The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Sixth Lecture

[ 1 ] I have spoken to you from a wide variety of perspectives about what an impulse—or what impulses—are within the fifth post-Atlantean cultural epoch. You can surmise—for of course I have so far been able to present only a few of these impulses before your inner eye—that there are many such impulses that one can attempt to grasp in order, so to speak, to comprehend the current of human development in our age. In the next three lectures, I then intend to focus in particular on the religious impulses among those that have been at work within the civilized world since the 15th century, so that I will attempt to unfold a kind of history of religion here before you.

[ 2 ] Today I would like to discuss, in a somewhat episodic manner, something that some might find unnecessary, but which I nevertheless feel compelled to address because it could be important—from one perspective or another—for personally engaging with the impulses of the current phase of human development, I would like to begin with the fact that, at a certain point in time, I personally felt the need to address the impulses of the present in the explanations I provided in my *Philosophy of Freedom*.

[ 3 ] You may know that this *Philosophy of Freedom* was published twenty-five years ago—that is, a quarter of a century ago—and that it has just been reprinted in its second edition. I wrote *The Philosophy of Freedom*—fully aware that I was writing from within the spirit of the times—at the beginning of the 1890s. Anyone who read the preface I wrote back then will sense how this aspiration to write in response to the impulses of the time coursed through my soul at that time. This time, I have placed this preface at the very end as a second appendix. Of course, when a book is republished a quarter of a century later, various other circumstances have arisen; but for certain reasons, I did not wish to omit anything at all from what appeared in the first edition of this book.

[ 4 ] At the time, I wrote—as a sort of motto for my *Philosophy of Freedom*—: “Only the truth can bring us security in the development of our individual powers. Those tormented by doubt have their powers paralyzed. In a world that is a mystery to them, they cannot find a goal for their creative work.” This work “is not intended to point to ‘the only possible’ path to truth, but it is intended to tell the story of the path taken by someone who is concerned with truth.”

[ 5 ] When I set out to write this *Philosophy of Freedom*—the basic outline of which had already been fully formed in my mind for several years—I spent a short time in Weimar; that is to say, the period between my arrival in Weimar and the writing of the *Philosophy of Freedom* was brief; all in all, I spent seven years in Weimar. I had actually already gone to Weimar with the ideas for this *Philosophy of Freedom*. Anyone who wishes to can, I would say, find the entire program of this *Philosophy of Freedom* in the last chapter of my short treatise *Truth and Science*, which was, after all, also my dissertation. But this last chapter—which, of course, I omitted from the dissertation—was missing from the dissertation; it contains the program of the *Philosophy of Freedom*.

[ 6 ] Essentially, the idea for *The Philosophy of Freedom* had taken shape in my mind through my long-standing engagement with Goethe’s worldview. This exploration of Goethe’s worldview and my publications in the field of Goethe’s worldview also led to my being invited to Weimar to edit and contribute to the major Goethe edition, which had been launched in the late 1880s by the Goethe Archive in Weimar, established by Grand Duchess Sophie of Saxe-Weimar.

[ 7 ] What one could experience in Weimar back then—please forgive me if I offer a few personal nuances today, for, as I said, I would like to characterize my personal engagement with the impulses of the fifth post-Atlantic period— was such that, precisely back then in the 1890s, the fine traditions of a mature, meaningful, and substantive culture—one that was rooted in what I would like to call “Goetheanism”—seemed to intertwine in Weimar, and into this traditional Goethean context, what had been carried over from the Liszt era also played a role. At that time, too—since Weimar has always remained a city of art thanks to its Academy of Art—there was already at work an element that, had it not been overwhelmed by something else, would have been capable of providing important inspiration of the most far-reaching kind. For the old can only continue to develop in a fruitful way when the new flows into it and fertilizes it. So that alongside “Goetheanism”—which, admittedly, was embodied somewhat mummified in the Goethe Archive, though that did no harm; it could be revitalized, and I have always understood it as alive—a modern life in the artistic realm was developing. The painters who lived there all possessed certain impulses of the newest kind. It was evident in all those with whom I became close just how profound an influence a new artistic impulse had—as was the case, for example, with Count Leopold von Kalckreuth, who, for a time—albeit far too brief—enriched Weimar’s artistic life in an extraordinary way. The Weimar Theater also still possessed what could be called excellent, time-honored traditions. Even if philistinism crept in here and there, those time-honored traditions were still present. It was what one might call a kind of milieu in which, so to speak, a convergence of all manner of things took place.

[ 8 ] Added to this was the very life of the Goethe Archive, which was later expanded to become the Goethe and Schiller Archive. This life within the Goethe Archive was such that, despite all the philological documentation—which, in keeping with the spirit of the times, and specifically the Schererian spirit, which formed the basis of the work at the Goethe Archive—that despite this philological foundation, a certain lively engagement with the better impulses of the modern era was able to assert itself, above all because, in a sense, a stream of international scholarship flowed through the Goethe Archive. And even if, among the international scholars who came from Russia, Norway, the Netherlands, Italy, England, France, and America, there were many things that, in a sense, already clung to their coattails as the evils of the present age, there was nevertheless always the possibility of witnessing the influence of the better aspects taking hold precisely among this international scholarly audience within Weimar, particularly during that period, the 1890s. One could experience all sorts of things, from that American professor who conducted an in-depth, very interesting study of *Faust* here—I still vividly remember him sitting there on the floor, his legs crossed, on the floor because he found it more comfortable, sitting right next to the bookshelf so he could pull anything out right away without having to go to a chair first—from that professor to, for example, the “boisterous Treitschke,” whom I once met at a luncheon and who—you had to write everything down on a slip of paper for him because he couldn’t hear—demanded to know where I was from. And when I replied that I was from Austria, he immediately said, in his characteristic way—one knows how to take Treitschke’s manner—‘Well, either very clever people or scoundrels come from Austria!’—One now had the choice of counting oneself among one group or the other. But I could recount to you endless variations on this theme of how international elements were woven into the workings of Weimar society here.

