The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] The opening address at this year’s Munich events was entrusted to Hermes, the messenger of the gods, and perhaps we should interpret this very act of entrusting Hermes’ words—in light of what we wish to see and feel in our spiritual science—in a symbolic sense. For spiritual science is not merely something that brings us knowledge or insight, similar to other forms of knowledge or insight about the world; rather, it is a true mediator leading us up into those worlds from which, according to the view of ancient Greece, Hermes brought down to humanity what could kindle within them the forces that lead upward into these realms of the supersensible. And following on from these words, may I be permitted, especially today in this introductory lecture, to add a few remarks to what we have heard in the presentations of the past few days, so that it may merge into a whole with all that follows, which will be discussed in the coming days.

[ 2 ] These performances are not merely intended to serve as a kind of embellishment for our event, but should be viewed as being in the most intimate and organic connection with the very heart of our local humanities program, which has been a central annual undertaking for many years. This year, it has become possible to open this event with a revival of the very drama that stands at the very starting point of all Western drama, the drama that we can truly grasp only when we turn our gaze beyond everything that historical drama has brought to the West as art. And this is also why this drama is a fitting introduction to an undertaking grounded in spiritual science. For this drama reaches back to those times in the development of European culture when the individual currents of human thought—which we encounter today as science, religion, and art—were not yet separated from one another, but were intimately connected. We thus turn our attention, as it were, to the earliest times of European cultural development, to those times when a unified culture, born directly from the deepest spiritual life, permeated human souls with religious elevation toward the highest that a human being can attain for his entire soul, so that direct religious life pulsed within this culture. And it may be said: This culture was religion. — Religion was not something to which human beings turned as a special branch of culture, but even when they spoke of those parts of spiritual life that penetrated directly into the practical branches of everyday life, they were still speaking of religion, for this penetration was an elevation to religion, which extended its rays over everything that human beings could experience.

[ 3 ] But this religion was inwardly strong and powerful in its individual forces, so that it did not stop at the general elevation of religious sentiment to the great world powers; this primordial religion of humanity was so powerful that it inspired the individual forces of human spiritual life, causing them to take on forms that were directly artistic. Religious life poured forth into bold creations, and religion and art were one. Art was the direct offspring of religion, still living in an intimate family bond with its mother, religion itself. There is no feeling of such religious depth in our time as that which animated all who were permitted to participate in the ancient mysteries and beheld how religious life poured forth into what was artistically presented before human eyes. But this primordial religion, together with its daughter, art, was at the same time so purified, so highly purified into the etheric spheres of spiritual life, that as it acted upon the human soul, everything of which we today have only a faint, abstract reflection in science and knowledge also arose from within that soul. When the deepened feeling allowed itself to be inspired by what poured into artistic form as religion, then the knowledge of the gods and divine things, the knowledge of the spirit realm, was kindled in the soul. And so knowledge or insight was the other daughter of religious life, who likewise still lived in an intimate family bond, lived intimately together with the primordial mother of all culture, with religious culture.

[ 4 ] Let us ask our hearts today: How far do we want to take what we can currently offer only as a tentative beginning? What do we actually want to achieve?—We want to kindle within humanity once again something like the union, the harmony between art and science. For only through this can the gaze of the human soul, fired by feeling and empowered by the best in our will, seek to pour out that unity over all human culture, which will lead humanity back up to the divine heights of its existence just as it will penetrate the most mundane tasks of our daily lives. And holy will be all that is otherwise merely profane life, and that which became such only because its connection to the spiritual-divine source of all existence was forgotten.

[ 5 ] Thus, an undertaking such as the one we have undertaken this year is intended to point precisely to this feeling, which should and must inspire us if we understand spiritual science to be something that is meant to penetrate to the deepest depths of the human soul. This explains why it may be regarded, in the best sense of the word, as a spiritual-scientific insight to view the Mystery of Eleusis as a kind of sun whose rays, pouring into our hearts, can evoke in us the right feeling for what spiritual science truly is.

