placed into cosmic evolution. But we are also placed into what surrounds us spacially on the earth. Take, for example, the mineral kingdom. We live in a state of reciprocal action with the mineral kingdom. We take the mineral element into ourselves through our food. We absorb it in other ways, too, through our breathing, and so on. We assimilate the mineral element.

But all evolution, all world-processes, are different within man from what they are outside him. I have already mentioned that it is a real absurdity when people today study chemical processes in laboratories, and then think that when a person eats certain foodstuffs these processes will simply continue inside him. Man is not some kind of confluence of chemical actions; inside him everything is altered. And from a certain standpoint this alteration appears in the following way.

Let us suppose that we take into ourselves something of a mineral nature. Every such mineral substance must be so far worked upon within the human being that the following result is brought about. You know that we have our own individual temperature; in the healthy person this is about 98 degrees Fahrenheit (37° centigrade). In the warmth of our blood we have something which exceeds the warmth outside us. Everything which we take in as mineral substance must, however, be so transformed, so metamorphosed in our organism that, where the warmth of our blood exceeds the average warmth of its external environment, where it rises above the average external warmth of our surroundings, this excess of warmth absorbs with satisfaction the mineral element within us. If you eat a grain of cooking-salt, this grain of salt must be absorbed by your individual warmth, not by the warmth which you have in common with the outside world. It must be absorbed with satisfaction by your own individual warmth. Everything mineral must be transformed into warmth-ether. And the moment a person has something in his organism which prevents any kind of mineral from being changed into warmth-ether, at that moment he is ill.

Now let us proceed to the plant-substances which man takes into himself. Man takes in plant-substances; he, too, belongs to the plant kingdom inasmuch as he develops the plant-element within himself. He contains what is of a mineral nature; this, however, continually has the tendency to become warmth-ether. The plant element continually has the tendency in man to become airy, to become gaseous. So that man has the plant element within himself in its aspect of air. Everything of a plant nature which enters man, or whatever he himself develops as inner plant organisation, must become airy, must be able to assume the form of air within him. If it does not assume the form of air, if his organization is such that it hinders him from letting what is of a plant-nature within him pass over into the form of air, he becomes ill. Everything of animal-nature which man takes in or develops within himself must—in time at least—assume the fluid, the watery form. Man may not have what is of an animal nature within him, whether inwardly produced or absorbed from outside, unless at some time it submits to the process of becoming fluid. If man is not in a position to liquidize either his own or foreign animal substance so as to transform it further into the solid, then he becomes ill. Only that in man which is indigenous to the purely human form, which arises from his nature as a being who walks upright, having within him the impulses to speak and think, only that which gives man his real humanity, which raises him above the animal—and this is at most a tenth of his whole organism—may enter into solid formation, into actual form. If anything of animal or plant nature invades the human solid form, man is ill.

Everything mineral must eventually become warmth-ether in man. Everything vegetable must undergo a transitional airy stage in man. Everything animal must pass through an intermediate watery stage in man. Only what is human may always retain within itself the earthly-solid form. This is one of the secrets of the human organization.

And now to begin with let us leave aside everything that man has from the Earth-epoch—thereby making our further studies of this all the more fruitful—and let us take the metabolic system as such, which, though certainly developed as an Earth-organization, nevertheless received its germinal beginnings from the epoch of old Moon. Let us therefore take digestion in the narrower sense of what takes place inside the human skin—in which we must of course include the excretory processes—and we shall find that all substances become altered in the intake of food. The food-substances, which at first are outside man, enter into him, and merge themselves with the digestive system. This digestive system now converts what belonged to man's surroundings into what is essentially human. Everything mineral begins to assume the condition of warmth-ether, everything vegetable the gaseous-airy-vaporous condition, everything animal, including what is self-produced, begins to assume the fluid condition; and all begin to build what is now essentially human into a firmly organized structural form. All this is inherent in digestion. And digestion is consequently something of remarkable interest.

If we ascend from digestion to breathing, we notice that man produces carbon out of himself, and that this is to be found everywhere within him. This is sought out by oxygen, becomes changed into carbonic acid, and is then exhaled. Carbonic acid is the combination of carbon and oxygen. The oxygen, which is drawn in through breathing, masters the carbon, absorbs the carbon into itself; carbonic acid, the product of oxygen and carbon, is then exhaled. But before exhalation occurs, the carbon becomes the benefactor, so to speak, of human nature. This carbon—in that it combines with the oxygen, in that it combines to a certain extent what the blood-circulation brings about with what the breathing produces—this carbon becomes the benefactor of the human organization, for, before it leaves the human organization, it disperses through it an out-streaming of ether. Physical science merely states that carbon is exhaled with carbonic acid. This, however, is only one side of the whole process. Man exhales the carbonic acid; but in the process of this exhalation something of the carbon taken up by the oxygen is left behind in his whole organism, namely ether. This ether penetrates into man's etheric body, and it is this ether, continually being produced by the carbon, which makes the human organization capable of opening itself to spiritual influences, of absorbing astral-etheric forces from the cosmos. This ether, which is left behind by the carbon, attracts the cosmic impulses, and they in their turn work formatively upon man, so preparing his nervous system, for instance, that it can become the bearer of thoughts. This ether must continually permeate our senses, our eyes, for example, so that they may see, so that they may receive the outer light-ether. Thus we are indebted to carbon for the supply of ether within us which enables us to come into contact with the outer world.

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All this is already prepared in the metabolic system. But the metabolism as a human system is so placed into the whole cosmos that it could not exist for itself alone. Isolated in itself the digestive system could not exist. This is why it was the third system to have its rudiments implanted in man. The rudiments of the system of nerves and senses took form in the epoch of old Saturn; the second system, the rhythmic system, was laid down during the epoch of old Sun. Only after these other systems had come into being could the metabolic system be produced, because in and for itself this system could not exist. The metabolic system, if at first we omit its involuntary movements, is intended, in its cosmic connection, to provide for human nutrition. But these processes of nutrition cannot function independently. Digestion is necessary to man, but in and for itself it cannot exist. For if we study the human metabolic system in isolation—in the forthcoming lectures you will again see how necessary it is for the whole human organism—we find it constantly imbued with every kind of tendency towards illness. And the origin of internal illnesses—not those caused by external injury—must always be looked for in the metabolic system. Anyone, therefore, who wishes to put forward a rational observation of illness must start with the metabolic system; and in regard to every metabolic phenomenon he must really ask: Now where did you come from? When we consider all the phenomena, from the taking of food into the mouth, from the way the food is worked upon so that we transform certain substances into starch, sugar and so on, when we take the enveloping action of ptyalin in the mouth, when we go further and take the pepsin process in the stomach, and the assimilation of the products in digestion, following all these as far as their passage into the lymphatic vessels and into the blood—then we realize that each single one of these processes must be investigated—and their number is legion. The mingling of the products of digestion with the secretions of the pancreatic glands, the further mingling of these substances with the secretions from the gall-bladder, and so on—to each single process the question must be put: What is it that you really want? And it will answer: If I am alone I am a process which always makes man ill. No digestive process in human nature may be carried to its conclusion, for every digestive process which is carried to its conclusion makes man ill. The human constitution is only healthy when the metabolic processes are checked at a certain stage.

It might at first seem a folly in world-organization that something should begin in man which, if not checked halfway, would make him ill; but in the next lectures we shall learn to recognize this as something of the utmost wisdom. For the time being, however, let us study the actual facts, and discover what the answer of the separate digestive processes would be if we were to question their inner nature. We are always on the way to making our whole organism ill. Every digestive process, if unchecked, causes illness in the organism. If, therefore, digestion is to exist at all in man, other processes must exist whose germinal beginnings date from earlier times. These are the processes which are present in circulation, the circulatory processes. The circulation continually produces the processes of healing. So that we may really describe the human being by saying: During the old Moon evolution man was born as patient, and the doctor within him was already sent in advance during the epoch of old Sun. In regard to his own organism man was already born as doctor during the evolution of old Sun. It shows great foresight on the part of world-evolution that the doctor came into existence before the patient, for the patient in man himself was only added on old Moon. And if we are to describe man rightly, we must work backwards from the digestive to the circulatory processes, including, of course, all those impulses which underlie the circulatory system. Speaking broadly one substance induces quicker, another substance slower circulation. We have also quite small circulatory processes within us. Take any mineral substance, gold, let us say, or copper. Every such substance when induced into man—by the mouth, by injection, or in any other way—is endowed with the power of causing something to be formed or altered in the circulation, so as to work in a curative way, and so on. And what one must know, in order to gain insight into the essential healing processes in man, is what each single substance in his world-environment releases in man through alterations in his circulation. Thus one may say that circulation is a continual process of healing.

You can if you wish work this out for yourselves. Recall how I told you that on an average man draws eighteen breaths a minute. Here we find a remarkably regular agreement with the cosmos, for the number of breaths man draws in a day equals the number of circulatory rhythms carried out by the sun in its course through the solar year. As regards its rising, point at the vernal equinox the sun traverses the entire zodiac in the course of 25,920 years. In middle life man draws on an average 25,920 breaths a day. The pulse-beats are four times as many. The other circulation, the circulation which is concentrated more inwardly, is influenced by the digestion. Breath-circulation brings man into outer intercourse with the surrounding world, into reciprocal relationship with it. This breath-rhythm must continually restrain the rhythm of blood-circulation, so that it remains in its proportion of one to four, otherwise man would come into a quite irregular rhythm, not reaching the number 103,680. This corresponds to nothing in the cosmos; it would completely sever man and cosmos. His digestion tears him out of the cosmos, estranges him from the cosmos; the rhythm of his breathing continually pulls him back into it. In this holding the rhythm of circulation in control by the rhythm of breathing, you see the primal healing process which is continually at work in man. In a certain delicate way, in the case of every internal cure, we must assist the breathing process, continued as it is into the whole body, and this in such a manner that everywhere in the human being the process of circulation is held in control, is brought back into the general relationships of the cosmos.

Thus we may say: We pass over from nutrition to healing inasmuch as from below upwards man always has the tendency to become ill, and therefore in his central organism, in his organism of circulation, he must continually develop the tendency to remain well. And in that in our central organism healing impulses continually arise, they leave something behind in the head-nerve-senses system. Thus we are brought to the third part of our organism, the system of nerves and senses.

What kind of forces do we find in the nerve-senses system? We find those forces which, so to speak, the doctor in us leaves behind. On the one hand he works down into the metabolism in a health-giving way. But through this curative working upon the digestive process he actually does something which affects the whole cosmos. What I am saying is nothing fantastic, but an absolute reality. This process, which continually works downwards in us in a healing way, calls forth a feeling of pleasure in the higher hierarchies. It constitutes the joy of the higher hierarchies in the earthly world. They look down and continually feel the uprising of illness out of what streams upwards in man from the earthly, from what remains of the earthly attributes of the substances. And they also see how the forces which work away from the earthly, the forces which lie in the encircling air, and the like, are continually active as processes of healing. This arouses satisfaction in the higher hierarchies.

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And now try to gain an idea of what may be studied in regard to that cosmic body which, as the spiritual object most deserving of study, is situated at the outer boundary of our planetary system. In the centre of this body we find those forces concealed which, if you think of them as concentrated upon the earth, are the illness inducing forces, and surrounding this same body the encircling forces reveal themselves as the forces which bring about healing. Anyone sensitive to such things will see encircling health in the rings of Saturn, and this in a more distinct way than it can be perceived in what surrounds the earth, because there we stand in the midst of it. A Saturn ring is something essentially different from what astronomers have to say about it. It is encircling health, where-as the inner part of Saturn develops illness; it is the illness-inducing element seen in its most radical concentration.

Thus we see in Saturn, which is situated at the outer-most boundary of our planetary system, the very same process at work which we continually bear within ourselves through our digestive and circulatory organism. But we also find, when we look at all this, that our spiritual gaze is directed further to the worlds of the first and second hierarchy, to the beings of the second hierarchy, Kyriotetes, Exusiai, Dynamis, and to the beings of the first hierarchy, Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones. If with our spiritual eye we are attentive to Saturn and its ring, we shall be led to these upper hierarchies, as they survey with satisfaction the illness-inducing and health-restoring processes.

And this satisfaction is in itself a force in the universe. It streams through our system of nerves and senses and forms within it the forces of the spiritual evolution of mankind. These are the forces which blossom forth, as it were, from the healing-process which is continually at work in man. Thus in the third place we have the forces of spiritual evolution.

And if we now describe man in the epochs of Saturn, Sun and Moon, we must say: In the first place man is born out of the cosmos as spirit, he then develops within himself the “healer”, and thus enables himself to deal with the cosmic “patient”. And through the inter-working of all these activities man came into being upon the earth possessed of full freedom of movement.

Every single branch of human knowledge must in a certain sense be inspired by what I have said here. Let us suppose that someone wishes to found a system of healing, a really rational system of healing. What would this have to contain? In the first place, naturally, the processes of healing. But these healing-processes, from where must they take their start? They must take their start from the metabolic processes; and everything else can at most be supposition—we shall have something further to say about this later—anatomy too, even in a delicate form, can at most be a starting point, because it is concerned with the formed and solid. This immediately expresses the human element. But it is the digestive processes which must be studied in the first place by a rational system of medicine, and this in such a way that one always perceives in them tendencies leading towards the inducement of illness. A modern system of medicine must always take the metabolic system, that is to say the normal processes of digestion, as its point of departure; and starting from there it must deduce how internal illnesses, in the widest sense, can arise from the metabolism. Then, through an intimate knowledge of the action of the rhythmic processes, the true nature of therapy must be discovered. A modern system of medicine must, therefore, be founded on a study of the metabolic processes, and then, from this initial study, the transition must be made to everything which can make its appearance in the sphere of the rhythmic processes in man. Further, a kind of crowning of the whole will be attained in that one shows how a sound development of man's spiritual possibilities presupposes a knowledge of what arises from the healing forces. Today you will find no true pedagogy—no art, that is to say, of the sound development of man's spiritual nature—if you do not take your start from the processes of healing; for these healing processes are nothing other than applying to the central nature of the human being what must already be made use of in pure thinking when developing the spiritual processes of man.

The artist in education must work in a spiritual way with the forces which, whether concentrated in the physical or concentrated in the etheric, are processes of healing. Whatever I may do to a child in the sphere of education is a process which has something spiritual as its basis. If I transpose this process, so that what was an activity in the spirit I now carry out in such a way that I make use of some kind of substance or physical process, then this process or substance becomes a remedy. So that it may really be said that medicine is the treatment of man in the spiritual sphere metamorphosed downwards into the sphere of the material. If you call to mind the way in which I dealt with things in the teachers' course held some time back for English visitors, [* See Lectures to Teachers, a report by Albert Steffen.] you will see how I everywhere drew attention to the fact that the work of the teacher is the beginning of a kind of general therapy, and I showed how this or that set of educational ideas can be the initial cause of unhealthy conditions in the excretory processes or of digestive irregularities in later life. So that what the teacher does, projected downwards, gives us therapy. And the antithesis of this therapy—what works from below upwards—this is brought about by the process of digestion.

Here you also see why a system of medicine today must be born out of a knowledge of man as a whole. And this is possible. Many people feel it. But nothing can really be achieved until such a system of medicine is actually developed. Today this must be counted among the most urgent of necessities. If you look at modern text-books of medicine, you will see that, with the rarest exceptions, they do not take their start from the metabolic system. But this must be the point of departure, otherwise one does not learn to know the real nature of illness.

You see, the whole matter proceeds in such a way that the processes of human nutrition can pass over into processes of healing, these again into spiritual processes; and, working backwards, spiritual processes can pass over into healing processes. If, on the other hand, spiritual processes are the direct cause of digestive disturbances, these spiritual processes must again enter into a condition in which they must be cured by the central system of man. All these things pass one into the other in man, and the whole human organization is an example of continual and wonderful metamorphosis. Take, for example, the processes inherent in the whole marvelous circulation of the human blood. What kind of processes are these?

To begin with, separating it entirely from the rest of the organism, let us gain an idea of the human blood, how it flows through the veins; and let us consider the human form, the system of veins, the muscular system in its connection with the bony system, all the solid structure of the body and what flows through it as fluid. And first let us confine ourselves in the fluid condition to the blood. There are, of course, other fluids present, but let us confine ourselves to the blood. Now what are the processes which are continually happening in this streaming fluidity? These processes in the flowing blood can seize hold, in one direction or another, on the walls of the organs, on the bony structure, on anything which can take on a solid formation in man: then what belongs to the blood enters into the walls of the vessels, into the muscles, into one or another of the bones, or into any containing organ. What does it become there? It becomes the impulse towards inflammatory conditions.

What we find here or there as impulses towards inflammatory conditions is continually to be found as normal processes in the flowing blood. What appears as inflammation is something in the wrong place; that is to say processes which must always be present in the fluid blood have trespassed into the solid structure. A perfectly healthy normal process, displaced, transferred to another situation where it does not belong, becomes a process which induces illness. And certain illnesses of the nervous system consist just in this, that the nervous system, which in its whole organization is the polar opposite of the blood-system, is subjected to invasion by processes which are normal in the blood. If these processes which are normal in the blood-channels invade the paths of the nerves even in the slightest degree, then the nerves are attacked by inflammation in its initial stages; and this can develop into the most diverse forms of illness in the nervous system.

I mentioned that the processes in the blood are entirely different from those in the nerves; they are the antithesis of each other. In the blood-processes the urge is towards the phosphorizing element. When these phosphorizing processes take hold of what encloses or is adjacent to the blood, they lead to inflammatory conditions. But if the processes in the paths of the nerves themselves deviate into the adjacent organs and even into the blood, then impulses towards every kind of swelling arise in man. When these processes are carried over into the blood so that they affect the other organs in an unhealthy way, the formation of swellings or tumours makes its appearance. Every swelling or tumour is a metamorphosed nerve-process wrongly situated in the human organism.

What has its course in the nerve must remain in the nerve, and what has its course in the blood must remain in the blood. If what belongs in the blood trespasses into what is adjacent to it, inflammatory conditions arise. When what belongs in the nerve trespasses into what is adjacent to it, all kinds of formations arise which can be grouped together under the designation of swelling-formations. The aim must be to establish the correct rhythm between the processes in the nervous system and the processes in the system of the blood.

Not only have we in general the rhythm of breathing contrasted with the rhythm of the blood, but we have delicate processes in the circulation of the blood, which, when they depart from the blood, become the causes of inflammation. These delicate processes must also enter into a certain rhythmic connection with what is proceeding in the adjacent nerves, just as breathing must stand in a certain connection with the circulation of the blood. And the moment something is disturbed between blood-rhythm and nerve-rhythm it must once more be brought into adjustment.

Here again, you see we come into the domain of therapy, of healing. All this serves to show you how everything must be present in man, how above all an element of illness must be present so that in another situation it may become an element of health; it has only been brought into the wrong situation through an incorrect process. For if it were not there at all man could not exist. Man could not exist if he were unable to get inflammations, for the inflammation-inducing forces must continually be present in the blood. This was my meaning when I often said that everything one gains in the way of knowledge must be won from a real knowledge of man. Here you see the reasons why an education carried out in an up-in-the-air, abstract fashion is really something absurd. Education must in fact be so carried out that everywhere the start is taken from certain pathological processes in man, and from the possibility of curing them.

If one understands a brain-illness and the means by which brain-illness may be cured, then, to put things bluntly—from a certain point of view this is of course also a subtle matter, but I put it “bluntly” because we are dealing with a physical process—then, in the treatment of the brain, we are concerned precisely with what must be applied in the art of education. It is therefore the case that, if we ever came actually to founding a training college for teachers we should have to introduce the pathological-therapeutical aspect to the teachers, and here their thinking should be schooled by means of more perceptible things, because these are more rooted in the material, so preparing them to grasp things concerned with actual education. On the other hand, nothing is of greater assistance in therapy, particularly in the treatment of internal illnesses, than to know the effect produced by the way in which this or that aspect of the art of education is handled. For if one finds the bridge from this to the material, then, from the very way in which one should act in education, the remedy is also to be found.

If, for example, one discovers the right educational means of treating certain lethargic conditions in the children, arising from certain disturbances in the metabolic system, one develops quite remarkable inner faculties. It is necessary, of course, really to immerse oneself in the education, and not have such an external approach that, when school is over, one prefers to spend all the evening in a convivial club and forget all about what happens in the classroom. From the very way one handles a lethargic child one gains the faculty to perceive the whole working of the head-processes, and their relation to the processes of the abdomen. And further, when in mineralogy one studies the processes which take place in copper when it gives rise to this or that formation in the earth, then what copper does in becoming one or another kind of copper ore makes one say to oneself: The copper-force in the earth actually does what you as teacher do with a boy or a girl! In what is accomplished by copper one sees an image of what one carries out oneself. And it is extraordinarily fascinating for a teacher to develop an instinctive, an intuitive clarity of feeling in regard to what he himself does, and then to have the delight of going out into nature in order to see what nature accomplishes in the way of education on an immense scale. There he may see, for example, how, wherever harmful results might ensue from some lime-process, a copper-process is introduced into it. Yes, in these copper-processes, in these ore-forming processes, which have their place within the other processes of the earth, remedial effects are continually present. If somewhere or other one finds pyrite-ores, or the like, it is fascinating to be able to say: Yes, this is exactly the same as when a patient receives the right treatment. But here the treatment is accomplished by the spirits of nature, from the hierarchies down to those elemental spirits about which I have spoken to you, in their capacity as healers of all the destructive, illness-inducing processes which can appear in life. This is in fact nothing more than reading from nature. For if one sees what is happening outside, if one accepts this or that substance as a remedy or prepares it as such, one has only to ask oneself: Where do the foodstuffs grow? Where does this or that metal appear in the veins of the earth? Study their environment and you will always find that, wherever some form of metal appears here or there, which has been dealt with by nature in one or another way, a remedial process is at work within it. Only appropriate this and continue it on into the human organism and you will create a therapy which nature has demonstrated to you in the world outside.

Yes, all the goings-on of the world are in reality a true education in all questions of nutrition, of healing, of the spiritual; for in nature illness is continually being induced and is continually being cured. They are there outside, the great cosmic processes of healing. We must only apply them to man. This is the wonderful inter-working of the macrocosm with the microcosm. What I have said to many of you in one context or another is profoundly true:

Willst du dich selber erkennen,
Blicke in die Welt nach allen Seiten.
Willst du die Welt erkennen,
Schaue in alle deine eigenen Tiefen.

Wouldst thou know thyself,
Look into the world on every side.
Wouldst thou know the world,
Look into the depths of thine own being.

You can, however, apply this to everything. Wouldst thou heal man, look into the world on every side, see how on every side the world evolves processes of healing. Wouldst thou know the secrets of the world in the processes of illness and healing, look down into the depths of human nature. You can apply this to every aspect of man's being, but you must direct your gaze outwards to the great world of nature and see man in a living relationship with this great world.

People today have accustomed themselves to something different. They depart as far from nature as possible. They do something which shuts their own sight off from nature, for what they wish to examine they lay beneath a glass on a little stand—the eye does not look out into nature, but looks into the glass. Sight itself is cut off from nature. They call this a microscope. In certain connections it might as well be called a nulloscope, for it shuts one off from the great world of nature. People do not know, when something under the glass is magnified, that for spiritual knowledge it is exactly as though the same process were to take place in nature herself. For only think, when you take some minute particle from the human being for purposes of observation under a microscope, what you then do with this minute fragment is the same as if you were to stretch the man himself and tear him apart. You would be an even worse monster than Procrustes if you were to wrench man and tear him asunder in order to enlarge him as that minute particle is enlarged under the microscope. But do you believe that you would still have the person before you? This would naturally be out of the question. Just as little have you the reality there under the microscope. The truth which has been magnified is no longer the truth; it is an illusory image. We must not depart from nature and imprison our own sight. For other purposes, this can of course be useful; but for a true knowledge of man it is immensely misleading.

