The Inner Realities of Evolution
GA 132
21 November 1911, Berlin
4. The Inner Aspect of the Moon-Embodiment of the Earth II
In our survey of the world we have now carried a difficult aspect of it far enough to discover to some extent the spiritual behind the phenomena of the external sense-world. Concerning such phenomena, at first outwardly revealing little of the fact that the spiritual in its own peculiar form stands behind them, as we experience this spiritual in our own soul-life—concerning such phenomena we have recognised that nevertheless spiritual qualities and properties do stand behind them. For example, in ordinary life we recognise the properties of heat or fire, and we have learnt to see in these the expression of sacrifice. In what meets us as air and at any rate, to our ideas, seems to reveal so little of its spiritual nature, we have recognised the bestowing virtue of certain Spiritual Beings. And we have learnt to perceive in water what might be called resignation. It may just be mentioned here, that in earlier conceptions of the world there was naturally a greater sense of the spiritual behind the outer material element, and the fact that specially volatile substances have been designated “spirit” may be looked upon as proving this, for we make a peculiar use of the word “spirit” to-day. Indeed in the outer world it may often occur that people use the word “spiritual” with very little application to spiritual things. On one occasion (as some here present are aware) a letter was addressed to a spiritualist union at Munich, and so little did one know what a spiritualistic circle was, that the letter was delivered to the Central Committee of Wine and Spirit merchants!
But to-day, when we wish to study that significant transition in the evolution of the Earth planet which took place in the passing from ancient Sun to ancient Moon, we must bear in mind a different kind of development of the spiritual. We must now start from that point which we reached in the last lecture, when we came to the subject of “renunciation.” This, as we have seen, consisted essentially in the refusal of Beings of exalted Spiritual rank to accept the sacrifice, which as we were told, consisted for the most part of will or will-substance. If we represent this to our minds in such a way that we picture certain Beings desirous of offering the substance of their will in sacrifice which through the renunciation of yet higher Beings was rejected, it will be easy to rise to the conception that this substance must remain with the Beings desirous of sacrificing, who were prevented from doing so. Thus we are introduced to Beings in the Cosmic scheme ready to contribute with fervour what dwells within them—but who are not able to do this, are obliged to retain this substance within them. The Beings whose sacrifice was rejected were unable to establish a particular connection with still higher Beings, which might have been established had their offering been accepted. What we must understand by this is symbolically expressed in the world's history by the figure of Cain confronting Abel, though there the contrast is more sharply emphasised. Cain too wished to offer sacrifice to his God. But it was not pleasing unto God and He would not accept it. The sacrifice offered by Abel was accepted. What we must bear in mind in this story is the inner experience which came to Cain through the rejection of his sacrifice.
If we wish to raise ourselves to the height necessary for the comprehension of what is now under consideration, we must clearly realise that in speaking of the regions referred to, both conceptions and ideas slip into use regarding them which only have meaning in our ordinary life. It would be incorrect to speak of “sin” or “wrong-doing” as coming into being by the rejection of the sacrifice. Guilt or atonement as we know it in our ordinary life, could not as yet be spoken of in those regions.
Rather must we think of these Beings in such a way, that on the part of those Higher Ones who rejected the proffered sacrifice, there is renunciation or resignation. In the mood of soul described in the last lecture there is nothing of guilt or omission; on the contrary, it contains all the greatness and significance to be found in resignation. None the less the fact remains that in those other Beings who wished to contribute their sacrifice there arose a feeling, though very faint, which was the beginning of an opposition to those who rejected it. So that when at a much later epoch, the story of Cain is brought to our notice this feeling is represented in an accentuated form. Hence we do not find in those Beings who continued to evolve from the Sun and to pass over to the Moon, the same disposition of mind as in Cain; in them the mood is different in degree. We only really become acquainted with this if we look into our own souls as we did in the last lecture, trying to find its counterpart there, and thus get a hint of that feeling which was developed in the Individualities whose sacrificial gifts were rejected.
Coming nearer and nearer to the earthly life of man, we find this mood in ourselves—everyone knows it—as uncertainty and at the same time as torment in the domain which can be included in the hidden depths of soul-life. This feeling with which we are all acquainted holds sway in the secret depth of our soul-life, and sometimes pushes its way up to the surface; and then perhaps its torment is least. We often go about with these feelings without being aware of them in our superficial consciousness; yet there they are within us. We might recall the words of the poet: “He alone who longing knows, knows what I suffer,” if we wish to convey an idea of the tormenting nature of this mood with which is connected a certain degree of pain. The longing to be found in the souls of men, is what is here meant.
In order to transport ourselves into what went on spiritually in the evolutionary phases of ancient Saturn and Sun, it was necessary to raise our vision to peculiar states of the soul which only appear, so to speak, when the human soul begins to aspire and prepares for higher striving. We saw this when we tried to understand the nature of sacrifice by referring to our own soul-life, when we tried to comprehend the nature of the wisdom man can acquire, which we saw trickling in, and which has its origin in what may be called: “readiness to bestow,” “readiness to give,” even to giving oneself; so to speak. When we come on to the more earthly conditions which have evolved out of the earlier ones, we encounter a soul-mood resembling in many respects what a man may even yet experience at the present day. But we must quite clearly realise, that although the whole of our soul-life is inserted into our earth-body, an upper layer lies over the hidden soul-life in the depths. Who could fail to know that there is such a hidden life of the soul? Life itself amply teaches us this.
Now in order to make clear to ourselves something of this hidden life of the soul, let us take the case of a child who in his seventh or eighth year, or at some other age may have experienced some injustice, to which children are particularly sensitive. He perhaps may have been blamed for something which he really had not done, but it suited the convenience of those around him to throw the blame on the child, so as to have an end of the matter. Now children are very specially sensitive to unjust accusation; but as life now is, although such an experience may have bitten deeply into the childish life, the later soul-life put another layer of existence over it, and as far as everyday life is concerned the, child forgot it. And indeed it may very well never crop up again. But suppose that in his fifteenth or sixteenth year this boy should experience fresh injustice, perhaps at school; then that which has lain dormant below in the surging waves of his soul, begins to stir. The boy need not know that a memory of what he had formerly endured is rising to the surface, he may have different concepts and ideas on the subject. But if his earlier experience had not occurred he might simply have gone home, perhaps grumbled and complained, and shed a few tears, and that would have been the end of the matter. The first injustice had, however, been experienced, and although, as I make a point of saying, the boy need have no recollection of it, yet it works! It becomes active beneath the surface of the soul-life just as there may be movements beneath the surface of a calm and glassy sea, and what might have ended in a few grumblings and tears now becomes the suicide of a schoolboy! Thus do the hidden depths of the soul-life play their part on the surface. The most important of all the forces ruling below in these depths, one which governs every soul and occasionally emerges in its original form, is—longing. We also know the names by which this force is known to the outer world, but they are only metaphoric and indefinite, for they express very complicated connections and thus do not enter a man's consciousness at all.
Take as an example a phenomenon with which we are all well acquainted: perhaps a man who lives in great cities is less affected by it, but he will have seen it in others:—I refer to what is known as “home-sickness.” If you investigate into the true nature of home-sickness you will find it differs fundamentally in every one. Sometimes it takes one form and sometimes another. One person may long for the homely stories of the family circle; he does not know that he is longing for home, he only feels an undefined craving, an undefined want. Another longs for his mountain, or for the river on whose banks he used to play, watching the movement of the rippling water. He is seldom aware of what it is that is working within him. All these diverse characteristics we include in the term “home-sickness,” expressing something that may be active in a thousand forms, and would be most accurately defined as a kind of longing. And what is this longing? We have just said that it is a kind of willing, and whenever we investigate this longing, we find that it is of this nature. What kind of willing? It is a will which in its immediate form cannot be satisfied; for were it satisfied, the longing would cease. What we described as longing is an unattainable desire of the will.
So must we define the frame of mind of those Beings whose sacrifice was rejected, it was somewhat of this nature. What we may discover in the depths of our soul-life is a heritage coming to us from those primeval times of which we are now speaking. Just as we have inherited other things from that ancient stage of evolution, so do we inherit all kinds of longings, all kinds of repressed wishes impossible to fulfil. It is in this way we must also conjecture that through the rejection of the sacrifice during the phase of evolution there came into existence beings whom we may designate as: Beings with wishes which are repressed. Now because they were obliged to suffer this repression they were in a very special position. And as we can hardly rise into these conditions by means of thought, we must once again turn to certain conditions in our own soul, if we wish to feel, to sense the reflection of them.
A being able to sacrifice its own will passes, in a certain sense, into the being of the other. We can feel this even in our human life, we live and move in one for whom we sacrifice ourselves, we feel glad and satisfied when in that person's presence. And as we are now speaking of the sacrifice offered to higher Beings, to more widely-extending, universal Beings, by others who found their greatest bliss in gazing up at them, what remains behind as repressed longings and wishes can never create the same inner disposition of soul as would have been theirs if they had been allowed to complete their sacrifice. For if they had been able to do this what they offered would have passed over into the other Beings. We might, by way of example suggest, that if the earth and the other planets could have made sacrifice to the Sun—they would be with the Sun. But if they were not allowed to do this, if they had to withhold what they were preparing to offer up, they would then have been driven back into themselves. If we can understand what has just been said in these few words, we observe that at this stage something new enters the universe. It must be clearly understood that it is impossible to express this in any other way than by saying that the Beings who were ready to offer to another all that dwelt within them, were compelled on the rejection of their sacrifice, to draw all this unto themselves. Do you not guess what now flashed up—that this was what is called egoity which comes out in every form? It is thus that we must look upon what lives on in the Beings as a heritage—which later on was poured into evolution, so to speak. We see egoism flashing up in the weakest form, as longing, but we can also see it slipping into the evolution of the Cosmos. Thus we see how Beings devoted to themselves, to their egoity, would in a certain respect have been condemned to a one-sided development, to living only in themselves, if something else had not occurred.
Let us picture a being, permitted to make sacrifice; such a one lives in the other being, and does so for all time. One not allowed to make sacrifice can only live within itself. It is thereby shut off from what it would have experienced in another, in this case a higher Being. Thus from the outset it is condemned and exiled by evolution to a one-sided existence, were it not that something here enters evolution to redress the balance. This is the arrival on the scene of new Beings who prevent the one-sidedness. Just as on Saturn there were the Spirits of Will, and on ancient Sun Spirits of Wisdom, so, on ancient Moon the Spirits of Movement make their appearance; we must not, however, think of movement in space, but movement rather more like the nature of thought. Every one knows the expression “thought-vibrations,” though this only refers to the fluidic movement of our own thought; yet this expression may serve, if we want to acquire a more comprehensive conception of movement, to show us that we think of something more than the mere movement from one place to another, for that is only one of the many forms of movement. If a number of persons devote themselves to a higher Being who is expressive of all that is within them, and who accepts all the sacrifices they offer him, these people live in that Being as a plurality in unity, and find full satisfaction in so doing. But if their sacrifices are rejected, the plurality is driven back upon itself and is never satisfied. Then came the Spirits of Movement and in a sense they guide the Beings who would have simply been driven back upon themselves and bring them into relation with all other Beings. The Spirits of Movement should not be thought of as merely bringing about changes of place; they are Beings able to bring forth something whereby one Being is constantly brought into new relation with others.
