The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Eighth Lecture

[ 1 ] We will only be able to let the reflections we are now undertaking—their true, deeper meaning—take effect on us if we do not merely take them, since they are truths of life in the most eminent sense, but rather if we draw from them, so to speak, an emotional and intuitive conclusion that enables us to view life differently than it is often viewed—without having been prepared for such reflections on life by the anthroposophical worldview. In a certain sense, we must become more open-minded with regard to grasping the truth of life through spiritual science. For our present purpose, this means: We must learn to compare the character of the truth as it presents itself to us in life with the one-sided thinking about truth that so easily overtakes us human beings. All too easily, people in life come to form opinions about this or that—not only about everyday matters but also about the highest matters; and once they have formed an opinion, once they have, as is often said, chosen a standpoint, they rely unwaveringly on that opinion, on that standpoint, without considering that the things of the world can be viewed from a wide variety of perspectives, that is, from different points of view, and that one can only arrive at the truth if one truly feels and senses how every single thing, every single fact, can be viewed from many different points of view. To give you, so to speak, an example—a kind of illustration of what I mean—I would first like to recount the life story of a person. We are, after all, now dealing with what we call karma, what we call the human being’s passage through repeated earthly lives. We are dealing with the destiny of the human being. This destiny is expressed in the course of a person’s life. We can therefore learn a great deal from the examples of individual life stories, if we view them correctly in the light of repeated earthly lives.

[ 2 ] Here we are dealing with a man who was born in the 16th century. To get a sense of what people are so fond of focusing on today—hereditary patterns—let’s first take a look at his father. The father of this man, who was born in the 16th century, was a quite versatile man, but an extraordinarily headstrong man—a man characterized by a certain austerity in his way of life. He was well-versed in music, played the lute and other stringed instruments, was also well-versed in geometry and mathematics, and, in his professional life, engaged in commercial transactions. That he possessed a certain austere manner of expressing himself may be evident to you from the fact that this father had a music teacher who, at that time—in the 16th century—was a highly respected man. So the father, who was this man’s student, wrote a book about music. But the teacher did not like it, and in another book, the teacher spoke out against this book on music. This truly angered the man, and he wrote another book in which he poured out every possible mockery he could muster against his music teacher’s outdated views; he then dedicated this book to his music teacher, stating explicitly in the dedication: “Since you deigned to approach me in such an intrusive manner, I shall give you the opportunity to experience this satisfaction more often, for it must do you good, and that is why I dedicate this book to you.” — So this man’s son is the one whose life story I would like to tell you first, in a way that is, I might say, somewhat veiled.

[ 3 ] The son first pursued Greek and Latin studies in Italy, as was customary at the time, even under a very famous teacher, for his father placed great importance on ensuring he received a proper education; and this young man studied the humanities—as they used to say—under a monk. He learned mathematics very well from his father. In addition, he studied drawing, perspective, and similar subjects with others, so that he—who even as a boy had shown an extraordinarily strong aptitude for mathematics and mechanics—became, first, a versatile young man and, second, one who was thoroughly versed in the mathematical and mechanical arts. Even in his youth, he constructed all sorts of models of machines that were appropriate for the time. Nowadays, young people, don’t they, only build airships; back then, other kinds of ships were built. Then, at the age of eighteen, the young man entered the university and initially studied—forgive me, after we’ve just heard that excerpt from Faust—medicine. But his experience was somewhat different from that of the student whose portrayal you’ve just seen. During his medical studies, he was not lost in a dreamlike state, nor did he say, “That looks better already”; rather, he disliked his medical studies immensely because he found that they proceeded in an unsystematic manner, that one fact was simply strung together with another, and that no real connection could be found within them. So he turned to philosophy. It was customary at that time among some people—and our young man happened to have just such a person as his teacher—to attack Aristotle, the ancient Greek philosopher who had previously been highly revered. Consequently, our young man, too, found himself hating Aristotle, failing to appreciate him, and lashing out against him. Although his father was an exceptionally capable man, he was not very popular due to certain traits of his character; consequently, after his son had been studying for a few years, he did not have much money and tried to secure a scholarship for his son, but was unable to do so, so that he was truly forced to continue his son’s education with his hard-earned money.