Knowledge of man in the true sense must be sought in the way we have indicated. Starting from the processes of nutrition, it must be followed through the processes of healing to the processes of human and world education in the widest sense. Or we can put it thus: from nutrition, through healing, to civilization and culture. For all that is concentrated in the nourishment of man is the groundwork, as it were, of his physical processes; the healing processes are derived from what continually encircles man, they are concentrated in the rhythmic system; and what comes from above is concentrated in man in the processes of the nerves and senses. Thus world-structure is erected on three levels.

This is what I wished to give you in the first place as a kind of foundation. We can now build further upon it. We shall see how, from such points of departure, we can actually progress to the business of practical affairs; and from thence we can lead over to a knowledge of the hierarchies.

You will have gathered from the foregoing descriptions that man's relation to his environment is very different from what modern ideas often conceive. It is so easy to think that what exists in man's surroundings, what belongs to the mineral, plant and animal kingdoms and is then taken into the body, that these external material processes which are investigated by the physicist, the chemist and so on, simply continue on in the same way within man himself. There can, however, be no question of this, for one must be clear that within the human skin-processes everything is different from outside it, that the world within differs entirely from the world without. As long as one is not aware of this one will ever and again reach the conclusion that what is examined in a retort, or investigated in some other way, is continued on inside the human organism, and the human organism itself will simply be regarded as a more complicated system of retorts.

You need only recall what I said in yesterday's lecture, that everything mineral within man must be transformed until it reaches the condition of warmth-ether. This means that everything of a mineral nature which enters into the human organism must be so far metamorphosed, so far changed, that at least for a certain period of time, it becomes pure warmth, becomes one with the warmth which man develops as his own individual temperature independent of the warmth of his environment. No matter whether it is salt or something else that we absorb, in one way or another it must assume the form of warmth-ether, and it must do this before it is made use of in the upbuilding of the living organism.

But something quite different is also connected with this: solid substance loses its solid form, when it is changed in the mouth into fluid, and is further transformed into the condition of warmth-ether. It loses weight when it gradually passes over into the fluid form, becomes more and more estranged from the earthly, but only when it has ascended to the warmth-etheric form is it fully prepared to absorb into itself the spiritual which comes from above, which comes from world-spaces.

Thus, if you would gain an idea of how a mineral substance functions in man, you must say the following: There is the mineral substance; this mineral substance enters into man. Within man, passing through the fluid conditions, and so on, it is transformed into warmth-ether. Now it is warmth-ether. This warmth-ether has a strong disposition to absorb into itself what radiates inwards, what streams inwards, as forces from world-spaces. Thus it takes into itself the forces of the universe. And these forces of the universe now form themselves as the spiritual forces which here imbue the warmth-etherized earth-matter with spirit. And only then, with the help of the warmth-etherized earth-substance, does there enter into the body what the body needs for its formation.

So you see—if in the old sense we designate warmth as fire—we can say: What man absorbs in the way of mineral substance is carried upwards within him until it becomes of the nature of fire. And what is of the nature of fire has the disposition to take up into itself the influences of the higher Hierarchies; and then this fire streams back again into all man's internal regions, and builds up, in that it re-solidifies, the material basis of the separate organs. Nothing that man takes into himself remains as it is; nothing remains earthly. Everything, for example, that comes from the mineral kingdom is so far transformed that it can take into itself the spiritual-cosmic, and only then, with the help of what comes from the spiritual cosmos, does it become re-solidified into the earthly condition.

Take from a bone, for instance, a fragment of calcium phosphate. This is in no way the calcium phosphate which you find outside in nature, or which, let us say, you introduce into the laboratory. It is the calcium phosphate which, while it arose from what was absorbed from outside, could only take part in building the human physical form, with the help of the forces which penetrated it during the time when it was changed into the warmth-ether condition.

This, you see, is why man needs substances of the most diverse kinds during the course of his life in order to be able, in accordance with the way he is organized at his particular age, to transform what is lifeless into the condition of warmth-ether. A child is as yet quite unable to change what is lifeless into the warmth-etheric condition; he has not enough strength in his organism. He must drink the milk which is still so nearly akin to the human organism in order to bring it into the condition of warmth-ether, and apply its forces to carrying out the full diffusion of plastic activity which is necessary during the years of childhood for the processes of bodily formation. One only gains insight into the nature of man when one knows that everything which is taken in from outside must be worked upon and basically transformed. Thus, if you take some external substance and wish to test its value for human life you simply cannot do this by means of ordinary chemistry. You must know how much force the human organism must exert in order to bring some external mineral substance, for example, to the fleeting condition of warmth-ether. If it is unable to do this, the external mineral substance is deposited, becoming heavy earth-matter before it has passed over into warmth, and penetrates into the human organism as inorganic matter which remains alien to human tissues.

An example of this kind can appear when the human being is not in a position to bring a substance, in its origin organic but appearing in him mineralized, namely sugar, to the tenuous condition of warmth-ether. Then arises the condition which must result when the whole organism has to share in the assimilation of what is thus present within it, the very serious condition of sugar diabetes. In the case of every substance one must therefore bear in mind to what degree the human organism can be in a position to transmute lifeless substance—whether its nature is already lifeless as when we eat cooking salt, or whether it becomes so as with sugar—into warmth-substance, whereby the organism which is rooted in the earth finds its union with the spiritual cosmos.

Every such deposit in man which remains untransmuted—as in diabetes—signifies that the human being does not find a union of the matter present within him and the spiritual of the cosmos. This is only a specific application of the general axiom that whatever approaches man from outside must be entirely worked over and transformed within him. And if we wish to look after a person's health it is of paramount importance to see to it that nothing enters into him which remains as it was, nothing which cannot be dealt with by the human organism until the least of its particles is transformed. This is not only the case in regard to substances; it is also the case, for instance, in regard to forces.

External warmth—the warmth we feel when we grasp things, the external warmth in the air—this, when taken up by the human organism, must become so transformed that the inner warmth is on a different level from the warmth outside. The external warmth must be transformed within us, so that this external warmth, in which we are not present, is laid hold of by the human organism even down to the very smallest quantity.

Now imagine that I go somewhere where it is cold, and because the cold is too intense, or, because of moving air or draught, the temperature fluctuates, I am not in a position to change the world warmth into my own individual warmth quickly enough. Through this I run the danger of being warmed by the world-warmth from outside like a piece of wood, or a stone. This should not be. I should not be exposed to the danger of external warmth flowing into me as though I were merely some object. At every moment, from the boundary of my skin inwards, I must be able to lay hold of the warmth and make it my own. If I am not in a position to do this I catch cold.

This is the inner process of catching cold. To catch cold is a poisoning by external warmth which is not taken possession of by the organism.

You see, everything in the external world is poison for man, actual poison, and it only becomes of service to him when, through his individual forces, he lays hold of it and makes it his own. For only from man himself do forces go up to the higher hierarchies in a human way; whereas outside man they remain with the elemental nature-beings, with the elemental spirits. In the case of man this wonderful transformation must happen so that within the human organism the elemental spirits may give over their work to the higher hierarchies. For the mineral in man this can only occur when it is absolutely and entirely transformed into warmth-ether.

Let us look at the plant world. Truly this plant world possesses something which bewitches man in the most varied ways when he begins to contemplate the plant covering of the earth with the eye of the spirit. We go out into a meadow or a wood. We dig up, let us say, a plant with its root. If we regard what we have dug up with the eye of the spirit we find a wonderfully magical complex. The root shows itself as something of which we can say that it came into existence entirely in the sphere of the earthly. Yes, a plant root—the more so, the coarser it appears—is really something terribly earthly. It always reminds one—especially a root like a turnip, for instance—of a particularly well-fed alderman. O, yes, it is so; the root of a plant is extremely smug, and self-satisfied. It has absorbed the salts of the earth into itself, and feels a deep sense of gratification at having soaked up the earth. In the whole sphere of the earthly there exists no more absolute expression of satisfaction than such a turnip-root; it is the representative of root-nature.

On the other hand let us look at the blossom. When we observe the blossom with the eye of the spirit we only experience it as our own soul, when it cherishes the tenderest desires.

Only look at a spring flower; it is a sigh of longing, the embodiment of a wish. And something wonderful streams forth over the flower world which surrounds us, if only our soul-perception is delicate enough to be open to it. In spring we see the violet, maybe the daffodil, the lily-of-the-valley, or many little plants with yellow flowers, and we are seized by the feeling that these blossoming plants of spring would say to us: O Man, how pure and innocent can be the desires which you direct towards the spiritual! Spiritual desire-nature, desire-nature bathed, as it were, in piety, breathes from every blossom of spring.

And when the later flowers appear—let us at once take the other extreme, let us take the autumn crocus—can one behold the autumn crocus with soul-perception without having a slight feeling of shame? Does it not warn us that our desires can tend downwards, that our desires can be imbued with every kind of impurity? It is as though the autumn crocuses spoke to us from all sides, as if they would continually whisper to its: Consider the world of thy desires, O Man; how easily you can become a sinner!

Looked at thus, the plant-world is the mirror of human conscience in external nature. Nothing more poetical can be imagined than the thought of this voice of conscience coming forth from some point within us and being distributed over the myriad forms of the blossoming plants which speak to the soul, during the season of the year, in the most manifold ways. The plant-world reveals itself as the wide-spread mirror of conscience if we know how to look at it aright.

If we bear this in mind it becomes of special significance for us to look at the flowering plants and picture how the blossom is really a longing for the light-being of the universe, and how the form of the blossom grows upwards in order to enable the desires of the earth to stream towards this light-being of the universe, and how on the other hand the substantial root fetters the plant to the earth, how it is the root which continually wrests the plant away from its celestial desires, wishing to re-establish it in the substantiality of the earth.

And we learn to understand why this is so when, in the evolutionary history of the earth, we meet the fact that what is present in the root of a plant has invariably been laid down in the time when the moon was still together with the earth.

In the time when the moon was still together with the earth the forces anchored in the moon within the body of the earth worked so strongly that they hardly allowed the plant to become anything but root. When the moon was still with the earth and the earth still had quite another substance, the root element spread itself out and worked downwards with great power. This can be pictured in such a way that one says: The downward thrust of the plant's root-nature spread out powerfully, while up above the plant only peeped out into the cosmos. We could say that the plants sent their shoots out into the cosmos like delicate little hairs. We feel that, while the moon was still with the earth, this moon element, these moon-forces, contained in the earth-body itself, fettered plant-nature to the earthly. And what was then transmitted to the being of the plant remains on as predisposition in the nature of the root.

After the moon left the earth, however, there unfolded in what had previously existed only as tiny little shoots peeping out into the world a longing for the wide light-filled spaces of the cosmos; and now the blossom-nature arose. So that the departure of the moon was a kind of liberation, a real liberation for the plants.

But here we must also bear in mind that everything earthly was grounded in the spiritual. During the old Saturn period—you need only take the description which I gave in my “Occult Science”—the earth was entirely spiritual; it existed only in the warmth-etheric element, it was entirely spiritual. It was out of the spiritual that the earthly was first formed.

And now let us contemplate the plant. In its form it bears the living memory of evolution. It bears in its root-nature the process of becoming earthly, of assuming the physical-material. If we look at the root of a plant we discern that it says something further to us, namely that its existence only became possible because the earthly-material evolved out of the spiritual. Scarcely, however, was the earth relieved of its moon-element than the plant again strove back to the spaces of the light.

And when we consume the plant as nourishment we give it the opportunity of carrying further in the right way what it began outside in nature, the striving back not only to the light-spaces, but to the spirit-spaces of the cosmos. This is why, as I have already said, we must deal with the plant-substance within us until it becomes aeriform, or gaseous, so that the plant may follow its longing for the wide spaces of light and spirit.

I go out into a meadow. I see how the flowers, the blossoms of the plants, strive towards the light. Man consumes the plant, but within him he has a world entirely different from the one outside. Within him he can bring to fulfillment the longing which, outside, the plant expresses in its blossoms. Spread abroad in nature we see the desire-world of the plants. We eat the plants. Within ourselves we drive this longing towards the spiritual world. We must therefore raise the plants into the sphere of the air so that in this lighter realm they may be enabled to strive towards the spiritual.

The plant here undergoes a remarkable process. When man eats plant food the following occurs: If we depict the root below, and above what strives through the leaf to the blossom, then, in this inner transference to the airy condition, we have to experience a total reversal of the plant. The root, which is fettered to the earth, just for the very reason that it is so rooted, strives upwards; it strives upwards towards the spiritual with such power that it leaves the striving of the blossom behind it. It is actually as if you were to picture the plant unfolding in such a way that the upper is pushed down below and the lower up above. The plant reverses itself completely. The part which has already won its way to the blossom has had enjoyment in its material striving towards the light, has brought the material up into the sphere of the light. For this it must now suffer the punishment of remaining below. The root has been the slave of the earthly; but, as you can see from Goethe's theory of the metamorphosis of plants, it bears the whole plant-nature within it. It now strives upwards.

If a man is a really stiff-necked sinner, he is likely to remain so. But the root of a plant, which as long as it is earth-bound makes the impression of a well-fed alderman, immediately it has been eaten by man becomes transformed and strives upwards; whereas that which has brought the material into the sphere of the light, the blossom, must remain down below. Hence in what belongs to the root-element of the plant we have something which, when it is eaten, strives upwards towards man's head out of its inherent nature, while what lies in the direction of the blossom remains in the lower regions, and, in the general process of digestion, does not reach up to forming the head.

Thus we have the remarkable, the wonderful drama that when man consumes something of plant-nature—he need not eat the whole plant, because in each single part the whole plant is inherent (I refer you again to Goethe's theory of metamorphosis)—when man consumes a plant, it transforms itself within him into air, into air which develops plant-wise from above downwards, which grows and blossoms in a downward direction.

In times when such things were known through instinctive clairvoyance, people looked at the external constitution of plants in order to see whether they were such as could be beneficial to man's head, whether they showed a strong root-development, and in consequence a longing for the spiritual. For, when digestion is completed, what we have eaten of such a plant will seek out the head and penetrate it, so that it may there strive upwards towards the spiritual cosmos and enter into the necessary connection with it.

In the case of plants which are strongly imbued with astrality, for example, in the pod-bearing plants, their products remain in man's lower organism, and are unwilling to rise up to the head, with the result that they produce a heavy sleep, and dull the brain on waking. The Pythagoreans wished to be clear thinkers and not introduce digestion into the functions of the head. This is why they forbade the eating of beans.

You see, therefore, that from what happens in nature we can divine something of nature's relation to man, and to what happens in man. If one possesses spiritual initiation-science, one simply cannot imagine how materialistic science comes to grips with human digestion. (Certainly matters are different in regard to a cow's digestion; about this, too, we shall have something further to say later.) Materialistic science states that plants are assimilated just as they are. They are not assimilated just as they are, but are completely spiritualized. The plant is so constituted in itself that in digestion the lower turns into the upper and the upper into the lower. No greater transposition can be imagined. And man immediately becomes ill if he eats even the smallest quantity of a plant where the lowest is not changed into the uppermost, and the uppermost into the lowest.

From this you will realize that man bears nothing in himself which is not produced by the spirit; he must first give to what he assimilates as substance a form which will enable the spirit to influence it.

Turning now to the animal world, we must be clear that the animal has a digestion, and mostly consumes plants. Let us take the herbivorous animal. The animal world takes the plant world into itself. This again is a very complicated process, for when the animal eats the plant it does not possess human processes to set against the plant. Within the animal the plant cannot turn the above into the below and the below into the above. The animal has its vertebral column parallel with the surface of the earth. This means that in the case of the animal what should happen in digestion is brought into complete disorder. What is below strives upwards, and what is above strives downwards, but the whole process gets dammed up in itself, so that animal digestion is something essentially different from human digestion. In animal digestion, what lives in the plant dams itself up. And the result of this is that with the animal the being of the plant is given the promise: “Thou mayest indulge thy longing for world-spaces”—but the promise is not kept. The plant is thrown back again to earth.

Through the fact, however, that in the animal organism the plant is thrown back to earth, there immediately penetrate into the plant—not, as with man in whom the reversal takes place, cosmic spirits with their forces, but certain elemental spirits in their place. And these elemental spirits are fear-spirits, bearers of fear. Thus spiritual perception can follow this remarkable process: The animal itself enjoys its nourishment, enjoys it with inner satisfaction; and while the stream of nourishment goes in one direction, a stream of fear from elemental spirits of fear goes in the other. Through the animal's digestive tract there continually flows along the path of digestion the satisfaction felt in the assimilation of nourishment, and in opposition to this there flows a terrible stream of elemental spirits of fear.

This is what animals leave behind them when they die. When animals die—not those species, perhaps, which I have already described in another way, but including such as belong, for instance, to the four-footed mammals—when these animals die there also dies, or rather comes to life in their dying, a being which is entirely composed of the element of fear. With the animal's death, fear dies, that is to say fear comes to life. In the case of beasts of prey this fear is actually assimilated with their food. The beast of prey, which tears its booty to pieces, devours the flesh with satisfaction. And towards this satisfaction in the consumption of flesh there streams fear, the fear which the plant-eating animal only gives off from itself when it dies, but which already streams out from the beast of prey during its life-time. Through this the astral bodies of such animals as lions and tigers are riddled with fear which they do not as yet detect during their lifetime, but which after death these animals drive back because it goes in opposition to their feeling of satisfaction. Thus carnivorous animals really have an after life in their group soul, an after life which must be said to present a much more terrible Kamaloka than anything which can be experienced by man, and this simply on account of their essential nature.

Naturally you must regard these things as being experienced in quite a different consciousness. If you were suddenly to become materialistic, and began to imagine what the beast of prey must experience by putting yourself in its place, thinking: What would such a Kamaloka be like for me? and were then to judge the beast of prey according to what such a Kamaloka might be for you, then certainly you are materialistic, indeed animalistic, for you transpose yourself into animal nature. These things must of course be understood if one is to comprehend the world; but we must not put ourselves into their category, as when the materialistic puts the whole world into the category of lifeless matter.

Now we come to a subject about which I can only speak on a soul level; for anthroposophy should never come forward to agitate for anything, should never advocate either one thing or another, but should only put forward the truth. The consequences which a person attracts to himself by his manner of living, this is his personal affair. Anthroposophy presents no dogmas, but puts forward truths. For this reason I shall never, even for fanatics, lay down any kind of law as to the consequences of what an animal makes of its plant nourishment. No dogmatic rulings shall be given in regard to vegetarianism, meat-eating and so on, for these things must be relegated to the sphere of individual judgment and it is really only in the sphere of individual experience that they have value. I mention this in order to avoid giving rise to the opinion that anthroposophy entails standing for this or that kind of diet, whereas what it actually does is to make every diet comprehensible.

What I really wished to say was that we must work upon the mineral until it becomes warmth-ether in order that it may absorb the spiritual; then, after the mineral has absorbed the spiritual, man can be built up by it. I mentioned that when the human being is still quite young he has not as yet the strength to work upon what is entirely mineral until it becomes warmth-ether. It has already been worked upon for him in that he drinks milk. Milk has already undergone a preliminary change, whereby the process of transformation to warmth-ether has become easier. Hence in a child the milk with its forces flows up quickly into the head, and can there develop the form-building forces in the way in which the child needs them. For the whole organization of the child proceeds from the head.

If at a later age man wishes to receive these form-building forces, it is not good to promote them by the drinking of milk. In the case of the child what ascends into the head, and is able by means of the forces of the head, which are present until the change of teeth, to ray out formatively into the whole body—this is no longer present in an older person. In later age the whole of the rest of the organism must ray out the formative forces. And these formative forces for the whole organism are particularly strengthened in their impulses when one eats something which works in quite another way than is the case with the head.

You see, the head is entirely enclosed. Within this head are the impulses used in childhood for the formation of the body. In the rest of the body we have bones within, and the formative forces outside. Here, then, the form-building forces must be stimulated from outside. While we are children these form-building forces are stimulated when we bring milk into the head. When we are no longer children these forces are no longer there. What should we now do in order that these formative forces may be stimulated more from outside?

It would obviously be a good thing to be able to have in outer form what is accomplished within by the head, enclosed as it is inside skull. It would be good if what the head does inside itself could somehow be accomplished in outer form from outside. The forces which are there within the head are suited to the consumption of milk; when the milk is there in its etheric transformation it provides a good basis for the development of these head forces. We must, therefore, have something which acts like milk, which, however, is not fabricated within the human being, but is fabricated in outer nature.

Well, there is something existing outside in nature which is a head without an enclosing skull, and which therefore activates from outside those very forces which work inside the head in children who need the milk, and must indeed create it anew; for the child must first bring the milk into the warmth-etheric condition and so create it anew.

Now a stock of bees is really a head which is open on all sides. What the bees carry out is actually the same as what the head carries out within itself. The hive we give them is at most a support. The bees activity, however, is not enclosed, but produced from outside. In a stock of bees, under external spiritual influence, we have the same thing as we have under spiritual influence inside the head. The stock of bees produces its honey, and when we eat and enjoy honey it gives us the up-building forces, which must now be provided more from outside, with the same strength and power which milk gives us for our head during the years of childhood.

Thus, while we are still children we strengthen through the consumption of milk the formative forces working from the head outwards; if at a later age we still need formative forces we must eat honey. Nor do we need to eat it in tremendous quantities—it is only a question of absorbing its forces.

Thus one learns from external nature how strengthening forces must be brought into human life, if only this external nature is fully understood. And if we would conceive a land where there are beautiful children and beautiful old people, what kind of a land would this be? It would be “a land flowing with milk and honey”. So you see ancient instinctive vision was in no way wrong when it said about lands of promise that they are such as flow with milk and honey.

Many such simple sayings contain the profoundest wisdom, and there is really no more beautiful experience than first to make every possible effort to experience the truth, and then to find some ancient holy saying abounding in deep wisdom such as “a land flowing with milk and honey”. That is indeed a rare land, for in it there are only beautiful children and beautiful old people.

You see, to understand man presupposes the understanding of nature. To understand nature provides the basis for the understanding of man. And here the lowest spheres of the material always lead up to the highest spheres of the spiritual: the kingdoms of nature—mineral, animal, vegetable—at the one, the lowest pole; above, at the other pole, the hierarchies themselves.

When we realize that everything of external nature is transformed inside the human organism, and this in so radical a way that the mineral must be brought to the warmth-etheric condition, we will also find that all that lives in man, in the human organization, flows out into the spiritual. If—according to the ideas so frequently deduced in current text-books on anatomy and physiology—we imagine man to be a firmly built form taking into itself the products of external nature and returning them almost unchanged, then we will always labour under the absence of the bridge which must be thrown from what man is as a natural being to what is present in him as his essential soul-nature.

At first we shall be unable to find any link to join the bony system and system of muscles, composing the solid body which man believes himself to be, with, let us say, the moral world-order. It will be said that the one is simply nature and that the other is something radically different from nature. But when we are clear about the fact that in man all types of substantiality are present and that they must all pass through a condition more volatile than that of muscles and bones, we shall find that this volatile etheric substance can enter into connection with the impulses of the moral world-order.

