The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Third Lecture

[ 1 ] Yesterday I pointed out a few things related to karma—which runs continuously through human earthly lives—and the shaping of human destiny. Today I would like to give you an idea of how the shaping of destiny actually takes place. We must be clear that when a human being passes through the gate of death, they enter a spiritual world—a spiritual world that is not in any way poorer in events or beings than our physical world, but infinitely richer. And as understandable as it may be that one can always describe only one aspect or another of the vast scope of this spiritual world, it will nevertheless become evident from the various descriptions given just how infinitely rich and varied the life between death and a new birth is for human beings. Here on Earth, where we spend our lives between birth and death, we are surrounded by what we regard as the various kingdoms of nature: the mineral, plant, and animal kingdoms, and the physical human kingdom. We regard these kingdoms—with the exception of the human kingdom—as containing beings that, in the hierarchy, rank below human beings, so that during their earthly existence, human beings can feel, as it were, that they are the highest beings within these kingdoms. In the kingdom that human beings enter by passing through the gate of death, the exact opposite is true. There, the human being perceives himself as the being who, as the lowest in the hierarchy, follows beings who are superior to him. As you know, in anthroposophical literature I have adopted the names of the hierarchies standing above human beings to designate these beings, and—following a terminology that has existed since ancient times—I have distinguished, first of all, the hierarchy that stands immediately above human beings, which thus connects to human beings from above in the same way that the animal kingdom connects to them from below in the earthly realm. This is the hierarchy to which the Angeloi, Archangeloi, and Archai belong. Then, following this hierarchy and moving further upward, comes the hierarchy that encompasses the Exusiai, Dynamis, and Kyriotetes. Then the highest hierarchy, the supreme one, comprising the Thrones, Cherubim, and Seraphim. We have nine ranks—three times three ranks—above human beings. We can draw a parallel between each set of three, moving from the bottom up, and what we find as we move downward: animals in three levels, plants in three levels, and minerals in three levels. But with this, we have only described the complete world to which human beings belong.

[ 2 ] One could also describe human existence by saying: With physical birth—that is, physical conception—human beings emerge from a purely spiritual existence into the realm of the natural orders of the animal, plant, and mineral kingdoms; and by passing through the gate of death, human beings enter the realm of the beings that stand above them. On the one hand, human beings live in a physical body that connects them to the realms of nature; on the other hand, between death and a new birth, human beings live—if I may use the expression—in a spiritual body, which likewise connects them to the beings of the higher hierarchies. Here in the earthly realm, we first turn our attention to what surrounds us; we sense this, as it were, as standing on the same level as ourselves, and from the earthly realm we look up toward—as it is called in the most diverse views—the heavenly realm, the spiritual realm. Earthly human beings look upward with their intuitions, with their religious piety, with that which is most desirable for their earthly existence. And when they wish to form a conception of what lies above in the spiritual realm, they naturally conjure up images borrowed from the earthly realm; they imagine what is above in an earthly manner. When a person then lives in the life between death and a new birth, it is the other way around. The person points downward when he or she wants to indicate what his or her gaze is directed toward. You may say, my dear friends: Yes, but then the person is pointing precisely to what is of lesser value. But that is not the case. Rather, when viewed from above, what exists here in the earthly realm is quite different from what it is here in the earthly realm. And it is precisely through the consideration of karma that we can truly understand how different what takes place on Earth is, when viewed from above, compared to how it appears here in the earthly realm itself to human beings.

[ 3 ] When we first enter the spiritual world through the gate of death, we arrive, as it were, in the realm of the lowest hierarchy—that of the Angeloi, Archangeloi, and Archai. We feel, as it were, connected to that which stands above us as the next hierarchy, and we realize: just as in the earthly realm, the things around us have significance for the senses, so too do the things in the spiritual realm have significance for the innermost being of the soul. We speak of minerals, plants, and animals insofar as we can see them with our eyes and touch them with our hands—insofar as they are perceptible to us through our senses at all; and between death and a new birth, we speak of angels, archangels, and archai insofar as these beings are connected to the innermost essence of the soul. And as we progress through the long life we spend between death and a new birth, we gradually learn to integrate ourselves into the beings of the next higher hierarchy, who are connected to us and to one another. These beings, in a sense, connect us to the spiritual world outside ourselves. At first, in the life between death and a new birth, we are also quite preoccupied with ourselves, for the third, the lowest hierarchy, deals with our inner being. But after some time, our perspective broadens, and we come to know the spiritual world outside of ourselves—the objective spiritual world. There, our guides are the beings of the Exusiai, Kyriotetes, and Dynamis. They bring us into contact with what the outer spiritual world is. And I would like to say that just as we here on Earth speak of what surrounds us—mountains, rivers, forests, meadows, and so on—so there we speak of what the beings of the second hierarchy introduce us to. That is our environment there. But this environment is not concrete in the same sense as the Earth; rather, it is essential in nature—everything lives, and lives in a spiritual way. Between death and a new birth, we come to know not only beings and things, but also the beings and the actions they perform among themselves; we feel ourselves woven into and devoted to these actions.