[ 4 ] After the son had worked his way through his medical and philosophical studies, he could even consider himself happy in a certain sense, for he became a professor at one of his country’s most prestigious universities, taught mathematics, also practiced medicine—a field in which he still had some knowledge from his university days—and was, on the whole, a quite popular teacher. However, the ground beneath his feet began to get a little hot, particularly at this university. This was because, in the state where he was a university professor, a book was published that contained a public project—a mechanical project—and this book had been written by a high-ranking gentleman who held a very prominent position, as he was the son of a veritable princely figure in that state, though he was not particularly clever. And so our still relatively young professor was able to demonstrate very easily that this project would not be feasible. As a result, he faced a great deal of hostility, and although he had already succeeded in drawing attention to himself through his achievements, it eventually came to the point where our young professor no longer felt entirely at ease in that city or at that university. Then an opportunity arose for him to move to another university in a republican state. At this university, he soon became highly regarded once again; he had many students and—as was still a matter of course at that time—gave many private lessons, so that he earned a very good living. He needed quite a bit of money even back then, for his father had died in the meantime; he had to support his mother and siblings. To characterize him more fully, so that we may gain a slightly deeper insight into the karma of this man, I will recount the following, which is a verified account, for it is told by a contemporary to whom the man himself revealed the story, and no matter how much philological sleight of hand one might employ to scrutinize it, it proves to be true. Our man—who is now at a republican university—once had a dream. In the dream, he saw himself walking over burning coals and ashes, and he knew that these burning coals and ashes, over which he was now stepping, must have originated from the fire at the cathedral in the city where he had previously been a professor. He recounted this dream and wrote about it in many letters, and it later turned out that on the very same night he had this dream—while he was far from the city where he had once lived—the cathedral had indeed burned down.

[ 5 ] He was very successful and even made some quite significant scientific discoveries, some of which—as was customary back then and has not entirely fallen out of practice today—were appropriated by others without much acknowledgment of his contribution. He became wealthy to a certain extent, but not enough by his standards, mainly because he had to work quite hard for it. He had to teach many hours. This earned him a fair amount, but it required a great deal of work. Now, Italian contemporaries of his—and those who were steeped in these traditions—tell us in a very interesting way that he was a man preoccupied with his intellect, who therefore—I am merely repeating what was said—had little opportunity to pay much heed to the impulses of his heart. That is why, although he was intelligent, he was less capable of love. Consequently, according to his contemporaries, he did not live in a legitimate marriage but in a common-law relationship with a certain Marina Gamba; he had two daughters with her, both of whom he sent to a convent, and a son whom he later legitimized. Then, although he even succeeded in teaching highly respected figures of the time during their youth at the republican university where he was a faculty member—for example, even Gustav Adolf in his youth, the future King of Sweden, and others like him—he was still not entirely satisfied with the situation, and so he turned to the Grand Duke, who was now Grand Duke of the very country to which he belonged by birth, at whose university he had previously been. That was as early as 1610. And indeed, he sought to gain more free time so that he could devote himself to inventions and discoveries. So it is interesting to take a closer look at this man, because—as I’ll say for now—he really was a child of his time. And that is why I would like to read to you, in what I believe is a fairly good translation, the letter he wrote in order to secure a more comfortable position at the court of this Grand Duke. He writes to a friend about his correspondence with the Grand Duke:

[ 6 ] “Your Grace’s letter was most welcome to me, first because it serves as proof that His Serene Highness the Grand Duke, my lord, remembers me, and second, because it assures me of the continued goodwill of the most noble Mr. Aeneas Piccolomini, whom I hold in the highest esteem, as well as of Your Grace’s affection, which, by prompting you to look after my interests, prompts you to write to me so kindly regarding matters of great importance. For these services, I remain eternally indebted to both the Most Noble Lord Aeneas and Your Grace, to whom I express my infinite gratitude. I consider it my duty, as a sign of how deeply I appreciate such kindness, to share with you my thoughts and the circumstances of my life, in which it is my wish to spend the years that remain to me, so that on a future occasion that might present itself to the Most Noble Lord Aeneas, he might, with his wisdom and tact, more effectively respond to our Most Illustrious Lord, to whose Highness I, aside from that reverent devotion and most obedient submission owed to him by every faithful servant, feel compelled by such a special devotion and—if I may be permitted to say so — love (for even God Himself demands no greater feeling from us than that we love Him), that I would set aside every other interest, and there is no situation with which I would not exchange my lot if I were to learn that it pleases His Highness. This answer alone would suffice to carry out any decision His Highness might wish to make concerning my person. But if, as is to be assumed, His Highness—full of that humanity and kindness which make him so praiseworthy among all others and will make him ever more so—were to wish to combine your service with every other form of satisfaction for me, I will not cease to say how, having now worked for twenty years—indeed, the best years of my life— have worked at this—down to the smallest detail, as they say—at the request of each and every one, to share that little talent which has been bestowed upon me by God and through my own efforts in my profession—it would truly be my desire to attain enough leisure and peace of mind so that, before my life comes to an end, I might complete three major works that I have in hand, in order to publish them, and perhaps to some renown for myself and for anyone who would support me in such endeavors, in that I might bring greater, more widespread, and longer-lasting benefit to students of the subject than I could otherwise provide for the rest of my life. I do not believe that I could have more leisure elsewhere than I have here, as long as I am forced to support my household through public teaching and private lessons; nor would I be willing to do so in any city other than this one, for various reasons that would be too cumbersome to enumerate; however, the freedom I have here is not enough for me, since, at the request of this or that person, I must sacrifice several hours of the day—and often the best ones—to them. It is not customary to receive a salary from a republic—however splendid and generous it may be—without serving the community, because in order to derive benefit from the community, one must render service to the community and not to a single individual; and as long as I am able to give lectures and perform my duties, no one in a republic can relieve me of this obligation while allowing me to retain my income; in short, I can hope for such a privilege from no one other than an absolute prince, but I do not wish, based on what I have said so far, to appear to Your Grace to have unjustified claims, as if I were seeking a salary without reciprocity or obligation, for that is not my intention; rather, as far as reciprocity is concerned, various inventions, any one of which, if I were to encounter a great prince who took a liking to it, would suffice to provide for my livelihood, since experience has shown me that things which may be significantly less valuable can bring great benefits to their discoverers, and it has always been my intention to present them first to my prince and natural lord, so that it may be at his discretion to dispose of them and the inventor as he sees fit, and to accept from them, if it should please him, not merely the rock but also the ore, since I do indeed discover new ones daily and would find many more if I had more leisure and more favorable opportunities to obtain skilled workers, whose assistance I could make use of through various experiments. As for my daily duties (that is, public and private lectures), I have no aversion to them other than a distaste for that base servitude that would require me to demonstrate my work for whatever payment any buyer might offer; yet I will never feel any aversion to serving a prince or a great lord—or anyone dependent upon him—but rather I will earnestly desire and strive for it. And since Your Grace would like to know something from me about the income I have here, I tell you that my official salary amounts to 520 gold guilders, which in a few months—once my new appointment takes effect, of which I am as good as certain—will be converted into an equal number of skudi, and I can set aside a large portion of these, since I receive significant assistance for the upkeep of my household since I have students and through the income from private lessons—though I avoid giving too many of them rather than seeking them out, as I long infinitely more for free time than for gold, because I know that a sum of gold large enough to make me respected would be much harder to acquire than some fame for my scholarly works.”

[ 7 ] So the man was indeed summoned to this court. He was instructed to give lectures only when there were special occasions—glorious occasions, festive events—at which the Grand Duke himself had to make an appearance, and when it was necessary to make a good impression on—well, let’s say, foreign dignitaries; but otherwise, he was to receive only his salary, give lectures only on festive occasions, and be able to devote himself entirely to his studies, and so on. For a while, things went quite well. Even poets, nobles, and princes honored him, organizing all sorts of festivities because they considered him a man of great stature. He himself, on February 3, 1613, composed a poem for a masquerade ball; there he portrayed himself as Jupiter, enthroned upon the clouds; one could see this very clearly through his disguise. And since Galileo had recently discovered Jupiter’s four moons, and the four princes had received their names from that source, the four princes also appeared in his retinue. It was a particularly solemn procession.

[ 8 ] But little by little, the prince’s favor waned; after some time, the prince outright betrayed his scholar. The clergy did not find his views to be in line with their own. To make matters worse, he ended up in a rather miserable situation, so that he actually passed away in deep sorrow

[ 9 ] Life came to an end. He had fully experienced ingratitude and the twists of fate; he had fully come to understand how rulers sometimes fare in the long run. He had fully experienced the hatred of the clergy of that time.

[ 10 ] Now I have told you the story of a person’s life. One can tell this story this way, because everything I have told you is true. But now I want to tell you this story in a different way, from a different perspective, so to speak.