These are the modes of thought we must use if we are to develop our present considerations into something which will lead man upwards to the spiritual of the cosmos, to the beings whom we have called the beings of the higher hierarchies. Today, therefore, let us do what was not done in the foregoing lectures—for those were more occupied with the natural world—and take our start from the spiritual moral impulses active in man.

The spiritual-moral impulses—well, for modern civilization these have more or less become mere abstract concepts. To an ever greater degree the primal feeling for the moral-spiritual has receded in human nature. Through the whole manner of his education modern civilization leads man to ask: what is customary? what has convention ordained? what is the code? what is the law?—and so on. Less account is taken of what comes forth as impulses, rooted in that part of man which is often relegated in a vague way to conscience. This inner directing of oneself, this determining of one's own goal, is something which has retreated to an ever greater degree in modern civilization. Hence the spiritual-moral has finally become a more or less conventional tradition.

Earlier world-conceptions, particularly those which were sustained by instinctive clairvoyance, brought forth moral impulses from man's inner nature; they induced moral impulses. Moral impulses exist, but today they have become traditional. Of course nothing whatever is implied here against the traditional in morality—but only think of the ten commandments, how old they are. They are taught as commands recorded in ancient times. Is it to be expected today that something might spring forth from the primary, elementary sources of human nature which could be compared to what once arose as the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments? Now from what source does the moral-spiritual arise, which binds men together in a social way, which knits the threads uniting man to man? There exists only one true source of the moral-spiritual in mankind, and this is what we may call human understanding, mutual human understanding, and, based upon this human understanding, human love. Wheresoever we may look for the arising of moral-spiritual impulses in mankind, in so far as these play a role in social life, it will invariably prove to be the case that, whenever such impulses spring forth with elemental power, they arise from human understanding based upon human love. These are the actual driving force of the social moral-spiritual impulses in mankind. And fundamentally speaking, in so far as he is a spiritual being, man only lives with other men to the degree that he develops human understanding and human love.

Here one can put a deeply significant question, a question which is indeed not always voiced, but which, in regard to what has just been said, must be on the tip of every tongue: If human understanding and human love are the real impulses upon which communal life depends, how does it come about that the very reverse of human understanding and human love appears in our social order?

This is a question with which initiates more than anyone else have always concerned themselves. In every age in which initiation science was the primal impulse, this very question was regarded as one of their most vital concerns. When this initiation science was still a primary impulse, however, it possessed certain means whereby to get behind this problem. But if one looks at conventional science today, one is forced to ask: As the god-created soul is naturally predisposed to human understanding and human love, why are these qualities not active as a matter of course in the social order? Whence come human hatred and lack of human understanding? Now, if we are unable to look for this lack of human understanding, this human hatred, in the sphere of the spiritual, of the soul, it follows that we must look for them in the sphere of the physical.

Yes—but now modern conventional science gives us its answer as to what the physical-bodily nature of man is: blood, nerves, muscles, bones. No matter how long one studies a bone, if one only does so with the eye of present-day natural science, one will never be able to say: It is this bone which leads man astray into hatred. Nor yet, to whatever degree one is able to investigate the blood according to the principles by which it is investigated today, will one ever be able to establish the conviction: It is this blood which leads man astray into lack of human understanding.

In times when initiation science was a primal impulse matters were certainly quite otherwise. Then one turned one's gaze to the physical-bodily nature of man and perceived it to be the counter-image of what one possessed of the spiritual through instinctive clairvoyance.

When man speaks of the spiritual today he refers at most to abstract thoughts; this for him is the spiritual. If he finds these thoughts too tenuous, all that remains to him is words, and then, as Fritz Mauthner did, he writes a “Critique of Language”. Through such a “Critique of Language” he manages to dilute the spirit—already tenuous enough—until it becomes utterly devoid of substance. The initiation-science which was irradiated with instinctive clairvoyance did not see the spiritual in abstract thoughts. It saw the spiritual in forms, in what produced pictures, in what could speak and resound, in what could produce tones. For this initiation science the spiritual lived and moved. And because the spiritual was seen in its living activity, what is physical—the bones, the blood—could also be perceived in its spirituality. These thoughts, these notions, which we have today about the skeleton, did not exist in initiation science. Today the skeleton is really regarded as something constructed by the calculations of an architect for the purposes of physiology and anatomy. But it is not this. The skeleton, as you have seen, is formed by mineral substance which has been driven upwards to the state of warmth-ether, so that in the warmth-ether the forces of the higher hierarchies are laid hold of, and then the bone formations are built up.

To one who is able to behold it rightly, the skeleton reveals its spiritual origin. But one who looks at the skeleton in its present form—I mean in its form as present-day science regards it—is like a person who says: there I have a printed page with the forms of letters upon it. He describes the form of these letters, but does not read their meaning because he is unable to read. He does not relate what is expressed in the forms of the letters to what exists as their real basis; he only describes their shapes. In the same way the present-day anatomist, the present-day natural scientist, describes the bones as if they were entirely without meaning. What they really reveal, however, is their origin in the spiritual.

And so it is with everything that exists as physical natural laws, as etheric natural laws. They are written characters from the spiritual world. And we only understand these things rightly when we can comprehend them as written characters proceeding from spiritual worlds.

Now, when we are able to regard the human organism in this way, we become aware of something which belongs to the domain of which the true initiates of all epochs have said: When one crosses the threshold into the spiritual world, the first thing one becomes aware of is something terrible, something which at first it is by no means easy to sustain. Most people wish to be pleasantly affected by what seems to them worthy of attainment. But the fact remains that only by passing through the experience of horror can one learn to know spiritual reality, that is to say true reality. For in regard to the human form, as this is placed before us by anatomy and physiology, one can only perceive that it is built up out of two elements from the spiritual world: moral coldness and hatred.

In our souls we actually possess the predisposition to human love, and to that warmth which understands the other man. In the solid components of our organism, however, we bear moral cold. This is the force which, from the spiritual worlds, welds, as it were, our physical organism together. Thus we bear in ourselves the impulse of hatred. This it is which, from the spiritual world, brings about the circulation of the blood. And whereas we may perhaps go through the world with a very loving soul, with a soul which thirsts for human understanding, we must nevertheless be aware that below in the unconsciousness, there where the soul streams down, sends its impulses down into the bodily nature, for the very purpose that we may be clothed in a body—coldness has its seat. Though I shall always speak just of coldness, what I mean is moral coldness, though this can certainly pass over into physical coldness, traversing the warmth-ether on its way. There below, in the unconsciousness within us, moral coldness and hatred are entrenched, and it is easy for man to bring into his soul what is present in his body, so that his soul can, as it were, be infected with the lack of human understanding. This is, however, the result of moral coldness and human hatred. Because this is so, man must gradually cultivate in himself moral warmth, that is to say human understanding and love, for these must vanquish what comes from the bodily nature.

Now it cannot be denied—this presents itself in all clarity to spiritual vision—that in our age, which began with the fifteenth century and has developed in an intellectualistic way on the one hand and in a materialistic way on the other, much human misunderstanding and human hatred has become imbedded in men's souls. This is so to a greater degree than is supposed. For only when man passes through the gate of death does he become aware of how much failure to understand, how much hatred, is present in our unconsciousness. There man detaches his soul-spiritual from his physic bodily nature. He lays his physical-bodily nature aside. The impulses of coldness, the impulses of hatred, then reveal themselves simply as natural forces, as mere forces of nature.

Let us look at a corpse. Let us look with the spiritual eye at the actual etheric corpse. Here we are looking at something which no longer evokes moral judgment any more than does a plant or a stone. The moral forces which have previously been contained in what is now the corpse have been changed into natural forces. During his lifetime, however, the human being absorbed very much from them; this he takes with him through the gate of death. The ego and astral body withdraw, taking with them as they go what remained unnoticed during life because it was always entirely submerged in the physical and etheric bodies. The ego and astral body take with them into the spiritual world all the impulses connected with the human body, all the impulses of human hatred and coldness towards other men which had gained access to their souls. I mentioned that it is only when one sees the human being pass through the gate of death that one perceives how much failure to understand, how much human hatred have been implanted into mankind just in our civilization by various things about which I shall still have to speak. For the man of today carries much of these two impulses through the gate of death, immensely much.

But what man thus carries with him is in fact the spiritual residue of what should be in the physical, of what the physical and etheric bodies should deal with themselves. In the lack of human understanding and in human hatred which man carries into the spiritual world we have the residue of what really belongs in the physical world. He carries it thither in a spiritual way, but it would never profit him to carry it onward through the time between death and a new birth, for then he would be quite unable to progress. At every step in his further evolution between death and a new birth he would stumble if he were obliged to carry further this failure to understand the other man, this human hatred. Into the spiritual world, which is entered by the so-called dead, people today continually draw with them definite currents which would halt them in their development if they had to remain as they actually are. From whence do these currents proceed?

To discover this we need only look at present-day life. People pass one another by; they pay little heed to the individual characteristics of others. Are not people today mostly so constituted that each one regards himself as the standard of what is right and proper? And when someone differs from this standard we do not take kindly to him, but rather think: This man should be different. And this usually implies: He should be like me. This is not always brought into the consciousness, but it lies concealed in human social intercourse.

In the way things are put forward today—I mean in the whole manner and form of people's speech—there lies very little understanding of the other man. People bellow out their ideas about what man should be like, but this usually means: Everyone should be like me. If someone different comes along, then, even if this is not consciously realized, he is immediately regarded as an enemy, an object for antipathy. This is lack of human moral understanding, lack of love. And to the degree in which these qualities are lacking, moral coldness and human hatred go with man through the gate of death, obstructing his path. Now, however—because man's further development is not his own concern alone, but is the concern of the whole world-order, the wisdom-filled world-order—he finds the beings of the third hierarchy, Angels, Archangels, Archai. In the first period after man has passed through the gate of death into the world lying between death and a new birth these beings stoop downward and mercifully take from man the coldness which comes from lack of human understanding. And we see how the beings of the third hierarchy assume the burden of what man carries up to them into the spiritual world in the way I have described, in that he passes through the gate of death.

It is for a longer period that man must carry with him the remains of human hatred; for this can only be taken from him by grace of the spirits of the second hierarchy, Exusiai, Kyriotetes, Dynamis. They take from him all that remains of human hatred.

Now, however, the human being has arrived about midway in the region between death and a new birth, to the abiding place of the first hierarchy, Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, which I described in my Mystery Play as the midnight hour of existence. Man would be quite unable to pass through this region of the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones without being inwardly annihilated, utterly destroyed, had not the beings of the second and third hierarchies already taken from him in their mercy human misunderstanding, that is to say moral coldness, and human hatred. And so we see how man, in order that he may find access to those impulses which can contribute to his further development, must at first burden the beings of the higher hierarchies with what he carries up into the spiritual world from his physical and etheric bodies, where it really belongs.

When one has insight into all this, when one sees how this moral coldness holds sway in the spiritual world, one will also know how to judge the relation between this spiritual cold and the physical cold here below. The physical cold which we find in snow and ice is only the physical image of that moral-spiritual cold which is there above. If we have them both before us, we can compare them. While man is being relieved in this way from human misunderstanding and human hatred, one can follow with the spiritual eye how he begins to lose his form, how this form more or less melts away.

When someone first passes through the gate of death, for the spiritual vision of imagination his appearance is still somewhat similar to what it was here on earth. For what a man bears within him here on earth is in fact just substances in more or less granular form, let us say, in atomistic form; but the human figure itself—that is spiritual. We must really be clear about this. It is sheer nonsense to regard man's form as physical; we must represent it to ourselves as spiritual. The physical in it is everywhere present as minute particles. The form, which is only a force-body, holds together what would otherwise fall apart into a heap of atoms. If someone were to take any of you by the forelock and could draw out your form, the physical and also the etheric would collapse like a heap of sand. That these are not just a sand heap, that they are distributed and take on form, this stems from nothing physical; it stems from the spiritual. Here in the physical world man goes about as something spiritual. It is senseless to think that man is only a physical being; his form is purely spiritual. The physical in him may almost be likened to a heap of crumbs.

Man, however, still possesses his form when he goes through the gate of death. One sees it shimmering, glittering, radiant with colours. But now he loses first the form of his head; then the rest of his form gradually melts away. Man becomes completely metamorphosed, as though transformed into an image of the cosmos. This occurs during the time between death and a new birth in which he comes into the region of the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones.

Thus, when one follows man between death and a new birth, one at first still sees him hovering, as it were, while he gradually loses his form from above downwards. But while the last vestige of him is vanishing away below, something else has taken shape, a wonderful spirit-form, which is in itself an image of the whole world-sphere and at the same time a model of the future head which man will bear on his shoulders. Here the human being is woven into an activity wherein not only the beings of the lower hierarchies participate, but also the beings of the highest hierarchy, the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones.

What actually takes place? It is the most wonderful thing which, as man, one can possibly conceive. For all that was lower man here in life now passes over into the formation of the future head. As we go about here on earth we only make use of our poverty-stricken head as the organ of our mental images and our thoughts. But thoughts also accompany our breast, thoughts also accompany our limb-system. And in the moment that we cease to think only with the head, but begin to think with our limb-system, in that moment the whole reality of Karma is opened up to us. We know nothing of our Karma because we always think only with that most superficial of organs, our brain. The moment we begin to think with our fingers—and just with our fingers and toes we can think much more clearly than with the nerves of the head—once we have soared up to the possibility of doing so—the moment we begin to think with what has not become entirely material, when we begin to think with the lower man, our thoughts are the thoughts of our Karma. When we do not merely grasp with our hand but think with it, then, thinking with our hand we follow our Karma. And even more so with the feet; when we do not only walk but think with our feet, we follow the course of our Karma with special clarity. That man is such a dullard on earth—excuse me, but no other word occurs to me—comes from the fact that all his thinking is enclosed in the region of his head. But man can think with his entire being. Whenever we think with our entire being, then for our middle region a whole cosmology, a marvelous cosmic wisdom, becomes our own. And for the lower region and the limb-system especially Karma becomes our own.

It already means a great deal when we look at the way a person walks, not in a dull way, but marking the beauty of his step, and what is characteristic in it; or when we allow his hands to make an impression upon us, so that we interpret these hands and find that in every movement of the fingers there lie wonderful revelations of man's inner nature. Yet that is only the smallest part of what moves in unison with t he walking man, the grasping man, man as he moves his fingers. For it is man's whole moral nature which moves; his destiny moves with him; everything that he is as a spiritual being. And if, after man has passed through the gate of death, we are able to follow how his form dissolves—the first to melt away being what is reminiscent of his physical form—there then appears what does indeed resemble his physical structure, but which is now produced by his inner nature, his inner being, thus announcing that this is his moral form. Thus does man appear when he approaches the midnight hour of existence, when he comes into the sphere of the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones. Then we see how these wonderful metamorphoses proceed, how there his form melts away. But this is not really the essential point. It looks as though the form would dissolve away, but the truth is that the spiritual beings of the higher worlds are there working together with man. They work with those human beings who are working upon themselves, but also upon those with whom they are karmically linked. One man works upon the other. These spiritual beings, then, together with man himself, develop out of his previous bodily form in his previous earth-life, what, at first spiritually, will become the bodily form of his next earth-life.

This spirit-form first connects itself with physical life when it meets the given embryo. But in the spiritual world feet and legs are transformed into the jaw bones, while arms and hands are transformed into the cheek-bones. There the whole lower man is transformed into the spiritual prototype of what will later become the head. The way in which this metamorphosis is accomplished is, I do assure you, of everything that the world offers to conscious experience the most wonderful. We see at first how an image of the whole cosmos is created, and how this is then differentiated into the structure which is the seat of the whole moral element—but only after all that I have mentioned has been taken from it. We see how what was, transforms itself into what will be. Now one sees the human being as spirit-form journeying back once more to the region of the second hierarchy and then to that of the third hierarchy. Here this reversed spirit-form—it is in fact only the basis for the future head—must, as it were, be welded to what will become the future breast-organism, to what will become the future limb-organization and the metabolic system. These must be added. Whence come the spiritual impulses to add them?

It is by grace of the beings of the second and third hierarchies, who gathered these impulses together when the man was on the first half of his journey. These beings took them from his moral nature; now they bring them back again and form from them the basis of the rhythmic system and metabolic-limb-system. In this later period between death and a new birth man receives the ingredients, the spiritual ingredients, for his physical organism. This spiritual form finds its way into the embryonic life, and bears within it what will now become physical forces and etheric forces. These are, however, only the physical image of what we bear in us from our previous life as lack of human understanding and human hatred, from which our limb-organization is spiritually formed.

If we wish to have such conceptions as these, we must acquire a manner of feeling and perceiving quite other than that needed in the physical world. For we must be able to behold what arises out of the spiritual becoming physical in the way I have described; we must be able to sustain the knowledge that coldness, moral coldness, lives as physical image in the bones and that moral hatred lives as physical image in the blood. We must learn to look at these matters quite objectively. It is only when we look into things in this way that we become aware of the fundamental difference between man's inner being and external nature.

Just consider for a moment the fact I mentioned, namely that in the blossoms of the plant-kingdom we see, as it were, human conscience laid out before us. What we see outside us may be considered as the picture of our soul-being. The forces within ourselves may appear to have no relation to outer nature. But the truth is, bone can only be bone because it hates the carbonic acid and calcium phosphate in their mineral state, because it withdraws from them, contracting into itself, whereby it becomes something different from what these substances are in external nature. And one must face up to the conception that for man to have a physical form, hatred and coldness must be present in his physical nature.

Through this, you see, our words gain inner significance. If our bones have a certain hardness, it is to their advantage to possess this physical image of spiritual coldness. But if our soul has this hardness it is not a good thing for the social life. The physical nature of man must be different from his soul-nature. Man can be man precisely because his physical being differs from his being of soul and spirit. Man's physical nature also differs from physical nature around him. Upon this fact rests the necessity for that transformation about which I have spoken to you.

All this forms an important supplement to what I once said in the course on Cosmology, Philosophy and Religion [* Ten lectures at the Goetheanum, September, 1922. Translation in preparation by the Anthroposophic Press, New York.] about man's connection with the hierarchies. It could only be added, however, on such initial considerations as those in our present lectures. For spiritual vision gives insight alike into what the separate members of the mineral, animal and plant kingdoms really are here on earth, and into the acts of the hierarchies—those acts, which continue from age to age, as do also the happenings of nature and the works of man.

When man's life between death and a new birth—his life in the spiritual world—is beheld in this way, one can describe his experiences in that world in just as much detail as his biography here on earth. So we may live in the hope that when we pass through the gate of death, everything of misunderstanding and hatred between man and man will be carried up into the spiritual world, so that it may be given anew to us, and that from its ennobled state human forms may be created.

In the course of long centuries something very strange has come to pass for earthly humanity. No longer is it possible for all the forces of human misunderstanding and human hatred to be used up in new human forms, in the structure of new human bodies. Something has become left over. During the course of the last centuries this residue has streamed down on to the earth, so that in the spiritual atmosphere of the earth, in what I may call the earth's astral light, there is to be found an infiltration of the impulses of human hatred and human misunderstanding which exist exterior to man. These impulses have not been incorporated into human forms; they stream around the earth in the astral light. They work into man, but not into what makes up the single person but into the relationships which people form with one another on the earth. They work into civilization. And within civilization they have brought about what compelled me to say, in the spring of 1914 in Vienna, [* The Inner Nature of Man and Life between Death and Rebirth (Rudolf Steiner Press).] that our present-day civilization is invaded by spiritual carcinoma, by a spiritual cancerous disease, by spiritual tumours. At that time the fact that this was spoken about in Vienna—in the lecture-course dealing with the phenomena between death and a new birth—was somewhat unwelcome. Since then, however, people have actually experienced something of the truth of what was said at that time. Then people had no thought of what streams through civilization. They did not perceive that actual cancerous formations of civilization were present, for it was only from 1914 onwards that they manifested openly. Today they are revealed as utterly diseased tissues of civilization. Yes, now it becomes evident to what a degree our modern civilization has been infiltrated by these currents of human hatred and human coldness which have not been used up in the forms of the human structure, to what a degree these infiltrations are active as the parasites of modern civilization.

Civilization today is deeply afflicted with parasites; it is like a part of an organism that is invaded by parasites, by bacilli. What people have amassed in the way of thoughts exists, but it has no living connection with man. Only consider how this shows itself in the most ordinary phenomena of daily life. How many people have to learn without bringing enthusiasm to the learning; they simply have to get down to it and learn in order to pass an examination, so as to qualify for some particular post, or the like—well, for them there is no vital connection between what they have to take in and what lives in their soul as an inborn craving for the spiritual. It is exactly as though a person who is not predisposed to hunger were to be continually stuffed with food! The digestive processes about which I have spoken cannot be carried through. What has been taken in remains as ballast in the organism, finally becoming something which definitely induces parasites.

Much in our modern civilization has no connection with man. Like the mistletoe—spiritually speaking—it sucks its life from what man brings forth from the original impulses of his mind, of his heart. Much of this manifests in our civilization as parasitic existence. To anyone who has the power of seeing our civilization with spiritual vision in the astral, the year 1914 already presented an advanced stage of cancer, a carcinoma formation; for him the whole of civilization was already invaded by parasites. But to this parasitic condition something further is now added.

I have described to you in what may be called a spiritual-physiological way how, out of the nature of the gnomes and undines who work from below upwards, the possibility arises of parasitic impulses in man. Then, however, as I explained, the opposite picture presents itself; for then poison is carried downwards by the sylphs and the elemental beings of warmth. And so in a civilization like ours, which bears a parasitic character, what comes down from above—spiritual truth, though not poison in itself, is transformed into poison in man, so that our civilization rejects it in fear and invents all kinds of reasons for this rejection. The two things belong together: a parasitic culture below, which does not proceed from elemental laws and which therefore contains parasites within itself, and a spirituality which sinks down from above and which—in that it enters into this civilization—is taken up by man in such a way that it becomes poison. When you bear this in mind you have the key to the most important symptoms of our present-day civilization. And when one has insight into these things, just out of itself the fact is revealed that a truly cultural education must make its appearance as the antidote or opposing remedy. Just as a rational therapy, is deduced from a true diagnosis of the individual, so a diagnosis of the sickness of a civilization reveals the remedy; the one calls forth the other.

It is very evident that mankind today again needs something from civilization which stands close to the human heart and the human soul, which springs directly from the human heart and the human soul. If a child, on entering primary school, is introduced to a highly sophisticated system of letter-forms which he has to learn as a ... b ... c etc., this has nothing whatever to do with his heart and soul. It has no relation to them at all. What the child develops in his head, in his soul, in that he has to learn a ... b ... c, is—speaking spiritually—a parasite in human nature.

During his years of education a great deal is brought to the child of this parasitic nature. We must, therefore, develop an art of education which works creatively from his soul. We must let the child bring colour into form; and the colour-forms, which have arisen out of joy, out of enthusiasm, out of sadness, out of every possible feeling, these he can paint on to the paper. When a child puts on to the paper what arises out of his soul, this develops his humanity. This produces nothing parasitic. This is something which grows out of man like his fingers or his nose!—whereas, when the child has forced on him the conventional forms of the letters, which are the result of a high degree of civilization, this does engender what is parasitic.

Immediately the art of education lies close to the human heart, to the human soul, the spiritual approaches man without becoming poison. First you have the diagnosis, which finds that our age is infested with carcinomas, and then you have the therapy—yes, it is Waldorf School education.

