The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fifth Lecture

[ 1 ] Today I had these pictures mounted here; they are part of a gift I received in recent days as a result of my frequent discussions about the School of Chartres, which is so significant for the inner spiritual life of the West. In these pictures—I will have others from the collection posted here on Tuesday—you can see the marvelous architecture and the marvelous sculptural art in the spirit of medieval sculpture that have emerged at the site where that life once flourished, a spiritual life I have often spoken of here as being of great importance to the West.

[ 2 ] This School of Chartres, after all, included those individuals who, even in the twelfth century, still felt the urge—whether as teachers or students—to delve deeply into the vibrant spiritual life that had emerged at the turn of the era, that had risen during that epoch of European civilization’s development in which humanity, in its quest for knowledge, still sought that knowledge in the living activity and interplay of natural beings, rather than in the comprehension of insubstantial, abstract laws of nature. And so, at the School of Chartres—even if no longer through ancient initiates, but rather through individuals who had the sensibility and heart to draw from tradition much of what had once been experienced in a spiritual way—a deep devotion to the spiritual powers was cultivated, particularly to those that reign in nature. And I have indeed pointed out, my dear friends, how one can see a veritable mystical radiance emanating from the School of Chartres in the spirit of Brunetto Latini, Dante’s great teacher. And I then sought to explain how the personalities, the individualities of Chartres, continued to exert their influence in spiritual worlds, in alliance with those who later emerged in the Dominican Order as more than mere bearers of Scholasticism.

[ 3 ] One could say that the individualities of Chartres had to come to the realization, based on the signs of the times, that within their earthly lives, the time would not come for them again until the Michael element—which was to begin at the end of the nineteenth century—had been at work on Earth for a while. To a large extent, these individualities of Chartres participated in those supersensible teachings that were given—in the sense I spoke of last time—under the aegis of Michael himself, in order, so to speak, to radiate the impulses that were to apply to spiritual life in the coming centuries—and under whose influence anyone who wishes to devote themselves to the cultivation of spiritual life must necessarily stand today.

[ 4 ] By and large, one can say that reincarnations of the spirits of Chartres have actually been few and far between. Nevertheless, I was fortunate enough to find an opportunity to look back on the School of Chartres through an inspiration in the present. There was a monk at the School of Chartres who was wholly devoted to what was, at that time, the very lifeblood of the School of Chartres. But at the School of Chartres—especially when one was truly devoted to it—one sensed something of the twilight mood of spiritual life. For everything that still recalled the great, significant impulses of spirit-filled Platonism—as it had been passed down—lived on in Chartres, but in such a way that the bearers of this Chartres way of life had to say to themselves: Yes, in the future, European civilization will have no receptivity to this Platonic vitality.

[ 5 ] It is indeed moving, I would say, to see how the School of Chartres has preserved images of the inspiring geniuses of the so-called seven Liberal Arts: grammar, dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music. Even in the reception of the spiritual content embodied in these seven liberal arts, people still saw living gifts from the gods, conveyed to humanity by spiritual beings—not merely communications of dead thoughts about dead laws of nature. And it was clear that Europe would no longer be receptive to any of this in the future. That is why people sensed something like a twilight mood in spiritual life.

[ 6 ] And such a monk—a solitary monk, particularly devoted to the work and teachings in Chartres—was indeed embodied in our time, but embodied in such a way that one could find, in a truly wondrous manner, the reflection of his previous life in this life within that particular personality. This person in our time was a writer I knew—indeed, a friend of mine—who has now been dead for quite some time; she possessed a state of mind that was quite remarkable for our time, a state of mind I would not have spoken of earlier, even though I had observed it years ago. But speaking about these things has really only become possible since the Christmas spirit has come over our Anthroposophical Society, because this has shed a special light on these matters and because today, as I have already explained, there is an opportunity to speak about them openly.

