97. The Christian Mystery (2000): The Children of Lucifer, Love in the Spirit Taking the Place of Blood-based Love
04 Apr 1906, Düsseldorf Translated by Anna R. Meuss |
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These are the luciferic spirits which lagged behind the devas. The gods, or devas, lived on something that had become a characteristic of humans on earth—love between two sexes. Love between human beings is the air, or the food, which the gods enjoy. In Greek mythology it was called nectar and ambrosia. The cohorts of Lucifer had no real function in humanity for as long as human beings were still somnambulant. |
A woman would have several husbands and it was impossible to say who was a child's father. All peoples originally had ancestors who would unconcernedly marry close relatives. Close blood bonds were not an obstacle to marriage. |
97. The Christian Mystery (2000): The Children of Lucifer, Love in the Spirit Taking the Place of Blood-based Love
04 Apr 1906, Düsseldorf Translated by Anna R. Meuss |
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We can say that there are two kinds of people on earth. Two great spiritual streams may be seen among human beings. The difference between the two is that one kind seek to see everything in the light of knowledge whilst the other kind want to be guided, in a way. The very way in which the view of the world presented in the science of the spirit is received shows that the desire to look for bright, clear light is not widespread. The majority of people still have not reached the point where they want to know about everything. Many rather like to be befogged; it embarrasses them to be given complete clarity with regard to something. It will, however, be necessary to let go of anything that may cause the mind to be befogged. This also applies to the whole way we lead our lives. We need to be restrained also in feeding ourselves and avoid anything that will cloud consciousness, such as alcohol, for instance. Countless other things also prevent the clarity that is needed. Doing without such things will also make us more practical in everyday life. Belief in authority also puts us in darkness. We should let ourselves be stimulated by authority but not build on it. Clarity, as it is meant here, has least to do with a subordinate way of seeing the higher worlds. Such a subordinate way is in fact connected with soul mists clouding the conscious mind. In earlier stages of human history this was widespread. In Atlantean times the human mind was much less clear than it is today. Today even the most savage tribes have gone far beyond the Atlanteans' state of mind. Going further and further back in human evolution we come to conditions where human beings had inner vision but did not grasp things with the rational mind. Rationality first began to dawn in the Atlantean race. At one time the Atlanteans lived in the place where Ireland is today. When another individual was approaching, astral images would arise in the Atlantean's mind. He was not yet able to reflect. Man was only able to say ‘I’ to himself when the forebrain had developed. Human beings first began to develop self-awareness in the part of Atlantis which is Ireland today. From there they spread through Europe and into Asia. The human bones found in the Neander valley came from the descendants of Atlanteans; these still had sloping foreheads. From then on, man very slowly learned to think rationally and develop self-awareness. When man began to live his life bearing the seed of the spirit in him here on earth he was already well beyond the animals, but as yet unable to speak or to think. Divine spirits known as devas existed at the time who did not need a physical body but floated in astral space. They had gained the things they needed by being in a physical body on the moon. Other spirits had not completed their evolution on the Moon, had not been able to manage it. These are the luciferic spirits which lagged behind the devas. The gods, or devas, lived on something that had become a characteristic of humans on earth—love between two sexes. Love between human beings is the air, or the food, which the gods enjoy. In Greek mythology it was called nectar and ambrosia. The cohorts of Lucifer had no real function in humanity for as long as human beings were still somnambulant. It was only in the fifth root race that they really made man their very own child. Human thinking is not all that old. Ancient wisdom lived among the earliest peoples. This ancient wisdom was revealed from within to the priests. True insight and perception only came a few centuries before the birth of the Christ, in about 600 BC. The power of judgement also only developed later in the world. This brings us to an important mystery, a fact to be found among early peoples. To grasp this, we must be able to shine a light into the sphere of the soul. In a North American Indian tribe one hears strange terms used for family relationships. Among the Iroquois, first cousins were called ‘brothers and sisters’, but only the children of brothers, not those of sisters. This is a relic of ancient Atlantis. At that early period in human history, the family was all that mattered. A woman would have several husbands and it was impossible to say who was a child's father. All peoples originally had ancestors who would unconcernedly marry close relatives. Close blood bonds were not an obstacle to marriage. It was said that children from closely related parents were the most enlightened; they would be somnambulant. As evolution progressed, it happened more and more that people would marry who were not related by blood. It is a law that the union of individuals who were not so closely related the ether body came loose from its connection with the physical body. With marriages between blood relations the ether bodies of offspring would be firmly lodged. They would be illumined from within. They would still think more with the solar plexus but have no powers of judgement. This grew with distant marriages and showed itself to the degree to which the old marriages between blood relations disappeared. The old somnambulant vision would vanish then, and a new way of seeing things develop, power of judgement. This new period was referred to as the development of the Dionysian principle. Dionysus was cut to pieces, with only the heart preserved. When the Dionysian principle arose, people were cut to pieces and then brought together again through the heart, a meeting of souls, and this brought a complete change in sexual life. The rational mind is the earlier sexuality between relatives transformed. The earlier developmental stages of humanity are recapitulated in seven-year rhythms in individual human lives. From the first to the seventh year, the child's ether body is still very much in the background. We therefore should not develop children's powers of memory before they reach their seventh year, only their senses. That is the time when we can influence the senses, rousing their inner powers with the help of the senses. We should stimulate those powers by giving children toys that bring their powers of imagination to life, perhaps a block of wood with dots painted on for eyes, and so on, but not dolls that are so complete that the child cannot add anything using his powers of imagination. From the seventh to the fourteenth year it is above all important to get children to develop firm habits that will give them something to hold on to later on in life. These are the years when everything by way of memory must be brought to the human being. It is thus better not to invoke the child's powers of judgement at this period in life. A child should have authority around him at that time but not be an authority himself. Influence him by telling stories, not preaching morals but refer to great examples. For moral development it would be necessary then to develop a feeling for it in the old Pythagorean form. Pythagoras131 said to his pupils: ‘Do not strike into the fire with your sword’—indicating that one should not do useless things. Another Pythagorean axiom of this kind was: ‘Do not turn back on the road before you have reached the end of it.’ Human beings should only learn to make their own judgements and form their own opinions once they have reached sexual maturity. The ether body loosens at this time, and the astral body will only then be ready to take action in the outside world. This evolution, today gone through by every individual in seven-year rhythms, was gone through by humanity in the course of its great periods of evolution. Some of the subordinate powers in the human being were raised to a higher level so that the power of judgement could develop. And only then was it possible for Lucifer's cohorts to intervene. This luciferic power comes to expression in people's independent judgement. In those times, when the luciferic principle was intervening, people for the first time did independent work. If you study the past, you can say to yourself: in those early times, all that came about was what was needed to make a family. The individuals who wanted to put a purely spiritual element in the place of blood relationship were working in the name of Lucifer. The Church had developed as a continuation of ancient priestly wisdom. But parallel to it the stream arose where people sought the light, luciferic people such as the Templars, for instance.132 They said one had to find one's own light and truth. There was a sect in the middle ages, its members calling themselves Luciferians, who understood this. They would say: ‘Man may be truly blessed indeed, but without the light of knowledge; this is not for us; we want to fight our way through to the light.’133 These are the two streams in humanity. One seeks only to be blessed, the others want the light. Those who are afraid of knowledge consider Lucifer to be evil. But for the others Lucifer is the light-bearer, the bringer of light. This is written in a manuscript kept in the Vatican, but the Church is keeping it a secret, and the people who take this direction in the Church warn people against Lucifer. Dogma may indeed contain truth. The Pythagorean theorem is dogma for those who do not understand it. But if they do understand it they gain clear, lucid insight. Dogmas are presented as something given by authority. When one understands them they, too, become lucid insight. At the time when Paul lived, the nature of Christianity was such that it could lead to general love of humanity. A tribal and national religion was to become a world religion. Belief in revelations was connected with the blood-based community. Moses gave established laws. The Christ did not give established laws, and instead of the law there was grace. The inmost human soul was coming alive. The aims pursued in the Church are a wave that is going down; those of people who want freedom of opinion a wave that is rising. Some brotherhoods, like the Templars for instance, endeavour to seek the light. The race which is striving for the light—those are the children of Lucifer. At a time when Christianity is beginning to be strictly organized, Edouard Schure134 published his play The Children of Lucifer.135 This is one stream in the Church, and there is also the other one, the luciferic principle. The children of Lucifer are the children of the inner light, not of belief in revelations. Those who seek to move on into the future must feel related in the spirit. It has been said in the science of the spirit that we must reach the light by our own efforts. Profound, most deeply inward freedom is to develop in the human soul. The theosophical journal has been called Lucifer for good reason.136 It is connected with the inmost nature of the theosophical movement. It needs to be stated for once that the luciferic principle was deliberately cast into the world. When the Roman Catholic Church established the dogma of infallibility,137 the emphasis on the luciferic principle provided the counter pole. Conversely we might say that the dogma of infallibility arose in polar relationship to the declaration of spiritual freedom in theosophy, for this was the only way the Church could save itself.
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260. The Christmas Conference : Continuation of the Foundation Meeting
29 Dec 1923, Dornach Translated by Johanna Collis, Michael Wilson |
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Practise spirit-recalling In depths of soul, Where in the wielding will Of world-creating Thine own I Comes to being Within God's I. And thou wilt truly live In the World-Being of Man. For the Father-Spirit of the heights holds sway In depths of worlds begetting being. |
Practise spirit-beholding In stillness of thought, Where the eternal aims of Gods World-Being's Light On thine own I Bestow For thy free willing. And thou wilt truly think In the Spirit-Foundations of Man. |
260. The Christmas Conference : Continuation of the Foundation Meeting
29 Dec 1923, Dornach Translated by Johanna Collis, Michael Wilson |
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DR STEINER: My dear friends! Today our agenda begins by giving us the pleasure of the lecture by Herr Werbeck. Louis Werbeck gives his lecture on ‘The Opposition to Anthroposophy’. DR STEINER: Dear friends, let us have a fifteen-minute break before continuing with yesterday's meeting of members. DR STEINER: My dear friends! Let us hear again today the words which are to resound in our soul both here and later, when we depart and carry out with us what is intended here:
Let us once again take hold of these words in meaningful sections. Here we have: [Rudolf Steiner writes on the blackboard as he speaks. See Facsimile 4, Page XV bottom.] Practise spirit-recalling What takes place in the soul of man is related to all being in the cosmos of spirit, soul and body. Thus this ‘Practise spirit-recalling’ especially points to what is heard in the call to the Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones when the manner in which they work in the universe is characterized: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones! We have the right cosmic concept when we picture in our soul how the voices of Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones resound in the universal word and are heard because they find an echo in the depths of the grounds of world existence, and how what is inspired from above and what resounds from below, the universal word, emanates from Seraphim, Cherubim and Thrones. In the second verse we have:
This is related to the second hierarchy: Kyriotetes, Dynamis, Exusiai. To characterize them we imagine their voices in the universal word working as expressed in the words: Kyriotetes, Dynamis, Exusiai! The third member of man's existence is: Practise spirit-beholding To this we add the indication of how the third hierarchy enters with its work into the universal word: Archai, Archangeloi, Angeloi! [As shown on the blackboard] Practise spirit-recalling Let there ring out from the heights Practise spirit-awareness K. D. Ex. Let there be fired from the East Practise spirit-beholding A. AA. Ang. Let there be prayed from the depths Here we have the opposite of the first hierarchy in whose case the voices resound downwards while their echo comes up from below. And we have here the voices heard coming from beings who pray for something from below and whose prayer is answered from the heights downwards into the depths. From above downwards: from the heights towards the depths; from the encircling round: East and West; from below upwards: from the depths into the heights. My dear friends! Something left over from earlier is a letter to the Vorstand of the Anthroposophical Society in Dornach from the Polish Anthroposophical Society which has not been represented here: ‘The working groups in Poland—Cracow, Lemberg, Warsaw—have resolved to found the Polish Anthroposophical Society. The Society shall serve the ideas of Anthroposophy by revealing the treasures of its spiritual teachings to the widest circles and by working among the Polish people in a time of destiny, helping them to recognize their mission. For the celebration of the laying of the Foundation Stone, the newly-founded Anthroposophical Society in Poland sends to the leader and founder of the international Anthroposophical Movement, Dr Steiner, this expression of their highest respect. The Polish Anthroposophical Society urgently requests that he may concern himself with it and not deny it his protection and guidance. For its part, it commits itself ... (the final words were obscured by noise). For the Warsaw circle: Furthermore from Cologne on the Rhine: ‘For the celebration of the laying of the Foundation Stone in 1923 I wish you and ... (unclear) that the significance of this laying of the Foundation Stone may be revealed to all the world. With cordial greetings, Gottfried Husemann.’ My dear friends, I now consider that for the moment the Vorstand has put before you the main concerns that had to be brought to you. In the next few days there will still be the matter of a draft of some By-Laws or rules of practice to be attached to the Statutes. But now our main concern, before any other discussions, is that our dear friends should have a chance to express what they wanted to say. Here is a list of those who wish to speak or report, and I think it would be best, in order to save time, not to proceed along given lines—for if you do this you waste time—but to bring to completion what our respected, dear friends have to say. So I would like to ask whether you agree that those friends who have already asked to speak should now have their say. They are Herr Leinhas, Dr Kolisko, Dr Stein, Dr Palmer, Herr Werbeck, Dr Lehrs, Miss Cross, Mademoiselle Rihouët, Mr Collison, Frau Hart-Nibbrig, Herr de Haan, Herr Stibbe, Herr Zagzwijn, Frau Ljungquist. Dr Wachsmuth points out that these requests to speak were made at the beginning and referred to general matters, not specific themes. DR STEINER: Then let me ask for the names of those friends who now wish to say something. It is naturally necessary, for the further progress of the meeting, that those friends or delegates who are concerned about something should express this. So now in a comprehensive, general discussion let me ask all those who wish to do so to speak about what concerns them with regard to the Anthroposophical Society which has been founded here. MR COLLISON: Later on could we please speak about education. DR STEINER: Would anyone like to speak about something entirely general? If this is not the case, dear friends, then let us proceed to the discussion of more specific aspects. According to the programme we have a discussion on the affairs of the Society and on educational questions. Perhaps someone first has something to say with reference to Herr Werbeck's lecture and so on? Herr Hohlenberg wishes to speak. DR STEINER: Herr Hohlenberg will speak on the subject of the antagonism we face. Herr Hohlenberg does this. DR STEINER: The best thing will be if I leave what I have to say on this subject till the conclusion of the discussion. A good deal will still be brought forward over the next few days. The next person who wishes to speak about the affairs of the Society, and also the Youth Movement, is Dr Lehrs. May I invite Dr Lehrs to speak. Dr Lehrs speaks about the Free Anthroposophical Society. DR STEINER: My dear friends! I do not want a misunderstanding to arise in respect of what I said here a few days ago. Dr Lehrs has understood me entirely correctly, and any other interpretation would not be correct. I did not mean that what was suggested then no longer applies today. I said that I had naturally felt it to be tragic that I had to make the suggestion of creating a division between the Anthroposophical Society in Germany and the Free Anthroposophical Society. But this suggestion was necessary; it was the consequence of the situation as it was then. And now it is equally necessary that this Free Anthroposophical Society should continue to exist and work in the manner described by our young friend from various angles. So please consider Dr Lehrs' interpretation of what I said a few days ago to be entirely correct. I assume that Herr Hans Ludwig Pusch wishes to speak to what Dr Lehrs has said, so may I ask Herr Hans Ludwig Pusch to speak now. Herr Hans Ludwig Pusch speaks about the aims and endeavours of German young people in Hamburg. DR STEINER: Could I ask you to continue with your report at this point tomorrow. We have to keep to the times on the programme. We shall continue this meeting tomorrow after Dr Schubert's lecture on ‘Anthroposophy, a Leader towards Christ’. May I now ask those friends who wish to speak, or who feel they must speak for definite reasons, to let me know this evening after the lecture so that I can gain an impression of the number of speakers and make room in the agenda. Please bear in mind that we must make the most fruitful use of the days at our disposal. Apart from what has already been announced in connection with my three last lectures, it will also be necessary to have some smaller, specialist meetings with the doctors present here. Other smaller meetings will also have to be planned. Now let me announce the next part of the agenda: This afternoon at 4.30 the Nativity Play; in the evening at 8.30 my lecture. Tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock the lecture by Dr Schubert on ‘Anthroposophy, a Leader to Christ’. This will be followed by the continuation of today's meeting which we have had to interrupt in the middle of a speech. Unfortunately we shall probably have to do this again to enable us to carry out the proceedings in a rational manner. The meeting is now adjourned till tomorrow. I still have a few announcements to make and would ask you to remain in your seats. First of all, please do all you can to avoid crowding at the entrance. I have been told that older people who are more frail than the young have been put in danger, so please avoid this and give consideration to others. Secondly, Dr Im Obersteg, Centralbahn Platz 9, Basel, who has frequently arranged rail and sea travel for us, has offered to make the necessary arrangements for those who need them for their return journey. In our experience Dr Im Obersteg's service is exceptionally reliable. Chiefly it will be a matter of taking over ship and rail tickets for the western countries such as Norway, Sweden, England, Holland, France, Spain, Italy and so on. You can either go direct or arrange it through us. Will those who have wishes in this respect please approach Dr Wachsmuth. |
31. Collected Essays on Cultural and Contemporary History 1887–1901: Letters from Fichte
01 Jan 1894, |
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She wouldn't be if I didn't trust her with the same principles. But a 74-year-old old man, her father, is inextricably linked to her. His age requires rest; he cannot expose himself to the danger of being driven about, to which I myself may well expose myself. |
Under these conditions I now expect protection, and peace in Jena, at least as long as my old father-in-law lives; and I ask for the word of the bland prince about this. May I add a few observations to show the fairness of my request. |
She did not actually spoil anything that I remember. Ifland portrayed the tender father very well, especially in the third act, the one melting in the thought of the believed loss, and made a powerful impression on his audience: but it always remained a tender father from one of his mountain family plays: the nobility of the first vassal, secret husband of the proud princess, father of the high daughter, the importance of the darkly threatening star on the political horizon of this realm, were lost - not to the detriment of the play, as it seems to me, with the true spectator; for whoever knows Ifflanden besides, will not take him for identical with such a person, and at the poet's hint will gladly supplant dignity, and majesty, and depth. |
31. Collected Essays on Cultural and Contemporary History 1887–1901: Letters from Fichte
01 Jan 1894, |
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With explanatory notes by Rudolf Steiner Fichte wrote the first seven of the nine letters given here to Schiller during the first months of his work at the university entrusted to Goethe's care. Time is a circumstance that essentially determines their significance. They show us that Fichte's personal appearance and his way of approaching the teaching and philosophical profession had to give Goethe's relationship with him the character at the very beginning of their acquaintance that it subsequently retained. Fichte's way of working had something violent about it. A certain pathos of the idea, which accompanied his scientific as well as his political ideas, always led him to seek to achieve his goals by the straightest, shortest route. And if something stood in his way, his unyieldingness turned into brusqueness, his energy into ruthlessness. Fichte never learned to understand that old habits are stronger than new ideas, and thus constantly came into conflict with the people he had to deal with. The reason for most of these conflicts was that he alienated people through his personal nature before he had elevated them to his ideas. Fichte lacked the ability to come to terms with everyday life. All of this made it impossible for Goethe to always stand up for Fichte as energetically as he would have liked in recognition of his scientific achievements and abilities. The book that Fichte sends to Goethe in Letter No. 1 is the first edition of the "Grundlage der gesamten Wissenschaftslehre", which was published in sheets at the time (see J. G. Fichte's Life and Literary Correspondence, 2nd edition, Leipzig 1862, Volume I, p. 211). The work in which Fichte hoped to be united with Goethe was Schiller's "Horen". On June 13, 1794, Schiller had invited Goethe to collaborate with him, noting at the same time that H. H. Fichte, Woltmann and von Humboldt had joined forces with him to publish this journal. Goethe only sent his acceptance to Schiller on June 24 (cf. correspondence between Schiller and Goethe, 4th ed., vol. I, p. I ff.). Fichte had arrived in Jena on May 8, 1794, and on June 24 he was already forced to call upon Goethe's and the Duke's protection against slanderous rumors that had spread about his public lectures on "Morality for Scholars" (cf. letter no. 2). The energetic way in which Fichte confronted his slanderers and the firmness with which he asked the Duke to take care of him led, apparently through Goethe's mediation . (Letter No. 3), led to a temporary strengthening of his position, as the Duke did not allow his esteem for the philosopher to be dampened by the rumors. Fichte felt compelled to prove the inaccuracy of what was said about his lectures by having them printed word for word (cf. letter no. 2). They appeared under the title: "Einige Vorlesungen über die Bestimmung des Gelehrten" (Jena, Gabler 1794). Fichte's wish to be allowed to dedicate the reprint to the Duke was not carried out, but the latter praised the recently appointed teacher at every opportunity (cf. Fichte's Life I. 216 f.). Fichte's remarks about the Duke (Letter No. 2) are an important contribution to Karl August's characterization. One need only consider that this prince is admired in this way by a man who, a year earlier, wrote of the princes of Europe: "They, who are for the most part educated in indolence and ignorance, or, when they learn something, learn a truth expressly prepared for them; they, who are known not to continue their education once they reign, who read no new writing other than, at most, watery sophistries, and who are always behind their age at least by the years of their reign." This passage belongs to the anonymous writing mentioned in the first letter, namely Fichte's "Beiträge zur Berichtigung der Urteile des Publikums über die französische Revolution." This and the other anonymous pamphlet, "The Reclaiming of Freedom of Thought from the Princes of Europe Who Hitherto Suppressed It (A Speech, Heliopolis in the Last Year of the Old Darkness)", had appeared before Fichte's appointment to Jena. And according to Fichte's statements in the second letter, it cannot be doubted that the people who worked for Fichte's appointment, including first and foremost the jurist Hufeland, knew of these writings. This also seems to be the case for Goethe, as he calls Fichte's appointment "an act of boldness, indeed audacity" (Tag- und Jahreshefte 1794). Fichte himself probably made no secret of his way of thinking to the people who mediated between him and the Weimar government; hence the irritated tone in which he speaks of the accusations relating to his anonymous writings. It is clear from Letter No. 6 that Fichte attached particular importance to being understood by Goethe. Consistent with this is a communication by W. v. Humboldt (correspondence between Schiller and W. v. Humboldt, September 22, 1794) about a conversation with Fichte, in which the latter had stated that he wished to win Goethe over to speculation and that he had to explain his feeling as one that guided him correctly in philosophical matters: "The other day, he (Fichte) continued, he (Goethe) explained my system to me so succinctly and clearly that I could not have explained it more clearly myself." That Goethe had a lively interest in Fichte's philosophy and did not take a negative attitude towards it is proven not only by the passage in a letter to Fichte dated June 24, 1794 (Briefe W. A. X. p. 167), in which he says of the first sheets of the "Wissenschaftslehre": "What has been sent contains nothing that I did not understand or at least thought I understood, nothing that would not readily fit in with my usual way of thinking", but also the fact that Goethe made extensive extracts from this work, which are still preserved in the Goethe Archive. Fichte had also announced public lectures similar to those mentioned above from the summer of 1794 for the winter of 1794/95. These lectures were among the most popular at the university and were received with great enthusiasm by the students. As Fichte could not find another suitable hour, he read on Sunday mornings from 9 to 10. The Jena Consistory took offense at this, and the Weimar High Consistory could not "deny unanimous approval" to the reasons of the former, "since it seems, however, that this undertaking is an intended step against the public national service, even if this intention were not the case, or that such an intention could not be achieved, such an unlawful and disorderly act would nevertheless always have very bad consequences, especially for the reputation of the Academy itself, because of the unpleasant impression it would reliably make on the Jena and neighboring public as well as abroad". These are the words of the submission from the Oberkonsistorium to the state government. Fichte wrote a detailed letter to the academic senate. He explained the reasons why he had to choose the hour in question and explained that the character of his public lectures made them very suitable to be held on Sundays, as they were not aimed at instruction through science, but at moral edification and character refinement. At the same time, Fichte also called on Goethe's assistance in this matter; and the letter in which he does so is the one reported here under no. 6. The Academic Senate reported to the Duke on this matter to the effect that "although Professor Fichte is not to be blamed for taking an appalling step against public worship, he should be instructed not to hold his moral lectures on Sundays; if, however, in the middle of the half-year, he could not find another suitable time, as we neither believe nor wish, he could be permitted to hold them on Sunday for the remainder of the current winter semester and without consequence, but in this case it must be made an absolute condition that he should not be permitted to do so before the afternoon service is completely finished". The Duke made the following decision: "We have therefore resolved, following your request, that the aforementioned Professor Fichte should only be permitted to continue his moral lectures on Sundays in the hours after the end of the afternoon service. However, it was only the fact that "something as unusual as the scheduling of lectures of this kind on Sunday during the hours designated for public worship" prompted Karl August to make his decision. Of the lectures themselves, the ducal decree addressed to the academic senate says: "We have gladly convinced ourselves that, if his (Fichte's) moral lectures are in accordance with the ... ... stapled trefflichen essay, they can be of excellent use". Fichte's opponents, on the other hand, intended to make the lectures completely impossible, as they were uncomfortable with their content. When Fichte resumed the lectures on February 3, which had been suspended since the beginning of November due to the incident, he scheduled them for Sunday afternoon at 3-4 p.m. The Professor Woltmann mentioned in letter no. 7 was a historian and a favorite student of Spittler. He was appointed to Jena at the same time as Fichte, aged only 23, was one of the philosopher's most intimate friends and later also came into contact with Schiller. It is perhaps not superfluous to note that Fichte's two letters to Schiller differ from those to Goethe in that they are written in German, while the latter are written in Fichte's more legible Latin script. In July 1799, Fichte moved to Berlin. The well-known accusation of atheism led to his dismissal from Jena. He sought a new sphere of activity. Among the plans that emerged in him for the future was that of founding a scientific journal that would better meet the demands Fichte made of such an institute than the Jenaische Allgemeine Literaturzeitung, with which both he and Schelling were dissatisfied. During the winter of 1799/1800, Fichte again spent a short time in Jena, where he had temporarily left his family behind. Here he met Schelling. The two agreed to found and establish the journal, for which Goethe and Schiller were also to be recruited as contributors. The first of the two letters addressed to Schiller contains an invitation to become a contributor and at the same time a detailed discussion of the purpose and structure of the journal. This matter, for which, as the letter indicates, Cotta was to be won as publisher, came to nothing. The plan was then taken up again with J. F. G. Unger as publisher, who also sent a printed circular promising the publication of the "Jahrbücher der Kunst und der Wissenschaft" from New Year 1801. This time, too, the matter did not come to fruition. Goethe viewed such an undertaking on Fichte's part with suspicion. He wrote to Schiller on September 6, 1801, apparently referring to this (the circular is dated July 28, 1800): "The tone of the announcement is entirely Fichtian. I only fear that the gentlemen idealists and dynamists will soon appear as dogmatists and pedants and occasionally get into each other's hair." The document sent is: "The closed commercial state." The first part of Fichte's second letter to Schiller, dated August 18, 1803, deals with a private matter concerning Fichte (sale of his house in Jena and other matters relating to the time of his stay in Jena), in which he had appealed to Goethe and Schiller for assistance. On August 29, Goethe wrote to Zelter about this (correspondence ı, 80): "Tell him (Fichte) that we are taking his matter to heart. Unfortunately, a curse so easily rests on what advocate's hands touch." The second part of the letter refers to the performance of Goethe's "Natural Daughter" in Berlin. The first performance of this play took place there on July 12, 1803. The letter was published in a form differing in many respects from the above in "Schillers und Fichtes Briefwechsel aus dem Nachlassen des Erstern" in 1847 by I. H. Fichte (pp. 70-75). This justifies the reprint. Schiller probably sent it to Goethe to read through, and it was neglected to be returned, so that it remained among Goethe's papers. Consequently, what is printed here is the final version, whereas what I. H. Fichte published can only have been taken from the brouillon, which the editor may have revised in a few places. What left the large audience cold about the play, indeed downright repulsed them: the fact that a high art form had eradicated all materiality attracted Fichte as well as Schiller (cf. his letter of August 18, ı803 to Wilhelm von Humboldt). What classical aesthetics (namely Schiller in his "aesthetic letters") demanded: The eradication of interest in the depicted event by elevating it to the pure enjoyment of what the artistic imagination has made of it, Fichte saw fulfilled here. He therefore also wanted to advise against any shortening of the play. On July 28, 1803 (correspondence I. p.67) Goethe writes to Zelter that he would like to "shorten some scenes which must seem long, even if they are excellently acted". To this Zelter replied on August 10: "Fichte does not agree with an abridgment of The Natural Daughter; he believes the play is whole, round and can only suffer by abbreviation." The philosopher regarded the art form as the only decisive factor, while the poet wanted to count on the taste of the audience. Fichte demanded to a far greater extent than Goethe that the public should be educated to enjoy the highest aesthetic productions. The fulfillment of ideal demands was his first priority. If the public did not exist for this, then in his opinion it had to be improved. Goethe was inclined to bring people closer to art; Fichte wanted to transform people according to the ideas he considered right. I was commissioned to annotate these letters by Bernhard Suphan, who had already worked through them beforehand and provided me with his notes on the points of view from which the documents are to be viewed, as well as on various individual points. Fichte to Goethe I.Honored man, I looked for you soon after your departure to give you the first sheet I had just finished. I did not find you; and I am sending what I would have preferred to hand over. Philosophy has not yet reached its goal as long as the results of reflective abstraction do not yet conform to the purest spirituality of feeling. I regard you, and have always regarded you, as the representative of the latter at the presently attained stage of humanity. Philosophy rightly turns to you: your feeling is the same touchstone. The correctness of my system is vouched for, among other things, by the intimate concatenation of all with one, and one with all, which I have not produced, but which already exists; as well as the immense fertility, which surpasses all expectation, and which I have just as little introduced myself; so that it has very often astonished and enthralled me. Both are not discovered at the beginning of science, but only gradually, as one progresses in it. I do not know whether I am still recommending a clearer presentation. This much I know, that I could raise it to a higher, and to any clarity, if the necessary time were given: - but I have, with my public lectures, at least three printed sheets a week to work with, other business accounted for; and therefore expect indulgence. I hoped - perhaps because I longed for it - to see myself united with you in one work. I do not know whether I can still hope so. At least a few days ago Mr. Schiller had not yet made up his mind. Schiller had not yet made up his mind. I am with true admiration Your most devotedJ. G. Fichte IIMost venerable patron and friend, In my last letter I merely claimed the friendship of this noble man and great spirit; I believed not to be able to claim your political reputation within a few days. I was informed from Weimar that "there were disgraces (to be precise, only stupidities) being bandied about that I was supposed to have presented in my lectures. My position was dangerous. A certain class had formed a formal alliance against me. The Duke hears you, and what other men there are, less often than others who belong to that alliance; I should not be so sure, for the sake of the consequences, - in