The Rudolf Steiner Archive

4. Germanic Legends

[ 1 ] On several Mondays here at the Besant Branch, we have attempted to outline the occult foundations of Germanic myths, and last Monday we began to expand on the entire body of mythological material as it stretches across a broad cultural belt from Persia through Eastern Europe and across Europe itself. It might not be appropriate to continue from that point today, because many of our friends who are present today were not present at that time. And so we shall attempt to structure today’s lecture more independently; we shall attempt to present some aspects of European mythology in general without relying on the premises of the last two lectures. Consequently, of course, we are compelled today to treat certain matters in a very aphoristic manner.

[ 2 ] I would like to remind you that the number twelve among the higher gods—which is simply twice the number six, as we saw last time in the Amshaspands—also recurs in the number of Germanic gods, a number whose significance we explored eight days ago. Today we will focus only on individual gods, and of these, only on specific attributes, in order to demonstrate the occult foundations of such gods and such divine attributes. We have recognized the kinship between Germanic mythology and Persian mythology. We have discovered that the mythology originating over in Asia depicts the same things as the Central European myths. In the powers of the six Amshaspands, we recognized the twelve pairs of nerves emanating from our head, and in the twenty-eight Izards, we recognized the forces emanating from our spine.

[ 3 ] You all know that Wotan-Odin belongs to this pantheon of Germanic gods as a kind of supreme deity; furthermore, we have discussed Thor and his daughter, Truth, in their occult significance; and we have touched upon Tyr, who was a kind of battle deity, a god of war, but a peculiar god of war, and who in a certain sense corresponds to the more southern Mars or Ares; he corresponds to him to such an extent that even Tuesday, as Tyr’s Day or Tius’ Day, is dedicated to this god. But it is strange; we are told of other spiritual beings who play a certain role in the events unfolding among the Germanic gods, and a peculiar god—or let us say a family of gods, that of Loki—is brought into a specific relationship precisely with Tyr. You know—and the occult basis has been explained to the members of the Besant branch—that this Loki, who stands alongside the other Norse gods, descends from those fire powers whose southern origin we have characterized. While the Norse gods descend from the union of the fire element of the South and the cold, misty element of the North, in Loki we have before us an older god, or at least a scion of an older deity, a kind of fire god. We can therefore say that this Loki, who harbors so much hostility toward the other gods, belongs to an older race of spiritual beings who had to cede their rule for a time to those to whom Wotan, Tyr, and Thor belong. Hence he has declared war on them and lives at war with the Aesir, with those gods who only came to power when the Atlantean people evolved out of their earlier states and developed into the post-Atlantean people; that is where the Aesir have their significance. Those spiritual beings to which Loki belongs originate from much earlier times. Among other things, this Loki has three offspring of a most peculiar nature by his wife Angrboda, who is of the race of giants: the Fenris Wolf, the Midgard Serpent, and Hel, the goddess of the underworld. These three beings, who can thus be traced back to earlier times, must first be subdued by the new gods, the Aesir, so that the new states of consciousness can develop within humanity. As is well known, the Midgard Serpent is subdued by being cast into the sea and coiled around the continents, so that it bites its own tail and is powerless for the duration of the reign of the new gods, the Aesir, who have replaced the earlier gods. The Fenris Wolf is subdued and bound by various means, but precisely through this, a certain relationship emerges between the god Tyr, the imperious god of war or battle, and his family and Loki. The god Tyr must thrust one hand into the Fenriswolf’s maw so that it may be bound, and thereby loses his right hand. This is a very remarkable feature of Germanic mythology, which can only be understood through the lens of occultism. We shall later seek out this hand of Tyr and see where it actually is. Hel, however, was banished to the underworld, to Niflheim or Nebelheim, where all those who have not fallen on the battlefield must go to her. Those who fall on the battlefield are united with the race of gods; upon their death, the Valkyrie appears to them and brings them up to the Aesir themselves. They have an honorable death. The fate is different for those who have died a so-called “natural death,” who have fallen victim to illness or old age; they must descend into the realm of Hel, where sorrow, deprivation, hunger, and torment reign. Thus, the dead who died a natural death were of no use to the realm of the Aesir; they were banished to Hel so that there might be peace during the reign of the Aesir. In this way, the children of Loki were barred from the rule of the Aesir. Loki himself, however, was outwitted and captured by the gods when he had transformed himself into a salmon. He was chained to three rock slabs and suffered great torment.