We can form an idea of what was attained in the Cosmos at this stage if we once more reflect upon a corresponding disposition of the soul. Who does not know the longing when a condition of soul approaches in which a man is at a standstill, when he can experience no change! Who does not know the torment of it, how it drives a man into a state of mind which becomes unendurable, and which in a merely superficial person takes the form of boredom? But of this boredom which is as a rule only ascribed to a shallow-pated person, there are all manner of in-between stages up to that which is an attribute of noble characters in whom dwells what is generated by their own natures as longing and cannot be satisfied in this world. And what better method is there of quieting longing than by change? This is proved by the fact that persons who suffer from it incessantly seek to form relationships to new beings. The torment of longing can often be overcome by changing the conditions to ever new beings.
Thus we see that while the earth was passing through her Moon-phase, the Spirits of Movement brought into the lives of those beings who were filled with longing and would otherwise have been desolate—for boredom is also a kind of desolation—the change which is brought about by movement, a constantly renewed relation to ever new beings and new conditions. Movement in space, movement from one place to another, is but one form of the more comprehensive movement which has just been mentioned. When in the morning we have a definite train of thought in our soul, not necessarily to be kept to ourselves, but passed on to others—a “movement” takes place. We can then overcome one-sidedness of longing by means of variety, by change and the movement of the things experienced. In outer space there is only a particular form of change. In this connection let us imagine a planet in relation to a Sun: if it always occupied the same position to the Sun, if it never moved, it would be subject to that one-sidedness, which can only result when it presents invariably the same side to the Sun. Then the Spirits of Movement turn the planet round so as to bring about a change in its conditions. Change of place is but one of the many forms of change. And the Spirits of Movement, by bringing change of place into the Cosmos, merely introduce one specific part of movement in general.
But as the Spirits of Movement introduce change and movement into the Universe as we have learnt to know up to the present, something else must follow. We know that during this evolution, in the whole Cosmic multiplicity that evolves upwards as the Spirits of Movement, of Personality, of Wisdom, and of Will—there is also what we have called “Bestowing Virtue,” which is radiated forth as Wisdom, and is the spiritual element behind air and gas. This then combines with the Will now transformed into longing, and within these Beings it becomes what is known to man hardly yet as “thoughts” but as “picture.” We can best realise this in the picture that a man has when he dreams; the fluidic pictures that succeed one another in a dream may evoke a conception of what takes place in a being in whom the volition of longing dwells, and is guided by the Spirits of Movement into relation with other beings. But when it is thus guided into a relation with the other beings, it cannot completely surrender itself—the egotism within it prevents that; but it is able to take in the transitory picture of the other being, which lives in him like a dream-picture. This is the origin of what we call the “arising” of pictures of the other world. At this phase of development we see the arising of the picture-consciousness. And as we human beings ourselves passed through this phase of evolution without then possessing our present earthly ego-consciousness, we must think of ourselves at that time without that which we can now acquire through our ego, but living and weaving in the universe, while within us lived something which we can compare with the present feelings of longing.
We could in a certain fashion imagine, if we do not remember such conditions of suffering as we know on earth, that they could not possibly exist, by reflecting on the following:—Sorrow and suffering—naturally in its soul-form, came at that time into our being and that of other entities connected with our evolution; through the activity of the Spirits of Movement the inner nature which would otherwise have been barren and empty, suffering the tortures of longing, was filled with the balm which flowed into these beings in the form of picture-consciousness, otherwise these beings would have been empty-souled, empty of everything not to be called longing. But the balm of the pictures was slowly poured in, filling the desolate void with variety, and thus the beings were led away from exile and condemnation. If we take what is here said seriously, it gives us both the spiritual basis of what developed during the Moon-phase of our Earth, and of what we now have in the deep subsoil of our consciousness, for it has been covered over by the earth-stage of our nature. And it is so embedded in the subsoil of our soul, that, as the disturbance beneath the surface of the sea drives up the waves, it can influence us, without our being aware of the cause of what enters our consciousness. Beneath the surface of our ordinary ego-consciousness we have such a soul-life as can play up into it. And when it does so, what does the soul-life say? If we bear in mind the cosmic subsoil of this subconscious soul-life, we can say that what we can sense arising from the depths of the soul is a bursting-forth within what we have acquired through our earth-phase, of what has come over from the Moon-phase of evolution. If we clearly grasp what it is that has come into our nature here on the Earth, we have a true explanation of what has been spiritually brought over from the ancient Moon into our Earth-existence.
If you grasp the fact that it was necessary, as has just been described, that pictures should continually arise to assuage the feeling of desolation, you obtain a conception which is of very great importance and weight: that of the longing human soul, in all its yearning emptiness. By the constant succession of pictures, arising one after the other, the yearning is satisfied and brought into harmony; but should the pictures remain any length of time the old longing begins to glimmer faintly up from the depths and the Spirits of Movement call up new pictures. And when these have been there for a little time the longing arises again, demanding fresh ones. Now with respect to a soul-life such as this the momentous sentence must be pronounced: if this longing can only be satisfied by a continual flow of pictures following one after the other, there would be no end to the infinite flow. The only thing that can supervene on this is what must come if the endless flow of pictures is to be replaced by something that is able to redeem it otherwise than by mere pictures—namely, by realities! In other words, the planetary embodiment of our earth through which we have passed, when pictures were brought to us by the activity of the Spirits of Movement, must be replaced by that planetary phase of the earth's embodiment which we call the phase of redemption. We shall see presently that the earth is to be called the “Planet of Redemption,” just as her last embodiment—that of the Moon-existence—may be called the “Planet of Longing”; longing capable of satisfaction yet flowing on endlessly. And while we live in the consciousness belonging to this earth, in which as we know redemption comes to us through the Mystery of Golgotha—there arises continually within us from the subsoil of our soul, a never-ceasing craving for redemption. It is as though, on the surface, we had the waves of our ordinary consciousness—while below, in the depths of the ocean of the soul-life, lives longing, which is the ocean-bed of our soul. This strives continually to ascend to the One who accomplishes the sacrifice, the Universal Being, Who is able to satisfy the longing once and for all time—not in a never-ceasing succession of pictures.
The earth-man already feels moods such as these, and they are the very very best for him to feel. The citizens of earth of our time who feel this longing—which belongs to this particular age of ours—are those who enter our own movement of Spiritual Science. In external life people have learnt to know all the separate things that can satisfy the ordinary superficial consciousness; but from the subconsciousness pushes up that which can never be satisfied in details but yearns for the central basis of life. This basis can only be provided by a universal science which occupies itself with the totality of life rather than with details. That which rises from the subconsciousness must in the sense of to-day be brought into touch with the study of the universal existence living in the world; otherwise that which ascends from the subsoil of the soul will be further longing for something which can never be attained. In this sense anthroposophy is a response to those longings which dwell in the depths of the soul. As everything that happens in the world has had a prelude, we need not wonder at a man who at the present day longs through spiritual science for satisfaction for the powers of his soul, above all, when the unconscious soul-forces akin to longings, would consume themselves as longing. Suppose that he, through living in an earlier age, in which this spiritual wisdom had not been given, had been unable to have it, and had come to long for it, to have a persistent longing for it, unable to grasp the meaning of life, just because he was an eminently great soul. If only something could have flowed into his soul, drowning, silencing the longing for pictures while he yearned for an end to this search for pictures—the greater the yearning, the more intense the search. And is it not like a voice expressing itself to us, the utterance of a spirit living at a time when it could not yet have the spiritual wisdom which, like balsam, is shed forth into the longing soul, when we hear Heinrich Von Kleist writing to a friend. In the following words we seem to hear him say:—“Who would desire to be happy in this world!” I could almost say, shame on you if you wished to be. Would it not be short-sighted, noble man, to strive for anything here below, where all ends in death! We meet here, three Springs long we love, and then we flee apart for an eternity. And what is worth striving for, if love be not? Oh! there must be something more than love, happiness, fame, and so on; something of which our souls do not even dream. It can be no evil spirit at the head of the world, it is merely not understood. Do not we smile too when children cry? Just think of the endless continuity! Myriads of ages, each having its own life, and to each a manifested existence like this world of ours! What is the name of the little star we see in the sky when the night is clear and we gaze at Sirius? All this immense firmament but a speck of dust compared with infinity! Tell me, is this nothing but a dream? At night when we are reposing between our linen sheets, we have a wider aspect, richer in intuition than thoughts can grasp or words describe. Come, let us do something good, and die in doing it! One of the million deaths we have already died, and shall yet die. It is as though we pass from one room to another. Lo! The world to me appears enclosed in a nest of boxes, the smallest exactly like the biggest!”—(From a letter written by Heinrich Von Kleist, in 1806.)
The longing expressed in these words was felt by a man who could not then find anything able to satisfy it—such as a modern thinker may find if he studies anthroposophy in the right way. The writer of these words took his own life a hundred years ago, shooting first his friend, Henriette Vogel and then himself, and now he rests on the banks of Lake Vann in that lonely grave which for a century has closed over his remains.
In speaking of the frame of mind which best illustrates what we are endeavouring to grasp, when we speak of the combined action of the sacrifice of will held back in longing, of the satisfaction of this longing, which could only come through the Spirits of Motion, and the urge towards its ultimate satisfaction, only to come on the Planet of Redemption—a singular Karmic link has caused us to speak here, in accordance with our ordinary programme, on the very day which reminds us of how a great mind expressed this undefined longing in the grandest of words, and finally poured it forth in the most tragic act in which longing could be embodied. How can we fail to recognise that this man's spirit in its entirety as he stands before us, is an actual living embodiment of that which dwells in the depths of the soul, which we must trace back to something other than the life of earth if we wish to recognise it? Has not Heinrich Von Kleist described in the most significant manner what may live within a man (a description of which you will find at the very beginning of The Spiritual Guidance of Man and Mankind), as something transcending him and driving him, and which he will only understand later on if he does not snap the threads of his life before! Think of his “Penthesilea”; how much more there is in her than she can span with her earthly consciousness! We should not be able to describe her at all, did we not take for granted that her soul was immeasurably further advanced than the narrow little soul (although it was a great one) which she could span with her earthly consciousness. Hence a situation must arise which artistically introduces the whole process of the Drama. Indeed, it was necessary to prevent the whole transaction—which Kleist introduces with Achilles—from being grasped with the higher consciousness; otherwise the whole tragedy could not be perceived. Hence Achilles is called “her” Achilles. What lies in the higher consciousness must be plunged into the non-conscious. Again, what part does this subconsciousness play in Kätchen Von Heilbronn, especially in the remarkable relation between her and Wetter Von Strahl, which plays no part in the higher consciousness, but in the deeper strata of the soul where dwell the forces of which man knows nothing, which pass from one to another. When we have this before us we can feel the spiritual nature of the world's forces of gravity and attraction. For instance, in the scene where Kätchen stands before her admirers, do we not feel what lives in the subconsciousness, and how it is related to what is outside in the world which has been drily called the planet's force of attraction? Yet only one hundred years ago a truly penetrating and striving mind was not able to find his way into that subconsciousness. But it must be done today. And the tragedy of a Prince of Homburg strikes us in a very different way now. I should like to know how an abstract thinker, one who accounts for everything by reason alone, could account for a figure such as the Prince of Homburg, who carried out all his great deeds in a kind of dream-state, even those leading finally to victory. Kleist indicates very clearly that he could not possibly gain the victory by means of his higher consciousness, for as far as that was concerned he was not a particularly great man, for he whines and whimpers over everything he has to do. Only when by a special effort of the will, he brings up what dwells in the depths of his soul, does he play the man.
