The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Essential Aspects of Consciousness for the Present and the Future IV

[ 1 ] I would like to continue the reflections I began for our Humanity Cycle on the journey of the human soul through its various earthly lives—to continue them in such a way that the experiences we draw upon may be of use to us in assessing the events of our immediate present. To this end, I would like to present to you today an observation that focuses more on the external aspects, so to speak, and over the next eight days, one that focuses more on the internal aspects.

[ 2 ] We have explained how the human soul, as it passes through successive earthly lives—if we consider the three periods that are of immediate interest to us: the Egyptian-Chaldean period, the Greek-Latin period, and our own time—during which the human soul has indeed passed through various incarnations—how this human soul—regarded as a soul, as the Self—actually experiences something new, something different each time compared to a previous incarnation. We need only call to mind once more what it will be like for the souls who are now, in our time, passing through earthly incarnation and who will then return after a relatively normal period—a period that, while not everyone goes through, is experienced by a great many.

[ 3 ] We have pointed this out on several occasions and reiterated it last time: the souls passing through their current earthly incarnation will essentially return in such a way that, through their own inner experience—and I elaborated on the precise form of this last time—they will be able to know with absolute certainty: There are repeated earthly lives. This important development will take place in the next age: souls will transition from their current uncertainty about repeated earthly lives to a certainty of them. As I said, we considered the details last time. But there is one more thing I would like to emphasize. |

[ 4 ] I have pointed out to you that an important period of time is the one that begins around the 7th or 8th century before the Mystery of Golgotha. In the first centuries of this period, due to the ancient practices of clairvoyance, a relatively large number of souls were still able to look back on their earlier earthly lives. But because they looked back in such a way that the feeling soul was particularly developed in their earthly lives at that time, the souls, as they looked back, saw how human beings behaved in the outer world. They gained, so to speak, a vivid picture of how human beings went about in the outer world and what happened to them there. This, however, is something the souls will not be able to do in the near future, as far as we are concerned. Then the looking back will be directed more toward the soul. One will have less insight into how the human being moves about in space, what happens to him in space, and so on; one will have less of a vividly real content in the sensory sense, but rather one will look back more upon the soul.

[ 5 ] I mention this again because it shows you that souls experience things very, very differently in their successive earthly lives. And this must inevitably raise a question in everyone’s mind: How is it that, when one looks back at earlier historical periods, the outside world actually seems to believe that, as far as human beings are concerned, nothing has really changed all that much? — Let’s take the conventional historical accounts—some of them, though not all, are well-intentioned—: You will find time and again that they actually go back only as far as a certain point in time, as far as historical records and documents extend. But the structure of the human soul is generally thought to have remained the same throughout all these periods. People imagine a certain development, but it is not conceived as radically as it must be in the sense of the portrayal we can make based on the findings of spiritual science. Why is it that people actually have no real awareness of the transformation of the human soul? This question will press itself upon one’s soul.