Waldorf School education is founded upon nothing other than this, my dear friends. Its way of thinking in the cultural sphere is the same as that in the field of therapy. Here you see, applied in a special case, what I spoke about a few days ago, namely that the being of man proceeds from below upwards, from nutrition, through healing, upwards to the development of the spiritual, and that one must regard education as medicine transposed into the spiritual. This strikes us with particular clarity when we wish to find a therapy for civilization, for we can only conceive this therapy as being Waldorf School education.

You will readily be able to imagine the feelings of one who not only has insight into this situation, but who is also trying to implant Waldorf School education into the world in a practical way, when he sees in the cumulative effect of this carcinoma of civilization something which may seriously endanger this Waldorf School education, or even make it altogether impossible. We should not reject such thoughts as these, but rather make them the impulse within ourselves to work together wherever we still can in the therapy of our civilization.

There are many things today such as the following. During my Helsingfors lecture-course in 1913, I indicated from a certain aspect of spiritual knowledge a view as to the inferior nature of Woodrow Wilson, who was at that time a veritable object of veneration for much of civilized mankind and in respect of whom people are only now—because to do otherwise is impossible—gaining some measure of perception. As things went then, so have things also gone in regard to the civilization-carcinoma about which I have been speaking. Well, at that time things went in a certain way; today those things which hold good for our time are proceeding in a similar manner. People are asleep. It devolves upon us to bring about the awakening. And Anthroposophy bears within it all the impulses for a right awakening of civilization, for a right awakening of human culture.

This is what I wished to say to you in the last of these lectures.

[Before the lecture Rudolf Steiner spoke to the audience regarding the Founding of the Dutch National Society. See GA 259]

We will use the time that is available for lectures at the Goetheanum between now and Christmas in such a way that those who are here in anticipation of the Christmas Meeting may absorb as much as possible of what the Anthroposophical Movement can convey to the hearts of men. Those who will be here until Christmas will therefore be able to bring their thoughts to bear upon what can still be given. I shall not deal with matters concerning the international Anthroposophical Society—that will be done at the meeting to be held shortly—but I shall try to formulate our studies in a way that will help to prepare the right mood of soul for the forthcoming Christmas Gathering. I shall therefore speak from a different point of view of a subject with which I have been dealing in recent weeks and I will begin by saying something about man’s life of soul, leading on from there to a survey of cosmic secrets.

Let us start from something quite straightforward and consider what happens in man’s life of soul if he practises self-mindfulness beyond the point I actually had in mind when I was writing the articles in the Goetheanum Weekly. These four articles can serve as an introduction to what we are now to study.

If we practise self-mindfulness thoroughly and comprehensively we shall realise how the life of soul can be enhanced and intensified. What happens in the first place is that we let the external world work upon us—as we have done from childhood onwards—and then we have thoughts which are the product of our inner world. Indeed, what makes us human beings in the real sense is that we allow the effects produced in us by the external world to live on further in our thoughts and are able to experience ourselves inwardly in these thoughts. We create a world of mental pictures which in a certain way reflects the impressions made upon us from outside. It is probably not very helpful to our inner life to ponder a great deal upon how the external world is reflected in our soul. By doing that we simply acquire a shadowy picture of the world of ideas within us. A better form of self-mindfulness is to concentrate on the activity itself, endeavouring to experience ourselves in tire actual element of thought without regard to the external world, pursuing in thought what came to us as impressions of the external world.

It will depend on a man’s particular nature whether he is then led more in the direction of abstract thoughts; he may or may not devise philosophical world-systems or make schedules of everything in existence. Another man who has reflected about things that have made an impression upon him and then goes on spinning thoughts, may be following certain fantasies. We will not go further into how this inner thinking without any external impressions takes its course according to a man’s temperament, character or other traits. We will rather make ourselves conscious of the fact that it is important, as far as our senses are concerned, to withdraw from the external world and live in our thoughts and mental pictures, developing them to further stages, often perhaps merely as possibilities.

Some people, of course, consider this unnecessary. Even in difficult times like the present you will often find people who are occupied with their business the whole day in order to provide all kinds of things required by the world, afterwards getting together in little groups to play cards, dominoes or similar games, in order—as is frequently said—to ‘pass the time away’. But it will not often happen that people come together in groups in order to exchange thoughts, for example, about what might have happened in connection with the day’s business if things had gone differently in one way or another. They would not find that as entertaining as playing cards, but they would at least have been carrying their thoughts to further stages. And if on such an occasion they also retained a healthy feeling for reality there is no reason why such thinking should end in fantasy.

This living in thoughts leads finally to what you will experience if you read The Philosophy of Freedom properly. If you read that book as it is meant to be read you will understand what it means to live in thoughts. The Philosophy of Freedom is based upon experience of reality; but at the same time it was entirely the product of thinking. Hence you will find a fundamental tone in the book. I conceived it in the 1880’s and wrote it in the early 1890’s; but from men who at that time ought at least to have taken notice of the book, I was faced with misunderstanding everywhere. There is a particular reason for this: even those who are called thinkers today are unable to experience their thinking otherwise than as a picture of the outer physical world.

And then they say: perhaps something belonging to a superphysical world might arise in a man’s thinking but then this thinking which is acknowledged to be within him would have to be able to experience something supersensible outside him, in the sense that a table or chair are outside him. This was approximately Eduard von Hartmann’s conception of the function of thinking.

Then he comes across The Philosophy of Freedom. In that book the argument is that to experience thinking in the real sense means that a man can come to no other realisation than this: If you live in thinking in the real sense, you are living in the Cosmos even if, to begin with, somewhat diffusely. This connection in the most intimate experience of thinking with the secrets of the world-process is the root-nerve of The Philosophy of Freedom. Hence the statement is made in the book that in thinking we grasp one corner of the whole world-mystery.¹

This may be putting it simply, but what is meant is that when a man experiences thinking in the real sense he no longer feels outside the mystery of world-existence but within it; he no longer feels outside the Divine but within the Divine. If he comprehends the reality of thinking within himself, he comprehends the Divine within himself.

This was the point that people could not grasp. For if a man really comprehends it, if he has made efforts to achieve this kind of thinking, he finds himself no longer within the world that was previously his, but he is now within the etheric world. It is a world of which he knows that it is not conditioned by any part of the physical Earth but by the whole cosmic sphere. He is within the etheric Cosmos, and he can no longer have any doubts about the law and order of this cosmic sphere if he has grasped thinking as it is understood in The Philosophy of Freedom. Etheric experience, as it may be called, has now been achieved and a notable step forward in life has been taken.

Let me characterise this step as follows.—Our thinking in ordinary consciousness is concerned with tables, chairs, human beings, of course, and so forth; we may think of other things too in the outside world. With our thinking we comprehend these things from the centre of our being. Everyone is aware that with his thinking he wants to comprehend the things of the world. But once you achieve the experience of thinking I described just now, you are not grasping the world; nor are you riveted in your ego. Something quite different happens. You get the feeling—and quite rightly—that with your thinking which is not localised in any particular place, you grasp everything inwardly. You feel you are making contact with the inner man. Just as in ordinary thinking you stretch your spiritual ‘feelers’ outwards, so with this thinking which experiences itself in itself, you are continually stretching inwards, into your own being. You become object, object to yourself.

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It is a very significant experience to realise that whereas hitherto it was always the world that you grasped, now, having this experience of thinking it is your own self you have to grasp. In the course of this firm grasp of your own self you come to realise that you have broken through your skin. You grasp yourself inwardly and in the same way you begin to grasp the whole world-ether from within, not of course in all its details but you know with certainty that this ether spreads over the whole cosmic sphere with which you are living together with stars, sun, moon, and so forth.

There is a second way in which a man can develop his life of soul. Instead of being wholly occupied with thoughts that are prompted from outside, he gives himself up to his memories. If he does this and makes the process an inner reality he will again have a quite definite experience. The experience of thinking I have just described to you does actually lead a man to his own self; he grasps his own self and this process gives him a certain satisfaction. But when he passes on to the experiencing of memories he will find, if he is inwardly active in the real sense, that the most striking feeling is not that of approaching his own self. That is what happens in the experience of thinking; and for that reason man will find freedom in the course of this thinking, a freedom which depends entirely upon the personal element in him. That is why a ‘philosophy of freedom’ must take its start from the experience of thinking, for it is through this experience that a man finds his own self, finds his bearings as a free personality. This does not happen in the case of the memory experience. If a man proceeds with real earnestness, and is able to immerse himself entirely in the experience, he will have the feeling of being liberated from himself, of getting away from himself. That is why memories which enable the present to be forgotten are the most satisfying—I do not say they are always the best, but in many cases they are the most satisfying.

You can certainly get an idea of the value of memory if your memories can carry you out into the world, no matter how utterly dissatisfied you may be with the present and wish you could get right away from it. If you can waken memories which, as you give yourselves up to them, give you an enhanced feeling of life, this will be a preparation for what memory can ultimately become.

Memory can become more real if you recall with the greatest possible intensity something you actually experienced years or even decades ago. Suppose, for instance, you turn to a collection of old papers and take out letters you wrote on some particular occasion. You put these letters in front of you and let them carry you back into the past. Or it would be preferable not to take letters which you wrote yourself or which others wrote to you, because the subjective element would be too strong there. Try, rather, to get hold of your old schoolbooks, and peep into them as you did when you first went to school. In this way you can actually call back the past into your life. The effect is remarkable. If you do what I suggest you will entirely transform your present state of mind. You must exercise a little ingenuity here although almost anything will serve. For instance, a lady might come across a dress she has not worn for twenty years; she puts it on and is transported back into the conditions prevailing at that time. You must choose something that will bring the past with the greatest possible reality into the present. In this way you can separate yourself radically from your present experience.

With ordinary-level consciousness we are too close to ourselves in our actual experience to be able to make it into anything valuable. We must be able to stand at a distance from ourselves. Now a man is farther away from himself when he is asleep than when he is awake, for during sleep his astral body and ego are outside his physical and etheric bodies. You will be able to approach this astral body, which as I have said, is outside the physical body during sleep, if you summon up some past experience as vividly as possible into the present. You will probably not believe what I am telling you because you will be reluctant to attribute such significance to something as comparatively trivial as the awakening of past experiences by looking at an old dress. But just put it to the test, and if you succeed in conjuring up some past experience into the present so vividly that you are wholly engrossed in it and can be entirely oblivious of the present, you will find that you are drawing near to your astral body as it is in sleep.

But you will be mistaken if you think that all you have to do is to look right or left, and that you will see a shadowy form that is your astral body; that is not how things work. You must pay attention to what actually happens, which may for instance be that after such experiences you see the dawn and the sunrise very differently from hitherto. On this path you will gradually begin to feel the warmth of the dawn as something prophetic, having a kind of natural prophetic power. You will begin to feel the dawn as something spiritually forceful and that there is some connection between that power and an inner sense within yourself; and although at first you may regard it as an illusion, you will eventually feel that there is some relationship between the dawn and your own being. Through the experience I have described you will gradually come to feel, as you look at the dawn: this dawn does not leave me alone. There is an inner connection between my own being and the dawn. The dawn is a quality of my own soul. At this moment I am myself the dawn—If you have been able to unite yourself with the dawn in such a way that you experience its coloured radiance out of which the sun rises, in your very heart as a living feeling—then you will also feel that you are actually travelling across the heavens with the sun, that as I put it just now, the sun will not leave you alone, that it is not a case of you being here and the sun there, but that in a sense your existence stretches right up to that of the sun—in fact that you journey through the day in company with the fight.

If you develop this feeling, not out of thinking but out of memory in the way I described, if you can develop these experiences out of the power of memory, then you will find that things which you have perceived with your physical senses begin to look different, enabling spirit-and-soul to become manifest; when you have acquired the feeling of travelling with the sun, all the flowers in the field will look different to you. The flowers do not merely display the red or yellow colours on their surface; they begin to speak spiritually to your soul. The flower becomes transparent; a spiritual element in the flower begins to stir and the blossoming becomes a sort of speaking. In this way you are actually uniting your soul with external Nature. In this way you get the impression that there is something behind this Nature, that the light with which you are connected is borne by spiritual Beings. And in those spiritual Beings you gradually recognise the characteristics described by Anthroposophy.

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Let us look at the two stages of feelings which I have just been describing. The first feeling which can be brought by thinking inwardly experienced, is one of expansion. The feeling of being in a confined space ceases altogether. Your experience widens and you have a definite feeling that within your inner being there is a kernel which extends into the Cosmos and is of the same substance as the Cosmos. You feel at one with the etheric substance of the Cosmos. But when you are standing on the Earth you feel that your feet and legs are drawn down by the Earth’s force of gravity; you feel that your whole being is bound firmly to the Earth. At the moment when you have the experience of thinking you no longer feel bound to the Earth; you feel dependent upon the wide expanse of the cosmic sphere. You feel that everything comes inwards, not from below, as it were from the centre of the Earth upwards but from the cosmic expanse, the Universe. And you feel that to understand Man, this sense that something is streaming in from the cosmic expanse must be present.

This applies even to a true understanding of the human form. If I want to give expression to the human form in sculpture or in painting, I must picture to myself that only the lower part of the head proceeds from the inner bodily and spatial nature of man. I shall not be able to get the right spirit into the work unless I am able to convey the impression that the upper part of the head has been brought from outside. The lower part of the head must seem to have come from within outwards, but the upper from outside inwards.

If you looked with artistic understanding at the paintings in the small cupola of the now destroyed Goetheanum, you will have seen that this principle was everywhere observed: the lower part of the face was always represented as having grown from within the human being and the upper part of the head as something given him from the Cosmos. This was particularly evident in times when these things were known. You will never understand the form of the head in a genuine Greek sculpture unless you associate this feeling with it, for it was out of similar feelings that the Greeks created their works of art.

And so in the Thinking experience you will feel yourself united with the surrounding Universe.

Now it might be imagined that this process would simply continue further outwards as you pass from the Thinking experience to the Memory experience. But it is not so. If you succeed in developing within yourself the Thinking experience you will finally have the impression of the Third Hierarchy: Angeloi, Archangeloi, Archai. Just as you can picture man’s bodily experience here on Earth in the working of gravity or in the process of the digestion of foodstuffs, you can picture the conditions under which the Beings of the Third Hierarchy live if, through this Thinking experience, instead of trudging around the confines of Earth you feel yourself borne by forces coming to you from the ultimate boundary of the Cosmos.

Thinking Experience: Third Hierarchy

Now if you pass from the Thinking experience to the Memory experience it is not a matter of being able to reach this ultimate boundary of the cosmic spheres. You can, it is true, reach this boundary if you know the reality of the Thinking experience. But the Memory experience leads to a different result. Suppose, for example, you have here some object—a crystal or a flower or an animal. What happens when you pass from the Thinking experience to all that the Memory experience can offer, is that you can see right into the object.

The gaze which had extended to the ultimate boundary of the cosmic expanse, supplemented by the Memory experience, penetrates into the essence of things. You do not in that case press on into indefinite abstractions but this extended gaze perceives the spiritual quality in all things. For instance, it perceives the spiritual Beings who are active in the light, or the spiritual Beings who are active in the darkness. So we can say: the Memory experience leads us to the Second Hierarchy.

Memory Experience: Second Hierarchy

Now there is something in man’s life of soul which is not subject to the limitations of memory. Let us be clear about what it is. Memory gives our soul its special colouring. Suppose we come across a man who criticises everything adversely, who diffuses his own bitterness over everything we talk about, who whenever we tell him about something really beautiful, at once speaks of something unpleasant. In such a case we may know with certainty that this characteristic is connected with his memory. Memory gives the soul its colouring.

But there is still something else. We may meet a man who faces us with an ironic sneer particularly when we say something to him, or he wrinkles his forehead or puts on a tragic expression. Or he may give us a friendly look so that we are cheered not only by what he says but by his look. When something important is said during a lecture it is interesting to give a momentary glance at the faces of the audience and see the ironic expressions on some lips, the foreheads with or without wrinkles, the blank or lively expressions on the faces. What is being expressed there is not merely memory that has persisted in the soul and gives the soul its colouring but something that has gone over from memory into a man’s physiognomy, into his different gestures, into his whole bearing. If a man takes in nothing, if his countenance betrays the fact that all the sufferings, sorrow and joy in his life have left him unimpressed, that too is characteristic. A face that has remained smooth and unlined, or one that is deeply furrowed by the tragedy or seriousness of life is as characteristic as one that expresses much happiness. In such cases, what otherwise remains part of the life of soul-and-spirit as the outcome of the power of memory has passed over into actual physical form. The effect is so strong that it is expressed outwardly in later life in a man’s gestures and physiognomy independently of his temperament which remains inward. For in old age we have not always the same temperament as we had in childhood. Our temperament in old age is often a result of what we have undergone in life and has become memory in the inner life of soul.

What enters into a man inwardly in this way, may again—though this is more difficult—become reality. It is comparatively easy to bring before the eyes of our soul something we experienced in childhood or perhaps many years ago, and so make the memory of it a fact. It is more difficult to transpose oneself into the temperament we had in childhood or in our earlier years. But the practice of such an exercise can bring results of immense significance. And even more is achieved if we can deepen this experience inwardly than if it is merely an external act.

Something can certainly be achieved in a man if, say at the age of forty or fifty—naturally within the obvious limits in such circumstances—he plays the games he played in childhood, if he jumps as he did then, or even if he tries to make the same kind of face he made when, as an eight-year-old, his aunt gave him a sweet! If he can transpose himself back into the actual gesture or posture of that moment, again he will find that something is brought into his life whereby he is led to the conviction that the outer world is the inner world and the inner world is the outer world.

We can then penetrate with our whole being into a flower, for instance, and then, in addition to the Thinking experience and the Memory experience we have what I will call, in the truest sense, a Gesture experience. In this way we acquire an idea of how the spiritual is directly at work within the physical.

You cannot, with full consciousness, inwardly apprehend the gesture you made, perhaps twenty years ago in response to some outer provocation, without realising the union of the physical and the spiritual in all things. But then you will have arrived at the experience of the First Hierarchy.

Gesture Experience: First Hierarchy

The Memory experience enables us to identify ourselves with the dawn when we confront it, and to feel and inwardly experience its glowing warmth. But with the Gesture experience, what confronts us in the dawn will unite with everything that can be experienced as colour or tone in the objective world.

When we simply look at the objects around us that are illumined by the sun, we see them as they can reveal themselves to the light. But the dawn changes when we pass gradually from the Memory experience to the Gesture experience.

The colour experience detaches itself entirely from materiality in any form; it becomes a living reality of soul-and-spirit, abandons the space in which the outer, physical dawn appears to us and the dawn begins to speak to us of the mystery of the connection of the Sun with the Earth. We experience how the Beings of the First Hierarchy work. If we still direct our gaze to the dawn and it still appears almost as it did during the Memory experience, we learn to recognise the Thrones. Then the dawn dissolves away; the colour becomes living being, becomes soul, becomes spirit, speaks to us of the relation of the Sun to the Earth as it was in the ancient Sun period, speaks to us in such a way that we experience the Cherubim. Finally, if with the enthusiasm and reverence aroused in us by this twofold revelation of the dawn, by the revelation of Thrones and Cherubim, we live onwards, there penetrates into us from the dawn, transformed now into living being, experience of the nature of the Seraphim.

Thinking Experience: Third Hierarchy
Memory Experience: Second Hierarchy
Gesture Experience: First Hierarchy

In all that I have been describing to you today, my aim has been to indicate how, by simply passing in the life of soul from Thinking to Gesture man can develop feelings in himself—to begin with no more than feelings—of the spiritual foundations of the Cosmos right up to the sphere of the Seraphim.

• 1. See Chapter III, entitled Thinking in the service of Knowledge.

If we pass from the life of soul itself to which we paid some attention yesterday, to how the soul works upon physical man, particularly in connection with the experiences then described, we are led in two different directions. Remembrance or memory points the soul back to earlier experiences; thinking leads the soul into the realm of etheric existence. That which affects a man even more strongly than his memory, so strongly indeed that the inner impulses pass over into his bodily life, I called ‘gesture’. And the study of gesture brings us to the subject of how soul-and-spirit manifest in the physical.

Man’s entry into physical life on Earth is a process in which the being of soul-and-spirit takes hold of the physical. And remembrance, memory—to keep to that for the moment—consists in something experienced previously in earthly existence being carried over into a later period of life. The question now is: Just as memory points back to earlier happenings in the course of earthly life, is it possible to look still further back to what preceded a man’s entry into this life?

Here we come to two considerations: firstly, the experiences which man as a being of soul-and-spirit has undergone in pre-earthly existence. We will leave this for later considerations. Secondly, there is something that is connected with his physical, bodily constitution which he, as an individual, carries over into that bodily constitution. It is what scientific thinking calls heredity. In the very traits of his temperament which have a considerable effect upon the life of soul, man bears within him qualities and impulses having an obvious connection with those of his physical ancestors.

Modern humanity approaches such matters superficially and with little real thought. Only this morning I was reading a book dealing with the head of a well-known, now extinct, Royal Family, and the effect of heredity on the dynasty. The author mentions qualities and characteristics which can be traced right back to the seventh century and were repeatedly inherited. Then comes a passage to the effect that some members of this Royal Family have displayed a marked tendency towards freakish behaviour, eccentricity and the like. Again, we are told that there are members of the same family who have no such tendencies. You will agree that this is a peculiar kind of thinking, for surely a writer who makes such a statement would realise that no conclusions whatever can be drawn from it. But if you examine much of what at the present time is supposed to lead to well-founded views, you will find plenty of similar examples.

However superficial prevailing views of heredity seem to be, it must be admitted that a man is indeed the bearer of inherited characteristics. That is the one aspect. He must often battle against these inherited traits and rid himself of them in order to bring to fulfilment the talents laid into him by his pre-earthly life.

The second aspect to be noted has to do with what a human being acquires by education, by intercourse with his fellows and with outer nature. Customary study of the lower kingdoms of nature leads us to speak of this as man’s adaptation to his environment. And as you know, modern natural science regards these two impulses, heredity and adaptation, as the influences of supreme importance for a living being.

But if we steep ourselves open-mindedly in these matters we feel that we cannot reach any real explanation without taking the path into the spiritual world. And so today we will consider in the light of spiritual knowledge, these questions which meet us in life at every turn.

We must here go back to something with which we have been repeatedly concerned in earlier studies, namely the separation of the Moon from the Earth. The Moon separated from the Earth at a particular time in order to influence it from a distance. But I have also spoken of the spiritual reality behind this separation of the Moon. I have told you how at one time there lived on the Earth superhuman Beings who were the first great Teachers of humanity and from whom originated what our human thinking may call the primeval wisdom; it is of deep significance and inspires reverence even in the fragmentary form in which it survives today. It was once tire content of what was taught by those superhuman Teachers at the time when the evolution of earthly humanity was beginning.

These Beings found their way to the Moon sphere and are now part of the Moon population. Now when a man has passed through the gate of death, he journeys by a series of stages through the planetary world belonging to our Earth. After his earthly existence he enters first into the sphere of the Moon’s activities, then into the spheres of the activities of Venus, Mercury, the Sun and so on. Today we are particularly concerned with how he passes into the Moon’s sphere of activities.