short, I could be deposed before I miss it, etc., etc." I am given advice that I would certainly follow if I were Parmenio. - "I should disavow a certain anonymous writing that is attributed to me." Let someone else take the liberty of doing so; I do not consider it permissible. I will not recognize an anonymous writing either. Whoever wants to acknowledge his writings does so as soon as they are published. Those who write anonymously do not want to acknowledge them. "I should just be careful not to touch politics for at least half a year." I don't read politics and am not called to do so. I will, of course, read natural law when it is my turn in my course, according to my convictions, I am expressly forbidden to do so, and publicly; but it will certainly not be my turn in the first year. I am acting this half year according to rules that I will always act according to; and will always act as I am acting this half year. I have no particular summer and no particular winter morality. "I should hide so that I can do all the more good." That is Jesuit morality. I am there to do good if I can; but I may not do evil under any condition, and not even under the condition of doing good in the future. If I consider myself completely isolated in this, I would be the last among men if I were to fear anything with my principles and with the strength with which I have grasped them, and therefore wanted to deviate from my path even by a foot's breadth. Whoever does not fear death, what under the moon should he fear? - In any case, it would be ridiculous if I were to consider these things worthy of serious consideration. But unfortunately I am no longer isolated. The fate of several people is tied to my fate. I'm not talking about my wife. She wouldn't be if I didn't trust her with the same principles. But a 74-year-old old man, her father, is inextricably linked to her. His age requires rest; he cannot expose himself to the danger of being driven about, to which I myself may well expose myself. So the question is, and it is necessary that this question be answered in good time: Can and will the prince to whom I have entrusted myself protect me? Will he do so under the following conditions? I will come to Weimar next Saturday and put myself in the faces of people who might have something to say to me, to see if they have enough courage to tell me what they say about me to others. I will have the 4 lectures held in public in which I am supposed to have said these foolish things, and which I am writing down verbatim with good forethought and reading out verbatim, printed verbatim at the earliest. It would be the greatest favor to me if the duke would allow me to appropriate them to him. In all truth I could assure this prince of an unlimited veneration, which all I have ever heard of him, later that he entrusted me with a lectureship at his university in the opinion which the public has now formed of me, has founded in me, and which my personal acquaintance with him has increased infinitely. It would give me great pleasure to be able to show before the whole public that I can venerate a great man, even if he is a prince; and I should believe that this prince, who can place his highest value in his humanity, could not be displeased by the assurance of a veneration which applies to the man in him, and not to the prince. - In this case, I am willing to submit to you, or to the duke himself, the writing in proof form beforehand; as well as, if requested, the dedication: although, I confess, I would be even more pleased if I were trusted to know how to behave in such a delicate matter without a preliminary examination. I will promise, if it is required, that a certain anonymous writing shall not be continued; nay, I will even promise not to write any anonymous writing on political subjects within any time (unless self-defense makes it necessary). - That I can easily promise this and yet do what I like afterwards, since I can hope to remain undiscovered - I do not expect this objection from anyone with whom I am to negotiate. What I promise, I keep, and even if no one but myself knows that I keep it. But in my lectures I can change nothing; and if they are not approved, they must be forbidden to me in public. I shall, and will say what I consider to be true after my best investigation; I may err; I tell my hearers daily that I may err; but I can only yield reason. (At least no one has yet even pretended to be able to refute on principle what they consider to be my errors). I will say it in its place, and in its time, i.e. : when it comes to the science I teach. In my lectures, in its own time, there will also be talk of respect for established order, etc.; and these duties will be inculcated with no less emphasis. Under these conditions I now expect protection, and peace in Jena, at least as long as my old father-in-law lives; and I ask for the word of the bland prince about this. May I add a few observations to show the fairness of my request. I have made no move to obtain the reputation I have received. I was known when I was called; they knew what writings were attributed to me; they knew what opinion the public had formed of me; I wrote to the proper man, and the letter must still exist, "that I had been a man rather than an academic teacher, and hoped to remain so longer, and that I was not disposed to abandon the duties of the former, and that, if that were the opinion, I must renounce the reputation I had received"; I wrote this when certain principles were spoken of. I was warned; I was told from various places in Switzerland that they were calling me simply to get me under their control. I despised these threats; I trusted the honor of the prince who called me. He will protect me; or if He cannot do so under the conditions mentioned, at least until the appointed time, He will tell me frankly. In that case, I will write to my friends, whom I have not without forethought left behind in Switzerland, to remain where they are; and after completing my six-month lecture, I will return to my quiet private life. Pardon the decided tone in which I have spoken. I knew that I was speaking to a man, and to a man who was kindly disposed towards me. My request would be ridiculous if it were only about me; I must fear no danger: but my reason for moving excuses me before my heart, and will excuse me before yours. With true warm esteem Your most sincerely devoted Fichte III.I can now, Venerable Privy Councillor, only express my heartfelt thanks to you and accept your kind invitation for next Saturday. I hope you will kindly provide me with a more detailed explanation of various things that are not entirely clear to me. - I cannot defend myself, for I am not accused; I am only deliberately slandered; and slandered behind my back, and I do not know whether anyone will tell me themselves what compelled me to defend myself. I am with the truest respect Your most sincerely devoted Fichte IV.I am sending Your Reverence the two lectures that have been copied out so far. I apologize for the lack of correctness for the reason that I did not want to give you more than you had in the oral presentation. With esteem and warm thanks Your most sincerely devoted J. G. Fichte V.Bringer of this, my friend and listener, Hırr. Fhr. v. Bielfeld requested a few lines from me to Your Excellency, and I take the liberty of taking this opportunity to send you the fifth lecture intended for printing. Your applause is that which I particularly desire, and it gave me great pleasure to see from your letter that you did not completely deny it to these lectures either. I commend myself and all my literary works to you with the highest regard. Fichte VI.Often, my esteemed Privy Councillor, I have thought, while preparing the enclosed part of my textbook, that you would read it; and several times, when I was already on the point of letting it go, this thought has enabled me to completely rework what I had written down. If it has not yet reached the point where I can be completely satisfied with it - the test of this is always whether I can think of you as being completely satisfied with it - it was due to the imperative situation in which I wrote. When one sheet had been read through, another had to appear; and then I had to let it go. With free reverence for your spirit and your heart, I commend myself to your benevolence. Fichte VIIHochwohlgeborener Herr Most Reverend Privy Councillor .Who has never asked, asks, and as far as I can see, for justice. I. I have begun an audience which has an influence on the state of the Academy which only I know, and which, lest I should seem immodest, I shall never say. Suppose it has none; it is an audience, and I am bound to read one. On weekdays, the hours are so busy that we poor non-senators are officially forbidden to read the necessary Privata (about which under no. 2). I sacrifice one hour of my Sunday, which I have not set aside for free but only for other business equally dedicated to the Academy, for this audience. People who have never been known to have much religion have since been shouting about the "Sabbath desecrator", inciting the citizenry and the clergy against me; telling students that they would take credit for bringing charges against me at the next Senate session; and by today - Tuesday - they have already gone so far as to communicate their indignation to our pious wives. - I will name husband and wife if asked. Why I ask is this: I have inquired carefully about the law,according to the enclosure. "There is no law about it." (And in passing! - Does our academy have laws for professors, or not? I'm a second semester professor and I certainly don't know. What I do know, I have please - That's hard for a man who literally follows the law because he likes to be free.) If there really is none, then I ask here and Sunday for a law, i.e. not for an order that merely applies to me, but for a generally valid, publicly promulgated command: A princely order. 1.) Within here, and Sunday - I have undertaken by public notice to read every Sunday, I am in contract with the students; I will not break this contract; and I can only do so if I fall ill - I have every facility to be well on future Sundays - or if I receive a prohibition which I can respect, and may with honor. 2.) A princely order. - I will not and will not submit to orders from the senate, regardless of the fact that I appear to be completely without rights. 3.) If such an order does not arrive by Sunday in a way that convinces me, I will read without doubt; by my present request I absolve myself of all possible responsibility, and claim protection in this endeavor. 4.) I reserve the right to take legal action against those who have slandered my company and insulted me as soon as the matter has been settled. II. a kind of introduction to transcendental philosophy is demanded of me, long after the printing of the catalog, by the special needs of the students. I take Platner's Aphorisms on Logic and Metaphysics as a basis for this, and read from 6 to 7 o'clock. The Dean of the Faculty of Philosophy Mr.. H. R. Ulrich informs me officialiter that I am requested to refrain from this mischief, so that Mr.. H. R, Reichardt could use the hour from 6 to 7 to - "duplicate" the pandects. The hour from 3 to 4 is set for logic. - I reply 1.) that no such law has been made known to me, nor have I accepted it 2.) that from 3 to 4 o'clock I really read what our good forefathers may have thought of as logic, theoretical philosophy 3.) that therefore this imposition actually says as much: I should not read at all; and that I can say with more right that Mr. Reichardt should only not duplicate. Reichardt should only not duplicate, but arrange himself in such a way that he gets by. This is exactly how you play with Prof. Woltmann. He reads State History from 6 to 7 o'clock. For the sake of the same duplication, he is expected to read it from 4 to 5 o'clock, which hour is set for this. During this hour he reads universal history, which is also scheduled for this time. - Therefore, this imposition means that he should not read State History at all, so that Mr. Reichardt can duplicate the Pandects. Reichardt could duplicate the Pandects. Those people dare to offer us that, and we are left without rights. III. My public lectures have often been attended by around 500 people. Last summer I requested the Griesbach Auditorium, which has always been used for numerous meetings. Mr. G. K. R. Griesbach has since found that the benches have been worn out and he is taking it away from me with his full rights. I, likewise with my full right, ask for a public philosophical auditorium; assuming that this must be a possible place for people to stay, I go there last Sunday at 9 o'clock in the morning in the heaviest rain. I find my audience at the door, who tell me that the windows are smashed in the auditorium, that it is full of rubbish, etc., and they ask me to go to my house and read there. I go back in this heavy rain because I find their request humane; and the troop of my listeners with me. If this has made a noise in the streets, where is the fault? IV. It will be said that the hour from 9 to ı0 falls during church meetings. - 1) Just tell me another one. It would be most unhealthy for me to read at 9 o'clock, immediately after table; I also want the open mind of my listeners for my reflections in the morning hours; not their full bellies, which have no ears. In the late afternoon and evening hours there are also church meetings, concerts and clubs. - In the early morning hours the students are still asleep because they have this only day to sleep in. 2) The city church is not for the students, but the Colleagues' Church. This is from 11 to ı2 o'clock; and that is why I did not choose this most convenient hour. From now on, I myself will be attending my colleagues' church, and perhaps some of my listeners with me. 3) The Physical Society also has its meetings on Sundays during the afternoon sermon, and I would not know that anyone has done it a crime. No doubt it has had to move its meetings to this day for the same reason, because there is no time for numerous meetings on weekdays. At our university, thank God, all hours are occupied. From the moral point of view, however, it would have to turn every intelligent man against me if he could believe that I wanted to afflict I know not what enlightenment through this undertaking; and indeed, many among the reproachful, according to the analogy of their own small-mindedness, might believe me capable of such a thing. Such a suspicion is so ridiculous to me that I have no patience to refute it. I went to school when I was already past such enlightenment. - I went to it with difficulty before I chose Sunday. This is proved by my postponement of the opening of these lectures, notwithstanding I was very often requested by the students to do so; because I still hoped to find out an hour in the week: this is proved by my diligent repeated inquiries to several. 6 These people are not interested in either real or imaginary religion. My real crime is that I have influence and respect among students and listeners. Would that I could always read on the highest holidays, if it were before empty benches! Therefore they take every pretext to hinder me; and out of mere odio academico become old-orthodox Christians even. My profound and complete confidence in you, my most reverend Privy Councillor, prompted me to turn to you without further formality. Notwithstanding this, I request you to make every useful use of this letter, and to regard it, in so far as it can be, as official; or to let me know most graciously what course I have to pursue in order to achieve my purpose within here and Sunday. My mind is quite made up, by the way. Without prejudice to my honor, I cannot, after these events, secretly and in silence give myself a denial; but I will obey the law without reluctance, without remarks, with joy, like a good citizen; now, as always. -- Except in the case of the law, however, I am prepared for the utmost. With sincere and true respect Your most obedient servant J. G. Fichte, Prof. Fichte to Schiller VIIIBerlin, February 2, 1800 Thank you, my dear friend, for the prospects you have opened up for me and for literature. Without being able to present a specific plan, my thoughts for a critical institute were as follows. Science in general, it seems to me, must be taken under strict supervision as soon as possible, if the few good seeds that have been sown are not to perish in a short time among the abundant weeds that are springing up. In the field of the first science, philosophy, which should help all others out of their confusion, the old sermon is being chattered away as if nothing had ever been remembered against it, and the new is being twisted so that it is no longer at all like itself. Fortunately one is so cowardly that one is frightened and pulls oneself together as soon as someone seriously rebukes the mischief, but drives it away again as soon as the supervision seems to fall asleep. I think it very possible, by two or three years of continued severe criticism, to silence the babblers in the field of philosophy and make way for the better ones. Now that it is possible, it must be done. In order to have a firm point, I am currently working on a new exposition of the doctrine of science, which I hope will be so clear that anyone with a scientific mind will be able to understand it. I will continue to observe and report on what it does in the scientific literature. I shall spread myself over the whole field of science as far as my own ability and collaborators, whom a similar attitude will gradually bring to us, allow, without claiming universality. What cannot be done thoroughly must rather be omitted. I am thinking of beginning with a report on the present state of German literature, in which I would like to highlight the rotten spots of it, - the factory-like operation of writing by booksellers and authors, the ridiculousness of the reviewing institutes, the miserable motives for writing, etc., and make suggestions for improvement. In this report, I will state the critical measures of our institute from a scientific point of view. I will submit it in manuscript to your and Goethe's judgment. I do not presume to judge what can be done from the side of criticism in art, in which we now know what is important through Goethe's and your example and through some quite good philosophers of modern philosophy. It falls to you both to decide what the most necessary lessons are for the art disciples of our time, and how these must be illustrated by the phenomena of the time. Goethe, in his Propylaea and other of his latest writings, has also set up models in this respect. Universality, I believe, should not be the intention here either, but only to say what is necessary now. Schelling insists that a scientific journal by both of us should begin at Easter next year and, as I cannot deliver anything by then, has offered to provide the first part himself. Since, however, I am also of the opinion that immediately after the appearance of an elementary philosophy, which claims to be generally comprehensible, the supervision must begin and one must observe the first statements, I will join in immediately afterwards. If it is not possible for you and Goethe to join so soon, let us at least hope for a later union. The former will then only be allowed to enter into a scientific institute, will be given a different title, etc. I have no doubt that Cotta should not eagerly accept the proposal. Would you not have the kindness to suggest to me what conditions I should demand for you and Goethe if you would not prefer to negotiate with him directly in his own time. I enclose two copies of my latest writing for you and Goethe, both in Cotta's name and mine. This writing makes no pretensions at all and was prompted by the occasional silly conversations that I had to listen to around me about the subject in question. I beg your pardon for including the destiny of man, which is no longer a novelty. Live well with yours, enjoy the best of health and keep me dear. All yours, Fichte IX.Berlin, August 18, 1803 One point of this letter to you, my venerable friend, was addressed by Hr. Zelter in a letter to Hırrr. G. R. Goethe, and I hastily accepted the commission, although I suspect that Goethe was more concerned with Zeiters judgment than with a judgment at all. The second concerns my affair; and I beg your pardon for interrupting you with it. I would have written about it either to the Government Councillor (not Privy Councillor, as Z. wrote to Goethe by mistake) Voigt, who has already been kind in the matter, or to D. Niethammer, if I did not doubt whether the former was already back from his journey to Dresden, and suspected that the latter was also absent. I am writing about this on a separate sheet so that it can be communicated to Mr. Voigt or, in the event of his absence, to another legal friend whom you or Goethe are interested in my matter; I am only asking and imploring you and Goethe here not to let your interest in this matter tire yet, so that what has happened so far does not merely accelerate the loss of it, as Mr. Salzmann's reply suggests. The matter seems fair to me, it seems to me to be of general example, and I would like you and Goethe to find an hour to read through my enclosed instructions together, which are of course initially calculated for the comprehension of an advocate and are therefore somewhat too clear. I have seen Goethe's "Natural Daughter" twice, since it was performed here, with all my attention, and I believe that I have risen to every possible view of the work through this medium. As much as I have revered and loved Goethe's Iphigenia, Tasso and, from another subject, Hermann and D., and have hardly thought anything higher possible, I prefer this work to all his others and consider it the master's highest masterpiece to date. It is as clear as light and just as unfathomable, drawing itself together vividly in each of its parts into absolute unity, at the same time melting into infinity, like the latter. This strictly organic connection makes it quite impossible for me to think of or want to do without any part of it. What is not yet fully explained in the first part, as the mysterious hints of a hidden relationship between the duke and his son, both of them, and still other, secret machinations, undoubtedly prepare the future and already fill the mind with a wonderful shiver. There is no doubt that a work of this depth and simplicity at the same time should be grasped and represented in its inner spirit by any existing company of actors. But the right spectator should see the ideal of the representation through the limitations of the representation and the work through this. This is the path I have had to take, and it seems to me the right one for dramatic works of art. Hence it may be that Zelter, who began by reading and from this formed his own idealized representation, was less frugal in seeing the real than I, who otherwise cannot boast of great frugality. - Now to the common spectator this elevation above the narrowness of the representation is first of all expected - in the case of common works he is relieved of it, where the representation and the matter, because both are common and shallow, coincide very properly - furthermore, he is expected to pay strict attention for 2 to 3 hours, because the whole is a whole, and he does not understand any part if he does not understand all - whereas in the case of common plays he can be absent, if he wants to, and again pay attention if he wants to, and yet always a whole grain of sand, - happily encounters - finally, he is suspected of a completely lacking sense for the internal in man, and the plot that takes place on this stage - therefore the management, city and court believe that there is no plot in the last two acts of this work, and indeed Goethe would have had no plot for these two acts, through the simple narration: Eugenia gives her hand to a councillor of justice, could have spared - all these graces, it is understandable with what faces they are received. For my part, however, the older I grow, and the more some stupidity presses me here every day, and the more masterpieces they send us from there, the more I am strengthened in the merciless opinion that the highest, and only the highest, should be brought before the eyes of the public, without all pity for boredom, and discomfort of uneducation, that one should not patch up the bad and attach the good to it, God willing, but destroy it purely and create the good purely, and that it will never get better with the bad until one takes no further notice of the fact that the bad exists. Among the actors, in my opinion, Madame Fleck as Eugenie won the prize by far. Her acting was particularly enthusiastic and inspiring in the second act, in the expression of joyful expectation in the sonnet, in the poetic fantasy that followed - then when she put on the jewels, when her aristocratic, generous disposition came to the fore, and so on. She did not actually spoil anything that I remember. Ifland portrayed the tender father very well, especially in the third act, the one melting in the thought of the believed loss, and made a powerful impression on his audience: but it always remained a tender father from one of his mountain family plays: the nobility of the first vassal, secret husband of the proud princess, father of the high daughter, the importance of the darkly threatening star on the political horizon of this realm, were lost - not to the detriment of the play, as it seems to me, with the true spectator; for whoever knows Ifflanden besides, will not take him for identical with such a person, and at the poet's hint will gladly supplant dignity, and majesty, and depth. Mattausch, as king, was quite handsome. Bessel (who otherwise plays insignificant roles) also deserves mention as a clergyman. He did not play without strength; and the favorable spectator might attribute some roughness in his behavior to the village life of the spiritual lord. Bethmann, as a court physician, did not play carelessly, as he has been accused of, but what can be made of this clumsy, monotonous organ? Herdt, as a monk, did not allow his nature to set the accents as natural breathing requires; yet one understood him completely, and one could now speak the role differently and correctly. Beschart played the Governor smoothly and gallantly, as is his manner; and this did the role no harm. The part of the court mistress was given to a singer, Madame Schiel, who, out of a very laudable caution for the time when her singing voice might come to an end, wanted to concentrate on recitation. She brought the gesticulation from the opera theater, but she was not allowed to sing, and she could not speak. I think I have guessed the intention and meaning of this role, but I did not hear the words either time; therefore, there is a gap in my knowledge. No Goethean character can be made out of Schwadke's - who played the secretary - thorough shallowness. This man would have to be exiled entirely to the English conversation pieces. Another anecdote that was very edifying and instructive for me. The role of the nun was played the first day by Madame Herdt, who behaved in such a way that the audience burst out laughing - and this time with perfect justification. How does the management help itself on the second day? Well, it leaves out this role completely - only one of the useless characters, it might think, who appear in the last two acts - (how first, in increasing fear, all means of salvation must be tried before the last strange one is resorted to, and how, in addition, all the estates of the kingdom approaching its downfall are to be passed before the spectator's eyes according to their least spirit, such judges certainly do not realize), - but leaves the role of Eugenia unchanged; in such a way that now the daring glance into the companion's violent letter takes place without an intermediary and directly upon the refusal to see it, for fear of seeing one of the two beloved names. Let Goethe now learn from this how to do it in order to make the plot, so often hesitant in his works, proceed more quickly! One question: how does the author conceive the external representation of the nation in the group, this chorus, from which its individual representatives wriggle free and intertwine themselves in the plot? (which, in passing, local people do not grasp either, and in the Ungersche Zeitung, for example, it is said that they come and disappear like idle strollers). Should at least a beginning of the immeasurable life and activity really be visible, which the imagination now continues into the infinite; or should the spectator see this heap as if with the eye of fantasy? In the performance here, it was only towards the end of the fourth act, when Eugenia was preparing to call the people, that two or three ragged fellows suddenly carried a suitcase of student's goods and a few small bales decorated with merchant's signs to the back of the stage, which remained empty of living beings for the rest of the time. This seemed to me either too much or too little. Am I right or wrong? Since I mentioned in my last letter that the "Auspochen" were at the first performance, I would like to correct this - for I myself would not like to accuse the Berlin crowd of more evil than is true - the following: it is quite notorious that Schadow ordered the "Auspocher", properly recruited and organized them beforehand. I am writing this to you for any use, if you do not already know it, for it is common knowledge; only I would not like to be the one who would have written it to you. It is also claimed that Ifland, not Woltmann, is the author of the recently mentioned assessment in the Ungersche Zeitung. Similarly, both historical partisanship for good and bad. I commend myself to your benevolence. Yours sincerely, Fichte |
310. Human Values in Education: Stages of Childhood
19 Jul 1924, Arnheim Translated by Vera Compton-Burnett |
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This accounts for the surprises we get when faced with the education of very young children. A father came to me once and said, “What shall I do? Something really dreadful has happened. My boy has been stealing.” I said, “Let us first find out whether he really steals. What has he done?” The father told me that the boy had taken money out of the cupboard, had bought sweets with it and shared them with the other boys. |
An anthroposophist, a student of spiritual science knows that the emergence of the butterfly from the chrysalis is actually a picture of the immortality of the human soul placed into the world by the gods. He can never think otherwise than that the gods inscribed into the world this picture of the emerging butterfly as an image of the immortality of the human soul. |
310. Human Values in Education: Stages of Childhood
19 Jul 1924, Arnheim Translated by Vera Compton-Burnett |
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You will have gathered from the remarks I have made during the last two days that there is a fundamental change in the inner constitution of the human being at every single stage of his life. Today, certainly, modern psychologists and physiologists also take this into account. They too reckon with these changes which take place in the course of life, firstly up to the change of teeth, then up to puberty, and again from puberty into the twenties. But these differences are more profound than can be discovered by means of the methods of observation customary today, which do not reach far enough, however excellent they may be. We must take a further step and examine these differences from aspects demanded by spiritual science. You will hear many things that are already familiar to you, but you must now enter more deeply into them. Even when the child enters this world from the embryo condition, that is, to take an external characteristic, when he adapts himself to the outer process of breathing, even then, physiologically speaking, he is not yet received directly by the outer world, for he takes the natural nourishment of the mother's milk. He is not nourished as yet by what comes from the outer world, but by what comes from the same source as the child himself. Now today people study the substances they meet with in the world more or less according to their external, chemical, physical properties only and do not consider the finer attributes which they possess through their spiritual content. Nowadays everything is considered in this way. Such methods are not to be condemned; on the contrary they should be recognised as justified. Nevertheless because the time came when man was concerned only with the outer aspects of things, aspects which could not be so regarded in earlier civilisations, he has now reached a point of extreme externalisation. If I may make a comparison, things are observed today in some such way as this. We say: I look upon death, upon dying; plants die, animals die, human beings die. But surely the question arises as to whether dying, the passing away of the various forms of life with which we come in contact, is in all three kinds of living beings the same process, or whether this only appears outwardly to be so. We can make use of the following comparisons: If I have a knife there is a real difference whether I cut my food with it, or whether I use it for shaving. In each case it is a knife, but the properties of “knife” must be further differentiated. Such differentiation is in many cases not made today. No differentiation is made between the dying of a plant, an animal or a man. We meet the same thing in other domains too. There are people who in a certain way want to be philosophers of nature, and because they aim at being idealistic, even spiritual, they assert that plants may well have a soul; and they try to discover in an external way those characteristics of plants which seem to indicate that they have certain soul qualities. They make a study of those plants which, when they are approached by insects, tend to open their petals. The insect is caught, for it is attracted by the scent of what is in the plant. Such a plant is the Venus Flytrap. It closes its petals with a snap and the insect is trapped. This is considered to be a sort of soul quality in the plant. Well, but I know something else which works in the same way. It is to be found in all sorts of places. The mouse, when it comes near, feels attracted by the smell of a dainty morsel; it begins to nibble, and—hey presto! snap goes the mousetrap. If one were to make use of the same thought process as in the case of a plant, one might say: the mousetrap has a soul. This kind of thinking, however, although quite legitimate under certain conditions never leads to conclusions of any depth, but remains more or less on the surface. If we wish to gain a true knowledge of man we must penetrate into the very depths of human nature. It must be possible for us to look in a completely unprejudiced way at things which appear paradoxical vis-à-vis external methods of observation. Moreover it is very necessary to take into consideration everything which, taken together, makes up the entire human organisation. In man we have, to begin with, the actual physical organism which he has in common with all earthly beings and particularly with the mineral kingdom. In man, however, we have clearly to distinguish between his physical organism and his etheric organism. The latter he has in common only with the plant world, not with the minerals. But a being endowed only with an etheric organism could never experience feeling, never attain to an inner consciousness. For this again man has his astral organism, which he has in common with the animal world. It might appear that this is an external organisation, but in the course of these lectures we shall see how inward it can be. In addition to this man still has his ego-organisation, which is not to be found in the animal world and which he alone possesses among earthly beings. What we are here considering is in no sense merely an external, intellectual pattern; moreover, in speaking, for instance, of an etheric or life-body, this has no connection whatever with what an outmoded natural science once called “life-force,” “vital-force” and so on. On the contrary, it is the result of observation. If, for instance, we study the child up to the age of the change of teeth, we see that his development is primarily dependent on his physical organism. The physical organism must gradually adapt itself to the outer world, but this cannot take place all at once, not even if considered in the crudest physical sense. This physical body, just because it contains what the human being has brought with him out of the spiritual world in which he lived in pre-earthly existence, cannot forthwith assimilate the substances of the outer world, but must receive them specially prepared in the mother's milk. The child must, so to say, remain closely connected with what is of like nature with himself. He must only gradually grow into the outer world. And the conclusion of this process of the physical organism growing into the outer world is indicated by the appearance of the second teeth at about the seventh year. At approximately this age the child's physical organism completes the process of growing into the world. During this time, however, in which the organisation is chiefly concerned with the shaping and fashioning of the bony system, the child is only interested in certain things in the outer world, not in everything. He is only interested in what we might call gesture, everything that is related to movement. Now you must take into account that at first the child's consciousness is dream-like, shadowy; to begin with his perceptions are quite undefined, and only gradually do they light up and gain clarity. But fundamentally speaking the fact remains that during the time between birth and the change of teeth the child's perception adheres to everything in the nature of gesture and movement and does so to such an extent, that in the very moment when he perceives a movement he feels an inner urge to imitate it. There exists a quite definite law of development in the nature of the human being which I should like to characterise in the following way. While the human being is growing into the physical, earthly world, his inner nature is developing in such a way that this development proceeds in the first place out of gesture, out of differentiation of movement. In the inner nature of the organism speech develops out of movement in all its aspects, and thought develops out of speech. This deeply significant law underlies all human development. Everything which makes its appearance in sound, in speech, is the result of gesture, mediated through the inner nature of the human organism. If you turn your attention to the way in which a child not only learns to speak, but also learns to walk, to place one foot after the other, you can observe how one child treads more strongly on the back part of the foot, on the heel, and another walks more on the toes. You can observe children who in learning to walk tend to bring their legs well forward; with others you will see that they are more inclined to hold back, as it were, between two steps. It is extraordinarily interesting to watch a child learning to walk. You must learn to observe this. But it is more interesting still, although much less attention is paid to it, to see how a child learns to grasp something, how he learns to move his hands. There are children who, when they want something, move their hands in such a way that even the fingers are brought into movement. Others keep their fingers still, and stretch out their hands to take hold without moving the fingers. There are children who stretch out their hand and arm, while keeping the upper part of the body motionless; there are others who immediately let the upper part of the body follow the movement of arm and hand. I once knew a child who, when he was very small and his high-chair was placed at a little distance from the table on which stood some dish he wished to get at, proceeded to “row” himself towards it; his whole body was then in movement. He could make no movements at all without moving his whole body. This is the first thing to look out for in a child; for how a child moves reveals the most inward urge of life, the primal life impulse. At the same time there appears in the child's movement the tendency to adapt himself to others, to carry out some movement in the same way as his father, mother or other member of the family. The principle of imitation comes to light in gesture, in movement. For gesture is what appears first of all in human evolution, and in the special constitution of the physical, soul and spiritual organism of man gesture is inwardly transformed; it is transformed into speech. Those who are able to observe this know without any doubt that a child who speaks as though the sentences were hacked out of him is one who sets his heels down first; while a child who speaks in such a way that the sentences run one into the other tends to trip on his toes. A child who takes hold of things more lightly with his fingers has the tendency to emphasise the vowel element, while a child who is inclined to stress the consonants will bring his whole arm to his aid when grasping something. We receive a very definite impression of a child's potentialities from his manner of speaking. And to understand the world, to understand the world through the medium of the senses, through the medium of thought, this too is developed out of speech. Thought does not produce speech, but speech thought. So it is in the cultural development of humanity as a whole; human beings have first spoken, then thought. So it is also with the child; first out of movement he learns to speak, to articulate only then does thinking come forth from speech. We must therefore look upon this sequence as being something of importance: gesture, speech, thought, or the process of thinking. All this is especially characteristic in the first epoch of the child's life, up to the change of teeth. When little by little the child grows into the world during the first, second, third and fourth years of life, he does so through gesture; everything is dependent on gesture. Indeed, I would say that speaking and thinking take place for the most part unconsciously; both develop naturally out of gesture, even the first gesture. Therefore speaking approximately we can say: From the first to the seventh year gesture predominates in the life of the child, but gesture in the widest sense of the word, gesture which in the child lives in imitation. As educators we must keep this firmly in mind for actually up to the change of teeth the child only takes in what comes to him as gesture, he shuts himself off from everything else. If we say to the child: Do it like this, do it like that, he really does not hear, he does not take any notice. It is only when we stand in front of him and show him how to do it that he is able to copy us. For the child works according to the way I myself am moving my fingers, or he looks at something just as I am looking at it, not according to what I tell him. He imitates everything. This is the secret of the development of the child up to the change of teeth. He lives entirely in imitation, entirely in the imitation of what in the widest possible sense comes to meet him from outside as gesture. This accounts for the surprises we get when faced with the education of very young children. A father came to me once and said, “What shall I do? Something really dreadful has happened. My boy has been stealing.” I said, “Let us first find out whether he really steals. What has he done?” The father told me that the boy had taken money out of the cupboard, had bought sweets with it and shared them with the other boys. I said “Presumably that is the cupboard out of which the boy has often seen his mother taking money, before going shopping; he is quite naturally imitating her.” And this proved to be the case. So I said further, “But that is not stealing; that lies as a natural principle of development in the boy up to the change of teeth. He imitates what he sees; he must do so.” In the presence of a child therefore we should avoid doing anything which he should not imitate. This is how we educate him. If we say: You should not do this or that, it does not influence the child in the slightest degree up to the change of teeth. It could at most have some effect if one were to clothe the words in a gesture, by saying: Now look, you have just done something that I would never do!