The Rudolf Steiner Archive

We will turn our thoughts to-day to the Festival which every year revives remembrance of the Mystery of Golgotha.

There are three such main Festivals in Christendom: at Christmas, Easter and Whitsuntide. Each of these Festivals brings man's life of soul into a different relation with the great events from which the whole of earth-evolution receives purpose and meaning.

The Christmas Festival is connected more directly with man's life of feeling. In a certain sense it has the most popular appeal of all the Festivals, because when rightly understood it deepens the life of feeling and is always dear to the human heart.

The Easter Festival makes great demands upon man's powers of understanding, because here some measure of insight is essential into the Mystery of Golgotha itself, into how a super-sensible Being entered the stream of earthly evolution. Easter is a Festival which carries the faculty of human understanding to the highest level, a level which is, of course, ultimately accessible to everyone; but the appeal of the Easter Festival can never be as widespread as that of Christmas.

Through the Whitsuntide Festival, relationship is established between the will and the super-sensible world to which the Christ Being belongs. It is of the impulses of will which then take effect in the world that the Whitsuntide Festival makes men conscious when its meaning is rightly understood.

And so the great Christian Mystery is illustrated in a threefold way by these Festivals. There are many aspects of the Christmas Mystery and in the course of years we have studied them from different points of view at the time of the Festival. To-day we will think of an aspect brought graphically before us in the Gospels.

The Gospels tell of two proclamations of the birth of Christ Jesus. The one proclamation is made to the simple shepherds in the fields, to whom—in dream or in some kindred way—an Angel announces the birth. In this case, knowledge of the event was brought by inner soul-forces which were of a particular character in the shepherds living near the birthplace of Christ Jesus. And the Gospels tell of another proclamation made to the Three Kings, the Three Magi from the East who follow the voice of a star announcing to them that Christ Jesus has come into the world.

Here we have an indication of two ways in which higher knowledge came to men in earlier times. This is again a matter of which the modern mind has no understanding. The idea prevailing nowadays is that man's faculties of apprehension and thinking—that is to say, inner powers of the soul—have for thousands and thousands of years been fundamentally the same as they are to-day, except that in earlier times they were more primitive. But we know from spiritual science that the tenor and mood of the human soul has undergone great changes in the course of the ages. In times of antiquity, let us say about six or seven thousand years ago, man had a quite different conception not only of his own life but also of the universe around him. His attitude of soul underwent continual change until, in the modern world, it amounts simply to intellectual analysis and a purely physical conception of things in the outer world. This development proceeds from an instinctive clairvoyance in ancient times, through the phase of our present mood-of-soul, in order, in the future, to return to a form of clairvoyant vision of the world pervaded by full, clear consciousness.

At the time when the Mystery of Golgotha took place on the earth, the old instinctive clairvoyance had already become dim. Although men's attitude of soul differed widely from that of to-day, they no longer possessed the powers of that ancient clairvoyance; neither were they able to apply the old forms of wisdom in seeking for intimate and exact knowledge of the world. The teachings of the ancient wisdom, as well as the faculties of instinctive clairvoyance, had lost their power when the Mystery of Golgotha took place. Nevertheless, echoes still survived, as the Gospels clearly indicate if we understand them aright. Echoes of the ancient wisdom survived here and there in certain exceptional individuals. These individuals might well have been the simple shepherds in the fields who with their great purity of heart possessed a certain power of clairvoyance which came over them like a dream. And there might also well have been individuals who had reached the heights of learning, like the Three Magi from the East, in whom the ancient faculty to gaze into the how of cosmic happenings had been preserved.

In a kind of dream-condition, the simple shepherds in the fields were able inwardly to realise what was drawing near in the event of the birth of Christ Jesus. On the other hand, the knowledge possessed by the three Magi from the East enabled them, by contemplating the phenomena of the heavens, to discern that an event of a significance far transcending that of the ordinary course of life was taking place on the earth.

Our attention is therefore directed to two definite but quite distinct forms of knowledge. We will think, first, of the knowledge possessed by the three Magi as a last remnant of an ancient wisdom. It is clearly indicated that these Magi were able to read the secrets of the movements of the stars. The story of the three Kings or Magi points to the existence of an ancient lore of the stars, an ancient knowledge of the secrets of the worlds of stars in which the secrets of happenings in the world of men were also revealed. This ancient lore of the stars was very different from our modern astronomical science—although in a certain respect it too is prophetic in that eclipses of the sun, of the moon, and the like, can be predicted. But it is a purely mathematical science, speaking only of conditions and relationships in space and time in so far as they can be expressed in terms of mathematics. What plays with a higher significance into man's inner life from beyond space and time, but into the world of space and time, was read by an ancient star-lore from the courses and movements of the stars, and it was this star-wisdom that formed the essential content of the science belonging to an earlier epoch. Men sought in the stars for explanations of what was happening on the earth. But to such men the world of stars was not the machinelike abstraction it has now come to be. Every planet was felt to have reality of being. In a kind of inner speech of the soul, these men of old conversed, as it were, with each planet, just as to-day we converse with one another in ordinary speech. They realised that what the movements of the stars bring about in the universe is reflected in man's inmost soul. This was a living, spirit-inwoven conception of the universe. And man felt that as a being of soul and spirit he himself had his place within this universe. The wisdom relating to cosmic happenings was also cultivated in Schools of the Mysteries where the pupils were prepared, carefully and intimately, to understand the movements of the stars in such a way that human life on earth became intelligible to them.

What form did these preparations take? These preparations for knowledge of the stars and their workings consisted in training the pupils, even in the times of instinctive clairvoyance, to unfold a more wide-awake consciousness than that prevailing in normal life. The masses of the people possessed faculties of instinctive clairvoyance which were natural in a life of soul less awake than our own. In ancient times the wide-awake thinking of to-day would not have been possible. Nor could mathematics or geometry be grasped in the way they are grasped by the modern mind. Man's whole life between birth and death was a kind of dreamlike existence, but on that very account he had a far more living awareness of the world around him than is possible in our fully wide-awake consciousness. And strange as it seems, in the age which lasted into the second millennium or even as late as the beginning of the first millennium B.C. (—it was to the last surviving remains of this age that men like the three Magi belonged—) individual pupils in the Mysteries were initiated into a kind of knowledge resembling our geometrical or mathematical sciences. It was Euclid¹ who first gave geometry to the world at large. The geometry presented to mankind by Euclid had already been cultivated for thousands of years in the Mysteries, but there it was communicated to chosen pupils only. Moreover it did not work in them in the same way as in men of later time. Paradoxical as it seems, it is nevertheless a fact that the geometry and arithmetic learnt by children to-day was taught in the Mysteries to individuals specially chosen from the masses on account of their particular gifts who were then received into the Mysteries.

One often hears it said to-day that the teachings given in the Mysteries were secret and veiled. In their abstract content however, these so-called ‘secret’ teachings were no different from what is now taught to children at school. The mystery does not lie in the fact that these things are unknown to-day but that they were imparted to human beings in a different way. For to teach the principles of geometry to children by calling upon the intellect in an age when from the moment of waking until that of falling asleep the human being has clear day-consciousness, is a very different matter from imparting them to pupils specially chosen because of their greater maturity of soul in the age of instinctive clairvoyance and dreamlike consciousness. A true conception of these things is rarely in evidence to-day.

In Eastern literature there is a Hymn to the God Varuna which says that Varuna is revealed in the air and in the winds blowing through the forests, in the thunder rolling from the clouds, in the human heart when it is kindled to acts of will, in the heavens when the sun passes across the sky, and is present on the hills in the soma juice. You will generally find it stated in books today that nobody knows what this soma-juice really is. Modern scholars assert that nobody knows what soma-juice is, although, as a matter of fact, there are people who drink it by the litre and from a certain point of view are quite familiar with it. But to know things from the vantage-point of the Mysteries is quite different from knowing them as a layman from the standpoint of the experiences of ordinary waking consciousness. You may read to-day about the ‘Philosopher's Stone’ for which men sought in an epoch when understanding of the nature of substances was very different from what it is today. And again, those who write about alchemy assert that nothing is known about the Philosopher's Stone. Here and there in my lectures I have said that this Philosopher's Stone is quite familiar to most people, only they do not know what it really is nor why it is so called. It is quite well known, because as a matter of fact it is used by the ton.

The modern mind with its tendency to abstraction and theory and its alienation from reality, is incapable of grasping these things. Nor is there any understanding of what is meant by saying that our geometrical and arithmetical sciences were once imparted to mature souls quite different in character from the souls of modern men, In my book Christianity as Mystical Fact I have indicated the special nature of the Mystery-teachings but these significant matters are not as a rule correctly understood; they are taken far too superficially. The way in which the subject-matter of the Mystery-teachings in ancient times was imparted—that is what needs to be understood.

Novalis was still aware of the human element, the element of feeling in mathematics which, in utter contrast to the vast majority to-day, he regarded as being akin to a great and wonderful Hymn.² It was to an understanding of the world imbued with feeling but expressed in mathematical forms that the pupil of the ancient Mysteries was led. And when this mathematical understanding of the universe had developed in such a pupil, he became one whose vision resembled that of the men described as the three Magi from the East. The mathematics of the universe which to us has become pure abstraction, then revealed reality of Being, because this knowledge was supplemented and enriched by something that came to meet it. And so the science and knowledge of the outer universe belonging to an ancient culture which in its last echoes survived in the Magi, was the origin of the one proclamation—the proclamation made by way of wisdom pertaining to the outer universe.

On the other side, inner feeling of the secrets of the evolution of humanity could arise in men of a disposition specially fitted for such experiences. Such men are represented by the shepherds in the fields. These inner forces must have reached a certain stage of development and then instinctive-imaginative perception became direct vision. And so, through their faculty of inner vision, the simple shepherds in the fields were made aware of the proclamation: ‘The God is revealing Himself in the heavenly Heights and through Him there can be peace among all men who are of good-will.’

Secrets of the cosmos were thus revealed to the hearts of the simple shepherds in the fields and to those who were the representatives of the highest wisdom attainable by the human mind at that time. This is the revelation made to the three Magi from the East. The great mystery of earth-existence was proclaimed from two sides.

What was it that came to the knowledge of the Magi? What kind of faculties developed in specially prepared pupils of the Mysteries through the mathematics imparted to them?

The philosopher Kant says of the truths of mathematical science that they are a priori. By this he means that they are determined before the acquisition of external, empirical knowledge.³ This is so much lip-wisdom. Kant's a priori really says nothing. The expression has meaning only when we realise from spiritual-scientific knowledge that mathematics comes from within ourselves, rises into consciousness from within our own being. And where does it originate? In the experiences through which we passed in the spiritual world before conception, before birth. We were living then in the great universe, experiencing what it was possible to experience before we possessed bodily eyes and bodily ears. Our experiences then were a priori—a form of cognition independent of earthly life. And this is the kind of experience that rises up, unconsciously to-day, from our inmost being. Man does not know—unless, like Novalis, he glimpses it intuitively—that the experiences of the life before birth or conception well up when he is engrossed in mathematical thought. For one who can truly apprehend these things, mathematical cognition is in itself a proof that before conception and birth he existed in a spiritual world. Of those to whom this is no proof of a life before birth, it must be said that they do not think deeply and fundamentally enough about the phenomena and manifestations of life and have not the faintest inkling of the real origin of mathematics.

The pupils of the ancient Mysteries who had absorbed the kind of wisdom which in its last echoes had survived in the three Magi from the East, had this clear impression: If as we contemplate the stars we see in them the expressions of mathematical, arithmetical progression, we spread over universal space the experiences through which we lived before birth. A pupil of the Mysteries said to himself: Living here on the earth, I gaze out into the universe, beholding all that is around me in space. Before my birth I lived within these manifestations of cosmic realities, lived with the mysteries of number connected with the stars, with all that I can now only mentally picture in terms of mathematics. In that other existence my own inner forces led me from star to star; I had my very life in what is now only a mental activity. Such contemplation made vividly real to these men what they had lived through before birth, and these experiences were sacred to them. They knew that this other world was a spiritual world—their home before they came down to the earth. The last echoing remains of this knowledge had survived in the Magi from the East and through it they recognised the signs of the coming of Christ.

Whence came the Christ Being? He came from the world in which we ourselves live between death and a new birth, and united Himself with the life that extends from birth to death. Knowledge of the world in which our existence is spent from death to a new birth can therefore shed light upon an event like the Mystery of Golgotha. And it was through this knowledge that the Mystery of Golgotha, the Christmas Mystery too, was announced to the Magi.

While man is living on the earth and unfolding the forces which bring knowledge of the world around him, while he is unfolding the impulses for his actions and social life, he is unconsciously experiencing something else as well. He has no knowledge of it, but just as he experiences the aftereffects of his life before birth, so does he also experience what finally passes through the gate of death to become the content of the life after death. These forces are already present in germ between birth and death but come to fruition only in the life after death. They worked with intense strength in the old, instinctive clairvoyance, and in their last echoes they were still working in the simple shepherds in the fields because of their purity of heart. We live within the play of these forces above all during sleep, when the soul is outside the body, within the outer universe. The soul is then living in the form of existence in which it will live consciously after death, when the physical body has been laid aside.

These forces from the world of sleep and dream which in certain conditions can penetrate into waking life, were very active in the old, instinctive clairvoyance, and they were working in the simple shepherds to whom the Mystery of Golgotha was proclaimed in a way other than to the three Magi.

What kind of knowledge is brought by the forces that are paramountly active between death and a new birth, if, as was the case with the Magi, they have been kindled during life between birth and death? It is a knowledge of happenings in the world beyond the earth. The human being is transported from the earth into the world of the stars in which he lives between death and a new birth. This was the world into which the three Magi from the East were transported—away from the earth into the heavens.

And what kind of knowledge is brought by the forces that well up from the inmost being of man, above all in the world of dream? These forces bring knowledge of what is coming to pass within the earth itself. In this kind of knowledge it is earthly forces that are most strongly at work, the forces we have through the body, through existence in the body. These are the forces which are particularly active between sleeping and waking. Then too we are within the outer universe, but the outer universe that is especially connected with the earth.

You will say: this contradicts the statement that during sleep we are outside the body. But in reality there is no contradiction. We perceive only what is outside us; we do not perceive that within which we actually live. Only those who lack real knowledge and are satisfied with phrases speak of such things in glib words to the effect that it is meaningless to base spiritual science upon knowledge acquired outside the human being, for what really matters is that knowledge of outer nature shall be gained through the forces within man. ‘Schools of Wisdom’ like the one in Darmstadt⁴ may be based on high-sounding principles of this kind, but a man can remain a phrasemonger in spite of being the founder of such a ‘School of Wisdom.’ We must understand the inner nature of the world before we can acquire super-sensible knowledge, and it is only then that we can penetrate into the nature of our own inmost being. Men like Keyserling speak of the need to view things from the vantage-point of the soul, but they do not penetrate into the inmost being of man; they simply pour out phrases.

The truth is that between sleeping and waking we look back, feel back, as it were, into our body. We become aware of how our body is connected with the earth—for the body is given by the earth. The revelation to the shepherds in the fields was the revelation given by the earth, proceeding from their bodily nature. In a state of dream the voice of the Angel made known to them what had come to pass.

And so the contrast is complete:

To the Magi: revelation through heavenly lore.
To the Shepherds: revelation given by the earth.

That the revelation should have been from two sides is entirely in keeping with the Mystery of Golgotha. For a heavenly Being, a Being Who until then had not belonged to the earth, was drawing near. And the coming of such a Being must be recognised through wisdom pertaining to the heavens, through wisdom that is able to reveal the descent of a Being from the heavens. The wisdom of the shepherds is knowledge proceeding from the earth; the weaving life of the earth becomes aware of the coming of the Being from heaven. It is the same proclamation, only from another side—a wonderful, twofold proclamation to mankind of a single Event.

The attitude with which the Event of Golgotha was received by mankind is to be explained by the fact that only vestiges of the ancient wisdom remained. In the first centuries of our era, certain Gnostic teachings were able to shed light upon the Mystery of Golgotha, but as time went on, men strove more and more to understand it through purely intellectual analysis and reason. And in the nineteenth century, naturalism invaded this domain of belief. There was no longer any understanding of the super-sensible reality of the Event of Golgotha. Christ became the ‘wise man of Nazareth’—in the naturalistic sense. What is necessary is a new, spiritual conception of the Mystery of Golgotha. The Mystery of Golgotha as such must never be confused with the attitude adopted to it by the human mind.

The mood-of-soul prevailing in the shepherds and in the Magi was in its final phase at the time of the Mystery of Golgotha. Everything in the evolution of humanity undergoes constant change and metamorphosis. What has the wisdom possessed by the Magi from the East now become? It has become our mathematical astronomy. The Magi possessed super-earthly knowledge which was actually a glorious remembrance of life before birth. This knowledge has shrivelled away into our mathematical-mechanistic conception of the heavens, to the phenomena of which we apply only mathematical laws. What wells up from within us in our mathematical astronomy is the modern metamorphosis of the knowledge once possessed by the Magi.

Our outer, sense-given knowledge, conveyed as it is merely through eyes and ears, is the externalised form of the inner knowledge once possessed by men like the shepherds in the fields. The mood-of-soul in which the secrets of earth-existence were once revealed to the shepherds now induces us to look at the world with the cold detachment of scientific observation. This kind of observation is the child of the Shepherd-wisdom—but the child is very unlike the parent! And our mathematical astronomy is the child of the Magi-wisdom. It was necessary that humanity should pass through this phase. When our scientists are making their cold, dispassionate researches in laboratories and clinics, they have very little in common with the shepherds of old, but this attitude of soul is nevertheless a metamorphosis leading back directly to the wisdom of the shepherds. And our mathematicians are the successors of the Magi from the East. The outer has become inward—the inner, outward. In the process, understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha has been lost, and we must be fully conscious of this fact. Understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha has vanished most completely of all, perhaps, in many of those who claim to be official ministers of Christianity to-day.

With the forces of knowledge, feeling and belief possessed by modern men, the true reality of the Event of Golgotha can no longer be grasped. It must be discovered anew. The Magi-wisdom has become inward; it has become our abstract, mathematical science by which alone the heavens are studied. What has become inward in this way must again be filled with life, re-cast, re-shaped from within.

And now, from this point of view, try to understand what is contained in a book like my Outline of Occult Science.

The Magi gazed at the worlds of the stars; therein they beheld the Spiritual, for they could behold man's experiences in his life before birth. In our mathematics this has become pure abstraction. But the same forces that are unfolded in our mathematical thinking can again be filled with life, enriched and intensified in Imaginative perception. Then, from our own inner forces there will be born a world which, although we create it from within, can be seen as the outer universe, embracing Saturn, Sun, Moon, Earth, Jupiter, Venus, Vulcan. We then behold the heavens through inner perception, inner vision, as the Magi discerned the secrets of the Mystery of Golgotha through outer perception. The outer has become inward, has become mathematical abstraction. Therefore what is now inward must be expanded into perception of the outer universe; inward perception must lead to a new astronomy, to an astronomy inwardly experienced.

It is only by striving for a new understanding of Christ that we can truly celebrate the Christmas Festival to-day. Can it be said that this Festival still has any real meaning for the majority of people? It has become a beautiful custom to take the Christmas Tree as the symbol of the Festival, although as a matter of fact this custom is hardly a century old. The Christmas Tree was not adopted as a symbol of the Festival until the nineteenth century. What is the Christmas Tree, in reality? When we endeavour to discover its meaning and know of the legend telling that it grew from the tiny branch carried in the arms of the boy Ruprecht on the 6th of December, when we follow its history, it dawns upon us that the Christmas Tree is directly connected with the Tree of Paradise. The mind turns to the Tree of Paradise, to Adam and Eve. This is one aspect of the way in which the Mystery of Golgotha can again be proclaimed in our time. The mind turns from the Mystery of Golgotha, back to the world's beginning. The meaning of world-redemption is not understood and the mind turns again to the Divine creation of the world. This comes to expression in the fact that the real symbol of Christmas—the Crib—so beautifully presented in the Christmas Plays of earlier centuries, is gradually being superseded by the Christmas Tree which is, in reality, the Tree of Paradise. The old Jahve religion usurped the place of Christianity and the Christmas Tree is the symbol of its recrudescence. But in its reappearance the Jahve religion has been split into multiple divisions. Jahve was worshipped, and rightly worshipped, as the one, undivided Godhead in an age when his people felt themselves to be a single, self-contained unity not looking beyond their own boundaries and full of the expectation that one day they would fill the whole earth. But in our time, although people speak of Christ Jesus, in reality they worship Jahve. In the various nations (this was all too evident in the war), men spoke of Christ but were really venerating the original Godhead who holds sway in heredity and in the world of nature—Jahve. Thus we have the Christmas Tree on the one side, and on the other, national Gods at a level inferior to that of the Christian reality. These were the principles by which men's comprehension of the Mystery of Golgotha was diverted back again to the conceptions belonging to a much earlier epoch. The assertion of the principle of nationality, the claiming of national Gods, denotes a step backward into the old Jahve religion. Those who see fit to worship Christ as a national God—it is they who deny Him most deeply.

What must never be forgotten is that the proclamations to the Shepherds and to the Kings contained a message for all mankind—for the earth is common to all. In that the revelation to the shepherds was from the earth, it was a revelation that may not be differentiated according to nationality. And in that the Magi received the proclamation of the sun and the heavens, this too was a revelation destined for all mankind. For when the sun has shone upon the territory of one people, it shines upon the territory of another. The heavens are common to all; the earth is common to all. The impulse of the ‘human universal’ is in very truth quickened by Christianity. Such is the aspect of Christmas revealed by the twofold proclamation.

When we think of the Christmas Mystery, our minds must turn to a birth, to something that must be born anew in our time. For true Christianity must verily be born anew. We need a World-Christmas-Festival, and spiritual science would fain be a preparation for this World-Christmas-Festival among men.

• 1. About 300 B.C.
• 2. None really comprehend mathematics who do not undertake the study with reverence and devotion as a revelation from God." (From Thoughts on Physics).
• 3. "Mathematics and physics are the two theoretical sciences of reason which have to determine their objects a priori." (From the Preface to the 2nd ed. of The Critique of Pure Reason, 1787).
• 4. Founded in 1920 by Count Hermann Keyserling (1880-1946).

[Dearly beloved!]

Eight days ago I took the liberty of characterizing this great transition, which for a mystical view of things expresses itself in the further development of the Mystery Being, of the Mystery Mysteries to Platonic-Socratic mysticism, and I ask you to consider from the outset, if I may, the Platonic philosophy, in the center of which the personality of Socrates appears as the bearer of a series of powerful ideas, that everything that I allow myself to develop as Platonic mysticism should certainly be understood in such a way that I develop everything out of Platonism that appears to me as Platonic mysticism.

From the outset, it will perhaps appear to those who view Platonic philosophy in a scholarly manner as an impossible, perhaps even a daring undertaking to illuminate the Platonic world of thought from the so-called mystical point of view. To the historian in particular, much of what I find in Greek philosophy, especially in Platonic philosophy, must appear to be unhistorical. The sources that led me to it, however, caused me to regard Platonism as a decidedly mystical doctrine, which I cannot avoid, which I cannot do without as a precursor of Neoplatonism and the teachings of early Christianity, to which I want to hasten.

These views are for me undoubtedly components of the mystical development in the West, and therefore I ask you to regard them as necessary components of mysticism, but not to regard them as any contribution to a purely scholarly conception of Platonic philosophy.

The last time I took the liberty of showing how art grew out of the basic view [of the Mystery Being], [which] was not yet divided into art and beauty, into wisdom and truth, on the one hand, and what is called philosophy grew out of it on the other, that a one-sided striving for truth, a one-sided striving for knowledge arose in the higher and lower form of logic, which, however, as I said, is nothing other than having grown out of an [originally unified] striving for the spiritualization of man.

I have endeavored to show that Aristotle's work can only be understood if it is regarded as a faint echo, a shadow of this original conviction of Greek mysticism, just as this basic conviction was in the Mystery Cult, that one cannot arrive at wisdom through the ordinary pursuit of truth, of logic, but that one can arrive at this wisdom through a method that still contains the pursuit of art and the pursuit of truth unmixed.

We are at the point in Greek development where, through Socrates, the pursuit of art stands out from human spiritualization and expresses itself on the one hand in Greek art and tragedy and on the other in the one-sided pursuit of truth, as we encounter it individually in Socrates and Plato.

In the course of the previous lectures I have tried to show that nothing else was to be understood from the mystery cults than a conception of the core of truth in the highest sense of myth, and how such a deepening of the Greek mythological ideas is possible that we must say to ourselves that the grasp of Greek mythology through the mystery cult appears to us as the detachment of the originally existing core of truth within Greek philosophy.

Now it is natural that at that time, when knowledge on a logical basis branched off from the actual original mysticism, the need had to arise to become clear about how myth actually relates to what is called truth in the ordinary sense. We have seen that it was a completely different striving for truth, which expresses itself quite differently, expresses itself in a kind of tongue of fire, which immediately leaps over into a kind of symbolic mode of representation. We have seen that they deviated completely from what we call scientific work. We saw that the prosaic need for truth jumped over into the mythological-allegorical mode of representation, so that we had the dress on one side and the core of the myth on the other.

After Socrates and his disciples had endeavored to pursue the truth in a purely intellectual, rational way, the question had to arise: How does what emerged in the myths relate to our abstract pursuit of truth? Socrates, who was initially interested in nothing other than knowledge of human nature, rejected the interpretation of myths. He rejected it and regarded himself as an uninitiated person. We will see that this has its deeper meaning in the Platonic account.

However, he had to take a stand on the question of myth. He took a highly peculiar position for those who look at the matter superficially. This can be seen from two works when we speak of Platonic philosophy. These two works are the Phaedrus and the Phaedo. Both deal with areas which contrast the contemplation of the finite with the contemplation of the infinite, or which rise from the contemplation of the temporal to the contemplation of the eternal.

If we therefore note this, the contemplation of the finite in relation to the infinite, we are confronted with the curious fact that Plato is quite resolutely opposed to any rationalistic interpretation of myth. We encounter this particularly in the "Phaedrus", in the discussion about love.

The other strange thing is that Plato [indeed] rejects a rational interpretation of myth, [but that at the same time] where he passes from finite truths to infinite truths, he himself becomes a myth-denier. Plato expresses himself symbolically and allegorically where he wants to speak of what we cannot see with our eyes or hear with our ears. Thus, where he speaks about the "Phaedrus", he expresses himself mythologically, while on the other hand the meaning of myth, as it was cultivated by the sophists, is understood in such a way that myth must be explained simply on the basis of pure reason and rules of understanding, as, for example, the carrying away of the king's daughter by the wind is interpreted as a simple natural event. This is simply rejected [in the "Phaedrus" by Socrates].

At the same moment, however, when contemplation rises from the ordinary things of life, Plato himself becomes a mythmaker. The deeper reason for this is none other than the fact that Plato has the definite feeling that everything that goes beyond sensory observation, beyond the observation of the intellect, is impossible for man to express in any other way than through myth. It is impossible for him to give a form of transmission other than by using the ordinary, prosaic word, as we see and hear it with the senses, connect it with the intellect, separate it logically and so on, mythologically. We have no language and are forced to resort to myth ourselves.

Now let us see what Plato says about the doctrine of the soul itself. The Platonic "Phaedrus" is about the subject that we have seen as the center of all Greek thought. It is about the path from subordinate levels of consciousness to the superior levels of consciousness. It is nothing other than a more logical approach, a more intellectual approach, which Plato practises compared to the approach practised by the Mysteries.

This way of looking at things undoubtedly has the great advantage for man that it is initially closer to the logical thinker, the person who prefers to appeal to reason. But then it also has the disadvantage that only very few can rise with Plato from the sensual, intellectual contemplation to the higher contemplation of a true myth. By a true myth I do not mean one that is supposed to include a miracle, but one that is borne by that higher concept of truth that we have come to know as the bearer of mythology, as the bearer of myth.

I think we have to follow the path, roughly, if not exactly, in the Platonic version, that a student of Plato would have taken under the leadership of a personality like Socrates. In the Phaedrus we are led to that principle in man, that force that drives him upwards from the lower states of the soul to the higher ones. And for Plato, this driving force that leads him from the lower to the higher states is love, that is Eros, that is what leads man with elemental force from an everyday life to a higher spiritual life.

And if we now visualize the process on the basis of the "Phaidros", we find three states of moral life characterized. These are:

Firstly, the state in which man is completely dominated by the lowest forms of love, in which he strives to fulfill the needs of his lustful feelings, in which he is completely driven by his lustful feelings. He is dominated by the pursuit of the pleasurable, and this is completely immersed in everyday life. He lives entirely in the life that is given to him through his senses. He lives entirely in the feelings that can only be awakened through his senses. This thus dissolves in the manifold and [in the finite,] in that which surrounds him and to which he also belongs. The power in man, which he has as a single member in this multiplicity, is sensuality, which evokes his feelings of pleasure and which he strives to satisfy.

The next higher level to which man can rise is that on which man does not stand exclusively on the ground of the sensual world. This is the form of prudence. There he rises above the world of the senses to the use of his actual spiritual power. He now regulates his needs [no longer merely according to pleasure, but according to the principle] of usefulness, according to what appears useful to him. That which appears useful to him for his temporal and, in his view, eternal existence becomes the content of his view of life and he satisfies this on his next, higher level.

This power in man, which will guide and lead him to satisfy his needs, is the human mind, which divides all things into useful and harmful in life. A person who allows his ethical life to be guided by his intellect will reject many things from his life's path that would give him pleasure but do not appear useful. Therefore, man is not always uplifted, but often pulled down. Prudence shows this. The prudent person will refrain from doing many things that give pleasure, and he will not conceal from himself the fact that what is useful is often only a hidden means of satisfying his pleasure. It may therefore be a higher level. However, we must assume that man must by no means completely abandon lust and sensuality. That would mean a weakness of human nature, because if man had to completely drown out his senses, he would find that he would not be able to elevate this sensual world through prudence.

[Thirdly:] Prudence should represent nothing other than a spiritualization of the life of the senses, the stage at which love takes the form of enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is not something that relates to the finite, but something that raises man from the finite to the infinite. Therefore, no one is capable of enthusiasm who, in addition to avoiding the sensual, is not able to grasp the eternal, the imperishable, the permanent. And here, where he first discovers his soul, where he first outgrows it and where he must feel himself as a member of multiplicity, and here, where he feels within himself that something higher presents itself in the moment of existence, he rises from finitude.

Here Plato falls into a form of representation that we must describe as mystical, symbolic, allegorical. Here he believes that we are dealing with something that is impossible to express in intellectual forms. Here he does not write as one writes from the intellect, but as one who has immersed himself in the sea of the infinite. He does not write like someone who can only reproduce the logical form, but like someone who has a new, higher form of representation that represents nothing other than a higher truth in relation to the logical truth.