What still belongs to a man as heritage of the old Moon consciousness must not be brought to the surface by abstract science, but by that science which has many sides, and can lay hold in a delicate and subtle way of spiritual contours: that is, Spiritual Science. The greatest unites itself with the mediocre and the ordinary.
Thus we see that Anthroposophy shows that the conditions we are experiencing in our souls to-day are connected with the Cosmos, with the Universe. We see also, however, how that which we experience in the soul to-day can alone provide us with an understanding of the spiritual foundation of things. We see, too, that our era had to come to satisfy what was yearned for in the age preceding our own, when men longed for what cannot be given until our age. We feel a kind of veneration for such men, who could not find their bearings as regards what they longed for in their hearts, and what the world could not give them. When we recollect that all human life is linked together, and that the man of to-day can devote his life to those spiritual movements which—as their destiny shows—bygone men have so long desired we cannot but feel a veneration for them. So, on the centenary of the tragic death of one who was consumed by that longing, we may in a sense point to Anthroposophy or Spiritual Science as being the redemption of mankind from that longing. This day may serve to remind us how tragically and stormily that which Anthroposophy is able to give us, has been desired and longed for. This is a thought that we may well take hold of, which perhaps is also anthroposophical, on the centenary of the death of one of the greatest German poets.
Vierter Vortrag
Ein schwieriges Kapitel unserer Weltanschauung haben wir nun so weit gebracht, daß wir hinter den Erscheinungen der äußeren Sinneswelt zum Teil erblicken gelernt haben Geistiges. Von solchen Erscheinungen, die zunächst äußerlich wenig davon verraten, daß Geistiges in der eigentümlichen Form, wie wir dieses Geistige in unserem eigenen Seelenleben erfahren, dahintersteht, von solchen Erscheinungen haben wir erkannt, daß dennoch geistige Betätigungen, geistige Qualitäten und Eigenschaften dahinterstehen. Was uns so zum Beispiel im gewöhnlichen Leben als wärmehafte Eigenschaft erscheint, als Wärme oder Feuer, das erkannten wir als den Ausdruck des Opfers. In dem, was als Luft uns entgegentritt und wieder zunächst so wenig verrät, wenigstens für unsere Begriffe, daß es geistig ist, darin erkannten wir dasjenige, was wir die schenkende Tugend besonderer Weltenwesen nannten. Und im Wasser haben wir das erkannt, was Resignation, Verzicht genannt werden kann.
In früheren Weltanschauungen - darauf sei nur nebenbei aufmerksam gemacht — hat man natürlich schon eher in dem äußeren Stofflichen das Geistige geahnt und erkannt, wofür ein Beweis sein kann, daß man besonders flüchtige Stoffe mit dem Worte «Spiritus» bezeichnet hat, das wir heute in eigenschaftlicher Bedeutung anwenden auf das Geistige, indem wir sagen «spirituell»; und in der äußeren Welt kann es ja vorkommen, daß die Menschen dieses «spirituell» noch so wenig auf das Geistige beziehen, auf das Übersinnliche, daß einmal, wie einzelnen von Ihnen bekannt sein wird, als an einen Münchner Spiritistenverein ein Brief adressiert worden ist und man nicht wußte, was das ist, ein Spiritistenverein, man diesen Brief dem Vorsitzenden des Zentralverbandes der Spirituosenhändler aushändigte.
Indem wir nun heute jenen bedeutungsvollen Übergang betrachten wollen, der sich in der Evolution des Erdenplaneten vollzogen hat von der alten Sonne zum alten Mond herüber, werden wir eine andere Art der Entwickelung des Geistigen ins Auge fassen müssen. Wir werden aber ausgehen müssen von dem, was uns :das letzte Mal entgegengetreten ist als der Verzicht. Da haben wir gesehen, daß dieser Verzicht im wesentlichen darin besteht, daß geistig hochstehende Wesenheiten verzichteten auf die Entgegennahme des Opfers, was ja, wie wir erkannt haben, im wesentlichen das Opfer des Willens oder der Willenssubstanz ist. Wenn wir uns dies so vorstellen, daß gewisse Wesenheiten das opfern wollen, was ihre Willenssubstanz ist, und ihnen durch den Verzicht höherer Wesenheiten sozusagen verweigert wird die Entgegennahme dieses Willens, dann werden wir uns leicht zu dem Begriff erheben können, daß dann jene Willenssubstanz, welche die betreffenden Wesenheiten eigentlich höheren geistigen Wesenheiten opfern wollten, zurückbleiben muß in den betreffenden Wesenheiten, welche opfern wollen und nicht opfern können. $o sind uns damit ohne weiteres im Weltenzusammenhange gegeben Wesenheiten, welche bereit sind, ihr Opfer darzubringen, also in einer gewissen Weise bereit sind, das, was in ihrem Inneren ruht, inbrünstig hinzugeben, aber es nicht können und daher in sich behalten müssen. Oder anders ausgedrückt bedeutet es, daß diese Wesenheiten eine gewisse Verbindung mit höheren Wesenheiten, die sich ihnen ergeben hätte, wenn sie hätten opfern dürfen, durch die Zurückweisung des Opfers nicht haben können.
In personifizierter, man möchte sagen, in weltgeschichtlich symbolischer Weise tritt uns das entgegen, was wir dabei ins Auge fassen sollen — aber es ist dort verschärft - in dem Kain, der dem Abel gegenübersteht. Auch Kain will sein Opfer hinaufsenden zu seinem Gott. Sein Opfer aber ist nicht wohlgefällig, und der Gott nimmt es nicht auf. Das Opfer Abels nimmt er auf. Was wir dabei ins Auge fassen wollen, ist das innere Erlebnis, das dabei zustande kommen kann, daß Kain sein Opfer zurückgewiesen findet. Wenn wir uns zu der Höhe der Auffassung erheben wollen, die dabei in Betracht kommt, so müssen wir uns klarmachen, daß wir bei den Regionen, von denen wir hier sprechen, nicht solche Begriffe, die bloß eine Bedeutung in unserem gewöhnlichen Leben haben, hineinschleppen dürfen in die höheren Regionen. Es wäre falsch, wenn man davon sprechen würde, daß durch eine Schuld oder ein Unrecht die Zurückweisung des Opfers zustande käme. Von Schuld oder Sühne, wie wir sie in unserem jetzigen gewöhnlichen Leben kennen, darf in diesen Regionen noch nicht die Rede sein. Wir müssen diese Wesenheiten vielmehr so betrachten, daß es von seiten der höheren Wesenheiten, welche das Opfer zurückwiesen, ein Verzicht, eine Resignation ist. In dem, was wir vor acht Tagen als Seelenstimmung charakterisierten, liegt nichts, was Schuld oder Unterlassung ist, sondern es liegt darin alles Große und Bedeutungsvolle, was in einem Verzicht, in einer Resignation liegen kann. Das bleibt aber dabei doch bestehen, daß die anderen Wesenheiten, welche das Opfer haben bringen wollen, in sich eine Stimmung erzeugen müssen, von der wir fühlen können, daß damit etwas beginnt wie eine, wenn auch außerordentlich leise Gegnerschaft gegen jene Wesen, welche die Opfer zurückweisen. Deshalb ist dies in bezug auf Kain, wo es in einer späteren Zeit uns vorgeführt wird, in verschärftem Maße dargestellt. Wir werden daher nicht dieselbe Stimmung, die wir bei Kain finden, bei denjenigen Wesenheiten antreffen, die sich von der Sonne zum Mond herüberentwickeln; wir werden diese Stimmung bei ihnen in einem anderen Maße antreffen. Und wir lernen die Stimmung, die sich da geltend macht, nur kennen, wenn wir, wie wir es in den letzten Vorträgen getan haben, wieder in unsere eigene Seele blicken und uns fragen, wo wir in der eigenen Seele eine solche Stimmung finden können, welche Seelenverhältnisse uns andeuten können, wie die Stimmung ist, die sich entwickeln müßte in den Individualitäten, deren Opfergaben zurückgewiesen worden sind.
Diese Stimmung in uns — und wir kommen da immer näher und näher dem irdischen Menschenleben -, die eigentlich jede Seele schon kennt in ihrer Unbestimmtheit und zugleich in ihrer quälenden Weise in der Art, die wir voll rechnen können zu dem, was am nächsten Donnerstage im öffentlichen Vortrage «Die verborgenen Tiefen des Seelenlebens» zu besprechen sein wird - diese Stimmung, die jede Seele kennt als waltend in den verborgenen Tiefen des Seelenlebens, sie dringt zuweilen herauf an die Oberfläche unseres Seelenlebens; dann ist sie vielleicht am wenigsten quälend. Aber wir Menschen gehen mit dieser Stimmung oftmals herum, ohne daß wir uns derselben in unserem Oberbewußtsein recht klar bewußt sind, und wir haben sie doch in uns. Man möchte an das Dichterwort erinnern, um so recht das unbestimmt Quälerische, das mit der Nuance des Schmerzes Verbundene daran hervorzuheben: «Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiß, was ich leide.» Gemeint ist die Sehnsucht als Seelenstimmung, Sehnsucht, wie sie lebt in den Seelen der Menschen - nicht nur dann, wenn sie dieses oder jenes anstreben.
Um uns hineinzuversetzen in das, was geistig in der Entwickelungsphase des alten Saturn und der Sonne vorging, war notwendig, daß wir zu besonderen Seelenzuständen unseren Blick erhoben, die sozusagen erst eintreten, wenn die menschliche Seele strebend wird, wenn sie sich hinauforganisiert zu einem höheren Streben. Das haben wir gesehen, als wir versuchten, uns die Natur des Opfers aus unserem eigenen Seelenleben heraus klarzumachen, versuchten, uns klarzumachen, was der Mensch erlangt als Weisheit, die wir hineinträufeln sehen und die entsteht aus dem, was man nennen könnte: Bereitschaft zu geben, bereit sein dazu, sich selber sozusagen hinzugeben. Indem wir so zu mehr irdischen Verhältnissen heraufkommen, die sich aus früheren entwickelt haben, treffen wir eine Seelenstimmung, die ähnlich ist manchem, was der Mensch heute noch erleben kann. Nur müssen wir uns klar sein. daß alles Leben unserer Seele, insofern unsere Seele in einen Erdenleib eingefügt ist, als eine obere Schicht liegt über einem verborgenen Seelenleben, das unten in den Tiefen abläuft. Wer sollte denn nicht wissen, daß es ein solches verborgenes Seelenleben gibt? Das Leben belehrt uns hinlänglich darüber, daß es ein solches gibt.