[ 9 ] One also came to know certain things quite well because people would come who simply wanted, more or less, to see what had been preserved, what remained from the Goethe era. Other people also came who showed a keen interest, particularly in the way they wanted to approach Goetheanism and so on. It suffices to mention that Richard Strauss, too, made his beginnings in Weimar—beginnings that he later so thoroughly botched. But back then, he was indeed one of those figures through whom one could come to know the musical aspirations of the modern era in what I would call the most graceful way. For Richard Strauss was a lively spirit in his youth, and I still recall with great fondness that time when Richard Strauss would come again and again, having picked up one of the inspiring ideas found in Goethe’s conversations with his contemporaries. Goethe’s Conversations with His Contemporaries were edited by Woldemar Freiherr von Biedermann. There are truly nuggets of wisdom to be found there. All of this is to give you a sense of the atmosphere in Weimar at that time, as far as I was able to experience it.

[ 10 ] Time and again, a distinguished figure—upholding the traditions of a bygone era, quite apart from any princely trappings—would visit the Goethe and Schiller Archive: the then Grand Duke of Weimar, Karl Alexander, who needed only to be regarded as a human being to be loved and appreciated. He was, after all, something of a living tradition himself, for he was born in 1818 and had thus spent fourteen years in Weimar, sharing his youth and boyhood with Goethe. There was something of an extraordinary inner charm about this particular personality. And besides, one could not help but feel truly boundless respect for the way in which this member of the House of Orange—Grand Duchess Sophie of Saxony—cared for Goethe’s estate, and for how she devoted herself to every detail that was put in place to truly preserve it. The fact that a former finance minister was later appointed to head the Goethe Society was certainly not in line with the intentions that prevailed in Weimar at the time, and I believe that a very large number of non-philistines, who were already associated back then with what is called “Goetheanism,” would also—in jest, of course—gladly welcome the fact that there may, after all, be something symbolic in the first name of that former finance minister who has now become president of the Goethe Society. His first name, in fact, is Kreuzwendedich.

[ 11 ] Well, deeply immersed in this milieu, I wrote my *Philosophy of Freedom*—this *Philosophy of Freedom*—which I do believe, however, captured a necessary impulse of the present. I am not saying this out of personal frivolity, but to characterize what I actually wanted—and what I must still want today—with this *Philosophy of Freedom*. I wrote this *Philosophy of Freedom* in order, on the one hand, to present the idea of freedom—the impulse of freedom, which must essentially be the impulse of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch (it must develop out of the various other fragmented impulses)—in its pure form before humanity. To do this, two things were necessary. First, it was necessary to firmly anchor the impulse of freedom in what might be called the scientific foundation of such a matter. That is why the first part of my *Philosophy of Freedom* is the one I have titled *The Science of Freedom*. Of course, this section, “The Science of Freedom,” was, for many, something repulsive, something uncomfortable, for now one was expected to come to terms with the impulse of freedom in such a way that one would feel it was solidly anchored in strictly scientific considerations—considerations that were, however, grounded in the freedom of thought and were not anchored in what is often asserted today as scientific monism. Perhaps this section, “The Science of Freedom,” has a combative character. This can be explained by the overall intellectual climate of that time. I had to grapple with nineteenth-century philosophy—with what nineteenth-century philosophy had thought about the world. For I wanted to develop the concept of freedom as a concept of the world; I wanted to show that only those who have a sense that what takes place within the human being is not merely earthly, but that the great cosmic world process flows through the human inner being and can be perceived there, can understand freedom and feel it in the right way. And only when this great cosmic world process is received within the human inner being, when it is lived through within the human inner being, is it possible to arrive at a philosophy of freedom by perceiving the innermost essence of the human being as something cosmic. One cannot arrive at a philosophy of freedom if, following the guidance of modern scientific education, one seeks to direct one’s thinking solely by the leash of external sensory perception. This is precisely the tragedy of our time: that people everywhere in our universities are educated to lead their thinking on a leash tied to external sensory perception. As a result, we have entered an age that is more or less helpless in all ethical, social, and political matters. For thinking that allows itself to be led solely by the reins of external sensory perception will never be able to free itself internally to the point of rising to the intuitions to which it must rise if it is to be active within the sphere of human action. Thus, the impulse toward freedom has been virtually eliminated by this thinking that is led by the reins.

[ 12 ] The first thing that naturally made my *Philosophy of Freedom* uncomfortable for my contemporaries was that they would have had to force themselves—at the very least initially—to engage in a disciplined line of thought leading to a science of freedom.

