The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] We have let two Christmas plays pass before our eyes. Perhaps we may raise the question: Are these two Christmas plays, in the same sense, dedicated to the great human cause that stands so vividly before our minds these days? The two plays are fundamentally different—completely different from one another. It is hard to imagine anything more different, dedicated to the same subject, than these two plays. If we consider the first play: it exudes, in all its parts, the most wonderful simplicity—childlike simplicity. There is depth of soul within it, but it is permeated throughout, lived through, by the most childlike simplicity. The second play moves on the heights of external, physical existence. One is immediately reminded that Christ Jesus enters the world as a king. He is contrasted with the other king, Herod. Then it is shown that two worlds open up before us: the one that, in the best sense, further develops humanity—the world that Christ Jesus serves—and the other world, which Ahriman and Lucifer serve, and which is represented by the diabolical element. A cosmic, a cosmic-spiritual image in the highest sense of the word! The connection between human development and the writing of the stars immediately becomes clear to us. Not the simple, primitive clairvoyance of shepherds, which perceives a “glow in the heavens”—the kind found in the simplest of circumstances—but rather that deciphering of the writing of the stars which requires all the wisdom of past centuries and from which one unravels what is to come. That which comes from other worlds shines into our world. In the states of dreaming and sleep, what is to happen is guided and directed; in short, occultism and magic permeate the entire process.

[ 2 ] The two plays are fundamentally different. The first one comes to us—and one can truly say—with childlike simplicity and innocence. Yet how infinitely solemn it is, how infinitely poignant. But let us first consider only the main idea. The human being who is to prepare the vessel for Christ enters the world. Her entry into the world is to be presented—a presentation of what Jesus is to the people into whose sphere of existence he enters. Yes, my dear friends, this mental image, this idea, has by no means easily won over those circles within which plays such as this one have been listened to with fervor and devotion. The man of whom I have spoken to you often, Karl Julius Schröer, was one of the first collectors of Christmas plays in the 19th century. He collected the Christmas plays in western Hungary—the Oberufer plays, from Pressburg eastward—and was able to study the way in which these plays lived and were woven into the fabric of the people’s lives there. And this is very, very telling when one sees how these plays were passed down from generation to generation in handwritten form, and how—not just when Christmas was near, but as Christmas approached from afar—those in the village deemed suitable for the task would prepare to perform these plays. Then one sees how intimately connected the entire annual cycle of life of those people—in whose village communities such plays were performed—was with the content of these plays. The time when, for example, Schröer collected these plays there in the mid-19th century was already the time when they were beginning to die out in the manner in which they had been practiced up to that point. Many weeks before Christmas approached, the village had to gather the boys and girls who were suitable for performing such plays. And they had to prepare. However, the preparation did not consist merely of memorizing and rehearsing the content of the play in order to perform it; rather, it involved these boys and girls changing their entire way of life—their outward behavior. From the time they began preparing, they were no longer allowed to drink wine or consume any alcohol. They were no longer allowed to roughhouse on Sundays, as was otherwise customary in the village. They had to behave very demurely; they had to become gentle and mild; they were no longer allowed to beat each other bloody, nor were they allowed to do many other things that were otherwise quite common in villages, especially in those days. In this way, they also prepared themselves morally through the inner state of their souls. And then it truly was as if they were carrying something sacred around the village when they performed their plays.

[ 3 ] But this came about only slowly and gradually. Certainly, in many villages of Central Europe in the 19th century, there was such a sentiment—the sentiment that at Christmas, through these games, people were receiving something sacred. But if one goes back perhaps to the 18th century and a little further still, this sentiment becomes increasingly less sacred—less sacred. This sentiment was not present from the very beginning, when these plays first came to the village—by no means from the very beginning—but rather it only emerged and took hold over time. There were indeed times—one need not even go that far back—when one could still find something different. Back then, one could see how the village, here or there in Central Europe, would gather, and how they would bring in a cradle in which the child lay—not a manger, but a cradle—and alongside it, of course, the most beautiful girl in the village—Mary had to be beautiful!—but an ugly Joseph, a truly hideous-looking Joseph! Then a scene similar to the one you saw today was performed. But above all: when it was announced that the Christ was coming, the entire congregation came forward, and everyone stepped onto the cradle. Above all, everyone wanted to step on the cradle and rock the Christ Child; that was what it was all about, and they made a tremendous racket, meant to express that the Christ had come into the world. And in many of these older plays, there is a terrible mockery of Joseph, who in those days was always portrayed as a feeble old man whom people laughed at.