[ 6 ] If one considers historical events—but now from a humanities perspective—it is indeed true, one might say, that for quite some time now, things have unfolded in such a way that, fundamentally speaking, human beings have been held back from self-knowledge of their souls rather than being led toward it. How the human soul changes from incarnation to incarnation can only truly be understood when self-knowledge—true self-knowledge—takes hold. But this self-knowledge has, in fact, been greatly suppressed by the events we are now called upon to reflect upon. We could point to significant examples of how self-knowledge has been suppressed, particularly in the recent history of humanity. A certain brotherhood, which you all know, calling itself the Masonic Brotherhood, believes—and some of its members, in turn, with the best of intentions—that it is certainly encouraging people within its ranks to pursue self-knowledge. This brotherhood has various symbols which, as soon as one approaches them with spiritual-scientific insight, reveal themselves to be profound, significant symbols—all of which would actually be well-suited to leading to human self-knowledge. But they do not. It is very curious: when one reads the official histories that have emerged from Masonic circles, from Freemasonry itself, the more enlightened among them believe that one need only go back to the 18th or 17th century to become acquainted with modern Freemasonry. But what lies within the symbols of Freemasonry has, from the 17th century onward, been virtually veiled; it has been transformed into something one merely looks at, participates in, and feels less and less need to understand. If one were to approach this Masonic symbolism with a gift for understanding it, this would already provide a path to human self-knowledge. For all these symbols are intended for that purpose. But the actual development of Freemasonry has taken a different path: to obscure self-knowledge, to make it impossible by engaging with the symbolism merely on an external level. And so, viewed from the standpoint of truth, one could actually say: The development of modern Freemasonry is, in essence, the development of a community dedicated to rendering incomprehensible the very symbols that live within that community. — It is as if an unconscious agenda were at work to render the symbols incomprehensible, because it is precisely during this era—the era over which modern Freemasonry is said to extend, among the enlightened rather than the mystical Freemasons—that the fear of self-knowledge has gripped people to the highest degree. There is much talk of self-knowledge; there is much talk of how a person must seek his divine self, his higher self, and so on. But all of that is just talk. In fact, all of it serves more to block the true path to self-knowledge than to pave the way for it. And we must ask ourselves: Where does this aversion, this fear of true self-knowledge, come from? And today I would like to begin by looking at the matter from a somewhat more external perspective.

[ 7 ] We can see, in fact, that this is not limited to this one area—the realm of Freemasonry—but that it is also present in a most remarkable way across the entire spectrum of modern culture. We see how this modern culture—particularly in the spread of Christianity—actually follows a path of concealing and obscuring self-knowledge. And this is an extraordinarily interesting and significant path. Few people today take the trouble to truly compare better descriptions drawn from centuries far apart, and even fewer people reflect on how things actually stand when they present themselves to their soul. It is, after all, a psychological experiment—not yet particularly revealing, but nonetheless not uninteresting—that you can conduct if you take a work such as *The Life of Michelangelo* by Herman Grimm. It is a work that is actually more about the age of Michelangelo, a work that deals with the era from which he emerged. But try, on the basis of this book, to imagine what the world around you would be like if you were walking through the world that Herman Grimm describes as Michelangelo’s; and try to compare this world with the one you are experiencing now: the difference is truly enormous! But that does not mean much in itself, for the centuries we are looking at here are not very far apart. Something else, however, becomes apparent when we truly turn our gaze meaningfully to the era—with its preparations and its aftermath—in which the great upheaval of modern times took place. When we look back at the three major periods that spiritual science first reveals to us for our current Earth cycle, the third period ends roughly with the 7th or 8th century B.C., and the fourth period ends with the beginning of the 15th century A.D. There, at the beginning of the 15th century, an important and significant turning point in the spiritual life of civilized humanity—one not very far removed from our own time—is already present. It is simply not usually depicted in historical accounts. One might ask: Why is it not depicted? Fundamentally, this stems from a fear of self-knowledge and also of gaining insight into the human soul life. You would, for example, find it fascinating to read descriptions of a figure such as Saint Bernard of Clairvaux. Bernard—perhaps the most significant figure of the 12th century, the most significant figure of the era in which the fourth post-Atlantean cultural epoch is drawing to a close—possesses a soul structure that would later, after the 15th century, be entirely impossible in Europe. What the inner life of such a person was like is extraordinarily difficult even for people today to describe, because virtually all the prerequisites for forming any conception of what such a soul was like are lacking. But I advise you to read the biographies of St. Bernard for the simple reason that from them you can discern what impressions other people had of St. Bernard’s inner life. When one reads these biographies, one asks oneself: What, in comparison, are the miracle accounts in the Gospels? The few sick people—according to the Gospels—whom Christ Jesus himself—again, according to the Gospels—healed are a mere trifle compared to the immensely extensive account of Saint Bernard’s miraculous deeds, nearly twelve centuries later! The number of people said to have been made to see when they were blind and to walk when they were lame cannot even be compared to the numbers one arrives at when tallying the similar accounts in the Gospels. The description of the impact of Saint Bernard’s sermons is such that one senses: Whenever he spoke somewhere, what he said was like the spread of a spiritual aura that had a profound and far-reaching effect. There was a reality in this man’s words that we can no longer even imagine today. If one were to describe everything that characterizes the impression this figure made even back then, one would naturally encounter disbelief today, because there is simply no way to form a conception—based on what happens today—of the view people held at that time of a personality such as St. Bernard. Now, delving into the inner structure of his soul is, as I said, difficult today for the simple reason that—even in this circle—the prerequisites for doing so are lacking. But there is one thing I must point out.

