The Rudolf Steiner Archive

I

In the ninth edition of his "Natural History of Creation", Ernst Haeckel speaks of the new paths and broad perspectives that open up to art from the point of view of the scientific world view. Among the works filled with the spirit of this world view, he mentions "the many interesting poems of the brilliant Viennese poet Eugenie delle Grazie, especially the modern epic "Robespierre". It is now more than fifteen years since the name Marie Eugenie delle Grazie first appeared in a circle within the German intellectual life in Austria. A small collection of poems, a story "The Gypsy Woman", an epic "Hermann" and a drama "Saul" were published by her in quick succession. These were the creations of a lady not yet twenty years old. The intellectual, distinguished Austrian philosopher B. Carneri was not alone in his feelings about the poet, which he summarized in 1894 in the following sentences: "Given the magnificence of the subject matter and its happy mastery (Hermann) is a huge achievement for such a young age. Much of the praiseworthy can also be emphasized in 'Saul', but we would only like to speak of actual genius in the 'Gypsy'. Through her descriptions of nature, vivid sculpture and the passion that breaks through in full, this short story offers us a masterpiece whose melodious prose proves that Fräulein delle Grazie is also naturally gifted with what Friedrich Nietzsche calls 'the third ear'."

A great, unique personality announced itself in these poems. A life, young in years, rich in content, rich above all in those sufferings that lead to the gates of knowledge with a demanding mind, spoke out. There was no doubt that delle Grazie had the great passion that leads from the personal lot into the comprehensive mysteries of the fate of the world and that perceives the questions of the world as problems of one's own heart. Ten years passed before the poetess published any more. Then a collection of poems "Italische Vignetten", "Rebell" and "Bozi", two short stories, the great epic "Robespierre" and a third volume of poetry appeared in quick succession. The basic mood of delle Grazie's first creations is once again expressed; her viewpoint has become that of the modern world view in the highest sense of the word. There is probably no other personality who has experienced the pain of the collapse of an old ideal world and a new world of knowledge so deeply, so shatteringly as Marie Eugenie delle Grazie. Her feelings go in two directions, and in both directions they are great. What Schiller consoled himself with at all times: that man could flee from the common reality into the noble realm of ideals, this consolation was not granted to delle Grazie. The new natural science has directed its gaze to the real, which appears to it as the only thing that exists. The poet cannot believe in an eternal divine order that only uses nature to realize an ideal realm and goal; she is completely filled with the knowledge that the eternal mother, nature, indiscriminately conjures up creatures from her dark womb to satisfy the infinite lust that she has in creating and is unconcerned about the fate of her children. Whatever beautiful, great and sublime things arise in the world: they did not arise for the sake of beauty, greatness and sublimity, they arose because nature has the lustful urge to create. And they were all enthusiasts, the idealists who dreamed of the great goals of life. They owe their existence to the cunning of voluptuous nature. What would people's existence be if a Buddha, a Socrates, a Christ did not come from time to time and tell people that they were born for higher things. But no ideal can deceive those who look deeper. Mankind should only be incited from time to time by its idealists to believe something other than what the omnipotence of nature really accomplishes. Nature is voluptuous and demonic at the same time: it wants to satisfy itself by giving birth to people, and it tricks the poor creatures into believing in the dream and foam of ideals so that they are distracted from the true content of existence.

What a proud, profoundly comfortable nature has to suffer from such sentiments can be seen in delle Grazie's poetry. Anyone who is unable to empathize with the greatness of these poems must lack one of the feelings that have cut so deeply into the heart of contemporary man. Either he has never felt the great longing within himself as a personal destiny, which the mighty ideals of mankind, the urge to go beyond and the belief in the gods have brought forth and kept alive again and again, or the modern world view, which has broken over our intellectual life like a mighty earthquake, must have passed him by more or less without a trace. I have no doubt that this modern view of the world contains within it germs of higher spiritual spheres, more beautiful, more sublime than all the old ideals; but I do not believe that joys will ever fully triumph over suffering; I do not believe that hope will ever conquer renunciation. It seems to me as certain as that light is born of darkness: that the bright satisfaction of knowledge must arise from the deepest pain of existence. And the great pain of existence, that is the lifeblood of delle Grazie's existence, that is the lifeblood of delle Grazie's art. We have this element in our lives as an opponent of the worst thing that can consume us: superficiality. The regions in which delle Grazie walks are those through which anyone who wants to reach the heights of life must pass. Only the dearly bought knowledge, only that which has risen from the abyss, has value. Delle Grazie's poems show the price that every recognizer must pay. No matter where we end up. Delle Grazie's path is rooted in the depths of the human soul. It is true: her poems exude a weariness of the present and a hopelessness for the future. But I don't want to be one of those in whom none of this resonates.

II

There was a point in Rome's development where human greatness coincided most closely with human nothingness. Caesaric power was combined with weakness, artistic height with ethical rottenness. The mouth that commanded nations greedily craved the kiss of the most wretched woman; a master's mind became a slave's mind when the embraces of high-ranking prostitutes subdued it. These "Vignettes" by Marie Eugenie delle Grazie (Leipzig, Breitkopf & Härtel [1892]) reveal how this is still fossilized in the remnants of the old days, but still clearly visible to the clairvoyant eye:

Divine dignity and divine rights
Have you boldly arrogated to yourselves,
Spirit and virtue became servants,
Where the arbitrariness splashed great.

She sings of the Roman Caesars. She expresses the mood that took hold of her in the Eternal City with the words:

With elegiac whispers
Looks from the barren Palatine
A single pine tree gloomily
Towards the silent forum.

A number of poems have sprung from the impressions that Tasso's traces have left in the poetess:

At your tomb all vain imaginings die,
Here your glory sits enthroned in majestic peace,
But where man suffered, I found tears,
And I was allowed to sob and dream here like you!

Under the title "Images and Figures", delle Grazie shares her feelings at the sight of great Italian works of art, such as Guercino's Sant' Agnese, Maderna's St. Cecilia, Belvedere's Apollo, Otricoli's Zeus and Michelangelo's Moses. The poem "Two Madmen" from the cycle "Sorrento" juxtaposes Tasso and Nietzsche, who both walked on this ground:

Two great men walked these paths
And often both stand suddenly before my mind:
Tasso, the prince of poets by the grace of God,
And Friedrich Nietzsche ... equal was their gain,
And folly was his name ...

Delle Grazie has seen all the glory that is to be seen in Italy:

Like all of them, you drew me to you,
Enchanted, enraptured and beguiled,
On ruins you lied to me of a happiness,
That you destroyed hard in the sun's glare

Your worldview also speaks clearly from this book:

But I am not resentful ... I am going home again,
Even if with a crudely broken walking stick-
I bring back with him the old torments
And here as there I lay him on a grave! -

Lajos describes the feelings that seized him at the moment when his opponent's life was in his power with the words: "He turned pale to the lips, his knees trembled as if he had caught the Danube fever, and suddenly he pulled down his hat and saluted me deeply ... and smiled like a fool ... Then I felt so well, so well, I tell you, for now I knew that one could do worse to one's enemy than murder him, and that my torment was at an end, because I could no longer hate the one standing before me; it came into my throat like disgust - I spat out against him, threw the shotgun back into the reeds, took my fiddle and left ..." And then he says of the man he has humiliated: "Wherever he can, he rants at me to the people, and would love to set the pandurs and the magistrate on my neck, but he can't say anything right against me, and he won't even say that he was too bad to kill me! But he's like air to me; even if I have to breathe it in, I can always give it back - there! That's how indifferent he is to me!" The experience with the nobleman became a source of great insight for Lajos. He realized how to look at the world without hate and love. "What happened to my love, what happened to my hatred?" he says. "It's all over, and back then I thought I would die from it! Anyone who has experienced something like this in himself becomes calm and cannot do wrong even to his enemy!" "If I have bad eyesight and bump my head on a post - is it the post's fault or mine? The post is there and has its right, and I am there and would also have my right if my eyes weren't bad - I could avoid it, couldn't I? And if I could like a good-for-nothing and hate a scoundrel, wasn't I just so blind? They weren't, and that's why I had to bang my heart and skull against them like the post! But who am I to believe when I can deceive myself like that, when every man is twice: as he was born and as I think he is? And do I know what I am like? Many people avoid me - they do me no harm, but they want to do me even less good! Why is that? Have I done something wrong? Well, they're right too! I think to myself, because everyone who lives only wants himself, even if he thinks he likes someone else so much!" These are words of wisdom that only a life to which existence has revealed itself without veil can give birth to. People call Lajos a "rebel elf" because he despises them. And the nobleman says of him: "He is capable of anything." But these words mean nothing more than that the nobleman is incapable of recognizing how the poor gypsy's independent soul can express itself. To him it is an element that is moved by elemental forces, effective from depths of which the average brain has no idea. The unknown, the dark forces in the gypsy's head and heart fill the nobleman with a sense of dread. He only feels safe with people who, like himself, have inherited their character from their forefathers, or those who have been beaten into slavery by the knout.

Two other "rebels" stand opposite the gypsy, the rebel of thought and feeling, in delle Grazie's story: Istvän, the former political rebel and hero of freedom, who, at the side of his "practical" Susi, has risen to the much-admired heights of the "real politician", and Bändi, whose rebel soul unleashes itself in the wildest curses, but without the revolutionary fire in his chest preventing him for the time being from serving as a coachman for the nobleman, whom he would like to sic all the devils on. The last two "rebels" are put up with by the society of comfort-seekers, for the Istväns are harmless if their Susis have the opportunity to put on fat comfortably, and the Bändis may grumble, but they make useful beasts of burden. These rebels are not feared, as they integrate themselves into society, albeit reluctantly; but the rebels of the Lajos type are regarded like a mountain that has once acted as a volcano and then closed up again. A new eruption is feared at any moment. The average people have no idea that the fire materials pushing outwards have turned into noble substances on the inside.

The second story, "Bozi", is satirical. The subject matter is taken from that part of Hungary where people, buffaloes, pigs and chair judges live so close to each other, are eternally in each other's way and yet cannot leave each other behind; this milieu, which unites the fatalism of half-Asia with Christian beliefs and Turkish legal practice with the theories of the corpus juris and the tripartium so peacefully and unchallenged! "Bozi" is a buffalo. But a very special kind of buffalo. Not a herd buffalo, but a master buffalo. He does not conform to the rules that God and the people in his habitat have given the buffalo; he leaves his home when he pleases in order to spread fear and terror among the people. He particularly likes it when he can appear among a large crowd of people on festive occasions and wreak havoc. However, he had to pay for such an undertaking with his freedom. He was kept behind strictly locked doors and was only allowed outside at night when people were asleep. But this made things even worse. For if he had previously filled people with horror as a buffalo, now he was a ... Devil. Because anyone who encountered the animal at night thought it was the prince of hell incarnate. The "enlightened" village doctor, who owns Meyer's Dictionary of Conversations and can look everything up in it, was no more protected from this by his scientific education than Mr. du Prel was protected from spiritualism by his philosophical education. The good doctor believes that it was a "supernatural" being that attacked him at night until he is brought his coat, which he lost while fleeing from the ghost, and is told that the buffalo has brought home the protective covering wrapped around his horns. Another time, part of the village community, led by the mayor and with the sacristan and holy water at their side, go out because the "devil" has appeared again and has even taken one of the village residents. The devil is to be fought. The whole village community can't do anything because they tremble with terror when they arrive at the place where the "evil one" is raging. Only one foolish man, who is also there and believes in neither God nor the devil, sees what is really there - the buffalo, strikes at it and wounds it. The others go away with long noses.

The story is written with the kind of humor that testifies not only to a complete mastery of the art medium, but also to a firm world view. Hypocritical religiosity, undigested enlightenment, the modern superstition of the "clever people" is hit and exposed in this short story.

The epic "Robespierre" was published in 1894. More than in any other work of poetry of our time, one should have seen in this epic a profound expression of contemporary feeling. But the harsh critics of "modernism" passed it by rather carelessly. They do not do much better than the much-maligned professors of aesthetics and literary history, who rarely have a feeling for the truly great of their own time. One of the most lauded literary judges of the present day, Hermann Bahr, found it not beneath his dignity to begin a short review of "Robespierre" with the words: "Otherwise blameless and nice people, who have nothing at all of the artist, are suddenly compelled to ape the gestures of the poets." Anyone who speaks like this knows the airs and graces of "modernism", but not its deeper forces. M. E. delle Grazie's poetry is the reflection of the modern world view from a deep, strongly feeling, clear-sighted soul endowed with great artistic creative power. Just as the image of the French Revolution presents itself to a deep and proud nature, so has delle Grazie portrayed it. Just as Agamemnon, Achilles, Ulysses and the other heroes of the Trojan War appear before our imagination in vivid figures when we let Homer's "Iliad" work its magic on us, so do Danton, Marat, Robespierre when we read delle Grazie's epic. Only those who are blind to the spirit of our time or only understand its pose can fail to recognize the significance of this poetry. There is nothing petty in the painful tones struck here. When delle Grazie describes suffering and pain, she does not do so because she wants to point out the misery of everyday life, but because she sees disharmony in the great development of humanity. Robespierre is the hero in whose soul lives everything that humanity has always called idealism. He ends tragically because the great dream of the ideals of humanity that he dreams must necessarily ally itself with the mean aspirations of lower natures. Rarely has a poet looked so deeply into a human soul as delle Grazie did into Robespierre's.

A personality who climbs to the heights of humanity in order to come to the terrible realization that life's ideals are illusions, deluded by nature, drunk on existence, to the poor victim man - Robespierre stands before us as such a personality. In the place of the genius of death, he, who wants to lead humanity to the light, hears the words:

"How deceptive is your blind zeal! ... Do you not realize that all around us
The poisonous seed of life grows thick and disgusting?
It is a graveyard on which we stand - yet ourselves,
How pure and happy, because unconsciously and without torment
Germs the young green here from the rot! How unearthly cheerfulness it weaves around
The rotten little crosses all around and almost ashamed
They crumble - what should be the sign
Of the misery of existence in this blessed place?
No, know: here I wander to be happy
And quietly dream of my paradise:
The paradise of unmoved peace.
But a few steps further I dwell,
And, as you see, not lonely: hut after hut
Surrounds the cemetery, and in each one throbs-
What did you call it? -, the warm pulse
Of being: sickness and vice,
Poverty and suffering, the hollow-cheeked skeleton of misery,
And everything, everything that damns, consciously
And feeling to decay! Itself, there is
The cross's own place, there rises
The brazen colossus of pain, there groans
Despair, on the blood-washed torture
Of being strained in vain and unheard
Her gruesome: "My God, why have you left me
Forsaken me?! There I look when the deception
Of being to beguile my mind anew
And want to blind - and that huge cross,
That grows out of the earth, longing for heaven
Ascends and yet finally fearful and shrill
With this call turns from hope:
It then says to me anew, full of majesty:
"Be desireless, and you have redeemed yourself"

If one is to go to the poet's country in the sense of the well-known saying, in order to understand the poet, one must decide, in order to recognize Marie Eugenie delle Grazie, to wander over realms that lie in the regions of the highest spiritual interests of mankind. There one is led over rich worlds of life, full of life and vitality, filled with ardent desire; but in this life pulsate poisonous substances, flowers sprout that bear decay as their innermost destiny - beauty is resplendent, but it is resplendent like mockery and impotent splendor - sublimity glistens, but it is irony in itself. To the veil-covered eye, the greatest appears; remove the veil, and the "greatest" dissolves into haze and mist, into empty, stale nothingness.

The poet devoted ten years, the best of her life, to her work. During this time, her immersion in the history of the great French liberation movement went hand in hand with the study of modern science. She rose to the heights of human existence, where one sees through the deep irony that lies in every human life, where one can smile even at the nothingness of existence because one has ceased to desire it.

In the book of poems that delle Grazie followed "Robespierre", we read the confession of painful renunciation that the poet brought to the contemplation of the world and life. Of "Nature" she says:

.... Pulling her triumphal chariot
We all: panting, sweaty and yet
Blissful too: for as a mirage swings
Hope before us and happiness and every illusion,
That they have created for our scorn,
And we, the addiction-poisoned army of slaves,
Call ideals. - And so we rush in a lustful hurry
And madly we chase along, until treacherously
The strength leaves us, the breath fades and farther
For ever our goal floats on golden clouds,
Until helpless and panting we
Collapse - then she cheers demonically,
Then she shouts her cruel "Evo&!" and directs
Crushing over a thousand victims
The chern spokes of her biga!

In her "Robespierre", Marie Eugenie delle Grazie has admirably mastered the immense material that was available to her in the French liberation movement, with its wealth of ideas, characters, destinies and actions. She is as much a master in the characterization of people as she is a brilliant portrayer of events. The whole gamut of the human heart and mind, from the devoted instincts of goodness to the most hideous instincts of the animal in man, from the impulses of the demon-driven fanatic that rise deep from the undercurrents of the soul to the abstract theorist living in sophisticated conceptual worlds: the poet exposes everything, in the same way the deep motifs, the hidden sources of human characters and temperaments as the small traits in which nature so often hints at the great. Conditions in which the guilt and aberrations of long ages and generations are symbolically expressed, dramatic situations in which tremendous doom is preparing or dramatically rushing towards catastrophe, are depicted in vivid vividness, in deeply penetrating painting. The court of Louis XVI, with its rotten splendor, with its loudly speaking dialectic of guilt and doom, is presented to us in succinct outlines, as is the dull air of the dive in which the hunted human creature, the starved poverty, the thirst for freedom that turns into hatred are discharged. The poet's ability to cope with the diversity of human nature becomes clear when one compares her characterization of Louis XVIL, Marie Antoinette, Necker and the courtiers at Versailles with that of Marat, Danton, Mirabeau, Saint-Just and Robespierre. A dying court milieu, the convulsive convulsions of the popular soul: everything comes into its own artistically. Wherever the storm of feelings of freedom expresses itself in bloody deeds, wherever the spirit announces itself in words, which either age the traditions of the centuries or allow the mysterious fermentations of the human soul to burst forth as if from a dark night: delle Grazie's art of depiction is at home everywhere. The dull dwellings of the cultural slaves, where the enslaved humanity expresses itself in the darkest images, is just as perfectly depicted as the surging turmoil of world-shaking logic and rhetoric in the National Assembly, as is the terrible storm that erupts in the Bastille Storm, as is the hollow splendor, the glistening prejudice, the blind weakness and vain grandeur of the Versailles court. The "mysteries of humanity", which reflect the eternal pondering of world logic, appear no less clearly before our eyes than the arguments of the day and the motives born in haste of man, who in other times lived an animalistic, dull life, but within this movement becomes the driving motor of far-reaching, luminous developments.

See how Danton enters the turmoil in "Saint-Antoine" in the "desolate neighborhood of hunger", where "the bitter misery looks out of half-loose eyes", all-round clear, with all the peculiarities of his personality.