—for this is in a way a disguised gesture. It comes to this: with our whole manhood we should fully understand how up to the change of teeth the child is an imitating being. During this time there is actually an inner connection between the child and his environment, between all that is going on around him. Later on this is lost. For however strange and paradoxical it may sound to people today, who are quite unable to think correctly about the spirit, but think always in abstractions, it is nevertheless true that the whole relationship of the child to gesture and movement in his surroundings has an innate religious character. Through his physical body the child is given over to everything in the nature of gesture; he cannot do otherwise than yield himself up to it. What we do later with our soul, and still later with our spirit, in that we yield ourselves up to the divine, even to the external world, as again spiritualised, this the child does with his physical body when he brings it into movement. He is completely immersed in religion, both with his good and his bad qualities. What remains with us as soul and spirit in later life, this the child has also in his physical organism. If therefore the child lives in close proximity with a surly, “bearish” father, liable to fall into rages, someone who is often irritable and angry, expressing uncontrolled emotions in the presence of the child, while the inner causes of such emotions are not as yet understood by the child, nevertheless what he sees, he experiences as something not moral. The child perceives simultaneously, albeit unconsciously, the moral aspects of these outbreaks, so that he has not only the outer picture of the gesture, but also absorbs its moral significance. If I make an angry gesture, this passes over into the blood organisation of the child, and if these gestures recur frequently they find expression in his blood circulation. The child's physical body is organised according to the way in which I behave in his presence, according to the kind of gestures I make. Moreover if I fail in loving understanding when the child is present, if, without considering him I do something which is only suitable at a later age, and am not constantly on the watch when he is near me, then it can happen that the child enters lovingly into something which is unfitted for his tender years, but belongs to another age, and his physical body will in that case be organised accordingly. Whoever studies the whole course of a man's life from birth to death, bearing in mind the requirements of which I have spoken, will see that a child who has been exposed to things suitable only to grown-up people and who imitates these things will in his later years, from the age of about 50, suffer from sclerosis. One must be able to examine such phenomena in all their ramifications. Illnesses that appear in later life are often only the result of educational errors made in the very earliest years of childhood. This is why an education which is really based on a knowledge of man must study the human being as a whole from birth until death. To be able to look at man as a whole is the very essence of anthroposophical knowledge. Then too one discovers how very strong the connection is between the child and his environment. I would go as far as to say that the soul of the child goes right out into his surroundings, experiences these surroundings intimately, and indeed has a much stronger relationship to them than at a later period of life. In this respect the child is still very close to the animal, only he experiences things in a more spiritual way, in a way more permeated with soul. The animal's experiences are coarser and cruder, but the animal too is related to its environment. The reason why many phenomena of recent times remain unexplained is because people are not able to enter into all the details involved. There is, for instance, the case of the “calculating horses” which has made such a stir recently, where horses have carried out simple arithmetical operations through stamping with their hooves. I have not seen the famous Elberfelder horses, but I have seen the horse belonging to Herr von Osten. This horse did quite nice little sums. For instance Herr von Osten asked: How much is 5 + 7? And he began to count, beginning with 1, and when he got to 12 the horse stamped with its foot. It could add up, subtract and so on. Now there was a young professor who studied this problem and wrote a book about it which is extremely interesting. In this book he expounds the view that the horse sees certain little gestures made by Herr von Osten, who always stands close to the horse. His opinion is that when Herr von Osten counts 7 + 5 up to 12 and the horse stamps when the number 12 is reached, this is because Herr von Osten makes a very slight gesture when he comes to 12 and the horse, noticing this, duly stamps his foot. He believes that it can all be traced back to something visible. But now he puts a question to himself: “Why,” he says, “can you not see this gesture which Herr von Osten makes so skilfully that the horse sees it and stamps at the number 12?” The young professor goes on to say that these gestures are so slight that he as a human being cannot see them. From this the conclusion might be drawn that a horse sees more than a professor! But this did not convince me at all, for I saw this wonder of an intelligent horse, the clever Hans, standing by Herr von Osten in his long coat. And I saw too that in his right-hand pocket he had lumps of sugar, and while he was carrying out his experiments with the horse he always handed it one lump after another, so that feeling was aroused in the horse associating sweet things with Herr von Osten. In this way a sort of love was established between Herr von Osten and the horse. And only when this is present, only when the inner being of the horse is, as it were, merged into the inner being of Herr von Osten through the stream of sweetness that flows between them, only then can the horse “calculate,” for it really receives something—not through gesture, but through what Herr von Osten is thinking. He thinks: 5 + 7 = 12, and by means of suggestion the horse takes up this thought and even has a distinct impression of it. One can actually see this. The horse and his master are in a certain way merged in feeling one into the other: they impart something to one another reciprocally when they are united through the medium of sweetness. So the animal still has this finer relationship to its environment, and this can be stimulated from outside, as, in this case, by means of sugar. In a delicate way a similar relationship to the outer world is still present in children also. It lives in the child and should be reckoned with. Education in the kindergarten should therefore never depend on anything other than the principle of imitation. The teacher must sit down with the children and just do what she wishes them to do, so that the child has only to copy. All education and instruction before the change of teeth must be based on this principle. After the change of teeth all this becomes quite different. The soul life of the child is now completely changed. No longer does he perceive merely the single gestures, but now he sees the way in which these gestures accord with one another. For instance, whereas previously he only had a feeling for a definite line, now he has a feeling for co-ordination, for symmetry. The feeling is awakened for what is co-ordinated or uncoordinated, and in his soul the child acquires the possibility of perceiving what is formative. As soon as this perception is awakened there appears simultaneously an interest in speech. During the first seven years of life there is an interest in gesture, in everything connected with movement; in the years between seven and fourteen there is an interest in everything connected with the pictorial form, and speech is pre-eminently pictorial and formative. After the change of teeth the child's interest passes over from gesture to speech, and in the lower school years from seven to fourteen we can work most advantageously through everything that lies in speech, above all through the moral element underlying speech. For just as the child before this age has a religious attitude towards the gesture which meets him in the surrounding world, so now he relates himself in a moral sense—his religious feeling being gradually refined into a soul experience—to everything which approaches him through speech. So now, in this period of his life, one must work upon the child through speech. But whatever is to work upon him in this way must do so by means of an unquestioned authority. When I want to convey to the child some picture expressed through speech, I must do so with the assurance of authority. I must be the unquestioned authority for the child when through speech I want to conjure up before him some picture. Just as we must actually show the little child what we want him to do, so we must be the human pattern for the child between the change of teeth and puberty. In other words, there is no point whatever in giving reasons to a child of this age, in trying to make him see why we should do something or not do it, just because there are well-founded reasons for or against it. This passes over the child's head. It is important to understand this. In exactly the same way as in the earliest years of life the child only observes the gesture, so between the change of teeth and puberty he only observes what I, as a human being, am in relation to himself. At this age the child must, for instance, learn about what is moral in such a way that he regards as good what the naturally accepted authority of the teacher, by means of speech, designates as good; he must regard as bad what this authority designates as bad. The child must learn: What my teacher, as my authority, does is good, what he does not do is bad. Relatively speaking then, the child feels: When my teacher says something is good, then it is good; and if he says something is bad, then it is bad. You will not attribute to me, seeing that 30 years ago I wrote my Philosophy of Freedom a point of view which upholds the principle of authority as the one and only means of salvation. But through the very fact of knowing the true nature of freedom one also knows that between the change of teeth and puberty the child needs to be faced with an unquestioned authority. This lies in the nature of man. Everything is doomed to failure in education which disregards this relationship of the child to the unquestioned authority of the personality of the teacher and educator. The child must be guided in everything which he should do or not do, think or not think, feel or not feel, by what flows to him, by way of speech, from his teacher and educator. At this age therefore there is no sense in wanting to approach him through the intellect. During this time everything must be directed towards the life of feeling, for feeling is receptive to anything in the nature of pictures and the child of this age is so constituted that he lives in the world of pictures, of images, and has the feeling of welding separate details into a harmonious whole. This is why, for instance, what is moral cannot be brought to the child by way of precept, by saying: You should do this, you should not do that. It simply doesn't work. What does work is when the child, through the way in which one speaks to him, can feel inwardly in his soul a liking for what is good, a dislike of what is bad. Between the change of teeth and puberty the child is an aesthete and we must therefore take care that he experiences pleasure in the good and displeasure in what is bad. This is the best way for him to develop a sense of morality. We must also be sincere, inwardly sincere in the imagery we use in our work with the child. This entails being permeated to the depths of our being by everything we do. This is not the case if, when standing before the child we immediately experience a slight sense of superiority: I am so clever—the child is so stupid. Such an attitude ruins all education; it also destroys in the child the feeling for authority. Well then, how shall I transform into a pictorial image something that I want to impart to the child? In order to make this clear I have chosen the following example as an illustration. We cannot speak to the child about the immortality of the soul in the same way as to a grown-up person; but we must nevertheless convey to him some understanding of it. We must however do so in a pictorial way. We must build up the following picture and to do this may well take the whole lesson. We can explain to the child what a butterfly's chrysalis is, and then speak in some such words as these: “Well, later on the finished butterfly flies out of the chrysalis. It was inside all the time only it was not yet visible, it was not yet ready to fly away, but it was already there inside.” Now we can go further and tell him that in a similar way the human body contains the soul, only it is not visible. At death the soul flies out of the body; the only difference between man and butterfly is that the butterfly is visible and the human soul is invisible. In this way we can speak to the child about the immortality of the soul so that he receives a true picture of immortality and one suited to his age. But in the presence of the child we must on no account have the feeling: I am clever, I am a philosopher and by no means of thought can I convince myself of the truth of immortality; the child is naive, is stupid, and so for him I will build up the picture of the butterfly creeping out of the chrysalis. If one thinks in this way one establishes no contact with the child, and then he gets nothing whatever from what he is told. There is only one possibility. We must ourselves believe in the picture, we must not want to be cleverer than the child; we must stand in the presence of the child as full of belief as he is. How can this be done? An anthroposophist, a student of spiritual science knows that the emergence of the butterfly from the chrysalis is actually a picture of the immortality of the human soul placed into the world by the gods. He can never think otherwise than that the gods inscribed into the world this picture of the emerging butterfly as an image of the immortality of the human soul. In all the lower stages of the process he sees the higher processes which have become abstract. If I do not get the idea that the child is stupid and I am clever, but if I stand before the child conscious that this actually is so in the world and that I am leading him to believe in something which I too believe with all my heart, then there arises an imponderable relationship between us, and the child makes real progress in his education. Then moral imponderabilia continually enters into our educational relationship. And this is the crux of the matter. When we are quite clear about this we shall, out of the whole nexus of our studies, come to see how we can find the right approach to an instruction which is truly educational, an education which really instructs. Let us take an example. How must the child learn to read and write? There is actually a great deal more misery connected with this than one usually imagines, though human intellectualism is far too crude to perceive it. One recognises that learning to read and write is a necessity, so it follows that the child must at all costs be drilled into learning reading and writing. But just consider what this means for a child! When they are grown-up, people have no inclination to put themselves in the child's place, to imagine what he undergoes when he learns to read and write. In our civilisation today we have letters, a, b, c and so on; they are there before us in certain definite forms. Now the child has the sound a (ah, as in father). When does he use it? This sound is for him the expression of an inner soul experience. He uses this sound when he is faced with something which calls up in him a feeling of wonder, of astonishment. This sound he understands. It is bound up with human nature. Or he has the sound e (eh, as in they). When does he use this? He uses it when he wants to show he has the feeling: “Something has come up against me; I have experienced something which encroaches on my own nature.” If somebody gives me a blow, I say e (eh).1 It is the same with the consonants. Every sound corresponds to some expression of life; the consonants imitate an outer, external world, the vowels express what is experienced inwardly in the soul. The study of language, philology, is today only approaching the first elements of such things. Learned scholars, who devote themselves to research into language, have given much thought to what, in the course of human evolution, may have been the origin of speech. There are two theories. The one represents the view that speech may have arisen out of soul experiences in much the same way as this takes place in the animal, albeit in its most primitive form—“moo-moo” being the expression of what the cow feels inwardly, and “bow-wow” what is experienced by the dog. And so, in a more complicated way, what in man becomes articulated speech arises out of this urge to give expression to inner feelings and experiences. In somewhat humorous vein this is called the “bow-wow theory.” The other point of view proceeds from the supposition that in the sounds of speech man imitates what takes place in the outer world. It is possible to imitate the sound of a bell, what is taking place inside the bell: “ding-dong—ding-dong.” Here there is the attempt to imitate what takes place in the outer world. This is the basis for the theory that in speech everything may be traced back to external sounds, external event. It is the “ding-dong theory.” So we have these two theories in opposition to one another. It is not in any way my intention to make fun of this, for as a matter of fact, both are correct: the “bow-wow” theory is right for the vowel element in speech, the “ding-dong” theory for the consonantal element. In transposing gestures into sounds we learn by means of the consonants to imitate inwardly outer processes; and in the vowels we give form to inner experiences of the soul. In speech the inner and the outer unite. Human nature, itself homogeneous, understands how to bring this about. We receive the child into the primary school. Through his inner organisation he has become a being able to speak. Now, suddenly he is expected to experience—I say experience deliberately weighing my words, not recognise, experience—a connection between astonishment, wonder, (ah) and the demonic sign a. This is something completely foreign to him. He is supposed to learn something which he feels to be utterly remote, and to relate this to the sound “ah.” This is something outside the sphere of a young child's comprehension. He feels it as a veritable torture if at the very outset we confront him with the forms of the letters in use today. We can, however, remember something else. The letters which we have today were not always there. Let us look back to those ancient peoples who had a picture writing. They used pictures to give tangible form to what was uttered, and these pictures certainly had something to do with what they were intended to express. They did not have letters such as we use, but pictures which were related to their meaning. Up to a certain point the same could be said of cuneiform writing. These were times when people still had a human relationship to things, even when these were fixed into a definite form. Today we no longer have this, but with the child we must go back to it again. We must of course not do so in such a way that we study the cultural history of ancient peoples and fall back on the forms which were once used in picture writing; but we must bring all our educational fantasy into play as teachers in order to create the kind of pictures we need. Fantasy, imagination [The German phantasie is often more equivalent to the English imagination than to fantasy. In this lecture the latter is probably more appropriate.] we must certainly have, for without it we cannot be teachers or educators. And so it is always necessary to refer to the importance of enthusiasm, of inspiration, when dealing with some characteristic feature of anthroposophy. It never gives me any pleasure, for instance, when I go into a class in our Waldorf School and notice that a teacher is tired and is teaching out of a certain mood of weariness. That is something one must never do. One simply cannot be tired, one can only be filled with enthusiasm. When teaching, one must be absolutely on the spot with one's whole being. It is quite wrong to be tired when teaching; tiredness must be kept for some other occasion. The essential thing for a teacher is that he learns to give full play to his fantasy. What does this mean? To begin with I call up in the child's mind something that he has seen at the market, or some other place, a fish for example. I next get him to draw a fish, and for this I even allow him to use colours, so that he paints as he draws and draws as he paints. This being achieved I then let him say the word “Fish,” not speaking the word quickly, but separating the sounds, “f-i-ssh.” Then I lead him on so that he says only the beginning of the word fish (f...) and gradually I transfer the shape of the fish into a sign that is somewhat fish like, while at the same time getting the child to say f ... And there we have it, the letter “f!” [IMAGE REMOVED FROM PREVIEW] Or I let the child say Wave (W-a-v-e) showing him at the same time what a wave is (see sketch). Once again I let him paint this and get him to say the beginning of the word—w—and then I change the picture of a wave into the letter w. [IMAGE REMOVED FROM PREVIEW] [IMAGE REMOVED FROM PREVIEW] Continuing to work in the same way I allow the written characters gradually to emerge from the painting-drawing and drawing-painting, as indeed they actually arose in the first place. I do not bring the child into a stage of civilisation with which as yet he has nothing in common, but I guide him in such a way that he is never torn away from his relationship to the outer world. In order to do this there is no necessity to study the history of culture—albeit the writing in use today has arisen out of picture-writing—one must only give free play to one's fantasy, for then one brings the child to the point at which he is able to form writing out of this drawing and painting. Now we must not think of this only as an ingenious and clever new method. We must value the fact that the child unites himself inwardly with something that is new to him when his soul activity is constantly stimulated. He does not “grow into it” when he is pushed, so that he is always coming into an unfamiliar relationship with his environment. The whole point is that we are working on the inner being of the child. What is usually done today? It is perhaps already somewhat out-of-date, but not so long ago people gave little girls “beautiful” dolls, with real hair, dolls that could shut their eyes when one laid them down, dolls with pretty faces and so on. Civilisation calls them beautiful, but they are nevertheless hideous, because they are inartistic. What sort of dolls are these? They are the sort which cannot activate the child's fantasy. Now let us do something different. Tie a handkerchief so that you have a figure with arms and legs; then make eyes with blobs of ink and perhaps a mouth with red ink as well; now the child must develop his fantasy if he is to imagine this as having the human shape. Such a thing works with tremendous living force on the child, because it offers him the possibility of using his fantasy. Naturally one must do this first oneself. But the possibility must be provided for the child, and this must be done at the age when everything is play. It is for this reason that all those things which do not stimulate fantasy in the child are so damaging when given as toys. As I said, today these beautiful dolls are somewhat out-dated, for now we give children monkeys or bears. To be sure, neither do these toys give any opportunity for the unfolding of a fantasy having any relationship to the human being. Let us suppose that a child runs up to us and we give him a bear to cuddle. Things like this show clearly how far our civilisation is from being able to penetrate into the depths of human nature. But it is quite remarkable how children in a perfectly natural, artistic way are able to form imaginatively a picture of this inner side of human nature. In the Waldorf School we have made a transition from the ordinary methods of teaching to what may be termed a teaching through art, and this quite apart from the fact that in no circumstances do we begin by teaching the children to write, but we let them paint as they draw, and draw as they paint. Perhaps we might even say that we let them splash about, which involves the possibly tiresome job of cleaning up the classroom afterwards. I shall also speak tomorrow about how to lead over from writing to reading, but, quite apart from this painting and drawing, we guide the child as far as possible into the realm of the artistic by letting him practise modelling in his own little way, but without suggesting that he should make anything beyond what he himself wants to fashion out of his own inner being. The results are quite remarkable. I will mention one example which shows how something very wonderful takes place in the case of rather older children. At a comparatively early age, that is to say, for children between ten and eleven years old, we take as a subject in our curriculum the “Study of Man.” At this age the children learn to know how the bones are formed and built up, how they support each other, and so on. They learn this in an artistic way, not intellectually. After a few such lessons the child has acquired some perception of the structure of the human bones, the dynamic of the bones and their interdependence. Then we go over to the craft-room, where the children model plastic forms and we observe what they are making. We see that they have learned something from these lessons about the bones. Not that the child imitates the forms of the bones, but from the way in which he now models his forms we perceive the outer expression of an inner mobility of soul. Before this he has already got so far as to be able to make little receptacles of various kinds; children discover how to make bowls and similar things quite by themselves, but what they make out of the spontaneity of childhood before they have received such lessons is quite different from what they model afterwards, provided they have really experienced what was intended. In order to achieve this result, however, these lessons on the “Knowledge of Man” must be given in such a way that their content enters right into the whole human being. Today this is difficult. Anyone who has paid as many visits to studios as I have and seen how people paint and model and carve, knows very well that today hardly any sculptor works without a model; he must have a human form in front of him if he wishes to model it. This would have had no sense for a Greek artist. He had of course learned to know the human form in the public games, but he really experienced it inwardly. He knew out of his own inner feeling—and this feeling he embodied without the aid of a model—he knew the difference between an arm when it is stretched out or when, in addition, the forefinger is also extended, and this feeling he embodied in his sculpture. Today, however, when physiology is taught in the usual way, models or drawings of the bones are placed side by side, the muscles are described one after another and no impression is given of their reciprocal relationship. With us, when the children see a vertebra belonging to the spinal column, they know how similar it is to the skull-bone, and they get a feeling for the metamorphosis of the bones. In this way they enter livingly right into the different human forms and so feel the urge to express it artistically. Such an experience enters right into life; it does not remain external. My earnest wish, and also my duty as leader of the Waldorf School, is to make sure that wherever possible everything of a fixed nature in the way of science, everything set down in books in a rigid scientific form should be excluded from class teaching. Not that I do not value science; no one could value science more highly. Such studies can be indulged in outside the school, if so desired; but I should be really furious if I were to see a teacher standing in front of a class with a book in his or her hand. In teaching everything must come from within. This must be self-understood. How is botany taught today for instance? We have botany books; these are based on a scientific outlook, but they do not belong to the classroom where there are children between the change of teeth and puberty. The perception of what a teacher needs in the way of literature must be allowed to grow gradually out of the living educational principles I shall be speaking about here. So we are really concerned with the teacher's attitude of mind, whether in soul, spirit and body he is able to relate himself to the world. If he has this living relationship he can do much with the children between the change of teeth and puberty, for he is then their natural and accepted authority. The main thing is that one should enter into and experience things in a living way and carry over into life all that one has thus experienced. This is the great and fundamental principle which must form the basis of education today. Then the connection with the class will be there of itself, together with the imponderable mood and feeling that must necessarily go with it. Answers to a QuestionQuestion: There are grown-up people who seem to have remained at the imitative stage of childhood. Why is this? Dr. Steiner: It is possible at every stage of human development for someone to remain in a stationary condition. If we describe the different stages of development, adding to today's survey the embryonic stage, and continuing to the change of teeth, and on to puberty, we cover those epochs in which a fully developed human life can be formed. Now quite a short time ago the general trend of anthroposophical development brought it about that lectures could be held on curative education, with special reference to definite cases of children who had either remained backward or whose development was in some respect abnormal. We then took the further step of allowing certain cases to be seen which were being treated at Dr. Wegmann's Clinical-Therapeutic Institute. Among these cases there was one of a child of nearly a year old, about the normal size for a child of this age, but who in the formation of his physical body had remained approximately at the stage of seven or eight months embryo. If you were to draw the child in outline with only an indication of the limbs, which are somewhat more developed, but showing exactly the form of the head, as it actually is in the case of this little boy, then, looking cursorily at the drawing, you would not have the faintest idea that it is a boy of nearly a year old. You would think it an embryo, because this boy has in many respects kept after his birth the embryonic structure. Every stage of life, including the embryonic, can be carried over into a later stage; for the different phases of development as they follow one after the other, are such that each new phase is a metamorphosis of the old, with something new added. If you will only take quite exactly what I have already said in regard to the natural religious devotion of the child to his surroundings up to the change of teeth, you will see that this changes later into the life of soul, and you have, as a second attribute the aesthetic, artistic stage. Now it happens with very many children that the first stage is carried into the second, and the latter then remains poorly developed. But this can go still further: the first stage of physical embodiment can be carried over into each of the others, so that what was present as the original stage appears in all the later stages. And, for a superficial observation of life, it need not be so very obvious that an earlier stage has remained on into a later one, unless such a condition shows itself particularly late in life. Certain it is however that earlier stages are carried over into later ones. Let us take the same thing in a lower kingdom of nature. The fully grown, fully developed plant usually has root, stalk, with it cotyledon leaves, followed by the later green leaves. These are then concentrated in the calyx, the petals, the stamen, the pistil and so on. There are however plants which do not develop as far as the blossom, but remain behind at the stage of herbs and other plants where the green leaves remain stationary, and the fruit is merely rudimentary. How far, for instance, the fern has remained behind the buttercup! With the plant this does not lead to abnormality. Man however is a species for himself. He is a complete natural order. And it can happen that someone remains his whole life long an imitative being, or one who stands in need of authority. For in life we have not only to do with people who remain at the imitative stage, but also with those who in regard to their essential characteristics remain at the stage that is fully developed between the change of teeth and puberty. As a matter of fact there are very many such people, and with them this stage continues into later life. They cannot progress much farther, and what should be developed in later years can only do so to a limited extent. They remain always at the stage where they look for the support of authority. If there were no such people, neither would there be the tendency, so rife today, to form sects and such things, for sectarian associations are based on the fact that their adherents are not required to think; they leave the thinking to others and follow their leaders. In certain spheres of life, however, most people remain at the stage of authority. For instance, when it is a question of forming a judgment about something of a scientific nature people do not take the trouble to look into it themselves, but they ask: Where is the expert who must know about this, the specialist who is a lecturer at one of the universities? There you have the principle of authority. Again in the case of people who are ill the principle of authority is carried to extremes, even though here it may be justifiable. And in legal matters, for instance, nobody today will think of forming an independent judgment, but will seek the advice of a solicitor because he has the requisite knowledge. Here the standpoint is that of an eight or nine year old child. And it may well be that this solicitor himself is not much older. When a question is put to him he takes down a lawbook or portfolio and there again you have an authority. So it is actually the case that each stage of life can enter into a later one. The Anthroposophical Society should really only consist of people who are outgrowing authority, who do not recognise any such principle but only true insight. This is so little understood by people outside the Society that they are continually saying: “Anthroposophy is based on authority.” In reality the precise opposite is the case; the principle of authority must be outgrown through the kind of understanding and discernment which is fostered in anthroposophy. The important thing is that one should grasp every scrap of insight one can lay hold of in order to pass through the different stages of life.
