The Rudolf Steiner Archive

3. Sacramentalism: Daedalus and Icarus

[ 1 ] Is knowledge of what Theosophy teaches something that is of particular importance and significance to a wider audience, or is Theosophy something intended only for a select few who are especially interested in it? This question leads to a topic that is very rarely discussed, but one that must be addressed: namely, so-called sacramentalism and the special task of our present root race. The question is: What is sacramentalism, and how does our purely human task relate to it?—One might ask: What significance does it have for any craftsman who works all day in a carpenter’s shop to know that Lohengrin, once an emissary of the Holy Grail, inspired the most important cultural movements of the Middle Ages? What significance does all this talk of lofty spiritual and ideal goals have for the general public anyway? — The entire question is answered once one understands the essence of sacramentalism.

[ 2 ] Today, building on the views of the Greeks, I would like to speak about the origin of our present, post-Atlantean root race in relation to the preceding one, the Atlantean root race, and to expand on this with some additional remarks regarding the significance of sacramentalism. You are all familiar with the legend of Daedalus and Icarus, as well as the legend of Theseus. I would like to briefly touch upon the immensely profound meaning contained in the Daedalus-Icarus legend. It is said that there once lived a man named Daedalus who was capable of creating works of art that were alive—statues that could see and hear, machines that moved of their own accord. Daedalus understood all of this. He was respected throughout the land, but he was also extraordinarily ambitious. He had a nephew, Talos, whom he taught and who soon surpassed him in certain respects. We are told that Talos was able to use potter’s wheels and that he also mastered certain arts that were foreign to Daedalus. Talos, for example, studied the jaws of a snake and had the idea of fashioning a saw from the snake’s teeth. Thus he became the inventor of the saw. If we compare the characteristics we see in Daedalus with those we see in Talos, we will see that Daedalus’s achievements pertain to things that have already become foreign to our fifth root race. In contrast, Talos invents things that belong to the technical skills of the fifth root race. If we draw a comparison with the fourth root race, the Atlanteans, we see how the Atlanteans were able to apply the power of Vril, just as we use steam to power locomotives, machines, and so on. This art was lost in the post-Atlantean era. In contrast, our era possesses the modern ability to assemble inorganic objects into machines. The legend seeks to illustrate this transition. Daedalus eventually succeeds in crafting a kind of wing with which he is able to rise above the earth. His son Icarus wants to do the same, but he fails and perishes in the attempt. This contrast is meant to illustrate, from the Greek perspective, that the various epochs of Earth’s development have different tasks. If one epoch of Earth’s development were to undertake a task suited only to another, it would perish in the process. Everything in its place, everything in its time.

[ 3 ] Now, Greek mythology has linked the Daedalus legend to something else as well. After killing Talos, Daedalus goes to Crete to see Minos. There is a monster there: the Minotaur. The Minotaur stands in contrast to the Sphinx. The Minotaur has the head of a bull and the body of a man, while the Sphinx has the head of a man and the body of an animal. The Minotaur must be restrained to prevent his devastating rampages. Daedalus is tasked with subduing him; he does this by building a labyrinth for him. The Minotaur must be fed human flesh. Every nine years, seven youths and seven maidens must be sacrificed to him. The legend of Theseus is connected to the legend of the Minotaur. Theseus was the son of Aegeus. Aegeus had decreed that Theseus should retrieve the sword and sandals from beneath a large boulder, where his father had hidden them. After Theseus had accomplished various feats in Athens, he went to Crete to slay the Minotaur and free the city of Athens from the obligation to deliver the seven youths and seven maidens. The Greeks had always sought something very special in Crete. It is also said that Lycurgus studied in Crete, received his constitution for a kind of communist commune there, and brought it to Sparta; for there is said to have been a constitution in Crete that was common to all ancient priestly states—these were remnants of the ancient Atlantean priestly communism, which renounced all personal property. A form of communism is associated with every original religious foundation. Even Plato regarded Crete as the seat of an exemplary constitution. This priestly constitution is a remnant of the ancient Atlantean order. Daedalus was able to banish what was harmful in Crete because he was familiar with Atlantean life. In the Minotaur, we must see the embodiment of black magic in Crete. This must now come to an end. Now the Athenians no longer wish to send the seven youths and the seven maidens to Crete. Theseus’s ship set sail with black sails. After defeating the Minotaur, he intended to hoist a white sail in place of the former black one. Black magic was to become white. With the help of Ariadne’s thread, Theseus succeeds in his undertaking and returns to Athens, [but he forgot to hoist the white sails]. The Greeks, however, were not yet ready to be fully worthy of the white path. Love is to reign in the thread of Ariadne. Yet even in that era, there were already indications pointing toward Christianity, such that the principle of love—Ariadne—is usurped by Bacchus, who has not yet developed this principle, which is to be spread through Christianity. Like Hercules, Theseus was regarded as a hero, a sun-walker, and one initiated to the sixth degree.