Nehmen wir nun einmal an, um uns etwas von diesem verborgenen Seelenleben klarzumachen, ein Kind habe vielleicht in seinem siebenten oder achten Jahre oder in einer anderen Lebenszeit dieses oder jenes erfahren; es habe zum Beispiel erfahren, wofür Kinder sehr häufig ganz besonders empfänglich sind, Ungerechtigkeit — Ungerechtigkeit, indem es beschuldigt wurde, dies oder jenes getan zu haben, was es in Wahrheit nicht getan hat, aber die Bequemlichkeit der Umgebung des Kindes habe, um wenigstens mit der Sache fertigzuwerden, das Kind beschuldigt, dies oder jenes getan zu haben. Kinder haben ein ganz besonders reges Empfinden dafür, wenn ihnen in dieser Weise eine Ungerechtigkeit zugefügt wird. Aber, wie das Leben nun ist, nachdem sich dieses Erlebnis tief eingefressen hat in das kindliche Leben, legt das spätere Leben die anderen Schichten des Seelendaseins darüber, und das Kind hat für alles, was das Alltagsleben betrifft, die Sache vergessen. Es könnte nun auch sein, daß eine solche Sache niemals wieder auftauchen würde. Aber nehmen wir jetzt an: im fünfzehnten, sechzehnten Jahre erfährt das Kind, sagen wir in der Schule, eine neue Ungerechtigkeit. Und jetzt wird das wirksam, was sonst tief unten in der wogenden Seele ruht. Das Kind braucht es gar nicht einmal zu wissen, kann sich ganz andere Vorstellungen und Begriffe bilden, als zu wissen, daß heraufwirkt eine Reminiszenz dessen, was es in früheren Jahren erlebt hat. Wäre das aber, was früher vorgegangen ist, nicht geschehen, so würde es, wenn zum Beispiel das Kind ein Junge ist, nach Hause gehen, ein bißchen weinen, vielleicht auch ein bißchen schimpfen, es würde aber darüber hinweggehen. So aber ist jenes frühere Ereignis geschehen — und ich betone ausdrücklich, daß das Kind nicht zu wissen braucht, was da vorgekommen ist —, und das wirkt, wirkt unter der Oberfläche des Seelenlebens, wie unter dem glatt ausschauenden Meeresspiegel die Wogen aufgerührt werden können. Und aus dem, was sonst vielleicht ein Weinen, ein Klagen oder ein Schimpfen geworden wäre, wird nun ein Schülerselbstmord! So spielen die verborgenen Tiefen des Seelenlebens herauf aus den Untergründen. Und die wichtigste Kraft, die da unten waltet, die bei jeder Seele waltet und zuweilen heraufdringt in ihrer ureigenen Gestalt, aber am bedeutsamsten ist, wenn sie so heraufdringt, daß sich der Mensch ihrer nicht bewußt ist, das ist die Sehnsucht. Wir kennen auch die Namen, welche diese Kraft für die äußere Welt hat, die aber doch nur metaphorische, unbestimmte Namen sind, weil sie Beziehungen ausdrücken, die kompliziert sind und so überhaupt nicht ins Bewußtsein heraufkommen.
Nehmen Sie eine Erscheinung, die Sie alle sattsam kennen — der Stadtmensch vielleicht weniger, aber er hat sie doch bei anderen erfahren -, eine Erscheinung, die man mit «Heimweh» bezeichnet. Wenn Sie nachgehen würden, was das Heimweh in Wirklichkeit ist, so würden Sie sehen, daß es im Grunde genommen bei jedem Menschen ein anderes ist. Bald ist es so, bald so. Bald sehnt sich der Betreffende nach den traulichen Erzählungen, die er im Elternhause gehört hat; er weiß nicht, daß er sich nach Hause sehnt; was in ihm lebt, ist ein unbestimmter Drang, ein unbestimmtes Wollen. Ein anderer sehnt sich nach seinen Bergen oder nach dem Fluß, an dem er so oft gespielt hat, wenn vor ihm Wogen spielten. Was da wirkt in der Seele, dessen ist sich der Mensch oft wenig bewußt, aber wir fassen alle diese verschiedenen Eigenschaften zusammen unter dem «Heimweh», etwas ausdrückend, was unter tausendfältiger Verschiedenheit spielen kann, und was doch am besten getroffen ist, wenn wir sie als eine Art Sehnsucht kennzeichnen. Noch viel unbestimmter sind die Sehnsuchten, die vielleicht als die quälendsten im Leben hervortreten. Der Mensch ist sich nicht bewußt, daß es die Sehnsucht ist, aber sie ist es doch. Aber was ist diese Sehnsucht? Wir haben es eben ausgesprochen, daß sie eine Art von Wille ist, und überall, wo wir die Sehnsucht prüfen, können wir sehen, daß es eine Art von Wille ist. Aber was für ein Wille? Es ist ein Wille, der so, wie er zunächst ist, nicht befriedigt werden kann, denn wird er befriedigt, so hört die Sehnsucht auf. Ein sich nicht ausleben könnender Wille ist es, was wir als Sehnsucht bezeichnen.
So etwas müssen wir als Stimmung bei denjenigen Wesenheiten bezeichnen, deren Opfer zurückgewiesen worden ist. Was wir in den Tiefen unseres Seelenlebens wahrnehmen können als Sehnsucht, das ist uns geblieben als ein Erbstück von jenen alten Zeiten, von denen wir jetzt sprechen. Wie wir anderes als Erbstücke der alten Entwickelungsstadien haben, so sind uns geblieben von der Entwickelungsphase, von der wir hier sprechen, alle Arten von Sehnsucht, die auf dem Grunde der Seele sich finden, alle Arten von nicht zu befriedigendem Willen, von zurückgehaltenem Willen. So haben wir uns auch zu denken, daß durch das Zurückweisen des Opfers während dieser Entwickelungsphase Wesen entstehen, die wir nennen können: Wesen mit zurückgehaltenem Willen. Dadurch, daß sie diesen zurückgehaltenen Willen in sich haben mußten, waren sie in einer ganz besonderen Lage. Und man muß sich wieder in eigene Seelenzustände versetzen — denn die Gedanken erreichen kaum diese Zustände -, wenn man diese Dinge nachfühlen, nachempfinden will.
Das Wesen, das seinen Willen hinopfern kann, geht auf in gewisser Beziehung in dem anderen Wesen. Auch das kann man fühlen im Menschenleben, wie man lebt und webt in einem Wesen, dem. man Opfer bringt, wie man sich befriedigt und glücklich fühlt, wenn man dem Wesen gegenüberstehen kann, dem man Opfer bringt. Und weil wir hier sprechen von der Opferung an höhere Wesen, an umfassendere, universelle Wesenheiten, zu denen hinaufzuschauen die opfernden Wesen als ihre höchste Seligkeit empfinden müssen, so kann, was da zurückbleibt als zurückgehaltene Willenssehnsucht, nimmermehr dasselbe sein an innerer Stimmung, an innerem Seelengehalt als das, was sie erleben könnten, wenn sie opfern dürften. Denn wenn sie opfern dürften, wäre das Opfer bei den anderen Wesen. Wir dürfen gleichsam den Vergleich gebrauchen: wenn die Erden- und die anderen Planetenwesen der Sonne opfern dürften, dann wären sie bei der Sonne. Wenn sie nicht der Sonne opfern dürften, wenn sie zurückhalten müßten, was sie sonst opfern könnten, dann sind sie bei sich selber, sind in sich’ selber zurückgedrängt.
Wenn wir das fassen, was jetzt eben mit einem Worte ausgesprochen ist, dann merken wir, daß da etwas ins Weltall hineinkommt. Fassen Sie es klar, daß es nicht anders ausgesprochen werden kann: die Wesen, die einem anderen Wesen opfern, das in ihnen allen lebt, die hingegeben wären an ein Universelles, sie sind jetzt, wenn das Opfer nicht angenommen wird, darauf angewiesen, es selbst in sich zu tragen, Spüren Sie nicht, daß da etwas hereinblitzt, was man Egoität nennt, was später als Egoismus in allen Formen herauskommt? In dieser Weise ins Auge gefaßt, muß man fühlen, was später — sozusagen in die Entwickelung hineingegossen - als ein Erbstück nachlebt in den Wesen. Mit der Sehnsucht sehen wir den Egoismus aufblitzen, zunächst in der schwächsten Gestalt, aber wir sehen ihn sich hineinschleichen in die Weltentwickelung. Und so sehen wir, wie die Wesen, die also der Sehnsucht, das heißt sich selbst, ihrer Egoität, sich hingeben, in einer gewissen Beziehung verdammt werden zur Einseitigkeit, zum bloßen Leben nur in sich selber, wenn nicht etwas anderes eintreten würde.
Stellen wir uns einmal ein Wesen vor, das opfern darf: das lebt in dem anderen Wesen, und es lebt immer in dem anderen. Ein Wesen, das nicht opfern darf, kann nur in sich selber leben. Dadurch ist es ausgeschlossen von dem, was es in den anderen und in diesem Falle in den höheren Wesen erleben dürfte. Ausgeschlossen von der Evolution würden schon an dieser Stelle die entsprechenden Wesen, in die Einseitigkeit hineinverdammt und -verbannt, wenn nicht etwas einträte, was da in die Entwickelung hineinfällt und was die Einseitigkeit hinwegbewegen will. Das ist das Eintreten neuer Wesenheiten, welche die Verdammung und Verbannung in die Einseitigkeit hintanhalten. Wie auf dem Saturn Willenswesen, wie auf der Sonne Weisheitswesen, so sehen wir auf dem Monde die Geister der Bewegung auftreten, wobei wir aber nicht räumliche Bewegung uns vorzustellen haben, sondern wobei wir «Bewegung» so fassen müssen, daß sie einen mehr gedanklichen Charakter trägt. Jeder kennt den Ausdruck «Denkbewegung», obwohl das nur der Ablauf, die Flüssigkeit der eigenen Gedanken ist; aber daraus schon werden Sie sehen, daß, wenn wir uns einen umfassenderen Begriff der Bewegung aneignen wollen, wir zur Erklärung der Bewegung zu etwas anderem als der bloßen Ortsbewegung, die nur eine einzelne Gattung der gesamten Bewegung darstellt, greifen müssen. Wenn viele Menschen einem höheren Wesen hingegeben sind, das sich gleichsam in ihnen allen ausdrückt, weil es von ihnen allen Opfer entgegennimmt, so leben alle diese Vielen in dem Einen und sind darin befriedigt. Wenn aber die Opfer zurückgewiesen werden, so leben die Vielen in sich selber und können nicht befriedigt werden. Da treten die Geister der Bewegung ein und führen gleichsam die Wesen, welche sonst nur auf sich angewiesen wären, zu allen anderen Wesenheiten in einer gewissen Weise hin, bringen sie zu den anderen in eine Beziehung. Die Geister der Bewegung sind zunächst nicht nur als ortsverändernde Wesen zu denken, sondern sie sind solche Wesen, die etwas hervorbringen, wodurch ein Wesen in immer neue Beziehungen zu anderen Wesen tritt.
Man kann sich eine Vorstellung machen von dem, was jetzt damit auf dieser Stufe im Kosmos erlangt ist, wenn man wieder auf eine entsprechende Seelenstimmung reflektiert. Wer weiß nicht, daß die Sehnsucht im Menschen, wenn sie anhält, bleibt, keine Veränderung erleben darf — wer weiß nicht, wie quälend es wird und den Menschen in einen Zustand bannt, der ihm unerträglich wird, der dann bei den flachköpfigen Menschen zu dem wird, was man «Langeweile» nennt. Aber von dieser Langeweile, die man gewöhnlich nur den flachköpfigen Menschen zuschreiben kann, gibt es alle möglichen Zwischenstufen bis zu denen, welche den großen, edlen Naturen eigen sind, in denen das lebt, was ihre eigene Natur als Sehnsucht ausdrückt, und was nicht befriedigt werden kann in der äußeren Welt. Und wodurch wird die Sehnsucht mehr befriedigt als durch Veränderung? Der Beweis dafür ist, daß die Wesen, die diese Sehnsucht fühlen, Beziehungen suchen zu immer neuen und neuen Wesenheiten. Die Qual der Sehnsucht wird oft überwunden durch das, was veränderte Beziehungen sind zu immer neuen Wesenheiten.