[ 11 ] On February 18, 1564, the great Galilei was born. His father, Vincente Galilei, was an exceptionally knowledgeable music lover; he played the lute and other stringed instruments very well, studied geometry, and initially taught his son music himself. The son studied Latin and Greek under renowned teachers; he studied the humanities under a monk, then went to the University of Pisa and initially studied medicine, which gave him little satisfaction; he then turned to philosophy, became an anti-Aristotelian under the influence of the anti-Aristotelian movement of the time, and already proved himself so brilliant that, as his contemporaries — we can assume with complete certainty that it is true — recount, one day while sitting in the Pisa Cathedral and watching the church lamp swing, he discovered the uniformity of the pendulum’s swing, thus making one of the most epoch-making discoveries, one that has been significant for the entire period since then and will continue to be of great significance in the future. I am repeatedly told by some that this is a legend, but no matter how many people tell me that the story of the swinging church lamp is a legend, I can only tell it again and again, because it is, in fact, true.

[ 12 ] Even though he had already observed that swinging church lamp with this thought in mind back then, his father was unable to secure a scholarship for him. Then, after pursuing studies in geometry for a while, he became a professor at the University of Pisa. There he was required to teach mathematics for sixty scudi a year and practiced medicine on the side. That he actually did practice medicine, we know from a letter he wrote to his father at the time, in which he asked him to send him the works of the ancient physician Galen as a guide. He sharply criticized a treatise that had been published at the time by the powerful but unwise Cosimo I. Things became too heated for him in Pisa, and since the Republic of Venice—which appreciated him more than his home state did—offered him a position to teach there, he went to Padua in 1592. Galileo Galilei became a professor at the University of Padua and lectured there with great renown on mathematics and related subjects; he constructed sundials based on special systems, refined his knowledge of mechanics, and it was during this time that Giambattista Doni wrote to us in his Letters on Dreams that Galilei had had the dream I told you about: how he walked over the glowing coals and the ashes. At that time, the Cathedral of Pisa actually burned down, coinciding with the dream that Galilei had at that time. Galileo wrote about this in many letters to his contemporaries. At that time, he invented the so-called proportional compass, machines for lifting water, made important discoveries regarding the telescope and the thermoscope, conducted observations on the barometer, and other things that other people also appropriated for themselves, although these achievements are mostly attributed to Galileo. I need not recount the story of his so-called marriage again, for it is just as I told you earlier. Then what I went on to describe also unfolded in the same way with the letter. Thus, he was indeed transferred from the University of Padua to his hometown, and this is how things went for him there; and he portrayed himself as Jupiter enthroned upon the clouds, for it was Galileo who devised this masquerade. It was he himself who gave the four moons of Jupiter—which he now brought into the play—the four Medici names. That he was not treated well by the clergy, that he was betrayed by his prince to the clergy—that is, of course, well known from history. Even if everything else in the story is true, the thing that everyone claims he said—“And yet it moves”—is certainly a lie. I have mentioned this many times before.

[ 13 ] So this is how the situation was experienced from a different perspective. You will find that I did not present false facts the first time, but that your feelings toward the man were probably not the same the first time as they were when I told the story a second time; yet these second feelings you have are most certainly the ones that by far the majority of people have when they think of Galileo, the great astronomer Galileo. From this you can see that there is a great deal of ignorance in what many people think. For people do not know very much about Galileo; thus, they do not think and feel about him based on what they know, but rather they feel about him because the name “Galileo Galilei” carries a certain significance in history.

[ 14 ] But now we must consider this: What a human being accomplishes through his genius has significance for the physical world. The discovery that Jupiter had moons was a very important one for Earth’s development, but it has no significance for the spiritual worlds or for the beings of the higher hierarchies. The same is true of Galileo’s other discoveries: they are things that have great significance for Earth. So what, essentially, did I tell you about first? His personal circumstances—aside from the fact that Galileo was a great man for Earth—his very personal circumstances, his professional misfortunes, his, well, how shall I put it, loyalty to the prince, right, and so on. So what he dealt with in his daily life—that is what I told you about first. But that is also what matters, as he carries it through the gate of death and must shape it between death and a new birth, for it concerns him personally. One must indeed engage in such studies if one wishes to learn about the question of human destiny, which has such a profound impact on life. We must do this precisely when examining significant, outstanding human lives.