[ 4 ] Such a complex of legends became part of the folk heritage in Greece. The people as a whole were familiar with these legends. Why did the priests seek to imbue the legends with the mysteries of the universe? Every priest would have regarded it as something unholy—indeed, as an unthinkable desecration—to allow anything to enter the poetry that did not possess a profound meaning. At the same time, the priest was well aware that the profound meaning could not be readily grasped by the people. The people were told fables, fairy tales, and myths; within them lay the profound meaning. This is the fundamental characteristic of all ancient literature. The further back we go, the deeper the meaning becomes. There is no literature from those times that does not possess a deep meaning. It was only in later times that people departed from this priestly perspective and produced works that no longer contained any of these spiritual mysteries. Even in the marketplace, only things that flowed from spiritual life were to be presented. If we keep this in mind, we can say that there was no leadership other than that of the priests at that time. It was only later that the priest-king was replaced by the secular king. This marked the transition from the ancient priestly kingdoms to secular kingdoms—the term “archon” means “administrator-king.”

[ 5 ] An example of this view is the legend of the founding of the Roman state. In ancient times, history was not conceived of as a narrative of external events. It was not until Herodotus that history began to be told as a chronicle. Before that, this did not exist. Everything was presented in symbolic form. What the eyes see and the ears hear was meant to signify something higher back then; it was meant to be an expression of the spiritual. When the priest sought to explain the origins of the Roman people, he would recount the following: Whenever something of this nature comes to pass, the seven sacred principles come into play in the world. Everything happens in the sequence of the seven principles. First, the divine founder descends from heaven. Then the priest extracts what is alive in the matter; this then lives as Kama. Then, within the Kama, Manas—the intellect—is born. The body, which is itself sacred, lives in heaven. It is unholy only when it is misused. These are the four lower principles. Then the three higher ones must enter. Something that is more perfect, more complete, must ascend.

[ 6 ] This was also the case with the founding of the city of Rome. First came Romulus; he came from the heavenly spheres, and he was the founder. Rome was a city founded by the ancient Trojans. King Numitor of Alba Longa was a descendant of Aeneas, who had landed in Latium with Trojan refugees. We need only understand the words: “alba longa” refers to the white, long robe of Catholic priests. Amulius means “the unmarried one,” the priest. Rome was thus a city of priests, a daughter city of Troy. Numitor is the man of will. He is initially banished to the forest but becomes the progenitor of the founders of the city of Rome. Romulus is the founder of Roman culture, the first king. He is also elevated to the ranks of the gods under the name Quirinus. The second king is Numa Pompilius. The third king is Tullus Hostilius; he is the representative of Kama; war reigns there; what is known in Theosophy as Kama-Rupa develops. The fourth king is Ancus Martius; he is the representative of Kama-Manas. Technical endeavors take place during this period. When the fourth principle had matured, Etruscan culture was brought into being. Tarquinius Priscus, the fifth king, introduces Manas. He constructed the great buildings and aqueducts. What is called Manas is represented in Tarquinius Priscus. The sixth principle is Budhi. It brings about the blessings of human coexistence through love and justice. Servius Tullius is the sixth king of the Romans. He was the one who established order and enacted laws that corresponded to those of the Etruscans. The seventh king is Tarquinius Superbus, the Sublime One, who, however, fell from grace.

[ 7 ] This is how the priest viewed the founding of the city of Rome. It was not merely an interpretation, but a reality. The cities were governed in such a way that the seven principles served as the guidelines for rule. If something is to flourish on Earth, it must be created in accordance with the order of the seven principles. A priest would never have done anything that was meant to be done by his successor. All of this was recorded in the temple books, which were called the Sibylline Books. This was, as it were, the blueprint of history. The priests had to follow the Sibylline Books.