[ 13 ] The second major section then deals with the reality of freedom. My aim there was to show how freedom must take shape in external life, how freedom can become a genuine driving force behind human action and social life. My aim there was to show how a person can rise to the point of truly feeling like a free spirit in their actions. And the things I wrote back then are, I believe, something that today—twenty-five years later—could very well be grasped by people’s souls in light of what we are facing in the outer world.

[ 14 ] What I had written down was, at first, a form of ethical individualism. That is to say, I had to show that human beings could never become free unless their actions sprang from those ideas rooted in the intuitions of each individual human being. Thus, this ethical individualism, as the ultimate ethical goal of human development, recognized only the so-called free spirit—which emerges both from the constraints of the laws of nature and from the constraints of all conventional so-called moral laws—and which is based on the confidence that human beings, in an age in which evil so strongly influences their inclinations, as I characterized it yesterday, is capable—when he rises to the level of intuition—of transforming these evil inclinations into that which is to become, precisely for the conscious soul, the good, the truly human. This is what I wrote at the time:

[ 15 ] “Only the laws derived in this way relate to human action in the same way that the laws of nature relate to a particular phenomenon. However, they are by no means identical to the motives that underlie our actions. If one wishes to understand how a human action arises from one’s moral will, one must first examine the relationship between this will and the action.”

[ 16 ] An idea took root within me of free human coexistence—as I have just described to you here in recent days from a different perspective—of free human coexistence, where not only does the individual insist on his or her own freedom, but where, through mutual understanding among people in social life, freedom could also be realized as the driving force of that life. So I wrote unreservedly at the time:

[ 17 ] “To live in love of action and to let others live in understanding of their will is the fundamental maxim of free people. They know of no other duty than that with which their will comes into intuitive harmony; their capacity for ideas will tell them how they will will in a particular case.”

[ 18 ] Naturally, with this ethical individualism, I had the entire Kantian tradition of that time against me, for my short treatise *Truth and Science* begins in the preface with the sentence: “We must go beyond Kant.” — At that time, I wanted to bring Goetheanism—which was, however, the Goetheanism of the late 19th century—into the modern age through the so-called intellectuals, through those who call themselves the most intellectual. That I did not have particularly positive experiences with this is evident from my essay, which I recently wrote in *Reich*, especially regarding my relationship with Eduard von Hartmann. But how must even these contemporaries—who intended to gradually sail into the very heart of philistinism—have felt repelled by a sentence that now appears on page 176 of *The Philosophy of Freedom*: “When Kant speaks of duty: ‘Duty! You sublime, great name, which encompasses nothing pleasing that carries flattery within it, but demands submission; you who “establish a law… before which all inclinations fall silent, even if they secretly work against it,”’ then man replies from the consciousness of the free spirit: ‘Freedom! You friendly, human name, which embodies all that is morally desirable—that which my humanity most values—and makes me no one’s servant; you who not only establish a law but await what my moral love itself will recognize as law, because it feels unfree in the face of any law that is merely imposed.’”

[ 19 ] Seeking freedom in the empirical realm—a freedom that should at the same time be built upon a solid scientific foundation—was, in fact, the aspiration that underlay the *Philosophy of Freedom*. Freedom is the one word that, in our time, can still carry an immediate resonance of truth. If freedom were understood as it was intended back then, a completely different tone would emerge in all the discussions taking place today across the globe about the world order. Today, people talk about all sorts of other things. We speak of “peace through law,” “peace through force,” and so on. All these are mere buzzwords, because neither “law” nor “force” bears any relation to their original meanings anymore. “Law” is today a completely confused concept. Freedom alone would be the concept that, had our contemporaries embraced it, could have led them to elemental impulses and to a true grasp of reality. If, instead of the buzzwords “peace through law” and “peace through force,” we could also speak to some extent of “peace through freedom,” then that word would roll across the world, bringing a measure of certainty into people’s souls in this age of the conscious soul. Of course, this second major chapter, too, has in a certain sense become a chapter of struggle, for it was necessary to fend off everything that, from the philistine world, from cheap stereotyping, and from the worship of all manner of authorities, could be turned against this conception of the free spirit.

[ 20 ] Although there were now a few individuals who sensed the spirit that actually permeated *The Philosophy of Freedom*, it was extremely difficult—and in fact impossible—to win over contemporaries to the ideas set forth in *The Philosophy of Freedom*. True, at the time—though these were merely isolated voices—a man in the *Frankfurter Zeitung* wrote of this book: “Clear and true”—that is the motto one could write on the first page of this book. But his contemporaries understood little of this clarity and truth.

[ 21 ] Now this book—and this had nothing to do with its content, but rather with its underlying tendency, which might have led some contemporaries to believe it could find an audience—appeared at a time when, one might even say, the “Nietzsche wave” was sweeping through the entire civilized world of that era. And what I mean by this is the first Nietzsche wave—that very first Nietzsche wave—during which people understood how great, significant impulses of the times surged through Nietzsche’s mind, which often certainly seemed unbalanced. And one could hope—before people like Count Keßler or others of his ilk, including Nietzsche’s sister in league with such individuals as, for example, the Berliner Kurt Breysig or the babbling Horneffer, succeeded in distorting the image—that, thanks to the groundwork laid by Nietzsche among a certain audience, such ideas of freedom might also take root to some extent. However, one could only hope for this until the people mentioned above had steered Nietzsche into modern decadence—one might say, into literary Gigerism, snobbery—I don’t know how to choose the right expression to be understood.

