The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Sixth Lecture

[ 1 ] You have seen how complex the deeper questions of destiny in human life are; we recognize this when we try to approach them along the paths that spiritual science makes possible for us. Yet many things will be necessary for people today so that they can properly immerse themselves in what can truly lead to a fruitful understanding of life. And when we consider the complex problems we are now trying to navigate—I would say we must take certain detours—in order to face the difficulties that stand in the way of understanding, particularly in such areas. In a certain sense, we have all outgrown contemporary thinking, and even if some believe they think without prejudice, it is always good—precisely with regard to the absence of prejudice in thinking—not to spare ourselves thorough self-examination and self-knowledge. Therefore, before we proceed, let us draw attention to a few specific points.

[ 2 ] It is often quite difficult to discuss these matters because language itself is uncooperative when one attempts to formulate terms that accurately reflect reality. It is very easy to believe that a concept that is being developed—one that is, so to speak, drawn from the body of occult science—is aimed at something entirely different from what is actually intended, and this then gives rise to the most diverse misunderstandings. Today, one can very often make a certain observation when discussing the life stories of great, significant personalities. Let me give an example. A short book has just been published here in Switzerland about V-Vischer—who was recently mentioned in another context—the author of Auch Einer and the great Aesthetics. The life of this principled and extraordinarily hardworking Swabian, V-Vischer, is described with a certain affectionate devotion. He is cited here merely as an example of certain aspects we wish to examine in relation to the question of human destiny; one could just as easily have chosen another example.

[ 3 ] V-Vischer was a true Swabian at heart—a character who came of age in the 19th century. Now, the biography that has just been published shows how Friedrich Theodor Vischer grew up in poverty, how his family’s meager circumstances forced him to attend the Tübingen seminary, and so on. Now, what matters to me is the following: Right at the beginning, it is pointed out how even V-Vischer’s high school education was somewhat narrow-minded, how the boys certainly learned to find their way around Latin, and later with Greek authors, but how they actually did not know until a very late age into which main river the Neckar flows, how they had never even seen a map until a relatively late age, and so on. Many such flaws in the educational system are cited.

[ 4 ] Now let us consider the matter carefully. V-Vischer has, in a certain sense, become a great man and has accomplished significant things; he has become a famous man. We must be clear about what made him what he is, what shaped him into precisely this specific individuality with which he stands in history. This includes the fact that he had never seen a map until a certain age; had he seen a map before that age, a certain character trait would not have been present in his soul. And many other things that are sharply criticized there simply had to be. And when we finally view it from a broader perspective, we will say to ourselves: The soul of this V-Vischer descended from the spiritual worlds and chose precisely this milieu; it wanted precisely an upbringing that would enable it to remain, for so-and-so long, shielded from seeing a map; it wanted, for a long time, to have the Neckar—its little hometown river—always before it, but it did not want to know into which main river the Neckar flows. And precisely when one studies this V-Vischer, one sees how all his quirks, all his peculiarities—of which he certainly had plenty—are integral components of his greatness, so that it seems rather out of place to attempt to write his biography and then criticize the schools that actually shaped him into the person he became.

[ 5 ] Let’s just be clear about this: no one should now say, “Well, he’s gone and claimed once again that schools which don’t show children maps are the very best schools.” — But for V-Vischer, that was perfectly fine and had to be that way. We’ve seen this happen time and again on a grand scale, from the 19th century right up to the present day. When, for example, certain naturalists who later became famous spoke out against education—against the educational system—and demanded that much more natural science be incorporated into schools, and when these gentlemen were asked: “Well, you yourselves went through this system; do you think they were so bad?”—one generally received no answer. One must be clear that every single thing has at least two sides, but under certain circumstances quite a few more. What is it, really, when the biographer—in this case, it was a female biographer—sits down and forms concepts and ideas in such a way that what I have told you is written down? Of course, writing something like that contributes nothing to an understanding of the person in question. When one forms such concepts, one is actually cutting—intellectually, at least—into the very essence of the subject one is dealing with. If one did not want to cut into it with one’s concepts, one would have to describe lovingly what the school was like in all its narrow-mindedness and how it brought forth this individuality. But one cuts, one criticizes—and criticism is, in many respects, a form of cutting. Where does this come from?