If you do not look at it this way, the soul myth appears to you as nothing more than any other. But if you look up, you will find that Plato - unlike his predecessors - was what is called an initiate, that is, he was a man who was able to reproduce in image the deeper truths that were revealed to him. The person who is able to reveal the secret of this image, this mystery, can also know what Plato wants. This will also be different for different people. One person will only be able to guess what is hidden in the image, and the secret can only gradually be revealed to him. In any case, however, it is symbolism that expresses the deeper truths, because it is not a matter of brutally presenting them externally to the mind.

Such a brutally presented truth is not recognized in its full depth and cannot be recognized in its full depth. This is the same thing that compelled Goethe to speak as he did in his "Fairy Tale" of the green snake and the beautiful lily or in the second part of his "Faust". It is a need that is connected with human nature and that reverent shyness before the deeper truth:

He who has an inkling of the infinite capacity of such truths will find that it is necessary to live through the content of these truths, he will find that it is impossible for this content to be expressed logically. That is why Plato always becomes mystical, allegorical at the deepest points.

Plato describes the virgin soul in mystical form in such a way that he creates a myth out of it. It is intended to represent his conception of the soul. This Platonic myth is something you will find in theosophical literature from all over the world, including Buddhism. And if this myth does not correspond to what you know as "esoteric Buddhism", there will still be an opportunity to show a deeper correspondence between Platonic philosophy and esoteric Buddhism.

A calculation is not always wrong because something else comes out. You have to know whether the calculation is based on completely different assumptions from the outset. We calculate with decadic numbers. But there can also be systems where you only count to five. There would be a new order, so that all types of calculation would appear different to us. Some things will be different, and this is how I would like to characterize the teaching of the Mysteries in relation to esoteric Buddhism.

For Plato, it is therefore the case that one ascends or submerges into the world of infinity on three levels. And this world of the infinite, which no longer transmits the same properties as our senses, with which our mind reckons, separates and connects, can be grasped. Where man ascends, where he grasps the spirit in its sense-free form, we use the word "intuition". So we use the word intuition where the human being does not use the spirit to process the sensual, but perceives the spiritual as the sense perceives the sensual. Just as the sense perceives the sensual, so the spirit perceives the spiritual. And so it is a reflection of the eternal.

Here, then, Plato rises from the perception of the temporal to the perception of the eternal. Here Plato has reached the point where all the things, all the forms in which man perceives the ordinary sensory world, no longer have any validity, so that one can no longer speak about space and time. Above all, at this moment, when man rises from prudence to enthusiasm, the prospect of a new world opens up in his soul.

It must be noted that Plato knew, not merely believed. We know that Plato knew the difference between belief and knowledge. Belief disappears. Therefore, for Plato it is simply a foregone conclusion that the things that present themselves to a person on the third stage are eternal in nature. Just as it is clear to him that something stands before his eye, so it is clear to him that the things that present themselves to a person on the third stage are of an eternal nature. But just as he who can see colors is not able to give a colorblind person a real insight into the diversity of colors - he can [only] offer him a surrogate for it - just as he is not able to show him the colors, so the spiritually seeing person is not able to teach the spiritually blind person this. He who is not able to develop his outer world of the senses up into the world of the intellect as far as the spiritual world, where things are transformed from the temporal into the eternal, is not able to go along with Plato up to this point. Here ends what the physical mode of conception has enclosed in the usual way.

Whoever is enclosed between birth and death gains here a view into that which is not enclosed between birth and death. What connects Plato from such concepts, we must be clear that it is an exoteric talking around. Imagining the soul as a sensual thing, no matter how diluted its resemblance to the physical, is not yet an esoteric view.

We must realize that it is impossible to speak of an actual proof of the eternity of the soul before an actual Platonic way of thinking. That is simply nonsensical. One will prove things that are attainable through logic. One proves some mathematical theorem for my sake. When you prove it, you have a complicated manifold in mind, which you break down into parts and then put together what you want to prove. The entire basis of what a proof refers to must be given by observation. No other proof can prove anything. Therefore, for Plato it is not a question of proving the immortality of the soul.

There was no room for such a proof for Plato. For him, it was about elevating man so that he could see the spiritual without senses. And that is nothing other than the Platonic world of ideas. Anyone who sees it free of sensual qualities, who sees things as they appear to the spirit, has an idea of the Platonic world of ideas. This can also be called the soul's "participation in the world of ideas". At this moment, the soul immerses itself in the world of ideas. It penetrates it so that it is incorporated into an eternal stream and ceases to belong to merely temporal life. It surveys the temporal from a higher point of view. Thus, for Plato, rising above the world of the senses is the actual world of the spirit or the knowledge of the soul.

For Plato, the elevation to the actual spiritual world or the knowledge of the soul is not a logical process, but a real process of the soul. Man becomes a different person, he ascends and conquers his soul. At the moment when he has done this, when he can set aside the sensual qualities of the world, he has achieved that to which space and time are not applicable, where one can no longer speak of coming into being and passing away. He has attained that which is sublime above birth and death; he has become a partaker of eternity, so that what Plato understands by "becoming a partaker of eternity" is something that must be conquered.

In the Platonic view, we cannot say: We carry an eternal soul within us, and we only need to recognize ourselves and we will recognize the eternal soul. That would not be the correctly understood Christian theory. But that is the Christian trivial theory. The soul is present in the human being. You can go looking for it like something hidden behind a door. It is there. Knowledge is there without us going through the [stages of] knowledge.

This view is not like the Platonic view. Those who do not want to go through the process of development, but want to recognize something that they already have within themselves, remain stuck in the sensual, in the intellectual. They remain in the sensual and do not reach that which is new. That is the cancer of our modern theory of knowledge.

This disaster has been caused by Kant's philosophy, which starts from the point of view that all truth is finished, that all truth is already there and that man only has to discover the truth, that he only has to pull away the veil and that he is actually the fifth wheel in the world's gears. Man is necessarily part of it. And when Plato speaks of the Godhead, the Godhead is just as dependent on man as man is on the Godhead, because the Godhead could not achieve perfection if man were not involved. It would remain at a lower level if man did not help it to achieve its goal. What man develops in the spirit is part of the world process.

This is also the point at which Platonic development can also say yes to our scientific theory of development. If we see it simply as a series of perceptions, but one that is infinite and never complete, if we view the sensory stages as a chain and see man as the pinnacle of nature, who in turn continues the same development out of himself, so that he represents a link in the development, then we have before us in the modern world what we also have before us in the Platonic world.

The human being who does not merely dissect and interpret sensuality, whose process of cognition is a real one, who does not merely recognize in the process of cognition, but who does something, who transforms the soul, transforms it from a temporal into a divine soul. It is the transition that must be found. And the driving force that conjures up the divine, that elevates man from sensual desire to enthusiasm, where his spiritual drive finds the transition, that is Eros, that is where he attains the higher standpoint and gains the overview.

He then does not take these drives from temporality, they are borrowed from the eternal world of ideas. We call this timeless and spaceless world the world of ideas because everything spatial and temporal is discarded, because we know that we are dealing here with the spirit. At this level, we cease to speak of the soul enclosed in finiteness and can only speak of the eternal. Everything that man gains in temporality is nothing other than a shining forth of the eternal world into the temporal, and the temporal world is nothing other than a reflection of the eternal in temporality.

If we translate this back, such a reflection appears in our imaginary life. If the matter becomes such that we see things in the light of eternity, then this is not an idea that has arisen, of which we can say that it was not there. It has always been there, only it has not been in the consciousness of man. It is exactly the same as with an idea that took root in our consciousness yesterday, which we did not think about, but which re-enters our consciousness today. Such an entry into consciousness is also the entry of eternal ideas into consciousness. It is the ability to remember.

So Plato can understand all higher knowledge as a memory by translating the [temporal into the eternal] back. And so he can say: Everything that we imagine in our imaginary life is the recollection of an earlier, purely spiritual life. And that which thus shines in cannot perish. It is what remains, it is what lies beyond death and beyond birth.

This, then, is the transition from the [temporal to the eternal]. Now think of how Plato speaks of the soul, saying: The soul remembers the former states before birth. The way in which he expresses himself is again a language of infinity translated back into temporality. But this prompts Plato to express the idea in a mystical way so as not to evoke the sensual imagination.

And now, in Plato, the process takes place that has taken place in all myth-making, a process that will always prevent us from interpreting the myths in a realistic way. The process takes place that must develop in every human being when he has to say goodbye to the logical. Here are the limits of logic.

Kant only knows about intellectual cognition. When man finds the way out from the knowledge of reason to the knowledge of experience, then he knows that this higher knowledge exists. When man is able to recognize as Johann Gottlieb Fichte did [that is] in such a way that he perceives the visible from the spiritual, because the spiritual becomes so fluid, then he feels compelled to resort to myth.

The myth that Plato chose for the virginal soul presents the soul as a team of two horses, one rushing along, the other heading for heaven. They are steered by a guide on their journey through the world. First they come to the region of the sky and then to the region of the sky above.

Through these regions of the world, the soul, guided by its leader in the sense of this Platonic myth, reaches the heaven above after ten thousand years. During the transition from the sphere of the mundane to the sphere of the divine, it has to overcome the greatest obstacles. This is where it faces the greatest danger. The steed inclined towards sensuality threatens to shy away. If the senses are not able to gain an insight into the Supermundane, [the soul] can be thrown back. But when it returns, it can undergo the marriage with heaven. Within ten thousand years it undergoes ten embodiments in one millennium each. The soul is free to choose its body once every millennium and is thus able to shorten its path. The ten thousand years can be shortened to three thousand years.

By imbuing itself with philosophy, theosophy and mysticism, the soul is able to shorten the path. This enables it to limit life to a smaller series of physical embodiments. Physical life is on the one hand - I may not say a marriage of the spiritual with the material - but a marriage of the soul with the sensual. It is a sensual reflection of the spiritual. And this marriage necessarily takes place according to the eternal laws of the universe. Man is necessarily compelled, after a series of years, to make that great transition where he must gain passage through the purely spiritual realm of the world of ideas. At the same time he is free on this path, which he accomplishes both below and above, to give himself his embodiment. He is a being that floats between freedom and necessity, that carries out his life between freedom and necessity. Thus Plato can understand life in the temporal as a recollection of the life he experienced in the extra-temporal. Man must participate in this retrospection of the world of ideas if he wants to rise to the higher levels of knowledge.

This is Plato's poem about the transition from the finite to the eternal. He speaks of it as if he were speaking of a journey, he speaks of it as if it were a fictionalized world of the senses. But this is nothing other than the art of awakening the imagination through myth. This has to do with the fact that, whatever one may speak about these things, one sees even deeper foundations coming before the soul, and that one would therefore only restrict, only limit these things with every intellectual limitation, with every conceptual expression.

If, on the other hand, they are expressed in a symbolic way and the symbol is conceived in a higher sense and is not too sober and unambiguous, then everyone will perhaps be able to draw higher, more meaningful things from this symbol by penetrating into it than those who speak in symbols. The person who speaks in symbols does not claim to have already thought everything that the listener can put into it.

But what about the question: did he mean what he said? Well, he wants us to be able to read more into his symbol than he himself was perhaps able to see in it. This is the exoteric and esoteric understanding of the symbol. The esotericist is aware that every human being, no matter how high a level of knowledge he may reach, still only has individual knowledge, and that it is possible for him to find the point of passage through the human spirit to that which the individual human consciousness cannot exhaust. He is aware that man can express truths in poetry without knowing what lies within these truths. And it can be the case that someone else, who comes afterwards, can first peel out what is contained therein.

This difference must be noted, so that we must not ask: Did he who created a myth of the inner life put these things into the myth? No, it is a need for man to express himself mythically when he comes to things that go beyond the human. When we come across such a mystical thing, an allegory or a symbol, it is a sign that a different interpretation is now coming in, and proof that we may now apply not a "finite but an "infinite interpretation".

It is quite the same as with the one who stands before the ordinary views of human life. Such a person can only describe the mountains to us in a finite form. He cannot tell us everything that the mountain has shown us. He cannot convey the same impression. But the one who does it the way Plato did it does not want to give us a description, he will not say: Use this description, which will lead you on the right path. The Platonic writings will only be used by a higher understanding in a higher way when they serve as a kind of "spiritual Baedeker". They should not be interpreted, they should be travel descriptions in the realm of the spiritual and lead you to the things themselves. But then the very language of myth, which makes certain things disappear in a kind of indeterminacy, will be appropriate because it does not create the impression that the thing itself is to be completed with the strict contours. No, what is handed down to us should only be an indication of what the person concerned saw. It should be a guide, not a story, a manual on how to study history.

Question answer:

The number 10,000 as the time of reincarnation.

Everything contained in "Esoteric Buddhism" tempts us to interpret everything exoterically.

The symbol is not a truth, but a path that can lead us to the truth.

Allegories. Not all allegories are original. Many will be taken over. Otherwise, every allegory corresponds to a spiritual. You draw them from your inner life.

My dear friends,

When people encounter the world conception of Spiritual Science their chief desire is to have an answer to their questions, a solution of their problems. That is quite natural and understandable, one might even say justifiable. But something else must be added if the spiritual scientific-movement is really to become the living thing it must be, in accordance with the general course of evolution of earth and humanity. Above all, a certain feeling must be added, a certain perception that the more one strives to enter the spiritual world, the more the riddles increase. These riddles actually become more numerous for the human soul than they were before, and in a certain respect they become also more sacred. When we come into the spiritual scientific world concept, great life problems, the existence of which we hardly guessed before, first appear as the riddles they are.

Now, one of the greatest riddles connected with the evolution of the earth and mankind is the Christ-riddle, the riddle of Christ-Jesus. And with regard to this, we can only hope to advance slowly towards its actual depth and sanctity. That is to say, we can expect in our future incarnations gradually to have an enhanced feeling in what a lofty sense, in what an extraordinary sense this Christ-riddle is a riddle. We must not expect just that regarding this Christ-riddle much will be solved for us, but also that much of what we have hitherto found full of riddles concerning the entry of the Christ-Being into humanity's evolution, becomes still more difficult. Other things will emerge that bring new riddles into the question of the Mystery of Golgotha, or if one prefers, new aspects of this great riddle.

There is no question here of ever claiming to do more than throw some light from one or other aspect of this great problem. And I beg you to be entirely clear that only single rays of light can ever be thrown from the circuit of human conception upon this greatest riddle of man's earthly existence, nor do these rays attempt to exhaust the problem, but only to illumine it from various aspects. And so something shall here be added to what has already been said that may bring us again some understanding of one aspect of the Mystery of Golgotha.

You remember the pronouncement of the God Jahve, radiating from the far distance, which stands at the beginning of the Bible, after the Fall had come about. The words announced that now men had eaten of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil they must be banished from their present abode, so that they might not eat also of the Tree of Life. The Tree of Life was to be protected, as it were, from being partaken of by men who had already tasted of the Tree of Knowledge.

Now behind this primordial two-foldness of the eating of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil on the one hand and the eating of the Tree of Life on the other hand, there lies concealed something which cuts deep into life. Today we will turn our attention to one of the many applications to life of this pronouncement: we will bring to mind what we have long known: i.e., that the Mystery of Golgotha, in so far as it was accomplished within the evolution of earthly history, fell in the Fourth Post-Atlantean epoch, in the Graeco-Latin age.

We know indeed that the Mystery of Golgotha lies approximately at the conclusion of the first third of the Graeco-Latin age and that two-thirds of this age follow, having as their task the first incorporation of the secrets of the Mystery of Golgotha into human evolution.

Now we must distinguish two things in regard to the Mystery of Golgotha. The first is what took place as purely objective fact: in short, what happened as the entry of the Cosmic Being ‘Christus’ in the sphere of earthly evolution. It would be-hypothetically possible, one might say, it would be conceivable, for the Mystery of Golgotha, that is, the entry of the Impulse of Christ into earthly evolution, to have been enacted without any of the men on earth having understood or perhaps even known what had taken place there. It might quite well have happened that the Mystery of Golgotha had taken place, but had remained unknown to men, that no single person would have been able to think about solving the riddle of what had actually occurred there.

This was not to be. Earthly humanity was gradually to reach an understanding of what had happened through the Mystery of Golgotha. But none the less we must realise that there are two aspects: that which man receives as knowledge, as inner working in his soul, and that which has happened objectively within the human race, and which is independent of this human race—that is to say, of its knowledge. Now, men endeavoured to grasp what had taken place through the Mystery of Golgotha. We are aware that not only did the Evangelists, out of a certain clairvoyance, give those records of the Mystery of Golgotha which we find in the Gospels; an attempt was also made to grasp it by means of the knowledge which men had before the Mystery of Golgotha. We know that since the Mystery of Golgotha not only have its tidings been given out, but there has also arisen a New Testament theology, in its various branches. This New Testament theology, as is only natural, has made use of already existing ideas in asking itself: What has actually come about with the Mystery of Golgotha, what has been accomplished in it?

We have often considered how, in particular, Greek philosophy that which was developed for instance as Greek philosophy in the teachings of Plato and Aristotle—how the ideas of Greek philosophy endeavoured to grasp what had taken place in the Mystery of Golgotha, just as they took pains to understand Nature around them. And so we can say that on the one hand the Mystery of Golgotha entered as objective fact, and on the other hand, confronting it, are the different world-conceptions which had been developed since antiquity, and which reach a certain perfection at the time in which the Mystery of Golgotha took place, and then go on evolving.

Whence were these concepts derived? We know indeed that all these concepts, including those which live in Greek philosophy and which approached the Mystery of Golgotha from the earth, are derived from a primeval knowledge, from a knowledge which could not have been at man's disposal if, let us say, an original revelation had not taken place. For it is not only amaterialistic, but an entirely nonsensical idea that the attenuated philosophy which existed at the time of the Mystery of Golgotha could at its starting point have been formed by human beings themselves. It is primeval revelation, which as we know was founded in an age when men still had the remains of ancient clairvoyance; primeval revelation which in ancient times had been given to man for the most part in imaginative form and which had been attenuated to concepts in the age when the Mystery of Golgotha entered, the Graeco-Latin age. Thus one could see an intensive stream of primeval revelation arise in ancient times, which could be given to men because they still had the final relics of the old clairvoyance that spoke to their understanding and which then gradually dried up and withered into philosophy.

Thus a philosophy, a world-conception existed in many, many shades and nuances, and these sought in their own way to comprehend the Mystery of Golgotha. If we would find the last stragglers of what was diluted at that time to a world-concept of a more philosophic character; then we come to what lived in the old Roman age.

By this Roman age I mean the time that begins approximately with the Mystery of Golgotha, with the reign of the Emperor Augustus, and flows on through the time of the Roman Empire until the migration of nations that gave such a different countenance to the European world. And what we see flare up in this Roman age like a last great light from the stream flowing from revelation—that is the Latin-Roman poetry, which plays so great a role in the education of youth even up to our own day. It is all that developed as continuation of this Latin-Roman poetry till the decline of ancient Rome. Every possible shade of world-conception had taken refuge in Rome. This Roman element was no unity. It was extended over numberless sects, numberless religious opinions, and could only evolve a certain common ground from the multiplicity by withdrawing, as it were, into external abstractions.

Through this, however, we can recognise how something withered comes to expression in the far-spread Roman element in which Christianity was stirring as a new impulse. We see how Roman thought is at great pains to seize with its ideas what lay behind the Mystery of Golgotha. We see how endeavour was made in every possible way to draw ideas from the whole range of world conception in order to understand what hid behind this Mystery of Golgotha. And one can say, if one observes closely: it was a despairing struggle towards an understanding, a real understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. And this struggle as a matter of fact continued in a certain current throughout the whole of the first millennium.

One should see, for instance, how Augustine first accepts all the elements of the old withered world-conception, and how he tries through all that he so accepts to grasp what was flowing in as living soul-blood, for he now feels Christianity flow like a living impulse into his soul. Augustine is a great and significant personality—but one sees in every page of his writings how he is struggling to bring into his understanding what is flowing to him from the Christ Impulse. And so it goes on, and this is the whole endeavour of Rome: to obtain in the western world of idea, in this world of world-conception, the living substance of what comes to expression in the Mystery of Golgotha.

What is it, then, that makes such efforts, that so struggles, that in the Roman-Latin element overflows the whole civilised world? What is it that struggles despairingly in the Latin impulse, in the concepts pulsating in the Latin language, to include the Mystery of Golgotha? What is that? That is also a part of what men have eaten in Paradise. It is a part of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. We can see in the primeval revelations when the old clairvoyant perceptions could still speak to men, how vividly alive concepts were in this ancient time, concepts which were still imaginations, and how they more and more dry up and die and become thin and poor. They are so thin that in the middle of the Middle Ages, when Scholasticism flourished, the greatest efforts of the soul were necessary to sharpen these attenuated concepts sufficiently to grasp in them the living life existing in the Mystery of Golgotha. What remained in these concepts was the most distilled form of the old Roman language with its marvellously structured logic, but with its almost entirely lost life-element. This Latin speech was preserved with its fixed and rigid logic, but with its inner life almost dead, as a realisation of the primeval divine utterance: Men shall not eat of the Tree of Life.

If it had been possible for what had evolved from the old Latin heritage to comprehend in full what had been accomplished in the Mystery of Golgotha, had it been possible for this Latin heritage, simply as if through a thrust, to gain an understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha, then this would have been an eating of the Tree of Life. But this was forbidden, after the expulsion from Paradise. The knowledge which had entered humanity in the sense of the ancient revelation was not to serve as a means of ever working in a living way. Hence it could only grasp the mystery of Golgotha with dead concepts.

‘Ye shall not eat of the Tree of Life’: this is a saying which also holds good through all aeons of earthly evolution with regard to certain phenomena. And one fulfilment of this saying was likewise the addition: ‘The Tree of Life will also draw near in its other form as the Cross erected on Golgotha—and life will stream out from it. But this older knowledge shall not eat of the Tree of Life.’

And so we see a dying knowledge struggling with life, we see how desperately it strives to incorporate the life of Golgotha in its concepts.¹

Now there is a peculiar fact, a fact which indicates that in Europe, confronting as it were the starting point of the East, a kind of primordial opposition was made. There is something like a sort of archetypal opposition set against the primeval-revelation² decreed to mankind. Here, to be sure, we touch upon the outer rim of a very deep-lying secret, and one can really only speak in pictures of much that is to

There exists in Europe a legend concerning the origin of man which is quite different from the one contained in the Bible. It has gone through later transformations no doubt, but its essentials are still to be recognised. Now the characteristic feature is not that this legend exists, but that it has been preserved longer in Europe than in other parts of the earth. But the important thing is that even while over in the Orient the Mystery of Golgotha had been accomplished, this different legend was still alive in the feelings of the inhabitants of Europe. Here, too, we are led to a tree, or rather to trees, which were found on the shore of the sea by the gods Wotan, Wile and We. And men were formed from two trees, the Ash and the Elm. Thus men were created by the trinity of the gods, (although this was Christianised later, it yet points to the European original revelation) by fashioning the two trees into men: Wotan gives men spirit and life; Wile gives men movement and intelligence, and We gives them the outer figure, speech, the power of sight and of hearing.

The very great difference that exists between this story of creation and that of the Bible is not usually observed—but you need only read the Bible—which is always a useful thing to do—and already in the first chapters you will remark the very great difference that exists between the two Creation legends. I should like but to point to one thing, and that is, according to the saga, a threefold divine nature flowed into man. It must be something of a soul-nature that the Gods have laid within him, which expresses itself in his form and which in fact is derived from the Gods. In Europe, therefore, man was conscious that inasmuch as one moves about on earth, one bears something divine within; in the Orient, on the contrary, one is conscious that one bears something Luciferic within one. Something is bound up with the eating of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil which has even brought men death, something that has turned all men away from the Gods and for which they have earned divine punishment. In Europe man is aware that in the human soul a threefold nature lives, that the Gods have sunk a force into the human soul. That is very significant.

One touches with this, as I have said, the edge of a great secret, a deep mystery. But it will be readily understood: it looks as if in this ancient Europe a number of human beings had been preserved who had not been taken away from sharing in the Tree of Life, in whom there lived on, so to say, the tree or the trees of Life; ash and elm. And with this the following fact stands in intimate harmony. European humanity (and if one goes back to the original European peoples this would be seen with great clarity in all details) actually had nothing of the higher, more far-reaching knowledge that men possessed in the Orient and in the Graeco-Latin world.

One should imagine for once the immense, the incisive contrast between the naive conceptions of European humanity, who still saw everything in pictures, and the highly evolved, refined philosophical ideas of the Graeco-Latin world. In Europe all was ‘Life’; over there all was ‘Knowledge of Good and Evil.’ In Europe something was left over, as it were, like a treasured remnant of the original forces of life; but it could only remain if this humanity were, in a way, protected from understanding anything that was contained in such marvellously finely wrought Latin concepts. To speak of a science of the ancient European population would be nonsense. One can only speak of them as living with all that germinated in their inner soul nature, that filled it through and through with life. What they believed they knew was something that was direct experience. This soul nature was destined to be radically different from the mood that was transmitted in the Latin influence. And it belongs to the great, the wonderful secrets of historical evolution, that the Mystery of Golgotha was to arise out from the perfected culture of wisdom and knowledge, but that the depths of the Mystery of Golgotha should not be grasped through wisdom; they were to be grasped through direct life.

It was therefore like a predetermined karma that—while in Europe up to a definite point life was grasped—the ego-culture appeared purely naively, vitally and full of life where the deepest darkness was; whereas over there where was the profoundest wisdom, the Mystery of Golgotha arose. That is like a predestined harmony. Out of the civilisation based on knowledge which was beginning to dry up and wither ascends this Mystery of Golgotha: but it is to be understood by those who, through their whole nature and being, have not been able to attain to the fine crystallisation of the Latin knowledge. And so we see in the history of human evolution the meeting between a nearly lifeless, more and more dying knowledge, and a life still devoid of knowledge, a life unfilled with knowledge, but one which inwardly feels the continued working of the divinity animating the world.

These two streams had to meet, had to work upon one another in the evolving humanity. What would have happened if only the Latin knowledge had developed further? Well, this Latin knowledge would have been able to pour itself out over the successors of the primitive European population: up to a certain time it has even done so. It is hypothetically conceivable, but it could not really have happened, that the original European population should have experienced the after-working of the dried up, fading knowledge.

For then, what these souls would have received through this knowledge would gradually have led to men's becoming more and more decadent; this drying, parching knowledge would not have been able to unite with the forces which kept mankind living. It would have dried men up. Under the influence of the after effects of Latin culture, European humanity would in a sense have been parched and withered. People would have come to have increasingly refined concepts, to have reasoned more subtly and have given themselves up more and more to thought, but the human heart, the whole human life would have remained cold under these fine spun, refined concepts and ideas.

I say that that would be hypothetically conceivable, but it could not really have taken place. What really happened is something very different. What really happened is that the part of humanity that had life but not knowledge streamed in among those people who were, so to say, threatened with receiving only the remains of the Latin heritage. Let us envisage the question from another side. At a definite period we find distributed over Europe, in the Italian peninsula, in the Spanish peninsula, in the region of present France, in the region of the present British Isles, certain remains of an original European population; in the North the descendants of the old Celtic peoples, in the South the descendants of the Etruscan and ancient Roman peoples. We meet with these there, and in the first place there flows into them what we have now characterised as the Latin stream. Then at a definite time, distributed over various territories of Europe, we meet with the Ostrogoths, the Visigoths, the Lombardi, the Suevi, the Vandals, etc. There is an age when we find the Ostrogoths in the south of present Russia, the Visigoths in eastern Hungary, the Langobardi or Lombard's where today the Elbe has its lower course, the Suevi in the region where today Silesia and Moravia lie, etc. There we meet with various of those tribes of whom one can say: they have ‘life’ but no ’knowledge.’

Now we can put the question: Where have these peoples gone to? We know that for the most part they have disappeared from the actual evolution of European humanity. Where have the Ostrogoths, the Visigoths, the Langobardi, etc. gone? We can ask this. In a certain respect they no longer exist as nations, but what they possessed as life exists, exists somewhat in the following way. My dear friends, let us consider first the Italian peninsula, let us consider it still occupied by the descendants of the old Roman population. Let us further imagine that on this old Italian peninsula there had been spread abroad what I have designated Latin knowledge, Latin culture; then the whole population would have dried up.

If exact research were made, it would be impossible not to admit that only incredible dilettantism could believe that anything still persists today of a blood relationship with the ancient Romans. Ostrogoths, Visigoths, Lombardi, marched in, and over these there streamed the Latin heritage—though merely mentally as seed of knowledge—it streamed over-the life-without-knowledge, and this gave it substance for continuing. Into the more southern regions there came a more Norman-Germanic element. Thus there streamed into the Italian peninsula from the European centre and the East a life-bearing population. Into Spain there streamed the Visigoths and the Suevi in order later to unite with the purely intellectual element of the Arabs, the Moors. Into the region of France there streamed the Franks and into the region of the British Isles, the Anglo-Saxon element.

The following statement expresses the truth. If the southern regions had remained populated by descendants of the old Romans, and the Latin culture had gone on working in them, they would have faced the danger of completely losing the power of developing an ego-consciousness. Hence the descendants of ancient Rome were displaced and there was poured into this region where Latinism was to spread, what came from the element of the Ostrogoths and Lombardi. The blood of Ostrogoths and Lombardi as well as Norman blood absorbed the withering Latin culture. If the population had remained Romans they would have faced the danger of never being able to develop the element of the Consciousness-soul. Thus there went to the south in the Langobardi and the Ostrogoths what we can call the Wotan-Element, Spirit and Life. The Wotan-Element was, so to say, carried in the blood of the Langobardi and Ostrogoths and this made the further evolution and unfoldment of this southern civilisation possible.

With the Franks towards the West went the Wile-element, Intelligence and Movement, which again would have been lost if the descendants of the primitive European population who had settled in these regions had merely developed further under the influence of Rome. Towards the British Isles went We, what one can call: Configuration and Speech, and in particular the faculty to see and to hear. This has later experienced in English empiricism its later development as: Physiognomics, Speech, Sight, Hearing.

So we see that while in the new Italian element we have the expression of the Folk Soul in the Sentient-soul, we could express this differently by saying: The Wotan-element streams into the Italian peninsula. And we can speak of the journeying of the Franks to the West by saying: the Wile-element streams West, towards France. And so in respect of the British Isles we can express it by saying: the We-element streams in there.

In the Italian peninsula, therefore, nothing at all is left of the blood of the original European peoples, it has been entirely replaced. In the West, in the region of modern France, somewhat more of the original population exists, approximately there is a balance between the Frankish element and the original peoples. The greatest part of the original population is still in the British Isles.

But all this that I am now saying is fundamentally only another way of pointing to the understanding of what came out of the South through Europe, pointing to the fact that the Mystery of Golgotha was ensheathed in a dying wisdom and was absorbed through a living element still devoid of wisdom.