I have already indicated here that with Imaginative vision a man’s life can be followed beyond the gate of death and that in actual fact after his physical body has been laid aside and returned to the elements of Earth, he is to be found in the world of spirit. After Iris etheric body has been received into the etheric sphere connected with our Earth, soul-and-spirit remain, that is to say, his Ego and astral body and all that is part of them. But when we follow with Imaginative vision this being who has passed through the gate of death, he still presents himself to us in a definite form: it is the form which gives shape to the physical matter which the man bears within him. Compared with the robust physical body this form is little more than a shadow but makes a very forceful impression upon the soul. In this form, the head of the man makes only a weak impression, whereas a very powerful impression is made by what, in the course of the life between death and a new birth, is gradually transformed into the head of the next incarnation. But there is something important to say about this form that is visible to Imaginative perception after a man has passed through the gate of death: the form is a kind of physiognomical expression of his life on Earth; it is a faithful portrayal of the manifestations of good or evil for which he was responsible in his physical life on Earth. In earthly life a man can conceal whether the evil or the good is active in his soul. After death that is no longer possible. The spirit-form present after death is the physiognomical expression of what the man was on Earth.

A man who carries through the gate of death some moral evil inherent in his soul, will bear a physiognomy in which there is an outer resemblance to Ahrimanic figures. During the first period after death it is a fact that a man’s feeling and perception are dependent upon what he can reproduce in his own being. If he has a physiognomical resemblance to Ahriman because he has carried some moral evil with him through the gate of death, he can reproduce in himself— which means he can perceive—only things that resemble Ahriman and he is as it were blind to those human souls who passed through the gate of death with a sound and good moral disposition. Indeed it is one of the sternest judgments confronting a man after death that he can see only what resembles himself, in so far as he is himself evil, because he can reproduce in his own being only the physiognomy of other evil men.

After his death, man enters into the sphere of the Moon, and there, if he brings evil with him, he comes into the presence, not only of supersensible, superphysical Beings but also into that of others with a physiognomical resemblance to himself—that is to say, Ahrimanic figures. This passage of certain individuals through an Ahrimanic world has very definite significance in the whole nexus of cosmic happenings. And we shall grasp what actually happens if we bear in mind the purpose of those ancient Teachers of humanity when they departed to establish the Moon-colony in the Cosmos.

Now as well as those Beings of the higher Hierarchies whom we usually call Angels, Archangels and so forth, other beings who belong to the Ahrimanic and the Luciferic realms are also bound up with the whole process of cosmic evolution; and these beings are active in that process just as are the normally developing beings. The Luciferic beings work continuously with the aim of preventing anything that has the tendency to press on into physical materiality, from achieving that end. In the realm of man the Luciferic beings use every opportunity to lift him away from his physical corporeality. Their endeavour is to make man into a purely etheric being possessed of spirit-and-soul. The endeavour of the Ahrimanic beings is to separate from man everything that urges him towards the soul-and-spirit to be developed in the human kingdom. They want to transform into the spiritual the subhuman elements, the instincts and impulses, everything that comes to expression in the body. In their own way both the Luciferic and the Ahrimanic beings want to transform man into the spiritual. But while the Luciferic beings want to draw the soul-and-spirit out of man so that he would cease to concern himself with his earthly incarnations but would like to live as a being of soul-and-spirit only, the Ahrimanic beings would prefer to disregard soul-andspirit entirely and detach from man what has been given him as a sheath, a covering or an instrument in the physical and etheric realm, and bring it all into their own world.

And so on the one side man is faced by the Beings of the normally developing Hierarchies, but because he is interwoven with the whole of existence, he is also faced by the Luciferic and Ahrimanic beings. Whenever the Luciferic beings endeavour to approach man, their purpose is to estrange him from the Earth. On the other hand when the Ahrimanic beings make efforts to dominate man, their aim is to make his nature more and more earthly although they also want to spiritualise the Earth, imbuing it with spiritual substance and with dense spiritual forces.

In speaking of spiritual matters one sometimes has to use expressions which may seem grotesque when applied to such matters, but one has, after all, to use human language. So you will allow me to use ordinary words even when I am speaking of something that takes place on the purely spiritual plane. You will understand me and yourselves raise what I say, into the spiritual.

Those Beings who at the beginning of Earth existence brought the primal wisdom to man, withdrew to the Moon in order, as far as lay in their power, to establish the right relationship of the Luciferic and the Ahrimanic to the life of man. Why was that necessary? Why was it necessary for Beings as exalted as these primordial Teachers to elect to leave the Earth which for a time had been their field of action, and proceed to the extra-terrestrial Moon in order to bring the Luciferic and the Ahrimanic as far as possible into the right relationship with man?

When as a being of soul-and-spirit man descends from his pre-earthly existence into the Earth sphere he traverses the path I described in the course of lectures entitled Cosmology, Religion and Philosophy. As a being of soul-and-spirit he unites with the physical embryo provided for him in the direct line of heredity by father and mother. These two components, the physical embryo and the spiritual, interpenetrate and unite, and in that way man enters into existence on Earth. But in the line of heredity, in the inherited characteristics transmitted by ancestors to their descendants, there lie points of attack for the Ahrimanic beings. The Ahrimanic forces lie in the forces of heredity. And if a man has within him many of these inherited impulses, he will have a bodily make-up to which the Ego cannot satisfactorily gain access. Indeed the secret of many human beings is that they have within them too many inherited impulses. This is what is meant today by saying that a man is ‘burdened by heredity’. The consequence is that the Ego cannot penetrate fully into his body nor adequately fill the bodily organs. The body then develops an activity of its own, independently of the impulse of the Ego which should properly be working in the body. Thus by their efforts to lay as much as possible into heredity the Ahrimanic powers succeed in ensuring that the Ego is only very loosely connected with the human being. That is the one aspect.

But man has also to adapt himself to external conditions. This is very evident when you think of the effect of climate and other geographical conditions upon human beings. This effect of the purely natural environment is extraordinarily significant for man. There were even times when the wise leaders of humanity made use of it in particular ways.

When we consider a certain remarkable phenomenon in ancient Greek culture, namely the difference between Spartans and Athenians, we shall realise that this difference which is described very superficially in our history textbooks, is based ultimately on measures adopted in the ancient Mysteries, and the effect of these measures upon the Spartans differed from that made upon the Athenians.

In Greece as you know, great value was attached to Gymnastics. Gymnastics was regarded as the most essential part of a child’s education because through training and causing the body to be used and manipulated in a particular way, an effect was made upon the nature of spirit-and-soul by methods characteristic of the Greeks. But the method used by the Spartans was different from that used by the Athenians. The Spartans were primarily concerned to ensure that by means of their gymnastic exercises the boys’ development should depend as completely as possible upon what the body—the body by itself alone—can achieve. Hence the Spartan boy was obliged to carry out his exercises no matter what the weather might be.

Among the Athenians, it was different. They attached great importance to the gymnastic exercises being adapted to the weather conditions, and insisted that the boy doing those exercises should be exposed to the sunlight in the appropriate way. To the Spartans it was a matter of indifference whether the exercises were carried out in rain or sunshine. The Athenians considered it essential that the human being in question should receive a stimulus in some form, particularly that coming from the Sun.

The treatment given to a Spartan boy was intended to make his skin impervious, in order that whatever he might develop should originate within his body. The skin of an Athenian boy was not treated with sand and oil but he was exposed to the influences of the Sun.

The influences of the Sun penetrated into an Athenian boy from outside. He was encouraged to be eloquent, to express himself in beautiful language. A Spartan boy, on the other hand, was enclosed in himself as a result of all kinds of massage with oil; indeed the purpose of massaging the skin with sand and oil was that he should develop everything within himself, independently of outer Nature. He was trained to drive whatever forces can be developed by human nature back into his inner being, not to allow them to emerge.

Thus the Spartan boy did not, like the Athenian boy, become talkative. He was trained to be sparing with words, to say little, to remain silent. If he did say anything it must be significant, have real content. Speeches made by Spartans were rare but were renowned for their substance and content; speeches made by Athenians were renowned for the beauty of the language. All this was connected with the adaptation of human beings to their environment through the appropriate system of education.

You can perceive this elsewhere in a relationship that is established between man and his environment. Southerners who are everywhere exposed to the influences of the Sun, gesticulate a great deal and are talkative; their speech is melodious because their own warmth connects them with the warmth in the outside world.

Northerners, on the other hand, are not talkative because they must retain their bodily warmth within themselves as a stimulus. Northerners are notorious for their silence; they will sit together evening after evening without feeling any urge to speak. One of them may ask a question; then two hours later, or possibly not until the next evening, the other will answer him with a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’. The reason for this is that it is necessary for Northerners to have stronger impulses within themselves for the production of warmth, because warmth does not come to them from outside.

Here you have examples of man’s adaptation to external conditions in the natural world. Just think of the effects of all this in education, and in other spheres of the life of soul-and-spirit. Just as the Ahrimanic beings exercise their essential influence upon what lies in heredity, Luciferic beings exert their essential influence upon adaptation to environment. They can approach man when he is establishing a relationship to the external world. They entangle the human ‘I’ in the external world. But in so doing they often bring about confusion between this ‘I’ and Karma. Whereas the Ahrimanic beings bring a man’s ‘I’ into confusion in regard to his physical impulses, the Luciferic beings bring the ‘I’ into confusion in regard to his Karma. For what comes from the external world does not always lie in Karma immediately but must first be woven into Karma by means of many threads and relationships so that future Karma may contain it.

Thus the Ahrimanic and the Luciferic powers are intimately connected with human life. This state of things must be regulated in the process of man’s whole evolution. Hence it became necessary for the primeval Teachers of mankind to leave the Earth where such regulation would not have been possible. It cannot be undertaken during a man’s earthly life, and when that life is over he is obviously not on the Earth. The primeval Teachers were therefore obliged to withdraw from the Earth and continue their existence on the Moon. When they had thus withdrawn—and here I must use ordinary language for something that one would prefer to clothe in different word-pictures—these wise Teachers came to an arrangement with the Ahrimanic and Luciferic powers. Now the appearance of the Ahrimanic beings in man’s existence after death would have been particularly injurious if they could have exercised a real influence upon him. For when a man goes through the gate of death, bearing the after-effects of anything evil in his soul, he finds himself, as I have told you, in an entirely Ahrimanic environment; he will even hold Ahrimanic views and he himself has an Ahrimanic physiognomy. He can perceive only those human beings who have a similar appearance. All this must remain purely an experience in the soul. If Ahriman could now intervene and influence the astral body, this would become a force which Ahriman could propel into man—a force which would not only gradually find its karmic balance but would bring man into too close a connection with the Earth. That indeed is the endeavour of Ahrimanic beings. While a man after death in his spirit-form still resembles his earthly form, the Ahrimanic powers strive to gain access to him by way of the evil impulses he carries with him through the gate of death. They want to permeate this spirit-form with forces, to draw as many of such beings as possible down to earthly existence and so to establish there an Ahrimanic Earth-humanity.

It was for this reason that the primeval Teachers, now inhabiting the Moon sphere, made a contract with the Ahrimanic powers, a contract which those powers were obliged to accept for reasons which I will explain later. Under the terms of this contract the Ahrimanic powers were allowed to exercise their influence in the fullest sense of the word and within the limits of possibility, on man’s life before he descends to earthly existence. So that when he is again passing through the Moon sphere on his way to the Earth, in accordance with the agreement reached between the primeval Teachers and the Ahrimanic powers, these powers might have a definite influence upon him. This influence is made manifest in the fact that heredity has become possible. As against this, after the domain of heredity had been allotted to the Ahrimanic beings as a result of the efforts of the primeval Teachers, the Ahrimanic beings were obliged to renounce all interference with processes in man’s evolution after death.

On the other side an agreement was reached with the Luciferic beings that they might exercise their influence upon man only when he has passed through the gate of death and not before he is descending into earthly existence.

Thus the great primeval Teachers were able to regulate the extra-earthly Ahrimanic and Luciferic influences. But we have already heard and a little reflection will at once make it obvious that man is thereby brought into contact with Nature. Because Ahrimanic beings can exert their influence upon him before he descends to the Earth, he is exposed to the operations of the forces of heredity. And because the Luciferic beings can work upon him he is exposed to factors in the physical environment, such as climate and the like, also to factors in the social and mental environment, such as education, modes of behaviour and the like. Thus a relation is established between man and Nature around him, and Ahrimanic and Luciferic beings can work into this environment.

I want now to say something from a quite different side about the existence of these Ahrimanic and Luciferic beings in Nature around us. I have already referred to this subject when dealing with the Michael problem and I will now go into it in more detail. Picture to yourselves the change that occurs in Nature in the phenomenon of rising mist. We may perhaps be living in an atmosphere that is saturated with watery vapours rising up from the Earth. One who has developed spiritual vision discovers that in this phenomenon of Nature there is something that carries an earthly element upwards in the centrifugal direction. It is not without reason that people who live in misty areas easily become melancholic, for there is something in the experience of mist that weighs down the will.

Now there are exercises whereby a man can manipulate his imaginations in such a way that he can himself weigh down his will. These exercises consist in concentration upon certain bodily organs, especially the muscles, whereby a kind of inner feeling, inner awareness, of the muscles is evoked. The feeling evoked by this concentration differs from the awareness of muscles produced by walking or while standing. If such exercises are practised consistently, like others described in the book Knowledge of the Higher Worlds, the will is weighed down by a man’s own activity. And then he begins to see what it is in rising mist that can make people morose and melancholy; he also perceives with the eyes of soul-and-spirit that certain Ahrimanic beings live in the rising mists. Spiritual knowledge makes it clear that in rising mist Ahrimanic beings rise up from the Earth into cosmic space, thus expanding their sphere of action.

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It is again different—and there are excellent opportunities for this here at the Goetheanum—if you gaze at the sky in the evening or morning and see the clouds flooded with sunlight. A few days ago in the late afternoon, you could have seen a kind of red-golden sunlight becoming embodied in the clouds and producing an infinite variety of wonderful formations. And that same evening the Moon shone with special intensity. Elsewhere too, of course, you can see the clouds illuminated in a brilliant play of colours. Such a spectacle can be seen anywhere. I am merely speaking of what can be seen from this very place.

Luciferic spirits live here in the light that floods the clouds, just as Ahrimanic spirits live in the rising mist. If someone can look at all this with conscious Imagination and succeeds in so training his ordinary thinking that it accompanies the clouds with all their changing formations and colour, if he can get rid of the singularity of his thoughts and enable them to change and be metamorphosed, to expand and contract in harmony with the forms and colours of the clouds, then he will genuinely begin to see this play of colour above the clouds, especially in the evening and morning sky, as a sea of colours in which Luciferic figures are moving. And whereas moods of melancholy are produced in a man by rising mist, his thoughts and also his soul learn to breathe with almost superhuman freedom at the sight of this Luciferic sea of flowing light. This is a special relationship which man can establish with the surrounding world, for then he can have the feeling that his thinking is like an inhalation of the light. He feels his thinking to be a breathing, a breathing of the light. If this is actually experienced, the passage in the Mystery Plays about beings who breathe light will be better understood.

So we find that Ahrimanic and Luciferic forces are also part and parcel of the phenomena of external Nature. In the realm of heredity and adaptation to his environment man’s soul-and-spirit makes contact with Nature. When we contemplate the rising mists and the clouds bathed in flowing light we see how Ahrimanic and Luciferic beings unite with the phenomena of Nature. But when man’s soul-and-spirit approaches the facts of heredity and adaptation, this, as I have shown, is also simply an approach to the Luciferic and Ahrimanic. Thus in man’s own nature we shall find the Luciferic and Ahrimanic; again we find the Luciferic and Ahrimanic in certain natural phenomena containing something which need not concern the physicist. And from this point we can be led to perceive an influence of Nature upon man which transcends the phenomena of earthly existence.

To begin with let us hold firmly in our minds that Ahriman and Lucifer are present in the sphere of human heredity and adaptation. We find them in the rising mists and in the light which floods the clouds and is caught and held with them. We find in man an urge to establish adjustment, rhythm, between heredity and adaptation; but we also find in external Nature the urge to create rhythm between the two Powers working in Nature—the Ahrimanic and Luciferic Powers.

If you follow the whole process in the world of Nature, you have a wonderful drama. Follow the rising mist and observe how Ahrimanic spirits in it are striving outwards into the cosmic expanse. The moment the rising mists form themselves into a cloud, these spirits must give up their striving and return again to the Earth. In the clouds, Ahriman’s arrogant striving finds its limits. When mist becomes cloud it can no longer be a home for Ahriman. But the cloud enables the light to spread above it: Lucifer is there, above the clouds!

Try to grasp this in its full significance: picture the rising mists with greyish yellow Ahrimanic figures gathered into cloud-masses, and in the light above the clouds the Luciferic figures striving downwards. Then you will have a picture of the Ahrimanic and the Luciferic in Nature.

And then you will also realise that in times when men still had a feeling for what lies beyond the Threshold, for what lives and weaves in the luminous clouds and in the rolling mist, the position of painters, for example, was quite different from what it came to be later on. The spiritual power they recognised carried the colours to the right place on the canvas. The poet, conscious that divinity, that spirituality, was speaking in him, could say: ‘Sing, O Muse, of the wrath of Peleus’ son, Achilles’; or: ‘Sing to me, O Muse, of the man, the much-travelled one’. These are the opening lines of Homer’s epics. Klopstock, who lived in times when feeling for the Divine-Spiritual was no longer present, substituted: ‘Sing, Immortal Soul, of the redemption of sinful man.’ I have often spoken of this. But the old painters too, even those living in the epoch of Leonardo and Raphael would still have been able to say and would moreover have felt it in their own way: ‘Paint for me, O Muse, paint for me, O Divine Power, direct my hands, carry soul into my hands so that the brush in my hands is guided by you.’ It is very important to understand this close union of man with the spiritual in all situations of life, especially in the most significant.

Let us hold the following firmly in mind: in heredity and adaptation the human is brought into relationship with the Ahrimanic and Luciferic; on the other hand, by intuitive observation of Nature the Luciferic and Ahrimanic can be brought into relationship with Nature in its external manifestations.

We will continue these studies in the lecture tomorrow.

Yesterday I was speaking to you of how man is subject to what natural science generally calls heredity, and also of how he is subject to the influences of the external world and adaptation to it. I also said that everything relating to heredity is connected with the Ahrimanic forces, and adaptation, in the widest sense, with the Luciferic forces. But I also told you how in the realm of the spiritual Beings belonging to the Cosmos, provision has been made to enable the Luciferic and Ahrimanic forces to play a lawful part in human life. Something shall now be added to what has been said, recalling the content of the lecture given the day before yesterday.

We turned our minds then to how memory and everything akin to it give man his configuration as a being of soul. To a far greater extent than we imagine our configuration as beings of soul originates from our memories. Our soul has been shaped by the process whereby our experiences have become memories; we are the product of our life of memories to a greater extent than we think. Anyone who is capable of exercising even enough self-observation to enable him to penetrate into the store of memories, will realise how particularly important a part is played throughout earthly life by the impressions of childhood. The kind of life we spent in childhood—which really does not loom large in our consciousness—the period during which we learned to speak or walk, or got our first, inherited, teeth, the impressions made on us during these periods of development—all these play an important part in the fife of soul throughout our existence on Earth. All freely arising thoughts in which impressions from outside have played no part are connected with memories and are usually accompanied by faint nuances of joy or sadness—all this constitutes our memory and is carried with it by the astral body when we pass into the state of sleep. If with Imaginative vision we are able to observe man as a being of soul-and-spirit during sleep, the following picture presents itself. During sleep the etheric body and the physical body are still enclosed within the skin and the astral body is outside—I will speak of the Ego later on. This astral body is seen virtually to consist of the man’s memories. But these memories in the astral body now outside the physical body are seen to be swirling in and through one another in a kind of eddy. Experiences that were widely separated in time and space are now in juxtaposition; parts of the content of certain experiences are eliminated, so that the whole life of memory during sleep is transformed. Hence when a person dreams it is this transformed life of memory that is presented to his consciousness. And in the character and make-up of the dream he can be inwardly aware of the swirling eddy of memories which Imaginative clairvoyance can perceive from outside.

But there is another aspect as well. These memories, which from the time of going to sleep until waking form the main content of man’s astral life, unite during sleep with the forces behind the phenomena of Nature. It may therefore be said that the astral element in the memories enters into a connection with the forces which lie behind, or rather lie within, the minerals, within the plants, behind the clouds, and so on.

Those who can recognise this to be truth will be horrified to hear it said that material atoms are behind the phenomena of Nature. The fact is that our memories during sleep do not unite with material atoms but with the spiritual forces behind the phenomena of Nature. This is where our memories reside during sleep. We can therefore say with truth that during sleep our soul dips down with its memories into the inner being of Nature, and we say nothing untrue or unreal when we assert; When I go to sleep I give over my memories to the Powers that are spiritually active in the crystal, in the plants, in all the phenomena of Nature.

During a walk you may see by the wayside blue or yellow flowers, green grass, gleaming ears of corn, and say to them: When I pass by you during the day I see you only from outside. But while I sleep, I shall sink my memories into your own spiritual core of being. While I sleep you receive and harbour the memories into which I have transformed the experiences I had in life.—There is perhaps no more beautiful feeling for Nature than to have to a rose-tree not merely an external relation but to realise that you love it because a rose-tree harbours the first memories of childhood. Space plays no part at all. However far away the rose-tree may be, during sleep we find the way to it. The reason why people love roses—only they do not know it—is that roses receive and harbour the very first memories of childhood.

When we were children, the love shown us by other human beings made us happy. We may have forgotten all about it, but it remains within our soul, and during our sleep at night the rose-tree receives into and harbours within itself the memory we have ourselves forgotten. We are more closely united than we realise with the world of outer Nature, that is to say with the spirit reigning there. Memory of our earliest childhood is particularly remarkable in connection with sleep because up to the time of the change of teeth, up to about the seventh year, it is only the element of soul that is received and harboured during sleep. It is a fact in our life as human beings that the inner, spiritual core of Nature harbours the element of soul belonging to our childhood. There is, of course, another aspect: the element of soul we developed in childhood when, for example, we may have been cruel, that too remains in us; the thistles harbour it! All this is said by way of analogy but it points to a significant reality. The following will make it clear what it is that is not taken from childhood into the innermost core of Nature.

In the first seven years of life the child’s whole bodily make-up is inherited, including, therefore, the first teeth; all the material substance we have within us during this period is, in essence, inherited. But after approximately seven years all the material substance has been thrust out, has fallen away and is renewed. The human being himself remains as a spirit-form. His material components are thrown out and after seven or eight years everything that was previously there, has gone. And so when we have reached the age of nine our whole bodily make-up has been renewed. We then shape it in accordance with external impressions.

It is very important indeed that in the early epochs of life the child should be in a position to build his new body—not the inherited body, but the one developed from within himself—in accordance with good impressions from the environment and by a healthy process of adaptation. Whereas the body the child has when he comes into the world depends upon whether the forces of heredity are good or not so good, the later body he bears is very dependent indeed upon the impressions he receives from his environment. Invariably, however, after seven years the body is renewed.

Now it is the ‘I’, the Ego, that is responsible for this. Although it is true the Ego is not yet born in the seven-yearold child as far as the external world is concerned—for it is born at a later age—nevertheless it is at work, since it is naturally connected with the body and is responsible for its formation. It is the Ego that is responsible for the development of what then appears as physiognomy and gesture, as the outer, material manifestation of man’s soul-and-spirit. It is a fact that someone who takes an active share in affairs of the world, who has wide interests and assimilates their substance and content will reveal this in his gestures and his very facial expression. In the later life of such a man, every wrinkle on his face will be indicative of his inner activity and it will be possible to read a great deal here, because the Ego comes to expression in a man’s gestures and physiognomy. The countenance of someone whose attitude to the world is one of boredom and lack of interest will retain the same facial expression all through life. There have been no intimate experiences which might have imprinted themselves in his physiognomy and gestures. In many a countenance you can read a whole biography; in another there is not much more to read than that the individual was once a child—and that is of little account.