[ 4 ] How did these kinds of games actually come to be among the people? Well, we must of course remember that the first form of the greatest, most powerful idea on Earth—the appearance of Christ Jesus on Earth—was the idea of the Savior who had passed through death, the one who, through death, won for the Earth what we call the meaning of the Earth. It was the suffering of Christ that first came into the world in early Christianity. And offerings were indeed made to the suffering Christ in the various rituals that took place throughout the cycle of the year. But only very slowly and gradually did the Child conquer the world. The dying Savior conquered the world first; only slowly and gradually did the Child. We must not forget that the liturgy was in Latin, that the people understood nothing. Beginning with the Mass of the Nativity, which was celebrated at Christmas, people were gradually shown something else—in addition to the Mass of the Nativity, which is celebrated three times at Christmas. Perhaps not entirely without reason—if not for him personally, then for his followers—the idea of revealing the mystery of Jesus to the faithful on Christmas night is attributed to Francis of Assisi, who based his entire teaching and very being on a certain opposition to the old forms of the Church and the old spirit of the Church in general. And there we see, gradually and slowly, how the faithful congregation was to be offered something at Christmas that was connected to the great mystery of humanity, to the coming of Christ Jesus to earth. At first, a manger was set up and figures were simply made. It was not portrayed by people, but figures were made: the infant, Joseph, and Mary—but in three dimensions. Gradually, this was replaced by priests who dressed up and portrayed the scene in the simplest way possible. And it was not until the 13th and 14th centuries that a certain mood began to emerge within the congregations—one that might be described as people saying to one another: “We want to understand something of what we are seeing here; we want to delve into the matter.” And so people began, at first, to be allowed to play individual parts in what had previously been performed only by the clergy. Of course, one must be familiar with life in the Middle Ages to understand how matters related to the most sacred were at the same time approached in the manner I have indicated. At that time, this was entirely possible thanks to a spirit of openness that allowed the village community—the entire community—to say: “I, too, rocked the cradle a little with my foot where Christ was born!”—thanks to that spirit of openness. This could be expressed in this and in many other ways—in the singing that took place, which at times escalated into yodeling, in everything that had transpired. But what was alive in the event had the strength within itself—one might almost say—to transform itself from something profane, from a desecration of the Christmas idea, into the most sacred thing itself. And the idea of the child appearing in the world conquered the most sacred place in the hearts of the simplest of people.

[ 5 ] That is precisely what is so wonderful about these plays—the first of which was of this kind—that they did not simply exist as they now appear to us, but came to be this way: piety in the atmosphere first unfolding out of impiety, through the power of what they depict! The Child first had to conquer hearts; first had to find a way into them. Through that which was holy within the Child itself, it sanctified the hearts that initially met it with coarseness and untamedness. That is what is so wonderful about the history of the development of these plays—just as, in general, the Mystery of Christ had to conquer hearts and souls bit by bit, piece by piece. And tomorrow we will bring some of these step-by-step conquests to mind. Today I would just like to say: It is not for nothing that I noticed how even the simplest element in the first play stands as a reminder—a reminder.

[ 6 ] As I said, what came into the world with the Mystery of Christ slowly and gradually entered the hearts and souls of human beings. And the fact is: the further back one goes in the tradition of the various Christ mysteries, the more one sees that the form of expression is a lofty one, a spiritually elevated one. I would say that the further back one goes, the more one enters into a “cosmic mode of expression.” We have already incorporated some of this into our reflections, and in my previous Christmas lecture here I also showed how Gnostic ideas were used to understand the profound mystery of Christ. But even when we trace this or that in the later periods of the Middle Ages, we find that, even in the middle of the Middle Ages—precisely in the Christmas poetry of that time—there is still present something that was later lost: an emphasis on the early Christian idea that Christ descends from the vastness of the worlds, from the heights of the spirit. We find this in the 11th and 12th centuries when, for example, we bring a Christmas carol such as this before our soul:

The glory of the Son of God made man
Is joyfully proclaimed by the heavenly hosts,
And from the shepherd’s mouth resounds loudly
The good news.

“Glory to God in the highest! And on earth peace to people!”
So it resounds in a solemn song;
With wonder, people today behold
What has never happened before.

The sky shines brightly with a new star;
Guided by it, from afar come
The Magi, and with delight they greet
The one they behold.

With Him, the truth is now reborn.
What was lost through sin has been restored;
The fruits of blessing
bloom more beautifully in the light of grace.

The mystery of the past has now been revealed,
Ever since this fruit sprang from the earth,
Which grants us life and refreshment,
And nourishes us eternally.