[ 4 ] All these legends take on a special character because a peculiar tragic element pervades the entire existence of the Aesir, a point we have often discussed. Those who have heard the lectures on Norse mythology know that this tragic element was certainly present in the initiation sites of the Norse mysteries. It was also incorporated into the legends of the gods. The Norse gods, the Aesir, live in constant fear of their downfall, for they know that one day their realm will come to an end. We are constantly confronted by a tragic element that tells us why this realm will come to an end. This tragic element is that, ever since the beginning of war and strife on Earth, the seeds have been sown for what will one day be the great, devastating Ragnarök, when everything the gods once bound will be set loose again, when the Fenrir wolf, the Midgard Serpent, and Loki himself will be freed and bring about the downfall of the Aesir. A particularly outstanding spirit from the realm of fire will come, Sutur, and the Aesir will have to yield to his power. The twilight of the gods will be upon us, and from the world-fire of the Old World, the new world will arise. Once again, the saga tells us of a strange feature: When the Fenris Wolf is unleashed, he will open his jaws so wide that his upper jaw will reach up to the heavens and his lower jaw will be buried in the earth; his breath will burn the entire world.

[ 5 ] You are all familiar with this mythological world. And let us now examine the occult foundations of the characteristics we have just mentioned. In doing so, we will recall the fact that the Aesir—that is, the gods to whom Wotan, Tyr, and Thor, began their reign and became world-ruling powers after humanity, in the late Atlantean era, made the transition from an earlier clairvoyant state of consciousness—in which it could still perceive the spiritual world—to the post-Atlantean state, in which it existed solely in the sensory world, the world of outwardly, physically visible facts. We know that it was precisely at that point on Earth where heat and cold met that the first small group of people formed, who migrated eastward and founded the post-Atlantean culture. We know that ancient Atlantis was a land in which the air was still entirely filled with mists and fog, with vast expanses of water vapor. If we were to explore the earliest times of Atlantis, we would recognize two regions: in the north, dense, cooler water vapor, and rising from the south, hot water vapor. The Atlanteans had a very special memory of this time. This is reflected in the part of the legend that alludes to the cold North colliding with the hot South. Through this balancing of forces, as I have shown, that atmosphere could arise from which emerged what became post-Atlantean spirituality. That which the ancient Atlanteans possessed—spiritual perception—has departed from human beings; it has gone to the gods. The gods, of course, have preserved the old clairvoyance, but they can now only speak to and influence human beings from the outside, because human beings themselves no longer possessed clairvoyance. What human beings once possessed themselves—clairvoyance—they now attributed solely to the gods, who dwell far from them, above them.

[ 6 ] Let us now recall how, little by little, the heavy mists of ancient Atlantis descended, how Atlantis was flooded by vast masses of water, and how, little by little, the physical world emerged from the purifying air. Let us recall how that which had never existed before came into being—something that could only emerge as the downpours poured down and the air gradually cleared: the rainbow arose. The rainbow was a phenomenon that people saw for the first time with the downfall of Atlantis. As the ancient clairvoyance of humanity faded away, they saw the rainbow rise for the first time, which was to form the bridge between them and the gods. That is the bridge Bifröst. People truly saw all of this, and the legends merely recount what they saw.

[ 7 ] What have people lost as a result of this having taken place? They have lost what the waters of wisdom once provided them with all around. When the waters still filled the air, they whispered wisdom to the people. The trickling of the springs, the rustling of the wind, the lapping of the waves—all of this whispered wisdom to them. People understood all of this; to them, it was all a language of spiritual beings, and now it had sunk down into the sea, into the rivers. That had been a different spiritual world than the world of the Aesir; it was a world that still contained within itself the last remnants of humanity’s origin in the spiritual. Everything that had filled the air had sunk down into the sea. Wisdom had sunk down with the waters. This is a real fact. In the waters that encircled the continents and touched one another, the ancient ancestors of the Central European population saw the Midgard Serpent. It preserved the ancient wisdom that had sunk down, which people had once possessed and could no longer possess. The power of clairvoyance had to disappear among humans. The gods could never have ruled from the outside as long as humans themselves were still clairvoyant. The Midgard Serpent, a daughter of the forces of fire, had to be cast down into the sea.