It is extremely significant that through the change of bodily substance after every seven or eight years, a man shapes his own outer appearance. And the result of this work on his outward appearance as revealed in physiognomy and gesture, is again something that is carried, while he sleeps, into the innermost being of Nature.

If, then, you look at a man with Imaginative clairvoyance, and observe the Ego as it appears while he is asleep, you will find that the Ego is fully expressed by physiognomy and gesture. Hence those human beings who are able to convey a great deal of their inner nature to their facial expression or to their gestures, have gleaming, radiant Egos. This activity in the shaping of gestures and physiognomy again unites with certain forces in Nature. If we had many opportunities in life of showing friendliness and kindness, Nature is inclined, as soon as this kindliness has been expressed in the countenance, to receive it into her own essential being. Nature takes our memories into her forces, our gestures into her very being. Man is so intimately connected with external Nature that there is immense significance for the latter in the memories he experiences in his soul and also in the way in which he expresses his inner life of soul in physiognomy and gesture.

As you know, I have often quoted words of Goethe which were really a criticism of a saying by Haller: ‘Into the inner being of Nature no created Spirit can enter. Happy he to whom she reveals only her outer shell.’ Goethe retorted: ‘O you Philistine! We are everywhere within her being: nothing is within, nothing without; what is within is without, what is without is within. Ask yourself first of all whether you are kernel or husk.’ Goethe said he had heard the remark in the sixties and had secretly cursed it. He felt—naturally he could not then know anything of Spiritual Science—that if a man whom he could only regard as a philistine, says: ‘Into the inner being of Nature no created Spirit can enter,’ he knows nothing of the fact that man, simply because he is a being of memories, a being of physiognomy and gestures, continually penetrates into the inmost essence of Nature. We are not creatures who stand at the door of Nature and knock in vain. Through our own core of being we are connected by intimate ties with the inmost essence of Nature. But because the child until his seventh year has a body that is wholly inherited, nothing of his Ego, nothing of his physiognomy and gestures, pass over into Nature. It is only at the time of the change of teeth that we begin to approach these realities. Hence it is only then—after the change of teeth— that we are mature enough gradually to begin to reflect about any phenomenon of Nature. Until that time it is only arbitrary thoughts that arise in a child, thoughts which really have not very much to do with Nature, and for that very reason are so full of charm. The best way to make contact with a child is to be poetical when we are talking to him, calling the stars the eyes of heaven and so on, when the things of which we speak are as remote as possible from the outer physical reality.

It is only after the change of teeth that the child gradually ‘grows into’ Nature in such a way that his thoughts can gradually comprehend thoughts of Nature. Fundamentally speaking, the child’s life from the seventh to the fourteenth year is a period during which he ‘grows into Nature’. During this period, in addition to his memories he also carries into the realm of Nature his gestures and physiognomy. And this then continues through the whole of life. It is not until the change of teeth that we have any relationship with the inner core of Nature as single human individuals.

For this reason the beings I have called Elementals— Gnomes and Undines—listen so eagerly when a man narrates something about childhood as it was before the age of seven. It is only at the time of the change of teeth that a man is really born as far as these elemental beings are concerned. This is an extremely interesting fact. Before that time man is to the Gnomes and Undines a being ‘on the other side’; it is for them something of an enigma that man should appear at this age almost as a completed being. It would be immensely stimulating for pedagogical imagination if, through imbibing spiritual knowledge, an individual could really participate in a dialogue with the Nature Spirits, if he could transport himself into the soul of the Nature Spirits in order to ascertain their views about what he can tell them about children. In this way the most beautiful fairy-tale imagination takes shape. And if in olden times fairy-tales were so wonderfully vivid and rich in content it was because the narrators could actually converse with Gnomes and Undines and not merely hear something from them. These Nature Spirits are sometimes very egoistic. They become silent if they are not told things about which they are curious. Their favourite stories are those which tell about the doings of babies. Then one learns from them many things that can create the atmosphere of a fairy story. What seems utterly fantastic to people today can be very important for the practical application of spiritual life. It is an actual fact that because of the circumstances of which I have told you, these dialogues with the Nature Spirits may be extremely instructive for both sides.

On the other hand, what I have said may give rise to a certain anxiety, for during sleep man is continually creating pictures of his inmost being. Behind the phenomena of Nature, behind the flowers of the field, and extending into the etheric world, there are reproductions of our memories, good and futile alike. The Earth teems with what is contained in human souls. Human life is intimately connected with these things.

First of all, then, we encounter Nature Spirits as beings into whom we can penetrate through our gestures. But we also find the world of the Angeloi, Archangeloi and Archai. We penetrate into those Beings too. Our memories carry us into the activities of the world of the Angeloi; our physiognomy and gestures—for which we ourselves are responsible—carry us into the Beings themselves of that world. This following sketch will give some indication of what happens when, during sleep, we penetrate into Nature. Let this (lowest) curve represent our skin; as we move outwards in the radial direction, we pass from the regions of the Angeloi into those of the Archangeloi and Archai. We are now in the sphere of the Third Hierarchy. And when, during sleep, we sink down with our memories and gestures into the flowing sea of Angeloi, Archangeloi and Archai, weaving and intertwining, then from one side there comes another stream of spiritual Beings. This is the Second Hierarchy: Exousiai, Kyriotetes and Dynamis. If we want to find something in the physical world to which this can be related, we can say that the daily course of the Sun from East to West expresses how the Second Hierarchy crosses the realm of the Third Hierarchy. The Third Hierarchy, the Angeloi, Archangeloi and Archai, glide upwards and downwards, handing to each other the ‘golden vessels’. According to this picture we think of the Second Hierarchy following the path taken by the Sun from East to West—not the apparent but the actual daily path of the Sun, for the Copernican theory does not hold good here. Provided a man has the necessary vision, he sees how during sleep he passes into the world of the Third Hierarchy. But this world of the Third Hierarchy is permeated ceaselessly by the Second Hierarchy. The Second Hierarchy also makes its influence felt in our life of soul.

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In the lecture the day before yesterday I pointed out to you the significance of vividly re-living experiences of youth. You may be deeply impressed if you turn again to the Mystery Plays and now, perhaps with greater understanding than before, read the passages about the appearance of the Spirit of Johannes’ Youth.¹ It is an indubitable fact that a man’s own inner being can become vividly perceptible to him if with an active effort of will he relives his younger days. I told you that you may, for instance, pick up old school textbooks and steep yourself in what you either learnt or failed to learn from them. It does not matter whether you learnt anything or not; what matters is that you should re-live what happened at the time. In my own case it was vitally important for me a year or two ago, when I needed to strengthen my powers of spiritual understanding, to re-live a situation of my youth. I was eleven years old at the time and had just been given a new school-book. The first thing that happened was that through carelessness, the ink pot upset and blotted two pages of the book so badly that they were illegible. A few years ago I relived the event many times—the textbook with the ruined pages and what I had to suffer in consequence. For the book had to be replaced by a family with very little money. One suffered dreadfully on account of this book with its enormous inkblot! As I said, it is not a matter of having behaved well in circumstances recalled in later years but of experiencing them with real intensity. If you recall such happenings as vividly as you possibly can, you will experience something else as well. More clearly than in a dream, in actual perception, you will experience a situation while you rest in bed, shut off from the day’s impressions. If during the day you have vividly recalled a scene once inwardly experienced, when everything around you is dark and you are all by yourself at night you will see, as though displayed in space, a scene in which you once participated. Suppose you have recalled a scene at which you were once present, let us say at eleven o’clock. Afterwards you went somewhere else and found yourself sitting among a number of people. You have now summoned up something you experienced inwardly. What was around you outwardly at that time was entirely a spatial spectacle. If attention is paid to circumstances such as this, very significant discoveries can be made. Let us suppose that as a youngster of seventeen, you were accustomed to have your midday meal at a Pension where the guests were continually changing. Now you recall some such scene which you had inwardly experienced; you recall it vividly. Then, in the night, you have this experience: you are sitting at a table with other people whom you saw only seldom because the guests in a Pension were perpetually changing. The face of one of these people makes you realise: that is something I actually lived through all those years ago. The external spatial element is added to the inner soul-experience when you activate memories in this way.

This means that you are actually living in the stream which flows from East to West (see diagram). More and more the feeling grows in you that you are not wholly absorbed by the spiritual world into which you pass in sleep, but that in this spiritual world something is happening that is reflected outwardly in the moment when again you see the people sitting around the table in the Pension. You had forgotten about the episode long ago but it is still there. You see it as things can often be seen inscribed in the Akasha Chronicle. The moment you have this before you, you have made contact with the stream that flows from East to West: the stream of the Second Hierarchy. In this stream of the Second Hierarchy there is contained something that is reflected outwardly as the day.

Now the day varies in length throughout the year. In spring it gets longer, in autumn, shorter; it is longest in summer, shortest in winter. During the course of the year the day undergoes metamorphosis. This is caused by a stream running from West to East, countering the East-West stream (diagram). It is the stream of the First Hierarchy, of the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones. Hence if you follow how the day changes in the course of the year, if you pass from the day to the year, you come into contact with the stream which flows in the opposite direction and meets you in sleep.

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It is really the case that in sleep we grow into the spiritual world, radially from West to East and from East to West. And when we recall some experience vividly the picture before our souls must be of Winter in the world of space.

And it is the same when we become conscious of our will. It is the effect of this that passes into the gestures and physiognomy. What I am now going to say will have a certain significance for Eurythmists, although naturally it is not the purpose of Eurythmy to vindicate what I am saying. It is a fact that when a man becomes increasingly able to shape his external form too from within himself, so that his Ego is expressed with greater and greater definition in his physiognomy and gestures, he does not receive an impression only of the day. An impression of the day results from passing over from a vivid, inner experience of memory to a perception of things in the external world of space. To take the example already given. Suppose you re-experience what happened to you at the age of seventeen, and see the human beings who sat at table with you in the Pension, in pictures, as in the Akasha Chronicle—that is the Day-experience.

But the Year can also be experienced. This is possible if we pay attention to the working of the will, if we notice that it is comparatively easy to assert the will when one is warm, whereas it is difficult to let the will stream through the body when one is very cold. Those who can inwardly experience a connection between the will and being warm or cold, will gradually be able, when this faculty develops, to speak of a Winter Will and a Summer Will in themselves.

We find that the best way to define this will is to relate it to the seasons. Let us observe, for example, the kind of will which seems to carry our thoughts out into the Cosmos and makes it easy to manipulate the body so that in its whole bearing and in its gestures the thoughts seem to be borne out into the Universe; they seem to glide away through the finger-tips. We feel that it is easy to activate the will. We may be standing in front of a tree and something at the top of it gladdens our eye. If our will is warm within us, our thoughts are carried to the treetop—indeed sometimes to the very stars of heaven when in summer nights we feel endowed with this warmth of will.

On the other hand, if the will is inwardly cold, it is as if all thoughts were being carried only in our head and could not make their way into our arms or legs. Everything goes to the head. The head endures the coldness of the will, and if the cold is not so overwhelming as to give rise to a feeling of iciness, the head will become warm as a result of its own inner reaction, and then it unfolds thoughts.

Hence we can say that Summer Will leads us out into the wide expanse of the Cosmos. Summer Will, Warm Will, carries our thoughts here, there and everywhere. Winter Will carries thoughts into our head. The will can indeed be differentiated in this way. And then we shall feel that the will which carried us out into the Cosmos is related to the course of the Summer and the Will which carries thoughts into the head, to the Winter. Through the will we experience the Year.

It is possible to experience as a reality what I am now going to write on the blackboard for you. Your experience of Winter through the medium of the will can be expressed in these words:

World-All pictures!
From widths of Space
Ye are alighting,
Tending towards me,
Entering bounteously
Into my Head,
Into its thinking powers.

These words have no merely abstract meaning. If you can feel your own will united with Nature you will also feel, when Winter comes, as though your own experiences, handed over to Nature, were being brought to you from the expanse of Space. You can be aware of your own experiences which had already been taken into Nature. This is the feeling of Winter Will.

But you can also feel the Summer Will which bears your thoughts out into the Cosmos:

Ye, of my Head
The formative forces, forming in soul,
Filling my inner life!

which means that the thoughts which are at first experienced in the head, pass over into and fill the whole body, but then stream forth from it:

Now reaching outward
Into World-distances,
Weld my own being
With World-creative powers.

These words express the nature of the Summer Will, the will in us which is related to Summer. And when we feel that we have called up from within the active memory of something experienced long ago, then the day with its following night bears it back to us again, supplemented by the spatial picture. This is connected with the stream flowing from East to West. Thus we may say: Winter Will changes in us into Summer Will, Summer Will into Winter Will. We find ourselves no longer related to the Day with its alternating light and darkness, but through our will we are related to the Year, and therewith to the stream flowing from West to East, the stream of the First Hierarchy: the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones.

As we proceed we shall see how man may be hindered or helped through heredity or adaptation to the external world through this association with the inmost life of Nature. What I have just been telling you refers to the fact that man, when hindered as little as possible by Ahrimanic and Luciferic forces, grows by means of ideation (Vorstellung) and will into the inmost life of Nature and is received by the Time-forces, the Day-forces and the Year-forces; Third Hierarchy, Second Hierarchy, First Hierarchy. But the Ahrimanic forces as they manifest themselves in heredity, and the Luciferic forces as they manifest themselves in adaptation, exert very deep influences. These great problems will occupy our minds in the next lecture.

Winter Will
World-All pictures,
From widths of Space
Ye are alighting,
Tending towards me,
Entering bounteously
Into my Head,
Into its thinking powers.

Summer Will
Ye, of my Head
The formative forces, forming in soul,
Filling my inner life.
Now reaching outward
Into World-distances,
Weld my own being With World-creative powers.

• 1. The Soul’s Awakening. Scene 2.

Continuation of the themes introduced in the last lecture leads us today to material that will serve as preparation for the two following lectures. It leads us to study the connection of man, the whole man, with our planet Earth. As I have often said, man is under an illusion if he ascribes to himself as a physical being an existence separate from the Earth. As a being of soul-and-spirit man is independent and individual; as physical man and to some extent also in respect of his etheric body, he belongs to the organic totality of the Earth.

I will begin today by describing how this connection between man and Earth-existence appears to supersensible vision. Let us suppose that someone with Imaginative Consciousness were to take a journey through the primeval Alps where the rocks consist of quartz, of silicious minerals and similar formations. These primeval mountains are composed of the hardest rocks on Earth, but as well as being the hardest, these rocks, when they appear in their original form, have an inherent purity about them, a quality untouched by the commonplace things of Earth. We can well understand it, when in a beautiful essay which has already been read here, Goethe speaks of his experiences among these primeval mountains, of the solitude he felt as he sat there, and the impressions made upon him by these granite rocks, towering up from the Earth. Goethe speaks of granite, composed as it is of silica, mica and felspar, as the ‘enduring son of Earth’.

When with ordinary consciousness a man approaches these primeval mountains he can of course admire them from outside; he is deeply impressed by their forms, by their wonderful moulding, primitive as it is, but extraordinarily eloquent. But if he approaches this hardest rock of the Earth with Imaginative Consciousness he penetrates beneath the surface of mineral nature and is then able with his thinking to grow together, as it were, with the rock. The soul reaches into the depths of the rock, and in spirit, man enters into a holy palace of the Gods. The interior is revealed to Imaginative vision as transparent, and the outer surface as the walls of this palace of the Gods. At the same time the knowledge comes that within this rock there is a reflection of the Cosmos outside the Earth. The world of stars is mirrored once again before the soul. Finally we get the impression that all quartz rocks are like eyes through which the Earth can see into the Cosmos. We are reminded of the many-faceted eyes of insects which divide into numbers of parts whatever comes towards them from outside. We should, and indeed must, picture innumerable quartz and similar formations on the surface of the Earth as being eyes enabling the Earth inwardly to reflect and indeed inwardly perceive the cosmic environment. And gradually the knowledge dawns in us that every crystal formation present in the Earth is a sense-organ for perceiving the Cosmos.

The majesty of the Earth’s snow-covering, but even more of the falling snowflakes, lies in the fact that in each single snowflake there is a reflection of part of the Cosmos; so that with this crystallised water, reflections of part of the starry heavens fall down upon the Earth.

I need not remind you that the starry firmament is there by day as well as at night, only it cannot be seen by day because the sunlight is too strong. If you ever have an opportunity of going into a deep cellar with a high tower above it open at the top, you can see the stars even in the daytime because you are looking out of the darkness and the sunlight does not obtrude. There is, for example, such a tower in Jena through which the stars can be seen in the daytime. I mention this in passing to make it clear to you that this reflection of the stars in the snowflakes and indeed in every crystal is of course there in the daytime too. It is not a physical reflection, it is a spiritual reflection, and the impression of it must be communicated inwardly.

That is not all. This spiritual sense-impression, if I may call it so, gives rise to an impression in the soul that if you enter imaginatively into the crystal covering of the Earth you yourself are able to share in all the experiences coming from the Cosmos to the Earth through the crystals. You thereby extend your own being into the Cosmos and feel yourself one with the Cosmos. And most important of all: it now becomes a deep truth to one possessed of Imaginative vision that our Earth, with everything belonging to it, has in the course of ages been born out of the Cosmos. The kinship between the Earth and the Cosmos comes vividly before the eyes of soul. And so this inner penetration into the millions of the Earth’s crystal eyes is a preparation for feeling and experiencing in soul the inner kinship of the Earth with the Cosmos.

Through this experience, however, you again feel that as Man you are closely united with the Earth. For this birth of the Earth out of the Cosmos took place when Man himself was still a very primitive being, not a physical but a spiritual being. But in his own being Man shared in the processes undergone by the Earth after its birth out of the Cosmos. In actual fact the same inner connection once existed between the Earth and the neighbouring Cosmos as that between an unborn child with the body of the mother. Later, however, the child begins to make itself independent. Similarly, the Earth gradually developed into independence after having been more completely one with the Cosmos during the earliest Saturn epoch. Man accompanied this process towards independence until he was finally able to say: My finger is a finger only as long as it is part of my organism; the moment I sever it from my organism it is no longer a finger and it perishes. And if man as a physical being can be thought of as separated by a few miles only from the conditions of the Earth-organism he would wither and decay like the amputated finger. Because he can move freely over the face of the Earth man deceives himself into thinking that as a physical being he has an existence of his own, independent of the Earth, whereas a finger cannot move over the organism. If it could do so, it would be succumbing to the same delusion to which man succumbs if he thinks of himself as a physical being independent of the Earth. It is precisely through higher knowledge that this integration of physical man into the Earth becomes clear.

Such is the acquaintance that can be made, through Imaginative Consciousness, with the hardest component of the Earth’s surface. Further acquaintance can be made by descending a little more deeply into the Earth, to the veins or lodes of metal ores, or any metallic substance in the Earth’s interior. Here you have penetrated below the surface of the Earth. But metals have a very special character, a character deviating from that of other earthly substance. Metals have a certain independence which can be experienced, and this experience is of very great significance for man.¹

Even someone who acquires certain higher knowledge through Imaginative vision has not yet reached the goal when, through experiencing the quartz and other primeval rocks as the million eyes of the Earth, he expands his being into the Cosmos. If however he penetrates further into the interior of the Earth, the first impulses for experience can arise from the wonderful stimuli that can be received in a metal mine. Once the impulses have been set in motion, however, all that is necessary to be able to experience the nature of metallic substance without going down the shaft of a mine, is spiritual vision. But the first feeling of the experience in question can be acquired with particular intensity in metal mines themselves. It is no longer the case today but it was still true a few decades ago, that miners who are inwardly wedded to their work display something of this profound sense of the spiritual reality in metals. For the metals do not only ‘see’ the surrounding Cosmos: they speak in a spiritual way, but nevertheless they do speak and tell their story. And the language they speak is similar to the impressions of language from a different domain.

When we succeed in establishing an inner connection of soul with human beings living between death and rebirth we shall need a special language to communicate with them. What the Spiritualists say is puerile, for the simple reason that the dead do not speak the language of earthly man. Spiritualists believe that the dead speak in such a way that their words can be written down, just as though a letter were being received from a contemporary living on the Earth. True, in most cases the messages heard in seances sound high-flown and pompous, but the same sort of thing is sometimes written even by living contemporaries. The fact of the matter is that we have first to find the right approach to the language which the dead speak and which bears no resemblance whatever to any earthly language—this is so, although it also has a vocal-consonantal character. But the same language which can be apprehended only by spiritual hearing is spoken by the metals in the interior of the Earth. And the same language by means of which we come near the souls of the dead living between death and a new birth, can also recount the memories of the Earth, the experiences undergone by the Earth in its course through the periods of Saturn, Sun, Moon, and so on. The metals can tell us of the past history of the Earth. The destinies of our whole planetary system, however, are to be learnt from what Saturn has to communicate. It is of what the Earth has undergone in the evolutionary process that the metals tell.

The language spoken by the metals of the Earth can also take two forms. In its usual form it will reveal what the Earth has undergone in the course of its evolution since the Saturn period. What is said about this evolution in the book Occult Science: An Outline originated in the way I have often described—by direct spiritual perception of the process concerned. That, however, is a rather different way of learning about the Earth’s history from the one I have in mind just now. The metals—if I may put it in this way, although naturally it seems to be rather strangely expressed—the metals tell us more of the ‘personal’ experiences of the Earth, of the Earth as a specific entity in the Cosmos. So if I wanted to lay particular emphasis upon the stories told by the metals, stories learnt by spiritual penetration into the interior of the Earth, I should have to give many details of the Saturn-, Sun-, Moon-periods, and so forth.

A first example would be that the conditions on Old Saturn described in the book Occult Science as consisting of differentiations of warmth, appear as mighty, gigantic beings-of-warmth, which even during the Saturn period had reached a certain degree of density. To put it crudely: if it were possible—which of course it is not—for a man of Earth to encounter these beings he could become aware of them and even touch them. Thus about the middle of the Saturn period these beings were not purely spiritual but displayed a certain physical quality. If you had tried to touch them your fingers would have blistered. It would be wrong to assume that they had a temperature of millions of degrees of warmth but their temperature was such that any contact would have caused blisters.

Then we should have to pass to the Sun period and to relate, as I did in Occult Science, how other beings appeared, manifesting wonderful transformations, metamorphoses. Gazing at these beings in process of metamorphosis we should get the impression that the metamorphoses described by classical authors such as Ovid have something to do, though of course not directly, with experience of the communications make by the metals. Ovid was certainly not himself capable of understanding the language of the metals directly, nor indeed does his work Metamorphoses wholly convey the impression one gets, but what he says is derived from this source, and the underlying process is very definitely indicated. Paracelsus, who lived at a much later time than the personality to whom I have just referred, did not go to college to learn what he regarded as of greatest importance. I do not imply that he did not actually go to college, for as a matter of fact he did, and I have no objections whatever to such a course. But for knowledge of the greatest importance he went where more significant information could be obtained. He went, for example, to men such as metal-miners and acquired a great deal of his knowledge in this way.

Anyone familiar with the technique of acquiring knowledge is aware of how extraordinarily illuminating the simple words of a peasant engaged on the business of sowing and reaping can be. You will say that he does not understand what he is talking about, but what matters is that you who are listening should understand. Certainly it will be only very rarely that the speaker himself understands what he has said—it is a matter of instinct. And even more fundamental knowledge can be acquired from creatures such as beetles and butterflies and birds, who understand nothing at all about what they say to us.