[ 8 ] This individual possessed an immense devotion to the spiritual world, an absolute immersion in it. Today, it seems entirely natural to people that when one sets out to do something, one wants to carry it out—and if it does not work out, one begins to doubt whether the original plan was the right one. A personality such as St. Bernard never wavers; for whatever he has set out to do or advised others to do, he has always first discussed with his God in the spiritual worlds. And even in the face of setbacks such as those he experienced during the Crusades, where everything he had advised failed, he never for a moment doubted that his thoughts were absolutely correct, and that the discrepancy between what actually happened in the outer sensory world and what he had conceived under the influence of the spiritual world will, in one way or another, be justified and clarified. But by singling out such a figure, one is actually saying—about an individual, albeit an outstanding one—what can be said in this context. But this is by no means something limited to the individual; it is the hallmark of the entire era. It is the hallmark of the era in Europe, beginning roughly in the 3rd and 4th centuries A.D. and continuing through the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries. Of course, something else is also taking shape within this era. But what is taking shape as something else—something that will profoundly influence the era and leave its mark on it—only comes to expression after the 14th and 15th centuries. The period from the 3rd to the 15th century is one of the ever-increasing consolidation of the power of faith, the time in which, under the influence of this power of faith, the events of the era unfold, — Please, especially as I discuss this chapter, bear in mind something I always emphasize in these lectures, but which is particularly important in passages like this: I choose my words so that they cannot be replaced by others. The moment one attempts to replace these carefully chosen words with others, one is no longer describing history accurately. So anyone who were to replace what I just said—“It was the age of consolidating faith”—with the phrase “It was the age of consolidating piety” would be presenting something entirely false. That is certainly not what I mean. It was the power of faith, as I characterized it in Bernhard’s case. Bernhard is certainly a pious man as well. But one can also be pious as a personal trait. Yet what was at work in the events of that time and what was lived out over the centuries I have spoken of stands under the influence of the power of faith. The power of faith is, of course, present in every age. But it is not the historical reality of every age that is determined by the power of faith. Our present age, too, will in turn be “replaced” by one in which the power of faith will once again—temporarily, sporadically—play a significant role. At present, however, this is not yet the case. For example, superstition regarding materialistic medicine will take on grotesque forms in the future. The power of faith will still play a major role there, but we have not yet reached that point. At present, it is more a state of slumber, a sleeping of humanity, which plays a very significant, a major role in historical events. Now one might ask: How is it, in fact, that this power of faith in Europe becomes such a significant historical impulse—the impulse that most significantly ushers in what then emerges in the 15th century as the fifth post-Atlantean cultural epoch, in which we now live?

