The Rudolf Steiner Archive

6. Sense of Truth

[ 1 ] Before I turn to my reflections on the lecture, we would like to present some poetry in the first part of this evening’s program. I have attempted—though it was originally intended for use in eurythmic performances—to express certain ideas related to the way of thinking and the spirit of the anthroposophical worldview in a kind of metrical speech. As I said, it was originally intended for a eurythmic performance in Dornach, and was indeed presented as such at that time. It will soon be published in a small volume—part of our series of cycle publications—along with my explanatory notes, and will be available here. However, before I present these works, I must first say a few introductory words.

[ 2 ] Last time, I did say a few words about the art of poetry in a different context. Now we must take very seriously what has been reiterated time and again, especially in the course of this winter: that the entire impulse—if I may use this paradox—the entire spirit of our spiritual science must enter into the spiritual culture of our time and must contribute something special to it. Poetry does not rest merely on the expression of something invented or conceived, but on its expression in a certain form. Now, spiritual science seeks to establish a connection between the human being and the great laws of the universe, the great laws of the cosmos. One will understand the deepest impulses of spiritual science in a real, true sense only when one grasps just how extensive this search for the relationship between the human being and the great supersensible laws of the universe actually is. What we call poetry will gradually take on a new aspect. This is certainly still quite difficult to understand today, but it is nonetheless true. Poetry is meant to convey—though this is scarcely felt today—what human beings experience in union with the universe, what is drawn from the mysteries of the universe. But this must also flow into the poetic form. When we form certain mental images that are representations of things derived from imaginative knowledge, we can thereby also discover the laws relating to the positions of the twelve constellations of the zodiac and the relationships between the movements of the seven planets and the movements of the twelve zodiacal signs. We can also highlight certain movements and laws that relate to fewer than the seven planets—for example, those that relate only to the Sun, the Moon, and the passage of the Sun and Moon through the zodiac signs, and the like. What matters is not that we sing about what is happening in the universe, but that the same forces that speak through the great laws of the universe also speak in the form of poetry. And so today you will encounter attempts—these are, of course, initial attempts—in which, in the sequence of the lines, in the mutual relationship of the lines to one another, and in what each line expresses, such laws prevail as prevail in the universe. For example, you will find a poem consisting of twelve stanzas, each stanza comprising seven lines, and the entire structure of the poem is such that what is expressed in the seven lines truly corresponds to the laws governing the movements of the seven planets. And the fact that there are precisely twelve stanzas, and that the mood of the seven lines recurs in twelve stanzas, corresponds to the laws governing the passage of the individual planets as they move through the signs of the zodiac. What takes place out there in the cosmos—in the harmony of the spheres, so to speak—is expressed in the sense conveyed by these twelve seven-line stanzas. Thus, the laws of the cosmos are also meant to prevail in these twelve seven-line stanzas. You will find, for example, in the stanza of Capricorn, that the fourth line expresses a certain position of Mars in relation to Capricorn. But there must be such a meaning in this line that if someone is awakened from sleep and nothing else is read to them but that one line from the Capricorn stanza—the Mars line—they must be able to say, once they have developed a sense for it: “That is the Mars line of the Capricorn stanza!” — Thus, every single line has a meaning. So it is not merely superficial; rather, it is structurally built this way from within. That is what matters.

