The Rudolf Steiner Archive

9. St. John's Spirit: A Sharpened View of St. John's

[ 1 ] In the short lecture I gave this afternoon prior to the eurythmy performance, I already pointed out how one can see, even in the relationship modern humanity has to the annual festivals, how we are slipping into materialism. However, one must then understand the concept of materialism much more deeply than is usually the case. The most dangerous characteristic of the present day is not that people are infected by materialism; rather, the far more dangerous characteristic is the superficiality of our age.

[ 2 ] This superficiality is not limited to spiritual worldviews; it is also present with regard to materialism itself. It is perceived only in its superficial manifestations. For example, this afternoon I pointed out how, at various times of the year, the kinds of moods to which people in earlier times were still attuned were also expressed in the festive celebrations of those times. People imbued the winter solstice festival, the spring festival, the St. John’s festival, the Michaelmas festival—those very specific, cult-like events, or at least those permeated by something akin to a cult—with various moods that must come over a person when they consciously experience the course of the year.

[ 3 ] In this way, the human soul was given what today is given to human beings only in terms of the body. After all, we all still follow the rhythm of the day. When the sun sends forth the golden light of its own revelation as dawn, we eat our breakfast. When the sun is at its highest, when it pours out its warmth and light with particular tenderness upon the people of the earth, then we indulge in our midday meal, and so on through five o’clock tea and supper. In these festive events of the day, we participate in the sun’s daily course by experiencing within ourselves this fiery ride of the sun around the world. We experience what the sun accomplishes on its fiery ride around the world by going through hunger and satiety. And so the mood for the human physical organism is present in a very distinct way at certain times of the day. We could call breakfast, lunch, tea time, and dinner the “festivities of the day.” The human physical organism participates in what takes place in the relationship between the Earth and the cosmos.

[ 4 ] In a similar way, in earlier times—when spiritual life was experienced more intensely through the old, instinctive states of clairvoyance—people followed the course of the year. Certain elements even carried over from one sphere into the other. You need only recall what remains of these things today: Easter eggs, St. Martin’s geese, and so on. Here, the lower region—the physical region—influences the soul region, which must, in fact, also experience the course of the year in a spiritual way. Well, a materialistic age might still be open to the idea—I wouldn’t go so far as to say for Easter eggs, but for St. Martin’s geese and the like, one might well be open to them in the course of the year.

[ 5 ] But these things were not intended to reflect the actual festive moods of olden times; rather, they were attuned to the soul’s hunger and the soul’s satisfaction. The human soul needed something different during the Christmas season, something different during the Easter season, during the season of St. John, and during the season of St. Michael. And one can truly compare what lay at the heart of these festive celebrations to a kind of consideration for the soul’s hunger, particularly during the respective seasons of the year, and to a satisfying of the soul during these seasons.

[ 6 ] So we can say: When we look at the sun’s daily course, we can relate to it that which benefits our body. When we look at the sun’s annual course, we can relate to it that which benefits our soul.

[ 7 ] If festivals are to be revived, this must naturally take place from a much more conscious state: from an awakening of the soul such as is sought through the anthroposophical worldview. We cannot merely revive the old festival times historically; we must rediscover them from within our own soul, through our newer insights and perspectives on the world. After all, in addition to the body and the soul, we also distinguish the spirit in human beings.

[ 8 ] Nowadays, it is already difficult for modern people to even entertain certain ideas when the soul is mentioned. The story becomes blurred and vague. Not only have we witnessed how, in the 19th century, people began to speak of a psychology—a study of the soul—without a soul. Fritz Mauthner, the great linguistic critic, even concluded: The soul is something so indefinite that we do not actually know what a soul is; we know only certain thoughts, sensations, and feelings that are experienced within us, but we do not recognize a unified soul within them. We should therefore stop using the word “soul” altogether in the future. We should speak of this indefinite inner stirrings and no longer say “soul,” but rather “Geseel.” Thus, Fritz Mauthner advises, for example, that a future Klopstock, were he to compose a “Messiade,” should no longer say: “Sing, immortal soul, of the salvation of sinful mankind…,” but rather: “Sing, immortal Geseel, of the redemption of sinful mankind…,” if that even makes any sense at all within this doctrine of the Geseel! Thus, in the future, we would have not a study of the soul, but a study of the Geseel.