[ 6 ] Well, this stems from a very specific human trait that is, in fact, far, far more widespread in the contemporary mindset—one that is rooted in the subconscious and of which people are therefore unaware: cruelty. And because people today do not exactly have the courage to act out this cruelty outwardly, they are cruel in their concepts and ideas. And in many contemporary works, one can discern this cruelty in the manner of description, in the manner of presentation; and in much of what is done and said today, one can discern the cruelty that exists at the very depths of the human soul in far greater prevalence than one might think. I have told you that in certain so-called schools of black magic, there is a custom of acquiring the qualities needed for black magic by first having the apprentice cut into the living flesh of animals. Through this, certain qualities of the soul are instilled. Not everyone can do this in the present day. But many simply satisfy this same desire within their own conceptual framework, where it may not lead to black magic, but rather to modern civilization. And much, much of the present is permeated by this quality; we must be clear about that. Only by truly paying attention to such things can one arrive at an unbiased understanding of the world in which one is placed; otherwise not, under no circumstances.

[ 7 ] And there are certainly early signs today that point toward gaining some insight into the conditions of the fifth post-Atlantic period. For one cannot approach this fifth post-Atlantean epoch with understanding if one merely criticizes it, if one merely indulges, as it were, in abstract idealism without considering that what appears today, for example, as mechanism and mechanistic culture, is an absolutely necessary part of this fifth post-Atlantean epoch. Merely criticizing the mechanistic aspects of our time serves no purpose. Now, however, the first steps have truly been taken toward gaining a little understanding—a human understanding—of that which already animates our fifth post-Atlantean epoch and will animate it more and more. Yet few concepts that truly reflect reality have been found for our fifth post-Atlantean epoch, and there is also little inclination to engage with those people who have attempted to grasp this state of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. We will have to engage with these people, for true, energetic spiritual scientific endeavors will have to align with their efforts in many ways.

[ 8 ] There is, for example, a significant poet of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch whose poetry is thoroughly imbued with the life of this fifth post-Atlantean epoch; this is Max Eyth, who deserves to be known. For Max Eyth is truly a poet of our age. He is also a Swabian, the son of a Swabian schoolteacher who wanted his son to become a schoolteacher as well. But karma had other plans. He turned to a technical career at an early age, became a full-fledged engineer, then went abroad—to England—and devoted himself specifically to the manufacture of steam plows, becoming, in a sense, the poet of steam plows. And the way in which he sang the praises of these remarkable creatures of the modern age—the steam plows—with a warm, heartfelt passion is truly the poetry of the present. Remarkable things are at play within this very heart. On the one hand, Max Eyth is a man utterly devoted to modern technology; on the other hand, he is receptive to everything that the intellect can comprehend when it enters, without prejudice, into what can be revealed precisely when this intellect is trained in the mechanical-materialistic concepts of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch.

[ 9 ] For example, in a novel by Max Eyth—which, incidentally, deals with modern life in Egypt, where he was active in many capacities—there is a passage describing how the English company that employed him delivered steam plows there and he had to test them on the spot; in one of these novels, which deals with this subject, it is explained how the pyramids were built according to a certain system. And if one calculates certain ratios—Max Eyth calculated this, and it is included in the appendix to one of his novels—one finds, extending far, far into the decimal places, at least up to 30 decimal places, the so-called Ludolf’s number, the π by which one must multiply the double radius of a circle to obtain its circumference. You know, 3.14159 and so on; but it goes on to infinity—that’s a lot of decimal places. One might easily believe that this Ludolf’s number, the so-called Ludolf’s number, was only the result of a later discovery. Max Eyth realized that the ancient Egyptian temple priests in times long past must have known this x to 30 or 40 decimal places, because they used it to determine the proportions according to which they built the pyramids. So it dawned on him—on Max Eyth, precisely because he was an engineer—something that lies deeply hidden in the nature of ancient pyramid construction. With this, he was also able to point out that, fundamentally, our culture has two origins: one in ancient times, when people relied on a different kind of science than later on—a science more closely connected to atavistic clairvoyance—which then disappeared and must be rediscovered in our time.