[ 6 ] What is commonly known as drama—what the Western world perceives as the dramatic art and what reached its zenith in Shakespeare—is, in fact, a spiritual current that originated in the ancient mystery; it is a secularization of the ancient mystery. So when we go back to the very beginnings of dramatic art, we return to something like the Eleusinian Mysteries. Having thus outlined in general the thoughts that inspired us years ago when we performed this very drama at the Munich International Theosophical Congress, I may now perhaps also mention a few specific points—since the everyday is intimately connected — the everyday, now meant in the best spiritual sense, with what we envision as a spiritual ideal—is capable of shedding some light on our will, on our goals. I recalled, when we set out some time ago to perform “The Children of Lucifer,” that a thought had come to my mind at that time which, for me, is deeply connected with our current spiritual-scientific development in Central Europe. When I myself felt the time had come to connect my spiritual striving with what may be called anthroposophy or spiritual science, the gateway through which I sought to introduce people to anthroposophy was a discussion that tied in with this drama, “The Children of Lucifer.” And then we allowed a seven-year period of development to elapse for the spiritual scientific work we had conceived. But the seed that was planted in our souls at that time with the words spoken about “The Children of Lucifer” developed in the meantime, quite quietly, in our hearts over a natural seven-year period. And after seven years, we were ready to present the drama “The Children of Lucifer” as an introduction to our Munich endeavors.

[ 7 ] In this hour, which is intended as an introduction to the lectures I will give over the next few days, I would like to link this thought to another, for I speak to you, my dear friends, from the depths of my heart and, at the same time, from the deepest conviction of my soul. That which, as spiritual life, will increasingly take hold of the spirits of the West in the future will have to take on a very special form. People today may think of anthroposophy or spiritual science in a wide variety of ways. People do not always think in terms of the necessities of existence, of the forces at work in human becoming, but rather they think from their will, from their feelings, and then one person may regard this, another that, as the right ideal. Thus there will be many anthroposophical ideals, depending on the nature of human hearts, depending on whether their feelings and emotions incline toward this or that direction. True occultism, however, in a certain higher form, still makes such an inclination toward these ideals appear to us as something that is merely attached to our personality—something that can still be characterized by saying: Such ideals are actually nothing more than what one person or another would like to see as anthroposophy, which they believe, according to their particular heartfelt feelings and the particular configuration of their intellect, to be the very best. After all, people hold only those opinions about other aspects of life that spring from such heartfelt feelings and such personal motives. Spiritual science itself, however, must lead us to regard what springs from our personal heartfelt feelings as having no general authority whatsoever. As individuals, we can always be mistaken, no matter how much we believe we are upholding a selfless ideal. We can form an opinion about what is to happen in human evolution only when we completely suppress our personal opinions about the ideal and when we no longer ask what we ourselves consider the best way to represent spiritual science. Only then can we arrive at a true opinion, when we let the necessities of life speak for themselves, regardless of our own inclinations—whether toward this or that form of spiritual life, whether we prefer this or that—when we ask ourselves: How has European cultural life taken shape over the centuries, and what does it require for the time to come? If we pose this question to ourselves without personally committing to the answer, we receive a twofold response. The first, the greater one, which emerges everywhere from everything happening today in spiritual life: European cultural life demands spiritual science if it is not to wither and become desolate. — But the other answer is this: European cultural life demands a spiritual science that corresponds to the fundamental conditions that have developed over the centuries, not in any one of us, but in European humanity as a whole. - Yet we can only provide a spiritual science that meets these fundamental conditions of European cultural life if we ask ourselves selflessly: What have people in Europe learned to feel and think over the centuries, and how does the European today yearn for a spiritual deepening of his life?