[ 3 ] Similarly, in the short poems with four-line stanzas, the arrangement is such that certain rhythms express cosmic processes. Of the two twelve-stanza poems, one is meant to be serious; as for the other, you will see right away—when it is recited to you later—that it is a true satire. Now, one might very easily think that it is inappropriate to treat what are called “sacred things” satirically. But truly, my dear friends, if one wishes to make progress precisely in the realm of spiritual worldview, then a fundamental requirement is that one not forget how to laugh at those things in the world that, when properly judged, deserve to be laughed at. A lady once told of a gentleman who was always in the mood to “look up to the great revelations of the universe.” He never spoke of other people as “masters” at all, and—forgive me—but she also said: He actually always had “a face that went all the way down to his stomach”—the lady in question was not German—so he always displayed a tragically elongated face. When I heard this remark from the lady—that this gentleman always had such a tragically elongated face—I was reminded of an experience I had long ago in Vienna that I found truly extraordinary. There lived in Vienna a man who was trying in every way to immerse himself in the spiritual realm. He was the professor of physics and mathematics at the Vienna University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, Oskar Simony, who then, much later—only very recently—met a tragic end. He once crossed paths with me—I remember it as if it were yesterday—on Salesianergasse, on Landstraße, in Vienna. I knew him by sight, but I had never spoken to him. He didn’t know me at all; we simply passed each other on the sidewalk like two strangers. At the time, I was a very young man just starting out in life, a young buck of 26 or 27 years old. Well, Oskar Simony looked at me, stopped—I’m just stating a fact—and struck up a conversation with me about all sorts of things related to spiritual science; he then invited me to his home and gave me his latest publication on an extension of the four types of calculation, which he had published at the time in the old Academy of Sciences. It was precisely the time when the Austrian Crown Prince Rudolf, together with Archduke Johann—who later disappeared as Johann Orth, as you may know—was engaged in exposing a medium and dealing with such matters in general. That’s why there was a great deal of talk about such matters in Vienna at the time, and Oskar Simony, moreover, approached these topics from a very scientific perspective; he wrote a book about tying a knot in a closed, ring-shaped band, which is very interesting. — Well, as we were talking, he paused in the conversation and said, “Oh, when you’re dealing with these things, you really need a good sense of humor!” — And indeed, especially when one delves into the depths of spiritual science, it is necessary not to lose one’s sense of humor—in other words, not to feel constantly obliged to wear a perpetually somber expression. And I am even convinced that Oskar Simony had lost his sense of humor in the final years of his life, before he met such a tragic end.

[ 4 ] Now, there is certainly ample opportunity to display a sense of humor, especially within our spiritual movement. For it is precisely such spiritual movements that are the primary targets of caricatures of the pursuit of the spiritual. By “caricatures,” I do not mean people, but rather aspirations. What all sorts of things can be done under the banner of spiritual striving—or, let’s say, of belonging to a movement that makes spiritual striving its own! That is precisely what makes it so difficult to represent such a spiritual movement before the world. In and of itself, there was nothing wrong with the fact that, for a time—and there is still nothing wrong with it today—some ladies wore the kind of clothing I once had to find for the first scene of the performance of the first Mystery Drama; for modern dresses could not be worn on stage there. Then women began making such dresses. That was certainly worthy of all praise, of course, but that, too, got out of hand, and I need not go into further detail—it is well known how these things got out of hand, how people then came to believe that short hair was an absolute necessity to go with such clothing. Yes, one could even hear that—though this occurred only in isolated cases—there were women among us with very short hair and men with quite long hair. But those were merely exceptions. In any case, this has led to me being asked on numerous occasions during public lectures whether having one’s hair cut is part of theosophy. Well, that is an outward matter; but even regarding inner matters, all sorts of nonsense has been spread in our circles, against which one must take a firm stand. What all sorts of things are said about what I am supposed to have said, what all sorts of things are said about what is supposed to be true, and so on! Sometimes the things that are said do not come across in such a way that one could not conclude that the person saying them is trying to make themselves seem a bit important, to put it mildly. So there are excesses that make it difficult to defend our movement before those whose laughter muscles spring into action all on their own, especially when they hear about something they do not understand. They then laugh at what is serious, and at what is significant as well. But we need not give them further cause—through the caricature that often accompanies the pursuit of the spiritual—to feel they have a certain right to laugh.

[ 5 ] Such things led me to write a piece of poetry like this as a satire, which was then presented as a eurythmy performance, and that is what will be presented today. This satire, with its twelve zodiacal moods—in which the planets are also used, but used, I might say, to reveal a little of the dark side of the spiritual science establishment—not spiritual science itself, which has no dark side, but, let’s say, the spiritual science establishment’s entourage. These attempts—which, as I said, are meant to be modest attempts—are intended precisely to show how the laws of the cosmos, as felt, will give rise to genuine formal laws of poetry for the future. These poems are to be recited in conjunction with some by Robert Hamerling, which will be interspersed among them, and with that we will begin today before proceeding to our lecture discussion. So when considering these poems, you must bear in mind that they were intended for eurythmic performance; they will be recited today without eurythmy, but that does not matter.