[ 8 ] The last descendant of these fiery forces was Loki. Loki was the enemy of the gods. He had given humanity what remained of their last clairvoyance: the Midgard Serpent, which was now bound. But Loki gave humanity something else as well; something else came from the ancient, primordial fire-origin of the human race in the land of the Lemurians, though it could only develop in the land of the Atlanteans. What had developed there little by little as humans evolved from clairvoyance to reason? Language! We have often spoken of this. As humanity gradually learned to walk upright—this was during the Atlantean era—language also developed; it developed little by little, so that it was not fully formed until the end of the Atlantean era. When the Atlanteans, with their well-developed intellect, migrated eastward, language was already developed. But as long as it was the language of the Atlanteans, it was a unified language that was modeled on the unified sounds of nature itself. It was an imitation of what the Atlanteans had heard during the time of clairvoyance and clairaudience from the trickling springs, the roaring winds, the rustling of the trees, the rumbling of thunder, and the lapping of the waves. They translated these sounds into their language, and that was the common language of the Atlanteans. It was not until the post-Atlantean era that what might be called the differences between individual languages and idioms—the elements of the various languages—began to take shape and develop. The ancient Atlantean language, which was drawn from the elements of nature, from those forces with which Loki is so intimately intertwined, had to take on different forms as the Aesir became rulers and humanity divided into peoples and tribes. Through the separation of humanity into tribes and the conflict among the individual tribes, what is called war arose. What was this war fought over? Why did it come about? Through language, humanity was given something for its development that allows it to express its innermost feelings outwardly. From an occult standpoint, this is one of the most important advances in evolution: when the soul is able to express its own pain, joy, and desire outwardly through sound. Language, when articulated from within, when it gives voice to the soul, is something that endows humanity with a powerful force. This force had to be subdued by the Aesir; otherwise, they could not have ruled. How did the Aesir subdue the ancient unified language? They did so by dividing humanity into different tribes and thus into different tongues. The undivided unity of language was a mighty power—the Fenris Wolf. To prevent this power from asserting itself on the Aesir’s stage, the Aesir had to tame the Fenris Wolf; that is, they had to fragment the language, they had to make the language diverse, so that they could rule over humanity. In doing so, they created war. War is connected to this diversity of languages. But one thing was necessary for the Aesir to become rulers: the god of war had to thrust his hand into the jaws of the Fenriswolf, and he had to leave his hand there. The hand of Tyr, the god of war, is in the Fenriswolf’s jaws as a tongue. It is the human tongue that gives rise to the various languages. The human tongue had to take such a form that the old unity of language was lost. It is the individualization of language that is hinted at in this profound myth of the Fenriswolf. In the myth, every organ is in some way linked to the external influences of the gods. Here you have the organ of the tongue and the way in which the progressive organic development of human beings is expressed figuratively.

[ 9 ] Something else also came about as the Atlanteans were gradually being prepared for the later post-Atlantean epoch. After all, the individual states of human consciousness were quite different in the time of ancient Atlantis than they are today. We have already mentioned that a certain degree of clairvoyance still existed; but this meant that the Atlantean did not know the difference between the sleeping state and the waking state as we know it today. The distinct difference between the sleeping state and the waking state actually only emerged in the post-Atlantean era. Of course, this was a slow process, but this preparation merely laid the groundwork for what the alternation between waking and sleeping came to mean in the post-Atlantean era.