... massive, deeply bowed head,
As if he fears to carry away deck and walls here,
A new spirit enters the smoky room.
Towards him, grinning and devoted
The dirty innkeeper of the tavern; and through
The surprised guests long rows
It travels like a flash of lightning and sweeps them upwards.
"Danton!" "He himself!" "Welcome!" Not a greeting,
It is a single sigh of fainting,
As if he brought air and manhood to their hatred.
A broad laugh around the fleshy lips,
The pining open ones, Danton stands
Motionless there first. The small eye
Only flashes from its deep-set sockets,
Puffing up, breathing in an instant, wide
And greedily the leaf-scarred nostrils open.
'Tis like a smell of sweat of brutal power
Around him, like an alien atmosphere,
Which is pregnant with energy, like lightning
A summer sky. What the crowd loves
And respects - to this it was! Trains, loud
And open like the road, a roadway
Of life and stained by it like them;
Their cynical laughter, their bitter rumbling
And undignified forgiveness, from the crown to
To the sole of the rabble's rough lines,
And no law but that of their own strength!

In this way, the poet knows how to place the personality in the situation in an atmospheric and deeply true way. In this way, she is able to let the unspoken characters that live in the shapeless spirit of the people grow together with the spirit of the individual, the generality with the individuality.

In this way, delle Grazie is also able to find the transition, the harmony between the silent, lifeless nature and the wanderings of the human heart. The poet's depictions of nature carry a rare artistic life, a peculiar grandeur and truth.

If you want to recognize delle Grazie's personality in its full depth, you have to read the volume "Gedichte", which was published by Breitkopf & Härtel in Leipzig in 1897. The passion and depth of the most direct personal feeling is revealed here in the highest, most general thoughts of humanity, a world view that wrestles with cosmic riddles speaks to us as the pulse of daily life. A hymn may reflect the tone and view of this poetry:

In the circle of the living walks
And walks from mouth to mouth
A terrible whispered word
Its brazen sound, it makes
The rosy cheeks blanch,
The most jubilant dithyrambos
of madness, and the most dazzling fairy tales
Of existence are torn apart by it, and
Fade away with him for eternity.

The crown of thorns of sorrow,
The rosaries of happiness
And diadems of glory
They all, all entwine,
Entangled and overgrown
The pale asphodel of death! Whose wings rustle,
He trembles, and to whom his hollow voice resounds,
He has lied for the last time ...

Decay and rot are fermenting
In our veins, decay guides us
According to its law, and what lives and breathes,
decay has created it,
Decay destroys it too! A filthy vortex
Full of mystery and madness circles
Life, and our pygmy race, it circles
With it: in blind weakness, droll dignity and powerlessness ...

All victorious and free only reigns
The giant Death: with flashing sword he mows
The glistening lie of existence away
And speaks, for eternity
Pointing to dust and decay,
The one, eternal truth: "It is nothing!"

Rarely will one be able to admire the creations of delle Grazies even where one does not share the feelings and views of a poet. Because even where you have to say "no", you are aware that you are saying "no" to greatness.

• 1. "The Rebel", "Bozi". Two stories by M. E. delle Grazie. Leipzig. Breitkopf & Härtel.

Today the essential thing for which I would like to use our time is to develop some things that will provide the basis for tomorrow's discussion. These things are an expansion of what was described yesterday.

Consider how birth or, say, conception, is the entry into the life a person leads between birth and death. Think of what we have said in the course of the past years about how a human being enters the physical body. We know that in a certain sense the three lower realms of nature—the mineral, plant and animal kingdoms—flow together in man, and that he rises above these three realms that are joined together symbiotically in him. But as a being of soul and spirit he also grows into these realms. Man becomes human by descending to the physical plane and growing into the mineral, plant and animal realms. After death, he ascends again. Then something similar happens from a spiritual point of view: in the spiritual world something happens that resembles the growing into the three kingdoms of physical existence on earth. With all such descriptions you must be clear that everything that has already been said in earlier presentations still holds true. Everything we have previously said about how a human being grows into the spiritual world after passing through the gates of death still holds good—the further details that arise are only to be taken as additions to that. Thus we can say: as a human being grows into the spiritual worlds he is received into the realm of morality, the aesthetic realm and the realm of wisdom, or truth. Now, in this life when we speak of the moral realm, the realm of the good, the aesthetic realm, the realm of the beautiful, and the realm of truth, of wisdom, naturally we are speaking more or less abstractly. But the forces in the spiritual world into which a human being grows and which are left behind when physical existence is once more taken up, are absolutely concrete forces. They are real, spiritual modes of existence. We use names like these just to summarise. Here on earth, a person's aura carries a kind of remnant of the things he received when he had ascended to the spiritual world. Having left behind the realms of wisdom, of beauty, of truth, mankind must enter the mineral, plant and animal kingdoms. But the three spiritual realms continue to shine into the human aura, so that if we include his spiritual parts, then the whole man is a being who lives most directly in the mineral, plant and animal kingdoms, and lives more at a distance from that which, so to speak, comes down from the three spiritual realms, hovers before him, and shines and weaves through him. The light from the three spiritual realms shines over a human being. A schematic kind of a drawing will help us see how these things are connected with human nature, but please note that it is just a schematic drawing. All that I am going to show you is just schematic, but it will clarify much for you if studied carefully. For the sake of clarity, I will draw everything to do with the I like this (green). Everything to do with the astral body will be yellow; everything to do with the etheric human being, lilac, and everything to do with the physical human being, red.

Now we will take a schematic look at mankind. We will observe how mankind stands in the cosmos, in so far as a human being is a moral being, that is, through his participation in the moral forces of the cosmos. Then we will observe mankind in so far as a human being participates, in the way we described yesterday, in the aesthetic impulses of the cosmos. And then we will observe mankind's participation in the impulses of wisdom. Thus we are going to outline a kind of psychic physiology—forgive the slightly nonsensical form of the expression, but you will understand what I mean. Naturally, this outline is meant imaginatively.

When we observe the human being who stands in the moral sphere, you will be especially reminded of what we said yesterday—that the Greeks felt and experienced the relationship between the physical and the soul-spiritual more strongly than is the case today. Hence Plato, for example, was able to give a clear account of how man is taken hold of, gripped, by moral impulses coming from the spiritual universe. Plato says that there exist four virtues. The whole of morality takes hold of the whole human being. But all that is naturally to be taken with the well-known grain of salt. Naturally, even though it grips the whole person, the human being is subsequently divided up into the particular virtues. The first virtue Plato mentions is wisdom—wisdom now understood as a virtue, not as science. Since wisdom as a virtue is related to the way truth is experienced, it takes hold of those forces that flow from the moral sphere to the head. Therefore it can be pictured like this. (See drawing.) And therefore Plato says: The head of the moral man is gripped by wisdom; the breast is gripped by the virtue of strength of heart (Starkmut)—I cannot find a better word—strength of mind, or industriousness, but a kind of industriousness that includes the forces of the heart: an industriousness of the soul.

The person who does not give in to his animal instincts is not necessarily wise. The wise human being—wise in the sense implied by strength of heart—is the one who possesses moral ideas, ideas he can grasp and according to which he is able to direct his life. But even though the moral impulse is grasped in the form of moral ideas, it nevertheless streams into the physical person, into the body. Therefore we can picture morality as flowing into a human being here (green); here it flows into the I. That is where the Platonic moral sphere of wisdom would be located.

Whenever strength of heart—strength of mind, industriousness of the soul—streams down out of the moral sphere, it streams into the area of the chest, which encloses the heart. We can say: When morality radiates down, it is here, in the area of the chest and heart, where it particularly takes hold of the astral. So we will show this next in-pouring (yellow). Thus we now have wisdom as virtue in the head (green), strength of heart as virtue in the area of the chest (yellow).

Plato calls the third virtue temperance, sophrosyne, and he quite rightly assigns it to the abdomen. Human desires are aroused in the abdomen, and the temperate person is the one who is able to rule over his desires by thinking about them, feeling his way into them and consciously experiencing them. It is no virtue to live a life that simply chases after desires. Animals can also live like that. Temperance first arises when the desires are made as conscious as it is possible for them to be made. This happens in the etheric body; for, to the extent that thought, temperance and courage are human, they must be taken hold of by the etheric body. Therefore we must put this (violet) into our drawing. Thus, as I said yesterday, the moral sphere takes hold of the whole physical human being. And the head is included, as I explicitly stated yesterday.

And then Plato refers to a fourth, comprehensive virtue that flows into the whole physical body, which is actually invisible, as I showed you yesterday. He calls this virtue dikaiosyne. We have to translate this as justice, although the modern sense of the word does not entirely match Plato's meaning. Plato's word, ‘justice’, is not meant abstractly. It refers to the ability to give our lives direction, the ability to know ourselves and to orient ourselves in life. So we can say that here (red) the moral sphere, as justice, as uprightness, streams into the whole physical body. This gives us a schematic indication of how, in the human aura, morality streams into the human being.

Now we want to indicate how aesthetic impulses stream into man. Here there is a slight displacement. Things are simply displaced upward by one stage. What we previously pictured as within the head must now be pictured higher (green), so that it is hovering around the head. In aesthetic experience, the etheric stream circumvents the I and flows directly into the astral body, giving one the impression that the I hovers in the etheric that surrounds the head. A person who feels and responds a little to beauty does not need to be very clairvoyant to experience how he seems to live in the space that surrounds his head while he is contemplating a work of art. Within the head, however, the person is gripped directly; there the astral body is taken hold of, which we will draw in with these (yellow) rays.

On the other hand, beauty works in the area of the breast in such a way as to allow that surging back and forth I described yesterday.

One could say that the aesthetic glows through the region of the breast. And beauty actually affects nothing beyond what belongs to the aura of the head, the head itself, and the breast. In other words, in the case of beauty, not all of the area wherein sophrosyne lives comes into consideration. But our materialistic age is distinguished by the way it so thoroughly involves the sphere of sexuality in artistic considerations—a piece of mischief for which our age is responsible, for it is precisely in the contemplation of beauty that such things are absolutely irrelevant and should be absolutely out of the question. Thus, only the lowest kind of aesthetic considerations, those that no longer have anything to do with art, are to be located in the physical body (red).

Now we want to use the same schema for picturing the man who is striving for truth. Once more, there is a displacement, a kind of outward displacement. Yesterday I mentioned that the striving for truth circumvents both the I and the astral body and flows directly into the etheric portion of the head where thoughts are generated. So here, directly into the head, is where I must draw the ether streaming into the etheric body, here where thoughts are generated. On the other hand, when we strive for truth—and this is something one only notices after initiation—it only affects the I and the astral body outside us, in the aura; then it streams into the etheric portion of the head; then into the breast, where its life already affects the physical body (red). If we are to feel truth—and we must feel truth—it has to work into us; it must stream down into the region of the breast. Spirituality has to be experienced in the way we experience the moral.

All of the preceding lives in the aura of the physical plane and therefore applies to the physical plane. In this instance, that into which we enter after death participates in the aura on the physical plane. Just as our physical organism connects us to the forces of the mineral, plant and animal realms, so the moral sphere, the aesthetic sphere and the sphere of wisdom connect us to the forces of the spiritual world.

Even though some of the things I have said have come out very badly—perhaps they will come out better later—I want to present something further to you, something that belongs in the context of the whole. One can say: Whereas it is our physical body that connects us with the realm of physical becoming, our brain connects us with certain elemental beings, namely those elemental beings that belong to the sphere of wisdom. In the third drawing, that which we indicated with yellow was still outside; in the second drawing, it is internal. The green that here (drawing 2) is hovering around the head is even further outside. To etheric observation, this green hovers in the immediate vicinity of our head. The I lives in it, and alongside the I are found the elemental beings of the myths and sagas. There they are called elves, fairies, and so on. When we enjoy something aesthetically, all that is hovering around our heads.

But here (drawing 3), it is spiritual beings from the astral sphere that are hovering around us. It is possible to picture how perception and truth take hold of a person as he wakes from sleep. Although it is not physically visible, the way a person is taken hold of and received on awakening can be expressed in words. Today I would like to put into concrete words how man comes alive in the sphere of truth and wisdom when he awakens. The words are not so bad in their present form, and perhaps they will be improved later. A person should speak to the spirits that surround and take hold of him when he awakens in the following manner:

O, Ye!, from spheres of light stream through this head,

—spoken to the spirits!—

Stream through it—

—the head—

Move there in ways which spirits pure are led,
Damp well down his brain's insane confusion;

with the ordered processes of thought that dissipate madness—

Damp well down his—man's—brain's insane confusion,
From his striving untangle all doubt's fire and fear,

—just feel the words! They scatter doubts, banish them as wisdom pours in!—

To guide him within from the paths of illusion.

he would be following a path of illusion if he only followed—the path of dreams; in so far as he enters the sphere of truth, the surrounding spiritual world frees his inner being from false paths.—

In daily experience four goals are clear;

we still have to discuss this; everything here divides into fours—

In daily experience four goals are clear,
Now lead him on untouched by apprehension.

—lead man toward his goals—

First strive for countenance that fills with light,
Then spirit's quest for power hold fast.
Once lame-wingd senses move again in flight,
His day in freedom can unfold.

—It will be freed from everything dreamlike and arbitrary that would otherwise rule it with the force of necessity—

Thus truest spirit duty it fulfils:
Through holy light to lead him where he wills.

—So might man address the spirits that take hold of him when he awakens to the life of truth.

When a person awakens to the life of beauty, other spirits surround him. This is already something that is easier to convey to you. These are spirits that live in the sphere of the I:

O Ye!, surround this head with airy circling,
Your paths in noble elfin fashion tracing,
And soften in the heart its harvest grim,

—for this reaches into the heart—

Remove reproach's bitter, glowing arrows,

—the reproaches are reproaches of conscience, but also of pleasure and displeasure, which have to do with the surging world of the soul.—

Within him make all pure from horror's gleam.

—Earlier the brain was involved, now it is the inner world.—

Within him make all pure from horror's gleam.
Four in number are the nightly hollows,
Now, friendly, fill them up without a seam.
First lower head down on the pillow cool,

—That corresponds to the words of the earlier verse: First strive for countenance that fills with light,—

Bathe it then in dews from Lethe's flood released;

—In the case of wisdom, the words go: To spirit's quest for power hold fast,—

Soon limbs, cramp-stiffened, will again grow supple,

—Corresponding to: Once lame-winged senses move again in flight,—

In rest, against the day his strength's increased.

—Corresponding to: His day in freedom can unfold.—

Fulfil most comely duty of the elf,

—These are elemental beings. There (drawing 3) it was spirits who live in the etheric, so the verse said: Thus truest spirit duly it fulfils, Through holy light to lead him where he wills.—

Return to holy light man's self.

Here (drawing 1), we are concerned with the influence of the entire cosmic sphere: morality. As I said, the whole of the universe influences the entire human being. That calls for the following words:

O Ye!, stream through this head with strength to move,

—Morality, and will, is revealed when man is moved to deeds.—

O Ye!, stream through this head with strength to move,
And in good earthly deeds yourselves soon prove.

—For the right employment of the will in the world follows from these, and also temperance.—

So boldly stamp out torment of absurdity,

—which emanates from the body in the guise of desires. Yesterday I described how what rules in the bodily passions is related to moral impulses.—

So boldly stamp out torments contradictory,
Ennoble desire's power, wherein dark forces surge,
Abduct his soul, away from spirit-fatality.

—This spirit-fatality is nothing but the consequence of animal passions.—

In human obsession, pathways four do merge,

—In earlier times, one called drives that originate in the body ‘obsessions’—

Tear them away from embrace of infirmity.
Conquer the fires in which the senses groan,
Illumine that which dies in pleasure,
And hear how speak in ensouled tone
The powers that match eternal measure.

—For deeds of karma work in eternity.—

Attempt to strive in world-willed action,
Awaken him to life-benediction.

And there you have a description of the threefold manner in which the surrounding cosmos takes hold of the human aura.

How do the spirits that grip him take hold of the man of wisdom?

O Ye!, from spheres of light stream through this head,
Move there in ways which spirits pure are led,
Damp well down his brain's insane confusion;
From his striving untangle all doubt's fire and fear,
To guide him within from pathways of illusion.

In daily experience four goals are clear;
Now lead him on untouched by apprehension.

First strive for countenance that fills with light,
Then spirit's quest for power hold fast.
Once lame-winged senses move again in flight,
His day in freedom can unfold.
Thus truest spirit duty it fulfils:
Through holy light to lead him where he wills.

The aesthetic sphere comes especially to the fore in the third act of the second part of Faust, when Faust is united with Helen, who personifies beauty:

O Ye!, surround this head with airy circling,
Your paths in noble elfin fashion tracing,
And soften in the heart its harvest grim,
Remove reproach's bitter, glowing arrows,
Within him make all pure from horror's gleam.

Four in number are the nightly hollows,
Now, friendly, fill them up without a seam.

First lower head down on the pillow cool,
Bathe it then in dews from Lethe's flood released,
Soon limbs, cramp-stiffened, will again grow supple,
In rest, against the day his strength's increased.
Fulfil most comely duty of the elf,
Return to holy light man's self.

And then the moral sphere:

O Ye!, stream through this head with strength to move,
And in good earthly deeds yourselves soon prove.
So boldly stamp out torment of absurdity,
Ennoble desire's power, wherein dark forces surge,
Abduct his soul, away from spirit-fatality.

In human obsession, pathways four do merge,
Tear them away from embrace of infirmity.

Conquer the fires in which the senses groan,
Illumine that which dies in pleasure,
And hear how speak in ensouled tone
The powers that match eternal measure.
Attempt to strive in world-willed action,
Awaken him to life-benediction.

You see, the more profound elements are only revealed when one approaches these things spiritually and really takes hold of their spiritual content. Now, in a single stroke, the Faust of Part Two appears before us—the Faust around whom Goethe placed a hovering circle of elves. He represents the human being who stands within the spiritual-aesthetic sphere. And there are parallel occurrences when he stands within the sphere of wisdom and truth, or within the moral sphere.

One really has to call on the assistance of the feelings if one is to grasp these things. In pursuing them, one is somehow reminded of Nietzsche's remark, ‘The world is deep, deeper than the day has thought!’ The day represents physical life, physical perception, physical experience. ‘The world is deep, deeper than the day has thought!’ And that it is, especially when the entire human being is included as part of it—this being who is following a path of cosmic evolution, and who, for us in our present stage, is beyond our powers to grasp. That means that in our present state of being we do not understand much about ourselves. So much, so inconceivably much, has gone into our becoming what we are. And there is so inconceivably much contained in the Earth evolution that is still to come, and in our passage through the spheres of Jupiter, Venus and Vulcan! Only little by little does one disentangle oneself from the implications of current thought and approach that which, because it is more spiritual, is more difficult to conceive and is rarely touched on by the habitual thinking of people of today. Observing man as he presently is on Earth, we see that the seeds, so to speak, of what will develop during Jupiter, Venus and Vulcan already are hidden within him. But the human being is also the result of the Saturn, Sun and Moon spheres. Yesterday I said that wisdom and everything concerned with truth was established on Old Sun and will be completed on Jupiter. Let us picture that graphically once more.

The seed that was planted on Old Sun will more or less complete its development on Jupiter. Thus we can say: The period within which truth develops stretches from Sun to Jupiter. On Jupiter truth will have become thoroughly inward, and so will have become wisdom: Truth becomes wisdom!

Everything that belongs to the aesthetic sphere began on Old Moon. It will be completed on Venus. We could draw it in like this: From here, Moon, to completion here, Venus. This is where beauty develops. You see how it overlaps.

