The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fourteenth Lecture

[ 1 ] A scene in Faust such as the one that leads Faust to behold the Earth Spirit can very well, in our time, trigger thoughts that should follow on from some of the reflections we have made here recently. Faust has the Earth Spirit before him. And we see that, through the contemplation of certain things that stir his meditation—things that, as it says in Faust, come to him from the book of Nostradamus—he is brought into that state through which what speaks to him as the Earth Spirit can become vivid to him. Well, I have already spoken about these things here, and today I wish only to take as my starting point the idea of the Earth Spirit. Our contemporary mindset dispenses with such a scene very quickly by repeatedly resorting to a formula that is very convenient for it. This contemporary mindset simply says: Well, the poet’s imagination simply allows him to conjure up before our souls that which can never be reality. — For Goethe, such a formula represented the pinnacle of all that is trivial, for in everything he sought to develop regarding Faust’s relationship to the Earth Spirit lay a deep, meaningful reality. And I would like to say a few words by way of introduction about how this reality can now be conceived entirely in the spirit of Goethe.

[ 2 ] Even at the time he wrote the scene about the Earth Spirit, Goethe was well-informed about everything that could be known at the time—as I have already mentioned—regarding certain connections between human beings and the spiritual world; he had carefully educated himself on the subject. And whether he had brought these things into more or less clear consciousness for himself, or whether he could have expressed them in more or less completely clear words, just as we express these things today—that is, after all, irrelevant when one takes into account the time in which Goethe lived. But what matters is that he composed the scene entirely in accordance with correct insights. If one wishes to imagine this in reality, it can be done in the following way. One must imagine: Through the insights Faust gains from this so-called Book of Nostradamus—in conjunction with spiritual exercises that Faust had, of course, already undertaken earlier—his etheric body is revealed and partially separated from the physical body, as is necessary for a perception of the spiritual world. Through this, however, the human being is brought into an etheric connection with the external world and truly experiences the existence and activity of spiritual beings who can incarnate only in the etheric world, whose incarnation does not extend down to the physical world. This is the case with what Goethe conceives of as the Earth Spirit, a spiritual being that descends only as far as the etheric world. Faust must therefore prepare himself to behold the life and activity of the etheric world at this very moment. And that is what he does. It is thus truly an interplay between the Earth Spirit and Faust’s body, which has been liberated into the etheric realm. This is, of course, as I have now described it, a process imperceptible to the external sensory world—a process that can only be experienced spiritually.

[ 3 ] Now, in the period preceding our fifth post-Atlantean epoch, people—who knew even more than those who came later about humanity’s connection to the spiritual world, but in whom the ancient clairvoyant abilities had already more or less faded—sought in various ways what one might call surrogates for communication with the spiritual world. Just consider, for example, that Faust receives an image and words from the Book of Nostradamus. By thinking these words—that is, by forming these thought-forms—he paves the way, so to speak, for his soul to reach the Earth Spirit. Goethe was able to depict this because he knew it corresponded to reality. In truth, one might say that the era in which the historical Faust lived was, however, no longer conducive to people being able to experience such a spiritual connection so readily. For even earlier—as the fourth post-Atlantean epoch, the Greco-Latin culture, was drawing to a close in the 14th century—people were already attempting to establish a connection with the spiritual world through surrogates.

[ 4 ] Of course, today’s enlightened world cannot get enough of mocking, scoffing, and laughing at these surrogates—for which descriptions exist—and of reflecting on just how wonderfully far we’ve come. But one need not listen to these very clever—these incredibly clever—people of the present, who, in their own opinion, have of course moved beyond such things. One can imagine how people—in whom this ability had waned, in whom it was no longer as vividly present as it once was—how people at the turn of the fourth to the fifth post-Atlantean epoch strove to use surrogates to pave the way for perceiving certain spiritual processes that, in truth, can only be perceived supersensually. And this often took place through external means. Let us say that such a man, who was attempting to gain insights into the spiritual world and who could not summon the strong inner power to gain these insights purely spiritually, he did so by taking certain substances, burning them, and directing the smoke—produced by the mixture of very specific burning substances—into specific movements, which he evoked through very specific, traditional formulas. He had what one might call specific magic formulas. So he produced smoke from certain substances that he burned, incanted over the smoke—that is, he spoke certain words that had also been handed down and that, let’s say, might have been similar to the words that Faust finds in the Book of Nostradamus—he spoke these words into the smoke: the smoke took on very specific forms. If he had been able to approach the spiritual world purely through his mind, he would not have needed the smoke. But perhaps he was unable to do so. That is why he spoke certain magic formulas into the smoke. Through such magical formulas, when spoken in the correct manner, the smoke can immediately take on specific forms; and if the formulas were correct, not only was the smoke made to take on specific forms, but these forms then also allowed the spiritual beings—who could not approach him purely spiritually—to enter his sphere. The smoke was, so to speak, what the person in question shaped through his incantations; and the forms that the smoke took—through their very structure—made it possible for the spiritual beings of an elemental nature to enter into these formations, into these forms of smoke, and thus to be present there. We see that it is a surrogate, a means of retaining through physical matter that which cannot be retained purely spiritually. .

