The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Eighth Lecture

[ 1 ] The reflections we have made here to gain an ever deeper understanding of what it means for the present to be under the sign of Michael’s reign led us last time to show how peculiar human karma can be; and in a certain sense, they have shown us how these difficulties themselves can extend to the point where a particular personality fails to find the path between death and new birth in order to experience what is necessary for the weaving of karma through participation in the events of the stellar world.

[ 2 ] It is, of course, difficult for a perspective that is still entirely intertwined with what takes place here in physical earthly life to take in the things that truly must be taken in if the idea of karma is to be taken seriously. But we are, after all, living in an age of great decisions, and these decisions must first take place in the spiritual realm. And in the spiritual realm, these decisions are properly prepared when, drawing precisely from the deeper anthroposophical spirit, individual people find the courage to take the contemplation of the spiritual world seriously enough to accept what is brought forth from that spiritual world in order to understand the phenomena of outer physical life.

[ 3 ] That is why I have not hesitated, for a number of months now, to present individual aspects of spiritual life that are relevant to understanding the spiritual configuration of the present. And today I will present a few more points to illustrate—if I may say so—what I will likely conclude on Sunday, in order to show the entire karma of contemporary spiritual life in connection with what the anthroposophical movement is meant to be.

[ 4 ] To begin with, however, I will have a few points to make today that you may not immediately see as related to our main topic, but in which you will immediately recognize that they characterize the spiritual life of the present—in the most eminent sense—as emerging from the depths of the spiritual life of the past.

[ 5 ] Some things may seem quite paradoxical, but total life does indeed contain paradoxes when viewed from an earthly perspective. The examples I have chosen today are unusual, for ordinary sequences of earthly lives generally do not present us with historical figures, nor do they present figures in such a way that, upon superficial observation, we would perceive a continuous chain. But there are indeed earthly lives that follow one another in such a way that, when taken together, they simultaneously constitute history.

[ 6 ] This is the case for very few individuals in such a pronounced sense; but it is precisely from such individuals—those in whom we can, so to speak, identify a specific incarnation as a historical one, as was indeed the case with some of those I have mentioned over time—that we can learn an extraordinary amount about karma. And so I would like to begin by telling you about a figure who lived at the end of the first Christian century, who was already a philosopher at that time—a philosopher who, in the most pronounced sense, belonged to the Skeptics, that is, to those who consider nothing in the world to be certain. He belonged to that school of skepticism which, although it had already witnessed the advent of Christianity, firmly maintained that certain knowledge could not be attained at all—and thus, above all, that it was impossible to say in any way whether a divine being could take on human form or anything of the sort.

[ 7 ] This individual—the name of the era is of little consequence; he was an Agrippa—this individuality, which was embodied at that time, encapsulated, so to speak, everything that Greek skepticism had brought forth in his personality, and was, in a certain sense, a personality whom we—if we take the word not in a derogatory sense but rather as a technical term—would even call a Cynic; a Cynic not in terms of his worldview—in that regard he was a skeptic—but a Cynic in terms of the way he accepted the things of the world: namely, in such a way that he actually took great pleasure in joking, even about quite important matters. And at that time, Christianity passed him by without leaving a trace. But when he passed through the gates of death, there remained a disposition that was less a result of his skepticism—for that was, after all, a philosophical view, and one does not carry such views very far beyond death— but rather what lies in the inner habits of the soul and spirit—this lighthearted acceptance of life’s important events, this delight when something that seems important turns out not to be: that was the underlying mood. And so this underlying mood was carried over into the life after death.