[ 7 ] When one spoke with this person, she really talked about nothing but her desire to die. Yet this desire to die did not stem from a sentimental or hypochondriacal state of mind—one could not even say it arose from a melancholic mood—but if one had the psychological insight to delve into such matters, one found oneself so deeply within the soul of this person that one said to oneself: There is the reflection of a previous earthly life. Something had been planted as a seed in a previous earthly life, and now it is coming to the surface. Now—not in this longing for death, but in the feeling that this soul, which was embodied there, actually had nothing to do with the present.

[ 8 ] The writings of this figure are such that they seem to come from another world; they are not written based on reports or facts, but rather on a certain mood. And one can only come to understand this mood by finding a path from the somber light of these writings—and the somber light that lived within this soul itself as its very foundation—back to that monk of Chartres who witnessed the twilight mood of living Platonism in Chartres at that time.

[ 9 ] It was not temperament, nor melancholy, nor sentimentality in this person; it was the radiance of a past life. And the present soul of this person was like a mirror into which the life of Chartres truly shone. It was not the content of the teachings of Chartres that had come over, but rather the moods had come over into this personality. And when one looks back and immerses oneself in these moods, one can, I would say, perceive in them something like spiritual photographs of those personalities whom one otherwise finds through spiritual research within the world in which they are to be found, and who taught in Chartres.

[ 10 ] You see, life itself, through karma, provides opportunities in a wide variety of ways to gain insight into these things. And since I mentioned the experiences with the Cistercian Order last time, I would like to supplement that by recounting what, from the twilight of the School of Chartres, shone into the heart and soul of an extraordinarily interesting contemporary figure. She has now, for a long time, rediscovered those worlds for which she so deeply longed—back to the Fathers of Chartres. And if fatigue—as a karmic consequence of the soul’s mood in Chartres in connection with that monk—had not dominated the entire soul life of this individual, I could hardly imagine that there would have been a more suitable person in the present to nurture the spiritual life of the present in connection precisely with the traditional life of the Middle Ages. And in this connection I would like to mention that when such karmic impulses, working deep in the recesses of the soul, are present, one encounters the peculiar phenomenon that a resemblance can be found in the physical facial features of a subsequent incarnation—this is the case in rare instances, but it does occur—a resemblance to the previous incarnation. The two faces—that of the monk and that of the contemporary writer—were truly remarkably similar.

[ 11 ] Well, my dear friends, in connection with this I would like to gradually examine what constitutes the karma of the Anthroposophical Society—or rather, the karma of the individual members—given that, as I mentioned last time, a large portion of the souls who are sincerely involved in the Anthroposophical Movement have, at some point and in some place, found a connection to that Michaelic current, which I must actually characterize with all that I have said so far about Aristotle and Alexander, about what had taken place in the supersensible realm at the time when the Eighth Council of Constantinople was taking place here in the sensory world, about what followed in the spiritual and physical realms of life at the court of Harun al-Rashid, and finally about that supersensible school that stood under the aegis of Michael himself. The significant aspect of this school’s teaching was, after all, that within its ranks reference was made time and again, first, to the connections with the ancient mysteries—to the connections with all that must once again emerge in a new form from the content of the ancient mysteries in order to permeate the newer civilization with spirituality; but that, on the other hand, attention was also drawn to the impulses that souls enthusiastic for spiritual life must possess for their work in the future. And out of an understanding of this spiritual current, it may well be possible to grasp the extent to which anthroposophy, in its very essence, provides the impulses for a renewed, true, and sincere understanding of the Christ impulse.

[ 12 ] For within the anthroposophical movement there are, in fact, two kinds of souls. A great many of these souls were part of the movements that were, so to speak, the official Christian movements of the first centuries; they were part of everything that came into the world as Christianity, particularly during the time of Emperor Constantine and in the period immediately following it. It is precisely among those who approached Christianity with tremendous sincerity back then—who absorbed Christianity through inner contemplation—that we find the very souls who, driven by a desire to understand Christianity, are now members of the Anthroposophical Society; not so much Christians who simply followed movements such as that of Emperor Constantine, but rather those Christians who claimed for themselves the title of “true Christians,” scattered among various sects. Christian sects characterized by inner depth included many of the souls who today approach the anthroposophical movement in an honest way—sometimes driven by subconscious impulses that the conscious mind even misinterprets in many respects.