One cannot understand Europe if one does not bear this connection in mind; one can, however, understand Europe in all details if one grasps European life as a continuous process. For much of what I have said is still fulfilling itself in our own times. So, for instance, it would be interesting to consider the philosophy of Kant, from these two original polarities of European life, and show how Kant on the one hand desires to dethrone Knowledge, take all power from Knowledge, in order on the other hand to give place to Faith. That is only a continuation of the dim hidden consciousness that one can really do nothing with knowledge that has come up from below—one can only do something with what comes down from above as original life-without-knowledge. The whole contrast in pure and practical reason lies in this: I had to discard knowledge to make way for Faith. Faith, for which protestant theology fights, is a last relic of the life-without-knowledge, for life will have nothing to do with an analysed abstract wisdom.³

But one can also consider older phenomena. One can observe how an endeavour appears among the most important leading personalities to create a harmony, as it were, between the two streams to which we have referred. For the modern physiognomy of Europe shows that up to our own day there is an after-working of the Latin knowledge in the European life, and that one can immediately envisage the map of Europe with the Latin knowledge raying out to south and west, and the Life still preserved in the centre. One can then see, for instance, how pains were taken at one time to overcome this dying knowledge. I should like to give an example. To be sure, this dying knowledge appears in the different spheres of life in different degrees, but already in the 8th-9th Century European evolution had so progressed that those who were the descendants of the European peoples with the Life could get no further with certain designations for cosmic or earthly relations which had been created in old Roman times. So even in the 8th-9th Centuries one could see that it had no special meaning for the original life of the soul when one said: January, February, March, April, May, etc. The Romans could make something of it, but the Northern European peoples could not do much with it; poured itself over these peoples in such a way as not to enter the soul, but rather to flow merely into the language, and it was therefore dying and withering. So an endeavour was made, especially towards Middle and Western Europe (over the whole stretch from the Elbe to the Atlantic Ocean and to the Apennines) to find designations for the months which could enter the feelings of European humanity. Such month-names were to be:

1. Wintarmanoth
2. Hornung
3. Lenzinmanoth
4. Ostarmanoth
5. Winnemanoth (also Nannamanoth)
6. Brachmanoth
7. Henimanoth (using the word Hay)
8. Aranmanoth (Aran = harvest)
9. Widumanoth (Wide = what is left when one has gone over the field)
10. Windumemanoth (vintage)
11. Herbistmanoth
12. Heiligmanoth

He who was at pains to make these names general was Charlemagne.

It shows how significant was the spirit of Charlemagne, for he sought to introduce something which has not up to now found entrance. We still have in the names of the months the last relics of the drying-up Latin cultural knowledge. Charlemagne was altogether a personality who aimed at many things which went beyond the possibility of being realised. Directly after his time, in the 9th Century, the wave of Latinism drew completely over Europe. It would be interesting to consider what Charlemagne desired to do in wishing to bring the radiation of the Wile-element towards the West. For the Latinising only appeared there later on.

Thus we can say that the part of mankind which has been race, which, as race, was the successor of the old Europe,—of the Europe from which the Roman influence proceeded and which itself became the successor of Rome, wholly for the south, largely for the north—has simply died out. Their blood no longer persists. Into the empty space left, there has poured in what came from Central Europe and the European East. One can therefore say: the racial element both of the European South and West is the Germanic element which is present in various shadings in the British Isles, in France, in Spain and in the Italian peninsula, though in this last completely inundated by the Latin influence.

The racial element therefore moves from East to the West and South, whereas the knowledge-element moves from South to North. It is the race-element which moves from the East to the West and South and along the West of Europe to the North, and gradually flows away towards the North. If one would speak correctly, one can talk of a Germanic race-element,-but not a Latin race. To speak of a Latin race is just as sensible as to speak of wooden iron; because Latinism is nothing that belongs to race, but something that has poured itself as bloodless knowledge over a part of the original European people. Only materialism can speak of a Latin race, for Latinism has nothing to do with race.

So we see how, as it were, the Bible saying works on in this part of European history, how the destiny of Latinism is the fulfilment of the words: ‘Ye shall not eat of the Tree of Life.’ We see how the Life given to the earth with the Mystery of Golgotha cannot come to full harmony with the old knowledge; but rather how into what remained of the ebbing original wisdom, new life had to enter. If we are to give a concrete answer to the question: Where does that remain, which from such new life has not been preserved in its own special character, but has disappeared in history, the element of the Visigoths, the Suevi, the Langobardi, the Ostrogoths, etc.? we must give as answer: It lives on as life within the Latin culture. That is the true state of affairs. That is what must be known regarding the primeval Bible two-fold utterance and its working in early times in the development of Europe, if we are to understand this European evolution.

I had to give you this historical analysis today because I shall have things to say which assume that one does not hold the false ideas of modern materialism and formalism with regard to historical evolution.

• 1. See ‘The Christmas Thought and the Mystery of the Ego. The Tree of the Cross and the Golden Legend’—Rudolf Steiner.
• 2. See Genesis 3:3—The creation of man
• 3. Gap left between these sentences

We now have to continue our study of the relationship between man and the world. And to link up what I have to say in the next few days with what I have already said recently, I should like to begin by calling attention to a theme which I treated some time ago—I mean the anthroposophical teaching about the senses.¹

I said a long time ago, and I am always repeating it, that orthodox science takes into consideration only those senses for which obvious organs exist, such as the organs of sight, of hearing, and so on. This way of looking at the matter is not satisfactory, because the province of sight, for example, is strictly delimited within the total range of our experiences, and so, equally, is, let us say, the perception of the ego of another man, or the perception of the meaning of words. To-day, when everything is in a way turned upside down, it has even become customary to say that when we are face to face with another ego, what we see first is the human form; we know that we ourselves have such a form, that in us this form harbours an ego, and so we conclude that there is also an ego in this other human form which resembles our own. In drawing such a conclusion there is not the slightest real consciousness of what lies behind the wholly direct perception of the other ego. Such an inference is meaningless. For just as we stand before the outer world and take in a certain part of it directly with our sense of sight, so, in exactly the same way, the other ego penetrates directly into the sphere of our experience. We must ascribe to ourselves an ego-sense, just as we do a sense of sight. At the same time we must be quite clear that this ego-sense is something quite other than the development of consciousness of our own ego. Becoming conscious of one's own ego is not actually a perception; it is a completely different process from the process which takes place when we perceive another ego.

In the same way, listening to words and becoming aware of a meaning in them is something quite different from hearing mere tone, mere sound. Although to begin with it is more difficult to point to an organ for the word-sense than it is to relate the ear to the sense of sound, nevertheless anyone who can really analyse the whole field of our experience becomes aware that within this field we have to make a distinction between the sense that has to do with musical and vocal sound and the sense for words.

Further, it is again something quite different to perceive the thought of another within his words, within the structure and relationship of his words; and here again we have to distinguish between the perception of his thought and our own thought. It is only because of the superficial way in which soul-phenomena are studied to-day that no distinction is made between the thought which we unfold as the inner activity of our own soul-life, and the activity which we direct outwards in perceiving another person's thought. Of course, when we have perceived the thought of another, we ourselves must think in order to understand his thought, in order to bring it into connection with other thoughts which we ourselves have fostered. But our own thinking is something quite other than the perception of the thought of another person.

When we analyse the whole range of our experience into provinces which are really quite distinct from one another and yet have a certain relationship, so that we can call them all senses, we get the twelve senses of man which I have often enumerated. The physiological or psychological treatment of the senses is one of the weakest chapters in modern science, for it really only generalises about them.

Within the range of the senses, the sense of hearing, for example, is of course radically different from the sense of sight or the sense of taste. And having come to a clear conception of the sense of hearing or of the sense of sight, we then have to recognise a word-sense, a sense of thought and an ego-sense. Most of the concepts current to-day in scientific treatises on the senses are actually taken from the sense of touch. And our philosophy has for some time been wont to base a whole theory of knowledge on this, a theory which actually consists of nothing but a transference of certain perceptions proper to the sense of touch to the whole sphere of capacity for sense-perception.

Now when we really analyse the whole range of those external experiences of which we become aware in the same way as we become aware, let us say, of the experiences of sight or touch or warmth, we get twelve senses, clearly distinguishable one from another. On earlier occasions I have enumerated them as follows: First, the ego-sense (see diagram, at end) which, as I have said, is to be distinguished from the consciousness of our own ego. By the ego-sense we mean nothing more than the capacity to perceive the ego of another man. The second sense is the sense of thought, the third the word-sense, the fourth the sense of hearing, the fifth the sense of warmth, the sixth the sense of sight, the seventh the sense of taste, the eighth the sense of smell, the ninth the sense of balance. Anyone who is able to make distinctions in the realm of the senses knows that, just as there is a clearly defined realm of sight, so there is a clearly defined realm from which we receive simply a sensation of standing as man in a certain state of balance. Without a sense to convey this state of standing balanced, or of being poised, or of dancing in balance, we should be entirely unable to develop full consciousness. Next comes the sense of movement. This is the perception of whether we are at rest or in movement. We must experience this within ourselves, just as we experience the sense of sight. The eleventh sense is the sense of life, and the twelfth the sense of touch.

The senses in this group here (see diagram) can be clearly distinguished one from another, and at the same time we can discover what they have in common when we perceive through them. It is our cognitive intercourse with the external world that this group of senses conveys to us in very varying ways. First, we have four senses which unite us with the outer world beyond any doubt. They are the ego-sense, the sense of thought, the word-sense and the sense of hearing. You will unhesitatingly recognise that when we perceive the ego of another person, we are with our entire experience in the outer world, as also when we perceive the thoughts or words of another. As regards the sense of hearing it is not quite so obvious; but that is only because people have taken an abstract view of the matter, and have diffused over the whole of the senses the colouring of a common concept, a concept of what sense-life is supposed to be, and do not consider what is specific in each individual sense. Of course, one cannot apply external experiment to one's ideas upon these matters, but one has to be capable of an inner feeling for these experiences.

Customary thinking overlooks the fact that hearing, since its physical medium is the air in movement, takes us straight into the outer world. And you have only to consider how very external our sense of hearing actually is, compared with the whole of our organic experience, to come to the conclusion that a distinction must be made between the sense of hearing and the sense of sight. In the case of the sense of sight we realise at once, simply by observing its organ, the eye, how what is conveyed by this sense is to a great extent an inner process; it is at least relatively an inner process. When we sleep we close our eyes; we do not shut our ears. Such seemingly simple, trivial facts point to something of deep significance for the whole of human life. And though when we go to sleep we have to shut off our inner senses, because during sleep we must not perceive through sight, yet we are not obliged to close our ears, because the ear lives in the outer world in a totally different way from the eye. The eye is much more a component of our inner life; the sense of sight is directed much more inwards than is the sense of hearing—I am not talking about the apprehension of what is heard; that is something quite different. The apprehension which lies behind the experience of music is something other than the actual process of hearing.

Now these senses, which in essentials form a link between the outer and inner, are specifically outer senses (see diagram). The next four senses, the senses of warmth, sight, taste and smell, are so to say on the border between outer and inner; they are both outer and inner experiences. Just try to think of all the experiences that are conveyed to you by any one of these senses, and you will see how, whilst in them all there is an experience lived in common with the outer world, there is at the same time an experience within yourself. If you drink an acid, and thus call into play your sense of taste, you have undoubtedly an inner experience with the acid, but you have also, on the other hand, an experience that is directed outwards, that can be compared with the experience of another man's ego or of the word. But it would be very bad if in the same way a subjective, inner experience were to be involved in listening to words. Just think, you make a wry face when you drink vinegar; that shows quite clearly that along with the outer experience you have an inner one; the outer and inner experiences merge into one another. If the same thing were to happen in the case of words, if, for example, someone were to make a speech, and you had to experience it inwardly in the way you do when you drink vinegar or wine or something of that sort, then you would certainly never be objectively clear about the man's words, about what he says to you. Just as in drinking vinegar you have an unpleasant experience and in drinking wine a pleasant one, so in the same way you would colour an external experience. You must not colour the external experience when you perceive the words of another. If you see things in the right light, that is just where morality comes in. For there are men—this is especially true as regards the ego-sense, but it also applies to the sense of thought—who are so firmly fixed in their middle senses, in the senses of warmth, sight, taste and smell, that they judge others, or the thoughts of others, in accordance with these senses. Then they do not hear the thoughts of the other men at all, but perceive them in the same way that they perceive wine or vinegar or any other food or drink.

Here we see how something of a moral nature is the outcome of a quite amoral manner of observation. Let us take a man in whom the sense of hearing, and even more the word-sense, the sense of thought and the ego-sense, are poorly developed. Such a man lives as it were without head; he uses his head-senses in the same way as he uses those of a more animal tendency. The animal is unable to perceive objectively in the way that, through the senses of warmth, sight, taste and smell, the man can perceive objective-subjectively. The animal smells; as you may well imagine, it can only in the very slightest degree make objective what it encounters in the sense of smell ... the experience is in a high degree a subjective one. Now all men, of course, have in addition the sense of hearing, the word-sense, the thought-sense and the ego-sense; but those whose whole organisation tends more towards the senses of warmth and sight, still more towards those of taste or even of smell, change everything around them according to their subjective experiences of taste and smell. Such things are to be seen every day. If you want an example, you can see it in the latest pamphlet by X. He is not in the least able to grasp the words or thoughts of another. He seizes hold of everything as if he were drinking wine or vinegar or eating some kind of food. Everything becomes subjective experience. To reduce the higher senses to the character of the lower ones is immoral. It is quite possible to bring the moral into connection with our whole world-conception, whereas at the present time the fact that men do not know how to build a bridge between what they call natural law and what they call morality, acts as a destructive influence undermining our entire civilisation.

When we come to the next four senses, to the sense of balance, the sense of movement, the sense of life and the sense of touch, we come to the specifically inner senses. For, you see, what the sense of balance conveys to us is our own state of balance; what the sense of movement conveys to us is the state of movement in which we ourselves are. Our sense of life is that general perception of how our organs are functioning, of whether they are promoting life or obstructing it. In the case of the sense of touch, it is possible to be deceived; nevertheless, when you touch something, the experience you have is an inner experience. You do not feel this chalk; roughly speaking, what you feel is the impact of the chalk on your skin ... the process can of course be characterised more exactly. In the sense of touch, as in the experience of no other sense in the same way, the experience lies in the reaction of your own inner being to an external process.

But now this last group of senses is modified by something else. You must recall something I said here a few weeks ago.² Let us consider the human being in relation to what he perceives through these last four senses. Although we perceive our own movement, our own balance, in a decidedly subjective manner, this movement and this balance are nevertheless quite objective processes, for physically speaking it is a matter of indifference whether it is a block of wood that is moved, or a man; whether it is a block of wood in balance or a man. In the external physical world a man in movement is exactly the same thing to observe as a block of wood; and similarly with regard to balance. And if you take the sense of life—the same thing applies. Our sense of life conveys to us processes that are quite objective. Imagine a process in a retort: it takes its course according to certain laws; it can be described quite objectively. What the sense of life perceives is such a process, a process which takes place inwardly. If this process is in order, as a purely objective process, this is conveyed to you by the sense of life; if it is not in order, the sense of life conveys this to you also. Even though the process is confined within your skin, the sense of life transmits it to you. To sum up, an objective process is something which has absolutely no specific connection with the content of your soul-life. And the same thing applies to your sense of touch. When we touch something, there is always a change in our whole organic structure. Our reaction is an organic change within us. Thus we have actually something objective in what is brought about through these four senses, something that so places us as human beings in the world that we are like objective beings who can also be seen in the external sense-world.

Thus we may say that these are pronounced inner senses; but what we perceive through them in ourselves is exactly the same as what we perceive in the world outside us. In short, whether we set in motion a log of wood, or whether the human being is in external motion, it makes no difference to the physical course of the process. The sense of movement is only there in order that what is taking place in the outer world may also come to our subjective consciousness.

Thus you see that the truly subjective senses are the senses which are specifically external; it is they which have the task of assimilating into our humanity what is perceived externally through them. The middle group of senses shows an interplay between the outer and the inner world. And through the last group a specific experience of what we are as part of the world-not-ourselves is conveyed to us.

We could carry this study much further; we should then discover many of the distinctive qualities of this sense or that. We only have to become accustomed to the idea that the treatment of the senses must not be limited to describing them according to their more obvious organs, but that we must analyse them according to their field of experience. It is by no means correct, for instance, that no specific organ exists for the word-sense; only its field has not been discovered by the materialistic physiology of to-day. Or take the sense of thought—that too is there, but has not been explored as has, let us say, the sense of sight.

When we consider man in this way, it cannot fail to be borne in upon us that what we usually call soul-life is bound up with what we may call the higher senses. If we want to encompass the content of what we call soul-life, we can scarcely go further than from the ego-sense to the sense of sight. If you think of all that you have through the ego-sense, the sense of thought, the word-sense, the sense of hearing, the sense of warmth and the sense of sight, you have practically the whole range of what we call soul-life. Something of the characteristics of the specifically outer senses still enters a little into the sense of warmth, upon which our soul-life is much more dependent than we usually think. And of course the sense of sight has a very wide significance for our whole soul-life. But with the senses of taste and smell we are already entering into the animal realm, and with the senses of balance, movement and life and so on, we plunge completely into our bodily nature. These senses we perceive altogether inwardly.

If we want to show this diagrammatically, we should have to show it like this (see diagram). We draw a circle around the upper region; and there in this upper sphere lies our true inner life. Without these external senses, this inner life could not exist. What sort of men should we be if we had no other egos near us, if we were never to perceive words and thoughts? Just imagine! On the other hand, the senses from taste downwards (see diagram B) perceive in an inward direction, transmit primarily inward processes, but processes which become progressively more obscure. Of course, a man must have a clear perception of his own balance otherwise he would become giddy and collapse. To fall into a faint is the same thing for the sense of balance as blindness is for the eyes. But now what these other senses mediate becomes vague and confused. The sense of taste still develops to some extent on the surface. There we do have a clear consciousness of it. But although our whole body tastes (with the exception of the limb-system, but actually even that too), very few men are able to detect the taste of foods in the stomach, because civilisation, or culture, or refinement of taste has not developed so far in that direction. Very few men indeed can still detect the taste of the various foodstuffs in their stomachs. You do still taste them in some of the other organs, but once the foodstuffs are in the stomach, then for most men it is all one what they are—although unconsciously the sense of taste does very clearly continue throughout the whole digestive tract. The entire man tastes what he eats, but the sensation very quickly dies down when what has been eaten has been given over to the body.

The entire man develops throughout his organism the sense of smell, the passive relationship to aromatic bodies. This sense again is only concentrated at the very surface, whereas actually the whole man is taken hold of by the scent of a flower or by any other aromatic substance. When we know that the senses of taste and smell permeate the entire man, we know too what is involved in the experience of tasting or smelling, how the experience is continued further inwards; and when one knows what it is to taste, for instance, one abandons altogether the materialistic conception. And if one is clear that this process of tasting goes through the entire organism, one is no longer inclined to describe the further process of digestion purely from the chemical point of view, as is done by the materialistic science of to-day.

On the other hand, it cannot be gainsaid that there is an immense difference between what I have shown in the diagram as yellow and what I have shown as red (It has not been practicable to produce the diagram in colour.) There is an immense difference between the content of what we have in our soul-life through the ego-sense, word-sense and so on, and the experiences we have through taste, smell, movement, life-sense and so on. And you will understand this difference best if you make clear to yourselves how you receive what you experience in yourselves when you listen, let us say, to the words of another man, or to a musical sound. What you then experience in yourselves is of no significance for the outer process. What difference does it make, to the bell that you are listening to it? The only connection between your inner experience and the process that takes place in the bell is that you are listening to it.

You cannot say the same thing when you consider the objective process in tasting or smelling, or even in touching. There you have to do with a world-process. You cannot separate what goes on in your organism from what takes place in your soul. You cannot say in this case, as in the case of the ringing bell, “What difference does it make to the bell whether I listen to it?” You cannot say, “When I drink vinegar, what has the process which takes place on my tongue to do with what I experience?” That you cannot say. There, an inner connection does obtain; there the objective and the subjective processes are one.

The sins committed by modern physiology in this sphere are well-nigh incredible, when one considers that such a process as tasting is placed in a similar relationship to the soul as that of seeing or hearing. And there are philosophical treatises which speak in a purely general way of sensible qualities and their relation to the soul. Locke, and even Kant, speak generally of a relationship of the outer sense-world to human subjectivity, whereas for all that is shown in our diagram from the sense of sight upwards, we have to do with something quite different from all that the diagram shows from the sense of sight downwards. It is impossible to apply one single doctrine to both these spheres. And it is because men have done so that, from the time of Hume or Locke or even earlier, this great confusion has arisen in the theory of knowledge which has rendered modern conceptions barren right into the sphere of physiology. For one cannot approach the real nature of processes if one thus pursues preconceived ideas without an unprejudiced observation of things.

When we picture the human being in this way, we have to understand that in the one direction we have obviously a life directed inwards, a sphere in which we live for ourselves, related to the outer world merely in perceiving it; in the other direction, of course, we also perceive—but we enter into the world by what we perceive. In short, we may say: What takes place on my tongue when I taste is an entirely objective process in me; when this process goes on in me, it is a world-process that is taking place. But I cannot say that what arises in me as a picture through the sense of sight is a world-process. Were it not to happen, the whole world would remain as it is. The difference between the upper and the lower man must always be borne in mind. Unless we bear this difference in mind we cannot get any further in certain directions.

Now let us consider mathematical truths, the truths of geometry. A superficial observer would say: Oh yes, of course man gets his mathematics out of his head, or from somewhere or other (ideas on the subject are not very precise). But it is not so. Mathematics derives from an altogether different sphere. And if you study the human being, you will get to know the sphere from which mathematics comes. It is from the sense of movement and the sense of balance. It is from such depths that mathematical thought comes, depths to which we no longer penetrate with our ordinary soul-life. What enables us to develop mathematics lives at a deeper level than our ordinary soul-life. And thus we see that mathematics is really rooted in that part of us which is at the same time cosmic. In fact, we are only really subjective in what lies here (see diagram) from the sense of sight upwards. In respect of what lies down there we are like logs, as much so as the rest of the outer world. Hence we can never say that geometry, for instance, has anything of a subjective nature in it, for it originates from that in us wherein we ourselves are objective. It is concerned with the very same space which we measure when we walk, and which our movements communicate to us—the very same space which, when we have elicited it from ourselves in pictorial form, we then proceed to apply to what we see. Nor can there be any question of describing space as in any way subjective, for it does not come from the sphere whence the subjective arises.

Such a way of looking at things as I am now putting before you is poles apart from Kantianism, because Kantianism does not recognise the radical distinction between these two spheres of human life. Followers of Kant do not know that space cannot be subjective, because it arises from that sphere in man which is in itself objective, from that sphere to which we relate ourselves as objects. We are connected with this sphere in a different way from the way in which we are related to the world outside us; but it is nevertheless genuine outer world, especially each night, for while we are asleep we withdraw from it with our subjectivity, our ego and our astral body.

It is essential to understand that to assemble an immense number of external facts for what purports to be science and is intended to promote culture is useless if its thought is full of confused ideas, if this science lacks clear concepts about the most important things. And if the forces of decadence are to be checked and the forces of renewal, of progress, furthered, the essential task which confronts us is to understand the absolute necessity of reaching clear ideas, ideas that are not hazy but clear-cut. We must be absolutely clear that it is useless to proceed from concepts and definitions, but that what is needed is the unprejudiced observation of the field in which the facts lie.

For example, no one is entitled to delimit the sphere of sight as a sense-sphere, if he does not at the same time distinguish the sphere of word-perception as a similar sphere. Only try to organise the sphere of total experience as I have often done, and you will see that it is not permissible to say: We have eyes, therefore we have a sense of sight and we are studying it. But you will have to say: Of course there must be a reason for the fact that sight has a physical-sensible organ of so specific a nature, but this does not justify us in restricting the range of the senses to those which have clearly perceptible physical organs. If we do that it will be a very long time before we shall reach any higher conception; we shall meet only what happens in everyday life. The important thing is really to distinguish between what is subjective in man, what is his inner soul-life, and the sphere wherein he is actually asleep. There, man is a cosmic being in relation to all that is conveyed by his senses. In that sphere he is a cosmic being. In your ordinary soul-life you know nothing of what happens when you move your arm—not at least without a faculty of higher vision. That movement is a will-activity. It is a process which lies as much outside you as any other external process, notwithstanding the fact that it is so intimately connected with you. On the other hand, there can be no idea, no mental image, in which we are not ourselves present with our consciousness. Thus when you distinguish these three spheres, you find something else as well. In all that your ego-sense, your thought-sense, your word-sense, your sense of hearing convey to you, thereby constituting your soul-life, you receive what is predominantly associated with the idea.

In the same way, everything connected with the senses of warmth, sight, taste and smell has to do with feeling. That is not quite obvious with regard to one of these senses, the sense of sight. It is quite obvious with regard to taste, smell and warmth, but if you look into the matter closely you will find that it is also true of sight.

In contrast with this, all that has to do with the senses of balance, movement, life, and even with the sense of touch (although that is not so easy to see, because the sense of touch retires within us) is connected with the will. In human life, everything is connected, and yet everything is metamorphosed. I have tried to-day to summarise for you what I have treated at length on various occasions. And tomorrow and the day after we will carry our study to a conclusion.

• 1. Die Zwolf Sinne des Menschen in ihrer Beziehung zu Imagination, Inspiration und Intuition, 8th Aug., 1920. (Translation not yet published.)
• 2. Lecture V of Irdische und kosmische Gesetzmassigkeiten, 3rd July, 1921. (Translation not yet published.)

Our last explorations have shown us the fundamental difference between man's whole view here, between birth and death, and in the spiritual world, between death and a new birth. We explained yesterday that in our present era, since the middle of the fifteenth century, man may gain freedom between birth and death; everything on earth that he fulfills out of the impulse of freedom gives his being in the life between death and a new birth weight, as it were, reality, existence. When we emancipate ourselves from the necessities of earthly existence, when we ascend to the point where our will is guided by free motives—that is, when our will is not founded on anything in earthly life—then we create the possibility of being an independent being also between death and a new birth. In our age this capacity to preserve our own independent existence after death is connected with something we may call the relationship to the Mystery of Golgotha. This Mystery of Golgotha may be studied from the most varied viewpoints. In the course of the past years, we have already studied a great number of these viewpoints; today we shall view the Mystery of Golgotha from the standpoint arising out of the study of the value of freedom for the human being.

Here on earth, between birth and death, the human being really does not have any view of himself in his ordinary consciousness. He cannot look into himself. It is an illusion, of course, to believe, as outer science does, that it is possible to obtain an inner knowledge of the human organization by studying what is dead in the human being, indeed sometimes by studying only the corpse. This is altogether an illusion, a deception. Here, between birth and death, the human being has only a view of the outer world. What kind of view is this, however? It is one that we have frequently called the view of “appearance” (Schein) and yesterday I again emphasized this strongly.

When our senses are directed toward our surroundings between birth and death, the world appears to us as appearance, as semblance. We can take this appearance into our I—being. We can, for example, preserve it in our memory, making it therefore in a certain sense our own. Insofar as it stands in front of us when we look out into the world, however, it is an appearance that manifests itself particularly—as I already explained to you yesterday—by disappearing with death and reappearing in another form; that is, it is no longer experienced in us but is experienced in front of or around us.

If, however, in the present age the human being between birth and death were not to perceive the world as appearance, if he could not perceive the appearance, he could not be free. The development of freedom is possible only in the world of appearance. I have mentioned this in my book, The Riddle of Man (vom Menschenratsel), pointing out that in reality the world that we experience may be compared with the images that look out at us from a mirror. These pictures that look out at us from a mirror cannot force us to do anything, for they are only pictures, they are appearance. Similarly man's world of perception is also appearance. The human being is not completely woven into the appearance of the world. He is woven into a world of appearance only with his perceiving, which fills his waking consciousness. If man views his impulses, instincts, passions, and temperament, and everything that surges up from the human being, without being able to bring them into clear mental images, at least into waking mental images, then all this is not appearance; it is reality, but a reality that does not rise up in man's present consciousness.

Between birth and death, the human being lives in a true world that he does not know, one that cannot ever really give him freedom. It may implant in him instincts that make him unfree; it may call forth inner necessities, but it can never enable the human being to experience freedom. Freedom can be experienced only within a world of pictures, of appearance. When we awaken we must enter a perceptive life of appearance, so that freedom can develop.

This life of appearance, which constitutes our waking life of perception, did not always exist in this way within humanity's historical evolution. If we go back into ancient times, to which we have so often looked back in our lectures, to times when there still existed a certain instinctive vision, or remnants of this instinctive vision (which lasted until the middle of the fifteenth century), we cannot say in the same sense that the human being in his waking condition was surrounded only by a world of appearance. Everything that the human being saw in his own way as the world's spiritual background spoke through the appearance. He also saw this appearance, but in a different way. For him this appearance was an expression, a manifestation, of a spiritual world. This spiritual world then vanished behind the appearance, and only the appearance remained. The essential thing in the progressive development of humanity is that in more ancient times the appearance was experienced as the manifestation of a divine-spiritual world, but the divine-spiritual vanished from this appearance, so that before man's eyes lies only appearance, in order that he might discover his freedom within this world of appearance. The human being therefore must find his freedom in a world of appearance; he does not find freedom in the true world, which completely withdrew to the dull experiences of his inner being; there, he can find only a necessity. We may therefore say that mans world of perception between birth and death—everything that I say applies only to our age—is a world of appearance. Man perceives the world, but he perceives it as appearance.

How, then, do matters stand between death and a new birth? In our last studies we suggested that after death the human being does not perceive this outer world that he sees here, between birth and death, but between death and a new birth man essentially perceives the human being himself, the inner being of man. The human being is then the world for man. What is concealed here on earth becomes manifest in the spiritual world. Between death and a new birth, man gains insight into the entire connection between the soul life and the organic life of the human being, between the activity of the single organs, and in short, everything that, symbolically speaking, lies enclosed within the human skin.

We find, however, that in the present age it is again the case that the human being cannot live in appearance after death. The life in appearance is actually valid for him only between birth and death. The human being has come to the point today that between death and a new birth he cannot live in appearance. When he passes through death, he is imprisoned, as it were, by necessity. The human being feels that he is free in his perceiving here on earth, where he may turn his eyes where he wishes; he may combine what he perceives into concepts so as to experience his freedom of action in these concepts; between death and a new birth, however, he feels unfree regarding the world of perceptions. He is overpowered, as it were, by the world. It is just as if the human being perceived in the same way as he would perceive here on earth if he were to be hypnotized by every single sense perception, if he were to be overpowered by every single sense perception so that he would be unable to liberate himself from them out of free will.

This has been the course of man's development since the middle of the fifteenth century. The divine-spiritual worlds vanished from the appearance of the earth, but between death and a new birth, these divine spiritual worlds imprison him, so that he cannot maintain his independence. I said that only if the human being really develops freedom on earth, that is, if he takes an interest with his entire being in the appearance in life, is it possible for him to carry his own being through the portal of death.

We can see what is necessary in order to develop freedom also by looking into yet another difference between the way of viewing things today and more ancient human views.