[ 8 ] As I already hinted at yesterday: First, after passing through the gate of death, a person enters a sphere that gradually leads them into the realm of the Moon. And I hinted at how the colony of humanity’s primordial sages is actually located there—those primordial teachers who once lived on Earth but were not in physical bodies at that time, and therefore did not teach in the way one might imagine teaching in later times, but rather walked upon the Earth in etheric bodies, teaching in such a way that the one or the other who was to be instructed by them in the Mysteries perceived this as if these Primordial Sages were dwelling within them. He had the feeling: The Primordial Sage was now with me. — And as a result of this indwelling of the Primordial Sage, he then experienced an inner inspiration through which teaching took place at that time. These were the earliest times of Earth’s development, when the great Primordial Teachers walked upon the Earth in their etheric bodies. It is these Primordial Teachers who then, so to speak, followed the Moon—which had already separated from the Earth as a world body—and whose realm humanity now passes through as, so to speak, the first station of its cosmic evolution. It is they who enlighten humanity about karma, for they are, after all, concerned specifically with the wisdom of the past.

[ 9 ] And when the person in question, Agrippa, entered this region, it was then that a very strong sense of a previous incarnation dawned upon her—one that had been particularly distinctive and now, in a sense, made a great impression in retrospect after death, because in that incarnation, the individual in question had been able to witness much of the way in which the cults of the Near East and Africa emerged from the ancient mysteries.

[ 10 ] This individuality then relived quite intensely, in a supersensible way, during the Christian era, what it had experienced on Earth in connection with certain vanishing mystery traditions of the Near East. And this then brought about—since, as I have said, it had not been influenced by Christianity—that this individuality now saw, saw supersensually, how Christ had been awaited in the ancient mysteries.

[ 11 ] But since the mysteries—I mean the cults from the mystery sites that this personality witnessed—had already been externalized in the places where she had lived, this personality adopted cults and institutions that, in the course of the first centuries of Christian development, were transferred in a Christianized form to Roman Christianity.

[ 12 ] So please take note, my dear friends, of what this is all about. The point is that, in this region, after death, an understanding was prepared within this individual for the external aspects of the cults and for the external aspects of the church institutions—which were formerly pagan but were revived during the first Christian centuries and evolved into a distinctly Roman cult, complete with all the conceptions of the nature of the church associated with the Roman cult.

[ 13 ] You see, this brought about a very special mental configuration in the individual in question. Now, in this process that the human being undergoes between death and a new birth, we see this individual working out their karma in a very special way in the Mercury region, so that—not in an inner sense, but in terms of being endowed with external intelligence—they gain a broad overview of circumstances.

[ 14 ] And if we then trace this individuality further, we encounter it again on Earth as the cardinal who managed the reign of Louis XIV while Louis XIV himself was still a child: Cardinal Mazarin. And when we now study Cardinal Mazarin in all that is brilliant, splendid, and grand about him, and in all his outward conception of Christianity—which comes to him immediately—as well as in the way he habitually immerses himself in the character of the woman who serves as regent for Louis XIV—we see: He absorbs all that which in Christianity constitutes Christian institutions, Christian worship, and Christian pomp: he absorbs all of this as it surrounds him with the splendor of the Near Eastern-Oriental essence. And he rules Europe, in essence, just as someone who has strongly absorbed the Near Eastern essence in a much earlier incarnation would.

[ 15 ] But this Cardinal Mazarin had already had occasion to be somewhat deeply affected by the circumstances. You need only consider the era: the end of the Thirty Years' War, all the events that unfolded under Louis XIV.

[ 16 ] Cardinal Mazarin was endowed with great foresight; he was a great statesman, but at the same time, as if in a “frenzy,” he was actually numbed by his own actions; so that these actions, one might say, unfolded like magnificent feats of skill, but not like something that comes from the depths of the heart.