[ 13 ] Other souls, then, are those who did not directly participate in this Christian development; they either took part in the later Christian development, where that inner depth found in the sects was no longer present, but who, above all, possess deep within their souls much of what remains indelible, alive, of what could be experienced in pre-Christian times as the ancient pagan mystery wisdom. They, too, have in many cases been part of Christianity, but it did not make as deep an impression on them as it did on those other souls, because within them the impressions and teachings, the ritual practices, and so on, of the ancient mysteries had remained alive. It is precisely among those who entered the anthroposophical movement in this way that there are now souls who do not seek Christ in an abstract sense. Those described above are, so to speak, glad to find Christianity again in the anthroposophical movement. But among the others are those who grasp with an inner understanding what “cosmic Christianity” is in anthroposophy. Christ as the cosmic Sun Spirit is grasped above all by those numerous souls within the anthroposophical movement who still carry much that is alive in the depths of their souls from what they brought with them from the ancient pagan mysteries. All of this is, after all, connected to the currents of the entire spiritual life of humanity in the present; and by “present,” I mean a broad span of time extending over decades and centuries.

[ 14 ] After all, anthroposophy has indeed grown out of the spiritual life of the present. Even if, in terms of content, it has nothing directly in common with this contemporary spiritual life, karmically it has in many ways grown out of it, and one must look beyond what appears not to belong to the realm of what directly influences anthroposophy one must also look in that direction in order to bring into one’s spiritual field of vision everything that has contributed over time to the currents I have mentioned. As I said, one actually gains a true understanding of what happens outwardly on the physical plane only when, against the backdrop of these events, one looks at what flows in from the spiritual realm into the events taking place on the physical plane. And, as I said last time, we must regain the courage to bring that ancient sense of the mysteries into the present—a sense that does not merely link physical events in an abstract way to a general pantheistic, theistic, or whatever kind of spiritual life, but is concretely capable of tracing individual events, indeed, human experiences within those events, back to their spiritual origins and primordial beings.

[ 15 ] The very thing that must be sought today as one of the most profound tasks of our time provides the impetus for this. In the present day, we must once again seek a true understanding of the human being in terms of body, soul, and spirit—but not one rooted in abstract ideas or abstract laws, rather one that can look into the true depths of the entire human being. Human beings must then be truly studied in terms of their healthy and diseased states—not, as is otherwise customary today, based solely on physical observations. That approach does not lead to a true understanding of the human being; above all, it fails to reveal what influences human life and so significantly shapes one’s destiny: misfortune, illness, ability, or incapacity. One can only come to understand karma in all its forms by tracing the human being into their spirituality and inner soul life, starting from the end of physical life.

[ 16 ] Today, the pursuit of knowledge is such that human beings are viewed in a purely external way—in terms of their organs, their blood vessels, their nerves, the vessels of their circulatory system, and so on. And anyone who views things in this way—in terms of human health and illness—is unable to find anything in all of this that is spirit or soul. And one might say: Today’s anatomist and physiologist could speak as a famous astronomer once spoke to a ruler in response to a question the ruler had asked: “I have searched the entire universe, looked everywhere among the stars and their movements, but I have not found a God.” — So said the astronomer. Today’s anatomist and physiologist might say: “I have examined everything—the heart, kidneys, stomach, brain, blood vessels, and nerves—but I have not found the soul or the spirit.”