[ 9 ] At first, it is something seemingly quite external that provided the basis for the rise of religious fervor—and this is essentially what led to the downfall of the Roman Empire. The historical forces that prevailed from the 3rd and 4th centuries CE through the 15th century took the place of the forces that had driven the Roman Empire. There are, of course, a number of factors that led to the downfall of the Roman Empire, but a very significant one is that, as Roman history unfolded, wealth gradually flowed out to the East. As the Roman Empire expanded, the legions had to be pushed further and further to the periphery of the vast empire; soldiers’ pay had to be paid increasingly in money rather than in kind, as had been possible when the Roman Empire was smaller. As a result, however, as the empire expanded, monetary wealth did indeed gradually shift toward the East, and a defining characteristic of Europe during those centuries—particularly in the early part of that period, beginning in the 3rd and 4th centuries—was its scarcity of money, specifically its scarcity of metallic currency. Many other factors are connected to this, and it is important not to indulge in mystical ramblings about these matters, but rather to maintain a sound perspective on reality. The “art of making gold”—alchemy—arose in Europe in part because gold had flowed out to the East, and people thought they could create it, produce it, and become rich again. Behind alchemy, as it took shape in the early centuries of the Middle Ages, the underlying cause was often the depletion of monetary resources resulting from the expansion of the Roman Empire. — This is again connected to the fact that during these centuries, peoples from the north—who held pagan beliefs, pagan culture, and pagan sensibilities, and who understood little of the social structure that had gradually become ever more powerful in the Roman Empire precisely under the influence of money—moved into the impoverished Roman Empire. The Romans found this quite unsettling, especially after their money had flowed out to the East. The advancing Germanic peoples, however, were quite content with the situation.

[ 10 ] The spread of Christianity took place against this backdrop of the Roman Empire. Although this is no longer emphasized today, the fact remains that in the early days, a profound spiritual worldview was very much alive within the waves of spreading Christianity. Indeed, there is today a veritable, hopeless fear—especially in theological circles—of so-called Gnosticism. Often, when one asks why people, particularly in theological circles, dislike our spiritual science—or even fear it—one frequently receives the answer that this spiritual science could lead to a revival of Gnosticism. And that in itself is a reason to reject the whole thing. Gnosticism is, after all, nothing other than—though of course it must manifest differently in our present age than it did in the early centuries of Christianity—a positive knowledge of the spiritual world, the human capacity to gain insights into the spiritual worlds, just as one gains insights into the physical worlds through the senses. Today one can encounter people who make fun of the disputes that once existed over whether the Spirit proceeds from the Father or the Son, or is somehow else connected to the Father and the Son. People today no longer associate any concept with such terms. Back then, people had already linked ideas to them. Anyone who were to write the history of the first Christian centuries with true knowledge would see that there was already a spiritual element in the development of these dogmas; it is just that we no longer find it today. A profoundly significant spiritual worldview was already present on the waves of spreading Christianity, and one can trace how this spiritual worldview extended into the 9th century within the expanding Christian world. If one studies the details of this spreading Christianity, one finds that the later view—according to which religious outlook should be limited to being imbued with the power of faith and engaging as little as possible with the details of the spiritual world—arose from observing, with a certain correct perspective, the peoples from whom the new Europe was to emerge. These were pagan peoples, but they were also peoples who had not progressed very far in their thinking, in the connection and formation of concepts leading into the spiritual world; they were strong, vigorous, and physically robust people, but not exactly people whose spiritual disposition led them to form very concrete ideas about anything spiritual.

[ 11 ] Thus, in order to spread Christianity, one adapted to these peoples. Since these people were less capable of thinking, one turned more to the heart—as they say—to the power of faith. Thus we see how, by the 10th century, everything of a spiritual nature had already more or less disappeared from Christianity, but everything had coalesced into the power of faith. And what people perceived in the power of faith—what they felt they had beside them in the power of faith—had gradually become the substance of their souls. Souls already lived differently than they do now. One must imagine what such a soul experienced back then when encountering a legend. I want to tell just one simple legend, one that was widespread everywhere back then and that is meaningful. It goes like this: Saint Bernard was once riding a donkey. He had a monk with him. This monk suffered, as we would say today, from epilepsy. He kept falling down. Saint Bernard happened to see this just as the monk was accompanying him and leading his donkey. So he turned to God, asking that from then on, this monk would never suffer an epileptic seizure without him knowing about it beforehand. And the legend goes on to say that the monk lived another twenty years, and every time he was about to have another seizure, he knew it in advance; he could lie down in bed and avoid breaking his limbs when he was about to fall over again.