Whether we consider humanity in general or the initiates and the mysteries in ancient times, we find that the whole view of the world had another orientation from that of today. If the human being remains standing by what he has acquired since the middle of the fifteenth century, through the kind of cognition that has arisen since that time, one finds that the human being had mental images of the evolution of the earth, of the evolution of the human race; he lost track, however, of the mental images that might have given him satisfactory indications concerning the beginning and end of the earth. We might say that the human being was able to survey a certain line of evolution; he looked back historically, he looked back geologically. When he went back still further, however, he began to construct hypotheses. He imagined that the beginning of the world was a primordial mist, which appeared to be a physical formation. Out of it evolved—that is to say, not really, but people imagined that this was so—the higher beings of the realms of nature, plants, animals, and so on. In accordance with conceptions of modern physics, people thought that earthly existence disintegrates in the end (see drawing below) by heat—again a hypothesis. Man thus saw only a segment, as it were, between the beginning and end of the earth. Beginning and end became a hazy, unsatisfactory picture to present-day human beings.

This was not the case in more ancient times. In ancient times people had very precise notions of the beginning and end of the earth, because they still saw the self-revelation of the divine-spiritual in the appearance. We can call to mind the Old Testament, for example, or other religious teachings of the past. In the Old Testament we find conceptions that are connected with the beginning of the world, and they are described in a form accessible to the human being, enabling him to grasp his own existence upon the earth. The Kant-Laplace nebula or primordial mist does not enable anyone to grasp human life on earth.

If you take the wonderful cosmogonies of the various pagan peoples, you will again find something that enabled man to grasp his earthly existence. The human being thus directed his gaze toward the beginning of the earth and came to conceptions that encompassed man. Conceptions of the end of the earth remained for a longer time in human consciousness. In Michelangelo's “Last Judgment,” for example, and other “Last Judgments,” we come across conceptions about the end of the earth, which were handed down as far as our own era and which encompass the human being; and although the ideas of sin and atonement are difficult, these conceptions do not do away with the human being.

Take the modern hypothetical conception of the end of the earth, that everything will end in a uniform heat. The entire human essence dissolves. There is no place for man in the world. In addition to the disappearance of divine-spiritual existence from the appearance of perception, the human being therefore lost, in the course of time, his conceptions of the world's beginning and end. Within these ideas he could still find his own value and see himself within the cosmos as a being connected with the beginning and end of the earth.

How did the people of past eras view history? No matter in what form they saw it, history was something that moved from the beginning to the end of the earth, receiving its meaning through the conceptions of the beginning and end of the earth. Take any of the pagan cosmologies, and they will enable you to conceive of humanity's historical development. They reach back to ages in which earthly life arises in a divine-spiritual weaving. History has a meaning. If we turn to the beginning and also the end of the earth, history has a meaning. Whereas the conception of the end of the earth, as a pictorial view contained in religious feeling, continued to exist even in more recent eras, the conception of the end of the earth lived on in historical considerations, as a kind of straggler, even in more recent times. In enlightened historical works, such as Rotteck's history of the world,¹⁶ you may still find the influence of this conception of the earth's beginning, which gives a meaning to history. Even if only a shadow remains of this conception of the beginning of the earth in Rotteck's history, which was written at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it still gives historical development a meaning. The significant, peculiar fact is that at the same time in which the human being entered a world of perception of appearance, perceiving outer nature, therefore, as appearance, history began to lose its meaning and became inaccessible to direct human knowledge, because he no longer had any notion of the earth's beginning and end.

You must take this matter quite seriously. Take the primordial mist at the beginning of the earth's evolution, from which indefinite forms first condensed themselves, and then all the beings, ascending as far as man; and consider the death by heat at the end of the earth's evolution, in which everything perishes. In between lies what we tell about Moses, abut the great individuals of ancient China, about the great individuals of ancient India, Persia, Egypt—and further on, of Greece and Rome, as far as our present time. In thought we may add all that is still to come. All this takes place on the earth, however, like an episode, with no beginning and no end. History thus appears to have no meaning. This must be realized.

Nature may be surveyed, even if we cannot survey its inner being. It rises up before the human being as appearance in that man experiences nature between birth and death. History becomes meaningless. Man simply lacks courage enough in our time to admit that history has no meaning; it is meaningless, because man has lost track of the beginning and end of the earth. Man should really sense that humanity's historical development is the greatest of riddles. He should say to himself that this historical development has no meaning.

Individuals have had inklings of this. Read what Schopenhauer wrote on the absence of meaning in history that emerges out of occidental beliefs. You will see, then, that Schopenhauer really sensed this absence of meaning in history. We should be filled with the longing to rediscover the meaning of history in another way. Out of the world of appearance we can develop a satisfactory knowledge of nature, particularly in Goethe's sense, if we give up hypotheses and remain in the phenomenology, that is, in the teachings of appearance, of semblance. Natural science can be satisfying if we eliminate all the disturbing hypotheses about the beginning and end of the earth. We are then as it were imprisoned, however, in our earthly cave, and we do not look out of it. The Kant-Laplace theory and the end of the world by heat block our view into the distant past and the distant future.

This is basically the situation of present-day humanity from the standpoint of general consciousness; consequently humanity is threatened by a certain danger. It cannot quite enter into the mere world of phenomena, into the world of appearance. Above all it is unable to enter with the inner life into this world of appearance. Humanity wishes to submit to the necessity, the inner necessity of the instincts, drives, and passions. Today we do not see much of everything that may be realized on the basis of free impulses born out of pure thinking. Just as much, however, as the human being lacks freedom here in his life between birth and death, so he is overcome, with the hypnotizing compulsion between death and a new birth, by lack of freedom, by the necessity in perception. Man is therefore threatened by the danger of passing through the portal of death without taking with him his own being and without entering into something free regarding the world of perception, but rather into something that submerges him into a state of compulsion, which makes him grow rigid, as it were, in the outer world.

The impulse that in the future must break into the life of humanity is the appearance of the divine-spiritual to the human being in a way different from the way in which it appeared to him in ancient times. In past ages the human being could imagine a spiritual element within the physical at the beginning and end of the earth, with which he knew he was united and that did not exclude him. The human being must take up this permeation with the spiritual more and more from the center, instead of from the beginning and end. Even as in the Old Testament the beginning of the earth was looked upon as a genesis of the human being, within which his existence was ensured, even as the pagan cosmogonies spoke of humanity's evolution out of divine-spiritual existence, even as the contemplation of the end of the earth, which—as was stated—was still contained in the views of the decline of the world, which do not deprive man of his own self, so modern times must find in a right view of the Mystery of Golgotha, at the center of the earth's evolution, that which again enables the human being to find divine life and earthly life interwoven.

Man must understand in the right way how God passed through the human being with the Mystery of Golgotha. This will replace what we lost regarding the beginning and end of the earth. There is an essential difference, however, between the way in which we should now look upon the Mystery of Golgotha and the earlier way of looking at the beginning and end of the earth.

Try to penetrate into the way in which a pagan cosmogony arose. Today we often come across conceptions stating that these pagan cosmogonies were fabrications of the people. This conception holds that just as today man freely joins thought to thought and disconnects them again, so at one time people devised their cosmogonies. This, however, is an erroneous university view, which has no reasonable foundation. We find instead that in the past the human being gave himself up entirely to the contemplation of the world; he could see the beginning of the world only in the way in which it appeared to him in the cosmogony, in the myths. There was no freedom in this; it was altogether something that yielded itself to man by necessity. The human being had to look into the beginning of the earth; he could not refrain from doing so, he could do nothing else. Today we no longer picture in the right way how in the past man's soul pictured the beginning of the earth and, in a certain respect, also the end of the earth, through an instinctive knowledge.

Today it is impossible for the human soul to picture the Mystery of Golgotha in this way. This constitutes the great difference between Christianity and the ancient teachings of the gods. If the human being wishes to fmd Christ, he must find Him in freedom. He must freely acknowledge the Mystery of Golgotha. The content of the ancient cosmogonies was forced upon man, whereas the Mystery of Golgotha does not force itself upon him. He must approach the Mystery of Golgotha in a certain resurrection of his being, in freedom.

The human being is led to such freedom by an activity that I have recently designated in anthroposophical spiritual science as the activity of knowing. If a theologian believes that he may gain knowledge of the Akashic Chronicle in a special illustrated edition, that is to say, without needing to exert any inner activity to grasp what must appear before his soul in concepts and must become images—such a theologian would simply show that he is predisposed to grasp the world only in a pagan way, not in a Christian way; for the human being must come to Christ in inner freedom. Particularly the way in which the human being must face the Mystery of Golgotha constitutes his most intimate means of an education toward freedom.

The human being is in a certain sense torn away from the world by the Mystery of Golgotha if it is experienced rightly. What arises in that case? In the first place, the human being now can live in a world of perception, of appearance, and in this world surges up something that leads him to the spiritual existence that is guaranteed in the Mystery of Golgotha. This is one thing. The other thing, however, is that history has ceased to have meaning, because beginning and end were lost; it receives meaning again because it is given this meaning from the center. We learn to recognize how everything before the Mystery of Golgotha leads toward the Mystery of Golgotha and how everything after the Mystery of Golgotha sets out from this mystery.

History thus once more acquires meaning, whereas otherwise it is an illusory episode without beginning and without end. The outer world of perception faces the human being as appearance for the sake of his freedom, changing history into something it should not be—an episode of appearance without any center of gravity. It dissolves into fog and mist which basically we already find theoretically in Schopenhauer's writings.

Through the inclination toward the Mystery of Golgotha, all that was once otherwise historical appearance receives inner life, historical soul, connected with everything that modern man requires through the fact that he must develop freedom in life. When he passes through the portal of death, he will have developed here the great teaching of freedom. Avowal of the Mystery of Golgotha cast into life the light that must fall on everything that is free in the human being. The human being has the possibility of saving himself from the danger that he has here by virtue of the predisposition for freedom that he has in appearance but does not develop, because he surrenders himself to instincts and drives and therefore falls prey to necessity after death. By accepting as his own a religious faith that is totally different from more ancient religious faith, in filling his entire soul only with a religious faith living in freedom, he transforms himself for the experience of freedom.

In today's civilization, basically only a small number of people have really grasped that only a knowledge gained in freedom, an active knowledge, is able to lead us to Christ, to the Mystery of Golgotha. The Bible gave man a historical account so that he might have a message of the Mystery of Golgotha for the time when he could not yet take in spiritual science.

To be sure, the Gospel will never lose its value. It will acquire an ever-greater value, but to the Gospel must be added the direct knowledge of the essence of the Mystery of Golgotha. Christ must be able to be sensed, felt, known through one's own human force, not only through the forces working out of the Gospel. This is what spiritual science strives for regarding Christianity Spiritual science seeks to explain the Gospels, but it is not based upon the Gospels. It is able to appreciate the Gospels so fully just because it discovered afterward, as it were, all that lies concealed in them, all that has already been lost in the course of humanity's outer evolution.

The whole modern evolution of humanity is thus connected on the one hand with freedom, the appearance of perception, and on the other with the Mystery of Golgotha and the meaning of historical development. This sequence of many episodes which constitutes history as it is generally described and accepted today acquires its true significance only if the Mystery of Golgotha can be inserted into historical evolution.

Many people experienced this in the right way and they used the right images for it. They said to themselves: once upon a time, man looked out into the heavenly expanses; he saw the sun, but not the sun as we see it today. Today there are physicists who believe that out there in the universe there floats a large sphere of gaseous matter. I have frequently said that physicists would be astonished if they could build a cosmic balloon and reach the sun, for where they suppose the existence of a gaseous sphere, they would find negative space, which would transport them in a moment not only into nothingness but beyond nothingness, far beyond the sphere of nothingness. The modern materialistic cosmologies developed today are pure fantasy. In more ancient times, people did not picture the sun as a gaseous sphere floating in heavenly space; .the sun in their view, was a spiritual being. Even today the sun is a spiritual being to those who contemplate the world in a real way; it is a spiritual being manifesting itself only outwardly in the way in which the eye is able to perceive the sun. This central spiritual being was experienced by a more ancient humanity as one with the Christ. When speaking of Christ, the ancients pointed to the sun. More recent humanity must now not point away from the earth but rather toward the earth when it speaks of the Christ. It must search for the sun in the Man of Golgotha.

By recognizing the sun as a spiritual being, it was possible to connect a conception worthy of the human being with the beginning and end of the earth. The conception of Jesus, in whom Christ dwelt, renders possible a conception worthy of the human being regarding the middle of the earth's evolution; from there will ray out toward beginning and end that which will once more make the whole cosmos appear in a light that gives man his place in the universe. We should therefore live toward a time in which hypotheses concerning the world's beginning and end will not be constructed on the basis of materialistic, natural scientific conceptions, but which will proceed from the knowledge of the Mystery of Golgotha. This will also enable us to survey all of cosmic evolution. In the outwardly luminous sun, the ancient human being sensed the Christ of the outer world. The true knowledge of the Mystery of Golgotha enables man to see in the historical evolution of the earth the sun of this earthly evolution through Christ. The sun shines outside in the world and also in history—it shines physically outside and spiritually in history; sun here and sun there.

This indicates the path to the Mystery of Golgotha from the viewpoint of freedom. Modern humanity must find it, if it wishes to transcend the forces of decline and enter the forces of ascent. This should be realized deeply and thoroughly. This knowledge will not be abstract, not merely theoretical, but one that fills the whole human being. It will be a knowledge that must be felt, must be experienced in feeling. The Christianity about which anthroposophy must speak will not be a looking to Christ but a being filled with Christ.

People would always like to know the difference between anthroposophy and what lived as the older theosophy. Is this difference not evident? The older theosophy has warmed up the pagan cosmologies. In the theosophical literature you will discover everywhere warmed-up pagan cosmologies, which are no longer suited to modern human beings; although theosophy speaks of the earth's beginning and end, this no longer means what it meant in the past. What is missing in these writings? The center is missing, the Mystery of Golgotha is missing throughout. It is missing to an even greater extent than in outer natural science.

Anthroposophy has a continuing cosmology that does not extinguish the Mystery of Golgotha but accepts it, so that this Mystery is contained within it. The whole evolution, reaching back as far as Saturn and forward as far as Vulcan, is seen in such a way that this light enabling us to see will ray out from the knowledge of the Mystery of Golgotha. If we but recognize this principal contrast, we shall no longer have any doubt as to the difference between the older theosophy and anthroposophy.

Particularly when so-called Christian theologians again and again lump together anthroposophy and theosophy, this is due to the fact that they do not really understand much about Christianity. It is deeply significant that Nietzsche's friend, Overbeck,¹⁷ the truly significant theologian of Basel, wrote a book on the Christianity of modern theology, in which he tried to prove that modern theology—including Christian theology—is no longer Christian. One may therefore say that even here outer science has already drawn attention to the fact that modern Christian theology does not understand or know anything about Christianity.

One should thoroughly understand everything that is unchristian. Modern theology, in any case, is not truly Christian; it is unchristian. Yet people prefer to ignore these things due to their love of ease. They should not be ignored, however, for to the extent to which they are ignored, man will lose the possibility of inwardly experiencing Christianity. This must be experienced, for it is the opposite pole to the experience of freedom, which must emerge. Freedom must be experienced, but the experience of freedom alone would lead human beings into the abyss. Only the Mystery of Golgotha can lead humanity across this abyss.

We shall speak of this more next time.

• 16. Karl Wenzeslaus Rodecker von Rotteck, historian, 1775–1840, General History, 1813–1818, 6 volumes.
• 17. Franz Overbeck, Protestant theologian, 1837–1905.

Today I would like to insert certain things which will afterwards make it possible for us to understand more closely the karmic connections of the Anthroposophical Movement itself. What I wish to say today will take its start from the fact that there are two groups of human beings in the Anthroposophical Movement. In general terms I have already described how the Anthroposophical Movement is composed of the individuals within it. What I shall say today must of course be taken in broad outline and as a whole; but there are the two groups of human beings in the Anthroposophical Movement. The things which I shall characterise do not lie so obviously spread out ‘on the palm of the hand,’ as we say. They are by no means such that crude and simple observation would enable us to say: in the case of this or that member, it is so or so. Much of what I shall characterise today lies not in the full everyday consciousness of the personality, but, like most karmic things, in the instincts—in the sub-consciousness. Nevertheless, it does thoroughly impress itself on the character and temperament, the mode of action and indeed the real action of the human being.

We have to distinguish the one group, who are related to Christianity in such a way that those who belong to it feel their attachment to Christianity nearest and dearest to their hearts. There lives in these souls the longing, as anthroposophists, to be able to call themselves Christians in the true sense of the word, as they conceive it.

This group derives great comfort from the fact that it can be said in the widest and fullest sense: The Anthroposophical Movement is one that recognises and bears the Christ Impulse within it. Indeed, for this group, pangs of conscience would arise if it were not so.

Now as to the other group:—In the manifestations of their life, those who belong to it are indeed no less sincerely Christian. And yet, they come to Christianity from rather a different angle. To begin with they find great satisfaction in the anthroposophical cosmology—the evolution of the earth from the other planetary forms, and so forth. They find satisfaction in all that Anthroposophy has to say about Man in general. From this point they are then led naturally to Christianity. But they do not feel in the same measure an inward need of the heart, to place Christ in the central point at all costs.

As I said, these things work themselves out to a large extent in the subconsciousness. But whoever is able to practice true observation of souls will be able to judge the different individuals in the right way in every single case.

Now the origins of this grouping go back into very ancient times. You know, my dear friends, from my Occult Science that at a certain period of earthly evolution the souls took their departure as it were from the continued evolution of the Earth and came to dwell on other planets of our system. Then, during a certain time—during the Lemurian and Atlantean times—they came down again to Earth. Thus the souls came down again from the various planets—not only from Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, etc., but also from the Sun—to take on an earthly form. And we know how there arose, under the influence of these facts, what I described in Occult Science as the Oracles.

Now there were many among these souls who tended through a very ancient karma to come into that stream which afterwards became the Christian stream. We must remember, after all, that less than a third of the population of the earth are professing Christians to this day. Thus only a certain number of the individual souls who came down to earth unfolded the tendency, the impulse, to evolve towards the Christian stream.

The human souls came down at different times. There were those who came down comparatively soon, in the first periods of Atlantean civilisation. But there were also those who came down relatively late—whose sojourn, so to speak, in the pre-earthly, planetary life was long. When we look back into the life of such a soul—beginning with the present incarnation—we come perhaps to a former Christian incarnation and maybe to yet another Christian incarnation. Then we come to the pre-Christian incarnations. But we reach comparatively soon the earliest incarnation of such a soul, whereat we must say: Tracing the life still farther back from this point, it goes up into the planetary realms. Before this point, these souls were not yet present in earthly incarnations.

In the case of other souls, who have also found their way into Christianity, it is different. We can go very far back; we find many incarnations. It was after many incarnations, pre-Christian and Atlantean too, that these other souls dived down at length into the Christian stream.

For intellectualistic thought, such a thing as I have just mentioned is exceedingly misleading. For one might easily be led to suppose that those who by the judgment of present-day civilisation would be considered as particularly able minds, are the very ones who have had many incarnations. But this need not by any means be the case. On the contrary, people who have excellent faculties in the present-day sense of the word—people who are well able to enter into modern life may often be the very ones for whom we find comparatively few past incarnations on the earth.

Perhaps I may here remind you of what I said at the time when the anthroposophical stream which we now have in the Anthroposophical Movement was inaugurated. I may remind you of what I said at the Christmas Foundation Meeting, when I spoke of those individualities with whom the Epic of Gilgamesh is connected.¹ I explained certain things about such individualities. We find, as we look backward, that they had had comparatively few incarnations. But there were other individualities again who had many incarnations

Now, my dear friends, for those human souls who come to Anthroposophy today—no matter whether there are still other, intermediate incarnations or not—that incarnation is important, which falls roughly into the 3rd or 4th or 5th century after Christ. (We find it nearly always, spread out over a fairly long period,—two to three centuries. Sometimes it is later—even as late as the 7th or 8th century). Above all things, we must look into the experiences of these souls in that early Christian time. We then find a subsequent incarnation when all these experiences were fastened or confirmed. But I will connect what now I have to say today most definitely with what we may describe as the first Christian incarnation.

Now in the case of all these souls, the important thing is: According to all their past conditions, their former lives on earth, how were they to relate themselves to Christianity? You see, my dear friends, this is a very important karmic question. Later on we shall have to consider other, more subsidiary karmic questions; but this question is so to speak a cardinal question of karma, because, passing over many other subsidiary things, it is through their deepest, innermost experiences in former incarnations—through what they underwent with respect to world-conceptions, religious beliefs and the like—that human beings come into the Anthroposophical Society. With respect to the karma of the Anthroposophical Society, this must therefore be placed into the foreground. What have the souls in this Society experienced, in matters of Knowledge, World-conception and Religion?

Now in those early centuries of Christian evolution, one could still take one's start from traditions of knowledge—which had existed ever since the founding of Christianity—about the Being of Christ Himself. In these traditions, He who lived as Christ in the personality of Jesus was regarded as a Dweller on the Sun, a Being of the Sun, before He entered into this earthly life. We must not imagine that the attitude of the Christian world to these truths was always as negative as it is today. In the first centuries of Christianity they still understood the Gospels, certain passages of which speak so distinctly of this Mystery. They understood that the Being who is called Christ had come down into a human body from the Sun. How they conceived it in detail is less important for the moment; the point is that this conception was still theirs. It certainly went as far as I have just described.

At the same time, in the epoch of which I am now speaking, the possibility of really understanding such a conception had dwindled very much. It was hard to understand that a Being coming from the Sun descends on to the Earth. Above all, many of the souls who had come into Christianity having a large number of earthly incarnations behind them—far back into Atlantean times—could no longer fully understand how Christ can be called a Being of the Sun. The very souls who in their old beliefs had felt themselves attached to the Sun-Oracles, and who thus revered the Christ even in Atlantean times inasmuch as they looked upward to the Sun—the souls therefore who according to the saying of St. Augustine were ‘Christians before Christianity was founded upon Earth,’² Christians as it were of the Sun—these very souls, by the whole character of their spiritual life, could find no real understanding of the saying that Christ was a Sun-Hero. Therefore they preferred to hold fast to that belief which—without such interpretation, without this cosmic Christology—simply regarded Christ as a God, a God from unknown realms, who had united Himself with the body of Jesus. Under these conditions, they accepted what is related in the Gospels. They could no longer turn their gaze upward to the cosmic worlds in order to understand the Being of the Christ. They had learned to know Him only in the worlds beyond the Earth. For even the Mysteries on Earth—the Sun-Oracles—had always spoken to them of Christ as a Sun-Being. Thus they could not find their way into the idea that Christ—this Christ beyond the Earth—had really become an earthly Being.

These Christian souls, when they afterwards passed through the gate of death, came into a strange position, which I may describe—somewhat tritely perhaps—as follows. These Christians, in their life after death, came into the position of a man who knows the name of another man and has heard many things about him; but he has never made his acquaintance in person. To such a man it may happen, at a moment when all the support which served him as long as he merely knew of the name are taken away, that he is suddenly expected to know the real person, and his inner life completely fails him in face of this new situation. So it was with the souls of whom I have now spoken: those who in ancient times had felt themselves belonging especially to the Sun-Oracles. In their life after death, they came into a situation in which they had to say, ‘Where, then, is the Christ? We are now among the Beings of the Sun, where we had always found Him, but now we find Him not.’ That He was on Earth, this they had not really received into the thoughts and feelings which remained to them when they passed through the gate of death. So after death they found themselves in a state of great uncertainty about the Christ and they lived on in this uncertainty about Him. They remained in many respects in this uncertainty. Thus, if in the intervening time another incarnation followed, they tended easily to join those groups of men who are described to us in the religious history of Europe as the various heretical societies.

Then, no matter whether they had passed through such another incarnation or not, they found themselves together again in that great gathering above the earth, which I described here the other morning, placing it at the time of the first half of the 19th century. Then it was that these souls among others found themselves face to face with a great super-sensible cult or ritual, consisting in mighty Imaginations. And in the sublime Imaginations of that super-sensible ritual there was enacted before their spiritual vision, above all other things, the great Sun-Mystery of Christ. These souls, as I explained, had as it were come to a blind alley with their Christianity. And the object was, before they should descend to earthly life again, to bring them, in picture-form, at least, face to face with Christ, whom they had lost—though not entirely—yet to such extent that in their souls He had become involved in currents of uncertainty and doubt.

Now these souls responded in a peculiar way. Not that they found themselves in a still greater uncertainty through the fact that all this was enacted before them. On the contrary it gave them a certain satisfaction in their life between death and a new birth—a feeling of salvation from many doubts. But it also gave them a kind of memory of what they had received about the Christ—albeit in a form that had not yet been permeated in the true cosmic sense by the Mystery of Golgotha. Thus there remained in their inmost being an immense warmth and devotion of feeling towards Christianity, and at the same time a subconscious dawning of those sublime Imaginations.

All this was concentrated into a great longing, that they might now at last be able to be Christians in the true way. Then when they descended—when they became young again, returning to the earth at the end of the 19th or at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries—having received the Christ by way of inner feeling though without cosmic understanding in their early Christian incarnation, they could do no other than feel themselves impelled towards Him. But the impressions they had received in the Imaginations to which they had been drawn in their pre-earthly life, remained in them only as an undefined longing. Thus it was difficult for them to find their way into the anthroposophical world-conception, inasmuch as the latter studies the cosmos to begin with and leaves the consideration of Christ until a later point.

Why did they have such difficulty? For the simple reason, my dear friends, that they had their own peculiar relationship to the question ‘What is Anthroposophy?’ Let us ask: What is Anthroposophy in its reality? My dear friends, if you gaze into all those wonderful, majestic Imaginations that stood there as a super-sensible spiritual action in the first half of the 19th century, and if you translate all these into human concepts, then you have Anthroposophy. For the next higher level of experience—for the adjoining spiritual world whence man descends into this earthly life—Anthroposophy was already there in the first half of the 19th century. It was not on the earth, but it was there. And if Anthroposophy is seen today it is seen indeed in that direction: towards the first half of the 19th century. Quite as a matter of course one sees it there. Nay, even at the end of the 18th century one sees it.

For example, one may have the following experience. There was a certain man who was once in a peculiar position. Through a friend, the great riddle of human earthly life was raised before him. But this his friend was not altogether free of the angular thinking of Kant (“das kantige Kant'sche Denken”), and thus it came to expression in a rather abstract philosophic way. He himself—the one of whom I am now speaking—could not find his way into the ‘angular thinking of Kant.’ Yet everything in his soul stirred up the same great riddle, the great question of life. How are the reason and the sensuous nature of man connected with one another? And lo, there were opened to him—not merely the doors but the very flood-gates, which for a moment let radiate into his soul those regions of the World in which the mighty Imaginations were being enacted. And all this—entering not through windows or doors but through wide-open flood-gates into his soul—translated as it were into little miniatures, came forth as the fairy-tale of the Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily. For the man of whom I speak was Goethe.

Miniatures—tiny reflected images, translated even into a fairy-like prettiness—descended thus in Goethe's Tale of the Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily. We need not therefore wonder that when it became necessary to give Anthroposophy in artistic scenes or pictures, (where we too must naturally have recourse to the great Imaginations), my first Mystery Play, ‘The Portal of Initiation’ became alike in structure—albeit different in content—alike in structure to the Fairy Tale of the Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily.

You see it is possible to look into the deeper connection even through the actual things that have taken place among us. Everyone who has had anything to do with occult matters, knows that that which happens on earth is the downward reflection of something that has taken place long, long before in the spiritual world, though in a somewhat different way, inasmuch as certain spirits of hindrance are not mingled in it there.

These souls now, who were preparing to descend into earthly existence at the end of the 19th or at the beginning of the 20th century, brought with them—albeit in their subconsciousness—a longing also to know something of cosmology, etc., i.e. to look out upon the world in the anthroposophical way. But above all things, their heart and mind were strongly inflamed for Christ. They would have felt pangs of conscience if this whole conception of Anthroposophy—to which they found themselves attracted as an outcome of their pre-earthly life—had not been permeated by the Christ Impulse. Such was the one group, taken of course ‘as a whole.’

The other group lived differently. If I may put it so, the other group, when they emerged in their present incarnation, had not yet reached that weariness in Paganism which the souls whom I described just now had reached. Compared to those others, they had indeed spent a relatively short time on earth—they had had fewer incarnations; and in these incarnations they had filled themselves with the mighty impulses which a man may have, if through his lives on earth he has stood in a living connection with the many Pagan Gods, and if this connection echoes strongly in his later incarnations. Thus they were not yet weary of the old Paganism. Even in the first centuries of Christianity the old Pagan impulses had still been working in them strongly, although they did incline more or less to Christianity, which, as we know, only gradually worked its way forth from Paganism.

At that time they received Christianity chiefly through their intellect. Though indeed it was intellect permeated with inner feeling, still they received it with their intellect. They thought a great deal about Christianity. Nor must you imagine this a very learned kind of thinking. They may indeed have been relatively simple men and women, in simple circumstances; but they thought much.

Once again it matters not whether there was a subsequent incarnation in the meantime. Such an incarnation will of course have wrought some changes; but the essential thing is this: When they had passed through the gate of death, these souls looked back upon the earth in such a way that Christianity appeared to them as something into which they had not yet really grown. They were less weary of the old Paganism; they still bore within their souls strong impulses from the old Pagan life. Thus they were still waiting, as it were, for the time when they should become true Christians.

The very people of whom I spoke to you a week ago, describing how they battled against Paganism on the side of Christianity—they themselves were among the souls who in reality still bore much Paganism, many Pagan impulses within them. They were still waiting to become real Christians. These souls, then, passed through the gate of death. They arrived in the spiritual world. They passed through the life between death and a new birth, and in the time which I have indicated—in the first half of the 19th century or a little earlier—they came before that sublime and glorious Imagination; and in these Imaginations they beheld so many impulses to fire their work and their activity. They received these impulses paramountly into their will.

And, if I may say so, when we now look with occult vision at all that these souls are carrying today, especially within their will, we find—above all in their life of will—the frequent impress of those mighty spiritual Imaginations.

Now the souls who enter their earthly life in such condition feel the need, to begin with, to experience again here upon earth—in the way that is possible on earth—what they experienced in their pre-earthly life as a determining factor for their karmic work. For the former kind, for the former group of souls, the life in the first half of the 19^th century took its course in such a way that they felt themselves impelled by a deep longing to partake in that super-sensible cult or ritual. Yet they came to it—if I may so describe it—in a vague and mystic mood, so that when they afterwards descended to the earth, only dim recollections remained to them; albeit Anthroposophy, transformed into its earthly shape, could make itself intelligible to them through these recollections. But with the second group it was different. It was as though they found themselves together again in the living after-effect of the resolve that they had made. For they, even then, had not been quite weary of Paganism. They still stood in expectation of being able to become Christians in a true way of evolution. And now it was as though they remembered a resolve that they had made during that first half of the 19^th century: a resolve to carry down on to the earth all that had stood before them in such mighty pictures, and to translate it into an earthly form.

When we look at many an anthroposophist who bears within him the impulse above all to work and co-operate with Anthroposophy most actively, we find among such anthroposophists souls of the kind that I have now described. The two types can be distinguished very clearly.