[ 8 ] When we ask ourselves this question, all the signs of the times show us that it cannot be a continuation of our traditional mysticism, as we have known it for millennia, as it has so beneficially influenced various peoples for millennia. The continuation of this mysticism solely in the sense that it has always been, as handed down by history, would not be able to meet the needs of European cultural life. If we were to immerse ourselves merely in ancient mysticism, we would be sinning against this European cultural life and everything connected with it; we would be placing our personal inclinations above the necessities of existence. We must suppress our personal inclinations—even if they lean toward some form of ancient mysticism—and ask: What do people need, given the conditions that have developed over the centuries? — Likewise, the signs of the times show us that what we call contemporary scientific activity—however highly regarded it may be today, however great an authority it may enjoy—is in a state like a tree that is withering away and can yield only the scantest of fruits for the future. I know that this is a rather “grand statement,” though certainly not a “casual” one, when it is said: What is today called “external science” in the sphere of European life is a withering branch in the spiritual sky of humanity. — It has rendered its services; it is not diminished by the fact that one sheds light on the conditions of its existence, as has now been stated in a few words.

[ 9 ] Neither ancient mysticism nor modern science will be of any use to the humanity of the future when the deepest needs—those that seek to forge a bond between the human soul and spiritual revelations—make themselves felt. This stood, as if written in golden letters, before the ideal that we envisioned back then, when we began years ago to develop spiritual life on a broader scale. And if I may now utter that word of which I said that it is as much a word from the heart as a word of conviction, I would like to say—viewed entirely objectively and factually in the spirit of the question I have just raised—: The most significant literary beginning of that kind of spiritual life which the European humanity of the future will need to the greatest extent, which stands right in the middle between mere historical mysticism, gleaned from historical documents, and science, which is a withering branch of human culture—the most significant beginning in a truly anthroposophical sense, which observes immediate life as it now slowly trickles forth as spiritual life, as it will continue to spread, is The Great Initiates by our esteemed Edouard Schuré. I was already able to point this out at the beginning of my Munich course last year: Whoever knows how to cast a glance toward the future, toward what that future will demand of us, knows that with this, that golden middle path between ancient mysticism and modern, yet withering, science has been taken for literary life, and that the beautiful, the significant beginning, which has already been made for all European peoples with Les grands Initiés, the Great Initiates, will continue to take shape further and further, and that this characterizes a nuance of color that makes a sympathetic impression on us not because our personal inclinations lead us to desire this or that, but because we see how the increasingly assertive conditions of European culture demanded, out of their spiritual conditions, that such a literary beginning be made. If you are familiar with this work, my dear friends, then you also know how significantly it points to what is later elaborated upon in Edouard Schur’s “Sanctuaries of the Orient,” and how it points in a significant way to the Mystery of Eleusis. What thoughts might this reference in *The Great Initiates*—in a truly anthroposophical sense—and this re-creation of the Mystery of Eleusis inspire in our souls?

[ 10 ] Well, my dear friends, when we look back to the very beginnings of European artistic and spiritual life, we find two figures standing, as it were, at the starting point—figures who hold profound significance for a truly spiritual understanding of the entire modern spiritual life, and who at first appear to us as symbolic representations of great spiritual impulses. These two figures, who, for those who cast a deeper gaze into contemporary spiritual life, shine in like rays of light proclaiming the most profound truths, are Persephone and Iphigenia. When we utter these two names, we essentially touch upon, in a certain sense, two souls of modern humanity—those two souls whose union challenges the deepest trials of the human soul. We shall see more clearly in the coming days how Persephone stirs in our hearts the thought of that impulse which we have already had occasion to touch upon here on several occasions in our discussions of spiritual science. It was once the lot of all humanity to arrive at its insights in a different way than today. We know from these spiritual science lectures of an ancient clairvoyance of humanity that in primeval times welled up from human nature as a matter of course, so that, just as hunger and thirst and the need to breathe, clairvoyant images took shape from this human soul, into which the mysteries of the spiritual worlds poured. This is something that humanity once possessed as the gift of ancient clairvoyance and which has, as it were, been robbed from humanity by what later became knowledge in human life. Partly sensing that this robbery of ancient clairvoyance by modern knowledge was taking place precisely in his own time, and partly foreseeing how this would happen more and more in future times—which are now our own— would happen more and more, the ancient Greek turned his soul’s gaze upward to that divine figure who, in the human soul, released the powers that led to that ancient clairvoyance from the immediate elemental nature. He looked up to that goddess who was the regent of the ancient clairvoyance bound to human nature, and called her Persephone. And then the ancient Greek said to himself: In place of the ancient culture of seers, another will increasingly take its place—one directed by human beings, born of human beings, to whom the ancient clairvoyance has already been lost. - In the culture that the ancient Greek associated with the names Agamemnon, Odysseus, and Menelaus, we find what we recognize today as our outer spiritual culture, no longer touched by clairvoyant powers.