[ 5 ] Goethe avoided depicting such a surrogate; he could just as easily have had Faust pick up another book containing a compilation of those herbs that must be burned together to produce such a column of smoke, thereby summoning the Earth Spirit. He avoided doing that. He wanted to render the scene in a more spiritual way. But of course, Goethe was well aware of these substitutes as well. As I said, today people laugh at the idea that something like that could have any significance.

[ 6 ] Now we are faced with something strange, something truly strange. The 19th century has, in fact, come to the point where it has gradually lost all conceptions of the spiritual—indeed, even the conception of the life force anchored in the life ether, and indeed of everything anchored in the ether. With its materialistic outlook, the 19th century had come to regard life itself merely as an outgrowth of the material world, to view a living organism, as it were, merely as a more complex machine. Certainly, this was part of the 19th-century tendency to drive life out of the way of looking at things. Now the curious thing is that this life, after having been driven out, creeps back into ways of thinking—creeps back in a way that the thinking of the 19th and 20th centuries has so far been unable to come to terms with. It is interesting to observe how—one might say—after spirit and life have been driven out of research through one door, they come back in through the other, and in a way that research simply does not know how to handle. Today, certain people are already pondering—albeit in a rather misguided way—whether perhaps the inanimate also lives. Life has, so to speak, been driven out of the living; but today people already feel compelled once again to consider whether the non-living might also be alive. For example, people say something like this: That which manifests itself as living—and yet cannot have any other laws of life than the non-living—possesses—to a greater or lesser extent—a memory. — Now that everything is being thrown into confusion, people are even attributing memory to animals and plants. Memory, they say, is possessed by the living. They do not want to accept this memory as something derived from a spiritual source; thus, they strive to find this memory in the inanimate as well. How does one do that? Well, one asks: What is memory? Memory consists in the fact that a so-called living being is exposed to a stimulus, and when this living being is exposed to the same stimulus a second time, the repetition is such that one can tell the living being had already been exposed to the same stimulus before. The process of perceiving and internalizing the stimulus is faster; one notices that something has remained within the living being, which enables it to react to the stimulus the second time more quickly and more easily than the first time. — Now one asks: Is this merely a property of living things—to possess this kind of memory? If so, one would have to ascribe special properties to living things that one does not wish to ascribe to them; thus, perhaps one can also find that non-living things—merely physical objects—possess memory. And there one finds that, say, a magnet—that is, iron that has been treated in a certain way so that it has become magnetic—attracts other iron, and one can now measure, through certain procedures, the force with which the iron is attracted when the magnet has transmitted, say, a certain amount of force. One can measure how much effort was required to magnetize the iron so that it attracts other iron.

[ 7 ] Now, one discovers some very interesting facts. One finds facts that are absolutely correct once one magnetizes iron and thereby brings it up to a certain level of magnetic force. You wait, then magnetize it again: Now you need to apply less force to bring the iron to the same magnetic strength, to the same reaction as the first time, and even less the third time. So people say: See, the magnet already possesses what is found in a more complex form in the memory of higher beings. — The same can be demonstrated with other forces inherent in inanimate substances; for example, when one deforms a highly elastic body. One can deform it by applying a certain force; it then returns to its original shape, and as it snaps back, restoring its former form, it develops a specific reactive force of a certain strength, which in turn can be measured using instruments. The second time, one does not need to apply such a strong force for the elastic object in question to spring apart and fold back together. And so one can say: Thus, even in the concept of elastic force, inanimate entities are endowed with a certain “memory.”