[ 6 ] [Program for the subsequent recitation by Dr. Steiner: Poems by Robert Hamerling: “O, let me sing alone …,” “Son and Heir of Eternity …,” “Between Heaven and Earth,” “Nighttime Stirrings,” “Spirits of the Night,” “Do Not Rebuke the Gentle Sounds …,” “Venice,” “Song of Life,” — harmonium performance — “The Eagle.” — “Planetary Dance,” “Pentecost Verse” (“Where sensory knowledge ends…”), “Twelve Moods” by Rudolf Steiner, — harmonium: “The Heavens Praise” — “Lost Sounds” and “Diamonds” by Robert Hamerling, “The Song of Initiation,” a satire by Rudolf Steiner.]

[ 7 ] I would like to begin with what has already served as the basis for our reflections on several occasions. What permeates us through spiritual science should not live in our souls in such a way that, just as one has studied geography, botany, political science, or the like, we also come to know spiritual science and then neatly separate the rest of our lives from it; rather, spiritual science should provide impulses and life forces that truly flow into our perception of the reality that surrounds us. Not only must this be so for the sake of spiritual science itself, but spiritual science truly has the task of intervening in contemporary spiritual life, so that certain aspects—in relation to which contemporary spiritual life seems to have reached a dead end—may be revitalized, and so that certain aspects of contemporary spiritual life that are unhealthy may be restored to health. And as we have heard: One thing must indeed permeate our entire inner life if we wish to be truly immersed in spiritual science—and that is truthfulness! One must be so imbued with truthfulness that, when one wishes to engage in spiritual science, one does not deviate from this truthfulness in one’s entire conception of life. But it is precisely here that we are confronted today with a conception of life that, in its manner of judgment and in its attitude, is truly not permeated by truthfulness.

[ 8 ] Let us take as our starting point an event we have had to experience in recent days. It is also a form of untruthfulness that people give far too little thought to such events and consider them far too little in the context of life as a whole. You may have read about what, apart from those terrible, vast, gigantic upheavals taking place today, has been unfolding in a small circle these past few days—a shattering event concerning a single human fate; after all, everything that takes place outside the larger context is, in a sense, a small circle. A painter—who, as the trial revealed, is apparently a good painter—painted pictures and signed them: Böcklin, Uhde, Menzel, Spitzweg, and similar famous names; he painted many such pictures, which were sold to people who wanted to buy a Böcklin, a Lenbach, or a Menzel. But it was Mr. Lehmann who had painted them. However, Mr. Lehmann was a skilled painter, so everyone bought them thinking they were genuine Menzels, Uhdes, Böcklins, and so on. Now he is being sued. It is, of course, a clear-cut case of fraud. The experts found that the fraud was all the more serious because he was, in fact, a skilled painter and was truly able to execute the work so well that it was indistinguishable from the paintings created by the famous artists in question, and he was subsequently sentenced to four years in prison for fraud.

[ 9 ] I will now tell you about the counter-image to this, a counter-image that can be set alongside this event. Goethe, after all, had a habit of always contrasting image and counter-image. This is, of course, not as convenient as conventional thinking, but it sheds more light on true reality. When you visit Brussels, you’ll come across the Wiertz Museum. It houses paintings by the artist Wiertz, and I don’t believe there is a single person who wouldn’t be utterly astonished by the uniqueness of Wiertz’s paintings. Admittedly, these are paintings that are not painted the way others paint, but they have an extraordinarily distinctive style; at times they are such that, naturally, the stiff-necked philistine will find them crazy. Well, that may not always be a yardstick, but in any case, there are also some among them that can move you deeply. Wiertz was born at the beginning of the 19th century into a poor family; he was a poor fellow and grew up as a poor fellow; but as if by a flash of inspiration, the thought came to him one day—and here, I might say, a true calling combined with extraordinary vanity, for such things can indeed come together—that he must become a painter, greater than Rubens, a successor to Rubens; he must “out-Rubens” Rubens; he must become a “Super-Rubens.” Isn’t that right? Today, in the post-Nietzsche era, one can also say: “Super-Rubens.”—So he wanted to become a Super-Rubens; but of course he had some talent. He then received a scholarship and was able to go to Rome, where he could see Italian painting. And then he painted a picture—it was, admittedly, terribly large, absolutely enormous: a scene from the Trojan War. But it was really far better than the average paintings that were in exhibitions. Well, he submitted it to the Louvre Commission in Paris. They accepted it, but they hung it in such a way that it seemed as if they hadn’t accepted it at all. As you know, it’s a common practice among commissions that accept paintings for exhibitions to hang them in such a way that it’s as if they weren’t there at all. After all, it’s naturally very important that a painting actually be seen. If you can’t see it—if it’s lit in such a way that you can’t see it from a certain spot—then it may be on display, but in reality it isn’t really there. And since Wiertz had no small amount of vanity alongside his great talent, this bothered him terribly. He became absolutely furious about Paris, returned to Brussels, and never again wrote the name “Paris” without drawing a lightning bolt striking the word “Paris”! Well, he also received a few other honors that didn’t particularly please him. For instance, he once received a bronze medal from the king for some achievement. He said: “I don’t have gold, I don’t have silver, but bronze—I don’t need that either!” — And he remained furious. He wanted to put the Louvre Commission to the test once more. In 1840, he sent two paintings to an exhibition. He had painted one of them himself; it was signed “Wiertz.” The other, however, came about in a different way. An acquaintance of his happened to own a Rubens that was recognized as genuine and significant. Wiertz, on the spot, scratched out the name “Rubens” and wrote “Wiertz” underneath, then sent two “Wiertz” paintings to Paris. People looked at them: two “Wiertz” paintings? Nothing! They weren’t exhibited—they were deemed two pieces of trash! —Yet one of them was a genuine Rubens—in fact, it was an absolutely superb Rubens! Well, that’s how he got his revenge; he naturally made sure everyone knew about it, and it caused quite a stir at the time.