[ 10 ] The ancient Atlantean dreamed by day and dreamed by night. The dreams of the night corresponded more closely to reality than the dreams of modern humans. And the dreams of the day were a genuine perception of the spiritual world that lived around the Atlantean people, particularly in the early days of Atlantis. However, it was only through the onset of this sharp distinction between waking daytime consciousness and the completely unconscious state of sleep that the relationship between the astral body and the other bodies truly came into its own. Human diseases in their present form only gained their significance in the post-Atlantean era. In the early Atlantean period, these diseases did not yet exist; then, little by little, the illnesses afflicting people grew worse and worse. You all know, of course, what a healing influence the astral body exerts when it is outside the physical body during sleep. Now, although the astral body was no longer entirely outside the physical body during the Atlantean era, it was still, for the most part, more outside than in modern humans; therefore, it was still able to continuously exert its healing influence. It was precisely through the astral body’s penetration into the etheric body and the physical body that entirely new, different relationships between the astral body, the etheric body, and the physical body came into being, and this is what gave rise to the diseases we know today. Diseases only gained significance when the astral body could no longer work on the physical body during the day as well.

[ 11 ] Once again, this is expressed in the myth. Only those who fall on the battlefield die in such a way that they do not fall prey to the powers of the underworld; they still belong to the higher powers and are allowed to ascend to the gods in Valhalla. The others, however, who succumb to the powers of disease, must descend to Hel, which is black on one side and white on the other, clearly expressing the alternation between the states of consciousness of day and night. Thus the Aesir save themselves by taking up only those who, through death on the battlefield, can unite with the astral world, while the others must go down to Hel, who leads them into her realms. This is a profound aspect of Norse mythology, and this aspect, too, is entirely grounded in reality.

[ 12 ] Now, all legends based on occultism—and all truly great legends have, after all, emerged from the mystery schools—always contain prophecy. Here, too, we have a reference to a future state in the development of humanity and the Earth. Only for a time will human beings be limited to perceiving only the outer sensory world. They will once again ascend of their own accord to the perception they originally possessed. In the distant past, they were clairvoyant; they had to descend to physical perception in order to become self-aware, and they will ascend once more to clairvoyant vision. This is remarkably consistent with the entire constitution of the human being. You know—at least those of you who have attended the earlier lectures—you know that the legend attributes the endowment of the nervous system, and indeed the very ability to perceive external things as modern humans do, to the inflow of divine powers through the gates of the senses. But there is a very remarkable distinction within your senses, one that recurs here in the legend in a magnificent way. If you take the sense of hearing: its instrument is a single organ, located in the ear; if you take the sense of sight: its instrument, its organ, is located in the eye; if you take the sense of smell: its instrument is located in the mucous membranes of the nose; the sense of taste is located in the tongue and the palate. But now let us take the sense of sensation, the sense of warmth; where is this located? It is spread throughout the entire body. It differs quite significantly from the other, localized senses. That by which humans perceive warmth is remarkably distinct from the other sensory organs.

[ 13 ] Let us take this meaning of the legend: that the powers of the gods enter through the individual human sense organs. We must then say to ourselves: the powers that dwell in the world of sound enter the human being through the ear; the powers that dwell in the world of light enter through the eye, and so on. But the forces that dwell in the warmth that animates and permeates all things—they fill the whole human being; they have the whole human being as their organ of perception. When the human being emerged from the bosom of the Deity at the beginning of their development, things were quite different. At that time, the human being had no senses with which to perceive the environment. First, that peculiar organ of sensation—which one would wrongly call an eye—formed within him; that organ formed from the out-radiations and inflows into the upper layers of his being. This organ was an extension of the human being outward; even today, you can feel the soft spot on a child’s skull where this organ protruded, as it were, the opening through which these currents flowed in. This organ was, at that time, the localized sense of warmth that is now spread throughout the entire human body. Human beings possessed this organ in ancient Lemuria, the land of fiery heat. They could use it; it told them where they could go, and they could use it to sense whether the temperature was agreeable to them or not. Today this organ has shrunk and become the pineal gland. In the future, what is now spread throughout the entire body will appear transformed again on a higher level; it will be localized in a specific other organ.