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33. Biographies and Biographical Sketches: Arthur Schopenhauer
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The wonderful expectations that the thought of the journey aroused in the young Schopenhauer caused him to repress his love of science and choose the profession that appealed to his father. This was a decision that his father foresaw, as he was well aware of his son's desire to see the world. |
In the early days of 1805, the now seventeen-year-old young man arrived back in Hamburg. He now had to keep his father's word and dedicate himself to the commercial profession without refusal. He was apprenticed to Senator Jenisch in Hamburg. |
Nevertheless, there were reasons that prevented him from throwing off the hated shackles immediately after his father's death. He loved his father dearly. It was contrary to his feelings to take a step that the deceased would never have approved of. |
33. Biographies and Biographical Sketches: Arthur Schopenhauer
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German philosophy before Schopenhauer[ 1 ] The years 1781 and 1807 mark an era of fierce battles within the development of German science. In 1781, Kant woke his contemporaries from their philosophical slumber with his "Critique of Pure Reason" and presented them with riddles which the cognitive power of the nation's best minds endeavored to solve over the next quarter of a century. A philosophical excitement of the highest order can be observed among those involved in these intellectual battles. In rapid succession, one school of thought replaced another. The shallow intellectual clarity that had prevailed in the books of philosophical literature before Kant was replaced by scientific warmth, which gradually grew into the captivating eloquence of Fichte and the poetic verve with which Schelling was able to express scientific ideas. An examination of this intellectual movement reveals an incomparable intellectual wealth, but also a restless, hasty rush forward. Some ideas entered the public domain prematurely. The thinkers did not have the patience to allow their ideas to mature. This restless development ended with the publication of Georg Wilh. Friedr. Hegel's first major work, the "Phenomenology of Spirit", in 1807. Hegel did the last work on this book in Jena in the days when the terrible turmoil of war in 1806 broke over the city. The events of the following years were not conducive to philosophical battles. Hegel's book did not immediately make such a strong impression, challenging the minds to cooperate, as Fichte and Schelling did when they first appeared. But even their influence gradually waned. For both of them, the period of their activity at the University of Jenens was the most brilliant of their lives. Fichte taught at this university from 1794 to 1799, Schelling from 1798 to 1803. The former moved from Jena to Berlin because the accusation of atheism brought against him by envious and unreasonable people had brought him into conflict with the Weimar government. In the winter of 1804/s he gave his lectures on the "Fundamentals of the Present Age" in Berlin, in which he effectively advocated idealistic thinking, and in the winter of 1807/8 his famous "Speeches to the German Nation", which exerted a powerful influence on the strengthening of national sentiment. As a champion of national and liberal ideas, in the service of which he placed his thinking and his eloquence, he achieved a more powerful effect during this period than through the philosophical lectures he gave at the University of Berlin from its establishment in 1810 until his death in 1814. Schelling, who did not make the transition from philosophical to political activity, was soon completely forgotten after his time in Jenens. He moved to Würzburg in 1803 and then to Munich in 1806, where he worked on expanding his ideas, which few people were still interested in. At the end of the first decade of our century, there was no longer any sign of the lively philosophical debate that Kant's revolutionary act had provoked: Fichte and Schelling's time was over, Hegel's era had not yet dawned. Hegel led a quiet existence from 1806 to 1808 as editor of a Bamberg newspaper and then until 1816 as principal of the Nuremberg grammar school. His enormous influence on German intellectual life only began with his appointment to Berlin in 1818. [ 2 ] This characterizes the circumstances that Arthur Schopenhauer found himself in when, after an eventful youth, he began his philosophical apprenticeship in 1810. He heard echoes of Fichte's, Schelling's and above all Kant's views from the pulpits and from the works of contemporary philosophers. The way in which Schopenhauer turned the views of his great predecessors, especially Kant and Fichte, into elements of his own system of ideas can be understood by examining the period of his life that preceded his preoccupation with philosophy. Schopenhauer's youthful life[ 3 ] Arthur Schopenhauer was born in Danzig on February 22, 1788. His father, Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer, lived in this city as a wealthy merchant. He was a man of thorough professional training, great worldly experience, rare strength of character and a sense of independence that nothing could overcome. His mother Johanna Henriette, née Trosiener, was a fun-loving, artistic woman who was extremely open to intellectual pleasures and had a strong penchant for socializing, which she could easily satisfy with her intelligence and intellectual alertness. Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer was 41 and Johanna 22 years old when Arthur, their first child, was born from their marriage in 1785. He was followed in 1797 by the second and last, Adele. The philosopher's parents had not been driven to marry by rapturous passion. But the relationship, based on mutual respect, must have been a very happy one. Johanna speaks about it with the words: "I could be proud to belong to this man, and I was. I feigned ardent love for him just as little as he laid claim to it." [ 4 ] In 1793, the previously free city of Danzig was incorporated into the Prussian state. Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer did not like the idea of becoming a Prussian subject. He therefore emigrated to Hamburg with his wife and child. In the years that followed, the small family traveled frequently. The reason for this was Johanna's longing for a change in living conditions, for ever new impressions, and her husband's intention to give his son the widest possible knowledge of the world based on his own experience. Arthur's father had decided that he should become a capable merchant and a man of the world. All educational measures were undertaken with this in mind. The boy received his first lessons at a private institute in Hamburg. At the age of ten, he embarked on a long journey with his father to France, where he spent the next two years of his life. After Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer had shown his son Paris, he took him to Havre to leave him with a business friend, Grégoire de Blésimaire. The latter had the young Schopenhauer educated together with his own son. The result of this education was that Arthur returned, to his father's great delight, as a perfect young Frenchman who had acquired a great deal of appropriate knowledge and had forgotten his mother tongue to such an extent that he could only make himself understood with difficulty in it. But the twelve-year-old boy also brought back the most pleasant memories from France. In his 31st year, he said of this stay: "I spent by far the happiest part of my childhood in that friendly town on the Seine estuary and the sea coast." After returning to his parents' home, Arthur Schopenhauer attended a private educational establishment run by Dr. Runge and attended by the sons of wealthy Hamburgers. At this school, pupils were taught what was needed to turn them into capable and socially educated businessmen. Latin was taught for one hour a week, just for the sake of appearances. Arthur Schopenhauer enjoyed these lessons for almost four years. What he was taught here in the sciences was presented to him in a form appropriate to the practical goals of the future merchant. But it was enough to awaken in him a powerful inclination towards a scholarly career. His father did not like this at all. In his opinion, he found himself in the embarrassing position of having to choose between two things: the present wishes of his beloved son and his future happiness. Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer thought that the academic profession could only bring a man poverty and worry, not happiness and contentment. Forcing his son into a profession was contrary to the nature of his father, who considered freedom to be one of man's greatest possessions. However, he considered a ruse to be appropriate and expedient to dissuade the young man from his inclination. Arthur had to decide quickly: either to go on a long pleasure trip through a large part of Europe, which his parents wanted to undertake, and on his return to devote himself definitively to the mercantile profession, or to stay behind in Hamburg to begin his Latin studies immediately and prepare himself for the learned profession. The wonderful expectations that the thought of the journey aroused in the young Schopenhauer caused him to repress his love of science and choose the profession that appealed to his father. This was a decision that his father foresaw, as he was well aware of his son's desire to see the world. Arthur Schopenhauer left Hamburg with his parents in the spring of 1803. The next destination was Holland, then the journey continued to England. After a stay of six weeks in London, Arthur was left behind in Wimbledon for three months to learn the English language thoroughly with Mr. Lancaster. During this time, his parents traveled to England and Scotland. The stay in England engendered in Schopenhauer the hatred of English bigotry that remained with the philosopher throughout his life, but it also laid the foundation for the thorough mastery of the English language that later made him appear as such in conversation with Englishmen. Life in Lancaster's boarding house did not suit Schopenhauer very well. In letters to his parents, he complained of boredom and the stiff, ceremonial nature of the English. He was overcome by a general mood which, it seems, could only be dispelled by a preoccupation with fine literature, especially the works of Schiller. We can see from his mother's letters that she was worried that her son's fondness for poetic reading might blunt him to the seriousness of life. "Believe me," she wrote to him on July 19, 1803, "Schiller himself would never be what he is if he had only read poets in his youth." From England, the Schopenhauer family traveled to France via Holland and Belgium. They visited Havre again and spent some time in Paris. In January 1804, the journey continued to the south of France. Schopenhauer got to know Bordeaux, Montpellier, Nimes, Marseille, Toulon, the Hyeric Islands and Lyon. From Lyon, the travelers turned to Switzerland, then to Swabia, Bavaria, Vienna, Dresden and Berlin. The impressions that Schopenhauer received during the course of the journey were profound. In Paris, he saw Napoleon shortly before he forced his way to the imperial crown (May 18, 1804). In Lyon, his mind was stirred by the sight of several places that recalled the atrocities of the Revolution. And everywhere it was especially the scenes of human misery that he viewed with deep sympathy for the unfortunate and oppressed. For example, he was seized with an unnameable sense of pain when he saw the terrible fate of six thousand galley slaves in the Bagno of Toulon. He thought he was looking into an abyss of human misfortune. But he was also filled with joy when he saw the magnificent works of nature during his journey, a feeling that increased in Switzerland at the sight of Mont Blanc or the Rhine Falls near Schaffhausen to the point of rapture at the sublimity of nature's workings. Later, in Book 3 of Volume II of his main work, he compared genius to the mighty Alpine mountain, because the frequently noted gloomy mood of highly gifted spirits reminded him of the summit, which is usually shrouded in a veil of clouds, and the peculiar cheerfulness that occasionally emerges from the general gloomy mood of genius reminds him of the magical glow of light that becomes visible when the veil of clouds breaks early in the morning and the summit becomes clear. The Krkonoše Mountains in Bohemia, which were visited on the way from Vienna to Dresden, also made a significant impression on Schopenhauer. Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer started his journey home from Berlin, while Arthur traveled with his mother to his native city of Danzig, where he was confirmed. In the early days of 1805, the now seventeen-year-old young man arrived back in Hamburg. He now had to keep his father's word and dedicate himself to the commercial profession without refusal. He was apprenticed to Senator Jenisch in Hamburg. Once awakened, his love of the sciences could not be stifled. The merchant's apprentice felt unhappy. After the long journey, on which new images had been presented to the onlooker's eye every day, he could not bear the monotony of his professional work; after the relaxed lifestyle of the past years, the necessary regularity in his 'activities seemed like servitude to him. Without any inner involvement in the duties of his profession, he only did the bare minimum. On the other hand, he used every free moment to read or to indulge in his own thoughts and reveries. He even resorted to cunning pretenses towards his teacher when he wanted to have a few free hours to attend the lectures on craniology given by Doctor Gall, who was in Hamburg at the time. [ 5 ] This was Arthur Schopenhauer's situation in April 1805, when his father's life ended suddenly when he fell from a loft. Whether the man, who was suffering from memory loss in his final weeks, sought 'death' himself or found it by chance is still unclear today. The son's gloomy mood was heightened by this event to such an extent that it was little short of true melancholy. The mother moved to Weimar with her daughter in 1806, after the business had been liquidated. She thirsted for the intellectual stimuli of this city of art. Arthur's striving for liberation from torturous circumstances now met with no external resistance. He was his own master. His mother exercised no coercion. Nevertheless, there were reasons that prevented him from throwing off the hated shackles immediately after his father's death. He loved his father dearly. It was contrary to his feelings to take a step that the deceased would never have approved of. Also, the overwhelming pain of the sudden loss had so paralyzed his energy that he could not make a quick decision. To all this was added the fact that he believed himself too old to be able to undertake the preliminary studies necessary for the scholarly profession. His ever-increasing aversion to the commercial profession and the belief that he was wasting his life's energies in vain filled his letters to his mother in Weimar with miserable complaints, so that she considered it her duty to ask her friend, the famous art writer Fernow, for advice on what to do in the interests of her son's future happiness. Fernow wrote to her friend with his opinion. He considered the age of eighteen to be no obstacle to devoting oneself to the sciences; indeed, he claimed that it was at this happy age that "memory and judgment unite in the maturing power of the mind, so that what is undertaken with firm resolution can be carried out more easily and quickly, and knowledge can be acquired sooner than in an earlier or later period of life". Schopenhauer, to whom his mother sent Fernow's letter, was so shocked by its contents that he burst into tears after reading it. Fernow's lines brought about what was otherwise not in his nature: to make a decision quickly. The time from the spring of 1807 to the fall of 1809 was enough for Schopenhauer to acquire the knowledge he needed to attend university. He lived in Gotha until the beginning of 1808, where Döring taught him Latin and Jacobs German. He spent the rest of his time in Weimar, where Fernow introduced him to Italian literature. In addition to the old languages, in which the philologist Passow and the grammar school director Lenz were his teachers, he studied mathematics and history. On October 9, he entered the University of Göttingen to study medicine. A year later, he swapped medicine for philosophy. The student years. Relationship with Kant and Fichte[ 6 ] As a personality whose character traits were already sharply defined, who had already formed firm opinions on many things on the basis of substantial experiences and a rich knowledge of the world, Schopenhauer entered the study of philosophy. At the beginning of his time at university, he once said to Wieland: "Life is a miserable thing; I have resolved to do mine by thinking about it." Life made him a philosopher. It also determined the philosophical tasks he devoted himself to solving. In this he differs from his predecessors: Kant, Fichte and Schelling, as well as from his antipode Hegel. These were philosophers for whom their tasks arose from the consideration of other people's views. Kant's thinking was given a decisive impetus by delving into Hume's writings, Fichte's and Schelling's work was given direction by Kant's critiques, Hegel's thoughts also developed from those of his predecessors. The ideas of these thinkers are therefore links in a continuous series of developments. Even if each of the philosophers mentioned sought in the foreign systems of thought that inspired him those germs whose further development corresponded precisely to his individuality, it is still possible to trace the series of developments described purely logically, without taking into account the personal bearers of the ideas. It is as if one thought had brought forth another without any human being having been active in the process. For Schopenhauer, on the other hand, a large number of individual doubts and puzzles arose from his experiences, from the direct observation of human conditions and natural events, to which his travels gave him the opportunity, before he knew what others thought about the life of the spirit and the workings of nature. The questions posed to him by his experiences had a thoroughly individual and often coincidental character. This is why he occupies an isolated position in German philosophy. He took the elements for solving his tasks from everywhere: from contemporaries and from philosophers of the past. The question as to why these elements have become elements of a body of thought can only be answered by examining Schopenhauer's individual personality. Fichte's, Schelling's, Hegel's philosophical systems arouse the feeling that they had to follow Kant's because they were logically demanded by it; of Schopenhauer's, on the other hand, it is quite easy to imagine that we would have missed it entirely in the history of philosophy if the creator's life had taken a different turn by some accident before his productive period. The peculiar charm of Schopenhauer's world of ideas is due to this character. Because it has its sources in individual life, it corresponds to the philosophical needs of many people who, without seeking special expertise, nevertheless want to hear an opinion on the most important questions of life. [ 7 ] Some of Schopenhauer's philosophical statements are merely views wrapped in a scientific garment, which life before his philosophical studies had produced in him. His starting point is not a principle from which all philosophical science can be derived, but rather individual basic views on various aspects of world events emerge from the whole of his personality, which only later coalesce into a unity. Schopenhauer therefore compares his world of thought to a crystal whose parts shoot together from all sides to form a whole. [ 8 ] One of these basic views developed in Schopenhauer as a result of the influence that his Göttingen teacher Gottlob Ernst Schulze had on him. The latter described Kant and Plato to the young philosopher as the thinkers he should adhere to first and foremost. Schulze himself had appeared as an opponent of Kant in his 1792 publication "Aenesidemus". Schopenhauer had the good fortune to have Kant pointed out to him by a man who also had the ability to draw attention to the philosopher's contradictions. [ 9 ] Kant endeavored to seek out the conditions under which the human striving for knowledge can arrive at truths of unconditional and necessary certainty. The Leibniz-Wolffian philosophy, of which Kant was a follower until his in-depth study of Hume's writings, believed that such truths could be spun out of pure reason through purely conceptual thinking. It contrasted these pure rational truths with the knowledge of experience gained through observation of the outer life of nature and the inner life of the soul. According to this view, the latter are not made up of clear, transparent concepts, but of confused and dark ideas. Therefore, this philosophical way of thinking wanted to develop the most valuable insights into the deeper connection of natural events, the nature of the soul and the existence of God from pure concepts of reason. Kant professed these views until he was completely shaken in his convictions by Hume's remarks on the concepts of cause and effect. Hume (1711 to 1776) sought to prove that we can never gain insight into the connection between cause and effect through mere reason. According to Hume, the concept of causation comes from experience. We perceive the emergence of fire and then the heating of the air surrounding it. We have observed the same sequence of these perceptions countless times. We get used to it and assume that we will always observe the same thing as soon as the same conditions are met. But we can never gain an objective certainty about this, for it is impossible to see with the help of mere concepts that something must necessarily follow because something else precedes it. Experience only tells us that up to a certain point in time a certain event has always resulted in a certain other event, but not that the one must result in the other, i.e. that it will not be different in the future. All our knowledge about nature and about the life of our soul is made up of complexes of ideas that have formed in our soul on the basis of observed connections between things and events. Reason can find nothing in itself that gives it the right to connect one idea with another, i.e. to make a cognitive judgment. From the moment Kant recognized the significance of Hume's investigations, his thinking took on a completely new direction. But he arrived at different conclusions from Hume himself as a result of Hume's considerations. He agreed with Hume that we cannot gain any information about a connection lying in things from mere reason. What laws things have in themselves, our reason cannot decide; only the things themselves can teach us. He also agreed with Hume that there is no unconditional and necessary certainty in the information that experience gives us about the connection between things. But on this, Kant maintained, we have perfect certainty that things must stand in the relation of cause and effect and in other similar relations. Kant did not lose his belief in absolutely necessary knowledge about reality as a result of Hume's statements. The question arose for him: How can we know something absolutely certain about the connection between things and events in reality, even though reason cannot decide how things relate to each other by their very nature and experience does not provide any absolutely certain information? Kant's answer to this question was: The necessary connection in which we see the things and phenomena we perceive does not lie in these things themselves, but in our organization. It is not because one event necessarily follows from another that we notice such a connection, but because our mind is so organized that it must connect things according to the concepts of cause and effect. Thus it does not depend on the things at all, but on us, in what relations they appear to us. Kant allows only sensations to be given by an external power. Their arrangement in space and time and their connection through concepts such as cause and effect, unity and multiplicity, possibility and reality, is, in his view, only accomplished by our mental organism. Our sensuality is such that it can only look at sensations in space and time, our intellect such that it can only think of them in certain conceptual relationships. Kant is therefore of the opinion that our sensuality and our intellect prescribe the laws of their connection to things and events. Whatever is to become the object of our experience must obey these laws. An examination of our organization reveals the conditions under which all objects of experience must necessarily appear. From this view arose for Kant the necessity of attributing to experience a character dependent on the human faculty of cognition. We do not know things as they are in themselves, but as our organization makes them appear to us. Our experience therefore contains only appearances, not things in themselves. Kant was led to this conviction by the train of ideas that Hume stimulated in him. [ 10 ] Schopenhauer describes the change brought about in his mind by these thoughts as a spiritual rebirth. They fill him with all the greater satisfaction as he finds them in full agreement with the views of the other philosopher to whom Schulze had pointed him, those of Plato. The latter says: "As long as we relate to the world merely perceptively, we are like people who sit in a dark cave so tightly bound that they cannot turn their heads, and see nothing but by the light of a fire burning behind them, on the wall opposite them, the shadowy images of real things passing between them and the fire, and indeed of each other, and each of themselves only the shadows. Just as these shadows relate to the real things, so our objects of perception, according to Plato's conviction, relate to the Ideas, which are the objects of perception. The objects of perception arise and pass away, the ideas are eternal. Schopenhauer found the same view in Kant as in Plato: that the visible world has no true being. Schopenhauer soon regarded this as an incontrovertible, indeed as the first and most universal truth. For him it took the following form: I gain knowledge of things insofar as I see them, hear them, feel them, etc., in a word: insofar as I imagine them. An object becomes my object of knowledge means: it becomes my imagination. Heaven, earth, etc., are therefore my conceptions, for the thing in itself that corresponds to them has become my object only because it has assumed the character of conception. Schopenhauer took from the thought worlds of Kant and Plato the germ of those parts of his philosophical system in which he treats the world as imagination. [ 11 ] Schopenhauer considered the distinction between appearance and "thing-in-itself" to be Kant's greatest merit; however, he found Kant's remarks on the "thing-in-itself" itself to be completely misguided. This error also gave rise to Schulze's fight against Kant. According to Kant, things in themselves are the external causes of the sensations that occur in our sensory organs. But how do we arrive at the assumption of such causes, asks Schulze and with him Schopenhauer. Cause and effect are connected merely because our organization demands it, and yet are these concepts to be applied to a realm that is beyond our organism? Can the laws of our organism also be decisive beyond it? These considerations led Schopenhauer to seek a different path to the "thing-in-itself" than the one taken by Kant. [ 12 ] Such a path is outlined in J. G. Fichte's Wissenschaftslehre. It took its most mature form in the lectures that Fichte gave at the University of Berlin between 1810 and 1814. Schopenhauer went to Berlin in the fall of 1811 to continue his studies. "He listened very attentively to Fichte lecturing on his philosophy," he later said in the description of his curriculum vitae, which he submitted to the Faculty of Philosophy in Berlin when he wanted to become a private lecturer. We learn the content of Fichte's lectures from his "Sämtliche Werke Vol. 2 und aus seinem Nachlaß Vol. i". The doctrine of science is based on the concept of knowledge, not that of being. For man can only learn something about being through his knowledge. Knowledge is not something 'dead, finished, but a living becoming. The objects of knowledge arise through its activity. It is characteristic of everyday consciousness that it notices the objects of knowledge, but not their emergence. Insight into this emergence comes to those who reflect on their own activity. Such a person sees how he himself creates the entire world existing in space and time. According to Fichte, this creation is a fact that one notices as soon as one pays attention to it. However, one must have an organ that is capable of overhearing knowledge as it is produced, just as one must have an eye in order to see colors. To him who has this organ, the perceptible world appears as a creature of knowledge, arising and passing away with knowledge. Its objects are not permanent beings, but passing images. Everyone can only observe the production of these images in themselves. Through self-perception, each person recognizes in the things given to his knowledge a world of images created by himself. This is only a subjective appearance whose meaning does not extend beyond the individual human being. The question arises: Are these images the only thing that exists? Are we ourselves nothing but this activity that creates the appearance? The question can be answered by reflecting on man's moral ideals. Of these it is clear without further ado that they are to be realized. And it is also absolutely certain that they must be realized not only by this or that human individual, but by all men. This necessity is inherent in the content of these ideals. They are a unity that embraces all individuals. Every human being perceives them as ought. They can only be realized through the will. But if the expressions of the will of the individuals are to harmonize into a unified world order, they must be founded in a single universal will. What wills in any individual is in essence the same as what wills in all others. What the will accomplishes must appear in the corporeal world; it is the scene of its activity. This is only possible if its laws are such that it can absorb the activity of the will into itself. There must be an original correspondence between the driving forces of the corporeal world and the will. The doctrine of science thus leads to a unified world principle, which manifests itself in the physical world as force and in the moral order as will. As soon as man finds the will within himself, he gains the conviction that there is a world independent of his individual. The will is not the knowledge of the individual, but the form of being. The world is knowledge