[ 10 ] But there is more to Max Eyth than that, and it is—as unassuming as it may seem—extraordinarily significant. In his stories—one collection is titled Hinter Pflug und Schraubstock—there is a piece of writing that, I would say, poses a riddle of life, a riddle of fate. It depicts a technician, an engineer, who builds bridges. His skills and his ability to build bridges are described in magnificent detail. Only he is somewhat—well, let’s say—genius-like; one might also call him reckless. And so he builds a bridge, which is, in turn, magnificently described. He finds himself on a train crossing that very bridge. There he sits inside. But he made a mistake while building the bridge. As the train—in which he himself is riding—crosses the bridge, it collapses, and he perishes in the process. It is a magnificent karmic question—unanswered, of course, but raised. One sees how modern humanity approaches the great karmic questions, the great questions of fate. We have a person who shines through his profession and who, through this very profession, perishes at a relatively young age—perishes in the very work he himself has created. I would like to say: This work of literature stands there like a great question. Spiritual science will seek answers precisely to such questions. These things naturally occur in the most manifold variations of life. For we have, after all, described the case that, I would say, with the greatest acceleration, shows us the fulfillment of karma. Let us assume—which is, of course, only a hypothesis, for when something like this occurs, karma makes it inevitable—but let us hypothetically assume what might have happened in another case: if the person in question had not been on that train crossing the bridge, but had instead been sitting at home by the stove at that very moment, he might have been imprisoned for two years, but not much more would likely have happened to him in this life between birth and death. What would have happened then?

[ 11 ] Yes, you see, that is the important point: Whatever death would have brought into this person’s karma—the death that the other person suffers as a result of his own actions—must, under all circumstances, be incorporated into that karma; and whoever fails to incorporate it here must then incorporate it during the life between death and a new birth. This experience must be had. Such an experience can therefore, I would say, be brought about more quickly, as in the case described by Max Eyth, or it can extend over long periods of time. It is precisely these important questions of destiny that the fifth post-Atlantean epoch will generate from within immediate life, in that, based on the living conditions of this epoch, individual human beings will see how the riddles of life are posed in a new way—in a way that they were not posed at all in earlier epochs.

[ 12 ] Therefore, one can certainly observe, when looking at people who are in a certain sense truly gifted with a keen intellect, how they are already seeking different complexities in life today—when they engage in artistic creation—than were sought in earlier times, and how often it is precisely those people who find significant complexities in life who are now engaged in practical professions. Max Eyth’s books are therefore extraordinarily instructive in this regard—first, because he is truly a great, gifted poet, and second, because, as a thoroughly modern person, he creates entirely out of the demands of modern life. It is particularly interesting—let me, if I may, make this remark in parentheses—that those who read Max Eyth also learn, through his writings, about various matters that might in turn be important for Theosophists to know, for example, all sorts of things related to the life of the first president of the Theosophical Society, Olcott. One finds that Eyth, who was in America at a time when Olcott was up to all sorts of things there, offers a bit of insight into these matters. In short, even social karma can find its way to you if you do not refuse to familiarize yourself a little with this modern spirit. But in general, this is the peculiar thing: that sometimes it is not exactly brilliant minds—Eyth was a brilliant person—but rather those whom the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, with its life mechanisms, has shaped, who, through the particular formation of their intellect, perceive the complexities of modern life with exceptional clarity.