Now, my dear friends, perhaps you will say: All that you have here told us may explain many things in the karma of the Anthroposophical Society; but one may well grow anxious: ‘What is coming next?’—seeing that so many things are being explained about which one might well prefer not to be torn away from blissful ignorance. Are we now to set to work and think, whether we belong to the one type or the other? My dear friends, to this I must give a very definite answer. If the Anthroposophical Society were merely to contain a theoretic teaching or a confession of belief in such and such ideas of cosmology, Christology, etc.—if such were the character of this Society—it would certainly not be what it is intended to be by those who stand at its fountain-head. Anthroposophy shall be something which for a true anthroposophist has power to change and transform his life, to carry into the Spiritual what is experienced nowadays only in unspiritual forms of expression.

I will ask you this: Has it a very bad effect upon a child when at a certain age certain things are explained to him or her? Until a certain age is reached, the children do not know whether they are French or Germans, Norwegians,—Belgians or Italians. At any rate this whole way of thinking has little meaning for them until a certain age. One may say, they know nothing of it in reality. We need only put it radically:—You will surely not have met many Chauvinist babies, or even three-year old Chauvinists! ... It is only at a certain age that we become aware: I am German, I am a Frenchman, I am an Englishman, I am a Dutchman and so on. Yet in accepting these things, do we not grow into them quite naturally? Do we say it is a thing unbearable, to discover at a certain age of childhood that we are a Pole or a Frenchman, or a German or a Russian or a Dutchman? We are used to these things, we take them as a matter of course. But this, my dear friends, is in the external realm of the senses. Anthroposophy is to raise the whole life of man to a higher level. We must learn to bear different things, things which will only shock us in the life of the senses if we misunderstand them. And among the things we are to learn to recognise there is this too:—We must grow just as naturally and simply into the self-knowledge which is to realise that we belong to the one type or the other.

By this means too, the foundation will be created for a right estimation of the other karmic impulses in our lives. Hence it was necessary, as a kind of first direction, to show how the individual—according to the special manner of his pre-destination—stands in relation to this Anthroposophy, to this Christology, and in relation to the greater degree of activity or passivity within the Anthroposophical Movement.

Of course there are transitions too, between the one type and the other. These however are due to the fact that that which comes over from the previous incarnation into the present is still irradiated by a yet earlier incarnation. Especially with the souls of the second group, this is often the case. Many things still shine over from their genuinely heathen incarnations. For this reason they have a very definite pre-disposition to take the Christ in the sense in which He must truly be taken, namely as a Cosmic Being. But what I am now saying shows itself not so very much in the ideal considerations; it shows itself far more in the practical things of life. The two types can be recognised far better by the way in which they tackle the detailed situations of life than by their thoughts. Thoughts indeed have no great significance—I mean, the abstract thoughts have no such great significance for man. So, for instance (needless to say, the personal element is always to be excluded here) we shall frequently find the transition types from the one to the other among those who somehow cannot help carrying over the habits of non-anthroposophical life into the Anthroposophical Movement. I mean, those who are not even inclined to take the Anthroposophical Movement so very seriously, and those above all who are always grumbling in the Anthroposophical Movement, finding fault with the anthroposophists. Precisely among those who are always finding fault with the conditions in the Anthroposophical Movement, especially with the personalities and all the little petty things, we find the transition types, flickering from the one into the other. For in such cases the intensity of neither of the two impulses is very strong.

Therefore, my dear friends, at all costs—even though it may sometimes mean a searching of conscience and character—we must somehow find it possible, each one of us, to deepen the Anthroposophical Movement in this direction, approaching such realities as these and thinking a little earnestly on this: How do we, according to our own super-sensible nature, belong to the Anthroposophical Movement? If we do this, there will arise a purer conception of the Anthroposophical Movement; it will become in course of time an ever more spiritual conception. What we have hitherto maintained in theory—and it need not go so very deep, when we merely stand for it as a theory—this we shall now apply to real life. It is indeed an intense application to life, when we learn to place ourselves, our own life, into connection with these things. To talk a lot of karma, saying that such and such things are punished or rewarded thus and thus from one life to the next, need not strike so very deep; it need not hurt us. But when it reaches so to speak into our own flesh and blood—when it is a question of placing our own present incarnation, with the perfectly definite super-sensible quality that underlies it—then indeed it goes far nearer to our being. And it is this deepening of the human being which we must bring into all earthly life, into all earthly civilisation through Anthroposophy.

This, my dear friends, was a kind of Intermezzo in our studies, and we will continue from this point next Friday.

• 1. See World History in the Light of Anthroposophy. Rudolf Steiner Press, 1977.
• 2. St. Augustine: Retractationes. I.xiii.3. “When I said (in his book De Vera Religione) ‘That is in our times the Christian religion, to know which, is the most secure and certain salvation,’ it was said in relation to the name, not in relation to the thing itself, of which it is the name. For the thing itself, which is now called the Christian religion, was there among the people of antiquity, and was not wanting from the beginning of the human race, down to the time when Christ came in the flesh; whereafter the true religion, which was always there, began to be called Christian. For when the Apostles began to preach Him after the resurrection and ascension into heaven, and very many believed, first of all at Antioch, as it is written, they were called Christian disciples (Acts X1, 26). Therefore I said: ‘This is in our times the Christian religion,’ not because it was not there in earlier times, but because in later times it received this name.” (Tr. from the Latin text).

... Picture what the universe is, apart from the earth, if regarded by the Copernican world-conception alone: a set of calculations! It cannot be this for spiritual science, but must be something which is presented to spiritual knowledge. Why do we have a geology which believes that the earth has only developed through the purely mineral world? Because the Copernican world-conception had, as a matter of course, to produce the present-day materialistic geology. It has nothing in it that could show how the earth is to be thought of, from the cosmos, or from the spiritual, as a being with soul and spirit. A world thought of in Copernican terms could only be a dead earth! A living, ensouled, spiritually permeated earth has to be conceived from another cosmos—really from another cosmos—than that of the Copernican view. Naturally, each time only a few characteristics of the being of the earth can be given, as it appears when it is looked at from the universe.

Is that an entirely unreal conception; to picture the earth as seen from the universe? It is not unreal, but very real. It occurred once to Herman Grimm, but he immediately apologised, when he had written about it. In an essay written in 1858 he said that one could imagine—but he remarks at once ‘I do not want to put forward an article of faith, but a fantasy’—that the human soul, when it is freed from the body, could move freely in the cosmos about the earth, and would then in this free movement observe the earth. Then what happens on the earth would appear to man in quite a different light, thinks Herman Grimm. Man would get to know every event from another point of view. For example, he would look into human hearts ‘as into a glass bee-hive’. The thoughts arising in the human heart would appear as if out of a glass bee-hive! That is a beautiful picture. And then one could imagine: this human being, who has floated round the earth for a time, and observed it from outside, might come to incarnate again on earth. He would have father and mother, a native country and everything that there is on earth—and would then have to forget everything that he had seen from another point of view. And if he was a historian, for instance, in the present-day sense (Herman Grimm at this point writes in a subjective way!) he could not help forgetting the other—for with the other way of looking at things one cannot write history!

This is a conception which strongly approaches the reality. It is quite right that the human soul is as if floating around the earth, between death and a new birth, but—in a way conditioned by karmic connections, as I have often described—looks down at the earth. Then the soul has the definite feeling that the earth is an ensouled and spiritually permeated organism—and the prejudiced view ceases, that it is something without a soul, only something ‘geological’. And then the earth becomes something very much differentiated; it becomes, for observation between death and a new birth, differentiated in such a way that for instance the Orient appears otherwise than the American Occident. It is not possible to speak with the dead about the earth, as one speaks about it with geologists; for the dead do not understand geological conceptions. But they know: when from cosmic space the East, from Asia until far into Russia, is observed, then the earth appears as if wrapped in a bluish radiance—bluish, blue to violet; such is the earth seen from this side of cosmic space. If one comes to the Western hemisphere, if one looks at it where it is America—it appears more or less in burning red. You have there a polarity of the earth, seen from the cosmos. The Copernican world-conception can of course not of itself provide this—it is another way of seeing, from another point of view. For him who has this point of view it becomes comprehensible: this earth, this ensouled earth-organism shows itself outwardly otherwise in its eastern half, otherwise in its western; in the east it has its blue covering, in the west something like a glowing out of its interior, hence the reddish, burning glow. There you have one of the examples of how man can be guided between death and a new birth by what he then learns. He gets to know the configuration of the earth, the different appearance of the earth out into the cosmos, into the spiritual; he gets to know—it is on one side bluish-violet, on the other burning red. And according to his spiritual need, which he will develop out of his karma, this determines for him where he will next enter again into incarnation. Naturally one must picture these things as much more complicated than I have said now. But from such relationships man develops between death and new birth the forces which bring him to incarnate in a particular inherited child body.

What I have given are only two specific colours; apart from colours, there are other definite qualities, many others. For the present I will only mention: between East and West, in the middle, the earth is more greenish as seen from outside, in our regions for instance greenish. So that in fact a threefold membering is produced, which can lead to significant conclusions about the way in which the human being can use what he can observe between death and a new birth to guide him to come into incarnation in this or that region of the earth.

If this is taken into consideration, one will gradually acquire the conception that between the human beings incarnated here on the earth in the physical body and the human beings who are out of the body certain things play a part, which are generally not taken into account at all. When we go into a foreign country and want to understand the people, we must acquire their language. When we want to come to an understanding with the dead, we have also gradually to acquire the language of the dead. This is at the same time the language of spiritual science, for this language is spoken by all who are called alive and all who are called dead. It reaches from over there to here, and from here to over there. But it is specially important to acquire not just abstract conceptions, but such pictures of the universe. We acquire a picture of the earth when we imagine a sphere floating in cosmic space, gleaming on one side in shades of blue and violet, on the other side burning, sparkling red and yellow; and between a belt of green. Conceptions which have the character of pictures gradually carry us over into the spiritual world. That is what matters. It is necessary to put forward such picture-conceptions, if one is speaking in an earnest sense about the spiritual worlds; and it is necessary too that such conceptions are not regarded as if they were arbitrary inventions, but that something is made from them—on this one depends. Let us consider it once more: the eastern earth, gleaming in blue and violet—the western earth, sparkling reddish-yellow. But other differentiations come in. If the soul of one who has died contemplates certain points in our present age, then he perceives at the place that is designated here as Palestine, as Jerusalem, out of the bluish-violet something of a golden form, a golden crystal form, which comes to life. That is Jerusalem, seen from the spirit! That is what also plays a part in the Apocalypse (in so far as I speak of Imaginations) as ‘heavenly Jerusalem’. These are not things which are thought out. These are things which can be seen. Contemplated from the spirit, the Mystery of Golgotha was as it is in physical observation when the astronomer directs his telescope into cosmic space and then sees something that amazes him, for example the appearance of new stars. Spiritually, observed from the cosmos, the event of Golgotha was the appearance of a golden star in the blue earth-aura of the eastern half of the earth. Here you have the Imagination for what I described in conclusion the day before yesterday. It is really important that through such Imaginations conceptions of the universe are acquired, which enable the human soul to find its place in feeling within the spirit of this universe.

Try to think this with someone who has died: the crystal form of the heavenly Jerusalem, building up in golden radiance, amid the blue-violet earth-aura. This will bring you near. This is something which belongs to the Imaginations, into which the soul enters at death: ‘Ex Deo nascimur, in Christo morimur!’

There is a method of shutting oneself off from spiritual reality, and there is a method of approaching it. One can shut oneself off from spiritual reality by attempting to calculate reality. Mathematics is certainly spirit, indeed pure spirit; but employed upon physical reality it is the method for shutting oneself off from the spiritual. The more you calculate the more you shut yourself off from the spiritual. Kant once said: there is as much science in the world, as there is mathematics. But from the other point of view, which is equally justified, one could say: there is as much darkness in the world, as man has succeeded in calculating about the world. One approaches spiritual life the more one penetrates from external observation, and particularly from abstract conceptions, to picture conceptions. Copernicus brought men to calculate the universe; the opposite way of seeing things must bring men to form pictures of the universe again; to think of a universe, with which the human soul can identify itself—so that the earth appears as an organism, shining out into the cosmos: blue-violet, with the golden, shining heavenly Jerusalem on the one side, and on the other side sparkling reddish-yellow.

From what does the blue-violet on one side of the earth-aura originate? If you see this side of the earth-sphere, what is physical of the earth disappears, seen from the outside; rather, the light-aura becomes transparent, and the dark of the earth vanishes. The blue which shows brings this about. You can explain the phenomenon from Goethe’s Theory of Colour. But because the interior of the earth sparkles out from the western half—sparkles out in such a way that it is true, as I described the day before yesterday, that man is determined in America by the sub-earthly; because of this the interior of the earth shines and sparkles as a reddish-yellow glow, as a reddish-yellow shooting fire out into the universe. This is only intended as a sketch, in quite feeble outlines; but it is meant to show you that it is possible to speak today not only in general abstract ideas about the world in which we live between death and a new birth, but in very concrete conceptions. All this is capable of preparing our souls to reach a connection with the spiritual world, a connection with the higher Hierarchies, a connection with that world in which man lives between death and a new birth.

[ 1 ] Goethe's relationship to the natural sciences cannot be understood if one confines oneself merely to the single discoveries he made. I consider the words which Goethe addressed to Knebel on August 18, 1787 from Italy to be the guiding point of view in looking at this relationship: “To judge by the plants and fish I have seen in Naples and Sicily, I would, if I were ten years younger, be tempted to make a trip to India, not in order to discover something new but rather in order to contemplate in my own way what has already been discovered.” What seems most significant to me is the way in which Goethe drew together the phenomena of nature known to him into a view of nature that accorded with his way of thinking. If all the single discoveries he succeeded in making had already been made before him, and if he had given us nothing more than his view of nature, this would not lessen the significance of his nature studies in the slightest. I agree with Du Bois-Reymond that “even without Goethe, science would be just as far along as it is,” that the steps he took would sooner or later have been taken by others (Goethe and More Goethe). Only I cannot extend these words, as Du Bois-Reymond does, to include the whole of Goethe's natural scientific work. I limit them to the single discoveries he made in the course of it. All of these discoveries would probably have been made by now even if Goethe had never concerned himself with botany, anatomy, etc. His view of nature, however, is an outgrowth of his personality; no one else could have come to it. Goethe's individual discoveries also did not interest him. During his studies they forced themselves upon him of their own accord, because certain views held sway in his time about facts relating to these discoveries, which were incompatible with his way of looking at things. If he had been able with what natural science provided him to build up his view, then he would never have occupied himself with study of the details. He had to go into the particulars because what was told him about the particulars by natural scientists did not meet his requirements. And only by chance, as it were, did the individual discoveries result from these studies of the details. He was not primarily concerned with the question as to whether man, like the other animals, has an intermaxillary bone in the upper jaw. He wanted to discover the ground-plan by which nature forms the sequence of animals and, at the highest level of this succession, forms man. He wanted to find the common archetype which underlies all species of animals and which finally, in its highest perfection, also underlies the human species. The natural scientists said to him that there is a difference between the structure of an animal's body and that of man. The animals have an inter-mediary bone in the upper jaw, and man does not have it. But his view was that man's physical structure could differ from that of the animal only in its degree of perfection but not in particulars. For, if the latter were the case, then a common archetype could not underlie both the animal and the human organization. Goethe could do nothing with this assertion of the natural scientists. Therefore he looked for the intermediary bone in man and found it. Something similar can be observed in all his individual discoveries. They are never for him a purpose in themselves. They must be made in order to show that his picture of the phenomena of nature is valid.

[ 2 ] In the area of organic natural phenomena the significant thing about Goethe's view is the mental picture he developed of the nature of life. The main thing is not his emphasis upon the fact that leaf, calyx, corolla, etc. are organs of the plant which are identical to each other and which develop from a common basic structure; the main thing is what mental picture Goethe had of the whole of plant nature as something living and how he thought of the particulars as coming forth out of this whole. His idea of the nature of the organism has to be called his most original and central discovery in the area of biology. Goethe's basic conviction was that something can be seen in the plant and in the animal that is not accessible to mere sense observation. What the bodily eye can observe about the organism seems to Goethe to be only the result of the living whole of developmental laws working through one another and accessible to the spiritual eye alone. What he saw about the plant and the animal with his spiritual eye is what he described. Only someone who is as capable of seeing as he was can think through his idea of the nature of the organism. Whoever stops short at what the senses and experiments provide cannot understand Goethe. When we read his two poems, the Metamorphosis of the Plants and the Metamorphosis of the Animals, it seems at first as though his words only lead us from one part of the organism to another, as though things of a merely external, factual nature are meant to be connected. But if we permeate ourselves with what hovered before Goethe as idea of the living being, we then feel ourselves carried into the sphere of the living organic, and the mental pictures of the individual organs grow out of one central mental picture.

[ 3 ] As Goethe began to think independently about the phenomena of nature, the concept of life occupied his attention above all else. In a letter of July 14, 1770 from his Strassburg period, he writes about a butterfly: “The poor creature trembles in the net, rubs off its most beautiful colors; and even if one captures it unharmed, it lies there finally stiff and lifeless; the corpse is not the whole creature; something else still belongs to it, a main part still, and in this case as in every other a most major main part: its life.” The fact that an organism cannot be regarded as a dead product of nature, that there is still more in it than the forces which also live in inorganic nature, was clear to Goethe from the beginning. Du Bois-Reymond is undoubtedly right when he states that “the constructing of a purely mechanical world, of which science consists today, would not have been less hated by the poet prince of Weimar than the ‘systeme de la nature’ once was by Friederike's friend”; and he is no less right with his other statement that “Goethe would have turned away shuddering from this world construct which, through its spontaneous generation, borders on the Kant-Laplace theory, from the view that man arose out of chaos through the mathematically determined play of atoms from eternity to eternity, from the ending of the world in freezing cold, from all these pictures which our generation looks so unfeelingly in the face, just as it has grown used to the horrors of railroad travel” (Goethe and More Goethe). For sure, he would have turned away shuddering, because he sought, and also found, a higher concept of the living than that of a complicated mathematically determined mechanism. Only someone who is incapable of grasping a higher concept such as this and who identifies the living with the mechanical because he is able to see in the organism only the mechanical, only he will warm to the mechanical construct of the world and its play of atoms and will look unfeelingly upon the pictures which Du Bois-Reymond conjures up. But someone who can take up into himself the concept of the organic in Goethe's sense will quarrel just as little about its validity as he will about the existence of mechanical. One does not quarrel, after all, with the color-blind about the world of colors. All views which picture as mechanical what is organic fall under the judgment which Goethe has Mephistopheles make:

Who'll know aught living and describe it well,
Seeks first the spirit to expel.
He then has the component parts in hand –
But lacks, alas! the spirit's band.
(Priest's translation)

[ 4 ] Goethe found it possible to occupy himself more intimately with the life of the plants when Duke Karl August presented him with a garden on April 21, 1776. Goethe was also stimulated by his walks in the Thüringen forest, on which he could observe how the life of the lower organisms manifested itself. The mosses and lichens drew his attention. On October 31 he asked Frau von Stein for mosses of all kinds, damp and with roots where possible, so that he could use them to observe their propagation. It is important to keep in mind the fact that Goethe, at the beginning of his botanical studies, occupied himself with the lower plant forms. For later, in conceiving his idea of the archetypal plant, he only took into account the higher plants. His doing so cannot therefore be due to the fact that the realm of the lower plants was unfamiliar to him, but rather was due to the fact that he believed the secrets of the plant's nature to be more distinct and pronounced in the higher plants. He wanted to seek out the idea of nature where it revealed itself most clearly and then to descend from the perfect to the imperfect, in order to understand the latter by the former. He did not want to explain what is complex by what is simple, but rather he wanted, with one look, to have an overview of what is complex as a working whole, and then explain what is simple and imperfect as a one-sided development out of what is complex and perfect. If nature is able, after innumerable plant forms, to make yet one more which contains them all, then also, as the spirit beholds this perfect form, the secret of plant development must be revealed to it in direct beholding, and it will then be able easily to apply what it has observed about what is perfect to what is imperfect. The natural scientists do it the other way around; they consider what is perfect to be only the mechanical sum total of simple processes. They start with what is simple and derive what is perfect from it.

[ 5 ] As Goethe looked around for a scientific guide for his botanical studies, he could find none except Linnaeus. We first hear about his study of Linnaeus in his letters to Frau von Stein in the year 1782. The interest he took in Linnaeus' books shows how serious Goethe was about his natural scientific strivings. He admits that, aside from Shakespeare and Spinoza, Linnaeus had the greatest effect upon him. But how little Linnaeus was able to satisfy him. Goethe wanted to observe the different plant forms in order to recognize the common element living in them. He wanted to know what made all these forms into plants. And Linnaeus had been content to place the manifold plant forms next to one another in a particular order and to describe them. Here in an individual case Goethe's naive, unprejudiced observation of nature ran up against science's way of thinking which was influenced by a one-sidedly understood Platonism. This way of thinking sees in the individual forms realizations of the archetypal Platonic ideas or thoughts of the creation, existing along side one another. Goethe sees in each individual form only one particular development out of one ideal archetypal being which lives in all forms. The first way of thinking wants to distinguish as exactly as possible the individual forms in order to recognize the manifold nature of idea-forms or of the plan of creation; Goethe wants to explain the manifold nature of the particulars out of their original unity. The fact that very much exists in manifold forms is immediately clear to the first way of thinking, because to it the ideal archetypes are already what is manifold. For Goethe this is not clear, since the many belong together, in his view, only if a oneness reveals itself in them. Goethe says, therefore, that what Linnaeus “sought forcibly to keep apart had to strive for unity, in accordance with the innermost need of my being.” Linnaeus simply accepts the existing forms without asking how they have come into being out of a basic form: “We can count as many species as there have been different forms created in principle”: this is his basic tenet. Goethe seeks what is working in the plant realm and creating the individual plants by bringing forth specific forms out of the basic form.

[ 6 ] Goethe found in Rousseau a more naive relationship to the plant world than in Linnaeus. On June 16, 1782 he wrote to Karl August: “Among Rousseau's works there are some most delightful letters about botany, in which he presents this science to a lady in a most comprehensible and elegant way. It is a real model of how one should teach, and it supplements Emil. I use it therefore as an excuse to recommend anew the beautiful realm of the flowers to my beautiful lady friends.” In his History of My Botanical Studies Goethe sets forth what it was that drew him to Rousseau's botanical ideas: “His relationship to plant lovers and connoisseurs, especially to the Duchess of Portland, could have given his sharp eye more breadth of vision, and a spirit like his, which feels itself called upon to proscribe order and lawfulness to the nations had, after all, to gain an inkling that such a great diversity of forms could not appear within the immeasurable realm of the plants, unless one basic law, no matter how hidden it may also be, brought all these forms back into unity.” Goethe also sought just such a basic law as this which brings the diversity back into the unity from which it originally went forth.

[ 7 ] Two books of Baron von Gleichen, called Russwurm, appeared back then on Goethe's spiritual horizon. They both treat the life of the plants in a way that could become fruitful for him: The Latest News from the Plant Realm (Nuernberg, 1764) and Special Microscopic Discoveries about Plants (Nürnberg, 1777-1781). They concern themselves with the fructification processes of plants. In them pollen, stamens, and pistil are carefully described, and the processes of fructification are presented in well-executed diagrams. Goethe now makes experiments himself in order to observe with his own eyes the results described by von Gleichen-Russwurm. On January 12, 1785 he writes to Jacobi: “A microscope is set up in order, when spring arrives, to re-observe and verify the experiments of von Gleichen, called Russwurm.” At the same time he studies the nature of the seed, as we can tell from a report to Knebel on April 2, 1785: “I have thought through the substance of the seed as far as my experiences reach.” These observations of Goethe's appear in the right light only when one takes into account that already then he did not stop short at them, but rather sought to gain a complete view of the processes of nature for which they were meant to serve as supports and substantiation. On April 8 of the same year he announces to Merck that he had not only observed the facts but had also “combined” these facts “nicely.”

[ 8 ] An essential influence on the development of Goethe's ideas about the organic workings of nature was his participation in Lavater's great work, Physiognomical Fragments for Furthering Human Knowledge and Human Love, which appeared in the years 1775-1778. He himself made contributions to this work. In the way he expresses himself in these contributions, his later way of regarding the organic is already prefigured. Lavater stopped short at dealing with the shape of the human organism as an expression of the soul. From the forms of bodies he wanted to read the characters of souls. Goethe began, even back then, to look upon the outer shape for its own sake and to study its own lawfulness and power of development. He occupies himself at the same time with the writings of Aristotle on physiognomy and attempts, on the basis of a study of organic form, to determine the difference between man and animals. He finds this difference in the way the whole human structure brings the head into prominence and in the perfect development of the human brain toward which all the other parts point as though to an organ to which they are attuned. On the other hand, with the animals the head is merely hung upon the spine; the brain and spinal cord have no more scope than is absolutely necessary for carrying out the lower instinctual life and for directing purely physical processes. Goethe sought already back then the difference between man and the animals, not in one or another detail but rather in the different level of perfection which the same basic form attains in the one or other case. There already hovered before him the picture of a prototype which is to be' found both in the animals and in man, which is developed in the former in such a way that the whole structure serves animal functions, whereas in the latter the structure provides the basic framework for the development of spirit.

[ 9 ] Goethe's special study of anatomy grows out of such considerations. On January 22, 1776 he lets Lavater know that “The duke had six skulls sent to me; have noticed some marvelous things which are at your honor's service, if you have not found them without me.” In Goethe's diary we read, under the October 15, 1781 date, that he studied anatomy with old Einsiedel in Jena and in the same year began to have Loder introduce him to this science in a more detailed way. He tells of this in letters to Frau von Stein on October 29, 1781 and to the Duke on November 4. He also has the intention of “explaining the skeleton” to the young people in the Art Academy, and of “introducing them to a knowledge of the human body.” “I do it,” he says, “for my sake and for theirs; the methods I have chosen will make them, over this winter, fully familiar with the basic pillars of the body.” One can tell from his diary that he also did give these lectures. Around this time he also had many conversations with Loder about the structure of the human body. And again it is his general view of nature which appears as the driving force and actual goal of these studies. He treats the, “bones as a text to which all life and everything human can be appended” (letter to Lavater and Merck, November 14,1781). Mental pictures about how the organic works, about the connection of human form with animal form, occupy his spirit at that time. The idea that the human structure is only the highest level of the animal one and that man, through this more perfect stage of animal structure, brings forth the moral world out of himself, this is an idea already incorporated into the ode, “The Divine,” from the year 1782.

Noble be man,
Helpful and good!
For that alone
Distinguishes him
From all the beings
That we know.

By iron laws
Mighty, eternal,
Must we all
Round off our
Circle of life.

[ 10 ] The “eternal iron laws” work in man in exactly the same way as in the rest of the world of organisms; only they attain in him a perfection through which it is possible for him to be “noble, helpful, and good.”

[ 11 ] While in Goethe such ideas as these were taking ever deeper root, Herder was working on his Ideas on a Philosophy of the History of Mankind. All the thoughts in this book were talked through by both men. Goethe was satisfied by Herder's conception of nature. It coincided with his own picture. “Herder's book makes it likely that we were first plants and animals ... Goethe is now digging very thoughtfully in these things, and each thing which has once passed through his mind becomes extremely interesting,” Frau von Stein writes to Knebel on May 1, 1784. The words which Goethe addresses to Knebel on December 8, 1783 show how very much one is justified in judging from Herder's ideas what Goethe's were: “Herder is writing a philosophy of history, as you can imagine, new from the ground up. We read the first chapters together the day before yesterday; they are exquisite.” Sentences like the following are entirely in the direction of Goethe's thinking. “The human race is the great confluence of lower organic forces.” “And so we can assume the fourth principle: that man is a central creation among the animals, i.e., that he is the form worked through in which the traits of all the species gather around him in their finest essence.”

[ 12 ] To be sure, this picture was irreconcilable with the view of the anatomists of that time that the small bone which animals have in the upper jaw, the intermaxillary bone which holds the upper incisors, was lacking in man. Sömmering, one of the most significant anatomists of his day, wrote to Merck on October 8,1782: “I wish you had consulted Blumenbach on the subject of the intermaxillary bone which, other things being equal, is the only bone which all animals have, from the ape on, including even the orangutan, but which is never found in man; except for this bone there is nothing keeping you from being able to transfer everything man has onto the animals. I enclose therefore the head of a doe in order to convince you that this ‘os intermaxillare’ (as Blumenbach calls it) or ‘os incisivum’ (as Camper calls it) is present even in animals which have no incisors in the upper jaw.” That was the general opinion of the time. Even the famous Camper, for whom Merck and Goethe had the deepest respect, adhered to this view. The fact that man's intermaxillary bone is ingrown, left and right, to the upper jaw bone without there being visible any clear line there in a normally developed individual led to this view. If the scholars had been right in this view, then it would be impossible to set up a common archetype for the structure of the animal and of the human organism; a boundary between the two forms would have to be assumed. Man would not be created according to the archetype that also underlies the animals. Goethe had to clear away this obstacle to his world view. He succeeded in this in the spring of 1784 in collaboration with Loder. Goethe proceeded in accordance with his general principle, “that nature has no secret which it does not somewhere present openly to the eye of an attentive observer.” He found in some abnormally developed skulls that the line between the intermaxillary bone and the upper jaw bone was actually present. On March 27 he joyfully announced his find to Herder and Frau von Stein. To Herder he writes: “It should heartily please you also, for it is like the keystone to man; it is not lacking; it is there too! And how! I thought of it also in connection with your whole picture, how beautiful it will be there.” And when, in November 1784, Goethe sends the treatise he has written about the matter to Knebel, he indicates the significance for his whole picture of the world which he attaches to the discovery with the words: “I have refrained from showing yet the result, to which Herder already points in his ideas, which is, namely, that one cannot find the difference between man and animal in the details.” Goethe could gain confidence in his view of nature only when the erroneous view about this fateful little bone was cleared away. He gradually gained the courage to “extend over all realms of nature, over its entire realm” his ideas about the way nature, playing as it were with one main form, brings forth its manifold life. He writes in this vein to Frau von Stein in the year 1786.

[ 13 ] The book of nature becomes ever more legible to Goethe after he has correctly deciphered this one letter. “My long efforts at spelling have helped me; now suddenly it is working, and my quiet joy is inexpressible,” he writes to Frau von Stein on May 15, 1785. He now considers himself already able to write a small botanical treatise for Knebel. The trip to Karlsbad which he undertakes with Knebel in 1785 turns into a journey of formal botanical studies. Upon his return the realms of mushrooms, mosses, lichens, and algae are gone through with reference to Linnaeus. On November 9 he shares with Frau von Stein that “I continue to read Linnaeus; I have to; I have no other book with me. It is the best way to read a book thoroughly, a way I must often practice, especially since I do not easily read a book to the end. This one, however, is not principally made for reading but rather for review, and it serves me now excellently, since I have thought over most of its points myself.” During these studies the basic form, from which nature produces all the varied plant shapes, also takes on some outlines in his spirit even though they are not yet clear ones. A letter to Frau von Stein on July 9, 1786 contains the words: “It is a becoming aware of the essential form with which nature is always only playing, as it were, and in playing brings forth its manifold life.”