and will. In the realization of moral ideals, the will has a content, and insofar as human life participates in this realization, it acquires an absolute value that it would not have if it existed merely in the images of knowledge. Fichte sees the will as the "thing in itself" independent of knowledge. All we recognize of the world of being is that it is will. [ 13 ] The view that the will that man encounters in himself is a "thing in itself" is also Schopenhauer's view. He, too, is of the opinion that in our knowledge we have given only the images produced by us, but in our will we have given a being independent of us. The will must remain when knowledge is extinguished. The active will shows itself through the actions of my body. When the organism does something, it is the will that drives it to do it. Now I also learn about the actions of my body through my knowledge, which creates a picture of it for me. Schopenhauer says, according to the expression into which he has put Kant's basic view (cf. p. 245): I imagine these actions. This imagination of mine corresponds to a being independent of me, which is will. What we know of the activity in our own bodies, Schopenhauer also seeks to prove of that of the rest of nature: that it is, according to its being, will. This view of the will is the second of the links that make up Schopenhauer's philosophy. [ 14 ] In the absence of historical evidence, it is impossible to determine how much of Schopenhauer's doctrine of will was influenced by Fichte. Schopenhauer himself denied any influence on the part of his Berlin teacher. He disliked the way Fichte taught and wrote. Given the striking agreement between the views of the two philosophers and the fact that Schopenhauer listened "attentively" to Fichte's lectures and even once had a lively discussion with him during a consultation, it is difficult to reject the idea of such influence. It was therefore in Göttingen and Berlin that Schopenhauer was first inspired when he based his system of thought on the two principles: "The world is my imagination" and "The world is will." The influence of Goethe[ 15 ] In the spring of 1813, Schopenhauer left Berlin due to the unrest of the war and went to Weimar via Dresden. He did not like the conditions in his mother's house, so he initially settled in Rudolstadt. In the summer of 1813, he worked on part of his theory of ideas. All our ideas are objects of our cognizing subject. But nothing existing and independent on its own, nor anything separate and torn off, can become an object for us. The ideas stand in a lawful connection which is given to them by our cognitive faculty and which can be recognized in form from its nature. The ideas must stand in such a relation to each other that we can say: one is grounded in the other. Reason and consequence is the general form of the connection between all ideas. There are four kinds of grounding: the ground of becoming, of cognition, of being and of volition. In becoming, one change is justified by another in time; in cognizing, one judgment by another, or by an experience; in being, the position of one part of time or space by another; in willing, an action by a motive. Schopenhauer gave a detailed account of what he had to say about these propositions in his essay "On the Fourfold Root of the Theorem of the Sufficient Ground", which earned him the degree of Doctor of Philosophy from the University of Jena on October 2, 1813. In November of that year he returned to Weimar, where he remained until May 1814 and lived in close contact with Goethe. Goethe had read Schopenhauer's first work and was so interested in the author that he personally introduced him to the theory of colors. Schopenhauer found that his philosophical convictions and Goethe's Theory of Colors were in perfect agreement. He decided to justify this in a special treatise, which he began to write after moving to Dresden in May 1814. His thoughts on the nature of sensory perception also developed in the process. Kant was of the opinion that sensations arise from the excitation of the senses by "things in themselves"; these are the simple impressions of color, light, sound, etc. As these come from outside, they are not yet arranged in space and time. For this order is based on an arrangement of the senses. The outer senses arrange the sensations in space, the inner sense in time. This gives rise to perception. According to its nature, the intellect then arranges the perceptions according to the concepts of cause and effect, unity and multiplicity: Cause and effect, unity, multiplicity, etc. In this way a coherent experience is formed from the individual perceptions. Schopenhauer finds the senses quite unsuitable for the production of perception. The senses contain nothing but sensation. The sensations of color, for example, arise through an effect on the retina in the eye. They are processes within the organism. They can therefore only be perceived directly as states of the body and within it. The inner sense initially arranges the sensations in time so that they gradually enter consciousness. They only acquire spatial relationships when they are perceived as effects and an external cause is inferred from them. The arrangement according to cause and effect is a matter for the intellect. It regards sensations as effects and transfers their causes into space. It takes possession of the material of sensation and constructs the views in space from it. These are therefore the work of the intellect and not of the senses*. Since the objects that are seen and felt in space are derived from the senses 1 Since the colors are first built up from the semantic perceptions, they cannot be derived from them. Therefore, colors, which are sensations, cannot be derived from objects, as Newton does. They are created by the eye and must be explained by the eye's equipment. It must be shown how the retina produces colors. Only the cause of colors, light, which is still entirely uncolored, can be transferred to the outside. Goethe also assumes the uncolored light in his Theory of Colors. Schopenhauer's work "On Sight and Colors" was published in 1816. Goethe had already received the manuscript from the author for review in 1815. The main work[ 16 ] Schopenhauer stayed in Dresden until September 1818, a period dedicated to the completion of his main work "The World as Will and Representation". New ideas were added to those developed in Göttingen, Berlin and Weimar and initially recorded in short aphorisms. Frauenstädt published a number of these aphorisms in his book "Aus Schopenhauers Nachlaß". Schopenhauer lived in particularly happy circumstances while he was writing them. His creative energy was stimulated by his contact with men of letters, who held him in high esteem for his abilities. The picture gallery and the collection of antique statues satisfied his aesthetic needs. They stimulated his thinking about art and artistic creation. From March 1817 to March 1818, he summarized the individual ideas of his philosophy into a whole. The remarks on perception, which were already contained in the work on colors, also form the beginning of "The World as Will and Representation". The intellect creates the external world and brings its phenomena into a context according to the law of cause and consequence, which has the four forms indicated. Kant ascribed twelve modes of connection (categories) to the intellect; Schopenhauer can only recognize those of reason and consequence (causality). Through the intellect we have given the vivid world. In addition to the intellect, reason is also active in man. It forms concepts from the views. It seeks out what different views have in common and forms abstract units from them. In this way it brings larger parts of experience under one thought. As a result, man does not merely live in his immediate present view, but can draw conclusions about the future from past and present events. He gains an overview of life and can also organize his actions accordingly. This distinguishes him from the animal. The latter has views, but no concepts of reason. Its actions are determined by the impressions of the immediate present. Man is guided by his reason. But reason cannot generate content on its own. It is only the reflection of the visual world. Therefore, it cannot produce moral ideals that are independent of experience and that shine before action as an unconditionally commanding ought, as Kant and Fichte claim. The rules according to which man organizes his actions are taken from his life experiences. Understanding and reason have their organ in the brain. Without the brain there are no views and no concepts. The whole world of imagination is a phenomenon of the brain. In itself there is only the will. This contains no moral ideals; we know it only as a dark urge, as an eternal striving. It gives rise to the brain and thus to understanding and reason. The brain creates the objective world, which man surveys as experience subject to the law of reason. The ideas are arranged spatially and temporally. They form nature in this order. The will is non-spatial and non-temporal, for space and time are created by the cognizing consciousness. The will is therefore a unity in itself; it is one and the same in all phenomena. As an appearance, the world consists of a multiplicity of things or individuals. As a thing in itself it is a wholeness. The individuals arise when consciousness confronts the object as subject and observes it according to the law of the ground. But there is another way of looking at it. Man can go beyond the mere individual. He can seek in the individual thing that which is independent of space, time and causality. In every individual there is something permanent that is not limited to the individual object. A particular horse is conditioned by the causes from which it emerged. But there is something in the horse that remains, even if the horse is destroyed again. This something that remains is not only contained in this particular horse, but in every horse. It cannot be produced by the causes which only bring about the creation of this one particular horse. That which remains is the idea of the horse. The causes embody this idea only in a single individual. The idea is therefore not subject to space, time and causality. It is therefore closer to the will than the individual. The idea is not directly contained anywhere in nature. Man only sees it when he looks away from the individual nature of things. This happens through the imagination. The material embodiment of ideas is art. The artist does not copy nature, but imprints on matter what his imagination sees. Music is an exception. It does not embody ideas. For even if ideas are not directly contained in nature, the imagination can only extract them from nature by searching for what remains in individuals. These are the models of art. Music, however, has no model in nature. Musical works of art do not depict anything in nature. Man creates them out of himself. But since there is nothing in him, apart from ideas and concepts, that he could represent other than the will, music is the direct image of the will. It speaks so much to the human mind because it is the embodiment of that which constitutes the innermost essence, the true being of man. This view of music is rooted in ideas that we find in Schopenhauer long before he became involved in philosophy. As a Hamburg merchant's apprentice, he wrote to his mother: "How did the heavenly seed find room on our hard soil, on which necessity and shortcomings fight for every little place? We are banished from the primal spirit and are not meant to reach it.... And yet a compassionate angel has implored the heavenly flower for us and it is rooted high in full glory on this soil of misery. - The pulsations of the divine art of music have not ceased to beat through the centuries of barbarism, and a direct echo of the eternal has remained in it, comprehensible to every sense and elevated even above vice and virtue." This idea of youth confronts us in philosophical form in Schopenhauer's main work. [ 17 ] The same passage in the letter also contains a thought that took on a scientific form in the last section of the book "The World as Will and Representation": that of a general end of the world and of the nothingness of existence. The will is an eternal striving. It is in its nature that it can never be satisfied. For when it reaches a goal, it must immediately continue on to a new one. If it ceased to strive, it would no longer be will. Since human life is by its very nature will, there is no satisfaction in it, but only eternal longing for such satisfaction. Deprivation causes pain. This is therefore necessarily connected with life. All joy and happiness can only be based on illusion. Satisfaction is only possible through illusion, which is destroyed by reflecting on the true nature of the world. The world is void. Only those who fully realize this are wise. The contemplation of eternal ideas and their embodiment in art can for a moment take us beyond the misery of the world, for the aesthetically pleasurable person immerses himself in the eternal ideas and knows nothing of the particular sufferings of his individual. He behaves in a purely recognizing way, not wanting, and therefore not suffering. Suffering, however, returns immediately when he is thrown back into everyday life. The only salvation from misery is not to will at all, to kill the will within oneself. This is done by suppressing all desires, by asceticism. The wise man will extinguish all desires within himself, completely negate his will. He knows no motive that could compel him to will. His striving is directed towards only one thing: redemption from life. This is no longer a motive, but a quest. Every individual will is determined by the general will and is therefore unfree; only the universal will is not determined by anything and is therefore free. Only the negation of the will is an act of freedom, because it cannot be brought about by an individual act of will, but by the one will itself. All individual willing is the willing of a motive, hence the affirmation of the will. [ 18 ] Suicide does not bring about a negation of the will. The suicide destroys only his particular individual; not the will, but only a manifestation of the will. Asceticism, however, does not merely annihilate the individual, but the will itself within the individual. It must ultimately lead to the complete extinction of all being, to redemption from all suffering. If the will disappears, then every appearance is also destroyed. The world has then entered into eternal rest, into nothingness, in which alone there is no suffering, thus bliss. [ 19 ] The will is a unity. It is one and the same in all beings. Man is only an individual in appearance, in being only the expression of the general will of the world. One human being is not in truth separate from the other. What the latter suffers, the latter must also regard as his own suffering, he must suffer with it. Compassion is the expression of the fact that no one has a particular suffering, but that everyone feels the general suffering. Compassion is the basis of morality. It destroys egoism, which only seeks to alleviate one's own suffering. Compassion causes people to act in a way that is aimed at eliminating the suffering of others. Morality is not based on the principles of reason, but on compassion, i.e. on a feeling. Schopenhauer rejects all rational morality. Its principles are abstractions that only lead to moral, non-egoistic action through connection with a real driving force: compassion. [ 20 ] Schopenhauer's doctrine of salvation and compassion emerged from his doctrine of the will under the influence of Indian views: Brahmanism and Buddhism. Schopenhauer studied Indian religious ideas as early as 1813 in Weimar under the guidance of the Orientalist Friedrich Majer. He continued these studies in Dresden. He read the work "Oupnek' hat", which a Persian prince translated from Indian into Persian in 1640 and of which a Latin translation was published by the Frenchman Anquetil Duperron between 1801 and 1802. According to Brahmanism, all individual beings have emerged from a primordial being to which they return in the course of the world process. Through individualization, the evils and the end of the world have arisen, which will be destroyed as soon as the existence of the individual beings has ceased and only the primordial being will still exist. According to Buddhism, all existence is linked to pain. This would not be destroyed even if there were only one single primordial being. Only the destruction of all existence through renunciation and suppression of the passions can lead to salvation, to nirvana, that is, to the destruction of all existence. [ 21 ] At the end of 1818 (with the date 1819), "The World as Will and Representation" was published by Brockhaus in Leipzig. In the same year, Hegel was appointed to Berlin. Hegel held a completely opposite view to that of Schopenhauer. What for Schopenhauer could only create a reflection of the real, reason, was for Hegel the source of all knowledge. Through reason, man grasps being in its true form, the content of reason is the content of being; the world is the appearance of the rational, and life is therefore infinitely valuable because it is the representation of reason. This doctrine soon became the philosophy of the age and remained so until it had to give way to the rule of the natural sciences around the middle of the century. The latter did not want to justify anything from reason, but everything from experience. The flourishing of Hegelian philosophy prevented any influence of Scho penhauer's philosophy. It remained completely unnoticed. In 1835, Schopenhauer received the following information from Brockhaus in response to an inquiry about the sales of his main work: the work had not been distributed at all. A large part of it had had to be turned into waste paper. Stay in Berlin[ 22 ] After completing "The World as Will and Representation", Schopenhauer left Dresden and went to Italy. He saw Florence, Bologna, Rome and Naples. On his return journey, he received news from his sister in Milan that the Hamburg trading house in which his mother and sister had invested their entire fortune, and Schopenhauer himself only part of his fortune, had stopped making payments. This experience made it seem advisable for him to look for a new source of income, as he did not want to depend on his uncertain fortune. He returned to Germany and habilitated at the University of Berlin. He announced the following lecture for the summer semester of 1820: "The whole of philosophy, that is the doctrine of the nature of the world and of the human spirit". He was unable to exert any influence as an academic teacher or as a writer alongside Hegel. For this reason, he did not give any more lectures in the following years, although he continued to announce such lectures in his catalog until 1831. He felt unhappy in Berlin; the location, climate, surroundings, way of life, social conditions: he disliked everything. In addition, he was completely disintegrating due to the property issue with his mother and sister. He himself had lost nothing through his skillful appearance; his mother and sister, on the other hand, had lost 70 percent of their fortune. Embittered by the lack of recognition, loneliness and the rift with his relatives, he left Berlin in May 1822 and spent several years traveling. He went through Switzerland to Italy, spent a winter in Trier, a whole year in Munich and only returned to Berlin in May 1825. In 1831 he moved to Frankfurt am Main. He fled from the cholera that prevailed in Berlin at the time and which he was particularly afraid of because he had a dream on New Year's night from 1830 to 1831 that seemed to point to his imminent death. The creation of the last writings and the growing Rubm[ 23 ] With the exception of the period from July 1832 to June 1833, when Schopenhauer sought recovery from an illness in Mannheim, he spent the rest of his life in Frankfurt in complete solitude, filled with deep resentment at his age, which showed so little understanding for his creations. He lived only for his thoughts and his work, aware that he was not working for his contemporaries, but for a future generation. In 1333 he wrote in his manuscript book: "My contemporaries must not believe that I am now working for them: we have nothing to do with each other; we do not know each other; we pass each other by as strangers. - I write for the individuals who are like me, who live and think here and there in the course of time, communicate with each other only through the works they have left behind and are thus each the consolation of the other." [ 24 ] The publication of "The World as Will and Representation" marked the end of Schopenhauer's production of ideas. What he published later does not contain any new basic ideas, but only expansions of what is already contained in the main work, as well as arguments about his position towards other philosophers and views on particular questions of science and life, from the standpoint of his world view. [ 25 ] Schopenhauer believed he recognized an ally in the battle for his ideas in the natural sciences. At the universities of Göttingen and Berlin, in addition to his philosophical education, he acquired a thorough education in the natural sciences and later informed himself in detail about all advances in the knowledge of nature. On the basis of these studies, he formed the opinion that natural science was moving in such a direction that it must one day arrive at the results that he himself had found through philosophical thinking. He attempted to provide proof of this in his work "The Will in Nature", published in 1836. All research into nature consists of two parts, the description of the forces of nature and the explanation of the laws of nature. The laws of nature, however, are nothing other than the rules that the imagination gives to phenomena. These laws can be explained because they are nothing but the forms of space, time and causality, which stem from the nature of the cognizing subject.The forces of nature cannot be explained, but only described as they present themselves to observation. If we follow the descriptions that natural scientists give of the forces of nature: gravity, magnetism, heat, electricity, etc., we see that these forces are nothing more than the forms of action of the will at various levels. [ 26 ] In the same sense as Schopenhauer gave a more detailed exposition of the doctrine of the will in "Will in Nature", so in "The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics" he expanded the views contained in the main work on the freedom of the will and the basis of morality. The book is composed of two prize papers: one on the "Freedom of the Will", which was crowned by the Norwegian Academy of Sciences in 1839, and the other on the "Foundation of Morals", which was carried out at the instigation of the Danish Academy, but was not crowned by it. [ 27 ] What Schopenhauer still had to say to the world is contained in his last book, "Parerga und Paralipomena", which appeared in 1851. It contained a series of treatises on philosophy, psychology, anthropology, religion and wisdom in a presentation that captivates the reader, because he does not merely read assertions and abstract proofs, but sees through to a personality whose thoughts arise not only from the head, but from the whole person, and who seeks to prove his views not only through logic, but also through feeling and passion. This character of Schopenhauer's last work and the work of some of his followers, whom the philosopher had already won in the forties, made it possible for him to say of himself in the evening of his life: My time has come. Unnoticed for decades, he became a widely read writer in the second half of the century. As early as 1843, F. Dorguth published a pamphlet entitled "The False Root of Ideal Realism", in which he called Schopenhauer "the first real systematic thinker in the entire history of literature". This was followed in 1845 by another by the same author: "Schopenhauer in his truth". Frauenstädt also worked as a writer to spread Schopenhauer's teachings. He had "Letters on Schopenhauer's Philosophy" published in 1854. However, an article by John Oxenford in the "Westminster Review" from April 1853, which Otto Lindner had translated and published in the Vossische Zeitung under the title "Deutsche Philosophie im Auslande", made a particular impression. In it, Schopenhauer is described as a philosophical genius of the first rank; his depth and wealth of ideas are sought to be proven by reprinting individual passages from his works. Lindner himself became an enthusiastic apostle of Schopenhauer's teachings through the "Parerga und Paralipomena", to which he was able to render great service through his position as editor of the Vossische Zeitung. David Asher in particular promoted the understanding of Schopenhauer's ideas on music through essays in German and English journals. And it was these ideas about music that made one of Schopenhauer's most ardent admirers, Richard Wagner, the man who showed the art of music new paths. For him, these ideas were like a new gospel. He saw them as the most profound philosophy of music. The artist, who wanted to express the deepest secrets of existence in musical language, felt a spiritual affinity with the philosopher who declared music to be the image of the will of the world. In December 1854, the sound poet sent the thinker in Frankfurt the text of his "Ring der Nibelungen" with the handwritten dedication: "Out of admiration and gratitude", shortly after Schopenhauer had refused to visit Wagner in Zurich. [ 28 ] Schopenhauer was able to watch his fame grow for about a decade. On September 21, 1860, he died suddenly as a result of a lung attack. Bibliography and text treatment[ 29 ] The last editions of his works published during Schopenhauer's lifetime are: Die vierfache Wurzel des Satzes vom zureichenden Grunde, 2nd edition 1847; Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, 3rd edition 1859; Der Wille in der Natur, 2nd edition 1854; Die beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik, 2nd edition 1860; Parerga und Paralipomena, i. edition 1851; Das Sehn und die Farben, 2nd edition 1854. Schopenhauer produced a Latin translation of the latter work in 1829 for the "Scriptores ophthalmologici minores", which was published in the third volume of this journal in 1830 under the title "'Theoria colorum physiologica". After Schopenhauer's death, Julius Frauenstädt, in accordance with the philosopher's last will and testament, produced new editions of the works, for which he used the manuscript bequest. This consists of manuscript books and hand-copies of the works. The manuscript books are Reisebuch (begun September 1818), Foliant (begun January 1821), Brieftasche (begun May 1822), Quartant (begun November 1824), Adversaria (begun March 1828), Cholerabuch (written while fleeing from cholera, begun September 1831), Cogitata (begun February 1830), Pandektä (begun September 1832), Spicilegia (begun April 1837), Senilia (begun April 1852) and the lectures Schopenhauer gave in Berlin. In these manuscript books, as well as on the pages pasted through the manuscript copies, are Schopenhauer's additions which he intended to include in later editions of his works, as well as remarks on philosophical works, aphorisms, etc.. Frauenstädt published what could not be used for the new editions of the works in 1864 under the title: "Aus Arthur Schopenhauers handschriftlichem Nachlaß. Treatises, Notes, Aphorisms and Fragments". After Frauenstadt's death in 1879, the manuscript books passed into the possession of the Royal Library in Berlin, while the hand-copied copies were passed into private hands. For any complete edition of Schopenhauer's works, Frauenstadt's principle must generally be followed: "I have ... I have proceeded in such a way that I have only included the additions in the text, whether they were written down or quoted from the manuscript books, when, after careful consideration, I found a place for them where they fit in without constraint, not only in terms of content but also in terms of form, i.e. diction; in all other cases, however, where either the strict sequence of thought or the pleasing sentence structure of the text did not permit their inclusion in the same, I have placed them in the most appropriate place either as notes below or as appendices after the text. " However, Frauenstädt sometimes did not apply this principle strictly enough. Therefore, in the present complete edition, all those additions that Frauenstädt included in the text have been removed from the text and relegated to the notes, of which it can be assumed that Schopenhauer, in accordance with the strict demands he placed on style, would never have added them to his works in the first version, but only after a complete reworking. As far as the arrangement of the writings in a complete edition is concerned, several statements by Schopenhauer should be taken into consideration: A letter to Brockhaus dated August 8, 1858, in which, should a complete edition become necessary, he speaks of the following order: i. World as will and imagination. 2. parerga. 3. fourfold root; will in nature; basic problems of ethics; sight and colors. On September 22 of the same year, he was already of a different opinion. He wanted to place the Parerga at the end and let the writings listed earlier under 3. precede it. As you can see, Schopenhauer was vacillating with regard to the order. The present Complete Edition therefore follows the statement he made in the draft of a preface to the Complete Edition about the order in which his works should be read. The following arrangement corresponds to this statement: i. Fourfold root of the proposition of the sufficient ground. 2 World as will and imagination. 3. will in nature. 4. basic problems of ethics. 5. parerga and paralipomena. These writings are followed by the work on "Sight and Colors", which Schopenhauer says in the same passage "goes for itself". Next is the aforementioned Latin translation of this work, followed by what has been published from his estate. The four short descriptions of his life written by Schopenhauer himself form the end of the edition: i. The one attached to his application for the doctorate. 2. the Curriculum vitae, which he sent to Berlin for the purpose of his habilitation. 3. the biography he sent to Eduard Erdmann in April 1851 for use in his History of Philosophy, 4. the one he provided for the Meyersche Konversationslexikon in May of the same year. [ 30 ] A biography of the philosopher was provided by Gwinner in 1862: "Arthur Schopenhauer aus persönlichem Umgange", which was published in 1878 under the title "Schopenhauers Leben" in a second, revised and much enlarged edition. This biography is an invaluable monument to Schopenhauer's personality due to the wealth of material it contains and its vivid portrayal of Schopenhauer's personality, despite the obvious differences in Gwinner's and Schopenhauer's views. In 1893, Kuno Fischer published an account of Schopenhauer's life, character and teachings as the eighth volume of his "History of Modern Philosophy".