[ 8 ] This line of thought is very, very strange. We do not want animals to possess memory through some special power; we have banished spiritual life from them. Now it creeps back in when we imagine that magnets, elastic bodies—that is, inanimate objects—possess memory. But people have gone much further. As you know, a particular characteristic of the living is found in the dark side of all living things—in the possibility of becoming ill. Now people have reflected further: Could it not perhaps be that the non-living, the inanimate, might also fall ill? — And there were actually certain people who were extraordinarily pleased—those who, so to speak, wanted to drive life out of the living—that they were in a position to demonstrate: Yes, the lifeless can also become ill! It is not merely a privilege of the living to become ill; the lifeless can also become ill.

[ 9 ] It was a chemist named Erdmann who first noticed that certain pieces of tin on a building exhibited quite remarkable phenomena. When a piece of tin like this (as shown in the drawing) was examined, it had something like these blisters, raised in this manner; and it is hollow underneath. When one pressed these blisters, the tin underneath was powdery; it was like dust in that spot. And lo and behold, it went on. We have reports stating that it did not stop with Erdmann’s observations; rather, we find the following description, for example. “Later”—that is, after Erdmann—“the chemist Dr. Fritzsche once again took up this problem”—the tin plague—“after the head of a trading house in Saint Petersburg had brought to his attention that entire blocks of pure metal, which were to be shipped by boat, were simply disintegrating. Since, around the same time, uniform buttons in a military depot had turned into gray powder, and an extremely harsh winter was prevailing in Saint Petersburg at the time, Dr. Fritzsche came to the conclusion that it might be the cold that was corroding the tin. In 1893, participants at the naturalists’ conference held in the old town of Nuremberg were taken to the new post office building, whose roof—made of tin plates—had inexplicably disintegrated. But none of the chemists and physicians present at the time knew what to make of it. A similar deterioration was observed on the roof of the famous old town hall in Rothenburg ob der Tauber and in many other cases as well. More recently, Professor Dr. Ernst Cohen of the van’t Hoff Laboratory at the University of Utrecht has investigated this deterioration of metals in great detail and found that it is in fact a disease—specifically, an infectious disease.”

[ 10 ] So people have come to attribute a disease to the very substance of tin, and they call this disease “tin plague.” So even today, people in these circles speak of the “tin plague.” But what is particularly interesting are phenomena like this: There is a coin, a tin medal, that depicts the following (a coin is drawn). It simply depicts a head; in reality, it is Balthasar Bekker, who was a reformer. This medal was cast in 1692. On this medal, you’ll find these raised areas everywhere—actual scab-like raised areas—that you can dab with your finger, and they’ll flake off. And underneath, the entire area beneath these raised areas has become dusty, powdery. In this case, people refer to it as “pewter plague.” But the strangest thing—and what has particularly struck people—is that if you simply have the dust on your fingers and transfer it to another piece of pewter that is otherwise in good condition, that pewter becomes afflicted with the same disease. This means that, according to popular belief, we are dealing with a very specific type of disease—namely, an infectious disease, a disease that can be transmitted through infection. Therefore, influenced by such facts, people today are already saying the following:

[ 11 ] “It has recently been recognized that infectious diseases also exist in other metals. In the case of aluminum, there are even two different forms of infectious diseases, one of which is transmitted through water.” “The study of metal-related diseases,” writes Dr. Neuburger, “which is currently still in its infancy, will likely constitute a distinct branch of science in the future... .”

[ 12 ] So you think that in the future we will have to hire not only human doctors and veterinarians, but also “metal doctors”! Inanimate objects can also fall ill; this is something that has already found its way into modern science. Inanimate objects can also fall ill.

[ 13 ] Living beings feel; they not only have memory and the ability to become ill, but they feel! After all, the simplest fact about living beings beyond the plant realm is that they feel. Well, when it comes to “feeling,” people today are already pondering this in a curious way. It has long been recognized that it is not only something born as a living being that perceives sound, for example, but that something entirely non-living also has a genuine perception of sound. This is particularly interesting. One need only read what John Tyndall writes:

[ 14 ] “When you tap the table, a 45-centimeter-high column of smoke collapses into a bushy bouquet with stems only 2.5 centimeters long.”

[ 15 ] So John Tyndall, the physicist, observes a column of smoke 45 centimeters high. Not by striking the same table where the column of smoke is, but by striking a completely different table—simply by the impact, the column of smoke collapses, changes its shape, and becomes something like a cactus bush, but very short. And John Tyndall is seriously of the opinion that the column of smoke perceived the sound and changed its shape as a result of the sound. He goes on to say:

[ 16 ] “The column of smoke obeys the voice as well. A cough brings it down, and it dances to the sound of a music box. With certain notes, only the tip of the column gathers into a bouquet. With others, the bouquet forms halfway up, while with certain notes of the right pitch, the column contracts into a dense cloud that stands barely more than 2.5 cm above the end of the burner. — Not only individual words, but every word and every syllable of the quoted verses by Spenser sets a truly sensitive stream of smoke into the greatest turmoil.”