[ 22 ] So, after *The Philosophy of Freedom* had been written, I first had to study how things had developed further here and there. I do not mean the ideas in *The Philosophy of Freedom*, for I knew very well that very few copies of the book had been sold in the early days; rather, I mean those impulses from which the ideas in *The Philosophy of Freedom* were drawn. I had to study this for a number of years from Weimar, but it already provided a good perspective.

[ 23 ] The *Philosophy of Freedom* did, after all, find an audience that many might look back on with trepidation. It had only been published a short time when, to a certain extent, a kind of limited approval of the *Philosophy of Freedom* emerged within those circles that are perhaps best characterized by the two names of the American Benjamin Tucker and the Scottish German—or German Scot—John Henry Mackay. In the increasingly pervasive philistine atmosphere of the time, this was, of course, not exactly a letter of recommendation, because these people belonged to the most radical advocates of a social order based on free intellectualism, and because, if one was, so to speak, under the patronage of these people—as was indeed the case for a time with the *Philosophy of Freedom*—one thereby earned, at most, the right that not only the *Philosophy of Freedom* but also other writings of mine that appeared later were never allowed through the censors, for example, into Russia. The *Magazin für Literatur*, which I edited years later, was sent to Russia with most of its columns blacked out for this very reason, and so on. However, this movement—which can be characterized by names such as Benjamin Tucker and John Henry Mackay—gradually, I would say, petered out amid the rising philistinism of the age. And, fundamentally speaking, the times were not particularly conducive to an understanding of *The Philosophy of Freedom*. I could safely set aside this “Philosophy of Freedom” for the time being. Now, however, it seems to me that the time has indeed come when this “Philosophy of Freedom” must at least be back in the picture, for perhaps souls will emerge from the most diverse quarters who will ask questions that point in the direction of this “Philosophy of Freedom.”

[ 24 ] Of course, you might say that it would have been possible, after all, to reprint *The Philosophy of Freedom* over the years. I do not doubt, either, that many editions could have been sold over the years. But the fact would have remained that the *Philosophy of Freedom* would have been sold. And that is truly not what matters to me with regard to my most important books—that so many or so few copies circulate throughout the world—but rather that they be understood and received in accordance with their true inner impulse.

[ 25 ] Then, in 1897, I moved from Weimar to Berlin. I stepped out of that milieu, from which I had, so to speak, been observing the developments of the times from the outside. I came to Berlin. When Neumann-Hofer had given up the *Magazin*, I had acquired it in order to have a platform from which to present to the world ideas that I consider truly contemporary in the truest sense of the word. However, as soon as my correspondence with John Henry Mackay appeared shortly after I joined the *Magazin*, the former philistines—who made up the *Magazin*’s subscriber base—were by no means pleased, and I was bombarded from all sides with accusations: “Well, what on earth is Steiner doing to this old *Magazin*? What’s it all coming to?” — The entire Berlin professoriate, which at that time—insofar as it was interested in philology or literature—had still subscribed to the *Magazin*—it was in the year 1832, —founded in 1832, the very year of Goethe’s death, which was, among other things, one of the reasons why the professorial community had subscribed to it—this professorial community soon began, little by little, to cancel their subscriptions to the *Magazin*. And I, too, in publishing the *Magazin*, certainly had a knack for offending people—not the age, but the people themselves.

[ 26 ] I would just like to recall a small episode from that time. Among those men in contemporary intellectual circles who were most ardently committed to what I had accomplished in the field of Goetheanism was a university professor. I am simply stating a fact. Those who know me will not take it as a trifle when I tell you that this professor once said to me at the “Russischer Hof” in Weimar: “Oh, compared to what you have written about Goethe, everything we can say that is in any way insignificant in connection with Goethe pales in comparison.” — I am recounting a fact, and I do not see why, given the circumstances as they have developed, one should keep such things to oneself. For after all, the second part of Goethe’s saying remains true—the first part, of course, is not by Goethe—: “Vain self-praise stinks, but how sweetly unjust criticism from others smells—that is something people rarely learn.”

[ 27 ] Well, that very same literature professor who had told me this was also a subscriber to *Magazin*. As you know, the Dreyfus trial stirred up some major questions of world history at the time. Not only had I published an article in *Magazin* about the Dreyfus trial itself—an article that really could only have been written by me—but I had also thrown my full support behind the famous speech that Émile Zola delivered on Dreyfus’s behalf, known at the time as the “J’accuse” speech. In response, I received a message on a postcard from that professor of literature—who had previously written me many adoring letters, some of which he even had printed (I could still show them to you today)—stating: “I hereby cancel my subscription to the *Magazin für Literatur* once and for all, as I cannot tolerate in my library a publication that defends Emile Zola, that Jewish mercenary who betrayed his fatherland.” — That is just one such episode which I could—and I may well say in this case—multiply a hundredfold. Many characteristic details would emerge if I were to tell you about the eye-opening connections to which the editorial staff of the *Magazin für Literatur* then introduced me. It also brought me into contact with everything that was emerging in modern art and literature. Well, that, too, is a chapter—I would say—that follows on from the history of *The Philosophy of Freedom*.