[ 14 ] You see this expressed in the myth through the rule of Sutur in the southern region, in Lemuria. The power of fire is represented by Sutur. You see hinted at in the myth how Sutur comes under the rule of the other gods, the Aesir, whose power flows into humans through the localized senses. Yet Sutur will return and reign in the place of the Aesir. Humanity will return to the primal forces of fire, and the sense of warmth will no longer be spread throughout the entire body, but will again be localized in an organ. The legend wonderfully reflects what also corresponds to the facts we know through Spiritual Science. What has humanity retained from that ancient world of fire, from that environment of fire and warmth that it perceived with its ancient organs? What is it? It is not Sutur himself. For to animate this realm in which Sutur existed, humanity needed its ancient organ, the organ of feeling, which protruded from its head like a lantern. It is that “descendant” of the old sense of feeling who must experience the fates of the entire human body, who is completely interwoven with the fate of humanity, and that is the son of Sutur, Loki. Loki is bound to the threefold rock of the human head, the human torso, and the human limbs, so that he cannot move and is therefore exposed to all human torments and sufferings.

[ 15 ] This takes you even deeper into this world of Germanic myths, which possess a depth that is almost impenetrable. One really has to dig very deep to understand, for example, the nature of the enthusiasm that seized an artist like Richard Wagner and drove him to create. It should never be claimed that Richard Wagner could have specified the individual legends in the manner that occultism does. But the spiritual forces that stood behind him and inspired him guided and directed his artistic inspirations in such a way that his art became the most beautiful expression of what underlies the myth. That is the greatness of it: one does not see in the work of art what lies behind it; everything has flowed out into sound and word. A remarkable instinct—if one wishes to call it that trivially, otherwise one would have to call it artistic inspiration—prevails in Richard Wagner. It was as if he spiritually heard those ancient modes of speech that arose within him. He sensed those most ancient modes of speech very keenly, and [this prompted him] not to remain in end-rhyme, for that belongs to a later stage, a stage of the intellect, but to choose that stage of linguistic development which is an echo of the surging waves that splashed forth from the mist of ancient Atlantis: that is alliteration, the assonance that, for those who can perceive it, repeats in sound what might be called the music of the waves.

[ 16 ] In Germanic legend, it is prophesied that the Twilight of the Gods must come to pass because wars have arisen. Because Tyr lost a hand in the jaws of the wolf, the seeds of the gods’ eventual downfall were sown. The prophetic vision of the Germanic legend of the twilight of the gods points to a state in which people will once again understand one another, no longer separated by language. The legend tells us that after the Atlantean population had migrated eastward, it split and fragmented. Only those peoples descended from the Mongolian race, who came over under Etzel or Attila—Atli, the Atlantean—have preserved something of the old Atlantis. They have preserved solely the vital element of the Atlanteans, while the other peoples who remained in Europe developed out of the old blood community through division and disintegrated into wars among the individual tribes. Thus, these peoples in the West always live in divisions, in wars. They can offer little resistance to the onslaught of the Mongolian element, which has still preserved the ancient Atlantean foundations of life. Attila’s or Etzel’s advance is not halted by the Germanic tribes, for the individual tribes are something that cannot impress Attila, who has preserved his ancient, great spirit—a kind of monotheism. What stood against him as individual tribes could not stop him. A curious feature of the legend is that Attila is immediately moved to turn back when he encounters that which transcends blood kinship, when he encounters Christianity, personified in the Pope of that time. There Attila saw the spiritual powers that will unite humanity once more, and that is what the Atlantean initiate bows down before. Christianity is meant to be a preparation for that state of humanity in which Sutur will reappear and, regardless of the differentiation of people into individual tribes, will bring peace to the world. Thus, to the people of that time, Christianity appeared as a first herald of the twilight of the gods and the return of the old times, when people were not yet divided, not yet split and fractured by wars. This is how Christianity was perceived, especially in the very first centuries of its spread, when it was not yet proclaimed from Rome, but came from the north and west through Christian secret societies originating in England and Ireland, and later also from France, and which were completely independent of the external power of Rome. It was Winfried, Boniface, who broke away from the ranks of those Western students of occultism and made peace with Rome, whereby Christianity was then gradually able to take on the distinctive character of the Roman Catholic Church.

[ 17 ] Thus we see the forces at work in the spread of Christianity, emerging from the memory of ancient times and serving as a prophetic hint of a future yet to come. What first appeared in Christianity in Central Europe were the emotional contents that lived within those people at the time and filled the worldview of those who belonged to the mystery schools and who had been taught and inspired by them.