[ 9 ] Now we can truly say: Modern man knows nothing more of this connection between his soul and the sun’s annual cycle. He has become a materialist in this regard as well. He adheres to the bodily festivals that follow the sun’s daily course. The festivals are observed out of traditional habit, but they are not experienced as something alive. And besides having a body and a soul—or, in Fritz Mauthner’s sense, a “Geseel”—we also have a spirit.

[ 10 ] Now, in the course of world history, there are, once again, what we call historical epochs. These historical epochs, which extend beyond the course of a single year and span centuries, are experienced by the human spirit when it resonates with them. In ancient times, people certainly experienced them. Whoever knows how to approach this in the right way, guided by the spirit—in the same way that people in earlier times immersed themselves in the course of history—knows, as has been said everywhere: At this or that turning point in history, a certain personality appeared who, in turn, revealed spiritual truths from the heights of the world. And then this spiritual reality took root, just as sunlight takes root in the physical world. When such an epoch reached its twilight, something new emerged once more.

[ 11 ] These historical epochs are related to the spiritual development of humanity in the same way that the sun’s annual cycle is related to the development of the soul. Of course, precisely when spiritual development must once again be grasped in a living way, this must be achieved by learning, through conscious spiritual insight, to understand once more how upheavals and metamorphoses occur in the course of human history. Today, people tend to overlook the occurrence of these metamorphoses entirely. Outwardly, people are somehow affected by the effects, but inwardly they do not wish to engage with the upheavals that arise from the spirit and play out in external world events.

[ 12 ] One need only observe how, in our time, a certain way of thinking, a certain sensibility and emotional disposition is emerging among children and young people—one that was still foreign to the previous generation; how great upheavals are taking place which, if one looks at the right elements, can certainly be compared, in the course of human development, to the course of the year. Therefore, one should listen to what each individual age proclaims as its needs; one should pay attention when a new age dawns and demands something different from human beings than previous ages have demanded. But it is precisely for this that people today have only the slightest capacity.

[ 13 ] The great interconnections of life can come to the forefront of our souls if we approach the festive moods in the right way, drawing directly from our awareness of the present moment—if, for example, we truly allow something like the St. John’s mood to penetrate our souls, and if we try, from within the St. John mood, to gain for our soul that which fosters and supports our inner process through the cosmos coming to our aid.

[ 14 ] Certainly, modern humanity has become more or less indifferent to matters related to the grand sweep of world history. Today, people no longer have a heart for understanding the great interconnections of the world. This reveals the encroachment of a spirit of pettiness—I would say the encroachment of a spirit of microscopy and atomization—into phenomena which, when discussed today in the way I must do here, naturally give the impression of a paradox.

[ 15 ] I would like to point out a particular phenomenon specifically in connection with the St. John’s mood. The connection may seem somewhat remote, but I would like to highlight it. Even if one does not have a highly developed sense of the cycle of the year, what could be more natural than to get the impression from the growth of plants and trees that: When spring comes, greenery sprouts and shoots forth; growth, sprouting, and budding develop more and more, and leaves give way to blossoms. All this vigorous growth—which gives the impression that the cosmos, through the influence of the sun, is calling upon the earth to open itself to the universe—all of this comes to pass at the time of St. John.

[ 16 ] Then, once again, the sprouting and budding begin to subside. We are approaching the time when the earth draws its growth forces back into itself, when the earth withdraws from the cosmos. How natural it is that, based on the impression one gains from the course of the year, one forms the idea that a blanket of snow belongs to winter, that it is part of winter for plants to, so to speak, retreat with their very being into the earth, and that it is part of summer for plants to emerge and grow toward the cosmos. What could be more natural than to develop the idea—even if, in a deeper sense, the exact opposite is true—that plants sleep in winter and wake in summer?