Everything contained within these two streams—and the third stream, also—is actually resting unconsciously in the depths of our being. And now, on Earth, the sphere we can call the sphere of morality is beginning. It will be completed on Vulcan. So we have a third, overlapping stream, the stream of morality. To these must be added a fourth stream that will be completed when the goals of the Earth sphere are achieved. Morality begins on Earth; but Earth also marks the completion of a higher order, one that was already beginning on Saturn. So we have another stream, another order, that flows from Saturn to Earth, and we will now call that the stream of justice—justice in the sense that was explained earlier. As you know, the senses had their beginnings on Saturn. These senses have the tendency to scatter a human being in all directions. You know that we distinguish twelve senses. The development of the twelve senses through Sun, Moon and Earth leads mankind to justice, to a rightness and uprightness that also includes moral justice and moral uprightness once it has been taken hold of by the moral nature of the Earth. Moral justice first makes its appearance on Earth. And justice works inwardly to counter the peripheral tendency of the senses; the sphere—or stream—of justice works toward the centre.

Everything pictured here is contained within the human being, but, as you know, the prevailing awareness includes only the smallest part of what is actively living and weaving in man. Nevertheless, this all continues to live in the depths of his being, working and weaving. And yet one can ask oneself: Are things as they appear? Is it really true that men grasp so little of how humanity is carried by this broad stream of being out of which it emerges?

Such an awareness is not just restricted to circles of the initiated. It is developing in humanity. There really are people who experience what lives and works in the streams which are carrying mankind along. Thanks to what could be called their natural gifts they feel it surge up during especially privileged moments. This is manifested in the most various ways. There are men who feel the depths of humanity in a higher sense than is often the case with external, philistine notions of religion. People often speak of guilt, and there are some pastors who try to deepen their flock's sense of things by leading them to experience guilt. But that is a superficial way of looking at things. This superficiality also has its justification, but one can go deeper. And those who have a deeper experience feel how morality connects with that glowing, resounding force that is streaming up from the powers that rule in the human depths. Self-knowledge would be much more common if people were not so timid and so afraid of getting to know themselves. But the awareness of what rules in the depths is already suppressed in the unconscious levels of the soul because people have such unconscious fear and inhibition and anxiety about confronting themselves in all their manifoldness and complexity. And when it does surge up, what comes glowing and gleaming from out of the depths really does make a sphinx-like impression. The experiences of others who have really felt such things in their own soul can be deeply moving.

The following literary passage expresses beautifully how the human depths can appear to a man from out the surging dreams of his soul life. One must imagine someone who has laid himself down to rest after the toils and the burdens of the day. But as he rests, out of the darkness and shadow, the human depths rise up before his soul in powerful dreams. Here is how a Polish poet once described it:

And in the secret magic of the night,
There, before my palace,
My dreams took hold of the ghostly mists and built
Unimaginable blossoms with dead eyes
That formed a balefully grinning Medusa
In the moonlight drenched with dew,
And she waxed monstrous.—
As the moon streamed into my chamber
And lay across the bed of my exhaustion—
I was roused from sleep by lecherous,
Monstrous desires
Which shuddered on my stammering lips
And sent hot fires of fever streaming from my eyes
Towards creatures that were yours!
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!
—My guilt, my most great guilt!

These words of Jan Kasprowicz⁹ are a beautiful, lyrical expression of a quite wonderful experience, an experience that is at once questioning and also touches on the answers. The question is contained in the way this literary work makes the transition from memories of the day, through the aesthetic sphere, into the moral sphere—mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! One should not shrink from the questions that rise up out of the surging depths of life. These things are not there to rouse fear, but to kindle questions. The ‘unimaginable blossoms with dead eyes that formed a balefully grinning Medusa’ are questions, questions that have taken on the shapes of the plant kingdom. And as for how that is connected with the moon, we only have to remind ourselves of the stream that begins on Moon to understand how the silent floods of moonlight connect outer physical reality with spiritual experience. One has here a wonderful description of a spiritual experience:

And in the secret magic of the night.
There, before my palace,
My dreams took hold of the ghostly mists and built
Unimaginable blossoms with dead eyes
That formed a balefully grinning Medusa
In the moonlight drenched with dew,
And she waxed monstrous.—
As the moon streamed into my chamber
And lay across the bed of my exhaustion—
I was roused from sleep by lecherous,
Monstrous desires

—just think of the third speech, to the spirits of the moral sphere—

I was roused from sleep by lecherous,
Monstrous desires
Which shuddered on my stammering lips
And sent hot fires of fever streaming from my eyes
Towards creatures that were yours!
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!
—My guilt, my most great guilt!

Then think of how the moral sphere shines into the stupefying fires of the senses, conquering them and illuminating that which dies in pleasure—and of how it is greeted by the resounding of ensouled powers that match eternal measure.

Yes, if one wants to delve deeply into everything that relates to humanity, one must certainly call on the help of the feelings. That is the only way one ever will arrive at a picture of how, when a human being steps onto the physical plane, he can live his way into the spiritual realms—the realms of morality, of aesthetics, and of that which has to do with conceptions and with truth. For a human being does not just enter into the mineral, plant and animal realms. Man remains human as he passes through all these realms. Mankind descends through the realms of mineral, plant, animal and human; and mankind ascends through the moral, the aesthetic, and through the realm of truth and wisdom. In this way, humanity participates in that wonderful stream of being that develops as it flows through Saturn, Sun, Moon and Earth and on towards Jupiter, Venus and Vulcan. There are lesser streams that overlap and unite in man, creating the separate forces he needs in the course of his development. These are granted to humanity from out of the deep impulses that rule the cosmos.

• 9. Jan Kasprowicz (1860 – 1926): The source of the cited text has not yet been discovered.

We have already seen that teaching history is beneficial only for developing children at about the age of twelve. Considering history is a kind of preparation for the period of life that begins with sexual maturity, that is, at about the age of fourteen or fifteen. Only at that time can human beings gain the capacity for independent reasoning. A capacity for reasoning, not simply intellectual reasoning, but a comprehensive reasoning in all directions, can only develop after puberty. With the passing of puberty, the supersensible aspect of human nature that carries the capacity of reason is born out of the remainder of human nature. You can call this what you like. In my books I have called it the astral body,but the name is unimportant. As I have said, it is not through intellectual judgment that this becomes noticeable, but through judgment in its broadest sense. You will perhaps be surprised that what I will now describe I also include in the realm of judgment. If we were to do a thorough study of psychology here, you would also see that what I have to say can also be proven psychologically.

When we attempt to have a child who is not yet past puberty recite something according to his or her own taste, we are harming the developmental forces within human nature. These forces will be harmed if an attempt is made to use them before the completion of puberty; they should only be used later. Independent judgments of taste are only possible after puberty. If a child before the age of fourteen or fifteen is to recite something, she should do so on the basis of what an accepted authority standing next to her has provided. This means she should find the way in which the authority has spoken pleasing. She should not be led astray to emphasize or not emphasize certain words, to form the rhythm out of what she thinks is pleasing, but instead she should be guided by the taste of the accepted authority. We should not attempt to guide that intimate area of the child’s life away from accepted authority before the completion of puberty. Notice that I always say “accepted authority” because I certainly do not mean a forced or blind authority. What I am saying is based upon the objective observation that from the change of teeth until puberty, a child has a desire to have an authority standing alongside her. The child demands this, longs for it, and we need to support this longing, which arises out of her individuality.

When you look at such things in a comprehensive way, you will see that in my outline of education here I have always taken the entire development of the human being into account. For this reason I have said that between the ages of seven and fourteen, we should only teach children what can be used in a fruitful way throughout life. We need to see how one stage of life affects another. In a moment I will give an example that speaks to this point. When a child is long past school age, has perhaps long since reached adulthood, this is when we can see what school has made of the child and what it has not. This is visible not only in a general abstract way but also in a very concrete way.

Let us look at children’s play from this perspective, particularly the kind of play that occurs in the youngest children from birth until the change of teeth. Of course, the play of such children is in one respect based upon their desire to imitate. Children do what they see adults doing, only they do it differently. They play in such a way that their activities lie far from the goals and utility that adults connect with certain activities. Children’s play only imitates the form of adult activities, not the material content. The usefulness in and connection to everyday life are left out. Children perceive a kind of satisfaction in activities that are closely related to those of adults. We can look into this further and ask what is occurring here. If we want to study what is represented by play activities and through that study recognize true human nature so that we can have a practical effect upon it, then we must continuously review the individual activities of the child, including those that are transferred to the physical organs and, in a certain sense, form them. That is not so easy. Nevertheless the study of children’s play in the widest sense is extraordinarily important for education.

We need only recall what a person who set the tone for culture once said: “A human being is only a human being so long as he or she plays; and a human being plays so long as he or she is a whole human being.” Schiller1 wrote these words in a letter after he had read some sections of Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister. To Schiller, free play and the forces of the soul as they are artistically developed in Wilhelm Meister appeared to be something that could only be compared with an adult form of children’s play. This formed the basis of Schiller’s Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man. He wrote them from the perspective that adults are never fully human when carrying out the activities of normal life. He believed that either we follow the necessities of what our senses require of us, in which case we are subject to a certain compulsion, or we follow logical necessity, in which case we are no longer free. Schiller thought that we are free only when we are artistically creative. This is certainly understandable from an artist such as Schiller; however, it is one-sided since in regard to freedom of the soul there is certainly much which occurs inwardly,in much the same way that Schiller understood freedom. Nevertheless the kind of life that Schiller imagined for the artist is arranged so that the human being experiences the spiritual as though it were natural and necessary, and the sense-perceptible as though it were spiritual. This is certainly the case when perceiving something artistic and in the creation of art.

When creating art, we create with the material world, but we do not create something that is useful. We create in the way the idea demands of us, if I may state it that way, but we do not create abstract ideas according to logical necessity. In the creation of art, we are in the same situation as we are when we are hungry or thirsty. We are subject to a very personal necessity. Schiller found that it is possible for people to achieve something of that sort in life, but children have this naturally through play. Here in a certain sense they live in the world of adults, through only to the extent that world satisfies the child’s own individuality. The child lives in creation, but what is created serves nothing.

Schiller’s perspective, from the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century, can be used as a basis for further development. The psychological significance of play is not so easy to find. We need to ask if the particular kind of play that children engage in before the change of teeth has some significance for the entirety of human life. We can, as I said, analyze it in the way that Schiller tried to do under the influence of Goethe’s adult childishness. We could also, however, compare this kind of play with other human activities. We could, for example, compare children’s play before the change of teeth with dreaming, where we most certainly will find some important analogies. However, those analogies are simply related to the course of the child’s play, to the connection of the activities to one another in play. In just the same way that children put things together in play—whatever those might be—not with external things but with thoughts, we put pictures together in dreams. This may not be true of all dreams, but it is certainly so in a very large class of them. In dreaming, we remain in a certain sense children throughout our entire lives.

Nevertheless we can only achieve a genuine understanding if we do not simply dwell upon this comparison of play with dreams. Instead we should also ask when in the life of the human being something occurs that allows those forces that are developed in early children’s play until the change of teeth, which can be fruitful for the entirety of external human life. In other words, when do we actually reap the fruits of children’s play? Usually people think we need to seek the fruits of young children’s play in the period of life that immediately follows, but spiritual science shows how life passes in a rhythmical series of repetitions. In a plant, leaves develop from a seed; from the leaves, the bud and flower petals emerge, and so forth. Only afterwards do we have a seed again; that is, the repetition occurs only after an intervening development. It is the same in human life.

From many points of view we could understand human life as though each period were affected only by the one preceding, but this is not the case. If we observe without prejudice, we will find that the actual fruits of those activities that occur in early childhood play become apparent only at the age of twenty. What we gain in play from birth until the change of teeth, what children experience in a dreamy way, are forces of the still-unborn spirituality of the human being, which is still not yet absorbed into, or perhaps more properly said, reabsorbed into the human body.

We can state this differently. I have already discussed how the same forces that act organically upon the human being until the change of teeth become, when the teeth are born, an independent imaginative or thinking capacity, so that in a certain sense something is removed from the physical body. On the other hand, what is active within a child through play and has no connection with life and contains no usefulness is something that is not yet fully connected with the human body. Thus a child has an activity of the soul that is active within the body until the change of teeth and then becomes apparent as a capacity for forming concepts that can be remembered.

The child also has a spiritual-soul activity that in a certain sense still hovers in an etheric way over the child. It is active in play in much the same way that dreams are active throughout the child’s entire life. In children, however, this activity occurs not simply in dreams, it occurs also in play, which develops in external reality. What thus develops in external reality subsides in a certain sense. In just the same way that the seed-forming forces of a plant subside in the leaf and flower petal and only reappear in the fruit, what a child uses in play also only reappears at about the age of twenty-one or twenty-two, as independent reasoning gathering experiences in life.

I would like to ask you to try to genuinely seek this connection. Look at children and try to understand what is individual in their play: try to understand the individuality of children playing freely until the change of teeth, and then form pictures of their individualities. Assume that what you notice in their play will become apparent in their independent reasoning after the age of twenty. This means the various kinds of human beings differ in their independent reasoning after the age of twenty in the just the same way that children differ in their play before the change of teeth.

If you recognize the full truth of this thought, you will be overcome by an unbounded feeling of responsibility in regard to teaching. You will realize that what you do with a child forms the human being beyond the age of twenty. You will see that you will need to understand the entirety of life, not simply the life of children, if you want to create a proper education.

Playing activity from the change of teeth until puberty is something else again. (Of course, things are not so rigidly separated, but if we want to understand something for use in practical life, we must separate things.) Those who observe without prejudice will find that the play activity of a child until the age of seven has an individual character. As a player, the child is, in a certain sense, a kind of hermit. The child plays for itself alone. Certainly children want some help, but they are terribly egotistical and want the help only for themselves. With the change of teeth, play takes on a more social aspect. With some individual exceptions, children now want to play more with one another. The child ceases to be a hermit in his play; he wants to play with other children and tobe something in play. I am not sure if Switzerland can be included in this, but in more military countries the boys particularly like to play soldier. Mostly they want to be at least a general, and thus a social element is introduced to the children’s play.

What occurs as the social element in play from the change of teeth until puberty is a preparation for the next period of life. In this next period, with the completion of puberty, independent reasoning arises. At that time human beings no longer subject themselves to authority; they form their own judgments and confront others as individuals. This same element appears in the previous period of life in play; it appears in something that is not connected with external social life, but in play. What occurs in the previous period of life, namely, social play, is the prelude to tearing yourself away from authority. We can therefore conclude that children’s play until the age of seven actually enters the body only at the age of twenty-one or twenty-two, when we gain an independence in our understanding and ability to judge experiences. On the other hand, what is prepared through play between the ages of seven and puberty appears at an earlier developmental stage in life, namely, during the period from puberty until about the age of twenty-one. This is a direct continuation. It is very interesting to notice that we have properly guided play during our first childhood years to thank for the capacities that we later have for understanding and experiencing life. In contrast, for what appears during our lazy or rebellious years we can thank the period from the change of teeth until puberty. Thus the connections in the course of human life overlap.

These overlapping connections have a fundamental significance of which psychology is unaware. What we today call psychology has existed only since the eighteenth century. Previously, quite different concepts existed about human beings and the human soul. Psychology developed during the period in which materialistic spirit and thought arose. Thus in spite of all significant beginnings, psychology was unable to develop a proper science of the soul, a science that was in accord with reality and took into account the whole of human life. Although I have tried hard, I have to admit that I have been able to find some of these insights only in Herbart’s psychology. Herbart’s psychology is very penetrating; it attempts to discover a certain form of the soul by beginning with the basic elements of the soul’s life. There are many beautiful things in Herbart’s psychology. Nevertheless we need to look at the rather unusual views it has produced in his followers. I once knew a very good follower of Herbart, Robert Zimmermann, an aesthete who also wrote a kind of educational philosophy in his book on psychology for high-school students. Herbart once referred to him as a Kantian from 1828. In his description of psychology as a student of Herbart, he discusses the following problem:

If I am hungry, I do not actually attempt to obtain the food that would satisfy my hunger. Instead, my goal is that the idea of hunger will cease and be replaced by the idea of being full. My concern is actually with ideas. There exists an idea that must arise contrary to inhibitions, and which must work against those inhibitions. Food is actually only a means of moving from the idea of hunger to the idea of being full.

Those who look at the reality of human nature, not simply in a materialistic sense, but also with an eye toward the spiritual, will see that this kind of view is somewhat one-sidedly rationalistic and intellectual. It is necessary to move beyond this one-sided intellectualism and comprehend the entire human being psychologically. In so doing, education can gain much from psychology that otherwise would not be apparent. We should consider what we do in teaching not simply to be the right thing for the child, but rather to be something living that can transform itself. As we have seen, there are many connections of the sort I have presented. We need to assume that what we teach children in elementary school until puberty will reappear in a quite different form from the age of fifteen until twenty-one or twenty-two.

The elementary-school teacher is extremely important for the high-school teacher or the university teacher—in a sense even more important, since the university teacher can achieve nothing if the elementary-school teacher has not sent the child forth with properly formed strengths. It is very important to work with these connected periods of life. If we do, we will see that real beginning points can be found only through spiritual science.

For instance, people define things too much. As far as possible, we should avoid giving children any definitions. Definitions take a firm grasp of the soul and remain static throughout life, thus making life into something dead. We should teach in such a way that what we provide to the child’s soul remains alive. Suppose someone as a child of around nine or ten years of age learns a concept, for instance, at the age of nine, the concept of a lion, or, at the age of eleven or twelve, that of Greek culture. Very good; the child learns it. But these concepts should not remain as they are. A person at the age of thirty should not be able to say she has such-and-such a concept of lions and that is what she learned in school, or that she has such-and-such a concept of Greek culture and that was what she learned in school. This is something we need to overcome. Just as other parts of ourselves grow, the things we receive from the teacher should also grow; they should be something living. We should learn concepts about lions or Greek culture that will not be the same when we are in our thirties or forties as they were when we were in school.

We should learn concepts that are so living that they are transformed throughout our lives. To do so, we need to characterize rather than define. In connection with the formation of concepts, we need to imitate what we can do with painting or even photography. In such cases, we can place ourselves to one side and give one aspect, or we can move to another side and give a different aspect, and so forth. Only after we have photographed a tree from many sides do we have a proper picture of it. Through definitions, we gain too strong an idea that we have something.

We should attempt to work with thoughts and concepts as we would with a camera. We should bring forth the feeling within the child that we are only characterizing something from various perspectives; we are not defining it. Definitions exist only so that we can, in a sense, begin with them and so that the child can communicate understandably with the teacher. That is the basic reason for definitions. That may sound somewhat radical, but it is so. Life does not love definitions. In private, human beings should always have the feeling that, through incorrect definitions, they have arrived at dogmas. It is very important for teachers to know that. Instead of saying, for instance, that two objects cannot be in the same place at the same time, and that is what we call impermeable, the way we consciously define impermeability and then seek things to illustrate this concept, we should instead say that objects are impermeable because they cannot be at the same place at the same time. We should not make hypotheses into dogmas. We only have the right to say that we call objects impermeable when they cannot be at the same place at the same time. We need to remain conscious of the formative forces of our souls and should not awaken the concept of a triangle in the external world before the child has recognized a triangle inwardly.