[ 28 ] I had come to Berlin—perhaps naively—to observe how, through a platform such as *Magazin*, ideas about the future might take root among some people, at least as long as the material resources available to *Magazin* lasted, and as long as its old prestige—which I, admittedly, thoroughly undermined—endured. But I was, naively enough, able to watch as such ideas spread among the segment of the population that based its worldview on Wilhelm Bölsche—that beer-drinking philistine who so thoroughly dulled people’s minds—and similar heroes. All of these were extraordinarily interesting studies to undertake, and they provided all sorts of insights in various directions into what the times did and did not entail.

[ 29 ] Through my friendship with Otto Erich Hartleben, I actually came into contact with all—or at least a large number—of the young, up-and-coming writers of that time, most of whom have since fallen on hard times. Whether I fit into that circle or not is not for me to decide. One of the members of this circle recently wrote an article in the *Vossische Zeitung* in which he attempts, with a certain pedantry, to prove that I certainly would not have fit into this circle and would have stood out like a “wandering, unsalaried theologian” among people who, admittedly, were not wandering, unsalaried theologians, but who were, at the very least, young writers.

[ 30 ] You might also be interested in this anecdote about how I came to form a friendship with Otto Erich Hartleben that lasted for quite some time. It was still during my time in Weimar. He did come to Weimar for the Goethe gatherings, but he regularly overslept them, since he had made it a habit to get up only at two in the afternoon, and the Goethe gatherings began at ten. When the Goethe gatherings were over, I would visit him and would regularly find him still in bed. But then we would sometimes sit together in the evenings. And his special affection lasted until the Nietzsche affair—which stirred up so much dust and swirled around me—also drove this Otto Erich Hartleben away from me. We sat together, and I know how he caught the spark of friendship when, in the middle of our conversation at that time, I epigrammatically tossed out the words: Schopenhauer was, after all, a narrow-minded genius. — That pleased Otto Erich Hartleben. It pleased him that very same evening, when I said many other things as well, so that Max Martersteig—who later became well-known—jumped up in response to my remarks and said: “Don’t provoke me, don’t provoke me!”

[ 31 ] Well, on one of the evenings spent back then in the circle of the hopeful Otto Erich Hartleben, the hopeful Max Martersteig, and others, the first “Serenissimus” anecdote—from which all “Serenissimus” anecdotes originated—was born. I would not want to leave this unmentioned; it certainly belongs to the milieu of the *Philosophy of Freedom*, for the spirit of the *Philosophy of Freedom* certainly extended beyond the circle in which I moved, and I still know today what inspiration—at least that is what he said—Max Halbe received specifically from the *Philosophy of Freedom*. So these people had already read it, and many of the impulses from *The Philosophy of Freedom* have flowed into much of what is, after all, circulating in the world. This original “Serenissimus” anecdote—from which all the other “Serenissimus” anecdotes are derived—did not, therefore, arise from a mood intended, let’s say, merely to make fun of some personality, but rather from that mood which must also be linked to the impulse of *The Philosophy of Freedom*: a certain humorous outlook on life, or, as I often say, a certain unsentimental outlook on life, which is particularly necessary when one adopts the standpoint of the most intense intellectual life. This original anecdote—well, it is this one:

[ 32 ] His Serene Highness visits his country’s prison and asks to be shown a prisoner, whereupon a prisoner is indeed brought before him. He then asks this prisoner a series of questions: How long have you been here? — I’ve been here for twenty years, — What a fine time that is, what a fine time—twenty years, what a fine time! What, my dear fellow, led you to take up residence here? — I murdered my mother. — Oh, I see, I see! Strange, most strange—you murdered your own mother? Strange, most strange! Yes, tell me, my dear fellow, how much longer do you intend to stay here? — I’ve been sentenced to life. — Strange! What a lovely time! What a lovely time! Well, I won’t take up any more of your precious time with questions. My dear warden, this man’s last ten years of his sentence will be remitted as an act of clemency.

[ 33 ] Well, that was the original anecdote. It certainly did not stem from a malicious spirit, but rather from a humorous take on something that, when necessary, could certainly also be taken in all its ethical seriousness, and so on. I am convinced that, if it had ever been possible for the person to whom—perhaps unjustly—this anecdote was often attributed to have read it himself, he would have laughed heartily at it.

[ 34 ] Then, as I said, I was able to observe in Berlin how, within the circle I just mentioned to you, attempts were being made to bring in something of the new era. But in the end, a little bit of “Bölsche” crept into everything—and by that I don’t mean just the fat Bölsche who lives in Friedrichshagen, of course, but rather the whole “Bölsche” phenomenon, which plays an extraordinarily prominent role in the philistine world of our time. Even the whole lurid style of Bölsche’s writings is, after all, so particularly suited to our contemporaries. Isn’t it true that anyone who reads Bölsche’s essays has to deal with something involving excrement or the like at every turn? Such is his style: “Just be sure to pick up this and that”—and it’s not always just jellyfish that one is invited to pick up, but there are truly many other things one is expected to handle. But this vulgarity has truly become a delicacy for the philistinism that is on the rise in this day and age.