[ 15 ] Today, there is a great deal of talk about heredity, and many questions are considered solely in the context of physical heredity. I first presented Galileo’s life to you in such a way that you could view it completely objectively, in the context of his father, so that we might once again have an example of how to think correctly about the question of heredity. Indeed, one can only think correctly about this question of heredity if one takes into account the great teaching of repeated earthly lives. Then heredity proves not to be meaningless, but on the contrary, to be very significant; yet the connection also becomes clear between inherited traits and what a person brings down from the spiritual world through their individuality as a result of their previous earthly life. And one must certainly look at the facts of life if one wishes to settle the question: What is actually inherited?

[ 16 ] Last time, I pointed out to you that science today does not yet take the time of maturity into account at all, even though it should be considered when discussing heredity. Up until that point, a person must carry within them all the impulses of heredity. What comes later must refer to a different point in time. I elaborated on this recently, eight days ago. But what, exactly, is inherited? Just how arbitrarily today’s scientists construct theories in this very field is evidenced by an unbiased observation of the following fact. People even talk about this fact, but they cannot understand it at all. Every psychiatrist must be aware—and indeed, anyone capable of observing life is aware—that there can be two sons in a family who both possess the same hereditary predispositions. Let us define these two hereditary predispositions, which may be quite similar: a certain inclination to devise concepts, to devise connections, and to apply these devised concepts to external life; at the same time, a certain—how shall I put it?—in Germany they say “bold,” or one might also say, a certain “fashionable” demeanor, the kind of proper demeanor a businessman must have. Both sons possessed this: a certain self-confidence, and stemming from that self-confidence, a certain boldness to actually carry out whatever came to mind. These were all inherited traits. That is generally how one must imagine inherited traits. Now the question is: What became of the two of them? How did their karma unfold? — One became a poet, a poet who achieved quite a lot, and the other became a con artist. For the inherited traits served both purposes; in one instance they were applied to the art of poetry, in another to all manner of swindling. To the extent that these traits stemmed from their physical lives, the two were alike. These matters must truly be studied conscientiously and seriously, not in the way modern science often studies them. Although one finds that people today recognize the facts quite correctly, they are unable to make sense of them because they lack the ability to connect them to the great laws of repeated earthly lives.

[ 17 ] People have begun, in certain regions and under various influences of the times, to consider how one might assist—in terms of the physical line of inheritance, or the “current of inheritance,” as the materialist puts it—nature—he does not say: divine providence; and especially in the present time, the genius of many people is being strongly driven to consider how to ensure the next generation in these sad times. But for most people, the question of how to ensure the next generation is identical to the question of how to help people have as many children as possible—that is, how to create scientific conditions that will result in the most abundant offspring possible. Anyone who sees through these matters can already foresee what is to come. Those who are now dusting off their scientific theories about the most favorable conditions for future offspring will all end up looking very foolish, for none of them are willing to learn anything. They need only look at how things turned out in places where favorable conditions for offspring already existed. For you see, there is the very famous Johann Sebastian Bach, who was cantor at St. Thomas School in Leipzig nearly two centuries ago and who, surrounded by his ten sons who were all musicians, made quite a lot of music himself. One cannot say that it was an infertile family. He had ten sons who were musicians—that is, ten sons in total. But one can go back to Johann Sebastian Bach’s great-grandfather; he had sons—there were so many sons that, across generations, almost the entire family was as prolific as that of Johann Sebastian Bach himself. So in this family, in the most eminent sense, the conditions favorable for having offspring were certainly present. In 1850, a hundred years after the death of Johann Sebastian Bach, the entire family had died out; not a single descendant remained. There you have what needs to be studied. So even if people have unearthed their so-called favorable conditions in their own way, they will not be able to prevent the possibility that they, too, might one day have families with ten members—but those families could be extinct after fifty years.

[ 18 ] We will discuss such matters tomorrow: how the conditions under which humanity develops arise, and how these are entirely different from the conditions with which our—one might say—natural-philosophical worldview, devoid of all wisdom, initially grapples. But this scientific worldview is one of the wings of materialism. And I have spoken to you about how those familiar with the fundamental laws of the occult worldview knew that precisely in the middle of the 19th century there was a “low point”—or, as the materialists might call it, a “high point”—of materialistic thinking, feeling, and willing. And we have already become acquainted with much that is connected to this contemporary materialistic thinking; we will yet have much more to learn. But what one must repeatedly observe is that even well-meaning people are not particularly inclined to familiarize themselves with what actually prevails—in both its depths and its heights—in terms of materialistic impulses regarding worldview and volition. In this regard, people are indeed surprisingly reluctant to bring themselves to do what has often been spoken of here: to see the world with open eyes. For what will become of the world if views continue to develop as they did during the second half of the 19th century, spreading across the entire globe? And in these lectures we will have to speak about the deep inner reasons why all these things are as they are in our present time.