[ 17 ] I do not wish to speak of this sleeping and waking in terms of right and wrong concepts. I simply want to speak of the impressions one receives, so that people have the idea: Summer belongs to the development of vegetation, while winter belongs to its retreat and hibernation. After all, a kind of worldview takes shape for human beings. One comes to feel a connection with the warming and radiant power of the sun when one sees this warming and radiant power of the sun reflected once more in the green and blooming vegetation covering the earth, and one is drawn into a sensation as if, in winter, one were an earthly hermit facing the cosmos—when the vegetation is absent and the mantle of snow seals off the earth from the cosmos, calling for inner activity. In short, by feeling and sensing in this way, one detaches oneself, so to speak, from earthly existence with one’s earthly consciousness. One thereby places oneself within the broader context of the universe.

[ 18 ] But now modern research—which I am not criticizing here; what I am about to say is not meant as a rebuke, even with regard to research itself, but rather as praise—now modern research shrugs its shoulders when the subject of great cosmic connections comes up. Why should one feel uplifted by the divinely illuminating, warming power of the sun when the trees bud and turn green, when the earth is covered with a blanket of plants? Why should one feel compelled to perceive a connection to the universe in these plants growing out of the earth? It disturbs one. Cosmic sensations disturb one. With one’s materialistic consciousness, it’s simply impossible to reconcile having such feelings. A plant is just a plant, after all. It’s as if the plant were being stubborn—blooming only in spring and bearing fruit in summer. How does that even work? One isn’t supposed to be dealing merely with the plant, but with the whole world! If one is to feel, sense, or recognize these things, one must engage with the whole world, not just with the plant! That’s simply not proper! After all, one is already making an effort not to deal with the substances that exist in powder or crystal form, but with atomic structures, the atomic nucleus, the electromagnetic atmosphere, and so on! So one strives to deal with something self-contained, not with something that points out into so many other things. One must now concede to the plant that it requires a perception that reaches out into the cosmos! It is, after all, a terrible thing when one cannot narrow one’s field of vision down to a mere single object! We are so used to this: when we look through a microscope, everything around us is also enclosed; there is only that small field of view; everything takes place on a small, enclosed scale. Surely we must also be able to consider the plant on its own, not in connection with the cosmos!

[ 19 ] And lo and behold, at the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, researchers achieved something extraordinary in this very field. It was certainly already known, with regard to individual plants in relation to warmhouses, greenhouses, and so on, that one could overcome the differences between summer and winter; but on the whole, at the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, people had not yet progressed much beyond the understanding that plants do, after all, need a certain period of winter dormancy. Discussions took place during this period regarding the behavior of tropical plants. Those researchers who wanted nothing more to do with any connection to the cosmos claimed that tropical plants grow all year round. The others, who still clung to the old conservative view, said: Yes, when you enter the lush green tropical world, you think that only because the plants go into dormancy at different times—some for as little as eight days. You don’t see it that way when a particular species is currently dormant. Extensive discussions arose about the nature of tropical plants. In short, one sensed a tremendous unease regarding this connection between the plant world and the cosmos.

[ 20 ] It was precisely at the turn of the 19th to the 20th century that the most interesting and ingenious experiments were conducted in this direction, and they truly succeeded in overcoming the “cosmic will” of not only a whole number of individual annual plants, but even of trees, which are much stronger. They succeeded in transforming plants known as annuals into perennials by creating certain conditions, thereby overcoming their dependence on cosmic conditions. In the case of the vast majority of our forest trees found in temperate climates, it has in fact been possible to create conditions that have caused trees—which were believed to require this winter period, during which they stand leafless and withered—to remain evergreen. For that was the prerequisite for certain materialistic explanations. In this regard, truly extraordinary intellectual achievements have been made.

[ 21 ] It had been discovered that the cosmic forces could be drawn out of the trees by placing them in enclosed spaces and properly enriching the soil with nutrients, so that the plants—which otherwise find nothing during the winter months when the soil is so nutrient-poor—could now find their nutrients there as well. If one provides sufficient moisture, sufficient warmth, and sufficient light, the trees will grow.