[ 14 ] In April and May 1786 Goethe observed through a microscope the lower organisms which develop in infusions of different substances (banana pulp, cactus, truffles, peppercorns, tea, beer, etc.). He takes careful notes on the processes which he observes in these living entities and completes drawings of these organic forms. One can also see from these notes that Goethe does not seek, through such observation of lower and more simple organisms, to approach knowledge of life. It is entirely obvious that he believes he can grasp the essential traits of life processes just as well in the higher organisms as in the lower. He is of the view that in an infusorian the same kind of lawfulness repeats itself which the eye of the spirit perceives in a dog. Observation through a microscope only makes us familiar with processes which in miniature are what the unaided eye sees on a bigger scale. It provides an enrichment of sense experience. The essential being of life reveals itself to a higher kind of seeing, not to any tracing of sense-perceptible processes back to their smallest component parts. Goethe seeks to know this being by studying the higher plants and animals. He would without a doubt have sought this knowledge in the same way, even if the study of plant and animal anatomy had been just as far along then as it is now. If Goethe had been able to observe the cells out of which the plant and animal body builds itself up, he would have declared that in these elementary organic forms the same lawfulness is manifest which is also to be perceived in what they constitute. He would also have made sense out of the phenomena of these little entities by means of the same ideas by which he explained to himself the life processes of the higher organisms.

[ 15 ] It is in Italy that Goethe first of all finds the thought which solves the riddle presented to him by organic forms and transformations. He leaves Karlsbad on September 3 and travels south. In few but significant sentences he describes, in his History of My Botanical Studies, the thought which his observation of the plant world stimulated in him up to the moment when, in Sicily, a clear mental picture revealed itself to him about how it is possible that to plant forms, “with all their self-willed, generic, and specific stubbornness, there is granted a felicitous mobility and pliancy, such that they are able to give themselves over to the many conditions which work upon them around the earth and can form and transform themselves accordingly.” In his journey over the Alps, in the botanical garden in Padua, and in other places, “the changeability of plant forms” showed itself to him. “Whereas in lower-lying regions branches and stems were stronger and thicker, the buds closer to each other and the leaves broad, higher in the mountains, branches and stems became more delicate, the buds moved farther apart so that there was more space between nodes, and the leaves were more lance-shaped. I noticed this in a willow and in a gentian and convinced myself that it was not because of different species, for example. Also, near the Walchensee I noticed longer and more slender rushes than in the lowlands” (Italian Journey, September 8). On October 8 he finds various plants by the sea in Venice in which the interrelationship of what is organic with its environment becomes particularly visible. “They are all at the same time both thick and spare, juicy and tough, and it is obvious that the old salt in the sandy ground, but even more the salty air gives them these qualities; they are bursting with sap like water plants, and they are firm and tough like mountain plants; if the ends of their leaves have a tendency to form spines, as thistles do, then they are exceedingly sharp and strong. I found such a bush of leaves; it seemed to me to be our innocent coltsfoot, but here it was armed with sharp weapons, and the leaf was like leather, as were the seedpods and the stems also; everything was thick and fat” (Italian Journey). In the botanical garden in Padua the thought takes on a particular form in Goethe's spirit as to how one might perhaps be able to develop all plant shapes out of one shape (Italian Journey, September 27); in November he shares with Knebel: “My little bit of botany is for the first time a real pleasure to have, in these lands where a happier, less intermittent vegetation is at home. I have already made some really nice general observations whose consequences will also please you.” On March 25, 1787 he has a “good inspiration about botanical objects.” He asks that Herder be informed that he will soon be ready with the archetypal plant. But he feared “that no one will want to recognize the rest of the plant world in it” (Italian Journey). On April 17, he goes “to the public gardens with the firm, calm intention of continuing his poetic dreaming.” Only, before he is prepared for it, the being of the plants seizes him like a ghost. “The many plants, which I otherwise was used to seeing only in tubs or pots and for the greater part of the year only behind glass windows, are growing here fresh and happy in the open air, and since they can totally fulfill what they are meant to be, they become more definite and clear to us. With so many new and renewed forms in front of me, my old fancy took hold of me again: as to whether I could not, after all, discover the archetypal plant among so great a multitude? There must after all be such a one! How would I otherwise know that this or that formation is a plant, if they were not all formed according to the same model.” He makes every effort to distinguish the varying forms, but his thoughts are always led back again to the one archetype which underlies them all (Italian Journey, April 17, 1787). Goethe begins to keep a botanical journal into which he enters all his experiences and reflections about the plant realm during his journey. The pages of this journal show how untiringly occupied he is in trying to find plant specimens which could lead him to the laws of growth and of reproduction. If he believes that he is on the track of some law or other, he sets it up first of all in a hypothetical form, in order then to let it become confirmed in the course of his further experiences. He carefully notes down the processes of germination, of fructification, of growth. It becomes more and more clear to him that the leaf is the basic organ of the plant, and that the forms of all the other plant organs can best be understood when one regards them as transformed leaves. He writes in his journal, “Hypothesis: everything is leaf, and through this simplicity the greatest manifoldness becomes possible.” And on May 17 he communicates to Herder: “Furthermore I must confide to you that I am very close to discovering the secret of plant generation and organization, and that it is the simplest thing one could imagine. One can make the most beautiful observations under these skies. I have altogether clearly and beyond any doubt found where the germ is located, and that is the main point; I also already see everything else as a whole, and only a few points must still become more definite. The archetypal plant will be the most wonderful creation in the world for which nature itself will envy me. With this model and the key to it one can then go on inventing plants forever which must follow lawfully; that means: which, even if they don't exist, still could exist, and are not, for example, the shadows and illusions of painters or poets but rather have an inner truth and necessity. The same law can be applied to all other living things.” “... Any way you look at it the plant is always only leaf, so inseparably joined with the future germ that one cannot think the one without the other. To grasp, to carry, to discover in nature a concept like this, is a task which puts us into a painfully sweet state” (Italian Journey)

[ 16 ] In order to explain the phenomena of life Goethe takes a path which is totally different from those usually taken by natural scientists. These can be divided into two categories. There are defenders of a life force, which works in organic beings and which, with respect to other natural causes, represents a special, higher form of forces. Just as there is gravity, chemical attraction and repulsion, magnetism, etc., so also there is thought to be a life force, which brings the substances of the organism into such interaction that it can maintain itself, grow, nourish, and reproduce itself. The natural scientists who hold this view say that the same forces are working in the organism as in the rest of nature, but that they do not work as though in a lifeless machine. They are taken up, as it were, by the life force and raised to a higher level of working. Opposing the proponents of this view, there are other natural scientists who believe that there is no special life force working in organisms. They regard all manifestations of life as complicated chemical and physical processes and cherish the hope that some day they may succeed in explaining an organism like a machine by tracing it back to the effects of inorganic forces. The first view is called “vitalistic,” the second one “mechanistic.” Goethe's way of grasping things is totally different from both. That in the organism something else is at work besides the forces of inorganic nature seems obvious to him. He cannot adhere to the mechanistic understanding of the phenomena of life. Just as little does he seek some special life force to explain the workings of the organism. He is convinced that a different way of looking at things is needed for grasping life processes than is used in perceiving the phenomena of inorganic nature. Whoever decides to acknowledge a life force does indeed see that organic processes are not mechanical, but at the same time he lacks the ability to develop in himself that other way of looking at things by which the organic could become knowable to him. His mental picture of the life force remains dim and indefinite. A recent adherent of vitalism, Gustav Bunge, believes, “In the smallest cell, and all the riddles of life are already present in it, and in the investigation of the smallest cell, we have already reached our limits with the tools we have now” (Vitalismus und Mechanismus, Leipzig, 1886). It would be completely in accordance with Goethe's way of thinking to answer this in the following way. That kind of seeing which only knows the nature of inorganic phenomena has, with its tools, reached the limits which must be transcended if one is to grasp what is alive. This kind of seeing, however, will never find within its domain the means which could be capable of explaining the life of even the smallest cell. Just as the eye is needed for perception of color phenomena, so, in order to grasp life, one needs the ability to behold directly, in what is sense perceptible, something which is supersensible. This supersensible something will always escape the person who directs only his senses upon the organic forms. Goethe seeks to enliven the sense perception of plant forms in a higher way and to picture to himself the sense-perceptible form of a supersensible archetypal plant (see The History of My Botanical Studies). The vitalist takes refuge in his empty concept of a life force, because he simply does not see anything in an organism except what his senses can perceive. Goethe sees the sense-perceptible permeated by something supersensible just as a colored surface is by color.

[ 17 ] The adherents of the mechanistic theory are of the view that we could someday succeed in creating living substances, in an artificial way, out of inorganic materials. They say that not too many years ago people maintained that there are substances in the organism which cannot arise through artificial means, but only through the working of the life force. But today, they say, one is already able artificially to create several of these substances in a laboratory. In the same way it could be possible some day, out of carbonic acid, ammonia, water, and salts, to produce a living protein, which is the basic substance of the simplest organisms. Then those of a mechanistic persuasion believe it will be irrefutably proven that life is nothing more than a combination of inorganic processes and the organism nothing more than a machine which has arisen in a natural way.

[ 18 ] From the standpoint of the Goethean world view one would reply that the adherents of the mechanistic view speak about substances and forces in a way that is not justified by any experience. And one has become so accustomed to speak in this way that it becomes very difficult in the face of these concepts to let pure experience have its say. But let us look, without any preconceptions, at some process in the outer world. Take a quantity of water of a definite temperature. How does one know anything about this water? One looks at it and notes that it occupies space and is contained within certain limits. One sticks one's finger or a thermometer into it and finds that it has a definite degree of warmth. One touches its surface and experiences that it is fluid. Those are statements which our senses make about the state of the water. Now heat the water. It will begin to boil and finally transform itself into steam. Again one can gain knowledge for oneself about the nature of the object, the steam, into which the water has transformed itself, by perceiving it with the senses. Instead of heating the water one can apply an electric current to it under specific conditions. It transforms itself into two bodies, hydrogen and oxygen. One can also learn about the characteristics of these two bodies by what our senses tell us. One therefore perceives certain states of things in the world of objects and observes at the same time that these states pass over into other ones under certain conditions. Our senses instruct us about these states. If one speaks about something other than these states, which transform themselves, then one is no longer limiting oneself to the pure facts, but rather one is adding concepts to them as well. If one says that the oxygen and hydrogen, which an electric current has caused to arise from the water, were already contained in the water, but so intimately united with each other that they could not be perceived as they are by themselves, then one has added to one's perception a concept by which to explain to oneself how the two bodies can arise out of one body. And if one goes further and states that oxygen (Sauerstoff) and hydrogen (Wasserstoff) are substances (Stoffe), which one does already by the names one gives them, then one has likewise added a concept to what one has perceived. For, factually, in the space occupied by the oxygen, there is present to perception only a certain number of states. One thinks the substance to which these states are supposed to be connected and adds it to them. What one thinks of about the oxygen and hydrogen as already present in the water, i.e., the substantial, is something thought which one adds to the content of perception. If one combines hydrogen and oxygen into water through a chemical process, then one can observe that one group of states passes over into another one. If one says that two simple substances have combined into a compound one, then one has attempted a conceptual explanation of the content of one's observation. The mental picture “substance” receives its content not from perception but rather from thinking. The same is true of “force.” One sees a stone fall to earth. What is the content of that perception? A certain number of sense impressions, of states, which occur in successive places. One seeks to explain to oneself this change in the sense world and says that the earth pulls the stone. It has a “force” by which it draws the stone to itself. Again our spirit has added a mental picture to the state of affairs and has given a content to it which does not stem from perception. One does not perceive substances and forces but rather states and their transitions into one another. One explains these changes of state to oneself by adding concepts to the perceptions.

[ 19 ] Imagine that there were a being who could perceive oxygen and hydrogen but not water. If we combined oxygen and hydrogen to form water before the eyes of such a being, then the states which he had perceived about the two substances would disappear before him into nothingness. If we now also described to him the states which we perceive in the water, he would not be able to picture them to himself. This proves that there is nothing in the perceptual content of oxygen from which the perceptual content water can be derived. To say that a thing consists of two or more other things means that two or more perceptual contents have changed into one unified content which, however, is a totally new one with respect to the original contents.

[ 20 ] What would therefore be achieved if someone succeeded in artificially combining carbonic acid, ammonia, water, and salts into a living protein substance in some laboratory? One would know that the perceptual contents of many substances can combine into one perceptual content. But this perceptual content is absolutely not derivable from those contents. The state of living protein can only be observed in this protein itself and cannot be developed from the states of carbonic acid, ammonia, water, and salts. In the organism one has something totally different from the inorganic parts out of which it can be constructed. In the arising of a living being, sense-perceptible contents change into contents which are both sense-perceptible and supersensible. And someone who does not have the ability to make mental pictures for himself which are both sense-perceptible and supersensible can know something about the being of an organism just as little as someone would be able to experience something about water if a sense impression of it were inaccessible to him.

[ 21 ] In his studies of the plant and animal worlds Goethe strove to picture to himself the organism's germination, growth, transformation of organs, nourishment, and propagation as a process both sense-perceptible and supersensible. He noted that this sensible-supersensible process in its idea is the same in all plants and that it takes on different forms only in its outer manifestation. Goethe could observe the same thing in the animal world. If one has developed in oneself the idea of the sensible-supersensible archetypal plant, then one will find it again in all individual plant forms. Diversity arises through the fact that something which is the same in idea can exist in different forms in the perceptual world. The individual organism consists of organs which can be traced back to a basic organ. The basic organ of the plant is the leaf with the node upon which it develops. In its outer manifestation this organ assumes different forms: seed leaf (cotyledon, Keimblatt), leaf (Laubblatt), sepal (Kelchblatt), corolla “leaf” (Kronenblatt), etc. “Whether the plant is sprouting, blooming, or bearing fruit, still it is always only the same organs which, under many different conditions and often in altered forms, are obeying the orders of nature.”

[ 22 ] In order to gain a complete picture of the archetypal plant Goethe had to follow in general the forms which the basic organ goes through in the process of a plant's growth from germination to seed maturation. At the beginning of its development, the whole plant form rests in the seed. In it the archetypal plant has taken on a shape by which it conceals its ideal content, as it were, in its outer manifestation.

Simple was the force in the seed; a beginning model
Lay, enclosed in itself, bent over under its husk,
Leaf and root and germ, half-formed and without any color
Thus the seed holds dry and protected peaceful life,
Wells striving upward, entrusting itself to mild moistness,
And lifts itself out of the surrounding night.

[ 23 ] Out of the seed the plant develops its first organs, the cotyledons, after it has more or less left “its husk behind in the earth” and has established “its roots in the ground.” And now shoot follows shoot in the further course of growth; node after node tower one above the other, and at every node there is a leaf. The leaves appear in different shapes. The lower ones are still simple, the upper ones variously serrated, notched, composed of several leaflets. At this stage of its development the archetypal plant spreads out its sensible-supersensible content as an outer sensible manifestation in space. Goethe pictures to himself that the leaves owe their ongoing development and refinement to the light and air. “While we find those cotyledons which are enclosed in their seed husks, to be, as it were, only stuffed with raw sap, to be not at all or only crudely organized and undeveloped, so the leaves of plants which grow under water appear to us as more crudely organized than other ones which are exposed to the open air; in fact, the same species of plant develops smoother and less refined leaves when it grows in low, moist areas, while, when transferred to higher regions, it brings forth rough, hairy leaves which are more finely developed.” In the second period of growth the plant draws together again into a narrower space what it had previously spread out.

Now it allows in less sap, it narrows its vessels,
And the shape introduces tenderer workings thereto.
Silent the drive of outspreading edges recedes,
And the ribs of the stalk become more fully pronounced.
Leafless, however, and quickly arises the tenderer stem,
And a wondrous shape attracts the observer to it.
Gathering around in a circle, counted and without
Number, the smaller leaf joins with its fellow.
Ordered round its axis, the rising chalice commits itself,
And its highest shape in colored crowns releases.

[ 24 ] In the calyx the plant shape draws itself together; in the corolla it spreads itself out again. Now the next contraction follows in the stamens and pistil, the organs of propagation. In the previous periods of growth the formative force of the plant developed itself in the single organs as the drive to repeat the basic form. This same force divides itself at this stage of contraction into two organs. What is thus separated seeks to find its way back together again. This occurs in the process of fructification. The male pollen present in the stamens unites itself with the female substance which is contained in the pistil; and through this the germ of a new plant is given. Goethe calls fructification a spiritual anastomosis (union) and sees in it only another form of the process which occurs in the development from one node to another. “In every body which we call living, we note the power to bring forth its own kind. When we become aware of this power in a separated form, we apply the name of the two sexes to it.” From node to node the plant brings forth its own kind. For node and leaf are the simple form of the archetypal plant. In this form the bringing forth is called growth. If the force of propagation is divided into two organs then one speaks of two sexes. In this way Goethe believes he has brought the concepts of growth and procreation closer to one another. In the stage of the forming of the fruit the plant achieves its final expansion; in the seed it seems to be contracted again. In these six steps nature completes the circle of plant development and begins the whole process again from the beginning. In the seed Goethe sees only another form of the bud which develops on the leaves. The side branches which unfold from the buds are whole plants which stand upon a mother plant rather than in the earth. The mental picture of the basic organ, transforming itself in stages from seed to fruit as though upon a “spiritual ladder,” is the idea of the archetypal plant. Almost as though to prove to physical vision the basic organ's ability to transform itself, nature, under certain conditions and at a particular stage, allows an organ to develop different from the one which should arise in the regular course of growth. In the double poppy, for example, at the place where stamens should arise, petals appear. The organ, which according to the idea was meant to be a stamen, has become a petal. In the organ, which in the normal course of plant development has a definite form, there is also contained the possibility of taking on a different form.

[ 25 ] Goethe considers the Bryophyllum calicinum to be an illustration of his idea of the archetypal plant; this is the ordinary life plant, a species which came from the Molucca Islands to Calcutta and from there to Europe. Little new plants develop from the indentations in the plump leaves of this plant and grow into complete plants when detached. For Goethe this process shows sense-perceptibly that in idea a whole plant lies in the leaf.

[ 26 ] Whoever develops within himself the mental picture of the archetypal plant and keeps it so mobile that he can think it in every possible form compatible with its content can, with its help, explain for himself all the configurations of the plant realm. He will grasp the development of the individual plant, but he will also find out that all families, species, and varieties are formed in accordance with this archetypal picture. Goethe developed this view in Italy and recorded it in his book, An Attempt to Explain the Metamorphosis of Plants, which appeared in 1790.

[ 27 ] In Italy Goethe also makes progress in developing his ideas about the human organism. On January 20 he writes to Knebel: “I am somewhat prepared for anatomy and have acquired, though not without effort, a certain level of knowledge of the human body. Here, through endless contemplation of statues, one's attention is continuously drawn to the human body, but in a higher way. The purpose of our medical and surgical anatomy is merely to know the parts, and for this a stunted muscle will also serve. But in Rome the parts mean nothing unless at the same time they present a noble and beautiful form.—In the big hospital of San Spirito they have set up for artists a very beautifully muscled body in such a way that the beauty of it makes one marvel. It could really be taken for a flayed demigod, a Marsyas.—It is also the custom here, following the ancients, to study the skeleton, not as an artificially arranged mass of bones but rather with the ligaments still attached from which it receives some life and movement.” Even after his return from Italy Goethe industriously pursues his anatomical studies. He feels impelled to know the developmental laws of animal form in the same way that he succeeded in knowing those of the plant. He is convinced that the unity of the animal organism also rests on one basic organ which can assume various forms in outer phenomena. If the idea of the basic organ conceals itself, then the basic organ appears in an unformed way. It then manifests as the simpler organs of the animal; if the idea masters substance in such a way that it makes the substance totally into its own likeness, then the higher, nobler organs arise. That which is present in the simpler organs as idea reveals itself outwardly in the higher organs. Goethe did not succeed in drawing together the lawfulness of the entire animal form into one single mental picture as he was able to do for the plant form. He found the developmental law of one part of this form only, the spinal cord and brain, along with the bones which enclose these organs. He sees in the brain a higher development of the spinal cord. Every ganglion, every nerve center, represents for him a brain which has remained behind on a lower level. And he interprets the skull bones which enclose the brain as transformations of the vertebrae which surround the spinal cord. It has already occurred to him earlier that the posterior cranial bones (occipital, posterior, and anterior sphenoid bones) are to be regarded as three metamorphosed vertebrae; he maintains the same about the anterior cranial bones after finding on the dunes of the Lido in 1790 a sheep'-s skull so felicitously cracked open that the hard palate, the upper jaw bone, and the intermaxillary bone seem to present directly to his view three transformed vertebrae.

[ 28 ] The study of animal anatomy had not yet progressed far enough in Goethe's time for him to be able to cite any creature which actually has vertebrae instead of developed cranial bones and which therefore manifests in a sense-perceptible picture what is present in the higher animals only as idea. Through the research of Carl Gegenbauer, published in 1872, it is possible to point to such an animal form. The primitive fish or selachii have cranial bones and a brain which clearly show themselves to be end parts of the spinal column and cord. According to findings about these animals, a greater number of vertebrae do seem to have gone into the head formation (at least nine) than Goethe had assumed. This error in the number of vertebrae has been brought forward against the validity of the Goethean idea of the transformation of the spinal cord and column, as has the fact that in its embryonic state the skull of the higher animals shows no trace of being composed of vertebra-like parts, but rather develops out of a simple cartilaginous sac. It is acknowledged indeed that the skull has arisen out of vertebrae. But it is denied that the cranial bones, in the form in which they manifest in the higher animals, are transformed vertebrae. It is said that a complete fusing of the vertebrae into a cartilaginous sac has occurred, in which the original vertebral structure has totally disappeared. The bone forms observable in the higher animals have then developed out of this cartilaginous capsule. These forms have not developed according to the archetype of the vertebra but rather in conformity with the tasks which they have to fulfill with the developed head. Therefore if one is seeking the explanation for one or another form of the cranial bones, one should not ask how a vertebra has metamorphosed in order to become a cranial bone but rather, what determining factors have led to the fact that this or that bone shape has separated out of the simple cartilaginous capsule? One believes in the formation of new shapes, according to new formative laws, after the original vertebral form has dissolved into a structureless capsule. Only from the standpoint of a fanaticism for facts can one find a contradiction between this view and the Goethean one. That which is no longer sense perceptible in the cartilaginous cranial capsule, i.e., the vertebral structure, is nevertheless present in it as idea and reappears as soon as the conditions for it are present. In the cartilaginous cranial capsule the idea of the basic organ in its vertebral form conceals itself within sense-perceptible matter; in the developed cranial bones this idea comes again into outer manifestation.

[ 29 ] Goethe hopes that the laws of development of the other parts of the animal organism will reveal themselves to him in the same way as did those of the brain, spinal cord, and the parts enclosing them. About his discovery at the Lido he asks Frau von Kalb, on April 30, 1790, to tell Herder that he “has gotten one whole principle nearer to animal form and to its manifold transformations, and did so through the most remarkable accident.” He believes himself so near his goal that in the same year which brought him his find, he wants to complete a book on animal development which could take its place beside the Metamorphosis of the Plants (Correspondence with Knebel). On a journey in Silesia in July 1790 he pursues his studies of comparative anatomy and begins to write an essay, On the Form of Animals. Goethe did not succeed in progressing from this felicitous starting point to the laws of development of the whole animal form. No matter how many attempts he makes to find the prototype of animal form, nothing analogous to the idea of the archetypal plant emerged. He compares the animals to each other and to the human being and seeks to gain a general picture of animal structure which nature uses as a model to form the individual shapes. This general picture of the animal prototype is not a living mental picture which fills itself with a content in accordance with the basic laws of animal development, thus recreating, as it were, the archetypal animal. It is only a general concept, which is abstracted from the particular phenomena. It ascertains what the manifold animal forms have in common; but it does not contain the lawfulness of the animal realm.

All the parts develop according to eternal laws,
And secretly the rarest form retains the archetypal picture.
(Metamorphosis of the Animals)

[ 30 ] Goethe could not develop a unified mental picture of how this archetypal image, by lawful transformation of one basic pan, develops itself as the archetypal form, with many parts, of the animal organism. His essay, Animal Form, and his Sketch of a Comparative Anatomy Proceeding from Osteology, written in 1795 in Jena and given a more detailed shape later as Lectures on the First Three Chapters of the Sketch of a General Introduction to Comparative Anatomy (1796) contain only preliminary instruction as to how animals can be purposefully compared in order to gain a general picture by which the creative power “produces and develops organic beings” in order to gain a norm by which “to work out the descriptions” and to which the most varied forms can be traced “by abstracting this norm from the various animals.” On the other hand Goethe showed how, with the plants, one archetypal entity develops itself lawfully through successive modifications into its complete organic shape.

[ 31 ] Even though he was not able to trace nature's creative force in its forming and transforming power through the different parts of the animal organism, still Goethe did succeed in finding individual laws to which nature holds in the development of animal forms which do adhere to the general norm but which are different in their manifestations. He pictures to himself that nature does not have the ability to change the general picture at will. If nature develops and forms one part with particular completeness, this can happen only at the expense of another part. In the archetypal organism all the parts are contained which can occur in any animal. In the individual animal form one part is developed, another part is only suggested; one is particularly well elaborated, another is perhaps totally imperceptible to sense observation. In this last case Goethe is convinced that that part of the general prototype which is not visible in each animal is nevertheless present as idea.

If you see in one creature an exceptional trait
In some way bestowed, then ask at once where it suffers
Elsewhere some lack, and search with investigative spirit.
At once you will find to each form the key.
For never did beast, with all kinds of teeth his upper
Jaw bone bedecking, bear horns on its forehead,
And therefore a horned lion the eternal mother
Could not possibly fashion though she apply her full strength;
For she has not mass enough, rows of teeth
To fully implant and antlers and horns also to push forth.
(Metamorphosis of the Animals)

[ 32 ] In the archetypal organism all the parts are developed and maintain a balance with each other; the diversity of the individual organisms arises through the fact that the formative power expends itself on one part and therefore does not develop the outer manifestation of another part at all or only suggests it. Today one calls this law of the animal organism the law of the correlation or compensation of organs.

[ 33 ] Goethe thinks the whole plant world to be contained as idea in the archetypal plant, and in the archetypal animal the whole animal world. From this thought there arises the question as to how it comes about that in one case these particular plant or animal forms arise, in another case other forms do. Under which conditions does the archetypal animal become a fish? Under which conditions a bird? The way science pictures things in order to explain the structure of organisms is repugnant to Goethe. The adherents of this way of picturing things ask with respect to each organ how it serves the living being in which it occurs. Underlying a question like this is the general thought that a divine creator or nature has prescribed a specific life's purpose for every being and has then given it a certain structure so that it can fulfill this purpose. A question like this seems just as nonsensical to Goethe as to ask what purpose a rubber ball has in moving when it is struck by another ball. An explanation of its motion can be given only by finding the laws by which the ball is set into motion by an impact or by some other cause. One does not ask what purpose the motion of the ball serves, but rather where its motion originates. In the same way, in Goethe's view, one should not ask for what purpose the bull has horns but rather how he can have horns. By which laws does the archetypal animal appear in the bull in a horn-bearing form? Goethe sought the idea of the archetypal plant and that of the archetypal animal in order to find in them the basis of an explanation for the diversity of organic forms. The archetypal plant is the creative element in the plant world. If one wants to explain an individual plant species, one must show how this creative element is working in a particular case. The mental picture that an organic being owes its form not to the forces working and shaping within it but rather that its form is imposed upon it from outside for certain purposes, this picture positively repels Goethe. He writes, “Recently I found, in a pitiful, apostolically monkish declamation of the Zurich prophet, the nonsensical words that everything which has life lives by something outside itself. Or it sounded something like that. Now a missionary can write down something like that, and when he is revising it no good spirit tugs at his sleeve” (Italian Journey, October 5, 1787). Goethe thinks of an organic being as a little world which is there through itself and which shapes itself according to its own laws. “The picture that a living being is brought forth for certain outer purposes and that its shape is determined by an intentional primal force to this end has already held us back in our philosophical consideration of natural things for several centuries, and still holds us back, although a few individuals have vigorously disputed this picture and shown what obstacles it lays in our path. . . It is, if one may put it so, a trivial picture, which, like all trivial things, is trivial precisely because it is comfortable and sufficient for human nature as a whole.” It is, of course, comfortable to say that a creator, in creating a species, has given it an underlying purposeful idea and therefore a definite shape. But Goethe wants to explain nature not by the intentions of some being located outside nature but rather by the laws of development lying within nature itself. An individual organic form arises through the fact that the archetypal plant or the archetypal animal gives itself a definite shape in a particular case. This shape must be such that the form, under the conditions in which it is living, can in fact live. “... the existence of a creature which we call fish is only possible under conditions of an element which we call water ...” If Goethe wants to grasp what laws of development bring forth a particular organic form, he then holds on to his archetypal organism. Within it lies the power to realize itself in the most diverse outer shapes. In order to explain a fish Goethe would investigate which formative powers the archetypal animal uses in order, out of all the shapes which lie in it as idea, to bring forth specifically the fish shape. If the archetypal animal were to realize itself under certain conditions in a shape in which it cannot live, then it would perish. An organic form can maintain itself under certain life conditions only when it is adapted to them.

Therefore, shape determines the way of an animal's living
And this way of living works back mightily, firmly,
Upon all shapes. Thus ordered formation manifests firmly.
That to change inclines through outwardly working beings.
(Metamorphosis of the Animals)

[ 34 ] The enduring organic forms in a certain life element are determined by the nature of this element. If an organic form were to come out of one life element into a different one, it would have to change itself accordingly. This can occur in particular cases, because the archetypal organism underlying the form has the ability to realize itself in countless shapes. But the transformation of the one form into the other, in Goethe's view, is not to be thought of as though outer conditions directly reshape the form in accordance with themselves but rather as though they become the stimulus by which the inner being transforms itself. Changed living conditions stimulate the organic form to reshape itself in a certain way according to inner laws. Outer influences work indirectly, not directly, upon the living being. Countless forms of life are contained as idea in the archetypal plant and archetypal animal; those forms come into actual existence upon which outer influences work as stimulus.