[ 19 ] But we must take a good, hard look at how far things have come in many areas. It was, after all, the 19th century that held the view that a true scientist could not possibly subscribe to the childishly absurd notions of the old religions. What the ancient religions had preserved—and we will speak later about how they preserved it—was regarded merely as childish nonsense. It was considered a sign of an enlightened person to have moved beyond the belief in a spiritual being, and also beyond the belief that humans are fundamentally different from animals. People sought not only a physical connection between humans and animals, but they sought to demonstrate outright that humans themselves were nothing other than animals, differing only slightly from other animals, just as other animals differ from one another. This was of particular importance to people, and it was on this basis that they wrote not only natural history, but also works on psychology and the study of the soul. One need only single out a statement from one of the leading figures of the 19th century to see what views people had actually arrived at.

[ 20 ] I have a book before me; it is, in a sense, a book that represents the profound ideas of the 19th century. It deals with the soul—specifically, the human soul. The book attempts, as far as possible, to prove that this human soul is something of which only the foolish people of earlier times spoke—and still speak today. The book was written in 1865, but these views have certainly persisted, and even if some today say we have moved beyond them—we have not moved beyond them; rather, we are still deeply immersed in them, particularly in emotional and general cultural life. It deals with the human soul, but particular emphasis is placed on showing that the animal soul is the same as the human soul. Notably, on page 185, there is a charming definition of women and men. Women, says the author, by virtue of their distinctive characteristics, represent more of a tendency toward spiritualism, while men represent more of a tendency toward materialism. So spiritualism, as presented there, is a weakness of women! Then he notes that certain outlandish psychologists still speak of a “self”—a “self” that distinguishes humans from animals. But he says, in a charming way: “The cat, for example, shows that it, too, says ‘I.’” It has just as much awareness of the “I”—as he puts it—as our vague and supernatural psychologists, for the cat’s sense of self is no different at all from that of humans. — And then comes a passage quoted from another book, with which the author, however, fully agrees. I will read this passage to you and ask you to excuse the fact that the language, taken as a whole, is not entirely proper for polite company. But it is not my fault; it is the fault of philosophy, which has developed under such influences, and it is precisely the philosophy that seeks to send living impulses into the future—the philosophy that claims to be, today, the only one worthy of a human being. It is said: “The theologians and metaphysicians of our time also claim that man is the only religious animal; this could not be more false, and this error is exactly like that of those travelers who conclude from the absence of organized worship that there is no religion among certain primitive tribes; in a large part of the animal kingdom, even among mollusks, one finds evidence of fetishism and astral worship.” Thus, even among mollusks and other animals, one finds evidence of fetishism and astral worship. “Those closest to man engage in a veritable form of anthropolatric polytheism. Our domestic dog barks at the moon and howls in a very particular way by the seashore, and on many occasions we see it making use of the only lustral water at its disposal and performing rites of varying obscurity. Who could prove that there has never been a high priest among dogs? What could have degraded this poor animal to the point of making it lick the hand that strikes it, if not religious and superstitious ideas? How can one explain, without a deep-seated anthropolatry, the voluntary submission of so many animals that are stronger and more agile than man? To be sure, one might say that very often the animal devours its god; but, primns in orbe deos fecit timor .... And besides, the followers of many religions do indeed eat their own!»

[ 21 ] “The theologians and metaphysicians of our era also claim that man is the only religious animal. This is the most false claim one can make, and this error is very similar to that of certain travelers who infer the absence of religion among certain primitive peoples from the absence of an organized cult. Among a large number of animals, even among mollusks, one finds evidence of fetishism and star worship. The animals closest to humans practice a true polytheism of human worship. Our domestic dog barks at the moon and howls in a peculiar way on the seashore, and one sees it, when given the opportunity, making use of the only purifying water at its disposal and performing rites that are more or less obscure. Who can prove that there could never be a high priest among dogs? Is it not a degradation of this poor animal to make it lick the hand that strikes it? Are these not religious and supernatural ideas? How can one explain—without assuming a profound anthropolatry, that is, a profound worship of humans—the voluntary submission of so many animals that are much stronger and more agile than humans? In truth, we are often told that “the animal devours its god”—namely, man. “But,” he now quotes, “fear created the first god on earth; … and besides, aren’t there also sectarians in various religions who devour their god?”