[ 11 ] Today, people in the wider world no longer feel that this culture, which generates knowledge that is meant to be used to philosophically fathom the mysteries of existence, just as it builds cannons through knowledge of the laws of nature, that in a deeper sense this kind of spiritual culture demands sacrifices that human beings must make to the higher spiritual beings who govern the supersensible worlds. These sacrifices are indeed made, but people today do not realize it because they do not yet pay attention to these things. The ancient Greek realized that this modern culture, which he traced back to the names of Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus, demanded sacrifices; that it is that daughter of the human spirit who, in a certain sense, must be sacrificed again and again. And the ancient Greek depicted this perpetual sacrifice of intellectual culture in the sacrifice of Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigenia. Thus does a wondrous answer resound to the question posed to us by the sacrifices of Iphigenia. If there were only that external culture which, in the true sense of the ancient Greeks, can be traced back to the names of Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Odysseus, then humanity, under the influence of this culture, would long ago have withered in its hearts, in the deepest powers of its soul. Only because humanity preserved the feeling of making sacrifices again and again and of distilling from this general intellectual culture that culture which, in a deeper, not superficial sense, can be called a priestly culture, has this culture been preserved from withering away. Just as Iphigenia was offered as a sacrifice to Artemis, but through this sacrifice became a priestess, so too, throughout the past centuries and millennia, certain elements of our intellectual culture had to be purified and cleansed, and offered to the higher gods with a priestly-religious character, so that this outer intellectual culture might not wither away in humanity’s hearts and souls. Thus Persephone represents to us the guide and leader of the ancient clairvoyant culture, and thus Iphigenia represents to us the embodiment of the everlasting sacrifice that our external intellectuality must make to the deeper religious life.

[ 12 ] The ideas I have just expressed have always been alive throughout the entire history of European culture, from ancient Greece right up to the present day; they have lived on continuously from those times when Socrates first detached pure scientific thought from the ancient unified culture, right up to the time when poor Nietzsche, in the agony of his soul, writhed at the separation of the three branches of the entire culture—science, religion, and art—and perished because of this separation. The modern era, because the forces that are to bring about the reunification of what had to remain separated for millennia are already at work, and because the demands of the future are already shining forth for the present, had to reconnect, through its representatives inspired by the spirit of the times, with those two impulses just described: with the names of Iphigenia and Persephone. And whoever surveys this feels, on a much deeper level, what a feat it was when, fully immersing himself in ancient Greek life, Goethe portrayed what he himself perceived as the pinnacle of his art in the symbol of Iphigenia. Oh, with this work of Goethe’s, in which, in a certain sense, the entirety of Goethe’s creative work is symbolically expressed—with Iphigenia—the first link is established to the ancient European spiritual heritage. And in the deepest recesses of our being, this act of Goethe’s resonates with us today: we must once again remember the perpetual sacrifice that intellectual culture must make to religious culture if intellectuality is not to leave European humanity barren.

[ 13 ] Rauh’s pursuit of a higher spiritual life, like that of King Thoas in Iphigenia, is in a certain sense what intellectual culture achieves on a broader scale. Gentle and harmonious, not to hate along with humanity but to love along with it—this is what confronts us in the symbol of Iphigenia. And so the first memory of the most significant impulses of European intellectual life was given at the very moment when Goethe’s heart was pierced by the inspiration to present Iphigenia to European humanity as the testimony of the everlasting sacrifice of intellectuality. Thus one can sense the shining presence of the spiritual inspirers of modern times in Goethe’s soul.