Pythagoras on his travels studied with great intensity what could be learnt by listening to the speech of the metals in the mines of Asia Minor, and a great deal of what he learnt made its way into what then became Greco-Roman culture. In a weakened form it appears in a work such as Ovid’s Metamorphoses. This is one form of the speech of the metals in the interior of the Earth.

The other form—grotesque as this seems, it is true—the other form is revealed when the speech of the metals becomes poetical, begins to be cosmic poetry. Cosmic phantasy comes to expression in the speech of the metals. And then this cosmic poetry tells of the most intimate relations existing between the metals and the being of man. These most intimate relations do indeed exist. The crude relations known to physiology involve only a few metals. It is known that iron plays an important role in human blood; but iron is really the only metal of this kind. A few others—potassium, calcium, sodium, magnesium—also play a certain part. But a larger number of metals that are important for the structure and functioning of the Earth, seem to crude observation to play no part in the human organism. But that is only apparently the case. If you penetrate into the Earth and there learn to know the speech of the metals, you will also learn that the metals are truly not present only in the interior of the Earth but everywhere in its environment as well, although in exceedingly fine distribution, in a hyper-homeopathic solution, if I may so express it.

In the crude, material sense we cannot have lead within us; in the finer, more ethereal sense we cannot live without it. For what would become of man if lead from the Cosmos, from the atmosphere, did not have an effect upon him, if lead in an infinitely fine state of distribution did not penetrate with the rays of the sun through his eye into his skin, if lead did not penetrate into him through the breathing-process, and again in an infinitely fine state, into the foodstuffs? In short, what would man be if lead did not work in him?

Without lead he would indeed have sense-perceptions; he would be able to perceive colours and musical tones, but with every perception he would become slightly faint, slightly out of his body. He would never be able to stand back from his perceptions and reflect in thoughts and mental concepts about what he had perceived. If we did not absorb any lead in the infinitely fine homeopathic potencies of which I spoke, into our nervous system and, above all, into our brain, we should be entirely given over to all our sense-perceptions as if they were something outside us. We should be unable to form any mental picture of our sense-perceptions or retain any picture of them in our memory. It is the finely distributed lead in our brain that makes this possible.

If a considerable quantity of lead is introduced into the human organism the result is lead-poisoning—a dreadful condition. But those who are aware of the facts can realise from this power of lead to poison, that just because it has a disastrous effect if introduced into the human organism in any considerable quantity, if administered in extremely fine hyper-homeopathic dilution, it can at any moment bring about fading, dying processes to the extent necessary to enable a man to be a conscious being, not perpetually involved in processes of growth and formation—which cause faintness and loss of consciousness. For this is what happens if the growth-forces become overpowering.

Man has definite relationships to all metals, including those of which crude physiology says nothing. Knowledge of these relationships is the foundation for a true therapy. Intimate information about the relationships of the metals to the human being can be given only by the poetic speech of the metals of the Earth. So it may be said that the ordinary speech of the metals gives information about the actual destiny of the Earth; information about the curative relationships of the metals to the human being is given by the metals when their speech becomes poetic.

It is a remarkable thought that from the cosmic aspect, medicine is a kind of poetry. But many mysteries of existence lie in the fact that what at one level causes or leads to illness, is, at another level, something lofty, most perfect, most beautiful. This is what emerges when Inspired cognition finds access to the metallic veins and metals in the Earth.

Now still another relationship can be established with metals, namely, when they are subjected to natural forces, for example, to fire. Just think of the remarkable formation of antimony orc. It is composed of single spear-shaped structures, showing by this formation that it follows certain lines of force that are active in the Cosmos. If antimony is subjected to a process of combustion it becomes the ‘antimony mirror’. When it is spread on glass it develops a special power of reflection. It has other peculiarities, too, for example it readily explodes if it is deposited on the cathode. All these characteristics of antimony indicate how a metallic substance of this kind is related to the forces of the Earth, of the Earth’s environment. The same can be said of all metals. All of them can be studied when brought into the process of combustion and if the temperature rises higher and higher they pass over into the super-homeopathic condition of which I have spoken. It is at those temperatures that they assume a quite different form. In this connection the ideas of modern physicists are rigidly schematic. As the lead is being melted the physicists picture it getting softer and softer, and so it does, to begin with. The lead gets softer and softer as the temperature rises, and it also gets hotter and hotter, increasingly fluidic, until lead-fumes are produced. What the physicists do not know is that all the time something that does not reach beyond a certain temperature is being thrown off, separated off. This they do not know. Lead in this finest, ‘super-homeopathic’ state passes over continually into the universal invisible life and in that form works upon man.

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In the Earth itself there are metals of infinite kinds, but above the Earth these metals are everywhere present in the finest possible state of distribution; they have vaporised. Down in the Earth the metals have their sharp contours and definite structures; at a still greater depth they exist in a molten condition. But in the environment of the Earth, the metals in the finest possible state of distribution continually radiate out into cosmic space. Now in cosmic space there is inner elasticity. The forces do not radiate into infinity—as the physicists imagine to be the case with light-rays—but these forces radiate to a certain boundary and then return. These backward radiating forces may be pictured as returning in all directions from the periphery of the universe. And we become aware that these backward-streaming forces are at work where we witness one of the most wonderful, most beautiful of all sights in human life: when a child is learning in the first years of earthly life to walk, to speak and to think.

It is one of the most wonderful sights in the whole of life to observe how a child stops crawling and stands up in order to orientate himself in the world; to ‘come to himself’ as a human being. It is the backward-radiating forces of the metals that work inwardly in the forces which give the child the power of orientation. As the child learns to raise himself from his horizontal position in crawling, he is permeated by the backward-radiating force of the metals. This is the force that actually raises the child into the upright position. If this connection is recognised, another experience comes simultaneously. It is that in the deeds, in the essential nature of the human being living here on Earth, one recognises the connection with his earlier incarnation. The faculties for perceiving the workings of the metals in the Cosmos and the karmic connection between the successive lives on Earth, are the same. The one recognition comes with the other and neither is possible without the other. That is why I once said in an entirely different context that in this power of orientation, in the power which enables the child to rise from crawling to standing and walking, the faculty of learning to speak and think, lie the fruits coming from earlier lives on Earth. I said then that anyone with an eye for these things perceives in the way the child takes his first steps, whether in taking steps he tends to put toes or heels down first, whether he bends his knees sharply or only slightly—in all this, karmic disposition from an earlier incarnation can be perceived. It shows itself primarily in the gait. This is because together with the faculty which enables the backward-raying forces of the metals to be perceived comes the faculty to perceive the connection of a man’s present life with his earlier lives.

The assertion that Anthroposophy is not open to proof is entirely unjustified. Those who assert this are accustomed to bring forward sense-perception as proof. But that is tantamount to saying: Are you actually telling me that the Earth moves freely in space? It is simply not possible. Either there must be something to support it or it must fall!—In point of fact it does not fall because cosmic bodies mutually support each other. Support is necessary only in the conditions prevailing on the Earth. So it is only for truths recognised by the everyday consciousness that proofs can rightly be offered, if they are demanded. Truths relating to the spirit are mutually confirmatory—but this must also be felt as an inner conviction.

I have told you that from the way a child—or an adult—walks, whether he raises toes or heel first, treads firmly or lightly, bends his knees a great deal or is more prone to stand stiffly—from all this the fulfilment of his karma from the previous earthly life can be perceived. Today I have shown you how the backward-raying forces of the metals enable us to recognise the connection between earthly lives. Here you have two mutually confirmatory truths. But what happens all the time is that we hear a truth, then after some time we hear the same truth from a different angle and perhaps we hear it a third time. In this way the truths of Anthroposophy confirm one another— just as in the Cosmos the heavenly bodies uphold each other without needing extraneous supports. It must indeed be so when we ascend from truths that are valid for everyday consciousness only, to truths that are self-sustaining realities in the Cosmos. And what anthroposophical knowledge comprises is indeed self-sustaining reality. You must hold together in your mind statements made at different times, statements which mutually support, attract, or also resist each other, revealing thereby the inner life of anthroposophical knowledge. Other forms of knowledge, customary today, live by virtue of the supports on which they are based; Anthroposophical knowledge is self-sustaining.

• 1. See True and False Paths in Spiritual Investigation, Lectures 3 to 5. (Rudolf Steiner Press.)

On the basis of what I said yesterday it is possible to speak in greater detail of certain events in the course of the Earth’s evolution which have brought about its present form. As you will remember, I said that with clairvoyant consciousness a relationship can be established with the metallic substances in the Earth, with the essentially living quality inherent in the Earth by virtue of the veins of the different metals running through it. This relationship which can be established with the ‘metallity’ in the Earth enables one to look back over the Earth’s history.

It is particularly interesting to look back at what happened in the process of evolution in the times preceding the Atlantean epoch, during the period I have rather loosely called the Lemurian age and also in the epoch immediately before that, when the Earth was recapitulating the Sun-stage. It is interesting to look back at these happenings for they give one an impression of the great mutability of everything connected with the Earth’s existence.

We are accustomed today to regard the Earth as having always existed in the form in which it appears to us today. We inhabit a continent, we are surrounded by plants, by animals, by birds of the air. We are aware that we ourselves are living in a kind of atmospheric ocean surrounding the Earth, that we take oxygen out of this atmosphere into ourselves but that our relation to nitrogen has also a certain part to play. In general we simply think of the air around us as consisting of oxygen and nitrogen. Then we turn to look at the seas and oceans—further details need not be mentioned—and finally we have a picture of the planet we inhabit in the Universe. But the Earth has not always been as it is today; it has undergone tremendous changes, and if we go back to the epochs I have just mentioned—perhaps only to the Lemurian epoch or a little earlier—we shall find an Earth very different from that of today.

Let us begin by thinking of our present atmosphere which we regard as being devoid of life. Even this atmosphere proves to be quite different from anything to be found in early periods of the Earth’s evolution. Still further in the past something resembling the solid core of the Earth as we know it today is in evidence, surrounded by an atmosphere. But in those days there was nothing at all like the air we breathe today. In this air oxygen and nitrogen play the most prominent part, carbon and hydrogen a subsidiary role, sulphur and phosphorus a role of less importance still.

But it is really not possible to speak of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, sulphur and the rest in those early times, simply because what the chemists call by these names today did not exist. If a spirit-being of those times were to have met a modern chemist who spoke to him about carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, and the rest, he would have retorted that nothing of the kind exists. We can justifiably speak of carbon, oxygen or nitrogen today but this could not have been done in those early times. Oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, as we speak of them today, became possible only when the Earth had reached a certain density and had developed forces such as it contains today. Neither oxygen, nitrogen, potassium, sodium nor any of the so-called fighter metals existed in those olden times. On the other hand, in the Earth’s environment that is filled today by our atmosphere there was something a little like albumen in consistency, a very fine fluid halfway between our present water and air. The Earth at that time was entirely surrounded by an albuminous atmosphere. The albumen we know in eggs today is very much coarser, but a comparison is possible.

When at a later time the Earth became denser, what we today call carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen and so forth, were differentiated out of this atmosphere around the Earth. But it would be erroneous to say that the then albuminous atmosphere was composed of these elements which were not specific ingredients of it. Nowadays we think that everything is composite; but that is nonsense. Certain substances of a higher kind are not always composed of what comes to light when they are analysed. Carbon does not appear as carbon nor oxygen as oxygen in the higher kind of substance of which I am now speaking. As I said, it can be described as extremely fluid albumen. All this substance which surrounded the Earth in that age was permeated with the inpouring cosmic ether which imbued it with life; in addition, it was differentiated in a curious way. For instance, in one fairly wide area a man would have suffocated had he been present there, in another he could have been greatly invigorated. Chemical elements in the modern sense did not then exist but certain formations remind one of the effects of the chemical elements we know. The whole sphere teemed with gleaming reflections of light, with sparkling, luminous rays. And it was warmed through and through by the cosmic ether.

Such were the properties of the Earth-atmosphere—if I may use the modern expression—in that early epoch. The primeval mountains of which I spoke yesterday were the first formations to emerge from out of the Cosmos. The quartz to be found in those mountains, with its beautiful structure and relative transparency, was as it were poured into the Earth from the Cosmos. When a seer endowed with Imaginative vision observes those primeval rocks which, are the hardest substances on the Earth, they become the eyes through which he gazes out into the Universe—the same Universe which implanted these eyes into the Earth. It must be remembered that the quartz and silicious substances which permeated the whole atmosphere and were gradually deposited as primeval mountains were not as hard as they are today. They hardened into the state we know owing to the conditions that prevailed in later times. In the form in which they emerged from the Universe their consistency was scarcely more solid than wax.

A quartz crystal to be seen on mountains today is so hard that, as I said yesterday, if you were to hit your head against it, your skull—not the quartz—would crack. But in the far distant past, because of the all-pervading life, this primeval stone was as pliable as wax when it emerged from tire Cosmos. These drops of wax were transparent and their consistency can be pictured only by thinking of them in connection with the sense of touch. If one could have touched them, they would have felt like wax.

Silica came from the Cosmos into the Earth with a consistency similar to that of wax, and then it hardened. I described yesterday how pictures of the Cosmos arise in clairvoyant contemplation of this hard, rock-like substance. These pictures represent a more spiritual aspect of the phenomenon that was once concretely perceptible as a kind of plant-form in portions of this transparent, wax-like silica emerging from the Cosmos. Any observer of Nature will know that in the mineral kingdom today records of an earlier age are still to be found. When you look closely at certain stones you will see something like a plant-form within them. But in that distant past a quite usual phenomenon was that pictures were projected from the Cosmos into the albuminous atmosphere within the wax-like substance, where the pictures were not only seen but were reproduced, photographed, as it were, within this substance.

And then there was a noteworthy development: the fluid albumen filled these pictures and they became still denser and harder; and finally they were no longer merely pictures. The silicious element fell away from them, dispersed into the atmosphere, and in the earliest Lemurian age there appeared gigantic, floating plant-formations which remind one of the algae of today. They were not rooted in the soil—indeed there was as yet no soil in which they could have taken root; they floated in the fluid albumen, drawing their own substance from it, permeating themselves with it. And not only so—they lit up, glimmered and then faded out; reappeared and again vanished. Their mutability was so great that this was possible.

Try to picture this vividly. It is a panorama very different from anything to be seen in our environment today. If a modern man could project himself into that far-off time, set up a little observation-hut and look out on that ancient world, the spectacle before him would be something like this: he would see a gigantic plant-formation somewhat like present-day algae or palms. It would not appear to grow out of the Earth in springtime and die away in the autumn, but it would shoot up—in springtime, it is true, but the spring was then much shorter—and reach an enormous size; then it would vanish again in the fluid albuminous element. A clairvoyant observer would see the verdure appearing and then fading away. He would not speak of plants which cover the Earth but of plants appearing out of the Cosmos like airy clouds, condensing and then dissolving—it was a process of ‘greening’, taking place in the albuminous atmosphere. Of the period which would correspond more or less to our summer, an observer would say that it was the time when the environment of the Earth became ‘green’. But he would look upwards to the greening rather than downwards. In this way we can picture how the silicious element in the Earth’s atmosphere penetrates into the Earth and draws to itself the plant-force from the Cosmos, in other words, how the plant kingdom comes down to the Earth from the Cosmos. In the period of which I am speaking, however, we must say of the plant world: it is something that comes into being and passes away again in the atmosphere.

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And there is still something else to be said. If a human being of today, having established relationship with the metallic substance of the Earth, were to project himself into those past times, he would feel as if all this belonged to him, as if he himself had something to do with the process of greening and fading then taking place in the atmosphere. Now if you think back to your own childhood, this is simply a memory of a short span of time; on the other hand, if you recall a pain suffered in your childhood, this is something that really belongs to you. Similarly, in the cosmic memory of the past kindled through the metallity of the Earth, this process of greening and fading in the far past seems to be something that belongs to you. At that time man was already connected with the Earth which was surrounded by this watery-albuminous atmosphere; but he was then still wholly spiritual. It is correct to say, and it must also be realised, that these plant formations to be seen in the atmosphere at that time were something thrown off, ‘excreted’ by man. Man cast them out of his being which was still one with the whole Earth.

Now this same conception applies in the case of something quite different. Everything that I have so far described is the result of the fact that the silica had already, at an even earlier time, been precipitated in the atmosphere as the wax-like substance of which I have spoken. But apart from this there was the albuminous atmosphere upon which the infinitely diverse forces of the Cosmos were working, those forces which modern science sees fit to ignore. Hence our modern knowledge is no real knowledge at all, because a great many happenings on Earth simply would not take place if they were not brought about by cosmic forces and influences. Since the modern scientists do not speak of or do not recognise these cosmic forces, there is no reality in what they say. They take no account of what is essentially quick with life. Even in the tiniest particle looked at through a microscope, cosmic forces, not only earthly forces, are working. And if these cosmic forces are not taken into account, there can be no reality.

Thus cosmic forces were working in that remote time upon this fluid albumen in the Earth’s environment in such a way that it curdled or congealed. Albumen, congealed as a result of the working of cosmic forces, was everywhere to be seen in the sphere surrounding the Earth. But the forms assumed by this congealed albumen were not merely cloud-masses but living entities. These entities were in reality animals consisting of the congealed albumen which had solidified into a gelatinous state, into substance similar to gristle as it is today. Animal creatures of this kind were present in the fluid albuminous atmosphere. The forms of our present reptiles, lizards and the like, resemble, on a small scale, the forms of those earlier animals, but the latter were not so solid; they existed as gelatinous masses and were inherently mobile. At one moment their limbs were extended, at another withdrawn—comparable with what a snail does with its feelers today.

Now while all this was taking place, something else was being deposited into the Earth from the Cosmos. Another substance was being added to the silica; it is what you find today as the chalky constituents of the Earth. If you go—not necessarily into the oldest mountains but only into the Jura mountains, you will find limestone rock. It came to the Earth at a later stage than the silica but it too came from the Cosmos. Thus chalk is to be found as a second substance in the Earth.

This chalk deposit oozes constantly inwards and the actual effect is that in its core the Earth becomes denser and denser. Then in certain regions the silica combines with the chalk. But this chalk retains the cosmic forces and is altogether different from the crude substance which chemists consider it to be. Everywhere the chalk contains relatively latent formative forces.

Now in an epoch rather later than the period I described to you, when the greening became manifest and then faded away, we find that within this albuminous atmosphere there is a constant rising and falling of the chalk; chalk mist is followed by chalk rain. There was a period in the history of the Earth when what we know today as water-vapour and falling rain was a chalky substance, rising and falling. Then comes a strange development: the chalk is particularly attracted to the gelatinous, gristly masses; it permeates them, impregnates them with itself. And thanks to the Earth-forces which, as I told you, it contains, it dissolves the whole gelatinous mass which has formed as congealed albumen. The chalk takes from the heavens what the heavens have formed in the albuminous substance and carries it nearer to the Earth. And out of this the animals with calcareous bones came into being.

This is what develops in the later Lemurian epoch.

We must therefore think of plants in their earliest form as pure gifts from heaven and the animals, and all animal-like formations, we must regard as something which after the heavens had presented the Earth with chalk, the Earth has taken—literally filched—from the heavens and made into an earthly product.

Such things naturally seem paradoxical because they touch upon a reality of which modern man usually has no conception; nevertheless they are absolutely true. Now it corresponds with reality today if memory enables someone to say: ‘When I was nine years old I gave a friend many a sound thrashing.’ One may or may not feel gratified by such a memory, or it may pain one; but it does arise within one. Similarly, in human consciousness expanded through relationship with the metals into an Earth consciousness, this realisation arises: In the process of forming your whole being on Earth out of the heavens, during the descent you separated, cast off the plants from yourself. You also cast off the animal nature; your desire, to begin with, was that in the form of gelatinous coagulation or gristle it should be a product secreted by you. But then you were obliged to realise that pre-existent Earth-forces took this task over from you and reshaped the animal form into different structures which are products of the Earth. In this way, as it were in a cosmic memory, these happenings seem to be actual experiences of our own, just as the other incident I mentioned is an experience belonging to a brief earthly life. As man, we feel ourselves bound up with these happenings.

But all this is connected with many other processes—I am speaking briefly of only the most important ones. Many other things were happening. For example, during the period when what I have been describing was taking place, the whole atmosphere was also filled with sulphur in a highly rarefied state. This rarefied sulphur united with other substances and from this union there arose the ‘parents’ as it were of what is present in the ores today as pyrites, as galena, as native sulphide of zinc and so forth. All these substances developed at that time in an earlier form, in a soft, still wax-like consistency, and the body of the Earth was permeated with them. Then, when these metallic ores emerged from the universal albuminous substance and formed the solid crust of the Earth, there was really nothing much else for the metals to do, unless man made some use of them, than to reflect about the past. And indeed we find that they do conjure up for the inner vision, everything that has happened in the Earth’s history. A man in whom these things are cosmic, or at least terrestrial experience, will say to himself: Through having cast away from yourself the primeval plant-form—which has since developed into the later plant-formations—through having cast away from yourself the complicated processes of animal evolution, you have also rid yourself of everything that previously stood in the way of your having a will in your own being as man.

It was necessary for man to get rid of all this, just as today he must secrete sweat. In no other way could he cease to be a being in whom only gods willed, but become an individual with his own will, perhaps not yet free will, but nevertheless a will of his own. All this was necessary for the preparation of man’s earthly nature.

In the course of further development, during which there were many other happenings, everything changed. Naturally, when the metallic ores had separated and were now in the Earth, the whole atmosphere also changed. It became far less sulphurous. Oxygen gradually gained predominance over the sulphur whereas in ancient times sulphur was a very significant factor in the Earth’s atmosphere.

In this changed environment man was able to cast away other elements from himself and these are the successors of the earlier plants and animals. The later plant-forms now gradually developing were rooted in substance that was still very soft. Out of the earlier reptilian and lizard-like creatures, animals with a more complicated structure developed, the impressions of which modern geology can still discover. Nothing at all of the earliest animal creatures of which I have spoken can be found. It was not until the later epoch, when—for a second time as it were—man cast out more complicated structures, that the conditions I have been describing were present: cloud-masses continually forming and dissolving, viridescence (greening) appearing and then fading away, soft animal-like structures which, however, were real animals; at times they contracted and had a life of their own, and soon again lost identity in the general life of the Earth. All these developments resulted in greater solidification.

Among animals of this kind was one which at that time looked more or less like this (diagram): it had a very large eye-like organ surrounded by a sort of aura; adjoining this organ a kind of snout protruded further forwards; the body was lizard-like, with powerful fins. Such structures were already more solid in themselves. It would be equally correct to speak either of wings or fins in the case of these animals for they were not marine creatures—there was as yet no sea. There was only the soft Earth and the still soft elements in the surrounding atmosphere from which only the sulphur had been partially separated. In this atmosphere such animals flew or swam—it was something between flying and swimming.

If, starting from the present day, someone were to go back through time into the period between the Lemurian and Atlantean epochs, he would confront a strange spectacle: huge flying lizards with a kind of lantern-like formation on the head, radiating light and warmth; and down below, a soft, marshy Earth but with something very familiar about it because it would seem to a visitor of today to be emitting an odour, an odour between that of decaying substance and of green plants. The mud of this soft Earth would emit an odour partly seductive and partly extremely pleasant. And in it, moving about like creatures of the swamp, there would be these other animals, already with more limbs, rather like the lower species of mammals today but with powerful formations below—more powerful, naturally, than the webbed feet of ducks—by means of which they propelled themselves through the swamps.