He came, clothed in our flesh,
The Good Shepherd who tends all nations;
He lived, like us, in pilgrims’ huts,
And suffered for us.

Hail to the earth that beholds his light!
Through him, the bringer of joy for time and eternity,
Let everyone offer thanks and love to him, the Savior,
With pure devotion.

Help us, Christ, to keep Your law ourselves,
Let us succeed in doing good deeds through You,
So that one day, with You, the crown of eternal life
May also reward us!

[ 7 ] Such was the tone that resonated from those who still understood something of the cosmic significance of the Christian mystery.

[ 8 ] Or another Christmas poem about the Christmas season from the middle of the Middle Ages, a little later than the Carolingian period:

The Son of God, begotten from eternity, invisible and without end,
Through whom the heavens and the earth were created, along with all that dwells therein,
Through whom the course of days and hours passes and returns;
Whom the angels in the heavenly city ever praise in perfectly harmonious song,
Having, free from all original sin, clothed Himself in a frail body,
Which He took from Mary, the Virgin, to destroy the sin of the first father, Adam,
As well as the lust of the mother, Eve.
Today’s glorious day, with its sublime splendor, testifies that now the Son,
the true Sun, has dispelled the world’s ancient darkness with the rays of His light.
Now the night is illuminated by the light of that new star,
which once filled the astronomical gaze of the Magi with wonder,
And behold, that light shines upon the shepherds, who were once blinded
By the sublime splendor of the heavenly inhabitants.
O Mother of God, rejoice, you who at your birth are attended by a host of angels,
Who sing God’s praise.
O Christ, you, the only Son of the Father, who for our sake took on human nature
Of man for our sake, refresh your own who pray here.
O Jesus, graciously hear the pleas of those whom you have deigned to take as your own,
That you, O Son of God, may make them partakers of your divinity.

[ 9 ] This is the voice that, I would say, resounds down from the heights of more theologically oriented scholarship to the people.

[ 10 ] Now let us also listen a little to the voice that rang out from the people themselves at Christmas, when a soul was found to give voice to the people’s feelings:

He is mighty and strong,
who was born in winter:
That is the Holy Child.
Yes, let all praise you
For never has the devil
Through his great arrogance
Been cast out of heaven.

In the light, Michel is lost
for he longs for home,
The sun never shines so brightly,
the moon offers no help,
nor do the bright stars,
yes, he must rely on whatever he sees,
yes, he would so gladly be up there in heaven.

In heaven there stands a house,
with a golden gate there,
its pillars are made of marble,
which adorn our threshold
with precious stones:
no one may enter there,
unless they are pure from all sins.

Whoever would like to go to church
and does not stay there,
will surely live a joyful life,
for he will be given, as the youngest,
the company of angels,
and may he always be there:
in heaven, life is so pure.

I have served for a long time
unfortunately, a man
who wandered about in the light
who revealed my misdeeds,
His reward is evil.
Help me, Holy Spirit,
so that I may free myself from his influence.

[ 11 ] This is the prayer that the common person said and understood. We have read the “Descent”; now we have the “Ascent.”

[ 12 ] I will try to share this 12th-century Christmas carol so that we can see how even ordinary people grasped the full greatness of Christ and related it to the whole of cosmic life:

[ 13 ] He is mighty and strong, the one born at Christmas. This is the Holy Christ. Everything that exists praises him—except for the devil, whose great arrogance led to his being cast into hell. In hell there is “michel” filth—“michel” is the old word for “great,” “mighty”—in hell there is great filth. Whoever has his home there—whoever, in other words, is at home in hell—must realize: the sun never shines there; the moon offers no light to anyone, nor do the bright stars. There, everyone who sees anything must tell himself how wonderful it would be if he could go to heaven. He would very much like to be in heaven. In the Kingdom of Heaven stands a house. A golden path leads to it. The columns are made of marble, adorned with precious stones. But no one may enter there except those who are completely free of sin. Whoever goes to church and stands there without envy may well have a higher life, for a new life is always given—that is, when he has finally ended his life. Remember, I once introduced the word “younger” here in reference to the etheric body. Here you even have it in the vernacular! So if he is “young” when given to the angelic host, he can indeed wait for it, for in heaven life is pure. — And now the one who prays this Christmas carol says: I have, alas, served as a captive to a man who wanders in hell, who has brought about my certain deed. Help me, Holy Christ, that I may be freed from his captivity—that is, freed from the prison of evil. So this is in the language of the people:

He is mighty and strong,
He who was born at Christmas...