[ 17 ] There you have the modern physicist, who attributes sensation to the column of smoke—who, after we have forgotten all those things, all those incantations that ancient magicians spoke into the column of smoke to transform it into a different form, has noticed these things once again. John Tyndall, an ordinary physicist of the present day, of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, observes how a column of smoke collapses in response to a sound, takes the shape of a bush, and even dances when a music box plays. He observes how it follows very specific verses by Spenser as it takes shape. We have the physicist who, in essence, behaves toward the column of smoke in exactly the same way—albeit in a more elementary, more rudimentary manner—as the old, despised sorcerer did:

[ 18 ] “Even more fascinating is how these sensitive water jets react to sound.”

[ 19 ] So today we observe not only a column of smoke, but also a jet of water. Tyndall describes this fascinating phenomenon in his book—the one just mentioned—on pages 316 through 326, and concludes with the words:

[ 20 ] “The sensitivity of this jet is astonishing; it can rival that of the ear itself.” So it is not only the ear that hears—that is, perceives sound—but the water jet also perceives sound and changes under its influence, to the extent that its sensitivity can rival that of the ear:

[ 21 ] “If one places the two tuning forks on a table some distance away”—that is, not on the same table, but on a different table—“and allows the beats to gradually fade away, the beam continues its rhythm almost as long as one can still hear anything. If the beam were even more sensitive, it would even prove superior to the ear—an astonishing fact, considering the marvelous delicacy of this organ.”

[ 22 ] But let's go even further. A certain Leconte made a curious discovery at a musical soirée in America, which he describes as follows:

[ 23 ] “Shortly after the music began, I noticed that the flame was vibrating”—the gas flame—“in perfect harmony with the audible overtones of the music. This phenomenon must have been noticeable to everyone... especially when the powerful notes of the cello came in.”

[ 24 ] He thus observes the flame as it “hears” the musical notes and recreates them within itself.

[ 25 ] “It was extraordinarily interesting to observe how precisely even the trills of this instrument were reproduced by the flame. To a deaf person, the harmony would have become visible. As the evening wore on, when gas consumption in the city decreased and the pressure consequently increased, the phenomenon became more distinct. The flame’s flickering gradually intensified, became somewhat irregular, and finally turned into a sustained flicker, accompanied by the characteristic sound indicating that more gas was escaping than could be burned. I then determined through an experiment that the phenomenon occurred only when the flow of gas was regulated so that the flame approached a state of flickering. I also confirmed through an experiment that the effects did not occur when the floor and walls of the room were shaken by repeated impacts.”

[ 26 ] So it wasn't caused by the vibration, but by the flame's perception of the sound.

[ 27 ] “This shows that the fluctuations of the flame did not result from indirect vibrations that might have been transmitted to the burner through the walls, but were caused by the direct influence of sound waves in the air on the flame.”

[ 28 ] It is worth noting that the electric arc lamp also responds to sound in such an extraordinarily sensitive manner that there have been several attempts to exploit this phenomenon for telephone transmission.

[ 29 ] So there you see how, in the case of the other door—the one for the non-living—the very same qualities that have been driven out of the living are supposed to enter!

[ 30 ] It is truly very, very interesting to see the curious path that the 19th-century way of thinking and mindset—which was alienated from all spiritual life—has taken, right up to the present day. The researchers themselves, with their way of thinking, are not really to blame for this, because they do not conduct systematic research. When something like this presents itself to them, they dismiss it. Only in the rarest of cases do they systematically seek out such things. But the facts themselves speak so loudly that even the most reluctant researchers arrive at such strange insights. Now, it generally does not occur to researchers who notice this today to interpret such things in any sense other than a strictly materialistic one. They say, of course: Well, if the inanimate can also feel, can even become ill, can develop memory, then there is no need to attribute anything special to the living; then the living is merely a more complex form of the inanimate.