Man was obliged to undergo this whole process in order that autonomous feeling might be prepared in him for his earthly existence.

Thus we have a primary plant-animal creation consisting of the products secreted by man and which made it possible for him to become a being on Earth possessed of will. If all these products had remained in him, they would have taken possession of his will which would have become a wholly physical manifestation. As a result of what he had cast off, the physical element had been eliminated and his will became a quality of the soul. Similarly, as a result of the second creation man’s feeling acquired the character of soul. Plants and mammals somewhat similar to those we know did not appear until the middle or later period of Atlantis. It was then that the Earth acquired a structure definitely resembling that of today. The substances known to modern chemists as carbon, oxygen, the heavy metals, and so on, had gradually developed, and it was possible for the third casting-off process to take place. Man separated from himself the plants and animals to be found in his environment today. And the fact that this environment came into existence around him has enabled him to live on Earth as a thinking being.

In those early times humanity was not split up as men are today, into single individuals; there was one universal humanity, still of the nature of spirit-and-soul, descending into the ether. For this universal humanity came out of the Cosmos together with the ether streaming thence to the Earth. The happenings I have described in the book Occult Science, then took place. Humanity came to the Earth, then departed to other planets and subsequently returned during the Atlantean epoch. This went on concurrently with other events; for whenever it was a matter of anything being cast off, humanity could not remain with the Earth but was obliged to depart from it in order that certain inner forces, now more of the nature of soul, might be strengthened. Humanity then came down again to the Earth. These happenings add details to what you can read in Occult Science. Man in truth belongs to the Cosmos, and it is he who prepares his earthly environment by casting off from himself the kingdoms of Nature and despatching them into the domain of the Earth where they form part of his environment. By sending these products of separation down to the Earth man was gradually able to equip himself with the faculties of thinking, feeling and willing. It was only in the course of time that he evolved into what he is today, an organic-physical being and able during his existence on Earth between birth and death to think and feel and will. He is connected with entities who, in order to further the evolution of humanity, have in the course of time separated from the human realm and in this separation have been metamorphosed into their present forms.

It is clear from what has been said that we do not speak in an abstract way about tire relationship that can be established with the metallic substances of the Earth. When relationship has been established with the metals with their memory of the Earth’s history, one can speak of what is remembered and discover for oneself what I have been describing to you today.

If we now go back to still earlier times, we shall find that everything is even more transient, even more evanescent. Think of the grandeur and majesty of the vista I described to you: those mobile, wax-like silica formations in which pictures of the plant-world appear, fill themselves with the soft albuminous substance and produce in the Earth’s environment the phenomena of ‘greening’ and fading. Think of all this and you will say to yourselves: In contrast to the plants growing out of the Earth today with their firmly formed roots and leaves or to our present trees with their strong trunks, this is as ephemeral as a cloud. How fleeting these earlier forms are if compared with an oak of today— the oak itself does not pride itself on its natural characteristic, it is usually the people living around such trees who are guilty of pride, for they mistake their frequent weakness for the hardiness of the oak! Compare this quality of our present oaks with those ancient, ethereal plant-formations, appearing and passing away like shadowy mists in the atmosphere, condensing and then vanishing away. Or to take cruder examples, compare a thick-skinned hippopotamus or elephant or a similar animal with those earlier creatures which emerged from the universal albumen, were laid hold of by the chalk and becoming rather more solid as a result developed the rudiments of bones and were drawn down into the animality of the Earth—I use this expression more as an adjective. Compare the Earth’s present density, shall I say the ‘elephantine’ density of the Earth today with the conditions that once existed, and you will no longer be able to doubt that the further back you go into the past the more fleeting and evanescent are the phenomena.

In even more remote times we come to conditions where there are only surging and weaving colour-formations, appearing and disappearing. And if you turn to the descriptions of Old Sun, or of Old Saturn given in the book Occult Science ¹ you will find that this is understandable when it is realised that these conditions belong to a far, far distant past. At that stage the evanescent plant-formations fill themselves with the albuminous substance and begin to look like clouds. At still earlier stages we can speak only of colour-formations such as I described in connection with Old Sun or Old Saturn.

If therefore we go back from physical conditions with the ‘elephantine’ quality they have today, through finer physical conditions, we finally reach the spiritual. In this way, by paying attention to actual realities we come to realise that everything belonging to the Earth has its origin in the spiritual. This is a matter of actual vision. And I think it is also a beautiful idea to be able to say to oneself: If you penetrate into the interior of the Earth and let the hard metals tell you their memories, they will say to you: Once upon a time we were so widely diffused over the cosmic expanse that we were not physical substances at all, but were simply colour, weaving, hovering, undulating in the spiritual Cosmos. The memories of the metals of the Earth go back to a condition when each metal was a cosmic colour permeating the others, when the Cosmos was a kind of spectrum, a rainbow which differentiated and only then became physical.

And it is at this point that the merely theoretical impression communicated to us by the metals of the Earth becomes a moral impression. For every metal says to us: I come from the cosmic expanse far away from the Earth, I come from the spheres of Heaven and have been compressed, enchanted into the interior of the Earth. But I await my redemption, for in time to come my essential being will again pervade the Universe.—When we learn to understand the speech of the metals in this way, gold tells us of the Sun, lead of Saturn, copper of Venus. And then these metals say to us: There was a time when we stretched far out into the Universe—copper to Venus, lead to Saturn—but now we have been enchanted into the Earth. We shall stretch far out again when the Earth’s mission is fulfilled through man having achieved on the Earth what can be achieved there and only there. We accepted this enchantment in order that man might become a free being on the Earth. When freedom has been won for man, release from our enchantment can also begin.

This release has been in process of preparation for a long time already. It is only a matter of understanding it and of understanding how the Earth, together with man, will evolve on into the future.

• 1. pp. 115-37 in the 1962/63 edition.

When man today speaks of the word, he means, as a rule, only the weak human word which has so little significance in comparison with the majesty of the Universe indicated at the beginning of St. John’s Gospel with the momentous words: In the beginning was the Word, the Logos, and the Word was with God, and a God was the Word. Anyone who meditates on this most significant opening of St. John’s Gospel must ask himself: What does it mean, when the Word is placed at the primal beginning of all things? What is meant by the Logos, the Word? And how is this connected with our trivial human words?

The name of John is also connected with the city of Ephesus, and Imaginative perception of the world’s history, the significant saying, Tn the primal beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and a God was the Logos’, will lead one again and again, by an inner path, back to the ancient Temple of Diana at Ephesus. For one who has attained a certain degree of Initiation, the enigma presented in the first verses of St. John’s Gospel points to the Mysteries of the Temple of Diana, at Ephesus. And so it must seem to him that knowledge of the Mysteries of Ephesus will help him to understand the beginning of St. John’s Gospel.

Prepared by what we have heard in the last two lectures, let us think of the Mysteries of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus as they were six or seven centuries before the birth of Christianity, or even earlier, and of what was done in this sanctuary that was held to be so holy by the men of that olden time. We find that the instruction given in the Mysteries at Ephesus was primarily concerned with the processes active in human speech. We can learn—not from any historical account, for the barbarism of humanity takes good care that such records are destroyed—we can learn from the Akashic Record, that thought-record in the ether and accessible to spiritual sight, where the events of world-history are inscribed, from this record we can learn of the teachings given in these Ephesian Mysteries. And the Akashic Record reveals again and again how the teacher directed the attention of the pupil to human speech. Again and again he was exhorted: Learn to feel in your own instrument of speech what it is that takes place there when you speak!

The processes at work in speech elude crude perception, for they are delicate and intimate. But let us consider first of all the external aspect of speech, for it was from this that the instruction given in these Mysteries took its start. The attention of the pupil was first directed to the way in which the word sounds forth from the mouth. He was told, over and over again: Mark well what you feel when the word sounds forth from your mouth! He was then taught to notice how something of the spoken word turns upwards in order to receive the thought in the head; while something from the same word takes its way downwards in man, in order that the feeling-content may be experienced inwardly.

Again and again the pupil was instructed to force his speech through the larynx, carrying it to its extreme limits, and thereby to perceive the ebb and flow manifest in the word as it is uttered. ‘I am, I am not’—a positive assertion and a negative assertion—these he had to utter as articulately as possible and then to observe how, in the words ‘I am’, the ascending upwards is felt, while in the ‘I am not’ there is rather the feeling of pressing downwards.

The attention of the pupil was then turned more towards the intimate, feelings and experiences connected with the word. He became aware that from the word something like warmth mounts up towards the head; and this warmth, this fire, grasps the thought. And there is also a flowing downwards as it were of a watery element, pouring itself out downwards, like a glandular secretion in the human organism. Thus it was made clear to the pupil in the Ephesian Mysteries: this is how man makes use of the air in order to let the word sound forth; but in the act of speaking the air transforms itself, into the next element, into fire, into warmth, draws down the thought from the heights of the head, and embodies it in itself. And again, another change ensues: not only is there a sending upwards of fire, but a sending downwards of the fluid element contained in the word: the air trickles down as it were like a glandular secretion, as water, as a fluidic element. By means of this latter process the word becomes inwardly perceptible; it can be felt inwardly.

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The pupil was then led into the real secret of speech. But this secret is connected with the secret of Man. This secret of Man is today hidden from the scientists, inasmuch as science places at the summit of all thought the incredible caricature of a truth, namely, the so-called law of the conservation of energy and of matter. In man, matter is continually being transformed. It does not endure. For instance, the air that forces its way out of the throat is transformed in the process into the next higher element, fire; and again also into the water-element—Fire, Water; Fire, Water.

The pupil at Ephesus came to understand how, when he spoke, a wave went forth from his mouth: Fire, Water; Fire, Water. This was nothing more or less than the striving upward of the word towards thought, and the trickling downward of the word towards feeling. Thus are thought and feeling interwoven in man’s speech, inasmuch as the living wave of speech, beginning as air, first rarefies to fire, then densifies to water, and so on, again and again.

Fire => Thought, Water => Feeling, Fire, Water

The great truth relating to his own speaking was brought home to the pupil in the Mysteries of Ephesus, in these words:

Speak, O Man, and thou
revealest through thyself
the Becoming of Worlds.¹

When the pupil came to the portal leading into the Mysteries, these were the words addressed to him:

Speak, O Man, and thou
revealest through thyself
the Becoming of Worlds.

And when he left the Mysteries, the words resounded to him in a different form:

World-Becoming reveals itself
through thee, O Man,
when thou speakest.

Then the pupil began to feel that he himself enveloped with his own body, as with a sheath, the Cosmic Secret which sounded from his breast and was contained in his speech.

All this was brought to the pupil as preparation for the really deeper secret. For this preparation enabled him to know how his own human nature is inwardly connected with the secret of the Cosmos. The saying ‘Know thyself!’ acquired a holy significance inasmuch as it was not uttered as theory but inwardly and solemnly felt and experienced.

Then, after the pupil had ennobled his being in this way, and was able to feel his manhood as a vessel enveloping the Cosmic Secret of the Cosmos, he could be led still further and come to know the power which spread the Secret over the wide spaces of the Cosmos.

Let me remind you here of what was said in the last lecture. I described a condition in the evolution of the Earth when the following occurred. We know that during this ancient period there was present in the Earth even then, as a substance essential for that stage of evolution, what we now know as opaque chalk such as is found, for instance, in the Jura mountains. In the chalk mountains, in the chalk of the Earth today, we have what is to be observed in that ancient period when the Earth was surrounded by what I called the ‘fluid albumen’. Cosmic forces worked into this fluid albumen, causing it to coagulate into certain definite forms; and while the Earth was in this condition a process took place resembling in a higher degree and in a denser substance what we know today as the rising of the mist and falling of the rain. The chalky element rose upwards and permeated what had hardened in the fluid albumen, so that these forms acquired a bony content. The result was that the animal came into being in the course of Earth-evolution. Through the spirituality contained in the chalk the animals were drawn down, as it were, out of the still albuminous atmosphere.

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I also said that if a man unites his being with the metallic element, the ‘metallity’ of the Earth, he can inwardly feel and experience; everything that happened in that remote past, he can feel it in his own being, as a memory. At that stage of evolution man did not yet feel himself to be a little human being enclosed in his skin; he felt that he embraced the whole earthly sphere. To put it rather grotesquely, I should say: man felt that his head embraced the whole Earth-planet.

The processes described in the last lecture were felt by man to be taking place in himself. But how? Everything I have described to you here as the rising of the chalk, the uniting of this chalk with the coagulated albumen and then the descent of the animal-nature on to the Earth—all this was experienced by man at that time in such a way that he heard it. You must try to imagine this. He experienced it inwardly, and in so doing he heard it. The forms that arose when the chalk filled out the coagulated albumen and made it bony and gristly—all that then took shape, was ‘felt’ in the ear, it was audible. The Cosmic Mystery was heard.

And it is the same today, when man learns in memory about the past of the Earth the memory that is kindled by the metals. It is as if he hears it. And in the sound the stream of cosmic happenings fives and weaves.

What is it that man hears? What is revealed, what is disclosed to him? The stream of cosmic happenings reveals itself as the Word of the World, as the Logos. It is the Logos, the Word of the World, that resounds in the arising and falling of the chalk. And when man is able to perceive and understand this language, he learns something else besides.

What modern anatomy says about a human or an animal skeleton is dreadfully external. But when, with inner mindfulness of the reality of Nature and of Spirit we look at a skeleton, what do we feel? We say to ourselves: Do not merely look at it. It is terrible merely to look at it as it stands there with its forms: the spinal column with its wonderfully shaped, intersecting vertebrae, with the ribs bending and curving forwards with all the wonderful articulation as the vertebrae are metamorphosed into the bones of tire skull; and that even more mysterious articulation where the ribs, bending to embrace the breast from either side, then with a sharp turn form themselves again to the bones of the arm and the bones of the leg! Confronted with this mystery of the skeleton, we can do no other than say to ourselves: Do not merely look, but listen. Listen how one bone transforms itself into another. Listen—for it speaks!

At this point let me make a personal remark. When with a feeling for these things we go into a natural history Museum, we are confronted by something really miraculous. For there we have a collection of what are really musical instruments forming a mighty orchestra and resounding in the most wonderful way. I experienced this very deeply when I once visited the Museum in Trieste. There, owing to a particular arrangement—made quite instinctively—of the animal skeletons, one could hear resound, one after the other, at one end of the animal the secrets of the Moon and at the other end the secrets of the Sun. The whole room was as though filled with the tones of Sun and planets. One could feel the connection between the skeleton—the bony-system living in the chalk—and that which once upon a time spoke to man out of the weaving Cosmos, when he himself was one with this Cosmos, with the secret of the Universe, which is at the same time the secret of Man himself.

The beings which came into existence at that time—the animal beings to begin with—spoke forth what they are; for the animal-nature lived in the Logos, in the sounding Mystery of the World. There were not two separate phenomena to be perceived. One did not perceive the animals, and then in some way or other the inner nature of the animals. The animals themselves, living and moving in their own essential being—that was what spoke.

The pupil of the Ephesian Mysteries could take into his soul, into his heart, in the right way for that ancient time, what could then be revealed to him concerning the primal Beginning, when the Word, the Logos, was moving and weaving as the living essence of all things. The pupil could receive it because he had been prepared by having ennobled and sublimated his human nature, in that he felt himself to be a vessel for the faint reflection of the Cosmic Mystery which lay in the sounding of his own speech.

And now let us consider how the evolutionary process has passed, as it were from one level to another. In the chalk element there was still something perfectly fluid. It rose as vapour, fell again as drops of rain. It was fluid. As it rose it was transmuted into Air. When it descended it was changed into Earth, and so we have, firstly Water, then Air and Earth. Now this is one level deeper than in the human copy of it: Air, Warmth, Water. In those primeval times the still fluid chalk rarefied to Air and condensed to Earth; just as in our larynx today the Air rarefies to Warmth and condenses to Water. And thereby it is possible for human beings to encompass this Cosmic Mystery in miniature. When it was still the mighty Maya of the Cosmos it was at a deeper level. The Earth densified everything. The chalk became denser, and so on. We human beings would not have been able to receive the Cosmic Mystery in this form, we could not have held it even in miniature. This was possible for us only because it rose one stage higher, from Water to Air; and therewith it begins to surge upwards into Warmth and downwards into Water—which is now the denser element.

Thus did the great Macrocosmic Mystery become the Microcosmic Mystery of human speech. It is this Macrocosmic Mystery, to which the beginning of St. John’s Gospel points. Tn the primal, beginning was the Word, the Logos, and the Word was with God, and a God was the Word.’ For that was still a living tradition in Ephesus, at the time when the Evangelist, the writer of St. John’s Gospel, could read there in the Akashic Record that for which his heart yearned namely, the right wording in which to clothe what he had to say to mankind concerning the secret of Cosmic Evolution.

But we can go a stage further. We can remind ourselves of what was said in the last lecture, namely that preceding the chalk there was the silica, which appears today in quartz. In this there appeared the plant-forms as I have described them—those great cloud-forms greening and fading away. And if, as I said, a man had been able at that time to look out into the wide spaces of the Cosmos, he would have seen this evolution of the animal nature, he would have seen, too, those primeval plants greening and passing away. All this was an inner experience in man. He perceived it as belonging to his own being. Nor was this all. For while he heard as a living inner experience the ‘sounding’ of the animal-nature coming into being, he could also in a certain sense accompany inwardly what he heard; as in his own head, in his breast, in his heart, he ascended with the words through the Warmth to grasp the element of Thought, so he could accompany what he heard resounding from the creation of the animals and follow what was experienced in the evolution of the plants.

This was the strange thing, my dear friends. Man could experience the weaving and working of the creation of the animals in the rarefying and descending chalk. And when, going further, knowledge came of what was in the silica, the plant-beings becoming green and again losing colour, then the Cosmic Word became Cosmic Thought; through the plant living in the silicious element Thought was added to the resounding Word.

We take a step upwards and Cosmic Thought is added to the sounding Logos, just as today, when speech goes out on a wave of Fire, Water, Fire Water, in the element of Fire the Thought is grasped by the resounding word.

Even today, if you study how to deal with certain pathological conditions connected with the sense-organs of the head, or with the sense-organs in general, you will learn of the healing effects of silica. Silica then appears to you as the Thought-element among the secrets of the Cosmos and you behold it as such in the greening and fading of the original plant-forms. Was I not able to say that through it the Earth perceives the whole structure of the Cosmos? In a wonderful way there is expressed in present-day man, microcosmically, that which once was macrocosmic, that which once was the weaving and moving, the very coming-into-being, of the Cosmos.

Just think for a moment how man lived then, lived still at one with the Cosmos, in unity with the Cosmos. When a man thinks today he has to picture himself isolated in his head. Inside his head are his thoughts, and the words come forth from there. The Cosmos is outside; words can only point to the Cosmos, thoughts can only mirror the Cosmos. It was not so when man was still one with the Macrocosm. Then he experienced the Cosmos as though it were within himself. The Word was his environment; and Thought was that which permeated and streamed through this environment. Man listened; and what he heard was World, was Cosmos. He looked upwards from what he heard, but he looked upwards within himself. The Word was first Tone. The Word was first something which struggled, as it were, for the solution of its own riddle. In the creation of the animal something that struggled for a solution was revealed. The animal kingdom arose within the chalk as a question. Man turned to the silica; he looked into the silica, and there the plant-creation gave the answer; the silica gave the answer to the riddle set by the animal creation. It was the beings themselves who solved each other’s riddles. One being, in this case the animal, put the question. The other being, in this case the plant, gave the answer. The whole Cosmos became Speech.

This is the reality contained in the words at the beginning of the Gospel of St. John. We are pointed back to a primal beginning of everything we see all the time around us today. In this primal Beginning, in this Principle, was the Word, and the Word was with God, and a God was the Word, for it was the creative essence in everything.

It is really the case that in the teaching concerning the Primal Word given to the pupils of the Mysteries at Ephesus lies that which afterwards led to the beginning of St. John’s Gospel. And here let me say that the time is fully ripe for anthroposophists to turn their attention to these secrets which rest in the womb of the Ages. For you see, in a very particular and special sense, the Building that stood here on the Dornach hill, the Goetheanum, had become the central point of anthroposophical striving. The pain in us today must live on further as pain, and will do so in everyone who was able to feel what the Goetheanum was intended to be. But whatever takes place in the physical world around us, that, my dear friends, for one who is striving upwards in his knowledge towards the Spiritual, must be at the same time an external revelation, a picture of something deeper, something spiritual. If, on the one hand, we have to experience this pain, then we, as human beings striving for spiritual knowledge, must nevertheless be able to turn what has happened into an opportunity for looking into an ever-deepening revelation. This Goetheanum was truly a place in which one longed to speak, in which one did speak again and again, of the things that are connected with the beginning of St. John’s Gospel: In the beginning was the Word, the Logos, and the Word was with God and a God was the Word.

The Goetheanum went up in flames of fire; and this terrible picture of the burning Goetheanum stands before us. Out of the pain can be born the demand and the call to look ever more deeply into that which is always there if only our thought is strong enough to see it, the call to look ever more deeply into the burning Goetheanum as it stood there in the flames of that New Year’s Eve. Although this was such a painful event, it was nevertheless one which can lead us into greater and greater depths of knowledge. Something was to have been founded there, something that had a connection with the Gospel of St. John. In a certain sense we may say that this placed itself into the consuming, burning flames, it was borne upwards in the flames. And mighty indeed is the impulse that can lay hold of us, to let those flames prompt us to look through them to other flames, to the flames that once upon a time consumed the Temple at Ephesus. Let that be a challenge to us to seek a meaning, a significance, for what is contained in the beginning of St. John’s Gospel. Urged on by these painful but holy impulses, let us look back from that Gospel to the Temple at Ephesus which was also burnt down, long ago; and then the Goetheanum flames which speak so painfully and so eloquently, will serve to remind us of what streamed into the Akashic Records with the flames of the burning Ephesian Temple. When we turn our eyes to that tragic night, to the flames of the burning Goetheanum, did we not see, do we not still see, the molten metals of the musical instruments? And have we not within the flames these metals of the musical instruments uttering in clear tones their holy speech, enchanting into the flames the most marvellous colours, eloquent colours, colours that speak, colours that are akin to the metals? Through union with the metals there rises up within us something that is like memory in the earthly sphere. And this memory unites us with what was burned together with the Temple at Ephesus. Then, even as there is a connection between those two burnings, so the longing to learn the meaning of the opening words of St. John’s Gospel can link us to what was brought home again and again to the pupil at Ephesus: Study the mystery of Man in the little word, the Micrologos, in order to make yourself ripe to experience within yourself the mystery of the Macrologos!

Man is the Microcosm in relation to the world which is the Macrocosm, but he also bears within him the mysteries of the Cosmos. And we learn to understand the Cosmic Mystery contained in the first three verses of St. John’s Gospel when we bear in our hearts, in the right way, that which was spoken by the flames of the Goetheanum, densified as it were to a kind of script:

Behold the Logos
In the burning Fire;
Find the clue
In Diana’s House.

The Fire-Akasha of New Year’s Eve speaks these and many other words very clearly. And it demands of us that we understand the Micrologos in the Microcosmos, so that man may gain understanding for that from which his own being proceeds, for the Macrocosmos through the Macrologos.

• 1. For the German original see end of lecture.