Da sehen wir, als die Erde ihre Mondenphase durchmacht, wie die Geister der Bewegung in das Leben der sich sehnenden Wesen, die sonst veröden würden — und Langeweile ist auch eine Art von Verödung -, die Veränderung, die Bewegung hineinbringen, die Beziehung zu immer neuen und neuen Wesenheiten oder zu immer neuen und neuen Zuständen. Die räumliche, örtliche Bewegung ist nur eine Gattung dieser umfassenderen Bewegung, von der wir jetzt gesprochen haben. Eine Bewegung haben wir, wenn wir in der Lage sind, am Morgen einen bestimmten Gedankeninhalt in der Seele zu haben, diesen aber nicht zu behalten brauchen, sondern zu anderem übergehen können. Da überwinden wir die Einseitigkeit in der Sehnsucht durch die Mannigfaltigkeit, durch die Veränderung und die Bewegung des Erlebten. Im Raume draußen haben wir nur eine besondere Art dieser Veränderung.
Denken wir uns dazu einen Planeten, der einer Sonne gegenübersteht. Würde er immer in derselben Stellung gegenüber der Sonne sein, würde er sich nicht bewegen, so würde er bei jener Einseitigkeit bleiben, die sich nur ergeben kann, indem er eben nur immer die eine Seite der Sonne zuwendet. Da kommen die Geister der Bewegung, führen den Planeten um die Sonne herum, um Veränderung hineinzubringen in seinen Zustand. Ortsveränderung ist nur eine Art der Veränderung überhaupt. Und indem die Geister der Bewegung die Ortsveränderung hineinbringen in den Kosmos, bringen sie nur ein Spezifikum hinein in das, was die Bewegung im allgemeinen ist.
Dadurch aber, daß die Geister der Bewegung in das Weltall, wie wir es bisher kennengelernt haben, die Bewegung und die Veränderung hineinbringen, muß noch etwas anderes hineinkommen. Wir haben gesehen, daß in dieser Evolution, in der ganzen kosmischen Mannigfaltigkeit, die sich da heraufentwickelt als die Geister der Bewegung, Geister der Persönlichkeit, Geister der Weisheit, des Willens und so weiter, auch das Substantielle lebt, was wir genannt haben «schenkende Tugend», das Hinfließen desjenigen, was als Weisheit ausgestrahlt wird und als Geistiges der Luft, der Gasströmung zugrunde liegt. Das fließt nun mit dem in Sehnsucht umgestalteten Willen zusammen und wird in diesen Wesenheiten das, was der Mensch nun kennt — noch nicht als Gedanken, sondern als Bild. Am besten vergegenwärtigen wir uns das an dem Bilde, das der Mensch hat, wenn er träumt. Das flüchtige, flüssige Bild des Traumes kann eine Vorstellung hervorrufen von ‚dem, was bei einem Wesen geschieht, in dem der Wille als Sehnsucht lebt und von den Geistern der Bewegung in eine Beziehung zu anderen Wesen geführt wird. Und indem es zu dem anderen Wesen gebracht wird, kann es ja nicht ganz sich hingeben, da die eigene Egoität in ihm lebt. Aber es kann das flüchtige Bild des anderen aufnehmen, das lebt wie ein Traumbild in ihm. Daher das, was wir nennen können das Auffluten von Bildern in der Seele. Das Aufsteigen des Bilderbewußstseins sehen wir während dieser Phase der Entwickelung heraufkommen. Und indem wir Menschen selber noch ohne unser heutiges Erden-Ich-Bewußtsein diese Phase der Entwickelung durchgemacht haben, müssen wir uns vorstellen, daß wir während dieser Entwickelungsphase dasjenige, was wir heute durch unser Ich erlangen, noch nicht haben, daß wir da wesen und weben im Weltall, indem in uns etwas lebt, was wir uns heute nur vergegenwärtigen können, wenn wir die Sehnsucht kennen.
Wir könnten in einer gewissen Weise, wenn wir nicht solche Leidenszustände ins Auge fassen, wie es die irdischen sind, uns vorstellen, daß sie gar nicht anders sein könnten als, wie das Dichterwort sagt: «Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, weiß was ich leide.» In gewisser Weise kommt Leid, Schmerz, in seiner seelischen Gestalt natürlich, in der damaligen Zeit auch in unsere Wesenheiten und in die Wesenheiten anderer Wesen hinein, die mit unserer Evolution verbunden sind. Und erfüllt wird durch die Tätigkeit der Geister der Bewegung das sonst leerbleibende Innere, das von Sehnsucht leidende Innere mit dem Balsam, der in Form von Bildern hinein sich ergießt in diese Wesenheiten. Sonst wären diese Wesenheiten leer in ihrer Seele, leer von jeglichem anderen, was nicht Sehnsucht zu nennen wäre. Aber hinein träufelt der Balsam der Bilder, welche die Öde und Leerheit mit Mannigfaltigkeit ausfüllen und die Wesen so hinwegführen über das Verbannt- und Verdammtsein.
Wenn wir solche Worte ernst nehmen, haben wir zu gleicher Zeit das, was geistig zugrunde liegt dem, was sich während der Mondphase unserer Erde entwickelt hat und was wir jetzt, weil sich darübergelagert hat die Erdenphase unseres Wesens, in den tiefen Untergründen unseres Bewußtseins haben. Aber wir haben es — und in einer populären Weise soll das übermorgen im öffentlichen Vortrage gezeigt werden — so in den Untergründen unserer Seele, daß es, wie das, was unten wirbelt unter der Oberfläche des Meeres und nach oben Wellen treibt, sich abspielen kann, ohne daß man weiß, was die Gründe dessen sind, was dann ins Bewußtsein eintritt. Unter der Oberfläche unseres gewöhnlichen Ich-Bewußtseins haben wir ein solches Seelenleben, das da 'heraufspielen kann. Und was sagt dieses Seelenleben dem Menschen, wenn es heraufspielt? Wenn wir ins Auge fassen den kosmischen Untergrund dieses unterbewußten Seelenlebens, so können wir sagen: Das Seelenleben, das wir so heraufkommen spüren aus seelischen Untergründen, ist ein Heraufschlagen dessen, was sich da aus der Mondenphase der Entwickelung hineinbewegt hat in das, was während der Erdenphase selbst in uns hineingekommen ist. Und wenn wir so recht ins Auge fassen das Zusammenspiel der Mondennatur mit unserer Erdennatur, dann haben wir den eigentlichen Grund dessen, was von dem alten Monde geistig herübergeführt hat zum Erdendasein.
Fassen Sie ins Auge, daß es, wie wir es charakterisiert haben, notwendig war, daß immer Bilder auftauchen mußten, die eine Öde zu befriedigen hatten. Dann kommt Ihnen ein Begriff von einem schweren Gewicht, von einer großen Bedeutung: die sehnende Menschenseele in ihrer sehnsuchtvollen, quälenden Leerheit, die diese Sehnsucht befriedigt oder harmonisiert erhält durch das Hereinspielen von Bildern, die wiederum nur an die Stelle von anderen Bildern treten können. Und wenn die Bilder da sind und eine Weile dagewesen sind, dann dämmert sie wieder auf aus den Untergründen, die alte Sehnsucht, und nach neuen Bildern führen sie die Geister der Bewegung. Und sind die neuen Bilder wieder eine Weile dagewesen, so schlägt die Sehnsucht wieder an nach neuen Bildern. Und das gewichtige Wort müssen wir aussprechen in bezug auf solches Seelenleben: Wenn die Sehnsucht nur befriedigt wird durch Bilder, welche neuen Bildern nachjagen, so ist das die fortfließende Unendlichkeit ohne Ende. Da hinein kann nur das kommen, was kommen muß, wenn an die Stelle der in die Unendlichkeit fortfließenden Bilder etwas tritt, was die Sehnsucht erlösen kann durch etwas anderes als bloß durch Bilder, nämlich durch Realitäten. Das heißt mit anderen Worten: diejenige planetarische Verkörperung unserer Erde, in der wir durchgemacht haben die Phase, daß die Bilder, die herbeigeführt werden durch die Tätigkeit der Geister der Bewegung, die Befriedigung der Sehnsucht sind, sie muß abgelöst werden von derjenigen planetarischen Phase der Erdenverkörperungen, welche wir die Phase der Erlösung nennen müssen. Und wir werden noch sehen, daß die Erde der «Planet der Erlösung» zu nennen ist, wie wir die vorherige Verkörperung der Erde, das Mondendasein, den «Planeten der Sehnsucht» nennen können, der zwar zu stillenden Sehnsucht, die aber in der Stillung in eine nie endende Unendlichkeit ausläuft. Und während wir leben im Erdenbewußtsein — das uns, wie wir gesehen haben, durch das Mysterium von Golgatha die Erlösung bringt -, steigt herauf während dieses Lebens aus den Untergründen unserer Seele das, was fortwährend nach Erlösung verlangt. Es ist, wie wenn wir oben die Wellen des gewöhnlichen Bewußtseins hätten, und unten in den Tiefen des Meeres des Seelenlebens lebt der Untergrund unserer Seele als Sehnsucht, als etwas, was da immer herauf will nach dem Vollbringen des Opfers, zu dem universellen Wesen, das auf einmal die Begierde befriedigt, nicht in der unendlichen Aufeinanderfolge der Bilder, sondern auf einmal gibt die Befriedigung.
Der Erdenmensch fühlt schon diese Stimmungen - und sie sind die allerallerbesten, wenn er sie eben fühlt. Und diejenigen Erdenmenschen, die in unserer Zeit ganz gemäß unserem besonderen Zeitalter diese Sehnsucht fühlen, sie sind im Grunde die, welche zu unserer geisteswissenschaftlichen Bewegung kommen. Da lernen die Menschen erkennen im Leben draußen alles, was sie in den Einzelheiten befriedigt für ihr gewöhnliches, oberes Bewußtsein; aber da schlägt dann herauf aus dem Unterbewußtsein das, was in seinen Einzelheiten nie befriedigt werden kann, was nach dem zentralen Grunde des Lebens verlangt. Und dieser zentrale Grund kann nur dadurch gegeben werden, daß wir eine universelle Wissenschaft haben, die sich nicht nur mit den Einzelheiten, sondern mit der Gesamtheit des Lebens beschäftigt. Dem, was in den Tiefen der Seele spielt und in das Oberbewußtsein heraufgeholt werden will, muß im Sinne unserer heutigen Zeit entgegenkommen die Beschäftigung mit dem universellen Dasein, das in der Welt lebt, denn sonst spielt aus den Untergründen der Seele herauf das, was sich sehnt nach etwas, das es nie erreichen kann.