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68a. The Essence of Christianity: Religion, Science and Theosophy
31 Jan 1908, Mainz |
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We may recall the moment when Goethe stood in Italy before the great works of art he had longed for so much before coming to Italy. “There is necessity, there is God,” he said when speaking of them. When he wanted to explain why necessity and God shone out of artistic form for him, he said: “I suspect that the Greeks proceeded according to the laws by which nature itself proceeds, and which I am on the trail of. |
In what the old artists created, he saw necessity, God. For him, the genuine artist was the one who caught the spiritual light of God in his soul, as a burning glass catches physical light. |
One could say: There you can see how the disposition of father and mother is inherited. But that does not contradict the fact that a spiritual process is at work behind the physical process. |
68a. The Essence of Christianity: Religion, Science and Theosophy
31 Jan 1908, Mainz |
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What is today referred to as the theosophical movement or the theosophical worldview did not come into existence as a result of recent cultural developments, as did many other movements. The theosophical movement did not arise out of the arbitrary will of a single agitator. Sometimes a movement comes into being through an individual who is able to make an impact on people and to inspire them with his words. The Theosophical movement as such, however, has a completely different basis. It arose out of the realization that humanity needs such a movement, out of the realization that the spiritual treasures that have given people hope and joy since time immemorial must be brought to humanity in a new form. When we look into the soul of a growing child, who is to grow up to face life and be equipped with the powers that prepare him for a healthy life, we see how, from the earliest age, the harshest doubts must take hold in his soul under the impressions of today's education. We see how the child is led into the knowledge of a supersensible world, a world in which answers are to be given to the questions about the riddles of life, to the question of how it relates to death and other serious questions, to all the great riddles of existence, which every human being must have answered not only from a mere feeling. In the face of all these questions, which point to the supernatural, man is plunged into anxious doubt and bitter disappointment, even as a child, when he experiences what today's natural science, seemingly so powerful, presents to man. Especially those people who are predisposed to have the best sense of truth come, in their earliest youth, to the harshest doubts through what comes to them in our time. Many are often dominated by a great sense of apprehension; they do not want to touch on anything that goes beyond the visible. Indifference to these questions is one thing that is found in some people; the other is the bitter division of the soul between what science seems to give on the one hand and religious truths on the other. One may wonder what is better: if a person goes through life indifferently, or experiences the tragic fate of being broken mentally. Perhaps one can say that there are always those who do not fall prey to such doubts. But anyone who understands the signs of the times knows that what is happening now is only the beginning of what will intensify more and more. Something must be offered so that people who, as a result of the findings of science, no longer believe that they can hold on to their belief in the supernatural, can find a way to it again. A way must also be found for those who believe they must break with religious traditions. We see how the best minds of our time see religious creeds as something that was right for a child's age, in their opinion; they need something that satisfies their consciousness. The theosophical worldview is there to open up a path to the primary sources of existence for even the most modern consciousness. Those who seek such a path may recall one of the great minds of modern times, who never uttered the word “theosophy”, but whose entire thinking, feeling and sensing expressed the spirit of theosophy. He said: “He who possesses science and art also has religion; he who does not possess these two, let him have religion.” We may recall the moment when Goethe stood in Italy before the great works of art he had longed for so much before coming to Italy. “There is necessity, there is God,” he said when speaking of them. When he wanted to explain why necessity and God shone out of artistic form for him, he said: “I suspect that the Greeks proceeded according to the laws by which nature itself proceeds, and which I am on the trail of. Let us summarize how Goethe's view of nature, his worldview and religious feeling interacted. Goethe had something of what we want to learn as a theosophical basic feeling. As a child, he already had this feeling. He sought out all sorts of minerals and plants, laid them on a music stand, and then he placed an incense stick on top; he ignited it with a burning glass through the first rays of the sun. In this way, he believed that he was close to the God who emerged from all of nature's works through this sacrifice that he offered him. Are we surprised that such a powerful religious feeling also comes to light in his scientific endeavors later on? Goethe tried to discern how the ancient artists allowed the divine order to shine through in their works of art. In what the old artists created, he saw necessity, God. For him, the genuine artist was the one who caught the spiritual light of God in his soul, as a burning glass catches physical light. When Goethe saw in colors and forms, it appeared to him as genuine art. He who looks into nature longs for its creative interpreter, art. Goethe recognized the close connection between nature and art, how the same laws prevail in both, and for him science is the right one if it leads to this realization. “He who possesses science and art also has religion,” he says. For a mind as high as his, this realization could only give rise to a feeling for God in His lawfulness permeating all of nature. Human nature needs impulses whereby this feeling penetrates into every soul. — Let us take a look at the much-maligned Middle Ages, when a scientific fact had not yet been transmitted through a thousand channels to the simplest human soul. Let us place ourselves in the position of an aspiring, simple human heart, as it was in relation to its teachers, and let us place ourselves in the course of historical events, as it all gradually came about back then, how the new era began and the Copernican world view brought about such a great change in the development of mankind. We want to realize how what is now called Theosophy was not necessary for people of the older times, how the vast majority of humanity at that time received it out of feelings that arose from religious convictions in most of them. It is precisely the development into our time that makes theosophy necessary. If it were not for modern science with its doubts and scruples, which it itself generates, there would be no need for theosophy. Those who are familiar with Theosophy know that in reality there is no contradiction between religious beliefs and scientific truths. Since modern science has been influencing the world, there has been a need for an instrument of knowledge that goes deeper than science, which only looks at the world on the surface. Theosophy is entirely consistent with science. If we delve deeper into Theosophy, we will find that it is completely in line with science. It just goes deeper. It deals with the supersensible, with the superphysical world. The way it deals with it is exactly the same as the way research is done in modern science. Only it has to do with the supersensible world. By dealing with the world in which man himself is a supersensible being, it becomes a kind of religious knowledge. Theosophy does not doubt the truth of real religious knowledge. It wants to give new means to man, who is no longer able to hold on to this religious conviction with the old means. Now that we have seen that the Theosophical worldview does not just correspond to arbitrariness, we want to point out the places where Theosophy has an enlightening and illuminating effect. Natural science is concerned only with that which can be derived from external experience. Since Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, Kirchhoff and [Bunsen], and all those who in our own time have shed light on the material world, with what could this natural science not agree? We could cite a long series of wonderful results of modern science. The theosophist has no reason to withhold his admiration for this world of facts. But modern science has risen to its present eminence precisely because it has limited itself to the periphery of the external world. Du Bois-Reymond, in his Ignorabimus speech at the Natural Scientists' Convention in Leipzig in 1872, said something remarkable about human knowledge. He says that the natural scientist is actually only able to understand the sleeping person, but not the waking person. He says that the natural scientist has to investigate the material foundations of the human being, how the atoms of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen combine in the human brain when any impulse or thought comes about. He says that nothing is yet understood about the actual soul. He quotes Leibniz, who says: Imagine that the brain is so enlarged that you could walk around in it as if it were a factory. Even so, you would not know how the movements arise, nor why they give rise to the sensations: I see red, I smell the scent of roses, I hear the sound of an organ. Du Bois-Reymond did not want to admit to science that it had the possibility of finding out the bridge between the physical movements of the atoms and the mental sensations. Quite right he said: “If we have a sleeping person in front of us, then we can recognize him, because then what we call the inner soul experiences is not there. It has vanished down into an indefinite darkness while man sleeps. Yet something else disappears when we are asleep: what we can call the sense of self, that which is at the center of our being. During sleep, the human being does not feel the experiences of the soul in his ego, pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, etc. It would be the most nonsensical thing imaginable to claim that what says “I” to itself, what smells the scent of roses, hears organ tones, sees colors, that this disappears completely in the evening and is recreated every morning. No explanation based on external sensual facts is capable of saying a word that can resolve this. This is why Du Bois-Reymond was also able to say: The natural scientist can recognize the sleeping human being, but not the waking human being. — When falling asleep, the true human being disappears from the scientific explanation. Only spiritual science can shed light on the true process. The sleeping person leaves his outer cover in bed in the evening and moves back into this body in the morning. He himself disappears into another world in the evening. To study him is the task of theosophy or spiritual science. It is possible to follow this person, but it is not easy for the present person to come to believe in this possibility. The theosophical world view introduces the human being to another world. It speaks of supersensible and superphysical worlds, not in a magical or superstitious sense, but in a completely natural sense, in the sense in which Johann Gottlieb Fichte spoke of them. In the fall of 1813, he said to his audience: “Imagine a world of the blind and born blind, for whom only the things and their relationships that exist through the sense of touch are known. Enter this world and speak to them of colors and the other relationships that exist only through light and for the seeing. Either you talk to them about nothing, and this is the happier outcome, if they say so; for in this way you will soon notice the mistake and, if you are unable to open their eyes, you will stop talking in vain. For the blind from birth, this world of colors and light does not exist. We now imagine that a blind person is operated on in this room, so a whole new world would appear to him, which was there before, but for which he lacked the organ. A world that was not there for him before, now becomes his possession, by receiving a new organ. There are as many worlds for us as we have organs to perceive them. It is the worst kind of illogicality when man wants to limit existence to what is within his reach. — We cannot operate on everyone born blind, but every person has dormant powers and abilities in their soul that can be awakened, what Goethe calls the spiritual eye. Then there comes a moment when a new world opens up for that person. There have been such awakened or initiated ones at all times. When the spiritual organs are awakened, man perceives a new world; what he then perceives is explained to him by the world of the supersensible. Just as there is always light and color around the blind, there are spiritual worlds around people in which spiritual beings exist. Religions have always spoken of these worlds in terms that people could understand. Theosophy speaks of them in terms that are appropriate for the present time. Only those who have glimpsed these spiritual worlds or who know about it from those who have glimpsed it can narrate, communicate and research in relation to these spiritual worlds. To research, looking into it is necessary, but to understand, the ordinary logical human understanding is enough. Many things that people are told about these spiritual worlds may seem fabulous and fantastic to them. But take it as a story. If you immerse yourself in it, you will see that common sense and ordinary human logic are enough to understand it. Even the reports of science are largely accepted without people themselves having followed the path of the researcher and tested everything. How many of those people who consider Haeckel's “History of Creation” to be a gospel have convinced themselves of what is written in it? It is extraordinarily difficult to carry out such tests; for example, the experience of the development of the human germ from stage to stage is something so difficult that one very rarely finds the opportunity to do so. It all looks different when you read about it in a finished, popular work. But even if you can't verify it all yourself, you can still say that you understand and believe. There are higher spiritual methods for exploring the world of the senses, just as there are natural scientific methods. When we apply these methods, it becomes apparent that in sleep the true human being emerges from the human being that our eyes see. The physical human being cannot see this with his physical sense organs. But the awakened eye of the seer sees the I, sees the bearer of desires and passions. Man is there, even in sleep, but his consciousness can only sprout up in him when he plunges back into what his eyes see of the physical body. In the theosophical worldview, we are shown how the true human being exists, who, during sleep, leaves the outer shells, and how this consists of two parts, the actual self and the astral body, the carrier of desires and passions. Two parts of the human being are spiritual. During sleep, from evening until morning, they are in another world. In the morning they re-enter the physical body. Is the physical body itself so simple? We cannot get by with a simple explanation of it either. The same being that sinks into unconsciousness when falling asleep in the evening says “I” to itself again in the morning. The thinking observer of the world must find it understandable when the spiritual researcher tells him: When we look at man from birth to death, we see his nature is by no means exhausted in the physical. Only if we surrender to the most shortsighted prejudice can we stop at what really appears to us as man from the sensual-physical world. If we observe the human being from birth, we see the unfolding qualities of the child as something that is not limited to the physical; we recognize how something spiritual is at work. In the growing human being, too, we see something working its way out from within that was there before the physical forms were there. In the Bach family, about 29 more or less significant musicians lived within 250 years. One could say: There you can see how the disposition of father and mother is inherited. But that does not contradict the fact that a spiritual process is at work behind the physical process. The musical ear is only one particular physiognomy of the inner ear. One inherits the physical from one's ancestors, but one does not inherit that for which the physical is the instrument, the spiritual, from one's ancestors. The spiritual predispositions are bound to the individual. When a person realizes this, he sees something similar in the developing human individuality as in a person waking up in the morning. He says to himself that the spiritual person grows and develops in the developing human being. He does not just see a physical connection, but just as he does not just see a physical process in the waking person, he also sees something spiritual unfolding in the growing person. This other spiritual element that unfolds in the developing human being remains with the sleeping physical human being. The sleeping physical human being remains in bed, but is also still connected to a spiritual element. This spiritual element, which we see gradually unfolding from childhood onwards, what was there before birth, what was there before conception, we call the human etheric body. Just as we see the carrier of feelings, passions and desires in the astral body, we call that which we see growing in the human being the etheric or life body. No plant exists without an etheric or life body. In the plant, it is still limited to regulating the forces of growth and reproduction. But in the human being, it is the carrier of all spiritual abilities, of habits, of memory. In the human being, it increasingly becomes the carrier of a higher spiritual essence, increasingly becoming the spirit of life. Just as the I leaves the human being with the astral body when sleep occurs, so the etheric or life body leaves the physical body at death, and the physical body decays. Thus, Theosophy leads us beyond the riddles of existence; it shows us the reality that is still there when a person passes through the gate of death. The theosophical world view gives us a glimpse of the realms that man passes through when he passes through the gate of sleep, through the gate of death. Through knowledge, through insight, we are introduced to those worlds that are also sought in religions. Modern humanity needs this harmonization, this balance. That is why this world view has been brought to the world. Mankind can now only be seized by such impulses as the young Goethe sought to feel before his altar, as they were alive in the old Goethe when he was inspired by the works of art, if they are again able to penetrate into the higher, spiritual worlds through the knowledge of the theosophical world view. The theosophical world view shows the modern man his connection with the supersensible world again. Without this connection, man cannot remain healthy. The theosophist is aware that not only a world of the senses surrounds man, but also a world of the supersensible. He who knows only this world sensually, loses the sense for this world, and the hope that the physical world is supposed to bring him disappears. Theosophy wants to bring man back to a correct, a strong view of the supersensible world, which not only satisfies curious or tired knowledge, but which makes man, especially in this world, fit for work, full of hope and joy, because he knows: The meaning of this physical world is an eternal one, and because he knows: Everything I do in this sense has an eternal meaning. This gives people joy in their lives, diligence in their work, and that is what makes people healthy for life. |
118. The Advent of Christ in the Ethereal World: The Return of Christ in the Etheric
06 Feb 1910, Kassel |
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If you look into this in more detail, you learn that his name was not Petöfi at all, but that his father was Serbian and his mother Croatian. There was nothing Magyar in him. What was not Hungarian built up in him: that was the external development. |
Within the dark age, we must find that which could not be anywhere else: 3000 years after the beginning of this age, we find the event of Golgotha. Humanity could no longer ascend to the gods. Therefore, a god had to descend. This is what happened with the Christ event. The human ego could only live out itself in the Kali Yuga. |
That is why it is not understood today. Because this God led an earthly life, it was possible to speak of Him in earthly words. That was also a time of transition. |
118. The Advent of Christ in the Ethereal World: The Return of Christ in the Etheric
06 Feb 1910, Kassel |
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Notes from the lecture People who live in abstract concepts and have no particular inclination to engage with spiritual life in its reality very often talk about there being a transitional period here or there when discussing the process of human development. The spiritual researcher cannot be so generous with the words “we live in a transitional period”. Those who really observe spiritual life must know that such times of transition come, and those where the course of development proceeds more evenly. In this sense, we can indeed say that we live in a spiritual transition period. Some of what takes place in it will be the subject of our consideration today. Every development, whether it be the evolution of the individual between birth and death or the evolution of the planets, always has currents within it; it does not proceed in a straight line. Even in the life of the individual we must distinguish between two currents. In the education of the child you can already find one of these currents. This is described in the booklet 'The Education of the Child from the Point of View of Spiritual Science' and also in the second part of 'Occult Science, an Outline of the Principles of the Science of the Spirit', which has just been published. Actually, the human being experiences several births. First, the physical birth. Only what we call the physical body is born. Until then, it was enveloped in the physical mother's body. This first state lasts until the age of seven. Until then, he is surrounded by the etheric sheath. Now, until about sexual maturity, the human being also frees himself from this sheath, and then the astral body is born. At the age of twenty-one, the I is born. If we observe this development, we can say that it takes place in every human being according to certain laws. Certain rules can be followed, which are given in that little book, “The Education of the Child from the Point of View of Spiritual Science”, and it is beneficial if they are followed. But now we come to what is individual for each person: this is an inner current that runs parallel to the first current. The second current proceeds within the first. This second current includes everything from previous lives, from one's own experiences. The difference between the outer and inner currents of development can be recognized in every person, especially in people with significant character traits. Petöfi is a Hungarian poet. His fellow countrymen saw something very special in him. His Hungarian identity is expressed in his lyrical poems. You get to know Magyar will, feeling and thinking from them. If you look into this in more detail, you learn that his name was not Petöfi at all, but that his father was Serbian and his mother Croatian. There was nothing Magyar in him. What was not Hungarian built up in him: that was the external development. Then there is the inner development, which reflects what is there from previous lives: Hungarian in essence. Another example is the German painter Asmus Carstens. He had an overwhelming urge to paint. If you have the opportunity to see the things he created, you will say: These are the things of someone who can't paint at all. But his individuality is in his pictures. He wanted to learn painting from a famous painter, but when the painter went out, he was supposed to operate the coach box. He didn't want that and left. He then went to a wine merchant to learn his trade and had to wash barrels. He then came to Copenhagen. There he was not accepted at the academy because he was too old. He never learned how to paint, had no sense of color, but what he did create has become something significant in art. This is an example of such cases, where there is such a special urge from previous lives, but the outer development is not favorable for it. We must apply such results of spiritual research in life if we want to approach life correctly, otherwise life could prove that we would have missed something. For example: some individuality enters life. It is predestined to accomplish something. But we fail to educate their bodies properly. In the seventeenth or eighteenth year, when crises occur, it becomes apparent that the coverings are not properly formed: the astral body is not formed with the instincts and desires; the etheric body is not formed with the corresponding skills and habits. Then the outer and inner development do not coincide. In milder cases, people lose their inner balance; but a complete disruption of the soul life can also occur. If something like this happens in the crisis years, it is due to nothing more than the non-harmonization of the various currents. We must supply the human ego with concepts and understanding for life: habits for the etheric body, concepts for the astral body. What comes over from the previous life must develop freely. In the great evolution of humanity, we can see how the two currents of development merge. The souls that are now embodied here were previously embodied in the other epochs: in the Greco-Latin, Egyptian, Persian, Indian. The world was different when your souls looked up at the venerable pyramids. If the earth were always the same, then the incarnations would serve no purpose. They make sense because something different occurs each time. Now it could be that one or two or three lives would not have been properly utilized, for example in the Egyptian-Babylonian period. Then something would have been missed that could never be recovered. Inner development runs like a thread through the outer life, through what we can learn from the outer life. Thus a disharmony can also occur between the outer and inner currents of development. Now one could say: What you are telling us is somewhat distressing; it could be that we have neglected something that we can never make up for. First spiritual science brings us enlightenment, and now we can no longer make up for it. But it is not like that. Until now, people were not at all able to choose and neglect freely and independently. Only now does the time begin when souls can miss something. That is why spiritual science is only coming now, so that people can hear what they can miss, to see how people burden themselves with guilt when they miss something. That is why spiritual science is being proclaimed now, because humanity needs it now. The human soul with its abilities was not always as it is today. In the past, people had an old, dim clairvoyance. The waking states were not as developed in ancient times as they are today. Objects were surrounded by an ether aura. Between waking and sleeping, people lived in the spiritual worlds and were there among spiritual-divine beings. In those days, people knew that spiritual worlds existed not only from hearsay but from experience. The further back we go, the more we see man in this spiritual world. The gates of this spiritual world then gradually closed on him. One can indicate such points in time quite accurately. A saying goes that nature does not make leaps. This saying is very inaccurate and inappropriate. Where a green leaf becomes a flower, there is a leap, and so it is. Just as we can indicate the exact point of transition from green leaf to flower, so we can indicate the time when clairvoyance ceased. Of course it happened gradually, but on average it stopped at a certain time. This point in time can be indicated as 3101 BC. At that time people discarded their old clairvoyance. Before that time there was still a dim clairvoyance present, like a memory of an even older clairvoyance. In that early age people really saw clearly into the spiritual world. And there was an even earlier time when people regarded the physical as something highly insignificant. That was the golden age. This was followed by the silver age, in which people also saw into the spiritual worlds. Then came the iron age, in which people had a memory of the old clairvoyance, and then - starting in 3101 - the next age, our age, in which the gates of the spiritual world closed. Krita Yuga is the first, the golden age; the second, 'Treta Yuga, the silver; the third, Dvapara Yuga, the bronze; the fourth, Kali Yuga, also called the dark age, beginning in the year 3101 BC. Within the dark age, we must find that which could not be anywhere else: 3000 years after the beginning of this age, we find the event of Golgotha. Humanity could no longer ascend to the gods. Therefore, a god had to descend. This is what happened with the Christ event. The human ego could only live out itself in the Kali Yuga. Therefore, the event of Golgotha had to take place here. The destinies that can be told with earthly words were those of Christ Jesus. When initiates ascended to the spiritual world in the past, it had to be expressed in spiritual words. That is why it is not understood today. Because this God led an earthly life, it was possible to speak of Him in earthly words. That was also a time of transition. This cannot be expressed more clearly than in the words: Change your soul's disposition, for the Kingdom of Heaven has drawn near to you. The understanding, the connection with the Kingdom of Heaven, can only be found within oneself. You can no longer find it beyond your earthly self, but heaven has come right up to your self. “Blessed are they who are poor in spirit” also points to this. In the past, the spirit was given to them. Now people have become poor. They can now only find the spirit in their own self. It is a childish notion to say that Christ or John the Baptist proclaimed a kingdom that was to return after a thousand years. It should only be hinted that we should enter the kingdom through our own self. Such a special time is here again today. It could be that this time would be slept through. The Latin historian Tacitus does not speak of the Christians as of something significant, but rather as of a new sect. It was said in Rome that in a remote street there was a new sect whose leader was a certain Jesus. How important an aspect can be overlooked! Just as the time of the former transition was important, we are now in a transition period that may not be quite as important, but it is still important. Humanity is acquiring new abilities. These abilities must be applied to increasingly identify the Christ. In 1899, the Kali Yuga had expired. New powers are developing in people, but not only those that can be gained in occult training, as it is written in “Occult Science”. In the coming decades, some people will say that they see people quite differently. Science will no longer be enough for them. People will gradually see the etheric body. Some people will foresee and predict this and that, connections and so on. This will gradually emerge. Two things can now happen. Let us assume that anthroposophy had never existed, never said that it could explain something like this. Then people would say: those who see something like this are insane — and would put them in insane asylums. Or anthroposophy is lucky and finds its way into people's hearts. So we have two developmental currents again: These abilities, just described, develop in the outer human current; but our individuality must grow into these abilities. The human ego must learn to understand what it actually is that is developing. It is not at all necessary that what is now being proclaimed by anthroposophy as prophecy should also be believed and heeded. And if it does not come to what was prophesied, then people would say: You see, it was just a fantasy. — 'But, only those people do not understand it, the development went as it should not have gone. Humanity would wither and freeze. The Christ has only once lived in a physical body. When people in the pre-Christian era were able to see into the spiritual worlds, they were told: There is something else, a spiritual, that is not yet visible today, but a time will come when this will be seen, and then a time will come when this great spirit will live in the physical body. A person who knew about this lived in Palestine, but he did not recognize the Christ. Yet when he clairvoyantly recognized the Christ in the etheric body, he recognized that what he had known was to come had been fulfilled. Then he knew that the Christ had lived. That was the event of Damascus. In his etheric body, the Christ can always be found by the clairvoyant consciousness. When this further development of humanity occurs, people will experience the event of Damascus. The abilities occur with the expiration of the Kali Yuga. And the ability to experience the event of Damascus occurs in the years 1930 to 1940. And if one does not go past this point in time blindly, then one will be able to speak of a coming to Christ. That is what is called in the occult schools: the return of Christ. Then an age will come that will last 2500 years. More and more people will live their way up to the Christ through the anthroposophical view. In the first half of the 20th century, the return of Christ will be able to occur. Deepened and further developed, Christianity will become that. We may say today what was said then: Change your soul's disposition so that you may find the Kingdom of Heaven, which is drawing near! Care must be taken that this time does not pass unrecognized. It will also work through Christ for those who pass through physical death between now and then. Those who die around 1920 will be able to understand in devachan what is happening here at that time, but only if they have acquired an understanding of it in their earthly life and have prepared themselves for it. What has now been said will be said even more often in the next ten years, so that time will not pass unused. It must also be heard by those who are so steeped in materialism that they can only think that Christ can only reappear in a physical body. False messiahs will arise around the middle of the twentieth century who will tell people that they are Christ. And true anthroposophy will know that they are not, that only materialistic ideas are at play. So it is important for anthroposophists to know that spiritual life must be there. We live in an important transitional epoch, we can say. Times are running fast. The Kali Yuga lasted 5000 years. The next epoch will last 2500 years. The coming together with the Christ is what is now imminent. The Christ will not descend to humanity, but humanity will ascend to the Christ. |
198. The Festivals and Their Meaning II: Easter: The Blood-relationship and the Christ-relationship
03 Apr 1920, Dornach Translated by Dorothy S. Osmond, Alan P. Shepherd, Charles Davy |
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He knew that he was born out of the divine and spiritual. Out of God I am born, out of God we are all born—this was a self-evident truth to man in those days, for he beheld its reality. |
In ancient times a man could say: Everything I see in the world reveals to me that objects and beings come from the gods, that their existence is not enclosed within the limits of earthly life. Man was conscious of the eternal nature of his own being, because he knew that he originated from the gods. |
We have the assurance of eternal life, for we come from God and God will take us to Himself again. That, after all, was the knowledge emanating from the ancient, primeval wisdom. |
198. The Festivals and Their Meaning II: Easter: The Blood-relationship and the Christ-relationship
03 Apr 1920, Dornach Translated by Dorothy S. Osmond, Alan P. Shepherd, Charles Davy |