[ 13 ] For example, I and others know of a modern lawyer—he was first a lawyer in his youth— but even as a lawyer—from the very time when one is a lawyer without deriving any tangible benefit from the practice of law—he was a bright mind who viewed the world around him without prejudice, who, as they say, caught the attention of his superiors not so much because of his intelligence, but because they found him useful—he was a good, quick worker. Well, having proven himself particularly capable as a clerk or assistant judge, he was assigned to a ministry. There, too, he was an excellent worker, but one who observed everything with an open mind. Then, one day, he was given an important, high-profile assignment. He was to prepare a report on school and educational matters. He was instructed to structure this report in such a way as to advocate a transition to a kind of liberal system. That appealed to him quite a bit, and since he was a sharp thinker who understood the situation, he produced a very good report—truly a sound reform plan to liberalize certain aspects of the school system and make them more modern. But then, while he was working on the presentation, the “course” had changed, as they say, and now a reactionary presentation was needed. So his superior said to him: “The presentation is so excellent that you’ll surely be able to produce an excellent reactionary one as well; can’t you write a reactionary one for me now?” To which he replied: “No, I can’t!” — “Well, why not?” — “No, because this is my conviction!” — “What? So this is your conviction?” — The supervisor was very angry and realized that he couldn’t use this man after all; a person who is not only competent but actually has convictions—you can’t use someone like that!

[ 14 ] But he’s an excellent lawyer, an excellent worker. What do you do in that situation? He’s proven himself everywhere, and everyone knows he’s a capable lawyer. Well, you try to promote him! You have to try to keep people who prove themselves like that satisfied. So the matter was sort of arranged behind the scenes, as they say, and one day—while playing skittles, I believe it was—the person in question happened to run into a theater secretary, as if by chance. The theater secretary told him: “Yes, the position of theater director at a major theater is vacant!” — Well, the man in question, who was a lawyer and had previously been a civil servant, certainly couldn’t have thought anything bad when he was told this. But after they had finished bowling, the theater secretary said to him: “Wouldn’t you like to come with me to the coffeehouse now so I can explain the matter to you in more detail? Wouldn’t you like to become theater director yourself?” “We don’t have a theater director. And when we select someone, we can’t know whether he’ll accept the position under the current circumstances.” — Then the man in question, who was well-versed in legal and administrative matters and well-known, said: “Oh, everyone has to accept it. He must also be willing, and if he isn’t willing, they’ll simply arrest him.” — Well, it all came down to him being offered the position of theater director. There was just one difficulty: there was a very famous actress at that theater, and the director had to win her favor. “Yes,” the man in question said to him, “but can you also win the favor of this actress?” — “Well, if that’s all it takes!” “I’ve only been to the theater seven times in my entire life, but if I’m going to take on the role of theater director, I’ll certainly be able to win this actress’s favor. Can’t you tell me what the actress likes to eat?” — He knew the answer: it was “Mohnbeugerl.” That got him out of a tight spot. He said, “Let’s drive straight to the pastry shop right now and order a large portion of ‘Mohnbeugerl.’” — They were delivered to the actress first thing in the morning. That afternoon, the theater secretary in question had to drive over to the actress’s place to—well, to sound her out, as they say. He said to her: “We’d like to make this gentleman the director; what do you think about that?” — He knew that she was a very influential person. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know anything about this gentleman, but so far I’ve only heard good things about him.” — Now the time had come for him to become theater director,

[ 15 ] Now there was still the critic—the most famous critic in that city—who still had to be won over. And that man just kept writing terrible things, until one day even this critic changed his mind—at least to the extent that, while not exactly favorable, his reviews were at least not entirely disparaging. This came about in the following way—I’m not telling you a fairy tale; it really happened. I just want to sketch out the characters a bit: The top official at the theater in question, who ranked even above the director, didn’t know what to do—the director was simply there, and had even proven himself, because he was just as capable as a theater director as he had previously proven himself to be as a lawyer—but the top official really didn’t know what to do: they couldn’t just send the director away right away; the critic was always ranting. What did he do? He invited them both, so that neither knew anything about the other, and served them fine wines. The theater director could drink and drink and drink. The other man could too, but only to a certain extent, which was less than that of the theater director. And so it came to pass that one fine morning, very early—I believe around five o’clock—the theater director rang the doorbell at the theater critic’s wife’s house and said he absolutely had to speak with her in person, for he had something very important to deliver, which he had left at the bottom of the stairs. Well, she threw on her dressing gown. He then brought her husband—a veritable bundle of misery—and handed him over. From that moment on, the reviews improved somewhat. Later, after he had, in the opinion of these superiors, gone too far in his role as theater director, the man in question was promoted once again, this time to the legal profession.