[ 35 ] It wasn’t exactly the right way to launch the “Magazin,” which is what I did one day in an issue of the “Magazin.” Max Halbe had just staged his *Eroberer*, which is certainly the play that best embodies Halbe’s vision, but which, for that very reason, was a spectacular flop in Berlin, and I wrote a review that left Max Halbe in utter despair, because I went through all the Berlin newspapers and told each and every one of the Berlin theater critics exactly what I thought of their judgment. It wasn’t exactly the right way to launch the *Magazin*. And so, wasn’t it, it turned out to be a wonderful time of study. Once again, one could look at many things from a different perspective than from Weimar. The question was always in the back of my mind: How could the times accept something like the ideas of the *Philosophy of Freedom*? — If one wishes, one can indeed see the spirit of the *Philosophy of Freedom* blowing through everything I wrote in the *Magazin für Literatur*. Yet the *Magazin für Literatur* was not launched into modern philistinism. I, however, was of course gradually propelled out of modern philistinism by these various influences.

[ 36 ] At that very moment, an opportunity arose to find a different platform in light of the major issues that were stirring the entire world at the turn of the century—issues with which I had already formed such close ties through John Henry Mackay and through Tucker, who had come to Berlin from America and with whom I had spent many fascinating evenings. I was given the opportunity to find a different platform. It was the platform of the socialist working class. And for years I led classes in a wide variety of subjects at the Berlin Workers’ Educational School; from there, I went on to give lectures in all sorts of socialist workers’ associations, as I was gradually asked not only to give these lectures but also to conduct public speaking exercises with the people. People were not only interested in clearly understanding what I have explained to you these past few days, but they were always eager to actually be able to speak and defend what they believed was right. Naturally, there were the most in-depth discussions on all sorts of topics in all kinds of circles. It was, in turn, another perspective: gaining an understanding of recent global developments.

[ 37 ] Well, it was precisely within these circles that one might find it interesting to note what was not allowed to be discussed—and that is precisely what is of such immense importance for the present day and for a proper understanding of it. Yes, I could speak about all sorts of things—because if one speaks objectively, one can speak about all sorts of things today, quite apart from the viewpoints of the proletarian population—but just not about freedom. To speak of freedom seemed extraordinarily dangerous. I had only one supporter who always stood up after I had delivered my “tirades on freedom”—as the others, of course, called them—and who stood by my side on these occasions. I do not know what became of him. It was the Pole Siegfried Nacht, who always stood by my side whenever it came to considering freedom in contrast to socialism with its utterly unfree program.

[ 38 ] Anyone who looks at the present age, with all that is on the horizon, will find that what is on the horizon lacks precisely what the *Philosophy of Freedom* seeks. The *Philosophy of Freedom* establishes, through free, intellectual thought, a science of freedom that is fully in harmony with the natural sciences but also freely transcends them. It is this aspect that makes it possible for truly free spirits to develop within today’s social order. For if freedom were grasped merely as the reality of freedom without the solid foundation of the science of freedom, then in an age in which evil takes root as I characterized it yesterday, freedom would not necessarily lead to free spirits, but rather to undisciplined spirits. It is solely in the strict inner discipline found in thought that is not bound by the leashes of the senses—in truly intellectual science—that we find what is precisely necessary for the present age, which must realize freedom.

[ 39 ] But what this party—which is emerging as a radical force and will certainly assert its influence even against nationalists of all stripes who thoroughly misunderstand their own times—lacks is the ability to arrive at a science of freedom. For if there is one truth of importance for the present, it is this: Socialism has freed itself from the prejudices of the old aristocracy, the old bourgeoisie, and the old militaristic orders. In contrast, it has all the more succumbed to the belief in infallible materialist science, in positivism as it is taught today. This positivism—which, as I have shown you, is nothing other than the continuation of the resolution of the Eighth Ecumenical Council of Constantinople, 869—this positivism is the very force that, like an infallible, abstract pope, encircles even the most radical parties, right up to Bolshevism, with iron clamps and prevents them from entering the realm of freedom in any way.

[ 40 ] That is also the reason why, no matter how strongly it asserts itself, this socialism—which is not grounded in the development of humanity—can do nothing more than perhaps shake the world for a long time, but it can never conquer it. This is also why it is not itself to blame for what it has already caused, but rather why the others are to blame—those who, as I have shown, have allowed it to become not a problem of pressure but a problem of suction, and who wish to continue allowing it to be so.

[ 41 ] It is precisely this inability to break free from the stranglehold of positivist science and materialist science that characterizes the modern labor movement from a standpoint that seeks its perspective in the development of humanity, rather than in the outdated ideas of the bourgeoisie, or in so-called “new” social ideas, or in Wilsonism, and so on.

[ 42 ] Well, I have often mentioned that it would be quite possible to bring intellectual life into the working class. But the leadership of the working class does not want anything that has not grown out of Marxist soil. And so I was gradually pushed out of that circle as well. I promoted intellectual life, I tried, and I succeeded to a certain extent, but they gradually pushed me out. Once, when I raised this issue at a meeting where all my students were present—numbering in the hundreds—and there were only four people sent in by the party leadership to oppose me, yet they managed to ensure that I, of course, could not stay—I can still vividly hear myself saying: “Well, if one wants socialism to have anything to do with development toward the future, then it must allow for freedom of teaching and free ideas”—at that moment, one of the henchmen sent by the party leadership shouted: “Within our party and its schools, it cannot be a matter of freedom, but of reasonable coercion.” — Such things characterize—I would say, are deeply symptomatic of—what is pulsing and stirring in our time.