[ 31 ] More and more, those things that come back in through the other door will weigh on our thinking—this thinking that already seems so extraordinarily burdened when viewed today with the clear-eyed perspective that arises when one also has a certain understanding of the facts of the spiritual world. For this is a particularly distinctive feature of the 19th century and the period extending to the present day: that, faced with the abundance of phenomena, one cannot, so to speak, keep up with the thoughts at one’s disposal. For what conventional research has to say today in the face of such things is, one might say, nothing other than the most pitiful helplessness. But one trend is evident here: on the one hand, there is the overwhelming abundance of facts that urge us to expand our spheres of thought; on the other hand, there is precisely the aforementioned helplessness of those who do not wish to approach spiritual science to learn from it—the utter helplessness of precisely those who refuse to do so in the face of these pressing facts. And here it is interesting to consider certain contemporary phenomena. One will understand them if one is able to view them in the light of all that we have been examining here in recent weeks.

[ 32 ] Let us begin today by presenting a few facts by way of introduction. Above all, let us consider the fact that, as a result of the onslaught of the scientific worldview—as they say—theology of all religious denominations, if it is still willing to engage in a debate with what science asserts, finds itself in serious distress. In times past—times not so long ago—theology articulated certain truths, truths concerning, among other things, the spiritual worlds, but also, let us say, truths about the human soul. There is no need to challenge these truths. We know, after all, how research in the spiritual sciences serves to reaffirm the truths that people have traditionally accepted from theology. But theologians themselves generally do not engage in the task of reconciling these truths with the scientific worldview that is rapidly gaining ground. They do not find this convenient—not really convenient. And so it often happens that while theologians may verbally articulate the old truths, the object—the subject matter—is claimed by the natural sciences. The natural sciences have arrived and place their own concepts above the human soul; they deal with the human soul, taking, so to speak, the object—the soul—away from the theologians. Theologians still speak, but they no longer have the object. This is precisely what is distinctive about spiritual science: that it engages fully with natural science; and it is only truly spiritual science when it engages fully with natural science.

[ 33 ] The issue I am alluding to here takes on a serious character when one sees how this refusal to strike a balance with the natural sciences—which simply annex the soul and other spiritual realms—leads to quite grotesque phenomena. I have already demonstrated such grotesque phenomena to some of you who have been with me on this journey over the past few days. Today I would like to show a few more.

[ 34 ] There is a theologian; who he is is of little importance. All one needs to do today is go to a bookstore and pick up a few books in any language—any books at all, preferably those intended to enlighten the “people,” that is, books belonging to some series designed to enlighten the people: by the third book you pick up—usually by the second, and often even by the first—it becomes clear that the shortcoming I have just described is quite widespread today. It is not a matter of names, but of the way in which the subject at hand affects the broadest circles; that is what matters. For today it permeates all popular writings—especially the popular ones—and everywhere we hear the echo of that which lives and breathes there. There is a theologian who gives lectures—a whole series of lectures—first on scientific, then on ethical and aesthetic worldviews or ways of life. He goes on to observe all sorts of other phenomena in order to show, in his own way, how he arrives at what he now calls Christianity—which, of course, he then calls the true Christianity—as if every such discourse were the true Christianity, and all the others were false forms of Christianity—how he arrives at his own Christianity. First, he speaks of the scientific worldview and says: Human beings as natural beings, human beings as nature—these must be left to the scientific approach; the “human being of freedom” belongs to theology, to religious contemplation. — One could, if these words are used in this way, perhaps still accept that. If there were something behind this “human being of freedom,” and if the man were to make a clear-cut distinction, then one might accept that. Then he says: It is truly detrimental for theologians if they do not grant natural science its full due. One should grant natural science its full due; one should simply divide humanity: hand over the human being of nature to natural science, while theology retains the human being of freedom. — That’s how you can reach compromises! The only question is whether it’s possible to divide a human being—like a loaf of bread, a piece of bread—into two parts. Such a theologian speaks, after all, in much the same way as the relationship between Hans and Karl developed when their father gave them a piece of bread. Hans asks: “How should I divide it?” Then the father says: “In a truly Christian way.” Hänschen asks: “How does one share in a Christian way?” “Well,” says the father, “you keep the smaller piece for yourself and give Karlchen the bigger piece.” “Oh, then Karlchen should do the sharing!” says Hänschen,