[ 35 ] The mental picture that a species of plant or animal transforms itself into another in the course of time under certain conditions is fully justified within the Goethean view of nature. Goethe pictures to himself that the power which brings forth a new individual through the reproductive process is only a transformation of that form of power which also causes the progressive reshaping of organs in the course of growth. Reproduction is a growth above and beyond the individual. Just as the basic organ during growth undergoes successive changes, which in idea are the same, so also, in reproduction, a transformation of the outer shape can take place while holding on to the ideal archetypal picture. When an original form of an organism was present, then its descendants could change over, through gradual transformation, in the course of great periods of time, into the diverse forms which populate the earth today. The thought of an actual blood tie between all organic forms does flow out of the basic views of Goethe. He could have expressed it right away in its complete form after conceiving his ideas of the archetypal animal and plant, but when he touches upon this thought he expresses himself hesitantly, even vaguely. One can read in the essay, Attempt at a Theory of Comparison, which was probably written not long after the Metamorphosis of the Plants, “And how worthy it is of nature that it must always employ the same means of bringing forth and nourishing a creature! Thus one will progress upon these same paths, and, just as one only at first regarded the unorganized, undetermined elements as the vehicle of the unorganized beings, so will one from now on raise one's contemplation and again regard the organized world as an interrelationship of many elements. The whole plant realm, for example, will again appear to us as an immense sea which is just as necessary for the qualified existence of the insects as the oceans and rivers are for the qualified existence of fish, and we will see that an immense number of living creatures are born and nourished in this ocean of plants; in fact, we will finally regard the whole animal world again as only one great element where one generation after another and through the other does not arise newly yet does maintain itself.” Goethe is less reserved in the following sentence from Lectures on the First Three Chapters of the Sketch of a General Introduction to Comparative Anatomy (1796): “This we would therefore have gained, that we could fearlessly assert that all the more perfect organic natures—by which we mean fish, amphibians, birds, mammals, and at the peak of the latter, man—are all formed according to one archetypal picture, which more or less diverges one way or another only in its permanent parts, and which still daily develops and transforms itself through reproduction.” Goethe's caution about the idea of transformation is understandable. This thought was not foreign to the age in which he was developing his ideas. But this age had developed this thought in the most muddled way. “But that was a darker age,” Goethe writes in 1807, “than one now pictures it to be. It was asserted, for example, that if the human being wanted to he could go around comfortably on all fours, and that bears could become human beings if they held themselves erect for a time. The audacious Diderot dared to suggest ways of producing goat-footed fauns to serve in uniform on the coaches of the rich and mighty, to bestow particular pomp and distinction.” Goethe wanted to have nothing to do with such unclear mental pictures. He was anxious to gain an idea of the fundamental laws of the living. In this it became clear to him that the shapes of the living are not rigid and unchangeable but rather are involved in continuous transformation. Goethe did not have enough data from observation to establish in detail how this transformation occurs. It is Darwin's investigations and Haeckel's intelligent reflections which have first shed some light on the actual conditions by which individual organic forms are related. From the standpoint of the Goethean world view one can only agree with the assertions of Darwinism, insofar as they relate to the actual emerging of one organic species from another. But Goethe's ideas penetrate more deeply into the being of the organic than does the Darwinism of our day. It believes it can do without the inner driving forces in the organic which Goethe pictures to himself as a sensible-supersensible image. Yes, Darwinism even denies that Goethe was justified in speaking, from his postulates, of any real transformation of organs and organisms. Jul. Sachs rejects Goethe's thoughts by saying that he transfers “the abstraction which his intellect has i made onto the object itself, by ascribing to the object a metamorphosis which actually has occurred only within our concept.” According to this view, Goethe did nothing more than bring leaves, sepals, petals, etc. under one general concept, and label them with the name “leaf.” “The matter would be quite different, to be sure, if ... we could believe that in the: ancestors of our present plant forms the stamens were ordinary leaves, etc.” (Sachs, History of Botany, 1875). This view arises from the fact fanaticism which cannot see that ideas belong just as objectively to the things as what one can perceive with the senses. Goethe is of the view that one can speak of the trans formation of one organ into another only if both, besides their outer manifestation, contain something else which is common,; to them both. This something is the sensible-supersensible 1 form. The stamen of a present plant form can be called the transformed leaf of its ancestors only if the same sensible-supersensible form lives in both. If that is not the case, if on the present plant there simply develops a stamen at the same place where a leaf had developed on its ancestors, then nothing has transformed itself but rather one organ has taken the place of another. The zoologist Oskar Schmidt asks, “What is it then in Goethe's view which is supposed to be transformed? Definitely not the archetypal picture.” (Was Goethe a Darwinian?, Graz, 1871). Certainly the archetypal picture does not transform itself for it is after all the same in all forms, but precisely because it remains the same, the outer shapes can be different and still represent a unified whole. If one could not recognize the same ideal archetypal picture in two forms which have developed away from each other, then one could assume no relationship between them. Only through the mental picture of the ideal archetypal form can one connect any meaning to the assertion that organic forms arise by developing out of each other. . Whoever cannot lift himself to this mental picture remains stuck in mere facts. In this mental picture lie the laws of organic development. Just as through Kepler's three basic laws the processes of the solar system are comprehensible, so through Goethe's ideal archetypal pictures are the shapes of organic nature.

[ 36 ] Kant, who denies to the human spirit the ability to penetrate with ideas a totality which brings forth diversity in phenomena, calls it a “daring adventure of reason” to want to explain the individual forms of the organic world from some archetypal organism. For him, man is only able to draw together the diverse individual phenomena into a general concept, by which the intellect makes itself a picture of the unity. But this picture is only present in the human mind and has nothing to do with the creative power by which the unity really allows diversity to go forth from itself. The “daring adventure of reason” would consist of someone's assuming that the earth first releases simple organisms from her mother's womb which are less purposefully formed and which then give birth to more purposeful forms. That furthermore, still higher forms develop out of these all the way up to the most perfect living beings. If someone did make such an assumption, in Kant's opinion, he could not avoid positing an underlying purposeful creative power which gave such a push to development that all its individual members develop purposefully. Man perceives, after all, a multiplicity of diverse organisms; and since he cannot penetrate into them in order to see how they give themselves a form adapted to the life element in which they develop he must then picture to himself that they are organized from outside in such a way that they can live under these conditions. Goethe attributes to himself the ability to recognize how nature creates the individual out of the totality, the external out of the internal. He therefore wants courageously to undertake what Kant calls the “adventure of reason” (see the essay, The Power to Judge in Beholding). If we had no other proof that Goethe accepted the thought of a blood relationship of all organic forms as justified within the limits indicated here, we would have to deduce it from this judgment about Kant's “adventure of reason.”

[ 37 ] One can guess, from Goethe's sketchy Outline of a Morphology which still exists that he planned to present in their successive levels the particular shapes which his archetypal plant and archetypal animal assume in the main forms of living beings. He wanted first of all to describe the being of the organic as it came to him in his reflections about animals and plants. Then, “starting at one point,” to show how the archetypal organic being develops itself on the one hand into the manifold plant world, on the other hand into the multiplicity of the animal forms, how the particular forms of the worms, insects, higher animals, and the human form can be drawn forth from the common archetypal picture. Light was also meant to be shed upon physiognomy and phrenology. Goethe set himself the task of presenting the outer shape in connection with inner spiritual abilities. He felt moved to trace the organic drive to develop, which presents itself in the lower organisms in a simple outer manifestation, in its striving to realize itself stage by stage in ever more perfect shapes until in man it gives itself a form which makes him able to be the creator of spiritual productions.

[ 38 ] This plan of Goethe's was not carried out, nor was another one which started with the fragment, Preliminary Work for a Physiology of the Plants. Goethe wanted to show how all the individual branches of natural science—natural history, physics, anatomy, chemistry, zoology, and physiology—must work together in order that a higher kind of contemplation may use them to explain the shapes and processes of living beings. He wanted to establish a new science, a general morphology of organisms, “not, indeed, with a new subject matter, for this is known, but rather with a new outlook and methodology; this new science would have to give a distinctive form to its findings and also indicate its place relative to other sciences ...” The individual laws of nature provided by anatomy, natural history, physics, chemistry, zoology, and physiology should be taken up by the living mental picture of the organic and placed on a higher level, in the same way that the living being itself takes up the individual natural processes into the sphere of its development and places them on a higher level of working.

[ 39 ] Goethe arrived along paths of his own at the ideas which helped him through the labyrinth of living forms. The dominant views on important areas of nature's working contradicted his general world view. He therefore had to develop mental pictures about these areas for himself that were in accordance with his nature. But he was convinced that there is nothing new under the sun and that one “could very well find indications in earlier works about what one is becoming aware of oneself.” For this reason he shares his writing on the Metamorphosis of the Plants with learned friends and asks them to inform him whether something has already been written or handed down on this subject. He is happy when Friedrich August Wolf draws his attention to a “first-rate precursor” in Kaspar Friedrich Wolff. Goethe acquaints himself with Wolff's Theoria Generationis, which appeared in 1759. But one can observe, precisely with this precursor, how someone can have a correct view about the facts and still not come to the complete idea of organic development unless he is able to grasp the sensible-supersensible form of life, through an ability to see which, is higher than that of his senses. Wolff is an excellent observer. He seeks through microscopic investigations to enlighten himself about the beginnings of life. He recognizes the calyx, corolla, stamens, pistil, and seed as transformed leaves. But he attributes the transformation to a gradual decrease in the life force, which supposedly diminishes to the same degree as the vegetation unfolds and then finally disappears entirely. Therefore calyx, corolla, etc. are for him an imperfect development of the leaves. Wolff came on the scene as an opponent of Haller, who advocated the doctrine of preformation or incapsulation. According to it all the parts of a full-grown organism were supposed to exist pre. formed already in miniature within the germ, and even in the same shape and interrelationship as in the complete living being. The development of an organism, consequently, is only the unfolding of what is already present. Wolff accepted as valid only what he saw with his eyes. And since, even with the most careful observations, he could not discover any incapsulated state of a living being, he regarded development as a truly new formation. The shape of an organic being is in his view not yet present in the germ. Goethe is of the same opinion with respect to outer manifestation. He also rejects the incapsulation doctrine of Haller. For Goethe the organism is in fact preformed within the germ, not as outer manifestation but rather as idea. He also regards the outer manifestation as a new formation. But he reproaches Wolff with the fact that where Wolff sees nothing with his physical eyes he also perceives nothing with his spiritual eyes. Wolff had no mental picture of the fact that something can still be present as idea, even if it does not come to outer manifestation. “Therefore his efforts are always to penetrate by microscopic investigations into the beginnings of life formation, and to trace in this way the organic embryos from their earliest manifestation up to full development. But no matter how excellent these methods may be, by which he has accomplished so much, still the admirable man did not think that there is a difference between seeing and seeing, that the spiritual eyes must work in continuous living alliance with the physical eyes, because one otherwise runs the danger of seeing and yet overlooking.—In plant transformation he saw the same organ continuously contracting, growing smaller; but he did not see that this contraction alternated with an expansion. He saw that this organ diminished in volume, and did not notice that it ennobled itself at the same time and therefore, nonsensically, he considered atrophy to be the path to perfection.”

[ 40 ] To the end of his life Goethe remained in personal and written contact with numerous investigators of nature. He observed with keenest interest the progress of the science of living beings; he was happy to see how in this realm of knowledge ways of picturing things arose which approached his own ways and also how his expositions on metamorphosis were recognized and made fruitful by individual investigators. In 1817 he began to gather his works together and to publish them in a journal which he founded under the title, On Morphology. In spite of all this he no longer achieved through his own observation or reflection a further development of his ideas about organic development. He was only stimulated two more times to occupy: himself more deeply with such ideas. In both cases his attention was caught by scientific phenomena in which he found a confirmmation of his thoughts. One was the lectures which K. F. Ph. Martius held in gatherings of natural scientists in 1828 and 1829 on the Vertical and Spiral Tendency of Vegetation and from; which the journal Isis published excerpts; the other one was a natural scientific dispute in the French Academy which broke I out between Geoffrey de Saint-Hilaire and Cuvier in 1830.

[ 41 ] Martius thought that the growth of plants was governed by two tendencies, by a striving in the vertical direction, which; governed root and stem, and by another one which caused leaf and blossom organs, etc. to array themselves on the vertical organ in accordance with the form of a spiral line. Goethe took up these ideas and brought them into connection with his mental picture of metamorphosis. He wrote a lengthy essay in, which he brought together all his experiences of the plant world; which seemed to him to indicate the presence of the two tendencies. He believes that he has to take up these tendencies into his idea of metamorphosis. “We had to assume that a general': spiral tendency holds sway in vegetation through which, in connection with the vertical striving, every structure, every formation of plants is completed according to the law of metamorphosis.” Goethe grasps the presence of spiral vessels in the individual plant organs as proof that the spiral tendency inherently rules the life of the plant. “Nothing is more in accordance with nature than the fact that what it intends as a whole it brings into activity down to the smallest detail.” “In the summertime go up to a stake driven into the garden upon which a bindweed (convovulus) is climbing, winding up around it from below, and follow its lively growth with close attention. Think of the convovulus and the stake as both equally alive, rising out of one root, alternately bringing each other fon, and in this way progressing ceaselessly. Whoever can transform this sight into an inner beholding will have made this concept much easier for himself. The climbing plant seeks outside itself what it should be giving itself but cannot.” Goethe uses the same comparison on March 15, 1832 in a letter to Count Sternberg and adds the words, “To be sure this comparison is not entirely apt, for at the beginning the creeper would have to wind around the rising stem in hardly noticeable circles. But the closer it came to the upper end the more quickly the spiral line would have to turn, in order finally (in the blossom) to gather together in a circle into a disk, as in dancing where quite often, when young, one was squeezed against one's will, even with the nicest children, breast to breast and heart to heart. Pardon my anthropomorphism.” Ferdinand Cohn remarks about this passage, “If only Goethe could have experienced Darwin! ... how this man would have pleased him who through rigorous inductive methods knew how to find clear and convincing proofs for his ideas ...” Darwin believes himself able to show, about. almost all plant organs, that during their growth period they have the tendency to spiral-like movements, which he calls circummutation.

[ 42 ] In September 1830 Goethe refers in an essay to the dispute between the natural scientists Cuvier and Geoffrey de Saint-Hilaire; in March 1832 he continues this essay. In February and March 1830 in the French Academy the fact fanatic Cuvier comes out against the work of Geoffrey de Saint-Hilaire, who, in Goethe's opinion, had “attained a high level of thinking in accordance with the idea.” Cuvier is a master in making distinctions between the individual organic forms. Geoffrey's efforts are to seek the analogies in these forms and to furnish proof that the organization of the animals “is subject to a general plan, modified here and there, from which their differences come.” He strives to know the relatedness of the laws and is convinced that the particular can gradually be developed from the whole. Goethe regards Geoffrey as a kindred spirit; he expresses this to Eckermann on August 2, 1830 in the words, “now Geoffrey de Saint-Hilaire is also definitely on our side and with him all his significant students and adherents in France. This event is of inconceivably great value to me, and I am right to jubilate about the final victory of something to which I have dedicated my life and which is pre-eminently also my own.” Geoffrey practices a way of thinking which is also Goethe's way; in his experience of the world he seeks to grasp, along with the diversity of what is sense-perceptible, also the idea of the unity. Cuvier holds fast to the diversity, to the particular, because when he observes them the idea does not arise for him at the same time. Geoffrey has a right feeling for the relationship of the sense-perceptible to the idea; Cuvier does not have it. He therefore labels Geoffrey's comprehensive principle as presumptuous, yes, even declares it to be inferior. One can have the experience, especially with natural scientists, that they speak derogatorily about what is “merely” ideal, thought. They have no organ for what is ideal and therefore do not know the sphere of its working. Through the fact that he possessed this organ in an especially well-developed form, Goethe was led from his general world view to his deep insights into the nature of the living. His ability to let his eyes of the spirit work in a continuous living alliance with the eyes of the body enabled him to behold the unified sensible-supersensible being that extends through organic development; it enabled him to recognize this being even where one organ develops out of another, where, through transformation, an organ conceals and denies its relatedness, its sameness with the preceding one, changing both in function and form to such a degree that no comparison of outer attributes with the preceding ones can any longer take place. Seeing with the eyes of the body transmits knowledge of the sense-perceptible and material; seeing with the eyes of the spirit leads to the beholding of processes in human consciousness, to the observation of the world of thoughts, of feeling, and of will; the living alliance of spiritual and bodily eye enables one to know the organic which, as a sensible-supersensible element, lies between the purely sense-perceptible and the purely spiritual.

The period at which Schiller wrote his Wallenstein, was for him a period of transition, a refining period in which he was trying to rise above his earlier “Weltanschauung” to the grasp of what he called the purely artistic. We have seen how Schiller found in the beautiful and artistic something which could raise man's forces of soul, bring them into a harmony—so that it is artistic creation which gives man freedom. Thus for him, as he wrote to Goethe à propos of his Wilhelm Meister, the artist was the only true man and the philosopher, compared to him, only a caricature. Here was a vital turning-point which reflected what Schiller had then experienced.

In Fiesco, in Kabale and Liebe, in Don Carlos some of the characters are sympathetic to him, others antipathetic. But at the height of his art he wished to get rid of such moral judgment and valuation; he wished to treat a wrong-doer with the same loving care as he did the hero; his work was no longer to be associated with what he himself felt as sympathy or antipathy. When the objection was made to Wilhelm Meister, that many of the figures offended against moral feeling, he wrote more or less like this to Goethe: “If one could show you that the non-moral originated in you and not in the characters, one might have some ground for objection.” For Schiller Wilhelm Meister is an education in aesthetic.

Schiller, having had a vision of human personality in its true autonomy, tried to raise himself to the sunlit heights of pure art. Hence comes a new form of participation of the artist in his art; we can see it already in Wallenstein. He was not going to have a personal part any more, nor judge and value morally; he was simply to be an artist.

This conception reminds us of a conversation of his with Goethe in which they were discussing architecture, and in which Goethe made a remark of deep significance, though it might sound at first somewhat of a paradox. Goethe demanded of a beautiful building that it should make an impression of harmony not only on the eye but on a man who might be led through it with bandaged eyes. When everything sensible has been abstracted, it is still possible to put oneself into it by the spirit. It is not fitness for a purpose that he demanded, but the ideal quality of the spirit. At first sight it may seem paradoxical: it was created out of the lofty view of art which Goethe and Schiller held. Round them there grew up a circle of artists whose judgments were similar: e.g., Wilhelm v. Humboldt, a fine connoisseur, whose aesthetic essays are important for the contemporary intellectual atmosphere. In this way Schiller was led into opposition to his earlier artistic views and to Kantianism, which practically only admits the supersensible where the moral is concerned. No artist could see like that; and in his return to the artistic Schiller found Kant inadequate.

Schiller's conception of the tragic conflict was that later formulated by Hebbel when he said that only that is tragic which is inevitable. That was Schiller's feeling, and that was what he tried to carry out in his Wallenstein; that was the way in which he wanted to depict the tragic. In Shakespeare's Richard III he saw fate breaking in with such inevitability; but before then he had had an earlier love for the Greek drama. In the Shakespearean drama the person of the hero takes the central place, and it is from his character that the inevitable development arises. Greek drama is quite different: there everything is predestined, and complete. Man is set in a higher spiritual order, but simultaneously, because he is a material sense-being, he is shattered by it. The decisive element is not the character or personality of the hero but the superhuman destiny and fate.

The Erinyes of Greek tragedy are not originally avenging Furies but represent the vague foreboding something which is not wholly soluble and shines dimly into human destiny. In his return to the artistic Schiller reached this conception of the tragic. If we are to feel tragedy in this sense, we must eliminate the personal and separate it from the merely human. Only then can we really understand Wallenstein.

There is something super-personal that has grown beyond the personal which hovers over Wallenstein. Man belongs to a higher order, a higher spiritual world—that is for Schiller the meaning of the stars which guide man's destiny. It is in the stars that Wallenstein is to read his destiny. Carlyle indicates this super-personal, when he points to the parallelism in the character of the separate personalities in Wallenstein's camp, which hints at the personalities of the leaders. Thus the Irish Dragoon, who puts his trust in the luck of war, points to his chief, Buttler; the first Cuirassier who reflects the finer side of life in war, to Max Piccolomini; the Trumpeter in his complete devotion, to Terczky; while the Sergeant Major, who quotes the sayings of his general, appears as a caricature of Wallenstein.

We have here then a great law which goes beyond the merely personal. The whole composition of the poem shows us the standpoint which Schiller believed he had achieved. We have first, the camp where Wallenstein does not appear at all; second, the Piccolomini scenes where Wallenstein practically does not enter but learns what has happened from Max Piccolomini and hears from his wife what is happening in the Viennese court. He allows events to take their course so that his generals unite and sign the famous document. The action takes place round about him. In the same way the idea of treachery is only grasped lightly, and then takes possession of his soul. Thirdly, Wallenstein's death; here he is driven into events by his own thoughts which have taken on an objective life, he is forced into a super-personal destiny. A monumental language marks the situation. He is set within an iron necessity; the personal—which has nothing particular to do with the great lines—is thrust into a corner. It does, no doubt, express itself in stirring tones, as, for instance, in the conversation with Max Piccolomini:—

Wallenstein (with eyes silently fixed on him and approaching him): Max, stay with me; leave me not, Max. When they brought you to me in my winter camp at Prague, into my tent, a delicate boy, unused to German winters, your hand was frozen to the heavy standard which, like a man, you would not let go. Then I took you in, covered you with my cloak; myself was your nurse, nor was ashamed, of the smallest service; I tended you with a woman's careful thoughtfulness, till you, warmed by me, felt the young life again pouring through you. When, since then, have I changed? Thousands I have made rich, given them lands and honours—you, I have loved. I gave you my heart, myself. They were all strangers, you the child of my house. Max, you cannot leave me. It cannot be, I will not, cannot believe my Max can leave me.

But it does not specially fit into the plot. Schiller's great achievement in this drama was that he kept the tragic and the personal apart, that he has shown how Wallenstein, after letting the thoughts play freely about him, simply cannot but stride onwards to the deed. He shows us how out of freedom there grows a kind of necessity; and this whole style of thought contains ideas of the moment which have only to be fanned to life in order to become fruitful.

The next play, Maria Stuart, is conceived in the same vein. Practically everything has already happened at the beginning, and nothing occurs but what has been long prepared. It is only the character, the inner life, which unfolds itself before us, and this inner life again acts as a necessity. In his later plays Schiller tried more and more to give form to the idea of destiny. Thus in the Maid of Orleans something super-personal is expressed in the visions in which her demon-spirit appears, calls her to her mission and opposes her when she is untrue to the command, until by repentance she redeems it. In the Bride of Messina especially he almost tries to give the Greek drama once more a place in modern life. There he expresses the super-personal by introducing the chorus.

What did he want with the chorus? Schiller was looking to the origin of tragedy, which arose from religion. In the primitive drama it was shown how Dionysos, the suffering God, finds redemption in humanity. (More recent research has revealed the truth of this.) When the Greek Mystery drama was secularised, there arose the first beginnings of dramatic art. Thus in Aeschylus we still have the echo of that out of which art had arisen, of the Mystery cults within which the world-drama of world-redemption was depicted. Edouard Schuré has described these Eleusinian Mysteries in his Sanctuaires d'Orient, a first example of the religious and artistic solution of the world-riddle. The world-embracing action of this original drama could not find in speech its proper instrument; for speech is too much the expression of personal relations. When drama began to use the word, it dealt with more personal relations, as in Sophocles and Euripides. There was a passage from the representation of the typical to the personal. Hence the old drama used a super-personal speech which was akin to music, and given by the chorus which accompanied the action represented in mimicry. Thus the musical drama developed into the later speech drama. Nietzsche has developed these ideas further in his Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music.

For him the word drama is a sort of decadence; and hence comes his reverence for Wagner who wanted to create a new religious art, born out of the world of myth. Wagner was keen, not on the personal, but the super-personal; and so he took for the foundation of his dramas not historical, but mythical action; and where he has to represent the super-personal he does not employ the usual language but a language sublimated by music.

Schiller felt what was only discovered by research after his time, and developed Greek tragedy along those lines. He wanted to introduce a lyric element, so that, as he says in the preface, he might raise art to a higher level by means of the mood. Thus there already lies in Schiller what was worked out more radically in the Nietzsche-Wagner circle—except that those men did not deal with it so clearly as Schiller had done.

In Schiller we have already the great conception of leading mankind back to the source from which the spiritual sprang, of leading art back to the original basis from which religion, art and science all grew up. To him beauty was the dawn of truth. Even today we can find in Schiller what may guide us to the best we may hope, for the present and the future. And so he may be a prophet for us of a better future.

This is the 9th of 16 lectures given by Rudolf Steiner at Berlin, in Autumn of 1911 through the Spring of 1912. The title of the series of lectures is: Human History in the Light of Spiritual Investigation. It was published in German as: Menschengeschichte im Lichte der Geistesforschung.

If it was already somewhat difficult from the point of view of the ideas ruling at present to explain the origin of man spiritual-scientifically (what should have been done in the last lecture of this cycle) it will be today still less easy to speak about the origin of the animal world. For, if on the one hand the difficulty results from the fact that everything concerning the animal world is still much more remote for the human observation—at least seemingly—than everything concerning nature and essence of man, so on the other hand a quite special difficulty must arise because according to the present world conception, an influence of spiritual events, spiritual causes on the development and origin of animal existence will not at all be admitted. Instead, we find that in the course of the development of our mental life in the last periods the notion is formed quite specially that exactly the same causes, powers and realities partake in the development of animals' life as in the development of the lifeless, so-called inorganic nature, and we know that the greatest triumphs of natural science have been realized just in this sphere of the so-called pure natural development of living beings.

Now we must certainly say, on the one side the great longing aims at a pure natural development—as one usually says—that means such a development that only considers those powers which also rule in lifeless existence, and we see on the other side how a research moving in this direction thinks to hurry from triumph to triumph—nay, if we interpret it in the right sense, even does so. Nevertheless, on the other hand we can perceive how deeper thinkers who stand entirely on the basis of facts of natural science, and who are also fully acquainted with that which natural science has brought forward in recent times, are not in a position to share the opinion of those thinkers who want throughout to derive life from a mere union or a mere combination—although from a very complicated one—of those powers and events which are also present in lifeless nature. A great part of the thinkers of the present and the recent past did not take much trouble saying: up to a certain time probably the development of our earth has principally consisted in unfolding out of itself lifeless processes, and at a certain point of time some materials have joined in such a complicated way that the simplest living beings originated ... where after then the development progressed in such a way that out of these simpler living beings, in the struggle for life and in adaptation to the surrounding, so to speak, more and more complicated living beings have developed up to man. But in contradiction to this idea many philosophers of recent time have argued that it is impossible to think that at any time, that which can be called in the real sense an original procreation or an issuing forth of the living from the lifeless, could arise out of a mere union of lifeless matter.

To such thinkers mentioned above Gustav Theodor Fechner, a man of genius in many ways, belongs. Because really important progress in natural science in various regions is connected with this personality, we should truly not pass by so lightly the theories of such a thinker as it is generally done today. Gustav Theodor Fechner cannot understand that the living ever could have developed out of the lifeless. It is much more obvious to Fechner to imagine that the lifeless can go forth out of the living through processes of isolation, because we see indeed that the inner life process of the living beings excretes the materials which, after having served a certain time in the life process, pass over to the rest of nature and belong then, as it were, to lifeless, to inorganic processes. So Fechner can well imagine that our earth at its starting point has been a single whole living being. This huge living being “earth” has done its breathing—so to say—from the cosmos and has perhaps also taken its nutrition from the (space of the) universe. Out of the entirety of this huge, enormous organism, which has once been our earth, on the one hand, living beings have developed as through a special constriction of that which in the huge earth organism has been living organs only, which thus became independent. And on the other hand—so Fechner imagines—those substances which today belong to the lifeless nature processes were excreted in a similar way as today substances are excreted from an organism after having served the living processes for a certain time. Thus, on the lines of this thinker, not the living came forth from the lifeless, but the lifeless came forth from the living. In a similar way, perhaps in a still more fantastic one, the natural investigator Wilhelm Preyer forms his own imagination. He has proved his legitimacy, his qualification for speaking about natural science not only through his abundant physiological and biological research, but also through his publications about Darwinism. Preyer also pictured to himself that the earth, at its starting point, was a kind of living being; he was always disinclined to speak of something lifeless in an absolute sense. He says we have really no right to look upon a flame as a kind of life process on the lowest level, a life process which is simplified, and has descended from a higher level; just so such life processes as we observe today could have developed in ascending. What Preyer means is: when a flame is burning, then it seems as if something like a life process is displayed to us in the consuming of the matter, in the entire method and way in which the burning, as a fact, presents itself to us. And he therefore supposes that it may not be out of the question that the earth itself was a huge life process, a life process that took place, nevertheless, under quite other conditions than the life processes of today. And so we see the most curious imagination has issued from the head of an investigator of nature, which Preyer expresses as follows: The earth could have been at the starting point of its evolution a huge enormous organism, the breathing of which we have to look for in the glowing vapors of iron, the blood flow of which we have to imagine in the glowing liquid metals, and the nourishment of which must have been brought about through meteorites drawn from the universe. This is certainly a peculiar life process, but this natural investigator thinks he couldn't go in another way if he were to trace back, not the living from the lifeless, but the apparently lifeless from the original living. And that which appears to us today as our life, in various realms appeared to him only as a life shaped especially, whereas the life of a burning candle seemed to him as a life formed backwards, in a certain way, so that the latter may appear to us outwardly as lifeless.

If we must say that such developments in recent mental life can show us—so to speak—how notable thinkers standing firmly upon the grounds of natural science, not only with regard to their convictions but also their comprehension, do not refer to the earth at all as the glowing liquid lifeless gas ball of the Kant-Laplace, but look upon the earth at its origin as a huge living being, in order to be able to explain that what is living today, this fact can, in some respects, teach us that it is, indeed, not so easy to trace back the living to the lifeless. Yes, we even must say that just the (human?) spirits having struck out in a new direction who have obtained the greatest results of research in natural science recently, cannot teach us that natural-scientific thinking has traced back all living to the lifeless, and that in this regard, natural science would just contradict what Spiritual Science has to say: that all substances, and then in general, all life can be traced back to spiritual causes. It is indeed true that the great results of natural science performed by Darwin or Lamarck or other pioneer spirits exclude any regard of spiritual causes, fundamental for these phenomena.

I have already, several times, pointed out a notable passage in Darwin's publications, in which this great pioneer points out the way in which he succeeded in showing the metamorphosis of one form of life into another, and how, by this experience, it seemed to him quite well possible to trace back today's complicated living beings to earlier, perhaps less complicated living beings and thus explain the variety of today's life forms, perhaps by means of a few differentiated original life forms. But then Darwin says, in a very characteristic manner: (in this way) we succeeded in tracing today's various forms of life back to an original one and in explaining the life of today, in its multifariousness, through evolution. But Darwin is speaking of these original forms of life in such a way that he assumes that—as he says literally—“the Creator once has poured life into them.” Yes, we may say outright that this natural investigator, Darwin, working in the midst of the 19^th Century, was convinced he was authorized in his explanation of the metamorphosis of the species in living nature, by just simply assuming that he retraced back the development in nature to issue from the Creator. As we can know from Darwin's whole manner of thinking, he must have realized at once the insufficiency of his explanation if he were not permitted to assume the action of spiritual realities at any point in earth evolution. He felt himself firm and strong on the grounds he took a stand upon, just by saying that if we could assume there was life in its simplest forms created out of the spiritual, then we also could expect of this life of simplest forms full of such impulsion power, such impetus that it was able to transform itself to complicated and manifold forms.—And in a stronger sense, this can be applied to Jean Lamarck, who was the first to speak about the natural development of living beings to more and more complicated forms through adaptation to their surroundings. We see that Lamarck's idea is the following: We may assume a development from the outwardly unaccomplished to the outwardly more and more accomplished, because by so thinking we are not at all in contradiction to evolution as a whole being interwoven with, and inspired by, spiritual fundamental forces. How else could it be possible that there is a passage in one of Lamarck's fundamental works, which we can take quite literally, and which is just significant for the way and manner characteristic for earlier natural-scientific thinkers. Lamarck says in his “Philosophie Zoologique” (“Volksausgabe's Leipzig”, ed. Alfred Kroener, p. 21):

“As it had not been taken into consideration that the individuals of one specie must remain unchanged as long as the conditions mainly influencing their manner of life don't change, and as the ruling prejudices are in accordance with the assumption of this progressive generation of similar individuals, it is assumed that every specie is unchangeable and as old as nature, and that they are separately created by the sublime Originator of all things.”