[ 8 ] Here we are dealing with the manifestation of spiritual forces that were alive in this priestly culture. We see that the world was guided and directed by spirituality. It was only later that understanding of this spiritual rule was lost. We are told of the Etruscan chief god Tages, who is said to have risen from the earth while a field was being plowed. Engineering structures and the arts and crafts were the hallmarks of Etruscan culture. Every stone in Etruscan architecture reveals that there is something special about it. The aim was to bear the greatest loads using the least amount of material. This is the principle underlying Etruscan architecture, particularly its vaulted and arched structures. This spiritually guided culture has descended onto the physical plane. Personal competence now takes precedence. Any awareness of a connection between the most menial tasks and the spiritual ceases to exist. To the occultist, it is clear whether a person standing in a particular place has heard anything of the divine intentions and purposes and whether they have absorbed anything of what has flowed forth from the spiritual realm, for such a person performs even the most mundane tasks in a completely different way than someone for whom this is not the case. The consecration that flows from the higher spheres into earthly life does not pour forth in the same way for those who are attached only to the physical plane. It is the essence of sacramentalism that a person fills everyday life with spiritual consecration. The ancient legends were intended to attune people’s souls to the right vibrations, so that they might be filled with spiritual power. Even the simplest action of a naive mind can be sanctified in this way. This is something that is effective and will always remain so. Whoever knows this also knows that a change of course is necessary in our culture. No matter how hard one tries to bring harmony and order to this physical plane, it will fail as long as one works solely on the physical plane; if harmony is created on one side, disharmony will arise on the other. But if you allow the spiritual to take effect, you will see that everyday life is approached in an entirely different way. That is sacramentalism.

[ 9 ] This idea also underlies Christian sacramentalism: healing from the spiritual plane. A sacrament is a physical act performed in such a way that it symbolically expresses a spiritual process. It is a symbolism that finds its justification on higher planes. Nothing in a sacrament is arbitrary. Everything, down to the smallest detail, is a reflection of a higher occult process. Anyone who wishes to understand a sacrament—in which the ceremony is a reflection of a spiritual process—must familiarize themselves with what underlies it. It is an occult process that is hidden from the physical eye. In every form of sacramentalism, not only does something intellectual take place, but something with a real, occult significance also occurs. Let us take, for example, the occult significance of fire. Fire did not exist in the earliest epochs of development. It could only arise once the Earth had become sufficiently condensed that this fire could be kindled from earthly matter. Therefore, the invention of fire is described to us as a process of our fifth root race.

[ 10 ] Prometheus brought fire from heaven to earth. The creation of fire has shaped the character of our culture. Imagine what it would be like if we had no fire. In the earliest epochs, people had not yet discovered fire. Our development owes everything intellectual and technical to fire. Fire is what brings us down to the physical plane. We owe our material culture to fire. The priests therefore had to see something special in fire. That is why, in the second post-Atlantean cultural epoch, the Persian magicians saw in fire, above all, that which must be at work in the sacrament. What did the Persian priest ceremonially bring about on his altar? Occultism knows that there were seven Zoroasters. The Zoroaster of history is the seventh. The Persian magician had a special way of producing fire. This process was a reflection of the great cosmic origin of fire. There stood the Persian magician with his thyrsus, performing his ceremonies—ceremonies well known to every occultist, but known only to the occultist. This process was a reflection of the great cosmic origin of fire. When the priestly schools no longer knew how to produce fire with the thyrsus, they at least sought a natural fire. At first, they created fire through lightning, and then they perpetuated it through the so-called eternal fire, which was only ever allowed to be kindled from another flame. Fire obtained from nature is said to be more effective than artificially produced fire. When an animal epidemic broke out in England in 1826 and in Hanover in 1828, people took wood and struck it to create fire, because they believed that the herbs boiled with it would be more effective.

[ 11 ] Human beings must once again infuse every gesture and every step with spiritual life; and reintroducing this is the task and the aspiration of the spiritual movement. The sacramentalism of earlier times must return. One must realize that acting from the spirit is different from acting from the material. To let spiritual life flow forth once more—that is our goal.