[ 35 ] Well, yes, you do notice that sometimes, when people are torn between theologians and natural scientists. But not everyone wants to draw a line in this way; rather, some want to come to an amicable agreement. And since the natural scientists have already become very powerful, the theologians are reluctant to fully align themselves with the natural sciences; so they consider a different form of compromise. In a series of lectures held not long ago, we find a quite peculiar way of reaching such a compromise: to hand over the “human being of nature” to the natural sciences, while reserving the “human being of freedom” for the theologians. — Whether such a division is possible—that is precisely the question! For one would first have to ask, if one is indeed giving part of the human being to the natural sciences, whether there isn’t already a part of the other within this natural human being—it is, as we know, already there in reality—and whether it is therefore possible to divide the bread in such a way that one part consists of flour and the other of water. But then neither part would be bread anymore. That is precisely what would happen if one were to divide things correctly: if one gives natural science what it can truly use, then that is not a real human being, but an abstraction—just as flour is not bread. But today’s contemporary way of thinking is truly ill-suited to seeing through such things. And so we see how, for example, the following can be proclaimed with such emphasis in our time:

[ 36 ] By discussing the naturalistic principle of life, it is argued that natural science should be entrusted with human beings as part of nature, because they belong to natural science, while theology should retain human beings as beings of freedom. And now the question is raised as to how this human being, as nature, is to be understood. There we find the following statement:

[ 37 ] “Human beings, as we encounter them in zoology—the bipedal, upright-walking Homo sapiens, endowed with a finely developed spine and brain—are just as much a part of nature as any other organic or inorganic entity; they are composed of the same matter, the same energies, the same atoms, and are permeated and governed by the same force; in any case, the entire physical life of human beings, however complex it may be, is, in its entirety, determined by the natural sciences and ordered by laws just like every other living and non-living entity in nature. In this respect, there is no difference whatsoever between human beings and a jellyfish, a drop of water, or a grain of sand.”

[ 38 ] This is how a theologian speaks when enlightening the people of today. But human beings have feelings. Now, it’s unpleasant to get into a debate with today’s natural scientists, because it’s downright repulsive: they even discover feelings in inanimate objects. So one would rather give in to them, and that is why, as a theologian, one also says the following:

[ 39 ] “The mental functions that are accessible to scientific observation are subject to laws just as strict as those governing physical processes; and the sensations we experience, as well as the ideas we form, are just as much imposed on us by nature as the neural processes that lead to feelings of pleasure and displeasure. They are just as much mechanical processes as those of a steam engine.”

[ 40 ] These are theological lectures, my dear friends, theological lectures! For the man reserves for himself the human being of freedom! You see, he willingly relinquishes the human being of nature. He reserves for himself the human being of freedom. What happens now, after he has shared his views with the natural scientists? We can already see from the following sentences in the very first lecture what happens next, for he says:

[ 41 ] “Man as nature”—that is, the concept he has presented to the natural sciences—“loses his independence and freedom as a component of nature; everything he experiences, he endures, and he must endure it entirely in accordance with the laws of nature.”

[ 42 ] So by giving the natural man to the natural scientists, man loses his freedom. He reserves the free man for himself; but he no longer possesses that freedom at all, for by giving the natural man to the natural scientists, he loses his freedom. In reality, therefore, he retains nothing. Thus, the good theologian, who is now giving twelve theological lectures, has absolutely nothing to talk about. This becomes very clear at the end, for he has nothing but a torrent of words delivered with immense pomp. He has ceded the human being of nature to natural science; he has indeed retained the human being of freedom, but only in name, for the human being of nature actually loses his freedom. He loses it completely when the natural scientist takes over.

[ 43 ] Now, this is a man who is entirely sincere. One can truly say, as in Shakespeare’s famous speech: “Brutus is an honorable man; they are all honorable men!” — Why shouldn’t one grant them that? But one can still catch such people in a peculiar mindset. Why, since he wants to be a theologian, is he so generous as to give up all objects of human contemplation? Yes, he reveals this in a peculiar way. For he says:

[ 44 ] “One must go even further. This determinism of human beings according to the laws of nature concerns not only their physical functions but also their mental functions. That is what we theologians have always been reluctant to admit, because we confused the scientific concept of the soul with the theological one and feared the unpleasant consequences this would have for the faith.”

[ 45 ] He has finally reached the point where he no longer fears unpleasant consequences. But how does he achieve this? Well, he achieves it as follows:

[ 46 ] “But these arise precisely when science is not allowed to reach its full conclusion; for then one forfeits the trust of thinking people.”