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I spoke yesterday about the part played by the figure of Paul at the beginning of Christianity. Easter is an appropriate occasion for such study, and when we think of the numbers of people in the grip of materialism to-day who have no real right to celebrate an Easter festival, it is obvious that the subject is also very relevant to the conditions of the times. A true Easter impulse needs to be inculcated into present-day Europe and indeed into the whole of the civilised world in order to counter the rapid strides now being taken in the direction of decline. It is very necessary to realise how far men are from any real understanding of the Christ Impulse and how closely this lack of understanding is connected with the symptoms of decline in evidence at the present time. These symptoms show themselves clearly to-day in statements often made by well-intentioned people. In the Basler Nachrichten yesterday you may have read a striking but at the same time tragic article which included the text of a letter from North West Germany. The writer of the letter, with whom the author of the article seems to some extent to agree, emphasises that the universal tendency of the day is to prepare for the destruction of the old without putting anything new in its place, that on all sides—right and left—people are succumbing almost eagerly to illusions. The author of the article himself says: What will come now is the spread of Bolshevism over Europe; that is to be expected, for it is the line of natural development. And then, once people have experienced what Bolshevism really is, something good can emerge. But he adds two or three lines which deserve attention, although the cursory reader will overlook them as he overlooks so many things. The author of the article adds: “It is not these illusions to which people readily succumb to-day that must be heeded, but something else ... We must not listen to what individual dreamers say but detect the general tendencies.” These well-intentioned people are the really difficult ones to deal with. They realise that civilisation is going downhill and are always warning, warning most pessimistically against listening to those who make an attempt to better this miserable state of things. But as a matter of fact they are only representatives of large masses of people who are immediately satisfied whenever some acute crisis is followed by a measure of peace. They are blind to the fact that there is nothing really important about this interval of peace and that the path must inevitably lead downhill until a sufficiently large number of human beings realise that unless a wave of spiritual revival passes over this unhappy Europe, there can be no improvement. It is impossible to make any progress by perpetuating old conditions and least of all is it possible by means of compromises—which are always dangerous because the new that is trying to come to expression is itself compromised. Even in their feelings men could promote the right attitude by thinking of the forcefulness with which a personality like Paul at the great turning-point of history introduced something entirely new into earth-evolution, something that has glimmered on but at the present time is covered by a layer of ashes. This turning-point divided the old from the new age, although the transition is not noticed because it came about so gradually. When men looked out at nature in olden times, they perceived the divine and spiritual in everything. And this perception of the divine and spiritual passed over into the views that were held concerning the social order, the configuration of life that ought to prevail among the masses, from whom individuals came forth as rulers, as priestly leaders. We will not at the moment consider how this configuration of the social life was regulated by the Mysteries, but it was respected and was administered in accordance with something bestowed upon man without action on his part, as a gift proceeding from the unity of nature and spirit. A man who through the circumstances and conditions obtaining at some place or another, became the leader, was recognised and acknowledged as such, because the people said: Divinity itself speaks through him. Just as the divine and spiritual was seen in stones, in mountains, in water, in trees, so too was it seen in an individual man. In those past times it was a matter of course to regard the ruler as a God, that is to say, as one in whom the Godhead was manifest. If people of the present day were a little humbler and did not drag in their own opinion about ancient usages, those usages would be far better understood. To-day, of course, there is no such concept as: a man is a God. But in ancient times there was reality behind it. Just as men saw not merely a flowing stream but the divine and spiritual astir in it, so did they perceive the sway of the divine in the social life, as immediate reality. As time went on, however, this vision of the direct presence of the divine and spiritual grew dimmer and dimmer. Possessing this ancient vision, how did man conceive of his own being? He knew that his being was rooted in the world of the divine and spiritual; he knew that the divine and spiritual is present wherever sense-objects, wherever human beings themselves are, on the physical earth. He knew that he was born out of the divine and spiritual. Out of God I am born, out of God we are all born—this was a self-evident truth to man in those days, for he beheld its reality. It was the outcome of sensory vision. Such a conviction was no longer within man's immediate reach at the time when knowledge of the divine and spiritual was to be brought to humanity in a new form by the impulse proceeding from the Mystery of Golgotha. In ancient times a man could say: Everything I see in the world reveals to me that objects and beings come from the gods, that their existence is not enclosed within the limits of earthly life. Man was conscious of the eternal nature of his own being, because he knew that he originated from the gods. This apprehension of spiritual existence before birth lay at the very root of the old Pagan creeds. The characteristics attributed to Paganism by scholars to-day are no more than conjectures. The essence of Paganism before it fell into decadence, was that men knew: before our birth we were beings of spirit-and-soul; therefore our existence is not limited to earthly life. We have the assurance of eternal life, for we come from God and God will take us to Himself again. That, after all, was the knowledge emanating from the ancient, primeval wisdom. And it can be said that this knowledge came to the various peoples in the form appropriate to each of them, for it was bound up with innate vision of the divine and spiritual in the things of the world of sense. In ancient times, this vision of the divine and spiritual was dependent on the blood, and the particular form in which the primeval wisdom came to a man depended on his blood-relationships, his racial stock and his people. The Jewish people alone were an exception in the sense that although their particular form of the primeval wisdom was bound up with their blood, they regarded themselves as the “chosen people,” as the people who, while possessing their own racial creed, maintained that this contained the true knowledge of the God of all mankind. Whereas the heathen people round about worshipped their racial Divinities, the Jewish people believed their God to be the God of all the earth. This was a transitional stage. When Paul appeared with his interpretation of Christianity there was a fundamental break, with the principle whereby human knowledge was determined by the blood, the principle that had prevailed—and necessarily so—in earlier times. For Paul was the first to declare that neither blood nor identity of race, nor any factor by which human knowledge had been determined in pre-Christian times, could remain, but that man himself must establish his relation to knowledge through inner initiative: that there must be a community of those whom he designated as Christians, a community to which man allies himself in spirit and soul, into which he is not placed by his blood, but of which he himself elects to be a member. Paul was well aware of the need to establish this spiritual community on earth, because the time was approaching when, in respect of external knowledge, man was destined to succumb to materialism. This being so, it was necessary that man's consciousness of his nature of spirit-and-soul should spring from a source other than that of the mere vision of the physical human being living on earth. In olden times it was a matter simply of looking with the eyes, for the spirit-and-soul in a man was immediately manifest. This was so no longer. Knowledge of the spirit-and-soul was to be sought in a different way. In other words, man had perforce to grasp the problem of death, to learn to realise that what can be seen of the human being here on earth through the senses may perish and disintegrate, but that there is within him an entelechy not immediately perceptible in this physical frame, a being who belongs to the spiritual world. The bond between men in this community of Christians was not to be dependent on the blood; for of this dependence it could always be contended, and rightly so, that if men are to recognise their immortality by what is determined by the blood, immortality is not assured, for the blood is the vitalizer and sustainer of that which ends with death—although in ancient times the spirit-and-soul shone through it. The spirit-and-soul must be revealed in its essence and purity if the possibility of understanding the problem of death in a non-materialistic way is not to be lost. The power to speak to men of a being of spirit-and-soul not bound to physical matter was able to work in Paul only because he had himself experienced this super-sensible reality at Damascus. Knowledge of the super-sensible, of the spirit-and-soul was dependent in olden times on the blood; the blood itself brought the revelation of the spirit-and-soul to men in the material world. This was so no longer, and it was therefore necessary for men to turn to something not dependent on the blood. But there was a great danger here—the danger that in the age now dawning, man would still be prone to look to the innate qualities of his own being for spirit-and-soul knowledge. Formerly, this was possible because the blood itself was the bearer of super-sensible knowledge. For men of good will the Event of Golgotha had done away with this dependence, but the general trend of evolution was such that for a time men continued the once well-founded habit in regard to the blood. Without being bearers of the now sanctified blood, they still wanted to understand the divine and spiritual through attributes innate in their human blood. The danger resulting from this consisted in the following, and it is important that this danger should be elucidated.—Man receives his blood through descent, through birth, and when he is 25, 30, 35 years old, he bears this inherited blood within him. In that he is brought into existence by the world-order, he receives his blood. If the blood is itself the guarantee of the existence of the spirit-and-soul, then man can look to the blood. But although little by little the blood had lost the power to be the bearer of the divine and spiritual, men still went on desiring to find in themselves the way to the divine and spiritual through the simple fact of being human. This was less and less possible, for if the blood does not carry into material existence the conviction of the super-sensible, the organism itself can promote no relationship with super-sensible reality. Men came to the point of enquiring into the super-sensible by looking to themselves alone, relying upon what comes with them at birth. But Christianity summons men not to rely upon what is brought into earthly existence at birth; it summons them to undergo a transformation, to allow the soul to develop, to be reborn in Christ, to acquire through effort and training, through earth-life itself, what is not acquired through the mere fact of birth. This could not be grasped all at once and it therefore came about that echoes of the old blood-wisdom persisted right on into the 15th century—and even then a remained the custom to relate the divine and spiritual to descent, to heredity, until in the 19th century even this glimpse of the divine and spiritual was lost and man had eyes for the material alone. Because he was only willing to cognise the divine and spiritual through an organism still untransformed, he lost sight of it altogether, and in the 19th century there befell the great catastrophe; men had forsaken God, had become unchristian, because a situation which had been concealed for a time under the mantle of tradition now came to the surface. Until the rise of Protestantism a Christian tradition was still alive. What the Apostles, the disciples of the Apostles and the Church Fathers imparted through teachers who preserved a living tradition, was linked with the revelation of Golgotha. But the sustaining power of this tradition steadily diminished. Nor were men able of themselves to reach any true understanding of the Event of Golgotha. Then came the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th and 19th centuries, and connection was lost even with tradition, in the end it was to documents alone that a measure of importance was still attached. Protestantism set store by documents, by scripts; tradition had been abandoned. But even a genuine understanding of documents came to an end in the 19th century and the fact is that the body of belief professed by the vast majority of those calling themselves Christians to-day is no longer Christianity. Thus in the 19th century the dire need arose to discover the Event of Golgotha anew, and with this need came the last flare-up of the anti-Christian impulse, which was of course there under the surface but had for a time been cloaked by tradition and by scripture. This element made its way to the surface during the 19th century and reached full force in the 20th, when for the majority of people neither scripture nor tradition have importance any longer. At the same time they have not yet themselves kindled the light which can lead again to an understanding of the Event of Golgotha. To this cause alone are to be attributed the utterly unchristian impulses which laid hold of mankind in the 19th century and have persisted into the 20th. Two of the most unchristian impulses of all are those which took effect in the 19th century. The first impulse which came to the fore and gained an ever stronger hold of men's minds and emotions, was that of nationalism. Here we see the shadow of the old blood-principle. The Christian impulse towards universal humanity was completely overshadowed by the principle of nationalism, because the new way to bring this element of universal humanity to its own had not been found. The anti-Christian impulse makes its appearance first and foremost in the form of nationalism. The old Luciferic principle of the blood comes to life once again in nation-consciousness. We see a revolt against Christianity in the nationalism of the 19th century, which reached its apex in Woodrow Wilson's phrase about the self-determination of nations, whereas the one and only reality befitting the present age would be to overcome nationalism, to eliminate it, and for men to be stirred by the impulse of the human universal. The second phenomenon is that men seek to draw their knowledge of the world, not from awakened powers of soul, but from the material image of these powers only. Vision of the soul has faded, and in his physical being, man is only an image of the divine and spiritual. This image can bring forth intellectualism, but not knowledge of the spirit. A secret of which I have often spoken to you is that man can only recognise and know the spiritual by lifting himself to the spirit; the brain is merely the instrument for intellectual apprehension. Intellectualism and materialistic thinking are one and the same, for all the thinking that goes on in science, in theology, in the sphere of modern Christian consciousness—all of it is merely the product of the human brain, it is materialistic. This manifests itself, on the one side, in formalism of belief; on the other, in Bolshevism. Bolshevism owes its destructive power to the fact that it is a product of the brain pure and simple, of the material brain. I have often described how the material brain really represents a process of decay: materialistic thinking unfolds only through processes of destruction, death-processes, which are taking place in the brain. If this kind of thinking is applied, as it is in Leninism and Trotskyism, to the social order, a destructive process is set in motion inevitably, for such ideas about the social order issue from what is itself the foundation of destruction, namely, the Ahrimanic impulse.—That is the other side of the picture. These two impulses, Nationalism, the Luciferic form of anti-Christianity, and that which culminated in the tenets of Lenin and Trotsky, the Ahrimanic form of anti-Christianity, have insinuated themselves into what ought to have been the Christian impulse of the 19th and 20th centuries. Nationalism and Leninism are the spades with which the grave of Christianity is being dug to-day. And wherever these principles, even in a mild form, become a cult, there the grave of Christianity is being prepared. Those who have insight can discern here a mood that is in the real sense the mood of Easter Saturday. Christianity lies in the grave and men place a stone over the grave. In truth, two stones have been laid over the grave of Christianity—the stones of Nationalism and of external forms of Bolshevism. It now behoves humanity to inaugurate the epoch of Easter Sunday, when the stone or the stones are rolled away. Christianity will not rise from the grave until men overcome nationalistic passions and false forms of socialism; until they learn how to find, out of themselves, the forces that can lead to an understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. When with the mood-of-soul prevailing at the present time, men profess belief in Christ, the Angel can only give the same answer as was given in the days of the Mystery itself: “He Whom ye seek is not here.” At that time He was no longer there, because men had first to find the way through tradition and then through documents and scripts before reaching knowledge of their own concerning the Mystery of Golgotha. The need for such understanding is urgent to-day, for neither scripture nor tradition tell us those things that need to be known; direct knowledge alone can reveal these things. The age must be brought about when the Angel can answer: “He Whom ye seek is here indeed!” But that will not be until the anti-Christian impulses of our time are cast aside. The community which Paul wished to found, a community filled with the consciousness that immortality is assured to man beyond death—this is what must become reality. “In Christo morimur”—In Christ we pass through death.—Not until it is realised that spiritual knowledge alone can lead to an understanding of what Paul wished to establish, will any improvement in the social life of men be possible; there can only be decline. What must be understood with regard to Christianity to-day is that man must train himself for the attainment of spiritual knowledge, whereas in ancient times it was given him together with the blood. In the light of these thoughts, the gravity of the present time comes vividly before us—above all the need to work for the spiritualising of our civilisation. Must the bridge leading to the spiritual world—into which man will in any case enter when he passes through the gate of death and in which he will sojourn between death and a new birth—must this bridge be utterly demolished? True it is that this bridge is broken by nationalism and by false socialism; for these tendencies are at the root of all the urgent and fundamental crises of our time. Those who cannot realise this, who want to continue with a consciousness that is merely the outcome of material processes in the human being—such people are lending all their forces to the furtherance of decadence. The time has come when these issues must be decided, and they can be decided only by the free will of man. Free will itself, however, is possible only on the foundation of actual spirit-knowledge. At the time of the Mystery of Golgotha, remarkable tolerance towards all faiths was practised in Rome. Little by little, having long refrained, people even brought themselves to exercise a certain tolerance towards Judaism. There was great tolerance in Rome in the days when the impulse of the Mystery of Golgotha was finding its way into the evolution of humanity. Towards the Christians alone did intolerance become more and more vehement. There developed in Rome an intolerance towards the Christians as great as the intolerance now prevailing in one nationality towards the other nationalities. The attitude of the different nationalities to-day towards each other has its prototype in the intolerance of the Romans towards a genuine knowledge of the spirit, for this meets with opposition on all sides. There are alliances to-day—all unperceived—between Jesuitism and the extremist elements here and there. For in the repudiation of spiritual knowledge the ultra-radical Communists and the Jesuits are completely at one. That too is reminiscent of the intolerance of the Roman State towards Christianity, and then, as now, the fundamental impulse is the same: in the unconscious part of their being, men hate the spirit, yes, actually hate the spirit. This unconscious hatred of the spirit confronts us from the side of nationalism as well as from that of false socialism. For think what this hatred of the spirit means to-day, what nationalism means to-day! In ancient times nationalism had its good purpose, because knowledge of the spirit was connected with the blood; to be swayed by nationalistic passions as people are swayed to-day is completely senseless, because blood-relationship is no longer a factor of any real significance. The factor of blood-relationship as expressed in nationalism is a pure fiction, an illusion. For this reason, people who cling to such ideas have no real right to celebrate an Easter festival. To celebrate an Easter festival is for them a piece of untruthfulness. The truth would consist in the Angel again being able to say—or rather to say for the first time: “He Whom ye seek is here indeed!” But of this we may be sure: His presence will be vouchsafed only where the principle of the human universal takes effect! It is to-day as it was among the Romans, who showed the greatest intolerance of all to the Christians. What were all the others doing—all of them with the exception of the Christians? The others were still venerating the Roman Emperor as a God, were also making sacrifice to him. The Christians could do no such thing; the only King whom the Christians could acknowledge was the Representative of universal humanity—Christ Jesus. This is one of the points from which a direct line has continued right into the present time. One has only to think of it as follows.—Does the formula “In the Name of His Majesty the King” which appears on every ministerial decree, really mean anything to individuals in England, for example? If the truth as demanded by the spirit were to prevail, such a formula would simply not be there. And how, I ask you, are the interests of a true Frenchman to-day furthered by Clemenceau's nationalism, with its inner untruthfulness? It would be Christian to-day to acknowledge such things, but such acknowledgment would at once be the target of intolerance. These are the domains where untruthfulness is rampant, deep down in the souls of men. And this untruthfulness makes the other stones of nationalism and of false socialism into one stone which is rolled upon the grave and covers it. The grave will remain covered until men again acquire a true knowledge of the spirit and through this knowledge an understanding of universal Christianity. Until then there can be no true Easter festival; until then the black of mourning cannot with integrity be replaced by the red of Easter, for until then this replacement is a human lie. Men must seek for the spirit—that and that alone can give meaning to present existence. It devolves upon those who understand the evolution of mankind to bring to fulfilment the words: “My kingdom is not of this world.” If the future is to contain hope, what must be striven for cannot be ‘of this world.’ But that, of course, runs counter to man's love of ease. It is more convenient to set up old customs as ideals and then to bask in the glow of self-congratulation; this is far pleasanter than to say: The great responsibility for the future must be shouldered, and this can be done only when striving for spiritual knowledge becomes a driving force in mankind. Therefore Easter to-day remains a festival of warning instead of being a festival of joy. And in truth those who would fain speak honestly to mankind will not use the Easter words, “Christ is risen” ... but rather: “Christ shall and must arise!” |
213. Spiritual Wisdom in the Early Christian Centuries
16 Jul 1922, Dornach Translator Unknown |
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The four hundred and seventy-four Gods include all the Gods of all the different peoples: Zeus, Apollo, Baal—all the Gods. The reason why the peoples have different Gods is that one race has chosen twelve or maybe seventeen Gods from the four hundred and seventy-four, another race has taken twenty-five, another three, another four. The number of racial Gods is four hundred and seventy-four. And the highest of these Gods, the God who came down to earth at a definite point of time, is Christ. |
He declares: Plotinus was possessed by a demon, not by a God! And then, in the nineteenth century, the Gods became demons, the demons Gods. Men were no longer capable of distinguishing between Gods and demons in the universe. |
213. Spiritual Wisdom in the Early Christian Centuries
16 Jul 1922, Dornach Translator Unknown |
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I have said on many occasions that at the time when medieval culture had reached its prime, two streams of spiritual life were flowing through the ripest souls in European civilisation—streams which I have described as knowledge through revelation and knowledge acquired by reason, as we find it in Scholasticism. Knowledge through revelation, in its more scholastic form, was by no means a body of mystical, abstract or indefinite thought. It expressed itself in sharply defined, clear-cut concepts. But these concepts were considered to be beyond the scope of man's ordinary powers of cognition and must in every case be accepted as traditions of the Church. The Church, by virtue of its continuity, claimed the right to be the guardian of this kind of knowledge. The second kind of knowledge was held to be within the scope of research and investigation, albeit those who stood wholly within the stream of Scholasticism acknowledged that this knowledge acquired by reason could not in any sense be regarded as knowledge emanating from the super-sensible world. Thus when medieval culture was at its prime, it was realised that knowledge no longer accessible to mankind in that age must be preserved as it were by tradition. But it was not always so, for if we go back through the Middle Ages to the first Christian centuries we shall find that the characteristics of this knowledge through revelation was less sharply emphasised than they were in medieval culture. If one had suggested to a Greek philosopher of the Athenian School, for instance, that a distinction could be made between knowledge acquired by reason and knowledge through revelation (in the sense in which the latter was understood in the Middle Ages), he would have been at a loss to know what was meant. It would have been unthinkable to him that if knowledge concerning super-sensible worlds had once been communicated to a man by cosmic powers, it could not be communicated afresh. True, the Greeks realised that higher spiritual knowledge was beyond the reach of man's ordinary cognition, but they knew too that by dint of spiritual training and through Initiation, a man could unfold higher faculties of knowledge and that by these means he would enter a world where super-sensible truth would be revealed to him. Now a change took place in Western culture between all that lived in the centuries when Greek philosophy came to flower in Plato and Aristotle, and the kind of knowledge that made its appearance about the end of the fourth century A.D. I have often referred to one aspect of this change by saying that the Mystery of Golgotha occurred in an age when very much of the old Initiation-wisdom was still living in men. And indeed there were many who applied their Initiation-wisdom and were thus able, with super-sensible knowledge, to realise the significance of the Event on Golgotha. Those who had been initiated strained every nerve to understand how a Being like the Christ, Who before the Mystery of Golgotha had not been united with earthly evolution, had passed into an earthly body and linked Himself with the evolution of man. The nature of this Being, how He had worked before His descent to the earth—such were the questions which even at the time of the Mystery of Golgotha men were trying to answer by means of the highest faculties of Initiation-wisdom. But then we find that from the fifth century A.D. onwards, this old Initiation-wisdom which had lived in Asia Minor, Northern Africa, in Greek culture, had spread over into Italy and still further into Europe, was less and less understood. People spoke contemptuously of certain individuals, saying that their teachings were to be avoided at all costs by true Christians. Moreover, efforts were made to obliterate all that had previously been known of these individuals. It is strange that a man like Franz Brentano should have inherited from medieval tradition a hatred of all that lived in personalities like Plotinus, for example, of whom very little was known but who was regarded as one with whom true Christians could have no dealings. Brentano had allowed himself to be influenced by this hatred and vented it on Plotinus. He actually wrote a polemical thesis entitled Was für ein Philosoph manchmal Epoche macht, and the philosopher is Plotinus, who lived in the third century A.D. Plotinus lived within the streams of spiritual life which were wholly exhausted by the time of the fourth century A.D. and which in the later evolution of Christendom people tried to cast into oblivion. The information contained in text-books on the history of philosophy in regard to the outstanding figures of the early Christian centuries is usually not only scanty in the extreme but quite incapable of giving any idea of their significance. Naturally it is difficult for us in modern times to have any true conception of the first three or four centuries of Christendom—for example, of the way in which the impulses living in Plato and Aristotle were working on and of thought which had in a certain respect become estranged from the deeper Mystery-wisdom, although this wisdom was still possessed by certain personalities in the first three or four centuries after the coming of Christ. Very little real understanding of Plato is shown in modern text-books on the history of philosophy. Those of you who are interested should read the chapter on Plato in Paul Deussen's History of Greek Philosophy, and the passage where he speaks of the place assigned by Plato to the Idea of the Good in relation to the other Ideas. Deussen says something like this: Plato did not admit the existence of a personal God because, if he had done so, he could not have taught that the Ideas subsist in and through themselves. Plato could not acknowledge God as a Being because the Ideas are primary and subsistent. True—says Deussen—Plato places the Idea of the Good above the other Ideas, but he did not thereby imply that the Idea of the Good stands above the others.—For what is expressed in the Idea of the Good is, after all, only a kind of family-likeness which is present in all the Ideas.—Such is Deussen's argument. But now let us scrutinise this logic more closely. The Ideas are there. They are subsistent and independent. The Idea of the Good cannot be said to rule or direct the other Ideas. All Ideas bear a family-likeness but this family-likeness is actually expressed through the Idea of the Good. Yes—but whence are family-likenesses derived? A family-likeness is derived from stock. The Idea of the Good points to family-likeness. What can we do except go back to the father of the stock! This is what we find to-day in famous histories of philosophy and those who write them are regarded as authorities. People read such things and never notice that they are out-and-out nonsense. It is difficult to imagine that anyone capable of writing such absurdities in connection with Greek philosophy could have anything very valuable to say about Indian wisdom. Nevertheless, if we ask for something authoritative on the subject of Indian wisdom to-day we shall certainly be advised to read Paul Deussen. Things have come to a pretty pass! My only object in saying this is to show that in the present age there is little real understanding of Platonic philosophy. Modern intellectualism is incapable of it. Nor is it possible to understand the tradition which exists in regard to Plotinus—the so-called Neo-Platonic philosopher Plotinus was a pupil of Ammonius Saccas who lived at the beginning of the third century A.D. It is said that Ammonius Saccas gave instruction to individual pupils but left nothing in writing. Now the reason why the eminent teachers of that age wrote nothing down was because they held that wisdom must be something living, that it could not be passed on by writing but only from man to man, in direct personal intercourse. Something else—again not understood—is said of Ammonius Saccas, namely that he tried to bring about agreement in the terrible quarrels between the adherents of Aristotle and of Plato, by showing that there was really no discrepancy between the teachings of Plato and Aristotle. Let me try to tell you in brief words how Ammonius Saccas spoke of Plato and Aristotle. He said: Plato belonged to an epoch when many human souls were treading the path to the spiritual world in other words when there was still knowledge of the principles of true Initiation. But in more ancient times there was no such thing as abstract, logical thought. Even now (at the beginning of the third century A.D.) only the first, elementary traces of this kind of thinking are making their appearance. In Plato's time, thoughts evolved independently were unknown. Whereas the Initiates of earlier times gave their message in pictures and imaginations, Plato was one of the first to change these imaginations into abstract concepts and ideas. The great spiritual picture to which Plato tried to lift the eyes of men was brought down in more ancient times merely in the form of imaginations. In Plato, the imaginations were already concepts—but these concepts poured down as it were from the world of Divine Spirit. Plato said in effect: the Ideas are the lowest revelation of the Divine-Spiritual. Aristotle could no longer penetrate with the same intensity into this spiritual substance. Therefore the knowledge he possessed only amounted to the substance of the ideas, and this is at a lower level than the picture itself. Nevertheless, Aristotle could still receive the substance of the ideas in the form of revelation. There is no fundamental difference between Plato and Aristotle—so said Ammonius Saccas—except that Plato was able to gaze into higher levels of the spiritual world than Aristotle.—And thereby Ammonius Saccas thought to reconcile the disputes among the followers of Aristotle and Plato. We learn, then, that by the time of Plato and Aristotle, wisdom was already beginning to assume a more intellectual form. Now in those ancient times it was still possible for individuals here and there to rise to very high levels of spiritual perception. The lives of men like Ammonius Saccas and his pupil Plotinus were rich in spiritual experiences and their conceptions of the spiritual world were filled with real substance. Naturally one could not have spoken to such men of outer Nature in the sense in which we speak of Nature to-day. In their schools they spoke of a spiritual world, and Nature—generally regarded nowadays as complete and all-embracing—was merely the lowest expression of that spiritual world of which they were conscious. We can form some idea of how such men were wont to speak, if we study Iamblichus, a man possessed of deep insight and one of the successors of Ammonius Saccas. How did the world appear to the soul of Iamblichus? He spoke to his pupils somewhat as follows:—If we would understand the universe let us not pay heed to space, for space contains merely the outward expression of the spiritual world. Nor let us pay heed to time, for only the illusory images of cosmic reality arise in time. Rather must we look up to those Powers in the spiritual world who are the Creators of time and of the connections between time and space. Gazing out into the expanses of the cosmos, we see how the cycle, repeated visibly in the Sun, repeats itself every year. But the Sun circles through the Zodiac, through the twelve constellations. It is not enough merely to observe this phenomenon, for three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers are working and weaving therein, sending forth the Sun-forces which flood the whole universe accessible to man. Every year the cycle is repeated. If these Powers alone held sway, there would be three hundred and sixty days in a year. But there are, in fact, five additional days, ruled by seventy-two sub-heavenly Powers, the planetary Spirits. I will draw (on the blackboard) this pentagonal figure, because one to five is the relation of seventy-two to three hundred and sixty. The five remaining days in the cosmic year which are abandoned, as it were, by the three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers, are ruled by the seventy-two sub-heavenly Powers. But over and above the three hundred and sixty-five days, there are still a few more hours in the year. And these hours are directed by forty-two earthly Powers.—Iamblichus also said to his pupils: The three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers are connected with the head-organisation of man, the seventy-two sub-heavenly Powers with the breast-system (breathing-process and heart) and the forty-two earthly Powers with the purely earthly system in man (e.g. digestion, metabolism). In those times the human being was given his place in a spiritual universe, whereas nowadays we begin our physiological studies by learning of the quantities of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, lime-stone, etc., within the human organism. We relate the human being to a lifeless nature. But Iamblichus would have taught how the organism of man is related to the forty-two earthly Powers, the seventy-two sub-heavenly or planetary Powers, and the three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers. Just as to-day man is said to be composed of earthly substances, in the time of Iamblichus he was known to represent a confluence of forces streaming from the spiritual universe. Great and sublime was the wisdom presented in the schools of learning in those days, and one can readily understand that Plotinus—who had reached the age of twenty-eight before he listened to the teachings of Ammonius Saccas—felt himself living in an altogether different world. He was able to assimilate some of this wisdom because it was still cultivated in many places during the first four centuries after the Mystery of Golgotha. With this wisdom men also tried to understand the descent of the Christ into Jesus of Nazareth and the place of Christ in the realms of the spiritual Hierarchies, in the great structure of the spiritual universe. And now let me deal with another chapter of the wisdom taught by Iamblichus. He said: There are three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers, seventy-two planetary Powers, forty-two earthly Powers—in all, four hundred and seventy-four Divine Beings of different orders. Look to the far East—so said Iamblichus—and you will there find peoples who give names to their Gods. Turn to the Egyptians and to other peoples—they too name their Gods. Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans—all will name their Gods. The four hundred and seventy-four Gods include all the Gods of all the different peoples: Zeus, Apollo, Baal—all the Gods. The reason why the peoples have different Gods is that one race has chosen twelve or maybe seventeen Gods from the four hundred and seventy-four, another race has taken twenty-five, another three, another four. The number of racial Gods is four hundred and seventy-four. And the highest of these Gods, the God who came down to earth at a definite point of time, is Christ. This wisdom was well suited to bring about reconciliation between the different religions, not as the outcome of vague sentiment but of the knowledge that the different Gods of the peoples constitute, in their totality, one great system—the four hundred and seventy-four Gods. It was taught that all the choirs of Gods of the peoples of ancient times had reached their climax in Christianity and that the crown of wisdom was to understand how the Christ Being had entered through Jesus of Nazareth into His earthly activity. And so, as we look back to an earlier Spiritual Science (which although it no longer exists in that form to-day, indeed cannot do so for it must be pursued now-a-days in a different way), the deepest respect grows up within us. Profound wisdom was taught in the early Christian centuries in regard to the super-sensible worlds. But knowledge of this spiritual universe was imparted only to those who were immediate pupils of the older Initiates. The wisdom might only be passed on to those whose faculties of knowledge had reached the stage where they were able to understand the essence and being of the different Gods. This requisite of spiritual culture was recognised everywhere in Greece, in Egypt and in Asia Minor. It is, of course, true, that remnants of the ancient wisdom still existed in Roman civilisation. Plotinus himself taught for a long time in Italy. But a spirit of abstraction had crept into Roman culture, a spirit no longer capable of understanding the value and worth of personality, of being. The spirit of abstraction had crept in, not yet in the form it afterwards assumed, but adhered to all the more firmly because it was there in its earliest beginnings. And then, on the soil of Italy at the beginning of the fourth century A.D. we find a School which began to oppose the ancient principle of Initiation, the preparation of the individual for Initiation. We see a School arising which gathers together and makes a careful record of everything originating from ancient Initiation-wisdom. The aim of this School—which lasted beyond the third on into the fourth century—was to perpetuate the essence of Roman culture, to establish historical tradition as against the strivings of individual human Beings. As Christianity began to find its way into Roman culture, the efforts of this school were directed to the elimination of all that could still have been discovered by means of the old Initiation-knowledge in regard to the presence of Christ in the personality of Jesus. It was a fundamental tenet of this Roman School that the teaching given by Ammonius Saccas and Iamblichus must not be allowed to pass on to posterity. Just as in those times there was a widespread impulse to destroy the ancient temples and altars—in short to obliterate every remnant of ancient Heathendom—so, in the domain of spiritual life, efforts were made to wipe out the principles whereby knowledge of the higher world might be attained. To take one example: the dogma of the One Divine Nature or of the Two Divine Natures in the Person of Christ was substituted for the teaching of Ammonius Saccas and Iamblichus, namely, that the individual human being can develop to a point where he will understand how the Christ took up His abode in the body of Jesus. This dogma was to reign supreme and the possibility of individual insight smothered. The ancient path of wisdom was superseded by dogma in the culture of the Roman world. And because strenuous efforts were made to destroy any teaching that savoured of the ancient wisdom, little more than the names of men like Ammonius Saccas and Iamblichus have come down to us. Of many other teachers in the Southern regions of Europe not even the names have been preserved. Altars were destroyed, temples burnt to the ground and the ancient teachings exterminated, to such an extent indeed that we have no longer any inkling to-day of the wisdom that lived in the South of Europe during the first four centuries after the Mystery of Golgotha. Again and again it happened, however, that knowledge of this wisdom found its way to men who were interested in these matters and who realised that Roman culture was rapidly falling to pieces under the spread of Christianity. But after the extermination of what would have been so splendid a preparation for an understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha, it was only possible to learn of the union of Christ with Jesus in the form of an abstract dogma laid down by the Councils and coloured by the Roman spirit. The living wisdom was wiped out, and abstraction, albeit working on in the guise of revelation, took its place. History is well-nigh blank in regard to these things, but during the first centuries of Christendom there were a number of men who were able to say: “There are indeed Initiates—of whom Iamblichus was one. It is the Initiates who teach true Christianity. To them, Christ is Christ indeed, whereas the Romans speak merely of the ‘Galileans.’ ” This expression was used in the third and fourth centuries A.D. to gloss over a deep misunderstanding. The less men understood Christianity, the more they spoke of the Galileans; the less they knew of the Christ, the more emphasis they laid on the human personality of the ‘Galilean.’ Out of this milieu came Julian, the so-called Apostate, who had absorbed a very great deal from pupils of men like Iamblichus and who still knew something of the spiritual universe reaching down into every phenomenon of Nature. Julian the Apostate had heard from pupils of Iamblichus of the spiritual forces working down into every animal and plant from the three hundred and sixty heavenly Powers, the seventy-two planetary Powers and the forty-two earthly Powers. In those days there were still some who understood what was, for example, expressed in a most wonderful way in a deeply significant legend related of Plotinus. The legend ran: There were many who would no longer believe that a man could be inspired by the Divine Spirit and who said that anyone who claimed to have knowledge of the Divine-Spiritual world was possessed by a demon. Plotinus was therefore carried off to the temple of Isis in Egypt in order that the priests might determine the nature of the demon possessing him. And when the Egyptian priests—who still had knowledge of these things—came to the temple and tested Plotinus before the altar of Isis, performing all the ritual acts still possible at that time, Lo! instead of a demon there appeared the Godhead Himself! This legend indicates that in those times men still acknowledged that at least it was possible to prove whether a good God or a demon was possessing a human being. Julian the Apostate heard of these things. But on the other side there came insistently to his ears the words of a writing which passed into many hands in the Roman world during the first Christian centuries and was said to be a sermon of the Apostle Peter, whereas it was actually a forgery. In this document it was said: Behold the godless Hellenes! In very creatures of nature they see the Divine-Spiritual. This is sinful, impious. It is sacrilege to see the Divine-Spiritual in Nature, in animal and in plant. Let no man be so sinful as to believe that the Divine is present in the course of the Sun and Moon.—These were the things that dinned in the ears of Julian, now from one side, now from another. A deep love for Hellenism grew up within him and he became the tragic figure who would fain have spoken of Christianity in the light of the teachings of Iamblichus. There is no telling what would have come to pass in Europe if the Christianity of Julian the Apostate had conquered instead of the doctrines of Rome, if his desire to restore the Initiation-training had been fulfilled the training whereby men could themselves have attained to knowledge of how the Christ had lived in Jesus and of His place among the other racial Gods. Julian the Apostate was not out to destroy the heathen temples. Indeed he would have been willing to restore the temple of the Jews at Jerusalem. His desire was to restore the heathen temples and he also had the interests of the Christians at heart. Truth and truth alone was his quest. And the great obstacle in his way was the School in ancient Rome of which I have spoken—the School which not only set out to exterminate the old principle of Initiation but did in fact succeed in exterminating it, wishing to put in its place recorded traditions of Initiation-wisdom. When the moment had arrived, it was easy to arrange for the thrust of the Persian spear which caused Julian's death. It was then that the words were uttered which have never since been understood, not even by Ibsen, but which can be explained by a knowledge of the traditions of Julian's time: ‘The Galilean has conquered, not the Christ!’ For at this moment of death it was revealed to the prophetic vision of Julian the Apostate that henceforward the conception of Christ as a Divine Being would fade away and that the ‘Galilean,’ the man of Galilean stock would be worshipped as a God. In the thirtieth year of his life Julian the Apostate had a pre-vision of the whole of subsequent evolution, on into the nineteenth century, by which time theology had lost all knowledge of the Christ in Jesus. Julian was ‘Apostate’ only in regard to what was to come after. The Apostate was indeed the Apostle in respect of spiritual realisation of the Mystery of Golgotha.—And it is this spiritual realisation that must be quickened again in the souls of men. Newer geological strata always overlay those that are older and the newer must be pierced before we can reach those that lie below. It is sometimes difficult to believe beneath what thick layers the history of human evolution lies concealed. Thick indeed are the layers spread by Romanism over the first conceptions of the Mystery of Golgotha! Through spiritual knowledge it must again be possible to penetrate through these layers and so rediscover that old wisdom which was swept away from the domain of spiritual life just as the heathen altars were swept away from the physical world. Egyptian priests declared that Plotinus bore a God within him, not a demon. But in the West the dictum went forth that Plotinus was assuredly possessed by a demon. Read what has been said on the subject, including the thesis by Brentano which I have mentioned, and you will find the same. According to the Egyptian priests, a God and not a demon was living in Plotinus, the philosopher of the third century A.D. But Brentano states the contrary. He declares: Plotinus was possessed by a demon, not by a God! And then, in the nineteenth century, the Gods became demons, the demons Gods. Men were no longer capable of distinguishing between Gods and demons in the universe. And this has lived on in the chaos of our civilisation. Truly these things are grave when we see them as they really are. I wished to-day to speak of one chapter of history and from an absolutely objective standpoint, for what comes to pass in history is after all inevitable. Necessary as it was that for a season men should remain without enlightenment about certain mysteries, enlightenment must ultimately be given, and—what is more—received. |