That we should characterize and not define is connected with recognizing that the fruits of those things that occur during one period of human life will be recognized perhaps only very much later. Thus we should give children living concepts and feelings rather than dead ones. We should try to present geometry, for example, in as lively a way as possible. A few days ago I spoke about arithmetic. I want to speak before the end of the course tomorrow about working with fractions and so forth, but now I would like to add a few remarks about geometry. These remarks are connected with a question I was asked and also with what I have just presented.

Geometry can be seen as something that can slowly be brought from a static state into a living one. In actuality, we are speaking of something quite general when we say that the sum of the angles of a triangle is 180°. That is true for all triangles, but can we imagine a triangle? In our modern way of educating, we do not always attempt to teach children a flexible concept of a triangle. It would be good, however, if we teach our children a flexible concept of a triangle, not simply a dead concept. We should not have them simply draw a triangle, which is always a special case. Instead we could say that here I have a line. I can divide the angle of 180° into three parts. That can be done in an endless number of ways. Each time I have divided the angle, I can go on to form a triangle, so that I show the child how an angle that occurs here then occurs here in the triangle. When I transfer the angles in this way, I will have such a triangle. Thus in moving from three fan-shaped angles lying next to one another, I can form numerous triangles and those triangles thus become flexible in the imagination. Clearly these triangles have the characteristic that the sum of their angles is 180° since they arose by dividing a 180° angle. It is good to awaken the idea of a triangle of a child in this way, so that an inner flexibility remains and so that they do not gain the idea of a static triangle, but rather that of a flexible shape, one that could just as well be acute as obtuse, or it could be a right triangle (see diagram).

Imagine how transparent the whole concept of triangles would be if I began with such inwardly flexible concepts, then developed triangles from them. We can use the same method to develop a genuine and concrete feeling for space in children. If in this way we have taught children the concept of flexibility in figures on a plane, the entire mental configuration of the child will achieve such flexibility that it is then easy to go on to three-dimensional elements—for instance, how one object moves past another behind it, forward or backward. By presenting how an object moves forward or backward past another object, we present the first element that can be used in developing a feeling for space. If we, for example, present how it is in real life—namely how one person ceases to be visible when he or she moves behind an object or how the object becomes no longer visible when the person moves in front of it—we can go on to develop a feeling for space that has an inner liveliness to it. The feeling for three-dimensional space remains abstract and dead when it is presented only as perspectives. The children can gain that lively feeling for space if, for instance, we tell a short story.

This morning at nine o’clock I came across two people. They were sitting someplace on a bench. This afternoon at three, I came by again and the same two people were sitting on the same bench. Nothing had changed.

Certainly as long as I only consider the situation at nine in the morning and three in the afternoon, nothing had changed. However, if I go into it more and speak with these people, then perhaps I would discover that after I had left in the morning, one person remained, but the other stood up and went away. Though he was gone for three hours,he then returned and sat down again alongside the other. He had done something and was perhaps tired after six hours. I cannot recognize the actual situation only in connection with space, that is, if I think only of the external situation and do not look further into the inner, to the more important situation.

We cannot make judgments even about the spatial relationships between beings if we do not go into inner relationships. We can avoid bitter illusions in regard to cause and effect only if we go into those inner relationships. The following might occur: A man is walking along the bank of a river and comes across a stone. He stumbles over the stone and falls into the river. After a time he is pulled out. Suppose that nothing more is done than to report the objective facts: Mr. So-and-So has drowned. But perhaps that is not even true. Perhaps the man did not drown, but instead stumbled because at that point he had a heart attack and was already dead before he fell into the water. He fell into the water because he was dead. This is an actual case that was once looked into and shows how necessary it is to proceed from external circumstances into the more inner aspects.

In the same way if we are to make judgments about the spatial relationship of one being to another, we need to go into the inner aspects of those beings. When properly grasped in a living way, it enables us to develop a spatial feeling in children so that we can use movements for the development of a feeling for space. We can do that by having the children run in different figures, or having them observe how people move in front or behind when passing one another.

It is particularly important to make sure that what is observed in this way is also retained. This is especially significant for the development of a feeling for space. If I cast a shadow from different objects upon the surface of other objects, I can show how the shadow changes. If children are capable of understanding why, under specific circumstances, the shadow of a sphere has the shape of an ellipse—and this is certainly something that can be understood by a child at the age of nine—this capacity to place themselves in such spatial relationships has a tremendously important effect upon their capacity to imagine and upon the flexibility of their imaginations.

For that reason we should certainly see that it is necessary to develop a feeling for space in school. If we ask ourselves what children do when they are drawing up until the change of teeth, we will discover that they are in fact developing experience that then becomes mature understanding around the age of twenty. That understanding develops out of the changing forms, so the child plays by drawing; at the same time, however, that drawing tells something. We can understand children’s drawings if we recognize that they reflect what the child wants to express.

Let us look at children’s drawings. Before the ages of seven or eight or sometimes even nine, children do not have a proper feeling for space. That comes only later when other forces slowly begin to affect the child’s development. Until the age of seven, what affects the child’s functioning later becomes imagination. Until puberty, it is the will that mostly affects the child and which, as I mentioned earlier, is dammed up and becomes apparent through boys’ change of voice. The will is capable of developing spatial feeling. Through everything that I have just said, that is, through the development of a spatial feeling through movement games and by observing what occurs when shadows are formed—namely, through what arises through movement and is then held fast—all such things that develop the will give people a much better understanding than simply through an intellectual presentation, even though that understanding may be somewhat playful, an understanding with a desire to tell a story.

Now, at the end of this lecture, I would like to show you the drawings of a six-year-old boy whose father, I should mention, is a painter so that you can see them in connection with what I just said. Please notice how extraordinarily talkative this six-year-old boy is through what he creates. I might even say that he has in fact created a very specific language here, a language that expresses just what he wants to tell. Many of these pictures,which we could refer to as expressionist, are simply his way of telling stories that were read to him, or which he heard in some other way. Many of the pictures are, as you can see, wonderfully expressive. Take a look at this king and queen. These are things that show how children at this age tell stories. If we understand how children speak at this age—something that is so wonderfully represented here because the boy is already drawing with colored pencils—and if we look at all the details, we will find that these drawings represent the child’s being in much the way that I described to you earlier. We need to take the change that occurred with the change of teeth into consideration if we are to understand how we can develop a feeling for space.

Your task is to gain an insight into what the human being really is. Up to now in our survey of general pedagogy we have endeavoured to comprehend this nature of man first of all from the point of view of the soul and then from that of the spirit. To-day we will continue from the latter point of view. We shall of course continually have to refer to the conceptions of pedagogy, psychology and the life of the soul, which are current in the world to-day; for in course of time you will have to read and digest the books which are published on pedagogy and psychology, as far as you have time and leisure to do so.

If we consider the human being from the point of view of the soul, we lay chief stress on discovering antipathies and sympathies within the laws which govern the world; but if we consider the human being from the spiritual point of view, we must lay the chief stress on discovering the conditions of consciousness. Now yesterday we concerned ourselves with the three conditions of consciousness which hold sway in the human being: namely, the full waking consciousness, dreaming and sleeping: and we showed how the full waking consciousness is really only present in thinking-cognition; dreaming in feeling; and sleeping in willing.

All comprehension is really a question of relating one thing to another: the only way we can comprehend things in the world is by relating them to each other. I wish to make this statement concerning method at the outset. When we place ourselves into a knowing relationship with the world, we are first of all observing. Either we observe with our senses, as we do in ordinary life, or we develop ourselves somewhat further and observe with soul and spirit, as we can do in Imagination, Inspiration and Intuition. But spiritual observation too is “observation,” and all observation requires to be completed by our comprehension or conception. But we can only comprehend if we relate one thing to another in the universe and in our environment. You can form good conceptions of body, soul and spirit if you have the whole course of human life clearly before you. Only you must take into account that in this relating of things to each other, as I shall now explain, you have only the rudiments of comprehension. You will need to develop further the conceptions you arrive at in this manner.

For instance if you consider the child as he first comes into the world, if you observe his physical form, his movements, his expressions, his crying, his baby talk and so on—you will get a picture which is chiefly of the human body. But this picture will only be complete if you relate it to the middle age, and old age of the human being. In the middle age the human being is more predominantly soul, and in old age he is most spiritual. This last statement can easily be contended. People will certainly come and say: “But a great many old people become quite feeble-minded.” A favourite objection of materialism to those who speak of the soul and the spirit is that people get feeble-minded in old age, and, with true consistency, the materialists argue that even such a great man as Kant became feeble-minded in his old age. The statement of the materialists and the fact are quite right. Only they do not prove what they set out to prove. For even Kant, when he stood before the gate of death, was wiser than in his childhood; only in childhood his body was capable of receiving all that came out of his wisdom, and thereby it could become conscious in his physical life. But in old age the body became incapable of receiving what the spirit was giving it. The body was no longer a proper instrument for the spirit. Therefore on the physical plane Kant could no longer come to a consciousness of what lived in his spirit. In spite of the apparent force of the above-mentioned argument, then, we must be quite clear that in old age men become wise and spiritual and that they come near to the Spirits. Therefore in the case of people who, right into their old age, can preserve elasticity and life power for their spirit, we must recognise the beginnings of spiritual qualities. For there are such possibilities.

In Berlin there were once two professors. One was Michelet the disciple of Hegel, who was over ninety years old. And as he was considerably gifted he only got as far as being Honorary Professor, but although he was so old he still gave lectures Then there was another called Zeller, the historian of Greek philosophy. Compared with Michelet he was a mere boy, for he was only seventy. But everybody said how he was feeling the burden of age, how he could no longer give lectures, or, in any case, was always wishing to have them reduced. To this Michelet always said: “I can't understand Zeller; I could give lectures all day long, but Zeller, though still in his youth, is always saying that it is getting too much of a strain for him!” So you see one may find isolated examples only of what I have stated about the spirit in old age; yet it really is so.

If, on the other hand, we observe the characteristics of the human being in middle age, we shall get a first basis for our observations of the soul. For this reason, too, a man in middle life is more able, as it were, to belie the soul element. He can appear to be either soulless or very much imbued with soul. For the soul element lies within the freedom of man, even in education. The fact that many people are very soulless in middle life does not prove that middle age is not the age of the soul. If you compare the bodily nature of the child—kicking and sprawling and performing unconscious actions—with the quiet contemplative bodily nature of old age, you have on the one hand a body that shows its bodily side predominantly, in the child, and on the other hand you have a body that as it were withdraws its bodily side in old age, a body that to a certain degree belies its own bodily nature.

Now if we turn our attention more to the soul life we shall say: the human being bears within him thinking-cognition feeling and willing. When we observe a child the impression we get of the child's soul shows a close connection between willing and feeling. We might say that willing and feeling have grown together in the child. When the child kicks and tumbles about he is making movements which precisely correspond to his feelings at the moment; he is not capable of keeping his movements and his feelings separate.

With an old man the opposite is the case: thinking-cognition and feeling have grown together within him, and willing stands apart, independently. Thus human life runs its course in such a way that feeling, which is at first bound up with willing, gradually frees itself from it. And a good deal of education is concerned with this, with this freeing of the feeling from the will. Then the feeling which has been freed from willing unites itself with thinking-cognition. And this is the concern of later life. We can only prepare the child rightly for his later life if we bring about the proper release of feeling from willing; then in a later period of life as a grown man or woman he will be able to unite this released feeling with thinking-cognition, and thus be fitted for his life. Why is it that we listen to an old man, even when he is relating his life history? It is because in the course of his life he has united his personal feeling with his concepts and ideas. He is not telling us theories: he is really telling us about the feelings which he personally has been able to unite with his ideas and concepts. With the old man, who has really united his feelings with thinking-cognition, the concepts and ideas ring true; they are filled with warmth, and permeated with reality; they sound concrete and personal. Whilst with those who have ceased to develop beyond the stage of middle-aged manhood or womanhood the concepts and ideas sound theoretical, abstract, scientific. It is an essential factor of human life that the evolution of soul powers runs a certain course; for the feeling-willing of the child develops into the feeling-thinking of the old man. Human life lies between the two, and we can only give an education befitting this human life when our study of the soul includes this knowledge.

Now we must take notice that something arises straight-away whenever we begin to observe the world—indeed in all psychologies it is described as the first thing that occurs in observation of the external world; and that is sensation. When any one of our senses comes into touch with the environment, it has a sensation. We have sensations of colour, tones, warmth and cold. Thus sensation enters into our contact with our environment.

But you cannot get a true conception of sensation from the way it is described in current books on psychology. When the psychologists speak of sensation they say: in the external world a certain physical process is going on, vibrations in the light ether or waves in the air; this streams on to our sense organ and stimulates it. People speak of stimulus, and they hold to the expression they form, but will not make it comprehensible. For through the sense organ the stimulus releases sensation in our souls, the wholly qualitative sensation which is caused by the physical process (for example by the vibration of air waves in hearing). But how this comes about neither psychology nor present-day science can tell us. This is what we generally find in psychological books.

You will be brought nearer to an understanding of these things than you will by these psychological ideas, if, having insight into the nature of sensations themselves, you can yourself answer the question: to which of the soul forces is sensation really most closely related? Psychologists make light of it; they glibly connect sensation with cognition, without more ado, and say: first we have a sensation, then we perceive, then we make mental pictures, form concepts and so on. This indeed is what the process appears at first to be. But this explanation leaves out of account what the nature of sensation really is.

If we consider it with a sufficient amount of self-observation we shall recognise that sensation is really of a will nature with some element of feeling nature woven into it. It is not really related to thinking-cognition, but rather to feeling-willing or willing-feeling. It is of course impossible to be acquainted with all the countless psychologies there are in the world to-day, and I do not know how many of them have grasped anything of the relationship between sensation and willing-feeling or feeling-willing. It would not be quite exact to say that sensation is related to willing; rather it is related to willing-feeling or feeling-willing. But there is at least one psychologist, Moritz Benedikt of Vienna, who especially distinguished himself by his power of observation, and who recognised in his psychology that sensation is related to feeling.

Other psychologists certainly set very little store by this psychology of Moritz Benedikt, and it is true that there is something rather peculiar about it. Firstly, Moritz Benedikt is by vocation a criminal-anthropologist; and he proceeds to write a book on psychology. Secondly, he is a naturalist—and writes about the importance of poetic works of art in education, in fact he analyses poetic works of art to show how they can be used in education. What a dreadful thing! The man sets up to be a scientist, and actually imagines that psychologists have something to learn from the poets! And thirdly, this man is a Jewish naturalist, a scientific Jew, and he writes a book on Psychology and deliberately dedicates it to Laurenz Mullner, a priest, the Catholic philosopher of the theological faculty in the University of Vienna (for he still held this post at that time). Three frightful things, which make it quite impossible for the professional psychologists to take the man seriously. But if you were to read his books on psychology, you would find so many single apt ideas, that you would get much from them, although you would have to repudiate the structure of his psychology as a whole, his whole materialistic way of thought—for such it is indeed. You would get nothing at all from the book as a whole, but a great deal from single observations within it. Thus you must seek the best in the world wherever it is to be found. If you are a good observer of details, but are put off by the general tendency of Moritz Benedikt's work, you need therefore not necessarily repudiate the wise observations that he makes.

Thus sensation, as it appears within the human being, is willing-feeling or feeling-willing. Therefore we must say that where man's sense sphere spreads itself externally—for we bear our senses on the periphery of our body, if I may express it rather crudely—there some form of feeling-willing and willing-feeling is to be found. If we draw a diagram of the human being (and please note it is only a diagram) we have here on the outer surface, in the sphere of the senses, willing-feeling and feeling-willing. (see drawing further on) What then do we do on this surface when feeling-willing and willing-feeling is present, in so far as this surface of the body is the sphere of the senses? We perform an activity which is half-sleeping, half dreaming; we might even call it a dreaming-sleeping, a sleeping-dreaming. For we do not only sleep in the night, we are continually asleep on the periphery, on the external surface of our body, and the reason why we as human beings do not entirely comprehend our sensations, is because in these regions where the sensations are to be found we are only dreaming in sleep, or sleeping in dreams. The psychologists have no notion that what prevents them from understanding the sensations is the same thing as prevents us from bringing our dreams into clear consciousness when we wake in the morning. You see, the concepts of sleeping and dreaming have a meaning which differs entirely from that we would give them in ordinary life. All we know about sleeping in ordinary life is that when we are in bed at night we go to sleep. We have no idea that this sleeping extends much further, and that we are always sleeping on the surface of the body, although this sleeping is constantly being penetrated by dreams. These “dreams” are the sensations of the senses, before they are taken hold of by the intellect and by thinking-cognition.

You must seek out the sphere of willing and feeling in the child's senses also. This is why we insist so strongly in these lectures that while educating intellect we must also work continually on the will. For in all that the child looks at and perceives we must also cultivate will and feeling; otherwise we shall really be contradicting the child's sensations. It is only when we address an old man, a man in the evening of his life, that we can think of the sensations as having already been transformed. In the case of the old man sensation has already passed over from feeling-willing to feeling-thinking or thinking-feeling. Sensations have been somewhat changed within him. They have more of the nature of thought and have lost the restless nature of will—they have become more calm. Only in old age can we say that sensations approach the realm of concepts and ideas.

Most psychologists do not make this fine distinction in sensations. For them the sensations of old age are the same as those of the child, for sensations for them are simply sensations. That is about as logical as to say: the razor (Rasermesser) is a knife (Messer), so let us cut our meat with it, for a knife is a knife. This is taking the concept from the verbal explanation. This we should never do, but rather take the concept from the facts. We should then discover that sensation has life, that it develops, and in the child it has more of a will nature, in the old man more of an intellectual nature. Of course it is much easier to deduce everything from words; it is for this reason that we have so many people who can make definitions, some of which can have a terrible effect on you.

On one occasion I met a schoolfellow of mine, after we had for some time been separated and had gone our several ways. We had been at the same primary school together; I then went to the Grammar School (Realschule) and he to the Teachers' Training College, and what is more to a Hungarian College—and that meant something in the seventies. After some years we met and had a conversation about light. I had already learnt what could be learnt in ordinary physics, that light has something to do with ether waves, and so on. This could at least be regarded as a cause of light. My former schoolfellow then added: “We have also learnt what light is. Light is the cause of sight!” A hotchpotch of words! It is thus that concepts become mere verbal explanations. And we can imagine what sort of things the pupils were told when we learn that the gentleman in question had later to teach a large number of pupils, until at last he was pensioned off. We must get away from the words and come to the spirit of things. If we want to understand something we must not immediately think of the word each time, but we must seek the real connections. If we look up the derivation of the word Geist (spirit) in Fritz Mauthner's History of Language to discover what its original form was, we shall find it is related to Gischt (“froth” or “effervescence”) and to “gas.” These relationships do exist, but we should not get very far by simply building on them. But unfortunately this method is covertly applied to the Bible and therefore with most people, and especially present-day theologies, the Bible is less understood than any other book.