[ 47 ] There he is! He wants the trust of thinking people—that is, the few who actually think today! And he is also an honorable man in other respects—after all, they are all honorable men—for he criticizes certain materialistic excesses of the present. He describes not only the materialistic thinking but also the materialistic ways of life that prevail in our time, and he now finally wants a theology that is up to the task of addressing all of this. He shows—albeit in a peculiar way—how little he, following the pattern of people today who are thoroughly dependent not on the natural sciences but on the scientific way of thinking that prevails in so many cases, how little he is equipped to deal with the onslaught of the factual world. And that is what matters: that people are not equipped to deal with the surging worlds of facts. For what people lack today is the ability to truly master, through thought, the sum of the facts that life presents. Thoughts break off everywhere. Instead of thoughts continuing in a straight line, as these people believe, we see that they connect, break off, then connect again, break off again—thoughts break off at every moment. So here, too, we see such breaking-off thoughts. Then he returns once more to the “man of nature” and says of this “man of nature”:

[ 48 ] “He is born into the fate of this phenomenal world by virtue of a mechanical necessity, by virtue of a supreme decree that he does not understand.”

[ 49 ] What a beautiful statement from a theologian! Human beings are born into the fate of this phenomenal world—namely, by virtue of a mechanical necessity, by virtue of a supreme decree that they do not understand. These are one and the same: mechanical necessity and supreme decree! There you have the idea: mechanical necessity—it breaks off, and another idea, which claims the opposite, is presented as a more detailed explanation of that idea. One can often observe this on a small scale among our contemporaries. One can observe these people in their complete inability to develop a thought. At one point in his lectures, the man in question states once again that one should not be tempted to introduce anything spiritual into the natural human being, but rather that the natural human being must simply submit to nature:

[ 50 ] Physical limitations, the constraints of existence, and so on, “are a source of obstacles to life, suffering, evil, and ultimately death. In the face of these, Christianity points to a future salvation. Within earthly life, they cannot and must not be cast aside.”

[ 51 ] Of course, people today skim right over this: “They cannot and are not allowed to be shaken off.” Anyone who thinks this way in a serious context is already incapable of thinking. For what does it mean when I say: “Yes, my dear man, you cannot and are not allowed to fly to the moon.” — For if one cannot do something, it is already unnecessary to say that one must not; and anyone who combines these two concepts—“They cannot and must not be shaken off”—cannot think; that is to say, he lives in complete thoughtlessness.

[ 52 ] But this—this complete lack of reflection—is also a defining characteristic of our time! Yet this man is a man of honor, and he truly means well in many respects. That is why he says that materialism has taken deep root in our time, and that things must change. But now it seems that, just by saying this, he is already overcome by a hopeless fear. You know, after all, that he doesn’t want to pick a fight with the natural scientists! And then to pick a fight with the whole era! A terrible thought, of course! One should tell the times that they are dominated by materialism, that things must change. In the lecture in which he speaks out about all these things—sportism, comfortism, mammonism—he says:

[ 53 ] The things that have been true until now “must no longer be the ultimate goal. There must no longer be any merchants for whom the acquisition of wealth is an end in itself; the enjoyment of life must no longer be the substance of life; there must no longer be any people who live solely for their health.”

[ 54 ] Well, what more could you want! But then he says:

[ 55 ] “That is to say, everything that has been done so far should be done, but a different approach must be taken.”

[ 56 ] Well, then we will achieve it! Then we will most certainly overcome the ravages of time, if everything is done as it has been so far, but people simply have a different idea in mind! One can be confident that these lectures, which appear in a collection titled “Science and Education,” naturally present specific insights into all fields of knowledge and will serve as intellectual nourishment for thousands upon thousands of people of our time. This can certainly be stated in the preface.

[ 57 ] “The content of this little book consists of twelve speeches that I gave last winter”—I won’t name the city; it doesn’t matter—it’s a typical occurrence; something like this can happen in any city—“in... before an audience of more than a thousand people.”

[ 58 ] Thus, today, the crippled, stunted, and corrupted thoughts emanating from official circles, from privileged circles—for it is one of the most famous theologians of our time who speaks thus—penetrate the people of our time and live within them; is it any wonder that such things come out of people today as they do! But how few people are inclined to truly grasp the evils of our time at their roots. The docile lambs of our age approach these things, allow such writings to appear in every language, buy them, and believe that in doing so they are absorbing as spiritual nourishment what the modern age has produced. Only the most extreme brutality—which, even if it is an unconscious brutality, stems from a complete lack of self-awareness and is brought about by an unconscious abuse of official power—leads to these things. And it would be entirely wrong to adopt a head-in-the-sand policy toward these things. For then one would never be able to take in—with the right impulses—what one must take in as spiritual science, so that it can take effect in the course of the cultural development of our time.