[ 22 ] At the beginning of the 20th century, only a single tree in Central Europe had still resisted this drive for discovery. It was the beech, the European beech. It was hounded from all sides—it was now expected to allow itself to be confined to enclosed spaces! It was provided with the necessary nutrients, moisture, and warmth—yet it remained stubborn, insisting on its winter dormancy nonetheless. But it was now all alone.

[ 23 ] And now, in this 20th century, in the year 1914—I do not wish to speak here of the outcome of the World War, but rather of another great historical event, a grand and momentous one—it is noteworthy that Klebs, a researcher who was exceptionally well-supported in his work in this field, succeeded in driving the cosmic obstinacy out of the beech tree as well. He simply succeeded in growing the beech in enclosed spaces, providing it with the necessary conditions there: the appropriate amount of sunlight, which could be measured. And lo and behold, the beech did not resist; it, too, conformed to the researchers’ wishes.

[ 24 ] I am not citing an example that I have any reason to speak of in a disparaging manner, for who could fail to admire such tremendous dedication to research? Besides, it would of course be madness to try to refute these things. They are there; they are what they are; they are absolutely as they are. So this is by no means a matter of agreement or refutation, but rather something else.

[ 25 ] Why shouldn’t it be possible, if one could find the necessary conditions for hair growth somewhere on neutral ground, to produce hair growth outside of humans and animals? Why not? All that’s needed is to create the appropriate conditions somehow. I know, of course, that even in our time, some people would prefer to have hair grow on their own heads rather than have it produced externally through some kind of cultivation! But we could certainly imagine that this, too, would be possible. Then we would apparently no longer need to somehow connect what happens on Earth to the cosmos.

[ 26 ] Of course, one can have all due respect for research, but one must look more deeply into these matters. Aside from what I discussed here some time ago regarding the nature of the elements, I would like to say the following today. One must be clear about the fact that, for example, the following is true. We know that the Earth and the Sun were once a single body. That was, of course, a long, very long time ago: it was during the Saturn era, the Sun era. Then there was a brief recurrence of this state during the Earth era. But nevertheless, something has remained in the Earth that belongs to that time. We are bringing that out again today. And we are not only bringing it out of the repeated state that occurred during our Earth era—by heating our rooms with coal—but we are bringing it out by using electricity. For it was during those times, after the ancient Saturn era, in the Sun era, when the Sun and the Earth were one, that the foundation was laid for our having electricity on Earth. With electricity, we have a force that has been anciently connected to the Earth—the power of the Sun, the solar power hidden within the Earth.

[ 27 ] Why shouldn’t even the stubborn beech tree, if one tackles it with enough determination, be persuaded to use the solar energy extracted from the earth in the form of electricity, rather than the solar energy flowing in from the cosmos!

[ 28 ] But it is precisely when one considers these things that one truly realizes how much we need to deepen our entire understanding. As long as people could believe that the sun’s power came only from the cosmos, they were able, through their immediate, year-to-year observation of plant growth, to develop an awareness of its cosmic context. In the present age, when materialistic perspectives seek to sever from the cosmos that which can so easily be perceived as a cosmic influence, one must—when observing the apparent autonomy of the plant—possess a science that remembers that this cosmic connection between Earth and Sun existed in earlier times, albeit in a different form. Precisely because we are, on the one hand, limited as if by a microscope, we need, on the other hand, an all the more intense breadth of vision; and it is precisely in the details that it becomes evident how much we need this breadth of vision.

[ 29 ] It is not at all a matter of us, on anthroposophical grounds, rebelling in some amateurish way against the progress of research. But since the progress of research, by its very nature, must increasingly lead us to that “earthworm-like” state of being of which I have often spoken here—so that we have no free view of the vast expanses—we must gain the broader perspective, the great cosmic-historical perspective, so that we can become aware of the connection between the Earth and the Sun not only in the present Earth era, but also in that long-past era which, in the cosmic evolution of the Earth, we call the Solar Era. We need a counterpoint everywhere. Not bickering against research, but the spiritual, the intellectual counterpoint—that is what we need. That is the correct standpoint we must take. And I would like to say that it is also a Johannine mood when we take this to heart, when we realize how we must now live in a truly world-historical Johannine mood, how we must turn our gaze out into the vastness of the cosmos. That is what we need. That is what we need precisely in our spiritual understanding. Merely talking about the spiritual accomplishes nothing today; what matters is solely the genuine penetration into the concrete manifestations of the spiritual world. What is drawn from the cosmic evolution of the Earth—by drawing attention to the evolution of Saturn, the Sun, the Moon, the Earth, and so on—has immense significance in terms of understanding, even in a historical context.