[ 43 ] One must also understand the times through their significant symptoms. One should not believe that the modern proletariat does not crave intellectual nourishment. It craves it terribly and intensely. But the nourishment that is offered is, in part, the very thing to which the modern proletariat swears by anyway—namely, positivist science, materialist science—or, in part, it is indigestible stuff that gives people stones instead of bread.

[ 44 ] As you can see, the “Philosophy of Freedom” was bound to meet with resistance there as well, because its very fundamental impulse—the impulse toward freedom—has no place in this most modern movement.

[ 45 ] Then, even before that had come to an end, so to speak, the other thing happened. I was asked to give a lecture at the Berlin “Theosophical Society,” which then led to my having to give lectures throughout an entire winter. I recounted this in the preface to my book *Mysticism at the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life*. And all of this then led to the relationship with the so-called Theosophical Movement that has been described to you from various perspectives. It must be emphasized again and again—because this is repeatedly misunderstood—that I never in any way sought to join the Theosophical Society. As silly as it sounds: the “Theosophical Society” sought to connect with me. And when my book *Mysticism at the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life* was published, not only were many of its chapters translated for the “Theosophical Society” in England, but Bertram Keightley and George Mead, who at that time held high positions in the “Theosophical Society,” told me: “Everything we need to work through is actually already in there, and in just the right way.” — At that time, I hadn’t read any of the books published by the “Theosophical Society” at all, and then I read them—I’d always been a bit wary of them—more or less “officially.”

[ 46 ] But the point was, in a sense, to seize the opportunity, the impulse, from the workings, essence, and fabric of time itself. I had been asked to join. I was fully justified in joining, in accordance with my karma, because I might be able to find a platform from which to present what I had to say. However, there was a lot of drudgery involved. I would like, once again, to hint at a few things merely as symptoms. For example, when I first attended a congress of the “Theosophical Society” in London, I tried to introduce a certain point of view. I gave a very short speech. It was at a time when the Entente Cordiale had just been concluded, and when everything was under the influence of that recently concluded Entente Cordiale. I had tried to explain that the movement the “Theosophical Society” seeks to represent cannot be about disseminating anything as theosophical wisdom from some central hub, but rather that it can only be about providing a kind of unifying focal point—in a sense—where the developments emerging from all corners of the world in modern times converge. And I had concluded at the time with the words: If we build upon the Spirit, if we seek spiritual communion in a truly concrete, positive way, so that the Spirit generated here and there is carried toward a common center of the “Theosophical Society,” then we are building a different Entente cordiale.

[ 47 ] I spoke about this other Entente cordiale back then in London. It was the first speech I gave at the Theosophical Society, and I spoke quite deliberately about this other Entente cordiale. Mrs. Besant thought—as she put it—she always added such pompous flourishes to everything that was said—that the “German speaker” had spoken elegantly. But the audience’s sympathies were by no means on my side; rather, what I said was simply lost in the flood of clichés and empty words, while what the people really wanted was more in line with what the young Buddhist, Jinarajadasa, had to say. And I took that as symptomatic at the time as well: After I had spoken of something of world-historical importance—the other Entente cordiale—I sat down again, and from his somewhat elevated seat, the little Buddhist Jinarajadasa staggered, tripped down—I must say “tripped” to describe the matter quite precisely— stamping his little walking stick on the floor—the Buddhist Jinarajadasa, who had everyone’s sympathy, while perhaps a torrent of words of mine lingered in the air at the time.

[ 48 ] I have emphasized from the very beginning—you need only pick up my *Theosophy* and read the preface—that what is to come in the field of theosophy will follow the line opened up by *The Philosophy of Freedom*. I may have made it difficult for some to see the direct continuity between the impulses contained in *The Philosophy of Freedom* and what I wrote later—which was interpreted in such a way that people found it extraordinarily difficult to accept, accurately and truthfully, precisely what I was trying to say and what I was trying to have published. One had to put up with a lot of hassle. After all, within a society into which one had not placed oneself—but which had placed one within itself—one was by no means judged by what one contributed, but rather by catchphrases and stereotypes. And it took quite a long time before, at least within a certain circle, one was no longer judged merely by stereotypes and catchphrases. Basically, it didn’t really matter what I said myself, nor did it really matter what I had published. Sure, people read it, but just because you read something doesn’t mean you’ve taken it in. People read it; it even went through print runs, again and again, with new editions each time. People read it, but what they used to judge it by was not what came from my mouth or what was written in my books; rather, it was what one person had conceived as “mystical,” another as “theosophical,” a third as one thing, a fourth as another, and into a fog of views that people concocted for themselves, and that is what then emerged as the judgment circulating in the world. It was by no means particularly appealing or ideal to have the *Philosophy of Freedom* reprinted on that basis. This “Philosophy of Freedom” needed to be written down—even if, naturally, it presents only one side of the story and only imperfectly, sometimes clumsily, a small impulse from the fifth post-Atlantean epoch—it needed to be written down from what is essential, significant, and truly effective in this fifth post-Atlantean cultural epoch.