[ 59 ] There will surely be many among you who will consider what I am saying to be an exaggeration—and I am illustrating this with examples precisely because there are, of course, many who might regard it as such. It is no exaggeration! It is something that, for those who truly study our times with keen insight, casts these times in their proper light and, above all, reveals what will be necessary—based on a sound spiritual understanding—to guide these times, to some extent, away from their terrible missteps.

[ 60 ] For alongside such an intellectual abuse of the power of thought lies moral aberration. It is from such perspectives that opposition to spiritual science is voiced—opposition that, however, finds an audience among thousands upon thousands. Can one believe that people who are incapable of thinking in this way are at all capable of judging spiritual science in any way? It is therefore no wonder that one hears such voices regarding spiritual science as were heard not long ago. Today I wish to cite just one example that characterizes the entire spiritual outlook of the person who puts forward such ideas

[ 61 ] One point is this: he cites two texts side by side—namely, Pastor Riggenbach’s lecture and the lecture I gave in Liestal in January. Now, when one compares these two things side by side, it is not merely a matter of a discussion about this or that, but rather that my lecture demonstrated that Pastor Riggenbach was completely misinformed to begin with, that he was repeating gossip. To mention these two things side by side, as if they were a statement and a rebuttal, as if my lecture in question contained such elements—that is not merely a mistake or a misunderstanding; it looks very much like a deliberate falsification.

[ 62 ] But then, after the man in question has said some horrible things about anthroposophy, he goes on to say:

[ 63 ] “We now also recognize in what sense Dr. Steiner, in particular, can arrive at the assertion: we are not against Christianity; indeed, we are ultimately the true Christians. In the eyes of anthroposophists, Christ was one who beheld the higher powers; Dr. Steiner, the teacher, will also believe that he beholds these powers and participates in them. But each one of us, too, should be able to share in these powers if we practice contemplation with sufficient perseverance. So it all comes down again to the very same demand already made by the aforementioned Russian mystic Soloviev: we could and should all be Christs—a demand, incidentally, that every mystic who has been kind enough to take Christianity into consideration has already made...” “Ancient wisdom in a new guise...”

[ 64 ] So, the exact opposite of what is being said—of what lies at the heart of our spiritual science with regard to Christianity. Right in front of him—since he is, after all, quoting from it—the man has the pamphlet in which this is explained, and yet he says this! What kind of moral state of mind is this? What kinds of things are we facing in the present? Are we not obliged to cultivate a truly crystal-clear perspective so that we know the value of the voices we inevitably encounter—and must encounter again and again—but to which we must under no circumstances respond by regarding them as sincere?

[ 65 ] I am referring to the lecture given on May 22 of this year at the Swiss Reformation Day in Aarau on modern mysticism and free Christianity. Beautiful, free Christianity! Well, in that lecture, we were also attributed with something else. This other thing is actually a bit more amusing. It says, in fact:

[ 66 ] “But we could never agree to abandon and despise human thought and reasoning, as mysticism demands.”

[ 67 ] And we, too, are counted among them. So go through everything that is being done here, and look at it from the perspective that it is a renunciation of all thinking and all reflection! You have therefore always had but one aspiration: to think nothing; for that is what the man said at the Swiss Reformation Day in Aarau; that would, in fact, be the main task of this kind of mysticism: to bring thinking to a standstill, not to engage in thinking. — After all, one can’t help but believe that the man probably ran out of his own thoughts as he pursued these matters, and that he is simply describing what happened to him when he got his hands on these things. And just as with that theologian I first mentioned to you, we also notice in this theologian—who may be of lesser caliber simply because he did not rise to as high a position as the other—we notice, for example, that they have become satisfied in a somewhat peculiar way with this division. However, they should not force us—after they have ceded everything to the natural sciences and retained for themselves only the “human being of freedom,” which the natural sciences then take away from them—to retain nothing else but what they seek in their “modesty.”

[ 68 ] One must hold such things before one’s mind as the antithesis of what lives and pulsates in spiritual science; for otherwise one cannot arrive at the right feelings toward it. So today I wanted to show you how these impulses arise in the present and historical world of facts, in order to have, so to speak, a foundation that shows how the opposing impulses I spoke of—the seeking of happiness, the seeking of salvation, the seeking of birth, the seeking of death, the seeking of kinship, the seeking of evil, and so on—can balance one another out. We will continue this reflection, which will lead us into certain depths of life, tomorrow.