[ 22 ] This book, which endorses this view, is titled: “Matérialisme et Spiritualisme” and was written by Leblais; but the preface was written by a man who authored a whole series of works, who was elected to the National Assembly in 1871 and, in the same year, was elected a member of the Académie; the same Littré, who was truly a man known throughout the world, wrote the preface to this book. This book deals with the human soul, and it merely articulates in a more decisive manner what, in essence, pulsates through numerous souls today. And it is only because people are so reluctant to observe life that they fail to see what is at stake in human development—to the sorrow and pain of those who see through things.

[ 23 ] I wanted to present you with an example—by no means an isolated one—of the prevalence of materialist views in the second half of the 19th century.

[ 24 ] And now we ask: Do such views have no significance for external life? Do they not gradually permeate external life? Do they not shape and form external life? — Just yesterday I received a book by the young Swiss author Albert Steffen, in which, in a sense, various currents that the author has observed in our time—observed because he is, in a certain way, imbued with those impulses at work in spiritual science, he is, after all, a member of our society—where the young Steffen describes, to some extent, what a person might experience when they allow the effects of materialism in the shaping of the social world to take hold of them.

[ 25 ] There is a character in this novel titled The True Lover of Fate, named Artur. He writes down a brief account of his life story with a specific purpose in mind. It is, admittedly, a section of a novel, but this section depicts much of what is pulsating in life today. So this Artur describes a part of his life—that life which has just unfolded in a world where materialism has taken hold of humanity and shapes society:

[ 26 ] “When I was 21, I came to a big city for the first time (not the one where I live now) to begin my studies here.

[ 27 ] I went out to look at the streets that very same day. It was raining. Everything was gloomy and dirty. One after another, the people all had the same indifferent, hurried gait. I immediately felt overcome by a sense of inner desolation. I stopped at a billboard to see where I might spend the evening. I read a notice calling for a rally against alcohol. A man with a paintbrush and a glue pot came along and pasted a beer bottle label over it.” Such a true sign of our times! — a poster for anti-alcoholism, with a beer bottle label pasted right over it.

[ 28 ] “Suddenly I realized the significance of the mood that had taken hold of me ever since I’d arrived in this city: It was foolish to want to reform people.

[ 29 ] Disabled people stood on both sides of the street. But no one had time to think about the tragedy. Women walked by and offered their help. And no one showed compassion or outrage. It suddenly seemed almost strange to me that the shopkeepers didn’t step out in front of their stores, smash everything, and shout, “What does it matter?” But then I realized that the only reason people didn’t despair was because they were already too accustomed to it, too jaded, too thieving. They already knew their way around this alley far too well.

[ 30 ] And did I despair? — I must confess that I greedily absorbed the atmosphere of this alley. With a shuddering “lust for death,” I took in the certainty that everything was heading toward ruin. The people I encountered bore the clear signs of degeneration. The houses exuded decay. Even the gray sky seemed to be bringing down something heavy and inescapable through its clouds.

[ 31 ] This feeling grew ever stronger within me. In this state of mind, I found myself—almost unconsciously—constantly seeking out darker and darker alleys. I wandered into courtyards littered with all manner of filth. I peered into windows and witnessed terrible crimes. I read the flyers that con artists and pimps pressed into my hands. Finally, I climbed into one of those cars that race through the streets with tremendous force. I closed my eyes. The roar shook me like the hymn of death itself.

[ 32 ] Suddenly, the vehicle came to a stop. I leaned down and heard a few words spoken in an indifferent tone. A child who had run across the street and been struck by a bicycle was carried away, dead. The journey continued.

[ 33 ] From that moment on, something inside me was paralyzed. I could now hear about the most horrific things happening in this city, yet they no longer frightened, outraged, or disgusted me. It all seemed perfectly natural to me.

[ 34 ] More: I had to laugh at everyone who wanted to change it.

[ 35 ] Was there any other way to navigate this fever of hunger, thirst, and desire?

[ 36 ] My father comes from a family of pastors. He studied the natural sciences and embraced their findings with great enthusiasm. They made him clear-minded, precise, open-hearted, and—in the truest sense of the word—humane. He devoted all his energy to the exploration of the sensory world. The supernatural did not concern him. At least, I never heard him mention it.