[ 49 ] Now that this *Philosophy of Freedom* is being republished after a quarter-century, I would like to emphasize that it arose precisely from an intense engagement with the times—truly from a deep look into the times—and from an attempt to discern what impulses the times require. And now, after this catastrophe has befallen humanity, twenty-five years later, I see that—though one might dismiss this as foolishness—this book is truly contemporary in the truest sense of the word, albeit in that peculiar sense that our contemporaries lack everything contained in this book and often do not even want to know about it.

[ 50 ] If one were to understand what this book intended to achieve in laying the foundation for ethical individualism, for the foundation of social and political life—if one were to have truly grasped the meaning of this book—then one would know: There are ways and means to steer humanity’s development onto a fruitful path today—ways and means other than the most misguided course one could possibly take: merely railing against the radical parties, merely railing and telling anecdotes about Bolshevism. — It would be sad if the bourgeoisie could not move beyond merely taking an interest in what the Bolsheviks have done here and there, or how they behave toward this or that group of people; for that misses the point entirely. What is at stake is that one truly examine which demands—justified in a certain sense—are being raised by one side. And if one can find a worldview and a philosophy of life that dares to say: “What you seek to achieve with your imperfect means, you will attain if you follow the path outlined here, and much more besides”—if one dares to say so—and I am convinced that, if one is imbued with the “Philosophy of Freedom,” if one may say so—then a light would be found. For this, however, it is urgently necessary to internalize a genuine worldview of freedom. To this end, it is necessary to grasp ethical individualism at its root, as it is built upon the insight that human beings stand face to face with the spiritual intuitions of world events; that human beings, by embracing within themselves not Hegelian thought but free thinking, in fact—as I once attempted to express in popular terms in my short work “Grundlinien einer Erkenntnistheorie der Goetheschen Weltanschauung,” is in fact connected to what might be called the pulsing of cosmic impulses through the human inner being,

[ 51 ] But it is only from there that the impulse toward freedom can be grasped; and it is only from there that it is possible to approach a regeneration of those impulses that now all end in dead ends. The day will come when people realize what empty rhetoric it is to discuss concepts that are nothing more than empty phrases—such as “justice,” “violence,” and so on— the day that will bring the realization that we are dealing with empty phrases, and that will bring the realization that the idea of freedom grasped through spiritual experiences alone can lead to reality—that day alone will be able to bring a new dawn upon humanity. To this end, the sense of complacency that is now deeply rooted in people must be overcome. People must accustom themselves not to prattle on, as is done today in mainstream academia, about all manner of social issues, about all manner of quackery aimed at improving the social and political order; people must accustom themselves to grounding what they seek in this field in a sound, solid spiritual-scientific worldview. The idea of freedom must be anchored in a science of freedom.

[ 52 ] It has sometimes become clear to me that this is not something that can easily be taught to the complacent bourgeoisie, but certainly to the proletariat. Among other things, this became clear to me once in Spandau, when I stepped out of the ranks of the workers gathered there—initially to say a few words, but which then turned into a speech lasting five quarters of an hour—after Rosa Luxemburg—who, as is well known, had delivered her great speech—before a crowd of workers who were not merely workers, but had brought their wives and children with them, infants and small children who had been crying, dogs, and all sorts of things in the hall—when, afterward, after Rosa Luxemburg had delivered her speech on “Science and the Workers,” I picked up on the very point that a real foundation already existed: that is, to grasp science intellectually, which means to seek a new way of life from within the spirit—I always found some agreement on such matters. But right up to today, everything has come to a halt because of the indolence of those who pursue science—and from whom the workers ultimately derive their science—because of the indolence of natural scientists, doctors, lawyers, philosophers, philologists, and so on. We had encountered all sorts of people; we had encountered Hertzka with his “Freiland,” we had encountered Michael Flürscheim, and we had encountered many others who wanted to realize great social ideas; all of them failed at the very point where failure was inevitable: that these ideas are not built upon a foundation of the humanities, upon the basis of free scientific thought, but rather upon a mode of thought that becomes corrupted while tethered to the external, sensory world—just as the thinking of modern positivist science is. The day that will dawn, breaking with that denial of the spirit characteristic of modern positivist science—the day when people will recognize that we must build upon thinking emancipated from sensuality and upon investigations of the spiritual world, instead of everything that is invoked as so-called science in the ethical, social, and political spheres—that day will truly be the dawn of a new humanity. That day will be the dawn of a new humanity, in which words such as these—which I have attempted to articulate today, however imperfectly—will no longer be regarded merely as the words of a preacher in the wilderness, but as words that find their way into the hearts and souls of our contemporaries. People listen to all sorts of things—even Woodrow Wilson—and they do far more than just listen to him; but that which is drawn from the spirit of humanity’s evolution finds it difficult to gain access to the hearts and souls of people. Yet it is precisely that which must find its way in! It must seize the hearts and souls of people—that which would spread throughout the world if freedom were understood, not in the spirit of licentiousness, but in the spirit of freedom and soundest thinking. If it were understood what freedom and its order in the world would mean, then light would enter the darkness that is so often sought today.

[ 53 ] I wanted to mention that to you as well, right after discussing historical ideas. Time is up. I still have many other things on my mind, but we can talk about those another time. If I have interspersed my remarks with all sorts of symptomatic personal details from the time I myself lived through in this incarnation, please do not hold it against me, for I wanted to show you that it has always been my aim not to take things that affect me personally to heart, but rather to view them as symptoms that reveal what the times and the spirit of the age demand of us.