[ 17 ] You see, all the difficulties facing modern medicine, for example, are due to this influence. And all of this must be developed today—generally in accordance with the requirements placed on the anthroposophical movement, on the entire Anthroposophical Society as a whole, and specifically in a professional manner for the individual groups, such as the current discussion on pastoral medicine before a group that is professionally trained in this field. For it is there that the gateway must be sought to enter even into those contexts that ultimately reveal themselves as the larger contexts within the workings of karmic currents. And one will see in pathology and therapy how the observation of the sick and healthy human being necessitates addressing everything that is said about the soul and spirit alongside the external physical aspect—which, as I repeatedly emphasize, is fully respected as presented by the natural sciences. However, one will see how one is compelled to address the higher aspects of human nature in relation to both the healthy and the sick person when the book is published in the near future—a work on which I am currently collaborating with my dear colleague, Dr. Wegman, specifically in this field of the healthy and sick human being. It is precisely such research—which seeks the gateways to move from the physical human being into the spiritual human being in the proper way—that yields promising results only when conducted in the correct manner. Thus, in a work such as this, it is not merely the research capabilities of the present that are utilized, but precisely those research capabilities that arise from taking up the karmic threads emerging from the history of human development. One must, so to speak, work with the forces of karma in order to uncover the mysteries at stake here. Initially, only the beginnings will appear in the first volume of this work. The work will be continued, and we will then proceed from what is initially developed in a more elementary manner to that which, precisely from this perspective—the medical-pathological perspective—can provide an understanding of the human being. This is possible only because Dr. Wegman is a personality who, in her medical studies, has absorbed these matters in such a way that they naturally develop within her into a spiritual insight into the human being. But in the course of this research, it is precisely in the spiritual perspective on human organology that the insights emerge which now also lead to an understanding of karmic connections. For the very same kind of insight one must develop in order to perceive the spiritual—which lies not behind the whole human being but behind the individual organs—behind one organ, for my sake, lies the world of Jupiter; behind another organ, the world of Venus; and so on— the very insights one must develop there lead precisely to what presents itself as the possibility of looking beyond human personalities into their past earthly lives. For in the present earthly life, the human being stands before us within the boundaries of their skin. If we acquire the ability to look into the individual organs of the human being, then what lies within the skin expands, as each organ points toward a different direction in the world, forming paths out into the macrocosm. Then the human being takes shape again on the outside, and that is what is needed: this human being who rebuilds himself spiritually after having transcended the present form, which is bounded by the skin. And when one traces what is physically something entirely different from what today’s anatomists and physiologists imagine, this yields insights that also correspond to the visions of the human being’s earlier earthly lives. And there one experiences the connections that shed light on the history of human development and make the present—in what is physically present—understandable. In fact, the entire past of humanity actually lives on in the present. But this general, abstract statement, of course, says nothing—materialists say the same thing; that is not the point, however. What matters is how this past lives on in the present.

[ 18 ] I would also like to give you an example of this—an example that is, in fact, so marvelous in and of itself that it filled me with the greatest amazement when it emerged as a result of my research. And some of what I had previously thought in this field had to be corrected or, at the very least, supplemented.

[ 19 ] You see, for anyone who looks at history with an open mind, there is an event—particularly in the early centuries of Christianity—that is shrouded in a strange mystery. We see a figure whom we might inwardly find very ill-suited for the task; we see the aforementioned Emperor Constantine embracing Christianity in order to shape it into what would eventually become the official Christianity of the West. But we see—not in a literal sense, of course, but when we look at the bigger picture over longer periods of time—we see Julian the Apostate standing alongside Constantine, truly a figure about whom we can say that the wisdom of the Mysteries lived within him. Julian the Apostate could speak of the threefold sun. And he did, after all, lose his life precisely because he was regarded as a traitor to the mysteries for having spoken of the threefold sun. That was forbidden in those days; in earlier times, it was certainly even more strictly forbidden. But Julian the Apostate had a peculiar relationship to Christianity. In a certain sense, one might often be surprised that precisely this refined, brilliant mind was so unreceptive to the greatness of Christianity; but this stems from the fact that he saw little of inner honesty—as he understood it—in his surroundings. And among those who initiated him into the ancient mysteries, he still found a great deal of honesty—positive, active honesty.