[ 12 ] It was a simple, harmless thing, but one that had a profound effect and was talked about everywhere at the time. For one felt one’s soul grow strong when one could sense the sustaining power of the reality of faith, and people lived within the aura of that feeling.

[ 13 ] It would not have been possible for the power of faith to consolidate itself in this way if Europe had not, in a sense, isolated itself throughout the centuries I have mentioned. Money had flowed out to the East; as a result, trade had gradually ceased. For a time, Europe was essentially limited to agriculture. But it is a profoundly significant symptom of Europe’s development during these centuries that one-third of European land passed into the hands of those who were the bearers of this spiritual power: one-third of the land became church property during this period. It is as if everything that had been lived—interrupted only by the Roman element—had coalesced into this religious force throughout the entire fourth post-Atlantean epoch. But one thing was lost precisely amid this strengthening of religious force: progress in the true Christ-consciousness was lost. One must not forget that Christ was known in the highest sense during the first Christian centuries by those who were able to place the Christ-figure, the Christ-essence, within the entire context of the forces of the spiritual world. For those who were first moved by the Christ-figure, the reason for their being moved was, after all, that they looked up into the spiritual world and, in a sense, beheld the approach of the Christ-figure through the spiritual worlds, across the eons, toward the Earth, and were able to connect all these events of Golgotha to everything happening in the cosmos. That was what was so moving about the event at Golgotha: that those who first interpreted it understood it in such a way that what happened on Earth was the downward flow of an event from the worlds of the great cosmic process.

[ 14 ] I am well aware that this is portrayed differently today. But when people say we must return to the simple, unadorned conceptions of Jesus Christ held in the first centuries, they are merely speaking of their own personal preferences, because they wish to obscure the grandeur of the Christ idea and the profound insight the early centuries had into the Mystery of Golgotha. That is why they put forward their favorite idea: Everything was simple; everything was such that Christ Jesus was, as some say today, nothing more than “the simple man from Nazareth.” One is perhaps less surprised by such views when they are held by younger people. Older people, however, ought to know that even in our own time we have experienced a significant shift in our understanding of these matters. I have often heard people say: “You can’t really understand things like these, as they are presented in spiritual science; they are very difficult to grasp.” — Yes, if only there were no obstacles, no external obstacles! Thirty years ago, it was precisely the simple people out in the countryside who would have fully understood these things. Over the course of the last few decades, however, things have changed. Older people might still recall how writings—such as those by Jakob Böhme or Eckartshausen, for example—writings that strive very, very hard to introduce readers to the concreteness of the spiritual world—were still readily absorbed by simple peasant minds just decades ago. On the surface, our spiritual life has become purely bourgeois. This mindset has increasingly emphasized its favorite idea—that the truth, as they say, must be “simple”—by which they mean nothing other than that it must be accessible to everyone in a convenient way, without much thought. Today, however, there is little evidence left—not even among simple minds—that in the early centuries of Christianity it was already possible to speak of lofty spiritual matters, especially to these simple minds, when speaking of Jesus Christ. This means, however, that what then happened in the following centuries actually occurred, in a sense, to once again obscure the knowledge of Christ for humanity—to prevent that knowledge from coming too close to people.