[ 18 ] Let us pause for a moment at this phase of Central European spiritual development and recall what the state of Europe was like at that time, when the old world of the gods—as depicted in Germanic legends—gradually faded into the twilight brought about by the religious world of Christianity. The rise of Christianity was perceived as a harbinger of the great twilight of the gods, that twilight which will one day sweep away the powers of the old gods. Christianity brought about the fading of the old pantheon; the downfall of the old gods themselves will be brought about by the great twilight of the gods, which will then bring to reality what Christianity brought only as faith. That is how it was perceived.

[ 19 ] Let us now try to imagine the atmosphere that prevailed at the time. The tribes of the Goths, the Franks, and so on were, on the one hand, under the shadow of the advancing Mongol tribes and the Hun king Attila—or Etzel—and, on the other hand, under the influence of Christianity, which was gradually spreading. Due to the events we have described, they were fragmented into various tribes; they spoke different languages, and they were divided among themselves. In essence, of all these tribes, only one has actually survived: the Frankish tribe; it has remained, in name and in significance. What remains to remind us of all the tribes that roamed the land, other than history itself: the Lombards, the Ostrogoths and Visigoths, the Cherusci, the Heruli, and so on? The Frankish tribe effectively emerged victorious over the other tribes. But how must one have felt within those tribes that were then in the process of dying out, of decline? It was precisely in the secret schools and among the wise ones of these dying tribes that these feelings were most vivid. Let us consider a tribe such as the Visigoths. They dwelt in northern Spain and southern France, even though they had once migrated far to the east—as you know, the move to the west was, after all, merely a retreat. The abilities they possessed were still an aftereffect of the ancient Atlantean era. As these tribes had migrated from east to west, they had lost their ancient abilities during their journey, but a certain clairvoyance still lived on in the people as an echo of those old abilities. These people were no longer fully clairvoyant, but at certain times they could still see into the spiritual worlds. Yet they often perceived this as something unknown and oppressive, and thus the name “Alp” emerged. Alp—what kind of being is that? It is an astral being that people sensed but no longer truly knew, one they had known in Atlantean times, the times of ancient vision and clairvoyance, and which now appeared in the world like an intruder, much like the Truth we encountered last time. Nevertheless, some people perceived it as a glimpse from the higher, astral world into the physical one. Especially among those tribes that could not adapt to the new conditions, people felt, “when the Alp came and pressed down,” that they could glimpse into the higher worlds. Among all tribes, especially the Goths, but also the Burgundians and other Germanic tribes, there were always individuals—and they were regarded as being in connection with divine powers—who could withstand such exceptional states and interpret them as the astral world projecting into the physical. One such figure was the Gothic king Alphard, who is mentioned in those times when the Goths inhabited southern France. He was king of Aquitaine and reigned there at the time when Attila undertook his march from east to west. Alphard’s son was the legendary Walther of the Walthari Song. This truly represents the transition from that time when people still knew something from their fathers about the ancient abilities and the connections between the old tribes. How tribes and clans were connected in ancient times—the fathers knew this; therefore, Walther’s father, Alphard, had long ago agreed with the King of Burgundy that the king’s daughter, Hildegund, should become Walther’s wife, in order to bridge the looming divide between the peoples. But the tribes were unable to withstand the onslaught of the Huns, who still possessed the ancient vitality that the tribes themselves had lost. Therefore, the following must journey down as hostages to the court of the Hun king Etzel: Walther, the son of Alphard; Hildegund, the daughter of the King of Burgundy; and, as a hostage from the Frankish court, Hagen of Tronje. Because Gunther, the son of the Frankish King Gibich, could not yet be given as a hostage, Hagen, the scion of the ancient Tronje clan, had to be given as a hostage. We need not recount the rest of the Walthari Song. At the court of King Etzel, they distinguish themselves as valiant warriors, but there is one thing they cannot do: they were able to acquire what elevates a person to the level of the self, but they could not acquire that which brings the self back to peace; that was impossible for them. Each one was capable in his own right, which is why they are capable warriors even in enemy territory, at the court of Etzel or Attila. But when Gunther assumed rule over the Frankish realm and no longer maintained friendship with Etzel, they could no longer hold their ground; they had to flee. Now something most remarkable occurs. There is an older version of the Walther Song, in which Walther, after fleeing with Hildegund, fights against the pursuing Huns. This version originates from Franconia. We then have a later version, which was discussed yesterday, that stems from purely Christian intentions; it was finally put into its final form in the 10th century by Ekkehard I, a monk of the Abbey of St. Gallen. Both versions differ significantly from one another. The older version originated in Franconia. It comes from those influenced by that current in which original Christianity still lives on as a secret Christian current, which sought to teach: Turn to the new views, and you will overcome what still lies within you of that old order, which confronts you in the flesh in the Huns. — Only someone from the Frankish tribe could have had this interest. But the one who reinterpreted the legend at the monastery of St. Gallen as instruction for Christians no longer had this interest. He had a different goal; he wanted to tell the people: If you cling to the old ways, you will consume yourselves. — He vividly showed them how they consume themselves. And indeed, it is not the Huns who consume them. When Walther returns with Hildegund to their land, it is Gunther himself who confronts them with Hagen von Tronje. Now it is the three representatives of the Germanic tribes themselves who tear each other apart in battle, so that the leg of one, the eye of another, and the hand of the third are left lying on the battlefield. Walther had his hand cut off, Gunther his leg, and Hagen lost an eye. The one who wrote down the saga surely knew why he had the hand of the man descended from Alphard cut off. He portrays him as the representative of the strife among the tribes and peoples. The severing of the hand is meant to recall what happened to the god of war, Tyr, himself. Where tribes come into conflict, the individual pays with his hand. This motif extends all the way down to Götz von Berlichingen, who also loses his hand; it is the same motif that appears in Germanic mythology. Thus Ekkehard wanted to tell his people: If you cling to these old beliefs, you will tear yourselves apart, for strife has taken root within you. What can unite you is the Christian spirit. — He thus vividly presents before their minds the mental image of which they should learn to abhor. That was Ekkehard’s Christian intention.