[ 37 ] As a boy, I adopted his worldview without questioning whether its teachings might be one-sided, just as an admiring child accepts the truth from his father. But I did not yet possess the strength of character he had acquired through life, nor did I possess the religiosity inherited from my ancestors—which, though he denied it, was nonetheless present in his very being. I had no such reserves to draw upon. In my youth, I had not been taught any devout customs that would have enriched and deepened my soul and continued to have an effect within me.”

[ 38 ] And now remember how I have often said—I have been saying this for years: The first generation will still be able to live under materialism because it is under the spiritual influence of its ancestors; but the next generation would degenerate and go to ruin under materialism. — It is gratifying—if such a thing can be gratifying at all—that this is now finding its way into fiction as well.

[ 39 ] “Perhaps that is why”—he continues—“the impact of scientific discoveries on me was different from that on my father. That inner legacy prevented him from applying to life what he had acquired as knowledge. For me, it was different. For me, that one day was enough to turn my entire will on its head, so to speak.

[ 40 ] As he put it, it gave my father intellectual satisfaction to consider that, after death, a person dissolves and ceases to exist. In me, this certainty—for that is what it seemed to be—evoked a kind of ecstatic urge toward self-destruction and, as a result, heartlessness and criminal impulses.

[ 41 ] That evening, I had become empty, unfeeling, and cruel, and I did not deny these traits.»

[ 42 ] I showed you the other day that modern humanity is cruel even in its terminology. Now let's read here:

[ 43 ] “That evening, I had become empty, unfeeling, and cruel, and I did not deny these traits. In the time that followed, I lived completely without scruples. And precisely because what I did did not stem from an impulse I could not control, but rather from a certain consistency and strength of my will, my example had a doubly corrupting effect. I knew this. I was purely evil.”

[ 44 ] Now he goes on to describe how he fell into bad company, led another person into bad company, and so on. You can read that for yourself. There’s just one more small passage I’d like to draw your attention to, because it’s telling. A number of Artur’s acquaintances are gathered together—people who are certainly “highly respectable,” who even have very good intentions within their own circles. But Artur has to slip away at one point and then sits there alone at an empty table.

[ 45 ] “Shortly thereafter, a gentleman sat down across from him whose face struck him because it bore an astonishing resemblance to his own. It was pale, gaunt, clean-shaven, though with a somewhat witch-like appearance.

[ 46 ] A peddler came along, put on his pince-nez, and, with a conjurer’s dexterity, spread out a bundle of postcards—first in front of Artur, then in front of the stranger—looking not at the cards but into the face of whoever he was holding them in front of, as if he were gauging his chances there. Artur turned away in disgust. The stranger, however, examined them closely and selected about ten, which he gathered together and tore up. “One shouldn’t give this man any reason to make money,” he then said to Artur. “He’ll surely order double the number of the cards I bought. They were the most hideous ones. But I saw so many decent working-class couples here that I became afraid he would show them to these people.”

[ 47 ] “How can you look at pictures like that?” Artur said.

[ 48 ] “Surrender yourself for a moment, without resisting, to the haze that prevails here, and you will see figures take shape in your soul, moving just as unsightly as those on the postcards. What are our places of entertainment these days but hells? One need only examine one’s feelings upon leaving—smoke, haze, and debauchery. One takes nothing noble with one.’

[ 49 ] “Why are you in this ‘dangerous place’?” Artur asked.

[ 50 ] “Because I consider it necessary for someone to be here who feels disgust. The idea that disgust is necessary for our time occurred to me a few days ago in the Greek vase collection. The Greeks did not need disgust to attain beauty. They lived within it from the very beginning. We, however, need it if we want to live life to the fullest, to judge the world correctly, to connect with the spirit within us, to protect the God within us. It was different for the Greeks: when they devoted themselves to life, they simultaneously fulfilled the laws of the spirit. There was no need to constantly defend oneself or arm oneself. The human creations all around made life beautiful: the buildings, the art, the customs, the tools—down to the smallest detail. We, however, are made ugly by everything that surrounds us: streets, posters, movies, operetta music—everything desolates us, everything destroys us.”...»

[ 51 ] We must study: How does that which first exists in the world of thought, in the world of feeling, flow into the social world? And it is not good if we sleep through life, if we do not know what actually lay at the root of this life before it reached its ultimate consequences. For, after all, a person who has absorbed something of spiritual science is already well-equipped to describe this life, because he has an eye for it.

[ 52 ] We want to continue discussing these matters tomorrow.