The essential thing is that we should always proceed according to facts, and not endeavour to get a conception of spirit from the derivation of the word, but by comparing the life in the body of a child with the life in the body of an old person. By means of this connecting of one fact with another we get true conception.

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And thus we can only get a true conception of sensation if we know that it is able to arise as willing-feeling or feeling-willing in the bodily periphery of the child, because compared with the more human inward side of the child's being this bodily periphery is asleep and dreaming in its sleep. Thus you are not only fully awake in thinking-cognition, but you are also only awake in the inner sphere of your body. At the periphery or surface of the body you are perpetually asleep. And further: that which takes place in the environment, or rather on the surface of the body, takes place in a similar way in the head, and increases in intensity the further we go into the human being into the blood and muscle elements. Here, too, man is asleep and also dreaming. On the surface man is asleep and dreaming, and again towards the inner part of his body he is asleep and dreaming. Therefore what is more of a soul nature, willing-feeling, feeling-willing, our life of desires and so on, remain in the inner part of our body in a dreaming sleep.

Where then are we fully awake? In the intervening zone, when we are entirely wakeful. Now you see that we are proceeding from a spiritual point of view, by applying the facts of waking and sleeping to man even in a spatial way, and by relating this to his physical form so that we can say: from a spiritual point of view the human being is so constituted that at the surface of the body and in his central organs he is asleep and can only be really awake in the intervening zone, during his life between birth and death. Now what are the organs that are specially developed in this intervening region?

Those organs, especially in the head, that we call nerves, the nerve apparatus. This nerve apparatus sends its shoots into the zone of the outer surface and also into the inner region where they again disperse as they do on the surface: and between the two there are middle zones such as the brain, the spinal cord and the solar plexus. Here we have the opportunity of being really awake. Where the nerves are most developed, there we are most awake. But the nervous system has a peculiar relationship to the spirit. It is a system of organs which through the functions of the body continually has the tendency to decay and finally to become mineral. If in a living human being you could liberate his nerve system from the rest of the gland-muscle-blood nature and bony nature—you could even leave the bony system with the nerves—then this nerve system in the living human being would already be a corpse, perpetually a corpse. In the nerve system the dying element in man is always at work. The nerve system is the only system that has no connection whatever with soul and spirit. Blood, muscles, and so on always have a direct connection with soul and spirit. The nerve system has no direct connection with these: the only way in which it has such a connection at all is by constantly leaving the human organisation, by not being present within it, because it is continually decaying. The other members are alive, and can therefore form direct connections with the soul and spirit; the nerve system is continually dying out, and is continually saying to the human being: “You can evolve because I am setting up no obstacle, because I see to it that I with my life am not there at all.” That is the peculiar thing about it. In psychology and physiology you find the following put forward; the organ that acts as a medium for sensation, thinking and the whole soul and spirit element, is the nerve system. But how does it come to be this medium? Only by continually expelling itself from life, so that it does not offer any obstacles to thinking and sensation, forms no connections with thinking and sensation, and in that place where it is it leaves the human being “empty” in favour of the soul and spirit, Actually there are hollow spaces for the spirit and soul where the nerves are. Therefore spirit and soul can enter in where these hollow spaces are. We must be grateful to the nerve system that it does not trouble about soul and spirit, and does not do all that is ascribed to it by the physiologists and psychologists. For if it did this, if for five minutes only the nerves did what the physiologists and psychologists describe them as doing, then in these five minutes we should know nothing about the world nor about ourselves; in fact we should be asleep. For the nerves would then act like those organs which bring about sleeping, which bring about feeling-willing, willing-feeling.

Indeed it is no easy matter to state the truth about physiology and psychology to-day, for people always say: “You are standing the world on its head.” The truth is that the world is already standing on its head, and we have to set it on its legs again by means of spiritual science. The physiologists say that the organs of thinking are the nerves, and especially the brain. The truth is that the brain and nerve system can only have anything to do with thinking-cognition through the fact that they are constantly shutting themselves off from the human organisation and thereby allowing thinking-cognition to develop.

Now you must attend very carefully to what I am going to say, and please bring all your powers of understanding to bear upon it. In the environment of man, where the sphere of the senses is, there are real processes at work which play their part unceasingly in the life of the world. Let us suppose that light is working upon the human being through the eye. In the eye, that is, in the sphere of the senses, a real process is at work, a physical-chemical process is taking place. This continues into the inner part of the human body, and finally indeed into that inner part where, once again, physical-chemical processes take place (the dark shading in the drawing). Now imagine that you are standing opposite an illumined surface and that rays of light are falling from this surface into your eye. There again physical-chemical processes arise, which are continued into the muscle and blood nature within the human being. In between there remains a vacant zone. In this vacant zone, which has been left empty by the nerve organ, no independent processes are developed such as that in the eye or in the inner nature of the human being; but there enters what is outside: the nature of light, the nature of colour. Thus, at the surface of our bodies where the senses are, we have material processes which are dependent on the eye, the ear, the organs which can receive warmth and so on: similar processes also take place in the inner sphere of the human being. But not in between, where the nerves spread themselves out: they leave the space free, there we can live with what is outside us. Your eye changes the light and colour. But where your nerves are, where as regards life there is only hollow space, there light and colour do not change, and you yourself are experiencing light and colour. It is only with regard to the sphere of the senses that you are separated from the external world: within, as in a shell, you yourself live with the external processes. Here you yourself become light, you become sound, the processes have free play because the nerves form no obstacle as blood and muscle do.

Now we get some feeling of how significant this is: we are awake in a part of our being which in contrast to other living parts may be described as a hollow space, whilst at the external surface and in the inner sphere we are dreaming in sleep, and sleeping in dreams. We are only fully awake in a zone which lies between the outer and inner spheres. This is true in respect to space.

But in considering the human being from a spiritual point of view we must also bring the time element of his life into relationship with waking, sleeping and dreaming. You learn something, you take it in and it passes into your full waking consciousness. Whilst you are occupying yourself with this thing and thinking about it, it is in your full waking consciousness. Then you return to your ordinary life. Other things claim your interest and attention. Now what happens to what you have just learnt, to what was occupying your attention? It begins to fall asleep; and when you remember it again, it awakens again. You will only get the right point of view about all these things when you substitute real conceptions for all the rigmarole's you read in psychology books about remembering and forgetting. What is remembering? It is the awakening of a complex of mental pictures. And what is forgetting? It is the falling asleep of the complex of mental pictures. Here you can compare real things with real experiences, here you have no mere verbal definitions. If you ponder over waking and sleeping, if you look at your own experience or another's on falling asleep, you have a real process before you. You relate forgetting, this inner soul activity, to this real process—not to any word—and you compare the two and say: forgetting is only falling asleep in another sphere, and remembering is only waking up in another sphere.

Only so can you come to a spiritual understanding of the world, by comparing realities with realities. Just as you have to compare childhood with old age to find the real relationship between body and soul, at least the elements of it, so in the same way you can compare remembering and forgetting by relating it to something real, to falling asleep and waking up.

It is this that will be so infinitely necessary to the future of mankind; that men accustom themselves to enter into reality. People think almost exclusively in words today; they do not think in real terms. How could a present-day man get at this conception of awakening which is the reality about memory? In the sphere of mere words he can hear of all kinds of ways of defining memory; but it will not occur to him to find out these things from the reality, from the thing itself.

Therefore you will understand that when people hear of something like the Threefold Organism of the State, which springs entirely out of reality and not out of abstract conceptions, they find it incomprehensible at first because they are quite unaccustomed to produce things out of reality. They do not connect any of their conceptions with getting things out of reality. And the people who do this least are the Socialist leaders in their theories; they represent the last word, the last stage of decadence in the realm of verbal explanations. These are the people who most of all believe that they understand something of reality, but when they begin to talk they make use of the veriest husks of words.

This was only an interpolation with reference to the current trend of our times. But the teacher must understand also the times in which he lives, for he has to understand the children who out of these very times are entrusted to him for their education.

[ 1 ] During deep sleep the human soul does not register impressions through the medium of the physical senses. In that state the perceptions of the external world do not touch it. It is, in truth, outside the coarser part of human nature, the physical body, and is only connected with the finer bodies—known as the astral and etheric—which escape the observation of the physical senses. The activity of these finer bodies does not cease in sleep. Even as the physical body stands in a certain relation to the things and beings of its own world, even as it is affected by these and affects them, so is it also with the soul in a higher world, but in this latter case, experience continues during sleep. The soul is then veritably in full activity, but we cannot know of these personal activities as long as we have no higher senses, by means of which we may observe, during sleep, what happens around us and what we do ourselves, just as well as we can use our ordinary senses in daily life for the observation of our physical environment. Occult training consists (as has been shown in the foregoing chapters) in the upbuilding of just such higher senses.

[ 2 ] By means of examples like that which follows one can readily conceive how the soul with its finer vehicles may continue its activity during the intervals when the physical body is at rest. It is no mere nursery tale which will here be told, but a real case from life, which was observed with all the means possessed by the clairvoyant investigator and with all the care which it is incumbent upon him to exercise; nor is it related as a “proof,” but merely as an illustration.¹

A young man stood confronted by an examination which would probably decide his entire future life. For a long time previously, he had worked for it assiduously, and consequently, on the evening before the examination, was exceedingly tired. He was to appear before the examiners punctually at eight in the morning of the following day. He wanted to have a night's restful sleep before the trial, but he feared lest, on account of his exhaustion, he might not be able to wake himself at the right hour. He therefore took the precaution to arrange that a Person living in the next room should wake him at six o'clock by knocking at his door. Thus he was able to abandon himself to sleep with an easy mind. On the following day he awoke, not at the call of his neighbor, but out of a dream. He heard six sharp rifle-reports, and with the sixth he was awake. His watch—equipped with no alarm—stood at six o'clock. He dressed himself, and after half an hour his neighbor awoke him. In reality, it was only just then six o'clock, for his watch, by some accident, had gained half an hour in the night. The dream which awakened him had timed itself to the erroneous watch. What was it, then, which happened here? The soul of the young man had remained active even during his sleep. Because he had previously formed a connection between this activity of soul and the watch at his side, there had remained a connection between the two for the whole of the night, so that on the next day the soul came, as it were, to the hour of six simultaneously with the watch. This activity had impressed itself on the young man's consciousness through the pictorial dream already described, which had awakened him One cannot explain it away by reference to the increasing light of day or anything similar, for the soul acted not in accordance with the real time of day, but with the erroneous watch. The soul was active like a veritable watchman while the physical person slept. It is not the activity of the soul which is lacking in sleep, but rather a consciousness of that activity.

If, by occult training, the sleep-life of a person is cultivated, in the way already set forth in the previous chapter, he can then follow consciously everything which passes before him while in this particular state; he can voluntarily put himself en rapport with his environment, just as with his experiences, known through the physical senses, during the continuance of the waking consciousness. Had the young man in the above example been a clairvoyant, he would have been able to watch the time for himself during sleep, and in consequence to have awakened himself. It is necessary to state here that the perception of the ordinary phenomenal environment presupposes one of the higher stages of clairvoyance. At the beginning of his development at this stage, the student only perceives things which pertain to another world, without being able to discern their relation to the objects of his workaday surroundings.

[ 3 ] That which is illustrated in such typical examples of dream—or sleep—life is repeatedly experienced by people. The soul lives an unintermittently in the higher worlds and is active within them. Out of those higher worlds it continually draws the suggestions upon which it works when again in the physical body, while the ordinary man remains unconscious of this higher life. It is the work of the occult student to make it conscious, and by so doing his life becomes transformed. So long as the soul has not the higher sight, it is guided by foreign agencies, and just as the life of a blind man to whom sight is given by an operation becomes quite different from what it was before, so that he can henceforth dispense with a guide, thus also does the life of a person change im-der the influence of occult training. He, too, is now abandoned by his guide and must henceforward guide himself. As soon as this occurs he is, of course, liable to errors of which his waking consciousness had no conception. He now deals with a world in which, hitherto and unknown to himself, he had been influenced by higher powers. These higher powers are regulated by the great universal harmony. It is from this harmony that the student emerges. He has now to accomplish for himself things which were hitherto done for him without his co-operation.

[ 4 ] Because this is the case there will be much said in the treatises which deal with such things concerning the dangers which are connected with an ascent into the higher worlds. The descriptions of these dangers which have sometimes been given are very apt to make timid souls regard this higher life only with horror. It should here be said that these experiences only occur if the necessary rules of prudence are neglected. On the other hand, if everything which a genuine occult education imparts as counsel were here given as a warning, it would be manifest that the ascent is through experiences which in magnitude, as in form, surpass everything that has been painted by the boldest fancy of an ordinary person; yet it is not reasonable to talk of possible injury to health or life. The student learns to recognize horrible threatening forms that haunt every corner and cranny of life. It is even possible for him to make use of such powers and beings who are withdrawn from the perceptions of sense, and the temptation to use these powers in the service of some forbidden interest of his own is very great. There is also the possibility of employing these forces in erroneous ways, owing to an inadequate knowledge concerning the higher worlds. Some of these especially important events (as, for example, the meeting with “the Guardian of the Threshold”) will be described further on in this treatise. Yet one must realize that these hostile powers are around us even when we do not know anything about them. It is true that in this case their relation to man is determined by higher powers, and that this relationship only changes when he consciously enters the world which was hitherto unknown to him. At the same time, this will enhance his existence and enlarge the circle of his life to an enormous extent. There is danger only if the student, whether from impatience or arrogance, assumes too early an independence in his attitude toward the experiences of the higher world—if he cannot wait until he acquires a really mature insight into superphysical laws. In this sphere the words “humility” and “modesty” are still less empty than in ordinary life. If these, in the very best sense, are the attributes of the student, he may be sure that his ascent into the higher life may be achieved without any danger to what one usually means by health and life. Above all things it is needful that there should be no disharmony between these higher experiences and the events and demands of every-day life. The student's task throughout is to search on earth, and he who tries to withdraw from the sacred tasks of this earth and to escape into another world may be sure that he never reaches his goal. Yet what the senses behold is only a part of the world, and in spiritual regions lie the causes of what are facts in the phenomenal world. One should participate in the thins of the spirit in order to carry one's revelations into the world of the senses. Man transforms the earth, by implanting in it that which he has discovered in the spiritual world, and that is his task. Yet, because the earth is dependent upon the spiritual world—because we can only be truly effective on earth if we have part in those worlds wherein lie concealed the creative forces—we ought to be willing to ascend into those regions. If a person enters on a course of occult training with this sentiment, and if he never deviates for a moment from the directions already given, he has not even the most insignificant of dangers to fear. No one ought to hold back from occult education on account of the dangers that confront him; rather should the very prospect form a powerful inducement toward the acquisition of those qualities which must be possessed by the genuine occult student.

[ 5 ] After these preliminaries, which ought certainly to dispel all forebodings, let us now describe one of these “dangers.” It is true that very considerable changes are undergone by the finer bodies of the occult student. These changes are connected with certain evolutionary events which happen within the three fundamental forces of the soul—the will, the feelings, and the thoughts. As regards the occult training of a person these three forces stand in a definite relation, regulated by the laws of the higher world. He does not will, nor think, nor feel, in an arbitrary manner. If, for example, a particular idea arises in his mind, then, in accordance with natural laws, a certain feeling is attached to it, or else it is followed by a resolution of the will that is likewise connected with it according to law. You enter a room, find it to be stuffy, and open the window. You hear your name called, and follow the call. You are questioned and you answer. You perceive an ill-smelling object and you experience a feeling of disgust. These are simple connections between thought, feeling, and will. If, however, the student surveys human life, he will observe that everything in it is built up on such connections. Indeed, we only call the life of a person “normal” if we detect in it just that interrelation of thought, feeling, and will which is founded on the laws of human nature. We deem it contrary to these laws if a person, for instance, takes pleasure in an ill-smelling object, or if, on being questioned, he does not answer. The success which we expect from a right education or a fitting instruction consists in our presupposition that we can thereby impart to our pupil an interrelation of thought, feeling, and will that corresponds to human nature. When we present to a pupil any particular ideas, we do so on the supposition that they will assimilate, in an orderly association, with his feelings and volitions. All this arises from the fact that in the finer soul-vehicles of man the central points of the three powers, feeling, thinking, and willing, are connected with each other in a definite way. This connection in the finer soul-vehicles has also its analogy in the coarse physical body. There, too, the organs of volition stand in a certain orderly relation to those of thinking and feeling. A definite thought regularly evokes a feeling or a volition. In the course of a person's higher development the threads which connect these three principles with each other are severed. At first this rupture occurs only in regard to the finer organism of the soul; but at a still higher stage the separation extends also to the physical body. In the higher spiritual evolution of a person his brain actually divides into three separated parts. The separation, indeed, is of such a nature that it is not perceptible to ordinary sense-observation, nor could it be detected by the keenest physical instruments. Yet it occurs, and the clairvoyant has means of observing it. The brain of the higher clairvoyant divides into three independent active entities: the thought-brain, the feeling-brain, and the willing-brain.

[ 6 ] The organs of thinking, feeling, and willing remain, then, quite free in themselves, and their connection is no longer maintained by a law innate in them, but must now be tended by the growing higher consciousness of the individual. This, then, is the change which the occult student observes coming over himself—that there is no longer a connection between a thought and a feeling, or a feeling and a volition, except when he creates the connection himself. No impulse drives him from thought to action if he does not voluntarily harbor it. He can now stand completely without feeling before an object which, before his training, would have filled him with glowing love or violent hatred; he can likewise remain actionless before a thought which heretofore would have spurred him an to action as if by itself. He can execute deeds by an effort of will where not the remotest cause would be visible to a person who had not been through the occult school. The greatest acquisition which the occult student inherits is the attainment of complete lordship over the connecting threads of the three powers of the soul; yet simultaneously these connections are placed entirely at his own responsibility.

[ 7 ] Only through such alterations in his nature can a person come into conscious touch with certain superphysical powers and entities. For between his own soul and certain fundamental forces of the world there are correspondences or links. The power, for instance, which lies in the will can act upon, and perceive, particular things and entities of the higher world, but it can only do so when dissociated from the threads that link it with the feelings and thoughts of the soul. As soon as this separation is effected the activities of the will can be manifested, and so is it likewise with the forces of thought and feeling. If a person sends out a feeling of hatred, it is visible to the clairvoyant as a thin cloud of light of a special hue, and the clairvoyant can ward off such a feeling, just as an ordinary person wards off a physical blow that is aimed at him. Hate is a perceptible phenomenon in the superphysical world, but the clairvoyant is only able to perceive it in so far as he can send out the force which resides in his feelings, just as an ordinary person can direct outwards the receptive faculty of his eyes. What is here applied to hatred applies also to far more important facts in the phenomenal world. The individual can come into conscious communion with them by this very liberation of the elemental forces in the soul.