In diesem Sinne ist die Geisteswissenschaft ein Entgegenkommen jenen Sehnsuchten, die in den Untergründen der Seele leben. Und weil alles, was später in der Welt geschieht, seine Vorspiele hat, brauchen wir uns nicht zu verwundern über einen Menschen - der, wenn er etwa im heutigen Zeitalter lebte, durch die spirituelle Wissenschaft nach Befriedigung für die Macht der Sehnsucht in seiner Seele verlangen würde —, wenn ihm zunächst gar nicht bewußte Seelenkräfte, die wie Sehnsuchten sind, ihn verzehren konnten. Da er in einem früheren Zeitalter lebte, in dem es diese spirituelle Weisheit nicht gegeben hat und er sie deshalb noch nicht haben konnte, so ist es, wie wenn er sich verzehren würde nach ihr, ein immerwährendes Verlangen haben würde nach ihr und das Leben nicht begreifen könnte — gerade weil er ein hervorragend großer Geist ist. Während heute hereinträufeln könnte in seine Seele etwas, was die Sehnsucht nach Bildern, welche nur die Ode übertönen können, stillen würde, sehnte er sich nach Aufhören dieses Bilderjagens, und er sehnte sich um so mehr danach, je mächtiger dieses Bilderjagen war! Und kann uns, so wie es jetzt ausgesprochen ist, die Stimme dieses Menschen .nicht erscheinen als eine Äußerung eines Geistes, der in einer Zeit lebt, in welcher er diese spirituelle Weisheit, die sich hineingießt wie Balsam in die Sehnsucht der Seele, noch nicht haben kann, wenn wir hören, wie er einem anderen schreibt:
«Wer wollte auf dieser Welt glücklich sein. Pfui, schäme dich, möcht’ ich fast sagen, wenn du es willst! Welch eine Kurzsichtigkeit, o du edler Mensch, gehört dazu, hier, wo alles mit dem Tode endigt, nach etwas zu streben. Wir begegnen uns, drei Frühlinge lieben wir uns: und eine Ewigkeit fliehen wir wieder auseinander. Und was ist des Strebens würdig, wenn es die Liebe nicht ist! Ach, es muß noch etwas anderes geben als Liebe, Glück, Ruhm und x, y, zZ, wovon unsre Seelen nichts träumen.
Es kann kein böser Geist sein, der an der Spitze der Welt steht; es ist ein bloß unbegriffener! Lächeln wir nicht auch, wenn die Kinder weinen? Denke nur, diese unendliche Fortdauer! Myriaden von Zeiträumen, jedweder ein Leben, und für jedweden eine Erscheinung wie diese Welt! Wie doch das kleine Sternchen heißen mag, das man auf dem Sirius, wenn der Himmel klar ist, sieht? Und dieses ganze ungeheure Firmament nur ein Stäubchen gegen die Unendlichkeit! O Rühle, sage mir, ist dies ein Traum? Zwischen je zwei Lindenblättern, wenn wir abends auf dem Rücken liegen, eine Aussicht, an Ahndungen reicher, als Gedanken fassen, und Worte sagen können. Komm, laß uns etwas Gutes tun und dabei sterben! Einen der Millionen Tode, die wir schon gestorben sind und noch sterben werden. Es ist, als ob wir aus einem Zimmer in das andere gehen. Sieh, die Welt kommt mir vor wie eingeschachtelt, das kleine ist dem großen ähnlich!» Aus einem Briefe Heinrich von Kleists aus dem Jahre 1806.
So drängt die Sehnsucht, die er in solche Worte fassen konnte, einen Geist, an einen Freund zu schreiben - ein Geist, der noch nicht eine Befriedigung dieser Sehnsucht finden konnte durch das, was, wenn sie nur mit energischem Verständnis an die Geisteswissenschaft herantritt, die moderne Seele finden kann. Denn dieser Geist ist der, welcher jetzt vor hundert Jahren seinem Leben ein Ende machte, indem er zuerst seine Freundin Henriette Vogel und dann sich selbst erschoß, und der in jenem einsamen Grabe am Wannsee ruht, das sich vor hundert Jahren über seiner Hülle geschlossen hat.
Es ist eine sonderbare Fügung, man möchte sagen des Karma, daß wir über die Stimmung, die uns am allerbesten das charakterisieren kann, was wir zu fassen versuchen, wenn wir sprechen von dem Zusammenwirken der zurückgehaltenen Willensopfer in der Sehnsucht, der Befriedigung dieser Sehnsucht, die allein kommen konnte von den Geistern der Bewegung, und dem Drange nach einer endgültigen Befriedigung, wie sie nur kommen konnte auf dem Planeten der Erlösung — es ist ein sonderbarer karmischer Zusammenschluß, daß wir nach unserem ganz gewöhnlichen Programm gerade an einem Tage hier darüber sprechen mußten, der uns erinnern kann, wie ein Geist die unbestimmte Sehnsucht in den allerhöchsten Worten zum Ausdruck bringen konnte und sie endlich umgegossen hat in die allertragischste Tat, welche die Sehnsucht verkörpern konnte. Und wie könnten wir verkennen, daß dieser Geist in seiner Ganzheit, wie er vor uns steht, eigentlich eine lebendige Verkörperung dessen ist, was unten in der Seele lebt, was wir zurückführen müssen auf ein Anderes noch als auf das Erdendasein, wenn wir es erkennen wollen? Hat uns Heinrich von Kleist nicht am bedeutsamsten geschildert, was in einem Menschen leben kann — wie Sie gleich auf den ersten Seiten von «Die geistige Führung des Menschen und der Menschheit» geschildert finden - von dem, was über ihn selbst hinausgeht, ihn treibt, und was er erst später einsehen kann, wenn er nicht vorher seinen Lebensfaden unterbricht?
Denken wir an seine «Penthesilea»: Wie viel mehr ist in Penthesilea, als sie mit ihrem Erdenbewußtsein umspannen kann! Wir könnten sie in.ihrer ganzen Eigenartigkeit gar nicht begreifen, wenn wir nicht annehmen würden, ihre Seele sei unendlich viel weiter als die enge kleine Seele, die sie - wenn sie auch eine große ist — mit ihrem Erdenbewußtsein umspannt. Daher muß eine Situation hineinspielen, die künstlich das Unterbewußte in das Drama hineinbringt. Ja, es muß sogar verhindert werden, daß der ganze Vorgang, wie Kleist sie an Achill heranführt, mit dem Oberbewußtsein zu überschauen wäre, sonst würden wir die ganze Tragik nicht erleben können. Penthesilea wird als Gefangene zu Achill geführt, aber es wird ihr vorgegaukelt, daß er ihr Gefangener ist. Daher ist es «ihr» Achill. - Es muß das, was im Oberbewußtsein lebt, in das Nichtbewußte hineingetaucht werden.
Und wie spielt wieder dieses Unterbewußte hinein in eine Handlung wie zum Beispiel «Das Käthchen von Heilbronn», besonders in der merkwürdigen Beziehung zwischen dem Käthchen und dem Wetter vom Strahl, die sich nicht abspielt im Oberbewußtsein, sondern in den tieferen Schichten der Seele, wo die Kräfte sind, von denen der Mensch nichts weiß, die von einem zum anderen gehen. Wenn wir das vor uns haben, spüren wir das Geistige, das in den gewöhnlichen Gravitationsund Attraktionskräften der Welt liegt. Fühlen Sie das, was in den Kräften der Welt liegt, zum Beispiel in der Szene, wo Käthchen ihrem Angebeteten gegenübersteht, wo wir sehen, was in dem Uhnterbewußtsein lebt und wie es verwandt ist dem, was draußen in der Welt lebt, und was man mit dem nüchternen trockenen Worte «Anziehungskräfte - und so weiter - der Planeten» belegt? Doch hineintauchen in dieses Unterbewußtsein konnte auch ein durchdringender und strebender Geist vor hundert Jahren noch nicht. Heute muß es geschehen.
Und in ganz anderer Weise steht daher heute die Tragik eines «Prinzen von Homburg» vor uns. Ich möchte wissen, wie die Abstraktlinge, die alles, was der Mensch vollbringt, nur ableiten wollen aus dem Verstande, eine Figur erklären wollen, wie es der Prinz von Homburg ist, der alle seine großen Taten in einer Art Traumzustand ausführt, auch die, welche zuletzt zum Siege führt. Und klar weist Kleist darauf hin, daß er aus seinem Oberbewußtsein heraus gar nicht den Sieg erlangen könnte, daß er auch nach seinem Oberbewußtsein nicht einmal ein ganz besonders großer Mensch ist, denn er wimmert nachher vor dem Tode. Und als durch einen besonderen Willensimpuls das, was in den Tiefen der Seele lebt, heraufgeholt wird, erst da ermannt er sich.
Was als ein Erbstück dem Menschen aus dem Mondenbewußtsein geblieben ist, das ist etwas, was nicht heraufgebracht werden darf durch die abstrakte Wissenschaft, was aber heraufgebracht werden muß durch die vielseitigen, subtilen und mit allseitig weichen Konturen die geistigen Dinge angreifenden Begriffe, die die Geisteswissenschaft bringt. Das Größte bindet sich an das Mittlere und bindet sich an das Gewöhnliche.
So sehen wir ein, daß die Geisteswissenschaft uns zeigt, wie die Zustände, welche wir heute in der Seele erleben, sich heranbilden im Kosmos, im Weltall. Wir sehen aber auch ein, wie das, was wir in der Seele erleben, uns einzig und allein einen Begriff verschaffen kann von dem, was geistig in den Untergründen der Dinge ist. Wir sehen aber auch, wie unsere Zeit herankommen mußte, um das zu befriedigen, was ersehnt worden ist in der Zeit, die der unsrigen vorangegangen ist, wie die Menschen begehrt haben nach dem, was unsere Zeit erst geben kann. Und eine Art der Verehrung für solche Menschen, die sich nicht zurechtfinden konnten in der Vorzeit gegenüber dem, was ihr Herz begehrte und was die Welt ihnen nicht geben konnte, eine gewisse Ver‘ehrung für solche Menschen kann auch darin bestehen, daß wir uns erinnern, wie alles menschliche Leben zusammengehört und wie der heutige Mensch sein Leben widmen kann jenen geistigen Bewegungen, welche die Menschen — das zeigen uns ihre Schicksale - lange schon gebraucht hätten.
So darf gewissermaßen auf die Geisteswissenschaft als eine Bringerin der Erlösung der Menschensehnsucht hingewiesen werden an einem Tage, der als der Jahrhunderttag des tragischen Todes eines dieser sehnsüchtigsten Menschen sehr wohl daran erinnern kann, wie das, was die Geisteswissenschaft geben kann, von den Menschen stürmisch, aber auch wehmütig seit langen Zeiten schon verlangt worden ist. Das ist ein Gedanke, den wir fassen können, und der vielleicht auch anthroposophisch ist, an dem Jahrhunderttage des Todes eines der größten deutschen Dichter.
Fourth Lecture
We have now reached a point in our worldview where we have learned to see, behind the phenomena of the external sensory world, something of the spiritual realm. From such phenomena, which at first reveal little of the spiritual that lies behind them in the peculiar form in which we experience this spiritual in our own soul life, we have recognized that spiritual activities, spiritual qualities, and characteristics nevertheless lie behind them. What appears to us in ordinary life as a warm quality, as heat or fire, we have recognized as the expression of sacrifice. In what we encounter as air, which at first reveals so little, at least to our understanding, that it is spiritual, we have recognized what we have called the giving virtue of special world beings. And in water we have recognized what can be called resignation, renunciation.
In earlier worldviews — let us just mention this in passing — people naturally tended to sense and recognize the spiritual in the external material world. Proof of this can be found in the fact that particularly volatile substances were referred to as “spirit,” a word we now use in a specific sense to refer to the spiritual, saying “spiritual.” And in the external world, it can happen that people relate this “spiritual” so little to the spiritual, to the supersensible, that once, as some of you may know, a letter was addressed to a Munich spiritualist association and no one knew what a spiritualist association was, so the letter was handed over to the chairman of the Central Association of Liquor Dealers.