[ 17 ] This life becomes quite strange as it now passes once again through the interval between death and rebirth. One can actually see how, as the soul continues through the Mercury region, everything this personality has done seems to dissolve into a mist. All that remains are the ideas about Christianity that this personality has absorbed; all that remains is the skepticism toward science that this personality has experienced; and all of this is now transformed in this life between death and rebirth: Science does not provide the ultimate truths; an intense sense of insight, which was actually already present in a fleeting way during the previous passage through Mercury, fades away once more, and a peculiar mentality develops karmically in this life; a mentality that clings with great tenacity to the vivid impressions this individual has experienced, but which can develop few concepts for the next life to master them. One has the feeling, as this individual passes through life between death and a new birth: What is this individual actually meant to do in the new incarnation toward which it now strives? To what is it actually truly connected? One has the feeling: It can be connected, more or less intensely, to all manner of things—and to nothing at all. All the antecedents are there for this. The intensity with which—following prior skepticism—Christianity is lived out in all its external forms along the various paths leading to becoming a cardinal is deeply rooted in the personality: this personality must become knowledgeable, yet be able to present itself with concepts that are easily grasped. But besides that: How obliterated is—I would say—the European map that it once dominated. One does not know: How is it to find its way back to it? What will it do with this European map? — It will certainly not know what to do with it.

[ 18 ] Yes, my dear friends, one must go through these things while passing through life between death and rebirth, so that one does not err, so that precise knowledge may truly emerge. This personality is reborn as one who, in their physical life—as the Michael Era approaches and is upon us—displays a remarkable duality. A personality who cannot quite be a statesman, cannot be a full-fledged statesman, cannot be a full-fledged cleric, but who is intensely drawn into both: This is Hertling, who became German Chancellor even in his old age and thus had to work through the remnants of his Mazarin-like nature in this way as a karmic consequence; who brings to light, in his role as a Christian professor, all the peculiarities with which he approached Christianity.

[ 19 ] This is an example that shows how uniquely people of the present have developed their current individualities through their past experiences. Someone who does not investigate but simply makes things up would, of course, arrive at a completely different conclusion. But one only understands karma when one can connect to these most extreme interrelationships, which in the sensory world seem almost paradoxical, but which exist in the spiritual world. Just as there is the fact—which I have mentioned here on several occasions—that Ernst Haeckel, who fought the Church so fiercely, was the reincarnated monk Hildebrand, who had been Pope Gregory the Great in his previous incarnation.

[ 20 ] Here we see how irrelevant the outward content of a person’s faith or worldview is in earthly life; for these are merely their thoughts. But if you study Haeckel—and especially, in connection with his role as Abbot Hildebrand, the figure of Gregory (I believe he is also depicted in these paintings from Chartres)—then you will see that there is indeed a dynamic, ongoing influence at work there.

[ 21 ] I cited this example so that you can see how prominent figures of the present carry the past into the present. I would now like to choose another example that may be of great, great value to all of you—one that almost makes me hesitate to mention it so casually, but which delves so incredibly deeply into the entire intellectual fabric of the present that I cannot help but choose this very example.

[ 22 ] When you later look at the face of the monk Hildebrand—who became Pope Gregory VII, whom you know from history—you will see how Haeckel’s “configuration of the soul” is wonderfully embodied in this very face of Hildebrand, the future Gregory.

[ 23 ] But I would like to mention another figure—as I said, I almost hesitate to mention her, but she is incredibly representative of what is carried over from the past into the present, and of how it is carried over. As I have often pointed out—and as you will also know from general history—that council took place in the fourth century, the Council of Nicaea, at which the decision was made for Western Europe between Arianism and Athanasianism, and where Arianism was condemned.

[ 24 ] It was a council at which all the profound scholarship possessed by the leading figures of the early Christian centuries came to light, where profound ideas were genuinely debated, where the human soul was actually in a very different state, where the human soul took it for granted to live directly within a spiritual world, and where substantive debates could already take place regarding whether Christ, the Son, is of the same essence as the Father or merely of a similar essence to the Father—the latter being the position asserted by Arianism. We do not wish to delve today into the dogmatic differences between the two, but we should bear in mind that these were immensely astute debates—truly magnificent and astute debates—which were, however, waged with the intellectualism of that era.