[ 10 ] This is the counterpart to the event I told you about earlier. Just imagine, then, how much falsehood prevails in the evaluation of works of art today! Who actually buys works of art? People buy names! Because it’s quite clear that if someone today painted something as good as Leonardo did—and that could very well be the case—people would naturally buy Leonardo and not the other artist. There have, after all, been other painters—even a newspaper reported on this today—who specialized in painting copies of old masters because they couldn’t sell their own work; but if they signed their paintings “Leonardo” or “Michelangelo” or something like that, they could sell them. But they had already died by the time people figured this out—so they couldn’t lock them up for four years anymore! Such events must above all be judged in light of the insincerity of our circumstances. Lehmann wouldn’t have sold a single one of his paintings if he’d written “Lehmann” on them; yet they would have been just as good as they are. These things are truly shocking. It is indeed necessary to engage with these matters through our thinking, for these are merely examples of things that occur again and again in everyday life today—in other areas and with other matters—and which demonstrate just how urgently our time needs to embrace truthfulness, as well as a commitment to truthfulness and a striving for truthfulness. Now, the pursuit of truth is not at all attainable without the good will to engage with these matters, to delve into them, rather than simply skimming over them and ignoring them. That is what it is all about: truly caring about what is happening around us and trying to understand these matters a little more deeply. If one does not, I would say, attempt this as an exercise—to observe reality as reality in its depths—then one cannot get very far in terms of grasping the impulses that lie at the heart of spiritual science; for spiritual science arose, after all, out of true reality, and we must attune ourselves to the impulse of true reality if we wish to understand spiritual science.

[ 11 ] For those who know the facts, it is, on the one hand, quite understandable that those who adhere to the truth today—as is so often the case with the truth—cannot come to an understanding of spiritual science; just as it is, on the other hand, self-evident that spiritual-scientific impulses must find their way into our spiritual life, both now and in the near future. It is indeed the case that today, with everything that presents itself to us, we—I would say—skim over it; not only what we read, but also life itself is skimmed over; we view events superficially, skimming right over them. I would like to draw your attention to something that, fundamentally speaking, can only be understood once one engages a little with the facts of spiritual science. Anyone who follows the course of our times today will be able to make an astonishing discovery if they pay attention to what the human soul immediately takes in, and to what it takes in in such a way that it retains it and makes it effective. In our time, most people who read at all read newspapers. Newspapers are, after all, creatures of the day, and most people think that what goes into the soul leaves it just as quickly as it entered, and they think that this can console them for the superficiality and insincerity of our journalism, which truly surpasses all bounds, as we shall describe later. But the reality is different from what is commonly believed. For most people today who also read books, the content of a book leaves a much shallower impression on the soul—even if it remains in their memory—than the content of a newspaper, even though the newspaper is merely a fleeting phenomenon. It is precisely this transience of newspaper material—which is absorbed and then discarded, and which one does not commit to memory but rather forgets as quickly as possible (for one must forget quickly)—that imprints itself infinitely deeply on the subconscious. I’ve mentioned before how quickly one has to forget with some newspapers. We were down in Istria once, near Pirano; that’s where the Piccolo della Sera is published. Well, that was a paper that came out every evening; it once ran a terribly sensational article—I don’t even remember what it was about anymore—but it was three columns long, taking up the entire front page. But there was still a little space left on that same page; where the same article was immediately retracted—it was stated that it was based on a mistake! That’s something you don’t see every day—an article being retracted on the very same page, isn’t it! But this is precisely the direction—asymptotically, gradually—in which the so-called big-city newspaper is moving.