[ 15 ] In these matters, one must look at reality, not at what one imagines. One of the most profound demands of our age is that we learn once again to look at reality. I am always reminded of an example in this regard, because it is quite vivid. I once gave a lecture in Colmar on Christianity and wisdom. Two Catholic clergymen were also present at this lecture. Of course, they had never heard of such a thing—that goes without saying—but precisely because they hadn’t heard anything about it yet—which certainly played a role—they approached me after the lecture, because what I had said didn’t strike them as all that bad. It probably would have seemed bad to them only if they had already heard something from their superiors on the matter, and then they probably would have heard nothing but nonsense. That was their only objection. They said: “What you’re saying is all well and good; talking about the spiritual world like that is fine. But humanity doesn’t understand any of it.” We speak in a way that humanity can understand.” — I said: “Do you know, Reverend, how one is to speak to humanity? Neither you nor I should interpret that according to our favorite maxims. Those favorite maxims are irrelevant; for, of course, if we were to judge according to our favorite maxims, you would like the way you speak, and I would like the way I speak.” But that’s not what matters. What matters is what our age obliges us to do: not to answer questions like the ones you just raised according to our favorite maxims, but to let reality answer them for us. And there is an obvious answer. I ask you: Do all people go to your church today, since you believe you’re speaking to everyone? To that, you could truthfully only say: Some do remain outside. To that I might say: That is reality’s answer! I speak for those who remain outside your church, and they, too, have a right to find the way to Christ Jesus. — Do not ask yourself, but ask reality; ask the age. For whatever answer one can obtain from within oneself, one already knows. It seems so very simple; but learning to embrace the obligation that the age places upon you—that is not so simple. And only when you truly consult within yourself will you recognize what actually lies behind what I have just said.

[ 16 ] What humanity needs today is precisely this: to become objective, to learn to live in harmony with our surroundings. If we can grasp the impulse referred to here, then we will also be able to come to terms with the truth of how, under the influence of the historical events over the centuries of which I have spoken, higher insight—the ability to look upward toward the spiritual connection between the Mystery of Golgotha and cosmic events—has gradually faded away in Europe. Christ has been distanced from the European mind; He has been reduced to what people wanted to grasp, what they wanted to imagine. But what matters is that one grasps reality, not what one wants to grasp. Today one very often hears that a person should seek his God, and that he will find this God within himself; that one should unite with one’s divine self within, and then one will find God. People take particular offense at the fact that spiritual science must emphasize: When we step out of the world in which we live and into the spiritual realm, we find hierarchies; just as we find a richly structured physical world here, we find there a similarly richly structured, graded spiritual world. But then it is easier and more convenient for people to say: Let us turn directly, immediately, to the one Christ; every single person can find him. It does not matter whether one imagines it, but rather that one recognizes what one truly finds in the spiritual realm. What do those people find who today often say: “I have found an inner relationship with my God”? — For what is called “God” there is often nothing other than the closest spiritual being from the hierarchy of the Angeloi, the immediate guardian angel, who is revered as the highest being. Whether we believe we have found God is not what matters; what matters is that we understand the reality of this inner experience that a person has. When someone believes they are inwardly permeated by something divine, they are usually permeated only by a being from the hierarchy of the Angeloi, or else they are permeated by their own “I,” as it was between their last death and this birth, as it lived in the spiritual world before uniting with this physical body. Isn’t it interesting that there is a word whose origin is unknown? If you look up dictionaries, you will find all sorts of beautiful things about all sorts of words. Yet there is one word—even the most learned philological lexicographers cannot trace its origin; they do not know what it means, not even from a philological standpoint: that word is “God”! Look it up in the German dictionary. It is the word whose meaning is unknown. Very significant, very telling! For what people are actually talking about when they frequently speak of their “God” today is the individual angel—or even one’s own self—in the period between the last death and the present birth. What one truly experiences there—and I am thinking here only of truly sincere, honest individuals who have experienced this for themselves—is reality. That is what matters, and not the fact that one surrenders oneself to delusion: People worship a single God. They have only one word for the experience of their angel or even for their own self, whether it is not yet incarnated or is already incarnated, so to speak.