Lamarck is conscious that he must break with the concept of the one and only creation of all species at their starting point, and that he must imagine the species, now around us, as having arisen through evolution. But then he continues as follows:

“Surely, everything exists only through the will of the sublime Originator of all things. But can we order His rules in the exercise of His will? Or could we decide the way and manner in which he has done this? Could not the Almighty Infinite create an order of matter (things?) unknown to us which lets all that we see and all that exists enter into it one after another? Whatsoever His Will may have been, the immeasurable magnitude of His Might is surely always the same, and in whatsoever manner He May have accomplished His Will, nothing can diminish His Magnitude.
“Thus honoring the dispensations of this infinite wisdom, I restrict myself to the limits of a simple observer of nature.”

Thus speaks he to whom one appeals today—quite rightly—when one speaks about the doctrine of evolution. But at the same time we see that this man has thereby pointed out to himself his program in the most distinct way. What is this program?

Lamarck argues that by ascertaining through observation all that is of service to the mere natural observer, the possibility results of imagining that organisms have gradually developed in a running(?) succession; however, we must also imagine that spiritual impulses were originally holding sway in the entirety of evolution, otherwise we have no firm basis at all. We recognize this by all means as the conviction of the pioneer Lamarck. And certainly in this case we must say: Thus this natural investigator has traced for himself his special program by restricting himself to the species of the outer world, and by not ascending farther to that which must be spiritually fundamental for the whole process of evolution. He consigns the spiritual to a world into which he is not inclined to penetrate, and which he presumes, from the outset, to be a region of total, unimpeded Will of the Creator—but he restricts himself to the presentation of what has emanated out of this Will of the Creator and what issues forth in the progress of evolution.

Now on the other hand we must again say, as matters stand today, that it can never result from the experiences or research of the natural-scientific observer, that at any time the living could have developed out of the lifeless on our earth, in the conditions which are available for today's external observation. The imagination that the living developed out of the lifeless is by no means a new one—it is, in truth, the older one. In this regard I have already emphasized that it was a great progress in natural science, if one goes back only about two centuries ago, when Francesco Redi spoke the sentence: “Living can only go forth from living.” It is interesting that throughout all the earlier centuries before Francesco Redi's time, it was assumed that not only simple, but also even very complicated, living beings could come forth out of mere lifeless matter. Not only was it assumed that out of the mud of the rivers, something lifeless for the outward consideration—lower animals such as rainworms, for instance—could develop without a living germ of the rainworm ancestor put into the mud, but it was also systematically assumed that animals up to the insects or still higher ones, could develop out of lifeless matter. It is interesting that we find in a work of St. Isidor, who died in 636, that it is quoted quite systematically that out of an ox corpse—that means something gone over already into the lifeless—that if it is beaten enough, a species of worms would develop which could become bees. Indeed, this man at the head of the erudition of his time not only indicated how bees could come out of an ox corpse, but he also tells us how in the same way hornets can develop out of horse corpses, drones out of mules and wasps out of donkey corpses. And as if this were not enough, it was alleged up to the 17^th Century how mice, eels, and frogs originate out of that which is already transformed into the lifeless. And the belief that life can originate out of the lifeless in the simplest way, this belief was so strong that Francesco Redi narrowly escaped from the fate of Giordano Bruno, because he was so bold as to proclaim that the living can only originate from the living; for the supposition that living beings can originate out of lifeless matter could only depend on inexact observation, because the living germs of the living beings must have been already in the river mud if living should originate.

Spiritual Science must add to the achievements of Francesco Redi the sentence that the spiritual can only originate from spiritual. And because the entirety of earth evolution finally culminates in the spiritual, as it presents itself in a simple way and on an inferior level in the animal world, on a higher level in normal man, and on the highest one in the human spirit itself, thus this spiritual likewise originating itself at last out of the seeming unspiritual, can only be traced back to an original spiritual. If Spiritual Science is compelled today to state this fact, as we have heard in the earlier lectures and also in the past years in these cycles of lectures, and if in order to confirm further entirely in every region the sentence: “the spiritual can only originate from spiritual” it says, all that appears to us as matter is only a transformed spiritual—then it (Spiritual Science) is today not doomed to the fate of Francesco Redi or Giordano Bruno (for other things are now in fashion and people are no longer burned), but suffer other fates. It has today, anticipating, advocating a truth which will familiarize itself with the cultural life as likewise the sentence “living can only originate from living” has done, and therefore man will consider Spiritual Science as a revere, as something which is by no means based on the fundamentals of a real, scientific knowledge.

Now, at first an outline of what Spiritual Science has to say from its point of view about the question of the origins of the animal world will be outlined. Then it will be shown how the comprehension of Spiritual Science about the origin of the animal world can be entirely reconciled with the acquisitions of natural-scientific knowledge of the present, for I have set myself the task in these lectures to harmonize what Spiritual Science produces out of itself with the acquisitions of natural science.

Spiritual Science as such cannot go back to that which Gustav Theodor Fechner or Preyer have assumed as the original earth organism. On the other hand, however, we must emphasize again and again that no explanation will succeed in making it logically plausible, if only to some extent, that the manifoldness of the living beings could have, in earth evolution, developed out of a mere nebular organization, as assumed by Kant-Laplace's theory; unless we had, so to speak, to take up the expedients of the most recent mental attitude, if we would reconcile the origin of the organic or animal world with this idea. Then we would arrive at the method of thinking of the Swedish investigator Svante Arrhenius, today indeed very much admired, but not less fantastic: that germs of living beings got planted into the earth, from the space of the universe, by “compression (gravitation) of radiation” just—let us say—at the right time, when the earth was in a state to receive such germs. Everyone will realize very easily that such an explanation is no explanation, for we have then to explain where and how these living beings originated, even if they are only flown as simple germs into the earth through compression (gravitation) of radiation.

Spiritual Science must go back to a form of the earth where the earth does not present itself to us as so occupied and populated by such living beings as we know today. In a certain regard, Spiritual Science shows us something similar to what Fechner and Preyer have pictured to themselves by mere intellectual conclusions (deductions); namely, that the earth at and since its beginning has been a living being, which contained in itself gas and vapor, not only in a lifeless manner, as the theory of Kant-Laplace assumes. This theory can be explained very easily to the simplest pupil by saying: Look here, by mere rotation something can split off from a drop of a liquid, if we let it rotate, and as a little drop is thrown off it rotates around the big drop—thus in this way we originate a world system on a small scale. But doing this, we forget that we ourselves have moved this drop by rotation and that, in case such an event should have indeed happened once on a large scale—namely, that the planets have split off by means of the rotation of a gas ball—then a giant professor or a giant teacher must have ruled in the cosmos, for if we exercise an experiment we must consider all conditions and not forget our own part. If it is already impossible to explain from what we know at present the splitting off of the planets, from a gas ball which at any time may have existed, it is far less possible to explain life in a planetarian life without something living, if only lifelessness existed beforehand.

Spiritual Science leads us back to an earth which, indeed at its starting point, was not only full of life, but also spiritualized, impregnated, by spirit, so that we have to trace back earth evolution to an originally spiritualized earth being. If we picture this spiritualized earth being to our senses, as it were, in an image, this being would present itself to us in its substance in such a way that we have, comparatively around us today like the last reminders of this original state of the earth, moving, but not formed, living matter in the most inferior organisms, which are really not quite exactly easy to define as plant beings or animal beings. These most inferior organisms could really be defined as flowing life, for they appear at first as a round drop which changes its matter, so to say, through no outward cause with regard to shape and situation—lengthens into tentacles or feet, creeping over the ground, but has in itself no distinct shape. If we picture to ourselves these inferior organisms, this original life substance, then we have before us, in the sense of Spiritual Science, the whole of the original earth matter, and within this earth matter nothing at all that we have today as lifeless matter. The whole earth matter is, so to say, a living but still unformed substance, and Spiritual Science must imagine, aside from this unshaped substance, that which we call the formative principle, the transcendental formative principle, as something purely spiritual at the starting point of earth evolution.

We can imagine today what the earth had been at the starting point of its evolution along the lines of Spiritual Science, by imagining, as we have often done in previous lectures, the sleeping human being. Then we picture to ourselves sleeping man—we have the physical body, lying in bed, and this physical body is permeated with that which in a spiritual-scientific way we no longer call a material bodily form: the etheric body—but outwardly, comparatively, in the sphere of this physical body we have that which is within this physical body during the waking day life: the living life of the soul, which we call the connection between the ego and the astral body of man. So we have before us in man who is awake, the inner mental essence, or essential part of the soul nature, permeating the external bodily nature; but in sleeping man we have the external-bodily secluded from the inmost soul life. The inner soul life is unconscious in sleeping man of today. It is, as it were, not permeated with a real inner content, at least not consciously. But for a real thinker it is impossible to imagine that the sleeping man really still has this in himself, or that what is living and acting in sleeping man also brings about the appearance of soul life itself during waking. What else can we imagine, when we proceed to really logical thinking? Today we can only sketch it in rough outlines—but anyone who thinks logically cannot as a result come to any other conclusion—we can imagine nothing else than that the man, who is awake, practices, expresses his soul activity through the organs of his body, so that the man who is awake needs his bodily organs in order to develop consciousness, and that the bodily organs must be formed in such a way that when enlivened from the soul principle, they can be the bearers or mediators of the life of consciousness. But a man can never imagine that, by means of inner, living, organic action, that which comes into our consciousness as inner soul processes while awake can be produced in sleep. We only have to make a simple comparison, entirely sufficient for this purpose, to discover this fact.

Instead of the brain let us place, as the soul organ mediating our waking conscious state, the lung which breathes and mediates the life processes. Then we must say the lung breathes only by means of oxygen flowing into it from outside. But the action of the lung does not consist only in receiving the oxygen flowing into it, for the organic action cannot have an influence on the supply of oxygen. We cannot experience anything about the nature and substance of oxygen from the manner in which we nourish and enliven our lung, and the lung cannot be supplied with oxygen from inside, either. But just as we have to imagine the inner life process as going over into the lung, so we also have to imagine the inner life process going over into the brain and other organs during sleeping life. In the evening our organs are exhausted, because soul activity wears out the organs, and they must be impregnated again with a pure life activity in order to again be able to be mediators of soul activity. But just as the mere inner life activity cannot supply the lung with oxygen, the activity of the inner life cannot supply sleeping man with that which we can call the instincts, desires, and passions (emotions) of man. The nature of the soul life is not a consequence or result of the mere bodily activity of man, just as the nature of oxygen, which only unites itself with the lung from outside, is not the result of mere life activity. No one can escape the quite cogent conclusion that just as soul activity must flow into the organs for knowledge of man from outside on the moment of waking, likewise the oxygen flows into the lungs from outside, just as the oxygen as such exists in the outer world and imparts itself to the lung, with the only difference being that the lung is supplied with oxygen not alternately but always, because the lung does not sleep. Consequently, there must be something which, combining with the human ego, flows into the bodily function in the morning, when man wakes, and then works in the human soul organs. Thus we must conclude that in the life during sleep the spiritual is separated and we must regard this spiritual essence, as it were, as something that wakens in the morning apart from our bodily organs, to act as soul organs.

Consequently we have, comparatively speaking, in sleeping man a living organism, and floating over him a self-dependent, spiritual one. We must picture to ourselves the following: While we are awake, the soul processes, going on in us—that means the spiritual soul life—can really only effectuate certain processes, doubtlessly parallel with the soul processes in the organism. They are effects of the soul processes and cause fatigue, as it were—processes of dissolution of matter, whereas during sleep the body annuls these processes of fatigue.

In a similar way Spiritual Science reveals that the earth, at its starting point, had really consisted of a duality, of something not quite like sleeping and waking man, but that could be compared with what has been, so to say, moving life substance, as the last remainder of the simplest organisms are still today, but that which, in no way, have been organisms transformed into animal or human forms, not even into vegetable, plant forms. And so, if we have to imagine in connection with man's body that which is man's soul content hovering over him in sleep, so we have to picture to ourselves the earth, at its beginning, hovering over what we can call the spirit of the earth, the common, united earth spirit. And within this earth spirit we have to seek that which later becomes form in earth evolution—in this earth spirit we also, above all, have to seek that which affects stimulation of the flowing material substance, so to say the sleeping earth, so that the entire life substance comes into movement in various ways. Thus we have to imagine the stimulating causes as, I might say, spiritual streams from the surrounding of the earth, working into flowing, living matter (substance). At first these causes created in the flowing substance only such forms that did not solidify, but after having formed themselves for the time being, adopted their formless shape again, as the storm whips the ocean and forms it in various wave structures. Formed life must be derived out of formless living. The formative principle itself is to be imagined as a super-sensible, spiritual principle that was connected with the original earth substance. If today we would imagine something similar to this way of working in regard to the earth at its starting point—this reciprocal effect between spirit and matter—so could we imagine a more narrow region, where what happened was similar to what happened at the starting point of earth evolution. (Natural science of the future will prove this). We can still show something that affects unformed life substance. All those processes bringing forth our own spiritual life in brain substance or in blood substance can be compared to the processes which took place, at the earth's beginning, between the spiritual, formative principle and the living substance fundamental to the evolution of earth.

Such a thing is not able to be proved along the lines of our thinking today—it is to be proved only by Spiritual Science, that by means already described, for the whole of earth evolution something is produced, similar to what is produced in the single life of man in memory. By the training of certain forces, here also mentioned, which are resting in the depths of the soul, human memory expands, and man's spiritual outlook—and these powers are the same—the development of which enables the spiritual investigator to look immediately into the spiritual earth being. Thus matter and material life can be penetrated entirely by the spiritual view, and material processes in their existence can display themselves in such a way that not only present conditions, but also previous ones out of which they have developed, can confront the spiritual eye as living memory. Just as man in the present carries in himself that which has formed in the life of his soul since his childhood and can therewith follow the line of remembrance, so also he follows his soul life into earlier conditions; he can thus trace it back, how it has been not only now, but decades ago. If the spiritual outlook does not adhere only to external matter, but penetrates the surface of things and into a spiritual basis, then something works within the spiritual that puts man into a kind of world memory, which is also called reading in the Akasha Chronicle (see Rudolf Steiner, From the Akasha Chronicle, Ed. Phil. Anthropos., Dornach). Man is placed into a world memory, and through this he looks back into earlier original conditions of the earth.

Proofs are therefore only to be given in such a spiritual way and manner and if these things are then so investigated we have the means at our disposal to confirm what is brought to light through spiritual investigators and which reveal that a full harmony exists between that which things present to us still today, and that which the spiritual investigator must proclaim. For this reason, in a popular lecture one can take no other direction but to reveal what presents itself to the spiritual investigator, and what flows out of immediate spiritual observation, while placed by this spiritual-scientific observation, as it were at the starting point of earth evolution. At the same time, however, we must emphasize that in such conditions which we have to recognize as spiritual, the spiritual is much nearer to material production than the spiritual is today to material production. Today the spiritual uses the counter position, the resistance of the material body, so that it forms the spiritual soul-like in man only to those pictures of the material which we can put before our eyes in our imaginations. We don't accomplish a densification stronger than these pictures.

But Spiritual Science is based on the following idea. (The following lectures will draw your attention yet on the origin of matter.) All material being has been originally a spiritual one; once the spiritual was, when it itself had been creating matter, in a more original state, full of will and force, than it is today in man's spirituality. Therefore we have to imagine that what hovered over the earth as spiritual formative principle was more closely connected in a certain way to the original life substance than the soul hovering over sleeping man is connected today to his physical body. Progressing further, we have to imagine that through the interference of the super-sensible formative principle on substance, all that which is today called lifeless nature is originated. We have really to imagine that through the action of the formative principle such matter, which then becomes lifeless, has isolated itself out of a moving and stirred substance. Once again Spiritual Science is, in this way, closely connected with the investigations of Fechner and Preyer. But such unliving matter is again seized in a certain way by the formative principle, now proceeding in this lifeless matter as a crystallizing principle, so that we have to imagine all minerals issuing, going forth, from an originally spiritual, living matter, becoming lifeless and then seized by the formative principle. Therefore, when we speak about crystals, we can speak today not yet about life, but only recognize a transcendental formative principle. In another way, the formative principle was in force in the matter which remained as a living one. If today we put aside plants, we must imagine that under the influence of those substances which separated gradually as lifeless ones from the living one (and which grouped themselves in various ways)—earth differentiated, grouped itself so that we designate firm earth, liquid water, air, and so on. Further we must imagine that during this time the formative principle worked upon the entire living and lifeless substance, and that thereby the living-formed matter is exposed to the external lifeless. And while previously it was throughout only living, in itself, it now had to permeate itself with lifeless matter, because in the course of earth development the principle of nutrition—the taking in of non-living matter into living matter, became important.

Thus we see the living, so to speak, taking up the nonliving, which it had previously separated from itself in a certain way. Thereby the living on earth comes more and more into those conditions which signify themselves through the lifeless as the elements—earth, water, air, etc. and the formative principle can act in the necessary way only by forming the living, so that the shapes (forms) are adapted to the external elements.

Now we must imagine life on earth in such a way that in the course of time, by means of the formative principle, the living and the lifeless are kept separated in various ways. We must imagine that materials which today are fallen from the heights and are connected with the firm body of the earth, were in a medium earth period still dissolved (diluted), were present in the earth atmosphere as mist. We can absolutely speak about such an earth's age in which such an air veil, as it is today, was non-existent—and we must speak about mists and gasses, which nowadays have been consolidated and united with the earth for a long time. We must imagine the entire distribution of water and air in a middle earth period, in an entirely different way. We must imagine that the formative principle—which we should think of as purely spiritual—by working living substance into the lifeless, formed, matter, had to take from that latter the conditions for breathing, etc. Thus the formative principle had to create in this way the most varied forms adapted to the old earth conditions, which now do not exist at all. However, Spiritual Science now shows that the development progressed in such a way that, in those times, only a part of the living substance, as it were, was really formed and that, when the unformed matter was seized upon immediately by the spiritual principle, a part of the old, moving unformed, living substance was held back. In older times, when the earth was surrounded in quite a different way by layers of matter, which today as it is fall down because of compression, or are present in the inside of the earth in liquid form and literally lead a liquid life—that the formative principle was working, as it were, by crystallizing, into the living, forms which in today's conditions cannot exist any longer. Let us look at such a state, in which our earth did not have at all the planetary shape that it has today. At this time quite obviously other, different forms of living beings must originate, living beings which were adapted to the old conditions, and which nowadays could no longer exist. Now that may easily be accounted for, explained by the fact that many of these life forms had to die out entirely when the earth changed its formation. We find (which is geologically demonstrable and shown by paleontology) that animals have lived which, we have to imagine, were only adjusted, let us say to water, only coming to its present form, but still permeated with quite different substances, and we find other animals, as the saurian species, etc. To be brief: we can meet manifold animal species (forms) which were adapted to the conditions then. Aside from these, other forms originated which were adjusted to the conditions, so to speak, in such a way that they really could no longer be shaped out of the unformed, moving matter by the original formative principle, but which were able to transform themselves through successive generations, and to themselves improve by means of heredity in such a way that they developed the later forms out of the older ones. The new ones were then adapted to the new earth conditions. While those forms which in olden times were so strongly penetrated by the formative principle that they could not be reshaped had to die out, those organizations which had remained more movable in themselves, in which the living was not yet fashioned so strongly, could remodel themselves and thus develop themselves further on in successive generations.

With regard to man, development shows itself as follows: In olden times we cannot see him in such forms which can be seen with outer external eyes, but we find him in matter of such a fine, unfashioned moving kind, that in times where animals were already present, he could have become everything. Man was the last to descend out of the unformed into shape, into form. Whereas the animals, which are today on earth, had already earlier taken up the formative principle so that they had to reshape their earlier figure in adapting to the transformation of the earth, man did not prevail himself to descend in solid form, during old conditions, but waited until earth had approximately the distribution of air and water as it now has. As late as then a condensation of the scarcely-shaped matter into the human figure took place for man. Because man entered out of the unformed and into shaped form so late, he appeared so that he is therefore adapted not only to certain specific earth conditions, but to the whole earth. Going back to the animals, however, we must imagine their origin in such a way that determined forms had adapted themselves to quite determined territories of the earth. These animals then got the form, which by no means is still similar to today's offspring, but which was adapted to conditions then. But because they were adapted only to territorial conditions which in certain regions changed quickly, they could develop only in determined limits. But at the time when earth was liable to quick changes, man had not entered into a form, but only later, when it was possible to put formation into his bodily nature over the whole surface of the earth in such a way that he, as man, was adapted to the earth as a whole. Thus man could populate earth as a being which is adapted least of all to external conditions, and most of all to internal motive powers. Man was, from the outset, thus adapted to the formative powers in such a manner that his inner being corresponded with the spiritual, that the formative powers could work immediately in the soul, making his outer physical form an upright one, making his hands as living tools for the spirit, and his larynx a living instrument for the spirit. But all this could only happen when earth had passed through certain principles of formation (Gestaltungsprinzipien). Thus man had to be adapted no longer immediately to external life, but to that which determined out of his inner being, what was his figure and presentation in life (Sich-Darleben)—so that with man, the formative principle determines his figure indirectly through the spiritual, while with the animal the formative principle had to work much more into the lifeless and inorganic. We can today still perceive in animals how they have connected their entire soul life more closely with their bodily nature, whereas man is able to develop a soul life which can lift itself up beyond the life of the body.

Let us look at the animal, how its soul life is plunged entirely into the bodily life, as it is formed, how the delight of digestion impregnates the body, how the soul life immediately penetrates the body and shows itself connected with its bodily functions. If we compare the way in which man's soul life lifts itself up beyond the bodily nature as something independent, we will see then that man is fashioned as he is because the animal world, adapted to other conditions of our earthly being, is fashioned out of the unformed earlier than man is. In man, such a soul being independent of the bodily life could become active only because man is able, within his being of soul, to keep the formative principle when he passes through the gate of death, and discards, to begin with, his bodily life. Because the formative principle has seized the animal's soul so much earlier that an intense connection with the bodily life was produced and because the animal thereby had to be entirely absorbed by its bodily life—for this reason that which is experienced in the single animal does not get detached (free) from the bodily life. With man, it gets free; it also keeps a formative principle, aside from the organic, physical substance; it can form a new bodily life again after the time between death and a new birth. Only because being seized immediately by the formative principle, can man's spiritual-soul being have that independence which enables him to go from life to life, which enables him to pass his being in repeated lives. On the other hand, we see that the intense connection with the form of being which had to be produced in animal between alternative principles and living matter, brought it about that the formative principle, when the animal dies, is exhausted in the organic, and that animal's soul falls back again into a general, animal soul-life and continues, not individually, but in a general, animal-like way, in a living on of the animal's group soul, not of a single animal soul.

Thus we see that we have to seek the origin of the animal (like) in the fact that that which penetrates into man later and permeates him in a later state, penetrates into the animal earlier. The animal is, as it were, left behind by the continuous principle of development; it is a backward being compared with man, who is an advanced being. We can easily imagine how this formation came to pass through a simple comparison, if we picture to ourselves a liquid in a glass, in which a substance is dissolved in such a manner that we cannot distinguish it from the liquid. If we let this solution stand, then a sediment deposits itself and the finer liquid remains. In this way we have then to imagine the whole progress of earth evolution as the duality of the spiritual forming principle and the living substance below. And in the spiritual principle the formative principle for man is contained likewise. But for man the formlessness in this living substance remains the longest. For the animal, the shaping happens earlier so that in a time when man has, as it were, preserved himself still above in an unformed, thinner, finer substance, the animal being below is already consolidated and lives on in such a way that below it can only get at more and more rigid forms, which change in the course of time. Over against this man, relating to the form, can be traced back only to that which is originally in a formless living, but into which the spirit works as a motive principle and brings it gradually to the present figure. Progressing further on, we also have to imagine the animal forms such that they are not produced from a single animal form; but while here and there certain animals formed themselves, others remained behind that formed themselves later; others again descended still later, etc. And then man descended latest.

It is remarkable (peculiar) that that which now has been said is entirely explained in such books as for instance those by Haeckel if we read them in the correct way. Indeed, it is stated that in his external appearance man is to be traced back to the animal. But if we continue the scale (trace back the scale to its source) we see that man at last is to be traced back to something which cannot refer to the present earthly conditions, but to imaginary living beings. And just so with animals—we find those beings to which Spiritual Science points out as hypothetical beings—also in Haeckel's pedigree—only these trace back not to something formed, but to something formless. It is now not possible to argue this further, but it results from my Occult Science that that which presents itself now as earth has developed downward from earlier spiritual stages. That results in one not being able to say at all that Spiritual Science invents again, after all, only something unknown. No! At last the earth is traced back to earlier planetary stages of being, just as man, relating to his present life is traced back to earlier lives. And going back to earlier stages we find as the starting point of all life and of all matter, not only a living entity, but also a spiritual one. We recognize as the starting point of all life the spirit, which we experience in us ourselves. Thus we trace back foundations to the spirit, which is something we have in ourselves, that means to something known, that is in ourselves, while external science traces itself back to something unknown. Spiritual Science is in another, different position as is the present hypothetical doctrine of evolution. Spiritual Science traces evolution back not to something unknown, but to something which has been there, been present, as spiritual, and that also today can be experienced as spiritual. Only the spiritual living in us discloses itself in the same manner as it does in our glass; the thinner liquid is segregated from the more solid substance. The finer spiritual in man even disclosed itself as separated, secluded, just like the finer substance in the glass is segregated from the more solid one, which has been deposited.

Thus we must trace back the animal world to the fact that man, in order to cultivate his spiritual nature as he has it today, had to begin with to separate from the whole animal world, so that he could develop himself as a finer spiritual being, above the basis of the animal world, just as in our comparison, the finer substance reveals itself when it has separated out the more solid substance below, on the bottom. Today these events can be pointed out only inasmuch as they demonstrate the origin of the animal world. It must be left for another lecture to explain in detail how the spiritual and soul nature (Seelische) developed later. Still it must be mentioned that the facts of immediate sense perception do not at all contradict this principle, and that it will arrive at the knowledge that progress really could not be otherwise than that set forth today—because do animals present themselves to us so that we need to speak about a special spirituality, only present in man? On the contrary! It will reveal itself to closer observation that there is sometimes much more intelligence among the animal world, and that man must first gain his intelligence, and that perhaps man's priority to an animal exists in the fact that he can achieve his little intelligence. Everywhere we look into the animal world—with the structure of the beaver's dam, of the insects, with the wasps, etc., we see intelligence at work, spirit holding sway, which makes use of the animals. We cannot say that this intelligence is in the single animal. We only need to refer to how certain insects take care of their offspring—there we see that we have a super-sensible intelligence, ruling the species of animals, objective for the animal world, like matter itself is objective for the animal world. This we can perceive when the insect deposits its eggs so that the larva must live in quite different circumstances of life; perhaps the insect itself has lived in the air—the larva must live at first in the water. The insect doesn't know at all the conditions in which the larva must live; thus only an instinct, ruling it, can guide it to deposit the eggs there where the larva can live. Or let us observe animals such as the beaver, etc., which form with their organization, form what we can call outer architecture, grown from within themselves—then we are not far from admitting according to the laws of external observation that intelligence works into animal substance itself. When we look at man, we see that after he is present he has to appropriate, at first, those faculties which are already formed into animals. He is not so far advanced that he has within himself that which the animals have already formed in themselves. That is a measure by which we can see that the animals are formed earlier and that the forming of man is still going on after he is already born. Thus it is no proof that man originated from the apes when the natural scientist Emil Selenka found that the ape nature, in its embryo stage, is much nearer to man's figure, than the later ape's figure. On the contrary, we can assume from this fact that the plan for man's figure was a more original one than that for the ape's figure; only that man realizes his figure as late as he enters into earth evolution.

Everywhere natural science shows in its facts that that which Spiritual Science has to say is proved, confirmed, just through the most advanced science. Yes, we could go even farther—I don't shy away from doing so!—and show how natural science today brings to light, as it were, something against their theories, which furnishes full evidence for Spiritual Science. Just if we yield to such results of research as those about propagation of lower animals through the brothers Oscar and Richard Hertwig in 1875 (what later on is confirmed many times) that the principle of fertilization; for instance with the eggs of the sea-hedgehog (echinus)—can be replaced through the influence of acids, that consequently a fertilization can come about out of a seemingly purely inorganic process—it must be said that processes which today are bound to the principle of heredity can only be imagined, and can happen in such a way that they present themselves outwardly, while they have presented themselves quite differently in olden times. Thus we can speak very well about the fertilization of the living nucleus of the earth (which was unformed living matter) by the spiritual formative principle flowing around it, by agreeing with the facts of natural science, so that the living had fashioned (formed) itself out of the formative principle, and that then the lifeless separated from the living which was the uniform substance of the entire earth.

Contemplating the origins of the animal world it becomes clear to us that in truth the entire earthly existence reveals itself in such a way that we can understand it only along the lines of Goethe, who has said, but only by way of a hint, in such a way that results concerning the origin of man and animal, have reality for the spiritual researcher. For if we turn our gaze to the whole world, by what means, in truth, does all that which surrounds us gain its real worth, its value? Only, as Goethe says, through mirroring at last in a human soul. For Spiritual Science the natural earth process shows itself really progressing from the oldest forms to the youngest ones, in such a way that everything is composed towards presenting man as the flower of the earth form—as that which finally must be brought forth out of the earth process, as likewise blossom or fruit is brought forth, finally, out of the plant. Thus from the contemplation of the origin of the animal world as a fundamental conviction of spiritual-scientific knowledge, results what we can consider in the following words, enlightening the human being, awakening the consciousness of the dignity of man, which is built up on the basis of every other being (alles uebrigen Daseins), and at the same time really imposing on us a responsibility: because we could become man only because the whole rest of earth evolution was aimed at us, we must prove ourselves worthy of this earth by endeavoring to progress from one stage of perfection to another: for evolution shows us that it is aiming at the shape of perfection of man. And that imposes on us the obligation that binds us not to stand still, but to move upwards to more and more sublime forming of spiritual life. This spiritual life which man carries in him today could be built up only on the basis of what is lower by pushing off what is material. So we must likewise assume that we must push off and leave to lower elements that which we carry in us today in order to develop a still higher spiritual life in us. Considering this, we can say that it is true for man, but also establishes what follows as his highest duty:

The elements let permeate themselves
By forming spirit,
They must receive
The last impulse of power of the spirit;
To clothe the human being
Into spirit form and soul life!