[ 8 ] On account of this division of the thinking, feeling, and willing forces it is now possible that a threefold error may overtake the development of a person who has been disregardful of his occult instructions. Such an error might occur if the connecting threads were severed before the student had acquired so much knowledge of the higher consciousness as would enable him to hold the reins by which to guide well, such as a free, harmonious co-operation of the separate forces would supply. For, as a rule, the three human principles at any given period of life are not symmetrically developed. In one the power of thought is advanced beyond those of feeling and will; in a second, another power has the upper hand over its companions. So long as the connection between these forces—a connection produced by the laws of the higher world—remains intact, no injurious irregularity, in the higher sense, can result from the predominance of one force or another. In a person of will-power, for instance, thought and feeling work by those laws to equalize all and to prevent the over-weighty will from falling into a kind of degeneration. If such a person, however, should take up an occult training, the law-given influence of thought and feeling upon the monstrous, unchecked, oppressive will would entirely cease. If, then, the individual has not carried his control of the higher consciousness so far that he can call up the desirable harmony for himself, the will continues an its own unbridled way and repeatedly overpowers its possessor. Thought and feeling lapse into complete debility; and the individual is whipped like a slave by his own overmastering will. A violent nature which rushes from one uncurbed action to another is the result.

A second deviation ensues if feeling shakes off its appropriate bridle in the same extreme manner. A person who bows in adoration before another may easily give himself over to an unlimited dependence, until his own thought and will are ruined. In place of the higher knowledge a pitiful vacuity and feebleness would become the lot of such a person. Again, in a case where feeling largely preponderates, a nature too much given over to piety and religious aspiration may lapse into religious extravagance that carries him away.

The third evil is found where thought is too prominent, for then there may result a contemplative nature inimical to life and shut within itself. To such persons the world only appears to have any significance so far as it offers them objects for the satisfaction of their limitless thirst for wisdom. They are never impelled by a thought either to a feeling or to a deed. They are seen at once to be cold, unfeeling folk. They fly away from every contact with the things of ordinary life as from something that stings them to aversion, or that at least has lost all meaning for them.

[ 9 ] These are the three ways of error against which the occult student should be counselled: over-action, excess of feeling, and a cold, unloving struggle after wisdom. Viewed from without—as also from the materialistic medical standpoint—the picture of an occult student upon one of these byways does not greatly differ (especially in degree) from that of a madman, or at least of a person suffering from severe nervous illness. From all this it will be clear how important it is to occult education that the three principles of the soul should throughout be symmetrically developed, before their innate connection is severed and the awakened higher consciousness enthroned in its place; for if a mistake once occurs, if one of these principles falls into lawlessness, the higher soul appears as a thing misborn. The unbridled force then pervades the individual's entire personality; and one cannot expect the balance to be restored for a long time. That which seems but a harmless characteristic so long as its possessor is without occult training,—especially if he belongs to the willing, thinking, or feeling type,—is so increased in the occult student that the more homely virtues, so necessary for everyday life, are apt to be obscured.

A really serious danger is at hand when the student has acquired the faculty of calling up before him in waking consciousness those things that he can experience in the state of sleep. As long as it is only a matter of illuminating the intervals of sleep, the sense-life, regulated according to common universal laws, always works during the waking hours towards restoring the disturbed equilibrium of the soul. That is why it is so essential that the waking life of an occult student should in every respect be healthy and systematic. The more he fulfils the demand which is made by the external world upon a sound and powerful type of body, soul, and spirit, the better it is for him. On the other hand, it may be very bad for him if his ordinary waking life acts so as to excite or irritate him; if any disturbing or hindering influence from the external life occurs during the great changes that are undergone by his inner nature. He should seek for everything which corresponds to his powers and faculties, everything that puts him in an undisturbed harmonious connection with his environment. He should avoid everything which upsets this harmony, everything that brings unrest and fever into his life. Regarding this, it is not so much a matter of removing this unrest or fever in an external sense, as of taking care that the moods, purposes, thoughts, and bodily health do not thereby undergo a continual fluctuation. During his occult training all this is not so easy for a person to accomplish as it was before, since the higher experiences, which are now interwoven with his life, react uninterruptedly upon his entire existence. If something in these higher experiences is not in its place, the irregularity lurks perpetually and is liable to throw him off the right path at every turn. For this reason the student should omit nothing which will secure for him a lasting control over his entire nature, nor should presence of mind, and a peaceful survey of all possible situations in life ever be allowed to desert him. A genuine occult training, indeed, itself engenders all these attributes, and in the course of such training one only learns to know these dangers at the precise moment when one acquires the full power to rout them from the field.

• 1. It has been necessary to make this preamble, since the superstitious followers of materialism, as soon as they hear of any such story, immediately respond by declaring that these cases prove nothing They whittle away everything of the kind as the result of delusion and inaccurate observation. To them it should be remarked, by way of reply, that the clairvoyant investigator does not require such indirect proofs; he attains to a direct knowledge by means of the higher sight. Nevertheless, facts of the kind related above serve to illustrate what is meant. To establish their truth other means exist than those which materialistic learning will use in the unimpeachable exposition of a matter of ordinary fact.

In the course of these lectures I have often explained how a man is not in a sleeping state only during ordinary sleep but that this state also plays into his everyday conscious life. This obliges us indeed to describe the state of complete wakefulness as existing, even in everyday consciousness, for our conceptual life alone. Compared to the conceptual life, what we bear within us as our life of feeling is not so closely connected with our waking state. To the unprejudiced observer our feeling life shows affinity to dream-life; though dream-life runs on in pictures and the life of feeling in the way we all know. Yet we soon realise that, on the one hand, dream-life—which as we know conjures up in pictures, into everyday life, facts unknown to ordinary consciousness—can be judged only by our conceptual faculty of discrimination. It is by means of this same faculty alone that the whole range and significance of our feeling life can be estimated. And what goes on in a will-impulse, in the expression, the working, of the will, is just as hidden from ordinary consciousness as what in dreamless sleep happens to man, as a being of soul and spirit, from the moment of falling asleep to that of waking.

What actually takes place when we perform the simplest act of will, when, let us say, by merely having an impulse to do so we raise an arm or a leg, is in fact just as great a mystery to us as what goes on in sleep. It is only because we can see the result of an act of will that the act itself enters our consciousness.

Having thought of raising our arm—but that is merely a thought—we see when this has taken place how the arm has indeed been raised. It is by means of our conceptual life that we learn the result of an act of will. But the actual carrying out of the deed remains hidden from ordinary consciousness, so that, even during our waking hours, what arises in us as an impulse of will we have to attribute to a sleeping state. And the whole of our life of feeling runs its course just like a dream.

Now what concerns us here is that, when taken as a whole, the facts I have just mentioned can be quite clear to our ordinary consciousness, although perhaps, when given an abstract interpretation certain points may not seem so at once. But by carefully following up the facts in question we shall find what has been said to be correct.

Consciousness when developed is able to follow up these facts. In particular it can observe in detail the conceptual life and the life of the will. We know how through exercises described in several of my works ordinary objective knowledge can be raised to Imaginative knowledge. On being observed this Imaginative knowledge or cognition shows, to begin with, its true relation to the human being as a whole. It will be useful for us, however, to recall certain facts about ordinary consciousness, before going on to what this Imaginative knowledge has chiefly to say about a man's conceptual power and his will.

Let us then look at the actual life of thought—the conceptual life. You will have to admit; If this conceptual life is experienced without prejudice, we shall not feel it to be a reality. Conceptions arise in our life of soul and there is no doubt the inner course of a man's conceptions is something added to the outer course taken by the facts. The outer course of events does not directly demand the accompaniment of an inwardly experienced conception. The fact of which we form an idea could take place without our experiencing it as an idea. Sinking ourselves in these conceptions, however, teaches us too that in them we live in what, compared with the external world, is something unreal. On the other hand, precisely in what concerns the life of will—which seems to ordinary consciousness as if experience in sleep—we become aware of our own reality and of the truth about our relation to the world.

As we form conceptions we find more and more that these conceptions live in us just as the images of objects are there in a mirror. And just as little as, in the case of what is usually called the real world, we feel the mirror-images to be a reality, do we—if our reason is sound—look upon our conceptions as real.

But there is another thing which prevents our ascribing reality to our conceptions, and that is our feeling of freedom. Just imagine that while forming conceptions we lived in them so that they ran on in us in the way nature works. The conceptual life would be like something happening outside in nature, taking place as a necessity. We should be caught up in a chain of necessities from which our thinking would be unable to free itself. We should never have the sense of freedom which, as such, is an actual fact. We experience ourselves as free human beings only when free impulses living in us spring out of pictures having no place in the chain of natural necessities. Only because we live with; our conceptions in pictures outside the necessary natural phenomena are we able, out of such conceptions, to experience free impulses of will.

When observing our conceptual life thus, we perceive it to be entirely unreal; whereas our life of will assures us of our own reality. When the will is in action it brings about changes in world outside—changes we are obliged to regard as real. Through our will we make actual contact with the external world. Therefore, it is only as beings of will that we can perceive ourselves as realities in the external world.

When from these facts—easily substantiated in ordinary consciousness—we go on to those of which Imagination can tell us, we find the following. When we have acquired Imaginative knowledge and, armed with this, try to arrive at a knowledge of man himself, then actually in two respects he appears a quite different being from what he is for ordinary consciousness. To ordinary consciousness our physical body is a self-contained entity at rest. We differentiate between its separate organs and observing an organ in our usual state of consciousness we have the impression of dealing with an independent member of the body which, as something complete in itself, can be drawn in definite outlines.

This ceases the moment we rise to Imaginative knowledge and study from that point of view the life of the body. Then this something at rest shows—if we don't want to be really theoretical, which of course it is always possible to be in a diagram—that it cannot be drawn in definite outline. This cannot be done in the case of lungs, heart, liver and so on, when we rise to Imaginative knowledge. For what this reveals about the body is its never-ending movement. Our body is in a state of continued motion—certainly not something at rest; it is a process, a becoming, a flux, which imaginative cognition brings to our notice. One might say that everything is seething, inwardly on the move, not only in space but, in an intensive way, one thing flows into another. We are no longer confronted by organs at rest and complete; there is active becoming, living, weaving. We cannot speak any more of lungs, heart, liver, but of processes—of the lung-process, heart-process, liver process. And these separate processes together make up the whole process—man. It is characteristic of our study of the human being from the point of view of Imaginative knowledge, that he appears as something moving, something enduring, in a state of perpetual becoming.

Consider what it signifies to have this change in our view of a man; when, that is, we first see the human body with its definitely outlined members, and then direct the gaze of our soul to the inner soul-life, finding there nothing to be drawn thus definitely. In the life of soul, we see what is taking its course in time, something always becoming, never at rest. The soul-life shows itself indeed to be a process perceptible only inwardly, a process of soul and spirit, yet clearly visible. This process in the life of soul, which is there for ordinary consciousness when a man's inner being is viewed without prejudice, this state of becoming in the soul-life, has very little resemblance to the life of the body at rest. It is true that the life of the body also shows movement; breathing is a movement, circulation is a movement. In relation to how a man appears to Imaginative cognition, however, I would describe this as merely a stage on the way to movement. Compared with the delicate, subtle movements of the human physical body revealed to Imaginative cognition, the circulation of the blood, the breathing, and other bodily motions seem relatively static.

In short, the objective knowledge of the human body perceived it ordinary consciousness is very different from what is perceived as the life of soul, that is in a perpetual state of becoming—always setting itself in motion and never resting.

When, however, with Imagination we observe the human body, it becomes inwardly mobile and in appearance more like the soul life. Thus, Imaginative cognition enables us to raise the appearance of the physical body to a level with the soul. Soul and body come nearer to each other. For Imaginative cognition the body in its physical substance appears more like the soul.

But here I have brought two things to your notice which belong to quite different spheres. First, I showed how the physical body appears to Imaginative cognition as something always on the move, always in a state of becoming. Then I pointed out how indeed, for the, inner vision of our usual consciousness, the ordinary life of soul is also ceaselessly becoming, running its course tie—a life, in effect, to which it is impossible to ascribe definite outlines.

When, however, we rise to Imaginative cognition, this life of soul also changes for the inward vision, and changes over in an opposite direction to the life of the body. It is noticeable that when filled with Imaginative knowledge we no longer feel any freedom of movement in our thoughts, in the combining of them with one another. We also feel that by rising to Imaginative cognition our thoughts gain certain mastery over our life of soul. In ordinary consciousness we can add one thought to another, with inner freedom either combine or not combine a subject with a predicate—feel free in our combining of conceptions.

This in not so when we acquire imaginative knowledge. Then in the thought-world we feel as though in something which works through powers of its own. We feel as if caught up in a web of thought, in such a way that the thoughts combine themselves through their own forces, independently of us. We can no longer say I think—but are forced to change it to: It thinks. In fact, we are not free to do otherwise. We begin to perceive thinking as an actual process—feel it to be as real a process in us as in everyday life we experience the gripping of pain and then its passing off, or the coming and going of something pleasant. By arising to Imaginative cognition, we feel the reality of the thought-world—something in the thought-world resembling experience in the physical body.

From his it can be seen how, through Imaginative knowledge, the conceptual life of the soul becomes more like the life of the body, than is the soul-life—as seen through the inner vision of ordinary consciousness. In short, the body grows soul-like. And the soul becomes more like the body, particularly like those bodily processes which to Imaginative consciousness disclose themselves in their becoming.

Thus, for Imaginative cognition the qualities of the soul approach those of the body, and the qualities of the body those of the soul. And we see the soul and spirit interweaving with the bodily-physical the two becoming more alike. It is as though our experience of what is of the soul acquired a materialistic character while our view of the bodily life, physical life generally, were spiritualised

This is an important fact which reveals itself to Imaginative cognition. And when further progress is made to Inspired Cognition, we find another secret about the human being unveiled. Having acquired Inspired knowledge we learn more of the material nature of thinking, of the conceptual faculty; we learn see more deeply into what actually happens when we think.

Now, as I have said, we no longer have freedom in our life of thought. "It thinks,” and we are caught up in the web of this "It thinks.” In certain circumstances the thoughts are the same as those which in ordinary consciousness we combine or separate in freedom, but which in Imaginative experience we perceive to take place as if from inner necessity.

From this we see that it is not in the thought-life, as such, that freedom and necessity are to be found, but in our own attitude, our own relation, to the thought-life of ordinary consciousness. We learn to recognise the actual situation with regard to our experience, in ordinary consciousness, of the unreality of thoughts. We gradually come to understand the reason for this experience, and then the following becomes clear.

By means of the organic process our organism both takes in and excretes substances. But it is not only a matter of these substances separating themselves from the organic process of the body and being thrown out by the excretory organs—certain of these substances become stored up in us. Having been thrown out of the life-process these remain, to some extent, in the nerve-tract, and in other places in the organism. In our life-process we are continuously engaged in detaching lifeless matter. People able to follow minutely the process of human life can observe this storing up of lifeless matter everywhere in the organism. A great part of this is excreted but there is a general storing up of a certain amount in a more tenuous form. The life of the human organism is such that it is always engaged on the organic process—like this (a drawing was made) But everywhere within the organic process we see inorganic, lifeless matter, not being excreted but stored up (which I indicated here with red chalk): I have drawn these red dots rather heavily because it is chiefly the unexcreted, lifeless matter which withdraws to the organ of the human head, where it remains.

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Now the human organism is permeated throughout by the ego (I indicate this with green chalk). Within the organism the ego comes in contact with the lifeless substances which have been separated off and permeates them. So that our organism appears as having, on the one hand, its organic processes permeated by the ego, the process, that is, containing the living substance, and of having also what is lifeless—or shall we say mineralised—in the organism permeated by the ego.

This, then, is what is always going on when we think. Aroused by sense-perceptions outside, or inwardly by memory, the ego gets the upper hand over the lifeless substances, and—in accordance with the stimulation of the senses or of the memories—swings these lifeless substances to and fro in us, we might almost say makes drawings in us with them. For this is no figurative conception; this use of inorganic matter by the ego is absolute reality It might be compared to reducing chalk to a powder and then with a chalky finger drawing all kinds of figures. It is an actual fact that the ego sets this lifeless matter oscillating, masters it, and with it draws figures in us, though the figures are certainly unlike those usually drawn outside. Yet the ego with the help of this lifeless substance does really make drawings and form crystals in us—though not crystals like those found in the mineral kingdom (see red in drawing).

What goes on in this way between the ego and the mineralized substance in us that has detached itself as in a fine but solid state—it is this which provides the material basis of our thinking. In fact, to Inspired cognition the thinking process, the conceptual process, shows itself to be the use them ego makes of the mineralised substance in the human organism.

This, I would point out, gives a more accurate picture of what I have frequently described in the abstract when saying: In that we think we are always dying,—What within us is in a constant state of decay, detaching itself from the living and becoming mineralised, with this the ego makes drawings, actual drawings, of all our thoughts. It is the working and weaving of the ego in mineral kingdom, in that kingdom which alone makes it possible for us to possess the faculty of thinking.

You see it is what I have been describing here which dawned on the materialists of the 19th century, though they misconstrued it. The best advocates of materialism—and one of the best was Czolbe—had a vague notion that while thoughts are flitting through us physical processes are at work. These materialists forget, however,—and this is where error crept in—that it is the purely spiritual ego making drawings in us inwardly with what in mineralized. And on this inward drawing depends what we know of the actual awakening of ordinary consciousness.

Let us now consider the opposite side at the human being, the side of the will-impulses. If you recall what I have been describing, you will perhaps perceive how the ego becomes imprisoned in what has been mineralized within us. But it is able to make use of this mineralised substance to draw with it inwardly. The ego is able to sink right down into what is thus mineralised.

If, on the other hand, we study the life-processes, where the non-mineralised substances are to be found, we come to the material basis of the will. In sleep the ego leaves the physical body, whereas in willing the ego is only driven out of certain parts of the organism. Because of this, at certain moments when this is so, there is nothing mineralised in that region, everything there is full of life. Out of these parts of the organism, where all is alive and from which at that moment nothing mineralised is being detached, the impulses will unfold. But the ego is then driven out; it withdraws into what is mineral. The ego can work on the mineralised substances but not on what is living, from which it is thrust out just us when we are asleep at night our ego is driven out of the whole physical body.

But then the ego is outside the body whereas on mineralisation taking place it is driven inside. It is the life-giving process which thrust the ego out of certain parts of the body; then the ego is as much outside those parts as in sleep it is driven out of the whole body. Hence, we can say that when the will is in action parts of the ego are outside the regions of the physical body to which they are assigned. And those parts of the ego—where are they then? They are outside in the surrounding space and become one with the forces weaving there. By setting our will in action we go outside ourselves with part of our ego, and we take into us forces which have their place in the world outside. When I move an arm, this is not done by anything coming from within the organism but through a force outside, into which the ego enters only by being partly driven out of the arm. In willing go out of my body and move myself by means of outside forces. We do not lift our leg by means of forces within us, but through those actually working from outside. It is the same when an arm is moved. Whereas in thinking, through the relation of the ego to the mineralised part of the organism, we are driven within, in willing just as in sleep we are driven outside. No one understands the will who has not a conception of man as a cosmic being; no one understands the will who is bounded by the human body and does not realise that in willing he takes into him forces lying beyond it.

In willing we sink ourselves into the world, surrender ourselves to it. So that we can say: The material phenomenon that accompanies thinking is a mineral process in us, something drawn by the ego in the mineralised parts of the human organism. The will represents in us a vitalising, a widening of the ego, which then becomes a member of the spiritual world outside, and from there works back upon the body.