[ 14 ] A second recollection was necessary, one that required a somewhat longer wait—a recollection that points to those times when the ancient culture of clairvoyance, linked to the name of Persephone, was still vibrant. And one senses at that point, where the “Great Initiates” rise to a certain climax, in the reference to the Mystery of Eleusis, how European spiritual life, with its inspirers, works to conjure forth from the twilight of the ages that which must lead more and more to the realization that the ancient clairvoyant culture, represented in the name of Persephone, must shine forth again in a new form. One pole in modern European spiritual life was established with the revival of the ancient Greek figure of Iphigenia; the other pole is established with the re-creation of the Eleusinian Mystery by Edouard Schuré. And we must regard it as one of the best stars guiding our endeavors that we were able to let this inauguration shine upon our anthroposophical life in the presence of the re-creator of the Eleusinian Mystery, who has already blessed us with his presence for several years of our Central European spiritual life.

[ 15 ] I said: What I have just spoken is, on the one hand, a thought from the heart; on the other hand, it is a thought that springs entirely from the most objective, sober conviction. And the reason I have spoken it today is that I must abide by Goethe’s words, which resonate like a wondrous pearl of wisdom in our life of knowledge: Only that is true which proves fruitful. And if some fruitfulness is observed in what we have been permitted to do for years, then it may also be acknowledged that the thought which has inspired our work for many years, which has always been present like a secret guest, like a secret comrade-in-arms, has indeed proven itself true through its fruitfulness. We shall, of course, return to all that might now follow here from the thoughts just expressed regarding the names of Iphigenia and Persephone in the most varied ways in the coming days, as we discuss natural wonders, trials of the soul, and spiritual revelations—as an illustration. Let it only be mentioned that just as Iphigenia is the daughter of Agamemnon, who belongs to those heroes to whom ancient Greece attributes the cultivation of intellectuality in the broadest sense, with all its practical and also warlike aspects, so too is Persephone the daughter of Demeter. Well, we shall see how Demeter is the regent of the greatest wonders of nature, a primal archetype of human feeling, thinking, and willing, of whom Persephone is the true child. That archetype points to times when human brain life was not yet separated from general bodily life, when, so to speak, nourishment through external substances and thinking through the instrument of the brain were not separate human activities. Back then one still felt how thought lives out there when the seed flourishes in the fields, how hope truly spreads out there over the fields and permeates the workings of nature’s wonders like the song of the lark. One still felt that spiritual life draws in with the material, immerses itself in the human body, purifies itself, and becomes spirit as the primordial mother from whom Persephone is born elementally within the human being itself. The name Demeter points us back to those primeval times of human development when human nature still functioned so uniformly that all physical life was at the same time spiritual, that all physical processes were intimately united with the spiritual processes of thought. And what it looked like back then can only be revealed to us today by a glimpse into the Akashic Records. That Persephone was the true daughter of Demeter is precisely what this insight into the Akashic Records teaches us. And it will likewise become clear that in that figure who immediately appears in the new creation of the Eleusinian Mystery, in Eros, there is indeed, according to ancient Greek sensibility, that very element through which the powers of Demeter have become, in gradually evolving humanity, what they are today. Thus, however, the entire wonder of human nature is immediately conjured before our soul when Demeter stands before us with the solemn admonition of a primal force that flows magically, time immemorial, through all human feeling. When Demeter stands before us, there stands before us something that speaks through the eternities of time as an impulse of human nature. We feel this flowing down from the stage when Demeter stands before us, the greatest representative of that primal force which we today designate only by the abstract name of human chastity, with all its fruitful reality, where it is not asceticism, where it simultaneously encompasses the primal love of humanity. On the other hand, what does Eros speak to us? The budding, innocent love. Its ruler is Eros, as the Greeks perceived it.