[ 25 ] If we’re astute today, it’s simply because we’re human. After all, almost everyone is astute these days. I’ve said this many times before: People are incredibly smart—that is to say, they’re simply capable of thinking, aren’t they? It’s not much, but people can do it today. I, too, can be very stupid and still be able to think; but people today are simply capable of thinking. Back then, however, it wasn’t the case that people could think; rather, they experienced thoughts as inspiration. So whoever was astute felt divinely gifted, and thinking was a kind of clairvoyance. This was certainly still the case in the fourth century A.D. And those who listened to a thinker could also sense something about the evolution of his thinking. Now, at this very council, there was a figure present who took part in those discussions but was deeply disheartened by the council’s outcome—a figure who, at that time, was primarily concerned with presenting arguments on behalf of both sides. This figure presented the most significant arguments for both Arianism and Athanasianism, and had it been up to this figure, the outcome would undoubtedly have been quite different. It would not have resulted in a sort of half-hearted compromise between Arianism and Athanasianism, but rather in something like a synthesis—a synthesis that would likely have been something very great—one should not construct history, but one can say this by way of explanation—that would likely have been something very great, something that would have led to a much more intimate connection between the inner divinity of the human being and the divinity of the universe. For just as Athanasianism ultimately shaped the matter, the human soul was actually quite separated from its divine origin, and it was even considered heretical to speak of the God within man.

[ 26 ] If Arianism alone had prevailed, people would naturally have spoken a great deal about the God within man, but they would never have done so with the necessary inner reverence and, above all, not with the necessary inner dignity. Arianism alone would have regarded human beings at every stage as an embodiment of the God dwelling within them. But so is every animal, so is the entire world, so is every stone, so is every plant. This view has value only if it simultaneously contains the impulse to ascend ever higher and higher in development in order to find God in the first place. The assertion that one possesses something divine within oneself at any stage of life only makes sense if one conceives of this divine element as a continuous striving “toward oneself,” toward a state in which it is not yet present. But a synthesis of the two views would undoubtedly have come about if the person I am referring to had been able to gain any significant influence at the Council at that time.

[ 27 ] This figure, deeply dissatisfied, withdrew to a kind of Egyptian hermitage, lived an extraordinarily ascetic life, and was thoroughly familiar—back in the fourth century—with all that constituted the true, spiritual essence of Christianity at that time; perhaps one of the most well-educated Christians of his time, but not a fighter.

[ 28 ] Even the way this person conducted himself at the Council was that of someone who weighed all sides, who was calm yet extraordinarily enthusiastic—though not enthusiastic about the details or one-sided views; a person who—I cannot say was disgusted, for that would not be the right expression—but who was deeply distressed by the fact that he had not been able to get any of his views across, because he was so thoroughly convinced that Christianity could only be saved if his perspective were to prevail.

[ 29 ] And so he withdrew to a sort of hermitage, becoming a hermit for the rest of his life—though he pursued a very special path driven by an inner urge of his soul, devoting himself precisely to this path of exploring the origin of the inspiration for thought. This individual’s mystical deepening was directed toward discovering the source from which thought derives its inspiration. It unfolded as a single, great longing: to find the origin of thought in the spiritual world. And in the end, this individual was completely fulfilled by this longing. He also died with this longing, without having found a concrete resolution to it during that earthly life—that is, without having received an answer. There was none. After all, the times were not yet ripe.

[ 30 ] And so, in passing through death, this personality underwent something peculiar. Decades after death, she was able to look back on her earthly life and always see that life tinged with what she had ultimately come to realize. In what immediately followed death in this retrospective view, this individual was able to see how human beings think.

[ 31 ] At that point, there was still no answer to this question. That is important. And even though there was no thought to serve as an answer to this question, immediately after death this individual gazed into the intelligence of the universe in a wonderfully luminous, imaginative way. She did not see the thoughts of the universe—she would have seen those if what she had longed for had been fulfilled—she did not see the thoughts of the universe, but rather, in images, the thinking of the universe.

[ 32 ] And so, caught between death and a new birth, an individuality existed here that was in a sort of state of equilibrium between mystical, imaginative insight and the astute thinking of earlier times—a state that was, however, in flux and had not yet reached its conclusion.