[ 12 ] It is important to know that what we absorb so quickly and forget just as quickly is, in fact, deeply imprinted precisely in the subconscious part of our soul, and is precisely effective as a force that continues to work through the course of time. It thus continues to exert its influence in what is the general spirit of the age—the Ahrimanic spirit of the age; that is where it takes effect. Consequently, good books written today have far, far less impact than newspaper articles. Precisely that which is carefully absorbed and acts upon the “I”—and is imprinted in the memory from the “I”—has even less effect than what is fleetingly absorbed as a newspaper item. But I ask you not to draw the conclusion from this that you should not read newspapers; rather, accept this as your karma. For, of course, this must not be taken to mean that we should now refrain from reading even a single line of the newspaper. We must view this as a karma of our times; we must be clear that we need to develop precisely that aspect of our nature which is capable of discerning whether any given content contains intellectual struggle or is merely empty rhetoric. This is what one would hope for: that a sense of how intellectual achievement comes about might once again arise. For in this regard, we are in such a poor state today. We have no real sense of the difference between something that is well written and something that is written terribly. We treat the same content with just as much indifference when it is presented to us in well-written form as when it is poorly written. We have lost that distinction. How many people today can distinguish, for example, a page by Herman Grimm from a page by Eucken, Köhler, or Simmel? I could name many!

[ 13 ] Who can discern that the entire culture of Central and Western Europe is embodied, on the one hand, in Herman Grimm—in the way he constructs sentences, in the way he shapes a sentence—and that, when we immerse ourselves in this sentence structure, we establish a connection with what truly reigns spiritually in the world, whereas with the usual scholarly babble we establish a connection with nothing at all except the eccentricities of the gentlemen—or, as one can certainly say today, the ladies—in question. I have met scholars with whom I spoke about Herman Grimm; they were actually capable of comparing Herman Grimm to Richard M. Meyer or someone like that, because they said that with Richard M. Meyer—people always said “M.”; he never wrote out the “M.” in full— I don’t know why he was embarrassed by it, and people also said—one finds clear, decisive, strictly methodical research; the scholars did not call Herman Grimm a worker in the field of science, but a stroller. It was common practice to say of him that he was a stroller in the field of science, because he had too few footnotes. Who today has a sense that, in Herman Grimm’s style—quite apart from the content itself—the very manner of presentation embodies the entirety of European culture up to the end of the 19th century? That is precisely what we must strive to achieve: a sense of style, a true appreciation of art even in this field, for this is a great school of truthfulness, whereas superficial reading—which focuses solely on content and seeks only to inform—is a school of untruthfulness, of lies. And in this regard, just take a look at the present—you’ll see how much work still needs to be done so that people can once again learn to develop a sense of style and an appreciation for it. Certainly, one must read the newspapers today; but one should also get the feeling that it niggles and gnaws at you, and that you want to climb the walls because of the style that has gradually become established there—a style that simply cannot be any different. One must come to this realization; one must experience it firsthand. But there are countless examples of the extent to which this has been lost, and people today are not at all inclined—I would say—to get to the very bottom of it with their thinking.

[ 14 ] I really don’t want to go into anything that, I would say, is based on national prejudices or sympathy or antipathy—one must understand every point of view and be able to put oneself in the shoes of those holding it—but quite apart from that, I would like to mention: A few months ago, a book was published that is not widely available in Germany, understandably so. This book is titled J’accuse, by a German; it has been translated into all languages, including German, and hundreds of thousands of copies have been distributed throughout the world. Now, really, I do not wish to discuss the fact that this book, J’accuse, paints a bleak picture of Germany’s role in the war and Austria’s role in this war; I do not wish to speak of that—everyone is entitled to their own point of view. What matters in this case is not that everything is portrayed in the worst possible light, that all blame is placed solely on the Central European powers, and that all others are completely exonerated—indeed, not only exonerated, but even portrayed as if they were purer than pure. I really do not want to talk about that. One can hold that view—everyone is entitled to their own opinion—but that is not the point. However, this book has found a wide readership, not only among people who are otherwise spoiled by reading newspapers and read nothing else, but, strangely enough, among minds considered enlightened. This has been observed.