[ 30 ] If, on the one hand, materialistic science draws our attention—through such brilliant research results as those of Klebs—to the fact that even the stubborn beech tree can be induced to do without sunlight and to continue growing in winter under electric light, as it otherwise does only under the influence of sunlight, then this leads us—if we lack spiritual insight— to the point where we reduce everything in the world to fragments and narrow our field of vision. There stands the beech tree before us; the electric light promotes its growth, but we know nothing beyond what is revealed to us within this narrowest of fields.

[ 31 ] When we are endowed with spiritual insight, we tell ourselves something different. Then we say to ourselves: If the bark of the beech tree deprives it of the present sunlight, then it must give the tree the ancient sunlight in the form of electricity. — Then our perspective is not narrowed; on the contrary, it is expanded into the immense. Oh, come on—people who no longer want to know anything about the spiritual course of the year are quick to say—one day is just like the next: breakfast, lunch, tea time, dinner; it’s nice if there’s something better at Christmas, but basically, it goes on like this day after day throughout the whole year. People only look at the day itself—that is, at the outwardly material aspects of human life: Oh, come on, cosmic connections! Let’s free ourselves from such a worldview! Let’s make it clear to ourselves that even the stubborn beech tree no longer needs the cosmos; if we lock it up in a sealed prison, we need only provide it with electric light of sufficient intensity, and it will grow without the sun! — No, it simply does not grow without the sun. We just have to know how to seek out the sun in the right way when we do such a thing. But we must also be clear that it is, after all, something different—a different relationship. Viewed from a broader perspective, it becomes evident that it is indeed something different whether we allow the beech tree to thrive in the cosmic sunlight or whether we give it the light that has become Ahrimanic, originating from time immemorial. And we recall what we have often said about the normal course of development, with the Luciferic on one side and the Ahrimanic on the other.

[ 32 ] If we have a sufficient understanding of this, then we will not pat ourselves on the back, thinking we have now overcome the cosmic obstinacy of the beech tree, but we will go much further. We will now turn to the sap of the beech tree and investigate its effect on the human organism; we will examine this effect on the human organism in the case of the beech tree whose inherent nature we have left undisturbed, and in the case of the beech tree from which we have removed its inherent nature using electric light; and we may discover something quite special about the healing effects of one beech tree compared to the other. Then we must turn to the spiritual aspect!

[ 33 ] But how do people deal with these things today? They have an admirable curiosity. They sit in a classroom, acting as experimental psychologists, jotting down all sorts of words that need to be memorized, testing memory, conducting experiments on the children, and discovering incredibly interesting things. Once one’s interest in something has been piqued, of course everything in the world becomes interesting—it all depends on one’s subjective point of view. Why shouldn’t one be able to reach a point where a stamp collection is much more interesting than a botanical collection? Since that can be the case, why shouldn’t something similar be possible in another field as well? Why shouldn’t one be able to take an interest in the torments to which children are subjected when one experiments on them? But everywhere the question arises as to whether there aren’t higher obligations, and whether it is at all appropriate to experiment on children in this way at a certain age. The question arises as to what is being corrupted in the process. And an even more pressing question arises as to what is being corrupted in the teachers when, instead of demanding a lively, heartfelt relationship from them, one demands an experimental interest based on the findings of experimental psychology. So it really comes down to whether, when one uses such research to establish a proper relationship with the sensory world, one thereby also establishes a proper relationship with the supersensory world.