[ 33 ] At first, the mystical disposition prevailed in what was taking shape karmically. The individual in question was born in the Middle Ages as a visionary—a visionary who developed wondrous insights into the spiritual world. The intellectual disposition initially receded entirely, while the intuitive aspect came to the fore. Marvelous visions accompanied by a mystical surrender to Christ, an immensely deep permeation of the soul with a vividly visionary form of Christianity—visions in which Christ appeared as the leader of gentle, non-confrontational multitudes, multitudes who sought to spread Christianity through their gentleness, in a way that had never before existed in reality on Earth in any age — but this was present in this nun’s visions: a very intense form of Christianity that did not fit at all into what later developed as Christianity in its modern form.

[ 34 ] During her lifetime, this nun, this visionary, this seer, did not come into conflict with positive Christianity. But she outgrew positive Christianity; she grew into a form of Christianity that was at first entirely personal in nature—a Christianity that, in fact, did not even exist on Earth later on. So that this personality, I would say, was asked by the universe itself how this Christianity could be realized in a new incarnation within a physical body.

[ 35 ] And at the same time, now that the seer, the visionary, had long since passed through the gate of death, the echoes of the old intellectualism—the inspired intellectualism—began to resound once more. The aftereffects of the visions were “de-idealized,” I might say. And in its search for a human body, this individuality became that of Soloviev, Vladimir Soloviev.

[ 36 ] And read Soloviev’s writings. I have already described here on several occasions the impression they make on a person today; I also expressed this in the introduction to the Soloviev edition. Try to sense what lies between the lines—a mysticism that often seems very oppressive to us, and a form of Christianity that has an individual expression but clearly demonstrates that it had to seek out a body so supple, a body flexible in every direction, as can only be found among the Russian people.

[ 37 ] I think, my dear friends, that when you look at these examples, you can indeed maintain a sacred reverence for the truths of karma—truths that must truly be preserved in the innermost recesses of the soul; for those who have a sense for contemplating the spiritual world will find that what is often desired—that the truth possess something sacred, something veiled—is truly not revealed in an unworthy manner.

[ 38 ] Anthroposophy has, time and again, been accused—particularly by theologians—of lifting the veil of the sacred and the mysterious from these profound truths, thereby profaning them. But when one delves into the deeper, more esoteric aspects of the anthroposophical perspective, one will sense that there can truly be no question of such a desecration; rather, the world fills one with a more sacred awe when one contemplates human lives in succession and the wondrous way in which earlier human lives influence later ones. One need only not be inwardly profaned oneself or act in a profaning way with one’s thinking; then one will not raise such objections.

[ 39 ] One could certainly say: Anyone who reads Soloviev’s writings and sees in the background the devout nun with her wondrous visions, with her infinite devotion to the essence of Christ; anyone who sees this figure walking out of the council with the bitterest of feelings, after having presented something so great and significant there; anyone who, so to speak, discovers Christianity twice—first in its rationalistic form, but in its inspired rationalistic form, and then in its visionary form—in the soul and heart of this individual as the backdrop: for such a person, nothing is truly profaned by the lifting of the veil from the mystery.

[ 40 ] A German Romantic once had the courage to think differently from everyone else about the famous saying of Isis. This famous saying of Isis goes: “I am what was, what is, and what will be; no mortal has yet lifted my veil.” — To this, the German Romantic replied: “Then we must simply become immortals in order to lift it!” — The others simply accepted the saying as it was.

[ 41 ] If we discover the true immortality within us—the spiritual-divine—then we may approach many a mystery without profaning it; mysteries that we simply cannot approach if we have less confidence in the divine nature of our own being.

[ 42 ] This, however, outlines the mindset that was to spread more and more under the influence of reflections such as those presented in the previous section and this one, and that was then to influence the actions and lives of those who, in the manner described, were to carry out their karma within the Anthroposophical Society.