[ 15 ] Now, this book is the worst kind of trash literature one can imagine, quite apart from its point of view. Anyone who simply reads the book as it is will find, in terms of form and sentence structure, “back-stairs literature”—that is, literature that is artistically shameful beyond measure. So I want to consider the artistic aspect here, setting aside all points of view, because I can very well understand an opposing point of view or any point of view at all. But what is infinitely sad is that no one seemed to realize that someone who writes so shamefully poorly—in terms of sentence structure, thought processes, and the development of ideas—should be considered, at most, for those readers who obtain their literature not through the front door but via the back stairs. I wouldn’t say that today, but the matter was brought up again the day before yesterday by an article that appeared here in the Vossische Zeitung, the old “Aunt Voß.” Well, “Aunt Voß” has now completely shed its old “aunt-like” character; it has become a modern newspaper. An article by a private lecturer, Dr. Fr. Oppenheimer, discusses this book and a rather successful counter-essay that was published about it, Anti-J’accuse; but this article in the Vossische Zeitung by Dr. Fr. Oppenheimer begins in a peculiar way. He writes that he was made aware of this book by a person from a neutral country, whom he had previously considered one of the most outstanding and most misunderstood writers of our time. Then he gives his own impressions of the book. He does touch on how poorly the book is written—and that is, above all, what should be emphasized here—but I was actually somewhat curious to see if one thought might lead to another, for it seemed to me that, given the thoughts and feelings Oppenheimer had about the book, the other should have followed to some extent: So I was a little taken aback when I considered him a great man who later recommended such a disgraceful book to me as something special. But that consistency isn’t there.

[ 16 ] Now, I’m not saying this to judge this particular case, but rather to point out: This is typical—truly typical. People skim over the facts. Isn’t this a good reason to ask oneself: What did my judgment mean if I considered someone significant, only to have that person later try to foist such a book on me as if it were significant? Isn’t this something that must necessarily lead to a certain degree of self-knowledge? But drawing conclusions from the things that are so terribly evident to us right now—that does not seem to be the spiritual task of many people today! One must seek out the fundamental character, the fundamental structure of our present-day spiritual life, in such typical examples. One must truly be able to feel how the fundamental flaws of our time are expressed in such things, and one must not simply gloss over these things as if they were nothing. These things are immensely significant, for they reveal on a small scale what I showed you on a large scale using the example that today many who are not even Turks believe themselves to be quite good Christians. Just remember how I demonstrated this to you myself through a short lecture on the Qur’an—how, in fact, every Turk who knows his Qur’an believes far more about Jesus than modern pastors often believe and teach. It is simply found in a different realm—the realm where the grandeur of existence presents itself to our souls. But the same mistakes—the same, I would say, pattern of error—confront us today in everyday life in the form of this terrible superficiality, which is identical to the insincerity of everyday life. We must move beyond this if all this talk about spiritual science is not to be merely a waste of effort in the present age. What matters is that it not be a waste of effort!

[ 17 ] We must come to terms with the fact that, particularly in the 19th century and in the 20th century so far, we were, so to speak, caught in the middle of a development in the humanities that influenced modern thinking and feeling from two sides, so that there were two currents—I would say, left and right—between which we were caught. And we must break free from that. I have devoted various reflections to this very topic this winter in order to draw attention to where the deeper foundations lie that have led to what is thought and felt today. Indeed, one can demonstrate through a wide variety of symptoms what prevails today and what is developing today. I have shown this to you by pointing out various occult movements that are playing out in society. I have pointed out to you how a large part of modern thought—the direction of thought, the mindset of thought—traces back to the very beginning of the fifth post-Atlantean period, how a certain spirit set the tone there, living on in the works of Bacon, Shakespeare, and even Jakob Böhme. That was bound to happen. But today we have also reached the point where we must overcome what was rightly introduced and inaugurated at the beginning of the fifth post-Atlantean period. And that is precisely what I wanted to illustrate in this book, The Riddle of Man, which has now been published. On the one hand, I wanted to show the spiritual currents into which the fifth post-Atlantean cultural period has led us—particularly in Central Europe—and how the way out, specifically the spiritual-scientific way out, must be sought. It remains to be seen whether what is written in this book—which was truly written with heart and soul, to the extent that two days were sometimes spent on a single sentence occupying a quarter of a page in order to get every word and every turn of phrase just right—will be read, or whether it will be received as poorly as previous books have been.