[ 17 ] That one senses this, that one senses it: Spiritual science must uncover what is very often meant by people’s so-called “experience of God”—which is why people are so reluctant to see this spiritual science spread; for it is capable of getting to the bottom of this immensely significant fact that I have just highlighted. The entire historical development from the 3rd to the 10th, and indeed even up to the 15th century, has tended to conceal and obscure the mysteries of Christ Jesus rather than to reveal them. What I am saying is not a criticism, but merely a description. For if one is unable to accept this characterization objectively, one will never understand the forces under which the age beginning with the 15th century—the age of the true consciousness soul—is emerging. I would say that this age is thundering in, and everything in the spiritual world is tending toward the emergence of this conscious soul with its two poles—its materialistic and its spiritual pole. But from this perspective, one must first consider the course of history. One must conjure up images in one’s mind, such as this one: From moods such as these, which appear to us at the highest level in St. Bernard, the European tendency emerges—out of a strengthened, consolidated power of faith—to replace Rome with Jerusalem, to establish Christianity with its center in Jerusalem as anti-Roman Christianity. — For this is actually the foundation of the Crusades. Godfrey of Bouillon was not an emissary of the Roman popes, but rather the one who undertook the Crusades to erect a bulwark in Jerusalem against Rome, to make Christianity independent of Rome. It was an idea that, in essence, dominated for many centuries. ‘Henry I, the Saint,’ then gave it shape in the form of an *Ecclesia catholica non romana*

[ 18 ] We see how the power of European faith projects its aura into those regions where the Romans once sent their gold! With the gold and its consequences in the Orient, the Crusaders come into conflict—with Roman gold on one side and Eastern gnosis on the other. One must take into account this aura under which the Crusades arose. It is entirely the aura of European religious vitality. That is the one tone, the one hue of the picture. But let us place within this hue—one could, if one were to paint it, depict it only as a single hue—let us place within it another image of the dawning age of the conscious soul. How might one place it there?

[ 19 ] So that one might consider Dandolo of Venice, the Doge born in 1108—that Doge who was in Constantinople, where he was blinded by the Byzantines, but who was the incarnation of the Ahrimanic spirit, and who, even though he could not see, was Lord of Venice—that Venice which imbued the spirit I have just described with the Ahrimanic spirit. This was a momentous moment in world history: when this Doge Dandolo conquered Constantinople and transformed the original spirit of the Crusades into the later spirit of the Crusades. How did that happen?

[ 20 ] And so it was that the Crusaders first set out for the East to find what remained there of shrines and relics, so that their faith might be anchored to them. That is what they sought, and that is what they wished to bring back to Europe as a sign of their reverence. They wanted to establish a real connection between their faith and the actual events of the Mystery of Golgotha. When Venice intervened—what became of the relics? Everything was collected, but everything was turned into the basis for the accumulation of capital! Under Venice’s influence, the relics were gradually treated like securities; their value rose and rose. The capitalist era spread: Dandolo, the incarnation of the Ahrimanic spirit!

[ 21 ] We ask ourselves: How did Venice manage to reverse what had been? It redirected trade from the Orient back to Europe; it reignited, so to speak, what had previously been impossible—commercial life. A question must arise: How could Venice become so powerful, particularly in the realm of trade, when Europe was, in essence, impoverished?

[ 22 ] Trade was a form of barter. Essentially, especially during the early part of the period I have been discussing today, Europe was cut off from the East, which had initially provided it with its metallic currency. People did not possess it; they exchanged it. It must be emphasized again and again—as a historical fact—how Venice led the way in this area. We can document a large-scale sale that Venice carried out to Alexandria and Damietta in order to exchange it for Oriental goods. What, then, was sold from Venice? One aspect can be easily proven through documents; much else could be linked to it; then, by investigating in this direction, one would make further progress. What was sold were a thousand people! The new trade with the Orient began with people. People were sold to the East. And anyone who investigates what became of these people in the East arrives at a remarkable conclusion—one to which, admittedly, external history offers little evidence—namely, that the most important of these sold people were the ancestors of the warriors with whom the great military campaigns from Asia into Europe were subsequently successfully undertaken. The core forces of the Asian peoples who later invaded Europe consisted of the descendants of the people sold to the Orient by Venice and other Italian cities.