[ 20 ] Julian the Apostate was, after all, murdered over in Asia. All sorts of tales have been told about the murder. But it happened precisely because Julian the Apostate was seen as a traitor to the Mysteries. It was a completely orchestrated murder.

[ 21 ] If one familiarizes oneself with what lived within Julian the Apostate, one naturally becomes deeply interested in the question: How did this unique individuality live on? — For he was a truly unique individual, one of whom one must say: More than Constantine, more than Clovis, more than any other, he would have been suited to pave the way for Christianity! And it lay within his soul. Had the time been favorable, had the circumstances permitted it, he could have brought about, out of the ancient mysteries, a direct continuation from the pre-Christian Christ—the true macrocosmic Logos—to the Christ who was to continue working within humanity after the Mystery of Golgotha. And when one delves spiritually into Julian, one discovers something remarkable: his “apostate” nature was merely a shell, and at the very bottom of his soul one actually finds a drive to grasp Christianity—a drive he did not allow to surface, however, but suppressed because of the follies of Celsus, who wrote about Jesus. It does happen that even a brilliant personality is sometimes taken in by the nonsense of others. And so one has the feeling that Julian would actually have been the right soul to pave the way for Christianity, to set Christianity on the path where it belongs.

[ 22 ] And so one leaves this soul of Julian the Apostate behind in its earthly life and follows it as an individual through the spiritual worlds with the utmost interest. But there is something unclear here. Something unclear hovers around this soul, and only the most intense effort can succeed in achieving clarity in this regard. There are, of course, many views from the Middle Ages that are always legendary, yet are adequate to the actual events. I have already mentioned how adequate—albeit, of course, legendary—the legends associated with the personality of Alexander are. How vivid Alexander’s life still appears in the account by the priest Lamprecht! What lives on from Julian does so in such a way that one can always say: It actually seems destined to vanish from human perception. And when one tries to trace it, one has, so to speak, the greatest difficulty keeping up with it with one’s spiritual gaze. It continually eludes one. One traces it through the centuries right into the Middle Ages: it eludes one. And when one does finally succeed in tracing the matter, one’s contemplation leads to a curious point that is not actually historical at all, yet is more historical than history itself: One finally arrives at a female figure in whom one finds the soul of Julian the Apostate—a female figure who, under circumstances that were oppressive to her, accomplished something significant in life. This female figure saw not within herself, but in another, a reflection of Julian the Apostate’s fate—insofar as Julian the Apostate set out for the East and perished there through betrayal.

[ 23 ] You see, this is Herzeloyde, Parsifal’s mother—a historical figure about whom history, however, makes no mention—whose own fate, as symbolized by Gamuret, whom she married and who perished through treachery on a journey to the Orient, is foreshadowed in the earlier story of Julian the Apostate. Through this allusion, which touched her deeply, Herzeloyde accomplished what is now legendary—yet profoundly historical—regarding Parsifal’s upbringing by Herzeloyde. This soul of Julian the Apostate, which had remained so deeply buried—and which one might believe was actually destined to show Christianity the right path—is then found in the Middle Ages in a female body, in a female personality who sends Parsifal forth to seek out and point the way to the esoteric paths of Christianity.

[ 24 ] You see, the paths of humanity often wind so mysteriously, so enigmatically, through the depths and recesses of existence. This example, which is strangely interwoven with what I have already recounted in connection with the School of Chartres, may draw your attention to how wondrous, at heart, are the paths of the human soul and the paths of development of all humanity. This example will be given a sort of continuation as I speak a little about the life of Herzeloyde, the one who was sent out physically as Parsifal back then. I will pick up where we must now interrupt our reflections next time.