[ 20 ] One must be especially careful not to speculate or read anything into this Walthari song. The individual motifs—gouging out the eye, cutting off the hand, severing the leg, and similar motifs—are such that something of the type and form of the legend continues to work within them, and this recurs where it seems necessary. It was rightly said yesterday that the person who wrote this Walthari song was an initiate. But one must also emphasize that he was a Christian initiate who wanted to present a very specific Christian teaching to the people.

[ 21 ] Thus we see how Spiritual Science sheds light on these phenomena of human spiritual life, and how we can shed light on areas that contemporary philology has yet to fully master. And if you have seen this morning the ways in which Spiritual Science can intervene in everyday life, and if you add to that what has just been explained, then these may serve as evidence for you of the inner truth of the spiritual facts brought down from the higher worlds. Our world needs such a deepening once again. But you can also see from this the way in which we must work, and that external agitation cannot possibly be what truly sets the Theosophical World Movement on the right course. If one merely comes with dogmas and tries to explain them to people, then they have every right to tell us that it is all fantasy. Only those who delve deeply into what the theosophical movement has to offer, and who approach it from all angles, will gradually come to understand the theosophical truths. We need not be surprised if adherents of materialistic currents find what we say foolish. How could they see it any other way? And how could we succumb to the delusion that Theosophy might be something that, like conventional monism, could be spread through external propaganda? — Only through positive work, through the dissemination of the teachings to the best of our ability, only through this can Theosophy take root. Even if we suffer countless setbacks, this must not hinder us or deter us in any way. Therefore, the Theosophical Society can be nothing other than a place within which theosophical work is carried out. The Society can never, ever be the main thing; the main thing must be our Spiritual Science itself. Perhaps the Society will even be—to use Nietzsche’s words, which you have likely already heard—a “bridge” and a “transition to something higher,” to a free theosophical current in the world. At present, however, we need this venue from which we can work, and without which we cannot allow Spiritual Science to flow out into the world. But we must adopt the free perspective that distinguishes between the person and the cause, and that places the cause above any institution arising from external organization.

[ 22 ] This brings us to the end of our program.