[ 16 ] Now the drama unfolds. And what forces are at work with a vital, tragic power from the very beginning and throughout the entire drama? The interplay of chastity—which is at once primal love with its fertility—and innocent, still budding love reigns in the drama, just as positive and negative electricity reigns in the trivial wonders of nature outside. Thus, through the space into which this significant primal human drama is poured, something of more or less unconscious or conscious feeling can flow in relation to forces that work their way up from the primeval times of humanity and run through our modern life. Except that—and here I am again pointing to something that will be elaborated upon in the coming days—in a certain sense, those primal currents, the Demeter current and the Eros current, are increasingly being absorbed into the human future by those currents that are to be indicated in the three figures of Luna, Astrid, and Philia. A living connection is to arise before our soul between the currents that are those of human origins—Demeter, Eros—and what stands between them: Persephone on the one hand—and on the other hand, what is dawning today in a form not yet personally shaped. It is like a spiritual conscience that still resounds from the indeterminate and is not yet permitted to take the stage today. It is merely a voice from without, and these are the three figures, as true daughters of Demeter: Luna, Philia, Astrid.

[ 17 ] I have attempted to describe the sentiments that led Edouard Schuré to place the Mystery of Eleusis, as reimagined by him, at the starting point of our spiritual scientific reflections. You, my dear friends, will surely, through all that has preceded in recent years, view our present remarks on this most significant work with that perspective which should be so natural to all who stand within our anthroposophical movement. What, then, does this perspective demand of us? Well, it is incredibly easy today—truly child’s play—to point out, in light of what dramatic art offers out in the world, the mistakes and perhaps even the amateurishness that we all commit when we approach a work as significant as the “Mystery of Eleusis” with our limited abilities. But it is not at all important to us—or rather, it must not be important to us—to characterize things in the same way that they are characterized and portrayed on our contemporary stages. But those who already sense something today of what we are meant to achieve by imprinting the distinctive nature of spiritual knowledge into art will know that what matters to us is something entirely different. They will also know that everything which can only attain a certain perfection in the future must appear imperfect in the present. It is not our vocation to compete with external stage performances. We do not even think of doing anything similar in any way, and the mere comparison with other external stage performances is a mistake. Whatever an artistic judgment may say regarding what is demanded today in external stage performances, it is dilettantism in relation to what spiritual science truly wants, must want—even in relation to art.

[ 18 ] And those of you who feel the same way I do, who can share that deep sense of gratitude that I feel every time at the outset of our Munich endeavors toward all those who assist in these endeavors—those friends among you who feel this way will not regard it as unobjective, nor as anything personal, if I once again express this deepest gratitude at the conclusion of my introductory remarks this year as well. It takes not only many hands to make these endeavors possible, but it also takes souls who have truly imbued themselves with what can be the most beautiful fruit of a spiritually striving life—and what I would like to call spiritual warmth. And indeed, this spiritual warmth never remains without its effects, never without a gradually developing ability for what one wishes to achieve in the relevant field. And so we stand there every time we set out, initially as the small group of those here in Munich who are the forerunners of the larger community that will then come together, imbued with spiritual warmth, and we have faith in our work, even if everything goes rather bumpily at first: it must work. And it works to the extent that we are able to achieve. In this endeavor, we always find proof of the reality that spiritual forces are at work in the world, that they help us, that we can entrust ourselves to them. And if it sometimes seems to us as though it might not work, then we tell ourselves that if it were not to work, it would be in accordance with the forces that stand behind our work. And then it would be right that it should not work. And so we act, and in doing so we do not think at all about what is ultimately to emerge as a concept. We think of the spiritual forces to whom, in the spirit of our time, we also wish to offer a small, humble sacrifice—the sacrifice of contemporary intellectuality to the religious deepening of the human heart. And it is beautiful to see how this spiritual warmth is indeed present in a wonderful way among that small group, how each individual truly experiences the spiritual by undertaking this by no means easy work of sacrifice. It is a brotherly service that the others who are participating here render to us; and whoever understands me in these words will share with me the feelings of gratitude that I wish to express at this very moment.