[ 34 ] Well, this might cause an uproar among certain people who speak of the necessary objectivity of research: So he’s claiming that there are some spirits out there who find it immoral when Klebs robs the beech of its will in this way! — That wouldn’t even occur to me. It wouldn’t even occur to me in my wildest dreams. Everything that is done should be done, but one must have a counterbalance to it. And in an age in which people are emancipating themselves from a cosmic sensibility with regard to beech tree growth, there must also, on the other hand, in a civilization that absorbs such things, be a sensibility for how spiritual progress occurs in the development of humanity. One must have a sense of the epoch in a time such as ours. I do not wish to restrict research, but one must realize that there must be something else to balance it. There must be an open heart to the fact that, at certain times, this or that always reveals itself from the spiritual world. If, on the one hand, the materialistic mindset runs rampant and yields significant and far-reaching results, then it is precisely those who have an interest in such results who should also take an interest in the findings of research into the spiritual world.

[ 35 ] But this lies at the very heart of Christianity. A true understanding of Christianity sees, following the Mystery of Golgotha, the Christ-force—the Christ-impulse—continuing to work in earthly existence through the essence of Christ. And this means that even when the mood of autumn sets in, when everything withers and becomes barren, when the sprouting and budding in the sensory world ceases—it is precisely then that one perceives the sprouting and budding of the spirit; when, in the tree shedding its leaves, one can sense the glimmer and radiance of those spirits who now accompany human beings through the winter.

[ 36 ] But just as in an age that, from a certain point of view, is rightly focused on grasping the details—and thus narrowing its gaze to the details—one must also learn to direct one’s gaze toward the great and all-encompassing. This is the Johannine spirit in relation to Christianity. We must intuitively understand that the Johannine spirit is the starting point for the process encapsulated in the words: “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

[ 37 ] This means that the impression made on human beings by everything that is discovered through sensory research must diminish. And precisely as one delves deeper and deeper into the individual sensory realm, the impression of the spiritual must become stronger and stronger. The sun of the spirit must shine ever more brightly into the human heart as the sun active in the sensory world wanes.

[ 38 ] We must perceive the St. John’s mood as the gateway to spiritual impulses and as the exit from sensory impulses. We must learn to perceive the St. John’s mood as something in which there is a weaving and a blowing—a spiritual-demonic blowing from the sensory into the spiritual, and from the spiritual into the sensory. And through the St. John’s mood, we must learn to make our spirit light, so that it does not merely cling like pitch to the fixed contours of ideas, but finds its way into weaving, blowing, living ideas. We must be able to perceive the flaring up of the sensory, the fading of the sensory, and the flaring up of the spiritual within the fading sensory. We must experience the symbol of the St. John’s fireflies’ glow as something that retains its significance even as the light fades.

[ 39 ] The firefly glows, then fades again. But as it fades, it leaves within us a vivid sense of the life and activity of the spiritual in the twilight of the sensory world. And when we see the small spiritual ripples everywhere in nature—just as we symbolically see the glowing and fading of the fireflies in the sensory world—then, if we can do so with full, bright, and clear consciousness, we will find the right St. John’s mood for our age. And we need this true St. John’s mood, for we must pass through our age in such a way—if we do not wish to fall into complete decline—that the spirit learns to come alive with fervor, and that we learn to follow the fervently animated spiritual realm in a meaningful way.

[ 40 ] The Spirit of St. John—Toward the Future of Humanity and the Earth! No longer the old mindset that understands only the sprouting and growth of the external, that is glad when it can even confine this sprouting and growth, placing under electric light that which otherwise thrived joyfully in the sunlight. Rather, we must learn to recognize the flash and blossoming of the spirit, so that electric light becomes less important to us than it is at present; but so that, through this, we may sharpen our gaze—the St. John’s gaze—for that ancient sunlight that appears to us when we open up the great spiritual horizon, not just the narrow earthly horizon, but the vast horizon stretching from Saturn to Vulcan.

[ 41 ] If we allow the light that shines upon us from this vast horizon to influence us in the right way, then all the trivialities of our age will appear to us in precisely this light, and we will move forward and upward. Otherwise, however, if we do not resolve to do so, we will move backward and downward.

[ 42 ] Today, everywhere, it is a matter of human freedom, of human will. Today, everywhere, it is a matter of the independent human decision between moving forward or backward, between moving upward or downward.