As we now consider the significant transition that took place in the evolution of the Earth from the old Sun to the old Moon, we will have to consider a different kind of development of the spiritual. However, we must start from what we encountered last time as renunciation. There we saw that this renunciation essentially consists in spiritually advanced beings renouncing the acceptance of the sacrifice, which, as we have recognized, is essentially the sacrifice of the will or the substance of the will. If we imagine this in such a way that certain beings want to sacrifice what is their will substance, and through the renunciation of higher beings they are, so to speak, denied the acceptance of this will, then we can easily arrive at the concept that the will substance which the beings in question actually wanted to sacrifice to higher spiritual beings must remain in the beings concerned, who want to sacrifice but cannot. Thus, we are immediately presented with beings in the world who are willing to make their sacrifice, that is, who are in a certain sense willing to fervently give up what lies within them, but cannot do so and must therefore keep it within themselves. Or, to put it another way, it means that these beings cannot have a certain connection with higher beings, which would have been theirs if they had been allowed to sacrifice, because they rejected the sacrifice.
In a personified, one might say, world-historically symbolic way, what we are to contemplate here confronts us—but in an intensified form—in Cain, who stands opposite Abel. Cain also wants to send his sacrifice up to his God. But his sacrifice is not pleasing, and God does not accept it. He accepts Abel's sacrifice. What we want to grasp here is the inner experience that can arise when Cain finds his sacrifice rejected. If we want to rise to the level of understanding that is required here, we must realize that we cannot bring concepts from the regions we are talking about here, which have meaning only in our ordinary life, into the higher regions. It would be wrong to say that the rejection of the sacrifice came about through guilt or injustice. There can be no question of guilt or atonement as we know them in our present ordinary life in these regions. We must rather regard these beings in such a way that it is a renunciation, a resignation on the part of the higher beings who rejected the sacrifice. In what we characterized eight days ago as the mood of the soul, there is nothing that is guilt or omission, but rather everything great and meaningful that can lie in renunciation, in resignation. However, it remains the case that the other beings who wanted to bring about the sacrifice must generate within themselves a mood that we can sense as the beginning of something like an opposition, albeit an extremely quiet one, against those beings who reject the sacrifices. This is why this is portrayed in an intensified form in relation to Cain, where it is presented to us at a later time. We will therefore not find the same mood that we find in Cain in those beings who evolve from the sun to the moon; we will find this mood in them to a different degree. And we can only get to know the mood that prevails there if, as we have done in the last lectures, we look again into our own souls and ask ourselves where we can find such a mood in our own souls, what soul conditions can indicate to us what the mood must be that develops in the individualities whose offerings have been rejected.
This mood within us — and here we are coming closer and closer to earthly human life — is actually already known to every soul in its indefiniteness and at the same time in its tormenting nature, in the way that we can fully expect to find in what will be discussed next Thursday in the public lecture “The Hidden Depths of Soul Life.” — this mood, which every soul knows as prevailing in the hidden depths of the soul life, sometimes rises to the surface of our soul life; then it is perhaps least tormenting. But we humans often go about with this mood without being clearly aware of it in our conscious mind, and yet we have it within us. One is reminded of the poet's words, which emphasize the vague torment associated with the nuance of pain: “Only those who know longing know what I suffer.” What is meant here is longing as a mood of the soul, longing as it lives in the souls of human beings — not only when they strive for this or that.
In order to put ourselves in the spiritual state that prevailed during the evolutionary phase of ancient Saturn and the Sun, we had to raise our gaze to special states of soul life which, so to speak, only arise when the human soul becomes striving, when it organizes itself upward toward a higher aspiration. We saw this when we tried to understand the nature of sacrifice from our own soul life, when we tried to understand what human beings attain as wisdom, which we see instilled in them and which arises from what might be called a willingness to give, a readiness to surrender themselves, so to speak. As we rise to more earthly conditions that have developed from earlier ones, we encounter a mood of the soul that is similar to some of what human beings can still experience today. But we must be clear that all the life of our soul, insofar as our soul is inserted into an earthly body, lies as an upper layer above a hidden soul life that takes place below in the depths. Who should not know that such a hidden soul life exists? Life teaches us sufficiently that it does exist.
Let us assume, in order to clarify something of this hidden soul life, that a child, perhaps in its seventh or eighth year, or at some other stage of life, has experienced this or that; for example, it has experienced something to which children are very often particularly susceptible, namely injustice — injustice in being accused of having done something it did not actually do, but the convenience of the child's environment, in order to at least deal with the matter, accuses the child of having done this or that. Children have a particularly keen sense of injustice when it is done to them in this way. But, as life is, after this experience has become deeply ingrained in the child's life, later life layers other layers of the soul over it, and the child forgets everything that concerns everyday life. It could also be that such a thing would never come up again. But let us now assume that at the age of fifteen or sixteen, the child experiences a new injustice, say at school. And now what has been lying deep down in the soul comes to the surface. The child does not even need to be aware of it, may form completely different ideas and concepts, rather than knowing that a reminiscence of what it experienced in earlier years is coming to the surface. But if what happened earlier had not happened, then, if the child is a boy, for example, he would go home, cry a little, perhaps even rant a little, but he would get over it. But now that earlier event has happened — and I emphasize that the child does not need to know what happened — and it has an effect, an effect beneath the surface of the soul, just as waves can be stirred beneath the smooth surface of the sea. And what might otherwise have been crying, complaining, or ranting now becomes a student suicide! Thus, the hidden depths of the soul rise up from the underground. And the most important force that reigns down there, that reigns in every soul and sometimes rises up in its own unique form, but is most significant when it rises up in such a way that the person is not aware of it, is longing. We also know the names that this force has for the outside world, but these are only metaphorical, vague names, because they express relationships that are complicated and do not arise in consciousness at all.
Take a phenomenon that you are all familiar with—perhaps less so if you live in the city, but you have experienced it in others—a phenomenon that is called “homesickness.” If you were to investigate what homesickness really is, you would see that it is fundamentally different for every person. Sometimes it is one thing, sometimes another. Sometimes the person longs for the familiar stories he heard in his parents' home; he does not know that he longs for home; what lives in him is an indefinite urge, an indefinite desire. Another longs for his mountains or for the river where he so often played when the waves played before him. People are often unaware of what is stirring in their souls, but we summarize all these different qualities under the term “homesickness,” expressing something that can manifest itself in a thousand different ways and is best described as a kind of longing. Even more vague are the longings that perhaps emerge as the most tormenting in life. Man is not aware that it is longing, but it is nonetheless. But what is this longing? We have just said that it is a kind of will, and wherever we examine longing, we can see that it is a kind of will. But what kind of will? It is a will that cannot be satisfied as it is, because if it is satisfied, the longing ceases. A will that cannot be fulfilled is what we call longing.
We must describe this as a mood in those beings whose sacrifice has been rejected. What we perceive in the depths of our soul life as longing has remained with us as a legacy from those ancient times of which we are now speaking. Just as we have other things as legacies from the old stages of development, so too have we retained from the phase of development we are talking about here all kinds of longing that can be found in the depths of the soul, all kinds of unsatisfied will, of restrained will. We must also think that through the rejection of sacrifice during this stage of development, beings arise that we can call beings with restrained will. Because they had to carry this restrained will within themselves, they were in a very special situation. And one must put oneself back into one's own soul states — for the thoughts can hardly reach these states — if one wants to understand and feel these things.
The being that can sacrifice its will merges in a certain way with the other being. This can also be felt in human life, in the way we live and weave ourselves into a being to whom we make sacrifices, in the way we feel satisfied and happy when we can stand before the being to whom we make sacrifices. And because we are talking here about sacrifice to higher beings, to more comprehensive, universal entities, which the sacrificing beings must look up to as their highest bliss, what remains as a restrained longing of the will can never be the same in terms of inner mood and inner soul content as what they could experience if they were allowed to sacrifice. For if they were allowed to sacrifice, the sacrifice would be to the other beings. We can use the following comparison: if the beings of the earth and the other planets were allowed to sacrifice to the sun, they would be with the sun. If they were not allowed to sacrifice to the sun, if they had to hold back what they could otherwise sacrifice, then they would be with themselves, pushed back into themselves.
If we grasp what has just been said in a few words, we realize that something is entering the universe. Understand clearly that it cannot be expressed any other way: the beings who sacrifice to another being that lives in all of them, who would be devoted to something universal, are now, if the sacrifice is not accepted, dependent on carrying it within themselves. Do you not sense that something flashes in here that is called egoity, which later emerges as egoism in all its forms? Viewed in this way, one must feel what later—poured into development, so to speak—lives on in beings as an inheritance. With longing, we see egoism flash up, at first in its weakest form, but we see it creeping into the development of the world. And so we see how beings who surrender themselves to longing, that is, to themselves, to their egoism, are in a certain sense condemned to one-sidedness, to a mere life within themselves, unless something else intervenes.
Let us imagine a being that is allowed to sacrifice itself: it lives in another being, and it always lives in the other. A being that is not allowed to sacrifice can only live within itself. This excludes it from what it might experience in others, and in this case in higher beings. At this point, the corresponding beings would already be excluded from evolution, condemned and banished to one-sidedness, if something did not intervene in the course of development to remove this one-sidedness. This is the emergence of new beings who hold back condemnation and banishment into one-sidedness. As on Saturn we see beings of will, and on the Sun beings of wisdom, so on the Moon we see the spirits of movement appearing, whereby we must not imagine spatial movement, but must understand “movement” as having a more mental character. Everyone is familiar with the expression “thought movement,” although this is only the flow, the fluidity of one's own thoughts; but from this you will already see that if we want to acquire a more comprehensive concept of movement, we must resort to something other than mere movement in space, which is only a single type of movement as a whole, in order to explain movement. When many people are devoted to a higher being that expresses itself, as it were, in all of them because it accepts sacrifices from all of them, then all these many people live in the One and are satisfied therein. But when the sacrifices are rejected, the many live in themselves and cannot be satisfied. Then the spirits of movement enter and, as it were, lead the beings, which would otherwise be dependent only on themselves, to all other beings in a certain way, bringing them into relationship with the others. The spirits of movement are not to be thought of primarily as beings that change location, but rather as beings that bring forth something through which a being enters into ever new relationships with other beings.
One can form an idea of what has now been attained at this stage in the cosmos by reflecting again on a corresponding mood of the soul. Who does not know that when longing persists in human beings, it remains unchanged — who does not know how tormenting this becomes and how it casts people into a state that becomes unbearable, which then turns into what we call “boredom” in shallow-minded people? But there are all kinds of intermediate stages of this boredom, which can usually only be attributed to flat-headed people, up to those that are characteristic of great, noble natures, in which there lives what their own nature expresses as longing, and which cannot be satisfied in the outer world. And what satisfies longing more than change? The proof of this is that beings who feel this longing seek relationships with ever new entities. The torment of longing is often overcome by what are changed relationships with ever new entities.
We see this when the Earth goes through its lunar phases, how the spirits of movement bring change and movement into the lives of longing beings, which would otherwise become desolate—and boredom is also a kind of desolation—and into their relationships with ever new and new entities or with ever new and new states. Spatial, local movement is only one type of this more comprehensive movement we have just been discussing. We have movement when we are able to have a certain thought in our soul in the morning, but do not need to hold on to it, instead being able to move on to something else. In this way, we overcome one-sidedness in longing through diversity, through change and the movement of experience. In outer space, we have only a special kind of this change.