[ 19 ] Our first thanks, of course, go to the creator of the “Mystery of Eleusis,” but I also extend my deepest gratitude to my colleagues during this time in Munich. Above all, I must remember those who, through their work imbued with such loving spiritual warmth in the service of spiritual science over many years, have made it their calling to unite their beautiful, warm skills with what we aim to achieve here today. Let me first fulfill a deep desire of my heart by pointing out those two individuals who have contributed in a very special way, so that today the most beautiful unity of their spiritual thinking and their purely technical work in our Munich endeavor shines out to us everywhere: Miss Stinde and Countess Kalckreuth. Let me also mention our dear friend Adolf Arenson, who, as in previous years, has provided the musical portion for all three mornings this year as well. I leave it to your own hearts, to your own souls, to judge these contributions. I myself consider it a particularly fortunate circumstance that the musical aspect of our endeavors is contributed to our overall work in precisely this way by our dear friend Arenson. And I further consider it a particularly fortunate circumstance that what I envisioned as a stage design imbued with a truly religious spirit can be realized in such an excellent manner by our dear Miss von Eckhardtstein. To me, my dear friends, every red and blue hue, every sheen and every muted tone in the stage design is important and meaningful, and the fact that this is sensed by the person in question is part of what we must perceive as truly spirit-inspired work. And I need only point out to you all that has met you in the wider context of the stage designs that our painters Mr. Linde, Mr. Volckert, and Mr. Haß contribute to our dramatic inaugurations; and through this reference, I may then inspire in you the thought of how the spiritual idea has poured into the souls of these individuals in such a way that it truly retains its power right down to the brush. It is spirituality that you see in the stage design, as contributed by the three mentioned. In all that is mentioned here, we naturally do not see a finished work, but rather the beginning of a creative endeavor, and we would now like you to see, through all that is intended—though not yet achievable—how the future development of art might be conceived. That is why it is of such infinite importance to us that the inner dramatic shaping, too, lies solely in the hands of performers who strive for spiritual insight, for I would not—not out of personal inclination, but because I must—have a single word spoken in these dramatic undertakings of ours on stage by someone of a different mind, even if that word were spoken with the highest artistic perfection and the utmost artistic refinement of contemporary stage speech techniques. For something entirely different is intended than this external stage technique. What is called art today is not intended. What is desired, however, is that in every soul standing up there and participating, the heart speaks out of spiritual warmth, that such a breath runs through the entire performance—whether good or bad—so that we experience spiritual warmth as art, and art as spiritual warmth. That is why everyone who takes part in these inaugural events of our Munich cycle should have the feeling: there is no word there that, as it is spoken, is not at the same time felt in the deepest soul by the performer. This brings about, in many respects, that artistic chastity which those who do not wish to feel spiritually may perceive as dilettantism, but which is the beginning of something that is to come, the beginning of something that will one day be perceived as artistic truth in the deepest, most spiritual sense of the word, however imperfect and rudimentary it may appear to you today. That is why, my dear friends, it will never occur to us to come to you—who do, after all, possess the understanding—with dramatic flourishes. You will calmly endure all the lengthiness that the matter itself may necessitate. Nothing is too long for us, nothing is too undramatic in the ordinary sense of the word today, because we do not conform to external dramatic demands, but rather to the inner necessities of the matter, and we will never deny our dramatic convictions. Take, for example, the fairy tale that Felicia tells Capesius in the fifth scene of The Trial of the Soul; the ordinary theatergoer would say: That is boring to death. — We will never shy away from bringing this tedium to the stage if the dramatic truth in the spiritual sense demands it of us. And dramatic freedom demands that every individual who shows us love by participating may act freely in their own place, so that everyone can feel what they do and say on stage as their own words and feelings emanating from themselves. You will not see a tyrannical direction, as is often favored these days, prevailing in our undertaking. Instead, you will see—albeit only initially and imperfectly—that spirit prevailing which spreads invisibly like a breath over the undertaking as a unity, yet can work as a multiplicity within every single soul. That is why, above all else, when one stands right in the midst of such an undertaking, one feels that deep gratitude toward what all the individual performers have sacrificed. This feeling of gratitude must be expressed here toward all of them, from Miss von Sivers down to those who had smaller roles. It is, of course, impossible to list them all individually, because so many have offered their help. But all have accomplished much. I need only point to the one who has devoted himself with such dedication to a leading role this year, a role that has grown particularly dear to my heart and which is very difficult because it presents great inner challenges: I mean the role of Capesius, portrayed by our dear Mr. Doser. I need only point out the self-sacrificing manner in which our dear Mr. Seiling has now devoted himself for two years to portraying that entity which I would like to call the dramatic conscience, which is not yet permitted on stage today, which can demonstrate its vitality precisely by not appearing in person on stage, and how the same Mr. Seiling has presented the role of Strader to us with great mastery both last year and this year. Performances such as what the fourth scene on the third day offered in that dramatic dialogue between Capesius and Strader already give our soul a glimpse of what will come to be when art is pulsed through by spiritual insight as by its lifeblood, and spiritual insight is shaped by art as by its physicality. That is why I felt such deep gratitude when this beautiful moment of dramatic achievement in the fourth scene unfolded before our eyes.