If we want to make a diagram of the relation between think and willing, it must be done in this way (a drawing was made). You see it is quite possible to pass over from an inward view of the soul-life to its physical counterpart, without being tempted to fall one-sidedly into materialism. We learn to recognise what takes place in a material way in thinking and in willing. But once we know how in thinking the ego plays an actual part with the inorganic, and how, on the other hand, through the organic life-giving process in the body it is driven out into the spirit, then we never lose the ego.

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Materialism is therefore justified on the one hand, whereas on the other it no longer holds good. Simply to attack materialism betrays a superficial attitude. For what in a positive sense the materialist has to say is warranted. He is at fault only when he would approach man's whole wide conception of the world from one side.

In general, when the world and all that happens in it is followed inwardly, spiritually, it is found more and more that the positive standpoints of individual men are warranted, but not those that are negative. And in this connection spiritualism is often just as narrow as materialism. In what he affirms positively the materialist has right on his side, as the spiritualist has on his, when positive. It is only on becoming negative that they stray from the path and fall into error. And it is indeed no trifling error when, in an amateurish fashion, people imagine they have succeeded in their striving for a spiritual world-conception without having any understanding of material processes, and then look down on materialism. The material world is indeed permeated by spirit. But we must not be one-sided; we must learn about its material characteristics as well, recognising that reality has to be approached from various sides if we are to arrive at its full significance.

And that is a lesson best taught by a world-conception such as that offered by Anthroposophy.

Died on March 18, 1876

In the Württemberg town of Weinsberg, the jovial poet and rapturous spirit seer Justinus Kerner became chief medical officer in 1818. Since that time, the picturesque home of this strange man has been visited by countless artists, poets, scholars and spiritualists on their travels through southern Germany. On August 7, 1840, a man of simple appearance and unpretentious demeanor appeared in the hospitable house and introduced himself as the poet Ferdinand Freiligrath. Doubts arose in Kerner as to whether he could believe the visitor that he was the bearer of the name, which was already being pronounced with recognition in the widest circles at the time. Kerner knew from the first words that he was dealing with a dear, wonderful person; what the man held within himself only gradually became apparent. In this encounter with the Swabian poet, the essence of the great freedom singer Freiligrath is symbolically expressed. He himself slowly penetrated to his deeper nature, to that nature which was called to find the most captivating tones for man's sense of freedom. What happened in Freiligrath's heart when his true calling dawned on him can be seen in the words he prefaced his collection of poems "Ein Glaubensbekenntnis" (A Confession of Faith), published in 1844. "The most recent turn of events in my immediate fatherland of Prussia has painfully disappointed me, who was one of those who hoped and trusted, in many ways, and it is primarily to this that the majority of the poems in the second section of this book owe their origin. None of them, I can calmly affirm, was made; each has come about through events, as necessary and inevitable a result of their clash with my sense of justice and my convictions as the decision, taken and carried out at the same time, to return my much-discussed small pension into the hands of the King. Around New Year 1842, I was surprised by its award: since New Year 1844, I have stopped collecting it." - In January 1844, the man who, as late as 1841, expressed his confession in the words: "The poet stands on a higher vantage point than on the battlements of the party", concluded his freedom poem "Guten Morgen" with the words:

Good morning then! - Free I will stand
For the people and with them in time! With the people the poet shall go - ...

The Freiligrath who, with his fiery imagination, revelled in the glowing colors of distant lands in the thirties, who knew how to conjure up the life of the lush tropical world with such vividness before the souls, who sang of the desert king (in "Löwenrit") and of the sad fate of emigrants, could be considered worthy of a royal pension; Freiligrath, who in the forties felt the stormy urge for freedom of the time as the basic trait of his own heart, had to say of himself: "Firmly and unshakably I take the side of those who oppose reaction with forehead and breast! No more life for me without freedom!"

Lonely, eerie and dark
Is the distant, high sea! I love to see heather and broom
Growing around the dunes.

Freiligrath sees the ships coming and going. They tell him of distant lands and their wonders. And what he has never seen rises up in his imagination in glorious splendor. The poet transports himself to Africa, America and Asia, and vividly describes what his dreams tell him about these parts of the world.

In 1835, the world first became acquainted with what Freiligrath saw in his dreams, what he experienced in his innermost being during a strenuous, busy youth. Freiligrath's poems first appeared in the literary journals of the time, such as the "Deutscher Musenalmanach", published by Chamisso and Schwab, and the "Stuttgarter Morgenblatt". The poet's name was soon praised wherever there was an appreciation of genuine poetry. Freiligrath, who had meanwhile returned to Germany and found commercial employment in Barmen, was able to publish a collection of poems as early as 1838. Indeed, he could now even think of retiring from his grueling profession and living as a freelance writer. He settled as such in the small town of Unkel on the Rhine in 1839. It was here that he met the woman who would henceforth share the burdens of life with him. She was the daughter of a Weimar seminary teacher Melos. She had been friends with Goethe's grandchildren since childhood and could look back to a time when the old Goethe himself had enjoyed her games and joked with her. She had then worked as an educator in Russia and, through experience and energetic striving, had come to a high view of life. Freiligrath's meeting with Kerner took place on a journey he undertook in 1840, the main purpose of which was to make the acquaintance of his bride's father in Weimar and to talk to him. It was an eventful journey that the poet made to Weimar via southern Germany. He met Ludwig Uhland as well as many other important personalities. This poet with a soulful mind became a dear friend to him.

Ferdinand Freiligrath was not granted the leisure to devote himself to poetry, through which he won more and more hearts, and to enjoy the beautiful marriage he had made in 1841. Difficult life worries kept coming back to him. How could it be otherwise, since at a time when the creations of his youth were bringing him steadily growing recognition, he was moving away from the ideas that had established his young poetic fame? Time showed him new paths. What meant the air of life to him, freedom, which he had always sought to conquer in fierce battles, he saw as oppressed and ostracized in public life.

Germany is Hamlet!
Serious and silent
Within its gates every night
Goes the buried freedom around,
And beckons the men on the watch.

So he laments in April 1844, when he compiles the poems that are united in his "Creed" and gives them as a preface on the way:

To Aßmannshausen in the Kron'
Where many a thirsty man has already drunk,
There I make for a crown'
This booklet for the print!

Freiligrath loved the Rhine region. That is probably why he was drawn to St. Goar in the difficult days of his inner struggles, when he sought and found union with the struggling soul of time, where he spent a short time in quiet seclusion and contemplation. There is no question that it became easier for others to hear the call of time. Freiligrath's feelings appear like a brittle element that does not want to come out into the light of day, but which then shines all the brighter when it has found its way there. Herwegh, who was one of the first to strike a revolutionary note, initially had a repellent effect on Freiligrath. Indeed, he had even spoken harsh words of censure against Herwegh when the latter had spoken derisively about E.M. Arndt, who had once been dismissed as a demagogue and then recalled by Friedrich Wilhelm IV. And what we read about Freiligrath in the "Einundzwanzig Bogen" published by Herwegh in Zurich shows us that at the beginning of the 1940s the freedom singers thought little of the "pensioner" of the King of Prussia. Since the publication of "Glaubensbekenntnis", no one could be in any doubt as to the state of affairs in the poet's innermost being, who until then had been seen from a "higher vantage point" than the battlements of the party. Herwegh, who had recently been derisively counted with Geibel in the "duet of the retired", now had to consider leaving Germany in order to escape the persecutors of the friends of freedom. Freiligrath sought asylum in Brussels. It has rightly been said that Freiligrath's desire for freedom grew to the point of religious fervor. How he understood the mood of the oppressed in the face of the powerful, how he was able to give it flaming words! With unparalleled boldness, he addressed his voice to the hearts of those whose freedom can only be taken away from them as long as they are not aware that the edifice of power that is crushing them is constantly being built up by themselves, stone by stone. This mood finds words in his "Phantasie an den Rheindampfer" that are not often found in world literature. The collection of poems from 1846, to which the aforementioned poem also belongs, is one great hymn to freedom. And the "New Political and Social Poems" published in 1849 can be read with the feeling that the shrill cry of pain of the entire national soul for freedom and an existence worth living can be heard from a poet's heart on which all the suffering of the time has been heaped.

In Germany, Freiligrath had not been able to find a home since the mid-1940s. The revolutionary poet could lose his freedom any day, the man struggling with life could not find the means for his material existence. In 1846, he moved to London, where he had once again found a commercial position. He was constantly drawn back to Germany. In May 1848, he moved into the headquarters of German democracy in Düsseldorf. Here he worked with Marx and Engels on the "Neue Rheinische Zeitung" in the service of freedom. An accusation that he had incurred because of the poem "Die Toten an die Lebendigen" (The Dead to the Living) showed how deeply his tones had penetrated the people's hearts. The ruling powers would probably have liked to have been able to strike a major blow against the bold poet. After all, in the aforementioned poem he had let the dead who had fallen for freedom speak, calling on the living to prove themselves worthy of their dead champions. Freiligrath's wife was prepared for the worst. She herself feared being sentenced to death. The jury returned an acquittal. The acquitted man was met with unparalleled jubilation as he stepped out of the courthouse into the crowd, which numbered in the thousands. It was unthinkable for Freiligrath to remain in Germany permanently. He had to decide to seek his fortune in exile for the time being. So he returned to London in 1851. He had to work hard as a merchant from early morning until late evening. His house became a place of refuge for political refugees from all countries. Freiligrath had advice and help for anyone who turned to him. He left no stone unturned to ease the lot of those who had to seek refuge in the cosmopolitan city for the sake of their convictions, where life was certainly not easy for such personalities at the time. However, Freiligrath's poetic energy was now flagging. The difficulties he encountered in life and the great tasks he was set had probably caused the spring from which such powerful things had flowed to gradually dry up in later life. Freiligrath was also a personality who only spoke when he had something important to say. But when such a significant occasion presented itself, he also found words that could be rivaled by little in terms of depth of feeling and beauty of expression. How heartfelt are the words in which he expressed the pain felt by the "scattered men" at the death of Gottfried Kinkel's wife when they "silently buried the German woman in the foreign sand".

In 1867, Freiligrath was able to return to Germany. The Geneva bank he represented in London had fallen into ruin. The old man once again faced the possibility of having to fight the bitterest battle for his life once more. His friends and admirers in Germany rallied to spare him that. A collection for an honorary gift, which could relieve the poet of all worries for the rest of his life, had the most favorable success. Freiligrath spent the rest of his life in Cannstatt near Stuttgart. From then on, wherever he went in Germany, he saw the echoes of his fame. He now devoted himself to translating American and English poets, Longfellows, Burns and others. In addition to his own creative activities, he always endeavored to convey foreign poetry, to which his heart was devoted, to his people.

The fact that Freiligrath made valuable contributions to the war poetry of 1870 has led some circles to believe that the great freedom singer had more or less turned his back on the ideals of his youth in old age and reconciled himself to the new political circumstances. Treitschke even found the words: "When, years later, all his republican ideals lay shattered on the ground and the dream of his youth was fulfilled by monarchical powers, he cheered gratefully, without small-mindedness, at the new greatness of Germany, and his bright poet's greeting answered the trumpet of Gravelotte." Whoever says this should also not forget to mention that Freiligrath returned a Mecklenburg medal sent to him by return of post and that he refused to accept the Order of Maximilian, which had been terminated by Fritz Reuter's death. He was only able to follow the development of the "New Political Conditions" until 1876. He died on March 18 of that year. It can hardly be assumed that Treitschke's followers would also have rejoiced if Freiligrath had witnessed the further development and passed judgment on it. Whatever the case may be, however, if the freedom singer once said of his poems in later life: "These things have become historical and are no longer intended to agitate", he was probably doing himself an injustice. His songs of freedom have an inherent power that is far from being doomed to be merely "historical".

[From the chapter “World of Thought, Personality, Peoplehood”] The thoughts that a person is able to form about reality easily come to fill his entire mental life. He believes that they give him a light that shines into all the secrets of the world. If he finds that someone has different thoughts from his own, he speaks of a different world view. He believes that the other person's thoughts contradict his own and that they therefore cannot exist alongside his own.

However, by judging in this way, one usually confuses two things that need to be kept separate by anyone who wants to gain insight into the true reasons why thinkers' ideas about reality differ so widely. This paper is based on the view that, when one looks more closely at the ideas that are believed to belong to different worldviews,

In the way that one speaks of the diversity of the worldviews of thinkers, two different causes of this diversity are lumped together, resulting in a confusion of concepts. A thinker can have thoughts about reality that differ from those of another, like the image of a tree photographed from one direction is different from that of the same tree photographed from another.

If one seeks to recognize how the forces of nationality are effective in the thinkers of a [people], then one will be able to find significant examples in such personalities as they have appeared in Planck, Troxler, 1. H. Fichte and others described in this writing. For the purpose of such a consideration is to find those popular instincts that also work in other branches of popular activity, and that drive their peculiarity into the world of thought in such thinkers. These forces often have no influence on the opinions that are then formed about the course and value of worldviews and that are expressed in the writing of history; and so it happens that thinkers rooted in the soil of their nation are often not only lonely during their lifetime, but that their thoughts are also lonely for posterity. The most effective forces of a people reveal themselves in their achievements; and the strength of the recognition, even the recognition of these forces, does not necessarily correspond to what has been achieved. If one says in response: yes, but this thinker, who is supposed to be so rooted in the people, has not had a great effect, one does not see how the forces at work in him are precisely those that continue to have an effect, that are indestructible. If we want to know the driving forces of a tree, we must not see how one branch affects another, but how the forces present in the trunk are manifested in the individual branch. It is not a matter of focusing on how this or that thinker has influenced these opinions, but rather on what forces of the folk-soul are at work in a personality.

It is important to see: this or that trait is national and it shows in the idiosyncrasy of this or that thinker.

How the national character works in the thinker.

If one seeks to recognize how the forces of national character are effective in the thinkers of a nation, /bricht ab]

Planck, like Troxler and some of the other personalities described here, has remained without a more far-reaching effect of the kind that is expressed in the recognition of contemporaries, in the dissemination of views and the like. But if one wants to identify thinkers in whom the essence of nationality lives, then he belongs among them. For what has become thought in him sprouts from the impulses of nationality. In his thoughts, it is precisely those impulses of the people that are often unconsciously at work, but which underlie the activity and achievements of the people.

What is expressed in all truly popular activity and achievement in the most diverse fields; what lives in the most diverse forms: in the case of such a thinker, it becomes a world of ideas. Materialism is not overcome by rejecting the view of a series of thinkers in the second half of the nineteenth century who considered all spiritual experiences to be a mere material effect, but by engaging in thinking about the spiritual in the sense that one thinks about nature in a natural way. What this means can already be seen from the preceding remarks in this essay, but it will be shown in particular in the final considerations intended as 'outlooks'.

A deepening of insight into the soul of a people can never lead to an underestimation of the essence and value of other peoples; it cannot indulge in such feelings as are today felt by many towards the German people.

The author of this writing hopes that it will be seen from it how far removed from him any appreciative immersion in the spiritual idiosyncrasy of a national character is from any misunderstanding and misrepresentation of the essence and value of other national characters. It would be unnecessary to say this at any other time; today it is necessary in view of the feelings that are now being expressed by many sides towards German nature.

The author of this essay hopes that it will be seen that his view, that a deeper understanding of the psychological characteristics of one nationality should not lead to a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the nature and value of other nationalities, is apparent from it. It would be unnecessary to say this at other times. Today it is necessary.

[On the chapter 'Images from Austria's Intellectual Life': Robert Hamerling and 'Homunculus'

In his satirical poem “Homunculus”, Hamerling shows, so to speak, what would become of human life if what is merely presented as scientific theory were to be realized in reality. The human being who lives without a soul because he thinks in a spirit-shy way is the “homunculus”. In our time, this “homunculism” is having a wide impact. There is even talk of how homo sapiens of a bygone age is being transformed entirely into homo oeconomicus. This is /bricht ab]

Hamerling is looking for a worldview that incorporates a spiritual way of thinking into the purely scientific world of thought.

What would life be like if man were really what a world view presents him as being, one that only takes into account the sensory world? One could ask the question: what would a world order have to look like if it were a reality, one that a world view presents, one that only forms its ideas from the reality of the senses. If, therefore, the purely scientific mode of thought wants to be, so to speak, [breaks off]

In his satirical poem “Homunculus”, Hamerling portrays a person who is only what the world view takes him to be, which draws its ideas only from the sensory world.

The world of the scientific way of thinking is the world that man perceives in reality; but it is presented without anything by which it could make itself perceptible to any being.

What this way of thinking conceives as light and sound does not shine or resound. One only knows from life that one has gained the representations of this way of thinking from what shines and resounds, and therefore lives in the belief that what is imagined also shines and resounds.

When Mach speaks of sensation, he is pointing to that which is felt; but in thinking the object of the sensation, he must separate it from the ego. He does not realize that by doing so, he is thinking something that can no longer be felt. He also shows this by the fact that the concept of the ego completely dissipates. That he actually loses the “I” completely. It becomes a mythical concept. Because he does not consciously think of his world of feeling as imperceptible, it throws the perceiving ego out of his thinking. Thus Mach's view in particular becomes proof of what has been explained here.

Hamerling, however, is only standing before the experience of the seeing consciousness with a presentiment. This sees in the material of the brain the conditions for the soul entities to recognize themselves in their mirror image through the ordinary consciousness. Matter can never be the bearer of thought, but it can be the bearer of the images of consciousness of the creative thinking. The latter experiences itself in the vision of consciousness in its essence independent of matter and regards the material activity of the brain as spiritual activity becoming a real image.

With this thought, however, Hamerling is only intuitively approaching the point of view of the observing consciousness. To want to derive the thought in the human brain from the activity of the material atoms certainly remains a futile and foolish undertaking for all time. For it is no better than wanting to derive the mirror image of a person from the activity of the mirror.

But what ordinary consciousness knows as thoughts is only the reflection, brought about by the brain, of the living, thinking essence of the soul. One cannot say of this reflection that something in the processes of the brain is essentially the same as it. When the observing consciousness experiences itself in the essential nature of thoughts, then it also beholds in them the reality that underlies the brain. The brain is related to this reality as an image is to the essence that it visualizes.

Enhanced consciousness is not developed from ordinary consciousness through bodily (physiological) processes, as ordinary waking consciousness develops from dream consciousness. The intensification is a completely soul-spiritual experience that cannot have anything to do with bodily processes. When awakening from dream into waking consciousness, one is dealing with a changing attitude of the body; when awakening from ordinary consciousness to spirit-perceiving consciousness, one is dealing with a changing attitude of spiritual-soul experiences.

But the image-form of the thought in ordinary consciousness is also for the seeing consciousness a reflection of the essential being that is experienced in the soul. And when the soul, living and cognizant, becomes aware of itself in the observing consciousness, it knows itself to be in a reality within which the material substance of the brain is not essentially the same as the thoughts of the ordinary consciousness, but it is the same as the spiritual substance with which the thoughts reveal themselves. In the observing consciousness, the soul knows itself to be in the spiritual substance that the brain forms out of the creative spiritual substance. But what Hamerling describes in his Atomics of the Will would only correspond to this creative spiritual essence if he knew himself as living in the consciousness of vision and was striving to visualize the spiritual experience with his description.