Let us imagine a planet facing a sun. If it were always in the same position relative to the sun, it would not move, and it would remain in that one-sidedness that can only arise from always facing only one side of the sun. Then the spirits of movement come and lead the planet around the sun in order to bring change into its state. Change of location is only one type of change. And by bringing change of location into the cosmos, the spirits of movement bring only one specific feature into what movement is in general.
But because the spirits of movement bring movement and change into the universe as we have come to know it, something else must also come into it. We have seen that in this evolution, in the whole cosmic diversity that develops as the spirits of movement, spirits of personality, spirits of wisdom, will, and so on, there also lives the substantial, what we have called “giving virtue,” the flow of that which is radiated as wisdom and underlies the spiritual nature of the air, the flow of gases. This now flows together with the will transformed into longing and becomes in these beings what man now knows—not yet as thoughts, but as images. We can best visualize this in the image that humans have when they dream. The fleeting, fluid image of the dream can evoke an idea of “what happens in a being in which the will lives as longing and is led by the spirits of movement into a relationship with other beings. And in being brought to the other being, it cannot completely surrender itself, since its own ego lives within it. But it can take up the fleeting image of the other, which lives like a dream image within it. Hence what we can call the flooding of images into the soul. We see the rising of image consciousness emerging during this phase of development. And since we humans ourselves have gone through this phase of development without our present earthly ego consciousness, we must imagine that during this phase of development we do not yet have what we attain today through our ego, that we exist and weave in the universe through something living within us that we can only imagine today when we know longing.
In a certain sense, if we do not consider states of suffering such as those on earth, we could imagine that they could not be other than what the poet says: “Only those who know longing know what I suffer.” In a certain sense, suffering and pain, in their spiritual form, naturally enter our beings and the beings of other beings connected with our evolution. And through the activity of the spirits of movement, the otherwise empty inner being, the inner being suffering from longing, is filled with the balm that pours into these beings in the form of images. Otherwise, these beings would be empty in their souls, empty of anything other than what could be called longing. But the balm of images trickles in, filling the desolation and emptiness with diversity and leading the beings away from their banishment and damnation.
If we take such words seriously, we have at the same time what lies spiritually at the basis of what developed during the moon phase of our Earth and what we now have in the deep foundations of our consciousness because the Earth phase of our being has superimposed itself on it. But we have it — and this will be shown in a popular way in the public lecture the day after tomorrow — in the depths of our soul in such a way that, like what swirls beneath the surface of the sea and drives waves upward, it can play out without us knowing the reasons for what then enters our consciousness. Beneath the surface of our ordinary ego-consciousness, we have a soul life that can “play up.” And what does this soul life say to the human being when it plays up? If we contemplate the cosmic background of this subconscious soul life, we can say: The soul life that we feel rising up from the soul background is a manifestation of what has moved from the lunar phase of evolution into what has entered into us during the Earth phase itself. And when we really contemplate the interaction of the lunar nature with our earthly nature, then we have the actual reason for what has been spiritually transferred from the old moon to earthly existence.
Consider that, as we have characterized it, it was necessary that images always had to arise to satisfy a desolation. Then you will get an idea of something of great weight, of great significance: the longing human soul in its yearning, tormenting emptiness, which is satisfied or harmonized by the introduction of images, which in turn can only take the place of other images. And when the images are there and have been there for a while, the old longing dawns again from the depths, and the spirits of movement lead them to new images. And when the new images have been there for a while, the longing strikes again for new images. And we must utter the weighty words in relation to such a spiritual life: If the longing is satisfied only by images that chase after new images, then this is the flowing infinity without end. Only what must come can come into this, when something takes the place of the images flowing into infinity that can redeem the longing through something other than mere images, namely through realities. In other words, the planetary embodiment of our Earth, in which we have gone through the phase in which the images brought about by the activity of the spirits of movement are the satisfaction of longing, must be replaced by the planetary phase of Earth's embodiments, which we must call the phase of redemption. And we will see that the Earth is to be called the “planet of redemption,” just as we can call the previous embodiment of the Earth, the Moon, the “planet of longing,” which is indeed a longing to be satisfied, but one that, in its satisfaction, flows into a never-ending infinity. And while we live in earthly consciousness—which, as we have seen, brings us redemption through the Mystery of Golgotha—that which continually longs for redemption rises up during this life from the depths of our soul. It is as if we had the waves of ordinary consciousness above us, and below, in the depths of the sea of soul life, the depths of our soul live as longing, as something that always wants to rise up after the sacrifice has been made, to the universal being that suddenly satisfies the desire, not in an endless succession of images, but gives satisfaction all at once.
Earthly human beings already feel these moods—and they are the very best when they feel them. And those earthly human beings who, in our time, feel this longing in accordance with our particular age, are basically those who come to our spiritual scientific movement. There, people learn to recognize in life outside themselves everything that satisfies their ordinary, higher consciousness in its details; but then, from the subconscious, there rises up that which can never be satisfied in its details, that which longs for the central core of life. And this central reason can only be provided by a universal science that deals not only with the details but with the totality of life. What plays in the depths of the soul and wants to be brought up into the conscious mind must be met, in the spirit of our time, by an occupation with the universal existence that lives in the world; for otherwise, what longs for something it can never attain will rise up from the depths of the soul.
In this sense, spiritual science is a response to those longings that live in the depths of the soul. And because everything that happens later in the world has its prelude, we need not be surprised at a person who, living in the present age, would seek satisfaction for the power of longing in his soul through spiritual science, if he were consumed by soul forces that are like longings and of which he is not initially aware. Since he lived in an earlier age when this spiritual wisdom did not exist and he therefore could not yet have it, it is as if he were consumed by it, had an everlasting longing for it, and could not understand life — precisely because he is an outstandingly great spirit. While today something could flow into his soul that would satisfy his longing for images, which only the ode can drown out, he longed for this pursuit of images to cease, and the more powerful this pursuit was, the more he longed for it! And can the voice of this man, as it is now expressed, not appear to us as the utterance of a mind living in a time when he cannot yet have this spiritual wisdom, which pours into the longing of the soul like balm, when we hear him write to another:
“Who would want to be happy in this world? Shame on you, I would almost say, if you want it! What short-sightedness, O noble man, it takes to strive for something here, where everything ends in death. We meet, we love each other for three springs, and then we flee from each other for eternity. And what is worthy of striving for if it is not love! Ah, there must be something else than love, happiness, fame, and x, y, zZ, of which our souls dream nothing.”
It cannot be an evil spirit that stands at the top of the world; it is merely an incomprehensible one! Do we not also smile when children cry? Just think, this infinite continuation! Myriads of periods of time, each one a life, and for each one an appearance like this world! What might be the name of the little star that can be seen on Sirius when the sky is clear? And this whole immense firmament is but a speck of dust against infinity! O Rühle, tell me, is this a dream? Between two leaves of a lime tree, when we lie on our backs in the evening, a view richer in premonitions than thoughts can grasp and words can express. Come, let us do something good and die in the process! One of the millions of deaths we have already died and will die again. It is as if we are moving from one room to another. Look, the world seems boxed in to me, the small is similar to the large!” From a letter by Heinrich von Kleist from 1806.
The longing he was able to express in such words urges a spirit to write to a friend—a spirit that has not yet been able to find satisfaction for this longing through what the modern soul can find when it approaches the spiritual sciences with energetic understanding. For this spirit is the one who, a hundred years ago, ended his life by first shooting his girlfriend Henriette Vogel and then himself, and who now rests in that lonely grave on the Wannsee, which closed over his body a hundred years ago.
It is a strange coincidence, one might say karma, that we are discussing the mood that best characterizes what we are trying to grasp when we speak of the interaction of the restrained sacrifices of will in longing, the satisfaction of this longing, which could only come from the spirits of the movement, and the urge for final satisfaction, as it could only come on the planet of redemption—it is a strange karmic coincidence that, according to our usual program, we had to talk about this here on a day that reminds us how a spirit could express the indefinite longing in the highest words and finally recast it into the most tragic deed which could embody that longing. And how could we fail to recognize that this spirit in its entirety, as it stands before us, is actually a living embodiment of what lives deep within the soul, which we must trace back to something other than earthly existence if we want to understand it? Did Heinrich von Kleist not describe most meaningfully what can live in a human being—as you will find described on the very first pages of “The Spiritual Guidance of Man and Humanity”—of what goes beyond him, drives him, and what he can only understand later, if he does not interrupt the thread of his life beforehand?
Let us think of his “Penthesilea”: how much more is there in Penthesilea than she can comprehend with her earthly consciousness! We could not understand her in all her uniqueness if we did not assume that her soul is infinitely greater than the narrow little soul that she—even if it is a great one—comprehends with her earthly consciousness. Therefore, a situation must come into play that artificially brings the subconscious into the drama. Indeed, it must even be prevented that the entire process, as Kleist introduces it to Achilles, can be understood by the conscious mind, otherwise we would not be able to experience the full tragedy. Penthesilea is led to Achilles as a prisoner, but she is led to believe that he is her prisoner. Therefore, he is “her” Achilles. What lives in the conscious mind must be plunged into the unconscious.
And how does this subconscious play into a story such as “Käthchen von Heilbronn,” especially in the strange relationship between Käthchen and the weather from the beam, which does not take place in the superconscious, but in the deeper layers of the soul, where the forces are that humans know nothing about, which pass from one to another. When we have this before us, we sense the spiritual that lies in the ordinary forces of gravity and attraction in the world. Can you feel what lies in the forces of the world, for example in the scene where Käthchen stands before her beloved, where we see what lives in the subconscious and how it is related to what lives outside in the world, and what is described with the sober, dry words “forces of attraction—and so on—of the planets”? But even a penetrating and striving mind a hundred years ago could not dive into this subconscious. Today it must happen.
And so today, the tragedy of “The Prince of Homburg” stands before us in a completely different light. I would like to know how the abstract thinkers, who want to derive everything that humans accomplish solely from the intellect, can explain a character such as the Prince of Homburg, who carries out all his great deeds in a kind of dream state, even those that ultimately lead to victory. And Kleist clearly points out that he could not achieve victory from his higher consciousness, that even according to his higher consciousness he is not a particularly great man, for he whimpers in the face of death. And only when a special impulse of will brings forth what lives in the depths of his soul does he find the courage to act.
What has remained to human beings as a legacy from the lunar consciousness is something that cannot be brought forth by abstract science, but must be brought forth by the multifaceted, subtle concepts that attack spiritual things with soft contours on all sides, which spiritual science brings. The greatest is bound to the middle and bound to the ordinary.
Thus we see that spiritual science shows us how the states we experience in our souls today are formed in the cosmos, in the universe. But we also see how what we experience in our souls can give us a concept of what is spiritually present in the depths of things. But we also see how our time had to come in order to satisfy what was longed for in the time that preceded ours, how people desired what our time alone can give. And a kind of reverence for such people, who could not find their way in the past in relation to what what their hearts desired and what the world could not give them, a certain reverence for such people can also consist in our remembering how all human life belongs together and how people today can devote their lives to those spiritual movements which, as their destinies show us, people have long needed.
Thus, on a day that marks the centenary of the tragic death of one of the most yearning of human beings, we can point to spiritual science as a bringer of salvation for human longing, reminding us how what spiritual science can offer has been demanded by human beings for a long time, both stormily and wistfully. This is a thought we can grasp, and one that is perhaps also anthroposophical, on the centenary of the death of one of Germany's greatest poets.