[ 18 ] You see, my dear friends, all these reflections we have made ultimately point to the fact that we must find within our souls the elements—the elements of power—that will enable us to take in the Mystery of Golgotha in a new way. But this Mystery of Golgotha can be understood only by those who do not seek understanding through the forces of the physical body, but who are able to understand that which is independent of the physical body. Now you will say: Then surely the Mystery of Golgotha—the true source of life for Christianity—could be understood only by those who arrive at this understanding through esoteric development. No, that is not the case. Until now, it was entirely possible for a person, even without spiritual science, to experience that freedom of the soul from the physical body which was necessary to understand the Mystery of Golgotha. However, the number of those who understood it grew ever smaller, while the number of those who rebelled against true understanding grew ever larger. Consider just one symptom of this: In earlier centuries, people also read the four Gospels. They sought the power contained in the Gospels and drew closer to an intuitive, soul-based understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. Then came the people of the nineteenth century in particular, who were, of course, more clever than all their predecessors and concluded: “These four Gospels contradict one another!” — How could the intellect fail to see that they contradict one another? Enormous effort was expended to find all the contradictions, and enormous effort was expended to extract a core on which they all agree. Not much came of it, but many great men emerged in the course of the 19th and 20th centuries. Yes, surely the people of earlier centuries must have seen this too—that the Gospels contradict one another? Could they really all have been so foolish as not to see that the Gospel of Matthew says something different from the Gospel of John? Or could it be that the people of the 19th century simply failed to realize that people of earlier times had a different understanding—that they sought to comprehend things with an entirely different spiritual faculty? Decide for yourself based on what you have learned from spiritual science!

[ 19 ] But the time has passed when people could still understand the Mystery of Golgotha and Christianity without following the path of spiritual science. The number of people who will be able to understand Christianity without passing through spiritual science will become smaller and smaller. It will become an increasingly necessary path to understanding the Mystery of Golgotha, for the Mystery of Golgotha must be understood with the etheric body. Everything else can be understood with the physical body. But only spiritual science prepares us to understand what is to be grasped with the etheric body. Therefore, either spiritual science will succeed and prevail, or Christianity itself will not be able to gain further recognition, because the Mystery of Golgotha will not be understood. In this regard, very little is truly understood even by those who believe today that they are on the right path.

[ 20 ] There’s one story I have to tell over and over again: Many years ago, I gave a lecture in a city in southern Germany on the treasures of Christian wisdom. Two clergymen were present; they came up to me after the lecture and said: “We were actually surprised that you take such a positive view of Christianity, that you express all of this exactly as it should be according to Christianity; but the way you present it is only understandable to people who have a certain level of education. But the way we represent Christianity, it is for all people; therefore, what we represent is the right thing”—I said: “You know, one must not judge based on what one likes, but is obligated to include in one’s judgment only what corresponds to reality. Anyone can imagine that what they think is right. The less grounded someone is in reality, the more they usually imagine that what they believe is correct. The person who knows the least about Christianity is usually the one who imagines they know the most about it. So it doesn’t matter what we imagine to be right; rather, we must judge in accordance with reality. And so I ask you: Do all people still go to your church today? — for that alone is what matters. It’s not what you think about Christianity, but whether you speak for all people—that is what determines whether everyone goes to your church. — No, no, they said, certainly, unfortunately so many stay outside! — Well, yes, I said, and some of those who stay outside your church were here with me today; I speak for them—so everything is all right. But those who do not go into your church are also seeking a path to the Mystery of Golgotha.

[ 21 ] And this path must be found. We are compelled to let reality—that which weaves and lives within reality—dictate our judgment, and not what we imagine. For, of course, everyone considers their own method to be the correct one. But what is right is not what we think is right—what we have devised and felt to be right—but rather what we discern from reality. To do this, however, we must accustom ourselves to immersing ourselves in reality and have the reverence for reality, the devotion to reality, that is necessary to allow our power of judgment, our perception, and our feelings to be dictated by reality itself. But people today have forgotten how to do this. They must learn this again in order to understand the smallest and the greatest, everyday life and that which gives meaning to the entire development of the Earth, and to understand the Mystery of Golgotha.