That is the world in which the soul knows itself to be one with what [breaks off]

[To the chapter: “Images from the Thought Life of Austria”: Josef Misson]

Misson cannot be considered a thinker among those described in this writing. But if one considers what must have gone on in his soul life, it gives an understanding of the special coloring of the ideas of Austrian thinkers. But what lives in the constitution of his soul sheds light on Austrian thinkers. The thoughts of Schelling, Hegel and Planck can be vividly dissected like the limbs of a thought organism, so that each thought always grows out of the other; a popular element can be seen in this way of growing out of one another. The thoughts of Austrian thinkers stand like isolated plants on a spiritual ground from which they all grow in the same way, with each one less arising from the other. Therefore they do not so much bear the immediate popular character in their form, but more in their fundamental mood. Such a fundamental mood is, however, held back in the thinker; in a personality like Mission it appears as a yearning for the popular. — In Schröer, in Fercher, in Carneri, Hamerling it lives as the fundamental mood of their thoughts, while their content reveals less of it.

[On the chapter 'Images from the Thought Life of Austria': Oriental-Indian Mysticism]

A kind of counter-image to the purely scientific way of thinking is Oriental-Indian mysticism. The former does not reach the spirit because it loses itself in observing the senses; the latter does not enter into reality with its spiritual experience because it does not want to awaken from ordinary consciousness to the heightened consciousness meant here, but rather dampens ordinary consciousness, thereby falling into a dream-like recognition. She believes she is recognizing the spiritual by leaving the reality that is immediately present to her. But it is part of the real spiritual that this reality arises from it. Therefore, if one weaves as a knower in a spiritual world that has stripped away this reality, then this imagined spiritual world lacks what is in truth in the real spiritual world. This oriental-Indian mysticism also claims to overcome the “I” of ordinary consciousness. In truth, it only falls back to a level of consciousness that has not yet reached the “I”. The awakened consciousness meant in this writing goes beyond the level of consciousness at which the “I” has been attained. Ancient Indian mysticism is a kind of counter-image to the scientific way of thinking. If the former paints a world that is imperceptible, the latter paints a world in which life is lived spiritually, but nothing is to be perceived. The cognizant person does not seek to awaken from sensory reality to a heightened consciousness through the power of soul experiences, but withdraws from all reality in order to be alone with cognition. He believes that he has overcome reality, while he has only withdrawn his consciousness from it, and in a sense left it standing outside itself with all its difficulties and riddles. The knower also believes that he has become free of the “I” and, in a selfless devotion to the spiritual world, is one with it. In reality, he has only obscured the experience of the “I” for his consciousness and unconsciously lives entirely in the “I”. Instead of awakening from the ordinary consciousness of self, he falls back into a dreamy consciousness. He thinks he has solved the riddles of existence, when in fact he has only turned his soul's gaze away from them. He has the pleasant feeling of knowledge because he no longer feels the riddle of knowledge weighing on him. One can have to say all this to oneself and still have no less admiration and understanding for the magnificent creation of the Bhagavad-Gita or other products of this mysticism than someone to whom the above only gives the impression that it must have been written by someone who simply has no sense for the sublimity of these creations. One should not believe that only the unconditional follower of a world view can fully appreciate it. I write this here, knowing that I have no less appreciation for Indian mysticism and no less experience with it than any of its followers.

The [mystery of death] belongs to a field of science that is not only unpopular, but can also be called unpopular. Many an inner, seemingly justified contradiction is illuminated there, appearing fully understandable to those within this field of research. Besides this, there is also another reason why it is difficult to make oneself understood. It is usually thought that the person who presents this matter in a short consideration wants to persuade someone to change their mind. The recently founded Anthroposophical Society has a field of research that is broader and more extensive than that of other research societies. Therefore, the intention is not to convince or persuade, but only to indicate the direction and nature of the investigations and how the solution to the riddles of life can be obtained.

Much stands in the way of unbiased judgment. The human soul, with all its interests and attentions, is involved in nothing so much as in the riddle of death. But nothing can cloud the search for truth as much as a very specific desire and an interest in a particular solution to the mystery. Does that which we call life continue after death? This question can be approached in an absolutely scientific way, but quite differently from what is usually referred to as science. Only someone who, with regard to the question of death, is linked to other interests [than their own] can proceed in a truly objective manner. Linked to the riddle of death must also be the riddle of life. If the question is asked out of an understandable curiosity or out of an interest that is close to the human heart, it cannot be solved.

The investigations into the question of death are also those into immortality. To discuss these questions, a certain transformation of the human being is necessary, a “spiritual chemistry”. It is not readily admitted that there is a spiritual science. But tonight it should be pointed out. When the chemist approaches the study of water, he splits it into hydrogen and oxygen. But if he just fantasizes about it, he knows that he will not be able to break it down. If he surrenders to dualism, that water consists of hydrogen and oxygen, he does not violate monism. Through ordinary science, he too can gain nothing about what is his destiny. What can survive the physical body is not present in ordinary life. Just as hydrogen and oxygen are not visible in water, so what is immortal in man is not present in ordinary life. A kind of spiritual chemistry must first be used to separate what is divine and spiritual. Over the centuries, man has had a kind of scientific education, not only through school and university, but also through general education, which makes it impossible for man today to get beyond the closest matters not only with faith but with knowledge. Not only curious personalities, but also serious and honest researchers exist. But the way the problem is approached today shows that in many cases the right path has not been found. Today is not the time to point out the important work that natural scientists such as Colonel Rochas have done in this regard, conducting experiments using the laboratory method. It is interesting to note how Rochas comes close to what is being proposed today in some respects, but he takes an impossible, unfruitful path. Spiritual science cannot and must not do it this way. Rochas takes a test subject like other sciences, only not external substances, but a medium. The external soul activity is thereby put to sleep, suppressed, so that everything that is bound to the external body is excluded. He assumes that only the soul, only the spirit, is now active. Through certain processes, the thirty-year-old [female] medium is put into a kind of sleep state; then he stimulates her consciousness so that she lives as if she were eighteen years old. She feels the pains or learns what she learned at that age, and only accomplishes what she was capable of at that time. Then she is transported back to childhood; she makes unpracticed strokes, as in the fifth or sixth year. Rochas is also able to transport this personality to the time before its birth. Such souls then stammer out of a spiritual environment, which, despite all imperfection, would be highly interesting if it coincided with spiritual research. It goes further and further back, until finally he believes that it is present from the time when it had another life. Rochas believes that he has obtained several life courses in this way. These are experiments of one of the serious researchers who want to stand firmly on the ground of science. They believe that only the method in which the object is physically present is justified.

Spiritual science cannot stand on this ground. Its methods are entirely spiritual in nature, purely inward, [they are] purely spiritual-soul processes. The spiritual researcher will never make use of a purely external object in space. But within this spiritual research, the same methods are used as in science. One may think: How can something be investigated in such a simple, primitive way? But it is not that simple; it is easy, but easy things are difficult. It is all based on psychological processes. One has to work for years in one's own soul alone to obtain reasonably satisfactory results, to enter into destiny through years of practice. Through years of self-denying work, one first comes to focus one's attention, and secondly to what can be described as “devotion”. What devotion means in ordinary life is only the very first beginning of the soul's possibility of becoming one with the spiritual world.

The attention must be turned entirely to one object, in which the whole life of the soul is concentrated. This attention also exists in ordinary life, because without it, man could not come to self-awareness, and memory is intimately related to the ability to pay attention. The thought may be weak, but one forgets less and less when one repeatedly focuses one's attention on something. Thought is the result of attention, of concentration. It depends on memory that the human being, with a certain sense of self, immerses himself in the physical. This enables us to deepen our inner life. In ordinary life, people develop attention in such a way that they allow themselves to be stimulated by something external. This is where the activity of the soul, which we call attention, begins. Self-observation is necessary; this is supported by very specific soul exercises. To learn what these are, you have to become independent of any external stimulation of attention, distracting the soul life from everything else, and focus it on a self-chosen content. It is not what you concentrate on that matters, but what you do that matters. Again and again, for a long time, over and over again, you focus on the content you have chosen. Then, little by little, you have an inner experience, then you discover what the soul does when it is attentive. And then it is attentive without content, attentive without paying attention to anything; that is what you develop as inner activity. Erasing the content, suppressing it completely, no longer thinking of anything and yet having the same state in the soul - then you know what attention is. The true clairvoyant method, which leads to spiritual research, is based on increasing the soul abilities that are present in every soul. Attention becomes stronger and stronger. This transforms the entire soul life. Then the person senses what the soul life is like in the central and other nervous systems. Then he senses an entity that is apart from the body in the person. In this way, the soul life is gradually separated from the body within. Finally, one feels: one is a duality. At first one thought that one was a product of the body. Then it is the etheric body of the human being that can be observed. One separates it from the physical body. Only then can one observe the etheric body. One experiences something like the following. It can happen in everyday life or when awakening from sleep. This experience can occur in a hundred different ways, but essentially it is like this: one can experience it in the middle of one's daily life or in the middle of sleep. The usual words for it are only stammering. It is as if something were happening in that moment, as if lightning were striking and destroying the body. When the body is separated, the soul life becomes independent. At that moment, one realizes what spiritual researchers throughout the ages have called 'coming close to death in the path of spiritual research'. You get to know the independence of the soul life, and now you have arrived at the stage where you live spiritually in the etheric body. What you then experience can only be described as a morbid soul life, as hallucinations and so on, if you do not know it. My book 'How to Know Higher Worlds' talks about this. It is not comparable to mere fantasy. What flows into the soul life is like images, a kind of dream image. But it is not important that you call it that, but that you learn to read in the world you are now entering. It is like a letter in which all the letters are known, but what you learn through the writing can be new. The spiritual researcher has a world of images in front of him, but he learns to read the spiritual world that stands behind it. It can only be said with a semblance of justification by contemporary dream researchers that one can have realities from the past in front of oneself and mistake them for new images. But the state of the soul, the mood of the soul, is different. It knows what the overall memory of ordinary life consists of: in an overview of life on earth up to a moment when one is confronted with all of one's life on earth or personal life. Then one recognizes: life has the urge to dissolve into the general etheric life.

If you continue to increase your attention to observe how life dissolves and has the urge to dissolve into the general, then you recognize what is peculiar to a person when he passes through the gate of death. Through further inner training, one not only recognizes one's own etheric life, but also learns to distinguish in the environment. This path leads, even if only for a short time and in a way that varies for the individual, to an overview of this life like a panorama. To progress further, the spiritual chemistry must be pursued ever further.

But not only attention is to be trained, but also the complete surrender of the soul life. The devotion consists in the person renouncing everything. What freezes by itself in the state of sleep: he must bring it about arbitrarily - the devotion of all muscular activity, of speech activity, of thinking activity, of judgment activity, which also occurs in the state of sleep. The devotion can be increased if it is practiced for years, if everything that is arbitrary is suppressed for years. Even what is not arbitrary can be suppressed: heart activity, respiratory activity, which are otherwise withdrawn from consciousness. One can bring the physical body into absolute inactivity. Then one does not feel transported into an external world, into something that wants to draw near, but one feels that one has entered into the depths of one's own soul life. What the person then gets to know is the human being's astral body. The sense of self, all thinking, feeling and willing then appear like mirror images. Now one penetrates to what they reflect, one penetrates into the astral body. What the person experiences on this path has nothing to do with ordinary desires and so on, one notices this. The path leads one, in full self-observation, out of birth and death, and shows us how an emerging world of ideas reveals memory as something that was not there before. This is linked to the breaking of desires that are connected with earthly life: satisfaction, joy, the desire to live through what is attached to the outer body. The desire remains for some time. But through the experience of the fact that the desire can only be satisfied through the body, for example, cravings of the palate, one learns what tasks the astral body has after death. Then one gains the ability to see the period of time, after decades, different for different people; then one learns to see what one sees in the future, now also to recognize in the past. There is much in life that hurts us, and we would spare ourselves this pain. So the spiritual researcher does not dream when he looks into the world before conception and sees that the human being has prepared this pain for himself, what is called, has made his own karma, that we have prepared this evil fate, the painful disappointments, ourselves. This does not correspond to our wishes now. One could be critical and hypercritical and still not get along with the ordinary, until one returns to a period where an earlier life on earth occurs, where we were in a different language, in a different environment, in very different circumstances. However unlikely and unpopular it may be, one also comes to see more like a past life on earth. This assertion can only be made under two conditions: either the person making such a claim has no sense of truth, or he must have a sense of truth as strict as in mathematics. Much nonsense has been done in this way. It is often said that a person was this or that in a previous life. But when real memory occurs, it is impossible that one could have an idea of previous lives through wishes. An image may come to mind: 'That was you, but in such a way that no one could object. This is how the riddles of life are solved: 'That was you, that is what you looked like, that is what you could do.'

But it occurs at an age where you can't do anything with it. There is nothing to be gained from it except knowledge. There is no comfortable “That was you.” You know then: some kind of retribution is necessary, but at that moment it is impossible to even out.

The paths and results of spiritual research have been attempted to be indicated here in a brief form. Not sensationally, to convince, but it only depends on encouraging. These experiences show that man recognizes that he has a spiritual-soul life core that has repeated lives as a result of previous lives; and so his fate is the result of previous lives. The present life is directed towards making up for what one has done to this or that person in certain deeds. The spiritual researcher first seeks what is immortal in man, and he finds that when he applies the methods for doing so. He recognizes this in a thoroughly important context; he recognizes earthly life in such a way that it lies like a shell over the deeper core of life. To do this, you have to train your memory, for example, to remember what you have experienced since birth. Man comes from a purely spiritual state and enters a purely spiritual state. We are in an intermediate state in the physical body. One should not ask: Is man immortal? – but seek out immortality. What the materialistic thinker sees of the soul is not immortal. Spiritual research is to be regarded as the path to human immortality; it draws attention to the results of feelings and emotions, to the bliss of religious inwardness. But it is also what makes life strong and powerful for the external arena.

It would be unchaste to speak about the effects of the life of the soul; but the path must be proclaimed. Especially those people who are completely imbued with the spirit often cannot recognize the path.

What science says about heredity is the same as what spiritual science says about repeated earthly lives.

We can see that the world we encounter, the world in which we live, has three aspects—firstly the way it shows itself to us outwardly, secondly the way we inwardly experience it, and thirdly the way it is inside itself.

Our sense organs convey to us the aspect in which the world shows itself to us outwardly, the world of shapes and forms in inorganic nature, the mineral world; in living nature, the plant world; in sentient nature, the animal world, and in thinking nature, the human world. It comes to us from outside as a world of sensory perceptions, and we take in this world of phenomena, of perceptions, through our sense organs. Our sense organs are the gates through which the outside world with its forms has access to us. If we did not have our sense organs, the world of forms would be forever a secret to us, something hidden; it would not exist for us. People might tell us of it, giving descriptions that we could at least partly understand. But for as long as we would lack sense organs, we would never be able to have a true idea of the outside world with its shapes and forms. All the things we now take in by seeing, hearing, touching, tasting and smelling them would not exist for us in that case. The outside world would remain shrouded in darkness for us and we could only have a dim notion of it, getting an approximate but never a true picture of it from the descriptions given by those who knew it. This world of forms would have remained forever hidden to human beings if their senses had not opened up to take it in. The senses had to open up so that human beings might have access to this outside world.

Awareness of the world perceptible to the senses is an evolutional stage humanity did not know before. There was a time when human sense organs had not yet opened up to the outside world. Human beings were then unable to perceive the world of shape and form; they were unable to perceive anything outside; they still lived entirely within themselves, closed off from the world. The inner life they knew then is something we still have as our life of inner responses today.

In this inner life we now find the second aspect of the world. Inner responses arise to anything the senses perceive of the forms in the outside world. Just as we perceive the outside world through the senses, so we respond in our souls to the impressions that world makes on us. This inner world of our own will come to conscious awareness to the degree in which the soul and its organs have developed. The more highly developed a person is, the more does he also feel this outside world to be an inner world in his soul; the more he has developed the organs of his soul, the richer will be the images of it that arise within him, and the greater will be the order and harmony in which they exist within him. To make the outside world wholly his own, a human being must have a strong soul that is differentiated and configured to be harmonious, a fully developed soul organism. The more rich and varied the inner life someone has developed, the more will the outside world appear in it in many different images, full of variety. The greater the harmony in his soul, the more beautiful will be the way the outside world is reflected in his soul. The outside world then enters wholly into the soul, to be a beautiful, harmonious whole full of life and variety.

In their waking consciousness, human beings concentrate mainly on the outside world, and the responses they feel inwardly are chaotic to begin with. They must learn to bring order into these chaotic responses and regulate them, establish a conscious relationship to the outside world and make them into a harmonious whole. They must learn to gain control of this inner world, for only then will it become their very own world in which they are able to live consciously and according to their own will. Human beings enter into this inner world of theirs in their dreams. They are then removed from the world perceived by the senses and given over to the chaotic whirl of the inner responses that arise in images before the mind's eye. Those dream images become more regular and meaningful as they are able to bring order into their inner responses.

This inner world which has arisen in their souls is the aspect of the outside world as they feel it to be. It differs from the aspect in which the outside world presents itself to their senses.

There is however yet another aspect, and that is the aspect of the world as it really is. It is the aspect of the full reality of the world, as it is inwardly. Human beings gain this aspect if they continue on the road on which they have set out. When clear sensory perceptions have met with inner responses, and these responses have been brought into harmonious order and a beautiful rhythm, these will take human beings out into the world again. They build a bridge between their souls and the world, and as the world pours into them through the senses, so do then their souls pour out into the world because they are thinking about the world. They pour their inner responses into their thoughts, and those thoughts enter into the outside world. This completes the link between world and man and between man and world.

The world is outside, the response inside the human being; the thought is in both. In their thinking, human beings become wholly at one with the world. For the world's thinking and their own thinking are a whole. Human beings thus root in outward existence perceived through the senses. They grow by receiving impressions from the world of the senses which become inner responses, images in the soul, gain rhythms and go through transformations in their inner life. They flower when they read, when they sense the world's thought in those images, and this thought lets new flowers arise in every thinking human being.

Human beings all root in one and the same soil of the physical worlds of forms perceived through the senses. It is the same world for all of them, the same soil in which they all grow. And every single human individual draws the energies he needs to develop in his own way from that soil. Individual human beings are many trunks of different kinds that grow from the one soil and take up the energies they need from that one soil to work with them in their own inner life. But up above, where the thoughts come into flower, in the world of thought, all are one great whole, a marvellous swaying, rippling sea of flowers, each flower reflecting the great world-thinking that is one and the same, and each complementing the other, taking its place as a link in the chain, a jewel in a crown of jewels, a wave in the world ocean of thought.

Below, a whole—the physical world. Above, a whole—the world of the spirit. Between them transformation of the lower into the upper in many individuals―the soul world.

The physical world out there is a reflection of the world of the spirit because it is one. The world of the human soul is a reflection of the world of the spirit because it is rich and varied. The whole great world out there becomes a special small world in every human soul, and in emerging from all human souls in thought it once again becomes a great whole. That is how the road goes from the cosmos through the microcosm, to arise as a new, perfected cosmos out of the totality of microcosms.