[ 16 ] Now, this man has excellently described and characterized what he has observed in his practice, and I simply want to suggest that it is precisely such people—who are rooted in the immediate reality of the present—who can point so meaningfully to this reality of the present.

[ 17 ] Even more interesting is that a similar man—who, I would say, came across as a bit more refined than the one I told you about—wrote various things during his lifetime, but shortly before his death—these people we’re talking about are, after all, all dead now—he wrote a very interesting novella, a true work of contemporary art. You see, how can one write a novella today? Today, one can write a novella in keeping with the spirit of the times: there must be nothing spiritual in it, or if there is something spiritual in it, it must be made as clear as possible that one can believe the story and also not believe it, but that in any case one is better off regarding it merely as a fairy tale. Well, I’ll take the material that the author in question has drawn from the present day. A person like that—from the very milieu in which the man I described earlier was immersed for a long time, a member of the legal profession—goes relatively far. That can be depicted. One can describe how he progresses through the various stages of legal practice, how he experiences this or that, and entanglements of one kind or another. Then one can—well, of course, this is also modern—weave a love story into such a narrative. So, when you have this material before you, you can describe how some exotic girl arrives accompanied by her mother, how the senior legal official in question falls in love, and how, precisely because a spy story—which he has to deal with as a judge—comes into play, this in turn brings him into contact with the girl he has fallen in love with, how that leads him into conflicts, and so on. One can then describe quite realistically how he came to commit suicide.

[ 18 ] The author in question did not do that, however; instead, he wove the following significant element into his novella. He thus describes an event that, on the surface, is almost exactly as I have just recounted it. But he also describes how the judicial official in question reads Schopenhauer and other philosophers—but reads them in such a way that he connects this, I might say, to his very nervous system and his individual being. Now, he is a capable lawyer. What does it mean to be a capable lawyer as a judge? It means uncovering every legal quibble in order to completely deceive someone. As for defending someone—well, to do that, he must, of course, uncover the legal quibbles of the defense attorneys. So he is terribly competent, and he convicts a person based on the same kind of circumstances I just described. But this person behaves in a very strange way during the trial—almost demonic—and especially the way he looked remains unforgettable to the people who were present at the trial. Well, the man in question is, of course, imprisoned. The whole affair is then connected to the girl with whom the judge in question falls in love. The convicted man receives a twenty-year prison sentence; but he is suffering.

[ 19 ] Well, the judge is portrayed very well in the novella in question. One night—he hasn’t thought about the convict since the trial, which, in the eyes of the public, he presided over brilliantly—he wakes up at midnight, let’s say—which is probably about right—and is in a state of half-sleep; at two o’clock, there’s a knock on the door of his room, where he’s sleeping. The convict enters. — You can imagine the judge’s predicament! But he slips back into a half-sleep, and when he wakes up, it is daylight. He is now in a state of utter dread. He goes to the courthouse; there, as he walks down the hallway, he hears nothing but the name of that convict being called out once. This terrifies him. He resolves to study the files again, has them brought to him, and leaves them lying there for three weeks. Then, finally, the following emerges from a conversation: On a certain night at two o’clock, the man in question had died in prison. It was exactly the same minute—as the judge was later able to determine—as when he had visited him in his bedroom!

[ 20 ] That is the plot of the novella. It is titled “Hofrat Eysenhardt.” He eventually commits suicide. “Hofrat Eysenhardt” by Berger is a thoroughly modern novella that demonstrates—not least through the other descriptions it contains—that the author was quite familiar with the most diverse recent attempts to penetrate the mysteries of the occult; for from this perspective alone, the novella is brilliantly written.

[ 21 ] A noteworthy example now presents itself. This Berger is not the same as the one I described earlier; I cited the one described earlier merely as an example of a person who looks around with a clear eye and aptly captures the essence of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. But as a colleague, so to speak, I wanted to mention Berger—Alfred Freiherr von Berger—who wrote the novella, this excellent novella Hofrat Eysenhardt, which is written in such a way that one can see: this man is familiar with the various efforts of recent times to enter the spiritual world. He wrote prolifically throughout his life, this Alfred Freiherr von Berger. It was only after he had attained that position—beyond which there was no further advancement—that he published this novella. It also happened—let’s say “coincidentally”—shortly before his death. This is very telling, because it shows us at the same time that people of the present day—who, as it is called in outward life, want to “achieve” something—would do well not to get their fingers burned by such matters. But at the same time, it shows us, on the other hand, how the striving of people today is directed toward penetrating the mysterious aspects of existence, which will increasingly impose themselves because they present people with important riddles.