[ 20 ] And now I could go on at length with these words of thanks. Finally, I could thank you yourselves, all of you who have shown understanding in your hearts for what will one day be necessary in future drama: that the invisible reigns alongside the visible, that suggestion may go hand in hand with the coarser external representation, that characters must be set apart, I would say, in more favorable stage lighting, and other things that must be more deeply embedded in the very depths of the human word. What is meant, and what one will increasingly perceive as true meaning in the three figures Philia, Astrid, and Luna, can only be conveyed from one perspective—in the light in which they confront us, in the three figures, when they step onto the stage in the flesh. But with these three figures, in which important impulses of human development are meant, intimate secrets of the soul are also touched upon, which one can only come to terms with by connecting what, on the one hand, is forced into sharp, intrusive stage lighting and, on the other hand, is hinted at in the three female figures through the intimacy of the word. These three female figures, who appear in the silvery moonlight and, from the ephemeral forms of the water-drop being, shape that chalice vessel which is an intimate representation of what they, in their more obvious and in their more intimate illumination, these figures who confront us in the silvery moonlight of the fairy tale and show us, how they accompany human souls as the intimate friends of our soul, how they take shape in childhood, and how they take shape when three times three hundred and sixty weeks have passed, can only be understood if one considers both: that which captures the mind and is presented on stage in a more coarse, outwardly apparent manner, and that which would be so tedious to modern theatergoers—the telling of an intimate fairy tale—yet which alone can convey the intimacy inherent in such three figures as Luna, Astrid, and Philia. And when one sees that there are already today a number of souls who can feel impartially and purely toward what is otherwise not easily forgiven on stage, then one can say that spiritual science is grateful to the depths of these souls, to all of you, for your willingness to direct and guide your souls to empathize and receive what is hereby intended in the service of spiritual knowledge. Out of all this, you will regard it as something objective when, at the end of this introduction to our upcoming reflections, precisely these feelings of gratitude are expressed. And I feel a grateful joy time and again, not only when I see our dear colleagues working together and fitting into the new, as for example our dear Mr. Mercklein found his way into the role of Ahriman, but also when I see how those who are still far removed from spiritual scientific life today, such as the stagehands, are happy to work for us. One sees this, and I actually always feel a certain gratitude when this or that worker comes and asks to have a book as well. It is all—I know this well, my dear friends—something in its infancy and imperfect, but something of which we can say it is fruitful, something that will have an effect. And if, of what we were able to do at the beginning of our Munich Center undertaking, one thing draws into our soul: that spiritual science is not meant to be something abstract that one pursues on the side in life, but that it is connected to our entire living conditions, then the modest achievement intended to be accomplished with it has, for the beginning, had its effect. Then something of what we wanted has been achieved. In this spirit, I welcome you today to this series, which is to be devoted to some reflections on various things that confront us when we turn our gaze to the wider world and sense what was said in ancient Greece to be the source of all theosophy, all philosophy; when we sense what is called wonder—from which the word “miracle” is derived—when we experience a foreboding of what is called the trial of the soul, and sense something of what appears as deliverance from all wonder, as liberation from all trial: the spiritual revelations. What one can perceive from all three of these—from the wonders of nature, the trials of the soul, and the redeeming spiritual revelations—shall be the subject of our next reflections.