205. Psychoanalysis in the Light of Anthroposophy: Connections Between Organic Processes and the Mental Life of Man
02 Jul 1921, Dornach Translated by Mary Laird-Brown |
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All this, coming in essence from the cosmos, is determined by the mother. Through the father and impregnation comes that which is formed in the physical body and in the ego. This ego, as it is then, after the Midnight Hour of Being, passes over into an entirely different world. |
There the two poles of humanity meet as it were, through mother and father, from the upper world and from the netherworld. What I am now saying was an intrinsic portion of the Egyptian Mysteries which came out of the old instinctive knowledge, at least so far as is known to me. The Egyptian Mysteries led particularly to knowledge of what they then called the upper and the lower gods, the upper and the underworld of gods; and it may be said that in the act of impregnation a polar equilibrium of the upper and the underworld of gods is brought about. |
205. Psychoanalysis in the Light of Anthroposophy: Connections Between Organic Processes and the Mental Life of Man
02 Jul 1921, Dornach Translated by Mary Laird-Brown |
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Today I shall have something to add to what was stated yesterday. I am reminding you of something which most of you have already heard from me. When the human being passes through death the physical body remains behind within the earth-forces, the etheric body dissolves within the cosmic forces, and the human being finds his continuing life, his existence, throughout the realms which lie between death and a new birth. I said that we can follow up the formative forces within the human being himself which project from one life into the other. We know that man is in essence a threefold being, with three independent members; I mean, in regard to the formative forces of the physical body, the physical organization. We have the system of the nerves and senses, which naturally is spread over the whole body, but is located primarily in the head; we have the rhythmic system, including the rhythm of the breath, circulation, and other rhythms; then we have the metabolic and limb organization, which we consider as one because man's movements are intimately and organically connected with his metabolism. You know that each human being has a differently, an individually shaped head. If we consider the forces which shape the human head—of course you must not think of the physical substances, but of the formative forces, of that which gives to the head its physiognomy, its entire character, its phrenological expression—if we consider these forces, we find them to be those of the metabolic and limb system belonging to the previous incarnation which have now become form. Thus we have in the head the transformation of the earlier metabolic organism, and if we consider what we possess as a metabolic and limb system in this present incarnation, these formative forces are found to be undergoing a metamorphosis and shaping the head for our next incarnation. Therefore, if we understand the building of the human form we can, as it were, look back, through a corresponding development of the idea of metamorphosis, from the human head of today to the metabolic system of the previous incarnation; and we can look from the present metabolic system forward to the head formation of the next incarnation. [See: Guenther Wachsmuth, Reincarnation as a Phenomenon of Metamorphosis, Anthroposophie Press, New York, Rudolf Steiner Publishing Co., London.] This conception, which in our spiritual science and in the spiritual science of all ages plays a certain role, these truths concerning repeated earth lives remain by no means without substantiation, for whoever understands the human organism can read them directly from it. But the present trend of natural science is as far removed as possible from embarking upon the sort of investigation which would be necessary in this case. Of course one cannot escape, through the study of anatomy and physiology alone, the foolish conclusion that the liver and lungs may be investigated by the same method. One lays the liver beside the lungs upon the dissecting table and regards them as organs of equal value, since both consist of cells, and so on. In such a way one can obtain no knowledge of these things, and two organic systems which are as different from one another as the lungs and liver cannot be studied by an external comparison of their cellular configuration, as they must be according to present ideas. If we really wish to discover the pertinent details, methods must be employed through which a conception of these things may be gained. If the methods which I have described in Knowledge of the Higher Worlds and Its Attainment are sufficiently developed, then the human power of cognition is greatly strengthened. I am repeating here certain statements that I have already explained in lectures given last autumn in the Goetheanum building: Our ordinary cognition is strengthened, through which we look out with our senses at our environment, and through which we also examine our inner life, where we meet primarily our thinking, feeling, and willing. And if we broaden our knowledge to the degree possible through these exercises which have been often described, then our view of the outer world changes, and in such a way that as a first result we realize the absolute folly of speaking of atoms in the manner of present world-conceptions. What is behind sense perception, behind its qualities, behind yellow and red, behind C sharp, g, and so forth, is not vibration but spiritual essentiality. The outer world becomes ever more spiritual the further we press forward in cognition, so that we really cease to take seriously all those constructions derived from chemical or other ideas. All atomism is thoroughly driven from our minds when we broaden our knowledge of the outer world. Behind the phenomena of the senses there is a spiritual world. If, on the other hand, through such an enlarged vision we look more deeply into our inner life there arises—not that confused mysticism which forms a justifiable transition, pointed out and explained yesterday—but there arises instead, when inner cognition is developed, a psychic knowledge of the organs. We learn really to recognize our inner organization. While our outer perception is more and more spiritualized, our inner perception is, first of all, more and more materialized. Working in this inner direction, not the nebulous mystic but the real spiritual researcher will become acquainted with each single organ. He learns to know the differentiated human organism. We attain to the spiritual world in no other manner than by this detour through the observation of our own inner materiality. Unless we learn to know lungs, liver, and so forth, we do not gain on this detour through our inner being any kind of spiritual enthusiasm which, freed of the confusion of mysticism, works towards a concrete knowledge of the inner organs. At all events, we gain a more exact knowledge of the configuration of the soul. To begin with, we learn to give up the preconceived idea that our psychic constitution is merely an adjunct of the sensory and nervous system. Only the world of representations is correlated to the nervous system, the world of feeling not at all. The world of feeling is connected directly with the rhythmic organization; and the world of will is adjusted to the metabolic and limb system. If I will something, a corresponding activity is induced in my metabolic and limb system, the nervous system being there only in order that concepts may be formed in regard to what takes place in the will. There are no nerves of will, as I have often stated; the division of nerves into sensory nerves and nerves of will is absurd. The nerves are all of one kind, and the so-called nerves of will exist for no other purpose than the inner observation of the processes of will. They too are sensory nerves. If we study this thoroughly we come at last to consider the human organism in its entirety. Take the lung organism, the liver organism, and so forth. Looking at them within, you reach a point when you survey, as it were, the surface of the several organs, naturally by means of spiritual sight. What exactly is this surface of the organs? It is nothing less than a reflecting apparatus for the soul life. Our perceptions, and also what we elaborate in thought are reflected upon the surface of all our inner organs; and this reflection makes known our recollections, our memory during life. Thus, after we have perceived and digested something in thought, it is mirrored upon the surface of our heart, liver, spleen, and so forth, and what is thus thrown back constitutes our memories. And with a not very extensive training you may notice how certain thoughts shine back in memory from the whole organism. Very different organs take part in this. If it is a question of remembering, let us say, very abstract conceptions, then the lung surface participates strongly. If it is a question of thoughts colored by feeling, of thoughts which have a nuance of feeling, then the surface of the liver is concerned. Thus we can describe very well, and in detail, how the various organs take part in this reflection which makes its appearance as recollection, as the power of memory. When we concentrate upon the whole soul nature we must not say: In the nervous system alone we have the organic correlate of the soul life, for the entire human organism is the correlated organization for the life of the soul. In this connection much knowledge, once present as instinct, has simply been lost sight of. It still exists in certain words, but people no longer realize how wisdom is preserved in words. For example, if anyone in the time of the ancient Greeks had a tendency to depression when forming his recollections, they called it hypochondria, meaning a process of cartilage-formation or ossification of the abdomen where, as a result of this rigidity, reflection was brought about in such a way as to make memory a source of depression. The entire organism is involved in these things. That is something which must be kept in our minds. When speaking of the power of memory, I drew attention to the surface of the organs. In a certain sense everything experienced strikes the surfaces, is reflected, and that leads to recollections. But something enters the organism at the same time. In ordinary life this is transmuted, undergoes a metamorphosis, so that the organ produces a secretion. The organs having this function are mostly glandular. They have an inner secretion, which during life is changed into force. But not everything is thus transformed into organic metabolism, etc. Certain organs take up instead something which becomes latent within them, and constitutes an inner force; for example, all thoughts connected mainly with our perception of the outer world through which we form images of outer objects. The forces developed in these thoughts are, in a certain manner, stored up within the lungs. You know that the inside of the lungs comes into activity through the metabolism, the movement of the limbs, and these forces are so transmuted that during the life between birth and death our lungs are somewhat of a reservoir of forces which are continually influenced by the metabolic-and-limb system. We find that at the time of death such forces have been stored up. The physical matter naturally falls away, but these forces are not wasted. They accompany us through death, and throughout the entire life between death and a new birth. And when we enter a new incarnation these forces which were in the lungs form our head outwardly, stamp upon it its physiognomy. That which the phrenologist, the craniologist study in the outer form of the skull would be found forecast within the lungs during the previous incarnation. You see how definitely, from life to life, the transmutation of forces may be followed up. When this is done reincarnation will no longer be an abstract truth alone, but will be studied concretely, as one can study physical things. And spiritual science becomes valuable only when in this way we penetrate into concrete facts. If we speak only in generalities of repeated earth lives, and so forth, then these are mere words. They have meaning only if we can enter upon the single concrete facts. If that which has been stored in the lungs is not controlled in the right way it is squeezed out, as I said yesterday, much in the same way as a sponge is squeezed out, and then, from that which should form the head only in the next incarnation, there arise mainly abnormal phenomena which are usually called coercive thoughts, or described by some other term as illusions. It is an interesting chapter of a higher physiology to study in lung cases the strange notions which arise in the patient in the advanced stages of the disease. This is connected with what I have just explained to you, with the abnormal pressing out of thoughts. You will see undoubtedly that the thoughts which are pressed out under these conditions are coercive because they already contain the formative forces. The thoughts which we ought normally to have in consciousness should be pictures only, they must not contain a formative force, and should not coerce us. Throughout the long period between death and rebirth these thoughts do coerce us; then they are causative, formative. During earth life they must not overwhelm us; they should use their power only during the transition from one life to another. This is the point to be considered. If you now study the liver in the manner I have just explained in regard to the lungs, you will discover that there are concentrated in the same way within the liver all the forces which in the next incarnation determine the inner disposition of the brain. Again by a detour through the metabolic organism of the present life, the forces of the liver pass over, this time not into the shape of the head, but into the inner disposition of the brain. Whether or not someone is to be an acute thinker in the next incarnation depends upon how he behaves in the present one, in order that thus, upon the detour through the metabolism there may arise within the liver definite powers. But if these are ejected during the present incarnation they lead to hallucinations or to powerful visions. You see now concretely what I pointed out yesterday more theoretically: that these things arise, having been squeezed out of the organs, then force their way into consciousness. Out of the general hallucinatory life, which should extend from the end of one incarnation into the next, they assert themselves within a single incarnation and, in this way, make their abnormal appearance. If you study in the same manner all that is connected with the kidneys and excretory system you will discover that they concentrate within themselves the forces which, in the following incarnation, influence the head organization preferably in the field of affective emotions. The kidneys, the organs of excretion, bring forth in preparation for the next incarnation essentially that which has to do with the temperamental tendencies in the broadest sense, but by a detour through the head organization. If these forces are squeezed out during the present incarnation they display all the nervous symptoms connected with over-excitement of the human being, inner excitement specifically, hypochondriacal symptoms, depression, in short all the conditions connected particularly with this aspect of the metabolism. In reality everything remembered with a strong ingredient of feeling or passion is also connected with what is reflected from the kidneys. If we consider lung or liver reflections we find them to be more often memory ideas, the memories proper. If we turn to the kidney system we see what sort of lasting habits we have in this incarnation; and within the kidney system are being prepared already the temperamental tendencies in the broadest sense which, by a detour through the head organization, are intended for our next incarnation. Let us study the heart with the same idea. For spiritual-scientific research, the heart is an extraordinarily interesting organ. You know that our trivial science is inclined to treat knowledge of the heart rather lightly. It looks upon the heart as a pump which pumps the blood through the body. Nothing more absurd can be believed, for the heart has nothing to do with pumping the blood. The blood is set in motion by the full agility of the astral body and ego, and the heart's movement is only the reflex of these activities. The movement of the blood is autonomous, and the heart only brings to expression the movement caused by these forces. The heart is in fact only the organ that manifests the movement of the blood, the heart itself having no activity in relation to this blood movement. The present natural scientists become very angry if you speak of this. Many years ago, I think in 1904 or 1905, on a journey to Stockholm I explained this to a scientist, a medical man, and he was furious about the idea that the heart should not be regarded as a pump, that the blood comes into movement through its own vitality, that the heart is simply inserted in the general blood movement, participates with its beat, and so on. Well, something is reflected from the surface of the heart which is not a matter of memory or of habit. The life processes become spiritualized when they reach the outer surface of the heart. For what is thrown back from the heart are the pangs of conscience. That is to be taken simply, entirely as the physical aspect. The pangs of conscience which radiate into our consciousness are that ingredient in our experiences which is reflected from the heart. Spiritual cognition of the heart teaches us this. But if we look into its interior we see gathered there forces which again stem from the entire metabolic and limb organism, and because everything connected with the heart forces is spiritualized that is also spiritualized within it which has to do with our outer life and deeds. And however strange and paradoxical it may sound to anyone clever in the modern sense, the fact remains that what is thus prepared within the heart are the karmic propensities, the tendencies of our karma. It is revoltingly foolish to speak of the heart as a mere pumping mechanism, for the heart is the organ which, through mediation of the limb and metabolic system, carries what we understand as karma into the next incarnation. You see, if we learn to know this organization we learn to differentiate and recognize its connection with the complete life extending beyond birth and death. We look then into the whole structure of the human being. We cannot speak of the head in relation to metamorphoses, for the head is simply cast off, its forces having completed their activity in the present incarnation. That which, however, exists in these four main systems, in lung, kidney, liver, and heart, after making a detour through the metabolic and limb system, passes over forming our head with all its predispositions and tendencies in the next incarnation. We must seek within the organs of our body the forces which will carry over into the next incarnation what we are now experiencing. The human metabolism is by no means a mere simmering and seething of chemicals in a retort which modern physiology describes. You need only to take a step in walking and a certain metabolic effect is produced. The metabolism then taking place is not simply the chemical process which may be examined by means of physiology and chemistry, but bears within it at the same time a nuance of morality. And this moral nuance is in fact stored up in the heart and carried over as karmic force into the next incarnation. To study the human being in his entirety means to find in him the forces which reach over beyond earth life. Our head itself is a sphere, and this form is modified only because the rest of the organism is attached to it. Our head is formed out of the cosmos. When we go through death we must, with the spiritual and soul organization which remains to us, adapt ourselves to the whole cosmos. The whole cosmos then receives us. Up to the middle of the period between two incarnations—I have called it in one of my Mystery Dramas the Midnight of Existence—up to this time, if I may so express myself, we continue to spread out into our environment and what thus goes out from us into the surrounding world gives the astral and etheric configuration for the next incarnation. All this, coming in essence from the cosmos, is determined by the mother. Through the father and impregnation comes that which is formed in the physical body and in the ego. This ego, as it is then, after the Midnight Hour of Being, passes over into an entirely different world. It goes over into the world from which it can then follow the path through the paternal nature. This is an extremely important process. The period up to the Midnight Hour and the period from the Midnight Hour on—both between death and rebirth—are really very different from each other. In my Vienna lecture cycle in 1914 I pictured these experiences in their inner aspect.1 If we look at them more from the outside, we must say: The ego is more cosmic in the first half, up to the Midnight Hour, and prepares within the cosmos that which then enters the next incarnation indirectly through the mother. From the Midnight Hour of Existence on up to the next birth, the ego passes over into what the old Mysteries called the netherworld; and on the detour through this netherworld it passes through impregnation. There the two poles of humanity meet as it were, through mother and father, from the upper world and from the netherworld. What I am now saying was an intrinsic portion of the Egyptian Mysteries which came out of the old instinctive knowledge, at least so far as is known to me. The Egyptian Mysteries led particularly to knowledge of what they then called the upper and the lower gods, the upper and the underworld of gods; and it may be said that in the act of impregnation a polar equilibrium of the upper and the underworld of gods is brought about. The ego between death and rebirth goes first through the upper and then through the lower world. In olden times there was not the strange nuance which many connect today with upper and netherworld. People of today nearly always look upon the upper as the good and the netherworld as the bad. This nuance was not originally connected with these worlds; they were simply the two polarities which had to participate in the general world creation. Humanity in the direct experience of the upper world, viewed it more as the world of light, the netherworld more as the world of gravity. Gravity and light were the two polarities when expressed exoterically, and thus you see that such things may be described concretely. In regard to the other organs I have told you that the overflowing of organic forces may become hallucinatory life, especially that which is squeezed from the liver system. But if the heart squeezes out its contents it is really the collected forces, ejected and brought into consciousness, which call forth in the next incarnation that strange urge to live out one's karma. If we observe how karma works, it may be said that a figurative description from the human side might represent it as a kind of hunger and its assuagement. That must be understood as follows: Let us proceed first from the standpoint of ordinary life. Let us take a striking case: A woman meets a man and begins to love him. As that is usually regarded, it is somewhat as though you were to cut out a small piece from the Sistine Madonna, for example, a little finger from the Jesus boy and gaze at it. You have a piece of the Sistine Madonna, but you do not see anything. Neither do you see anything if you merely consider the fact that a woman meets a man and begins to love him. The matter is not like that. You must trace it backwards. Before the woman met the man she had been in other places in the world; before that she had been somewhere else, and still earlier somewhere else again. You can find all sorts of reasons why the woman went from one place to another. There is sense in it and, although it is naturally hidden in the subconscious, there is a connection throughout, and we can, by going back into childhood, follow the way. The woman in question—and this is directed at no one in particular—follows the path from the beginning which culminates in the event under discussion. The human being at birth hungers to do what he does, and he does not give up until he satisfies this hunger. The pressing forward to a karmic event is the result of such an indescript spiritual feeling of hunger. One is driven to it, as it were, by the whole self. The human being has forces within him which lead to later events, in spite of the freedom which nevertheless exists, but acts in a different field. Well, the forces which manifest in this way as hunger, leading to karmic satisfaction, are concentrated in the heart; and when they are pressed out prematurely and enter the consciousness during the present incarnation, they may create pictures which produce a stimulus, and then frenzy results. Frenzy is nothing but the outburst in this incarnation of a karmic force intended for the subsequent incarnation. Think how differently we must accustom ourselves to look upon world events, having understood these connections. People put questions such as: Why did God create frenzy? Frenzy has plenty of good reasons for existence, but everything working in this world may appear at the wrong time, and the displaced manifestation, due in this case to Luciferic forces—everything premature in the world is brought about by Luciferic forces—this precipitate appearance of karmic forces intended for a later incarnation produces frenzy. You see, what is to be carried over and continued in later incarnations may really be studied in the abnormalities of the present life. You may easily imagine what an important difference exists between what remains in our heart throughout our entire incarnation, and the condition it will be in after it has gone through the long development between death and rebirth, to appear then in a new life in the outer behavior of a human being. However, if you look into your own hearts you can see pretty clearly, though of course only in latency, not in a finished picture, what you will do in your next life. We need not confine ourselves to the general statement: what will take effect karmically in the next life is prepared in this one, but we can point directly to the receptacle in which the karma of subsequent incarnations is stored. These are the things which must be concretely regarded if we wish to practice genuine spiritual science. You may imagine what enormous importance these things will attain when they are studied and made a part of the general education. What does present medicine know of the possibility of a liver or heart disease when it does not recognize the most important fact of all, that is, the actual purpose of these organs! And it does not know that. It does not even discover a correct connection between excitement hallucinations and the kidney system, nor of the quiet hallucinations, those which simply appear and are present as I have just explained, and are, so to say, liver hallucinations. Hallucinations which appear as though crawling on a human being so that the victim wants to brush them off come from the kidney system. These are the excitement hallucinations which have to do with the emotions and temperament. From such symptoms a much more exact diagnosis can be made than by the means in ordinary use today. And diagnoses based upon purely external evidence are very uncertain in comparison with what they would be were these things studied with the above-mentioned symptoms in mind. Now all these things are connected with the outer world. The lungs, as an inner organ or organic system, contain the compressed coercive thoughts with all that we receive and concentrate in that organ through perception of outer objects. The liver has an entirely different relation to the outer world. Because the lungs preserve the thought material they are quite differently shaped. They are more closely connected with the earth element. The liver, which conceals in particular the quietly appearing hallucinations, is connected with the element of water; and the kidney system, paradoxical as it sounds, belongs to the element of air. One thinks naturally that this ought to be the case with the lungs, but the lungs as organs are connected with the earth element, though not with it alone. On the other hand, the kidney system—as an organ -—belongs to the element of air, and the heart system to that of warmth, being entirely formed out of that element. Hence, this element which is the spiritual one is also the one which takes up the predisposition of our karma into the delicate warmth structures of the warmth organism. Since the human being as a whole stands in a relation with the outer world, you can readily realize that the lungs have a particular relation to the outer world in connection with the earth element, and the liver in regard to the watery element. If you examine the earthly qualities of plants you will find in them the remedies for diseases which originate in the lungs. (This is of course to be considered in its broadest implications.) If you take what circulates in the plant, its circulation of juices, you will have the remedy for all disturbances connected with the liver. Thus a study of the reciprocal relation of the organs with the outer world offers in fact the foundation for a rational therapy. Our present therapy is a jumble of empiric notes. One can reach a really rational therapy only by studying in this way the reciprocal relations between the domain of the human organs and the outer world. Of course the voluptuous longing for subjective mysticism must then be overcome. If the aim is to reach no farther than the well-known “little divine flame” of Meister Eckhardt, and so on; if only the outpouring of inner delight is the aim, and the beholding of beautiful images without penetrating this element to the definite configuration of the inner organs, then important therapeutic knowledge cannot be acquired. For this knowledge is gained upon the path of genuine mysticism which advances to the concrete reality of the inner human organism. We learn, by the detour through this inner knowledge, to discern the passage through the incarnations. In just the same way, when we regard the outer world, in penetrating this carpet of the sense impressions, we attain to the spiritual. We rise into the world of the spiritual hierarchies, which we did not reach through the detour of inner mysticism. The hierarchies are found through a more profound contemplation of the outer world. Upon this path there follow results which may be first expressed by analogies; yet they are not mere analogies, for there exist deeper connections and relations. We breathe, do we not? And I recently reckoned for you the number of inhalations during twenty-four hours. If we count eighteen breaths to the minute we have in an hour 60 x 18, and in twenty-four hours 25920 inhalations in a day and night. [IMAGE REMOVED FROM PREVIEW] Let us take another rhythm in the human being, the rhythm of day and night. When you awake in the morning you draw into your physical and etheric bodies the astral body and ego. This is also breathing. In the morning you inhale the astral body and ego, and when you fall asleep at night you exhale them again; thus one complete breath in 24 hours, in one day. That is 365 such breaths in a year. And take the average age of a human being, 72 years, and you have approximately the same result. If I had not started with 72, but somewhat lower, I should have reached the same figure. That is to say, if you take the entire earthly life of a human being, and count each single day, each falling asleep and awakening, as one breath, you have then in an entire life as many inhalations and exhalations of the astral body and ego as you have in and out breathings in 24 hours. You make in the course of your life as many in and out breathings of the astral body and ego as you make daily in your in and out breathing of air. These rhythms correspond absolutely, and show us how man is fitted into the cosmos. The life of one day from sunrise to sunset, as a single circuit, corresponds with an inner sunrise and sunset that lasts from birth to death. You see the human being becomes a part of the whole world organism; and I should like to close these considerations by pointing out to you an idea, asking you to think about it rather thoroughly, and to make it a subject of meditation. Science today postulates a cosmic process, and within this cosmic process the earth once arose. In the end the earth, when the entropy is fulfilled, will be consumed in cosmic heat. If today we form for ourselves a concept such as the Copernican, or any modification of it, then we take into consideration only the forces which formed the earth out of the primeval nebula, and human life really becomes a sort of fifth wheel on the wagon; for the geologist and the astronomer do not consider mankind. It does not occur to them to seek in any sense within mankind itself the cause of a future world organism. The human being is everywhere present in this cosmic process, but he is the fifth wheel on the wagon. The world process takes its course, but he has nothing to do with it. Consider it in this way: the world process comes to an end, ceases, is dispersed in space. It stops, and the causes of what ensues are always within the human being himself, inside his skin; there they find their continuation. The inception of what is now the world lies far back within man of primeval ages. It is thus in reality. The books of ancient wisdom tell us this in their own language, and the saying of Christ-Jesus points to these things: Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away. All that constitutes the material world is dissolved, but that which issues from the spirit and soul and is expressed in words survives the destruction of the earth and lives on into the future. The causes of the future exist within us, and need not be investigated by geologists. We should seek them among the inner forces of our organism which pass over into our next earth-life first, but then continue into other metamorphoses. Hence when you search for the future of the world you must look within man. Everything external perishes utterly. The nineteenth century erected a barrier against this knowledge, and this barrier is called: the law of the conservation of energy. This law carries forward the forces of man's environment; but all these will dissolve and disappear. Only that which arises within humanity itself can create the future. The law of the conservation of energy is the most false imaginable. In reality its result is simply to make mankind a fifth wheel in the creative process of the cosmos. Not the statement of the law of the conservation of energy is correct, but that other saying: Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away. These two are in diametrical contrast; and it is simply thoughtlessness when today certain members of this or that positive denomination wish to be believers in the Bible and, at the same time, adherents of the theories of modern physics. This is sheer dishonesty which claims today to be something culturally creative. This dishonesty must be driven from the field of creative culture—which it actually opposes—if we are to emerge from these forces of decline into ascending powers.
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