[ 23 ] It is indeed necessary to see beyond the surface of world history, to not cling to that legend that is so often presented to people as world history. This legend must finally be consigned to oblivion, so that people say: It is nothing more than a boarding-school girl’s tale, even if Ranke wrote it. Our times are far too serious for us not to emphasize the need to learn. And the most important thing will be what we gain from these matters: that we will develop the ability to judge, so that we may follow the present not with a dormant consciousness, but with a vigilant one. Something monstrous is happening in the present, but people do not see it and do not want to see it; they want to see everything only as distorted and confused. If one strikes a note here or there that comes from the depths of human becoming, one is rebuffed with the clichés found today on the surface of journal or newspaper reading—clichés that are as far removed as possible from the truth, from fruitful truth.

[ 24 ] Today I had to draw your attention, in a very concrete way, to something connected with that era in the 15th century when the transition took place from the soul of feeling to the soul of consciousness. For we would so much like such things to sink into people’s minds. We need this today—we need it in all areas. People today talk a great deal about how the social structure should develop in the future. This morning I read yet again a sentence by someone who considers himself immensely clever—who, at the very least, believes he has grasped the fundamental truths of economics. And lo and behold, the profound insight he offers in the middle of his essay is that one should view society—the social coexistence of human beings—as an organism. People seem to think they’ve said something significant when they claim that social coexistence should be understood not as a mechanism but as an organism. This is the worst kind of Wilsonianism right here among us! I have said many times before that the very essence of Wilsonianism lies in its inability to come up with any concepts for social coexistence other than that of the organism. But what matters is that we learn to understand that people must yet arrive at higher concepts than that of the organism if they wish to comprehend the social structure. This social structure can never be understood as an organism; it must be understood as psychism, as pneumatism, for the spirit is at work in every form of human social coexistence. Our age has become impoverished in concepts. We cannot establish a national economy without delving into spiritual knowledge, for only there do we find the meta-organism; there we find that which transcends the mere organism.

[ 25 ] Thus, one finds everywhere that people today lack the good will to penetrate directly into the spirit. But this must happen. For the consequences would be incalculable if it did not. As you know, I have pointed out how, in the 17th century—as I already mentioned in the last issue of the journal *Das Reich*—Johann Valentin Andreae wrote the story of *The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz*. This *Chemical Wedding* truly contains many of the impulses associated with the upheaval of the 15th century. Indeed, the story of the “Alchemical Wedding” is also set in the 15th century. It is very interesting to note that Johann Valentin Andreae wrote this story, *The Alchemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz*, as a seventeen-year-old boy. He was seventeen, immature in his intellectual development; and later he came to oppose it. For the Pietist theologian Andreae, who wrote later in life, actually wrote all sorts of other things with which one can refute what is contained in the “Chemical Wedding.” It is very interesting: Andreae’s life shows that he had not the slightest understanding of what he had written in the “Chemical Wedding.” The spiritual worlds simply wanted to reveal something to humanity, though this is, of course, connected to the entire sensibility of that time. — I was recently in a castle in Central Europe that has a chapel containing symbols representing precisely the ideas of the dawn of this new age. In the stairwell there are rather primitive paintings; but throughout the entire stairwell—what is depicted, even if the paintings are primitive? The *Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz*! One passes through this *Chemical Wedding* before arriving at a Grail chapel. — Then the Thirty Years’ War broke out after the “Chemical Wedding” had been written down, and with the turmoil of the Thirty Years’ War, what was intended was lost. This must serve as a lesson, for the same thing must not happen a second time. What has been demanded of humanity since the 15th century—spiritual development—must come about gradually. Next time, we will speak of this from a more inner perspective.