[ 22 ] If one wishes to consider the question of fate without prejudice, then it is a matter, above all, of cultivating an open perspective—of trying, if you’ll pardon the harsh expression, not to “sleep through” life, but to look around at life. For you see, let me express—symbolically, so to speak—what really matters: Let’s say we have one current of life (it is drawn), a second one, and a third. Life, after all, consists of many currents that intersect in the most diverse ways—the life of the individual, the life of groups of people, and even the life of all humanity on Earth. The concepts that prevail today are often too convenient to untangle the intricate threads of life, for it very often depends on directing one’s gaze to one point, and then to another, and on relating precisely these two points to one another—on looking at these points. When one takes the correct facts into account, one finds insights that shed light on the situation.

[ 23 ] Now you will ask me: Yes, how does one do such things? You see, that is precisely the point. If you practice spiritual science in the right way, then through imagination you will discover the points in life that you must consider together so that life reveals itself to you; otherwise, you may go through life, event by event and understand nothing of life—as, for example, contemporary historians do, who trace their threads from event to event but understand nothing of life—because what matters is viewing the world symptomatically. And it will become more and more necessary to view the world symptomatically—that is, to view it in such a way that one directs one’s gaze to the right places and draws lines of connection to other things from those right places. Precisely when it comes to studying karma in concrete terms, to looking at human destiny concretely—a study in which there is so much that is confusing, because there are so many temptations involved—it is precisely then that the ability to view things symptomatically is essential.

[ 24 ] This symptomatic study is precisely what certain contemporary occult societies—to which I have already drawn your attention—have attempted to keep as far away from people as possible. And I have pointed out to you how certain societies that call themselves occult have survived from older institutions, particularly in Western Europe. Within these occult societies, the study of human character was indeed pursued precisely in order to be able to use human characters in the right way, to be able to grasp them in the right way, and various means were employed to keep this knowledge—which was cultivated, I might say, within their walls or within their gates—from the rest of humanity. It will one day be among the most fascinating developments when the connection between the endeavors of certain modern occult societies and public events is laid bare, when the threads leading from certain occult societies into modern events are revealed, and when their methods are exposed. For such occult societies knew how to manipulate human characters by, so to speak, taking the threads of their karma into their own hands and steering and guiding them without the people’s knowledge. In the Theosophical Society, attempts were often made, but these attempts mostly remained amateurish because they were not as skillful there as in other occult societies. Of course, it is difficult to speak about these things, especially today, when objective characterization is not only viewed with prejudice but is even prohibited by law. It is difficult to speak about these things—indeed, in a certain sense, it is entirely impossible. But these matters must nevertheless be alluded to in one way or another, because it is unacceptable for people to simply live within their era and go along with everything that, arising from the karma of the age, seeps into the unconscious of human souls—and then, even though they live within this general haze, to want to pursue spiritual science, which demands a clear, unprejudiced mind. In certain matters, truth must prevail, and one cannot merely, I would say, feign truth in an abstract way when it comes to matters of the real occult world. What is at stake here is that the will to truth is truly present. Now, this will to truth encounters so much resistance in the present day precisely because people have gradually lost their sense of truth. Just consider that in public life today, it is often not at all a matter of seeking the truth, but rather of saying whatever suits one person or another for the sake of certain group advantages.

[ 25 ] Everywhere today, one comes across topics that are impossible to discuss, even though it is precisely these topics that need to be discussed most urgently. But I urge you to give this fact serious consideration, for even in this regard, one must be absolutely clear that this is the case; you may ask: What exactly do these things have to do with the question of karma that we are now addressing? — They actually have a great deal to do with it, and we will try to address some of these things later on so that we can finally reach the goals we are actually pursuing.