[ 4 ] But then there comes a time when we sense how the beings of the third hierarchy—Angels, Archangels, and Archai—and the beings of the second hierarchy—Exusiai, Dynamis, and Kyriotetes—are working together with us on what is to become of us in our next earthly life. And in this life between death and a new birth, a profound and awe-inspiring perspective opens up to us. There we observe the activities of the third hierarchy—Angels, Archangels, and Archai—and see how they relate to one another. We receive images of what exists among the beings of this third hierarchy; but these images all appear to us in such a way that they have a connection to us. And as we observe what appears there as images of the deeds of the third hierarchy, it dawns on us that this is the mirror image of what we held as a disposition, as an inner state of mind, in our last earthly life. We do not now say to ourselves with abstract notions of conscience: “You were a person who acted unjustly toward this or that person, who thought unjustly”—no, rather, we see in what the Angels, Archangels, and Archai do—as they appear before our eyes in powerful images—what becomes of what we carried within us as a state of mind, as the content of our soul, as a way of thinking in our last earthly life; there we see how it becomes an image in what the beings of the third hierarchy do. Spread out across the vast world in the spiritual sphere is what we have developed in terms of attitudes toward other people and toward other earthly things. And we become aware of what we think, feel, and sense. Here on Earth, it appears in Maya as if it were enclosed within our skin; in the life between death and a new birth, it is different. In the life between death and a new birth, it appears in such a way that we now know: what we develop within ourselves in terms of thoughts, feelings, and attitudes belongs to the whole world and exerts an influence upon the whole world.

[ 5 ] Following the example of the East, many people speak of Maya, of the illusion of the external world that surrounds us; but it remains an abstract concept. When one engages in reflections such as those that have touched our souls, one becomes aware of just how serious the meaning of the words is: This world that surrounds us is Maya, the great illusion—and how illusory is our perception of what goes on within our soul. We believe we can be alone in this. The truth only reveals itself to us when we live through the life between death and a new birth. There we see that what appears to be within us actually constitutes the content of a vast, powerful, spiritual world. Then we live on and realize how the beings of the second hierarchy—Exusiai, Dynamis, Kyriotetes—are connected to what we have acquired here on Earth through diligence, industriousness, and the interest we have had in earthly things and events. For our diligence and our interest in our last earthly life are first and foremost shaped into powerful images by these beings—the Exusiai, Dynamis, and Kyriotetes—who form the images of our talents and abilities in our next earthly life. We see what talents and abilities we will possess in our next earthly life through the images unfurled by the beings of the second hierarchy.

[ 6 ] And then life goes on. When it approaches the midpoint between death and a new birth, something special happens. Just as we stand here on Earth—especially in those moments when we look up into the cosmos, when the twinkling stars shine down upon us—so do we perceive the sublimity of the heavenly realm above; we perceive something far more magnificent when we look down while in the spirit realm. For there we see how, in a wondrous way, the beings of the first hierarchy—Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones—perform their deeds in mutual relationship. Powerful images of spiritual events now reveal themselves to us when we gaze upon the heavens that lie below—for that is then our heaven. Just as we now, in our physical earthly life, gaze upward at the script of the stars, so too, when we look downward, do we see the deeds of the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones. And what takes place among them—what is revealed in sublime and magnificent images—we sense in this spiritual existence as having a connection to who we are and who we will become. For now we feel: What takes place among the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones shows us what consequences our deeds from our previous earthly life will have in our next earthly life. We see how we behaved toward one person in one way and toward another in a different way during our earthly life, how we developed compassion or a lack of compassion, and how we performed good or evil deeds. Our attitude has to do with the third hierarchy, but our deeds have to do with the first hierarchy—the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones. Then, as if in a cosmic memory now at work within us, what we did in our last earthly life between birth and death appears before our soul in a deeply moving way. Then we look down, beholding the deeds of the spiritual realm. Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones—what do they do? They show us, in a pictorial way, what we will have to experience with the people with whom we lived in our previous earthly life, as a consequence of our new togetherness, to balance out what took place between us in that previous life. And we come to understand, from the way the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones work together, that the great problem is being resolved there. When I have a relationship with a person in an earthly life, I prepare the entire process of balancing for myself; and the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones then work to ensure that this balancing takes place, that it becomes a reality. And they harmonize this so that the other person, with whom I will once again have a connection, is led to me in the same way that I am led to him. What is experienced in a sublime way in the images of the deeds of the higher hierarchies is precisely what is then recorded by the lunar beings and entered by them upon their descent into our astral body. Together with us, who are between death and a new birth, these lunar beings observe what is happening so that the balance with the previous earthly life may be achieved in a subsequent earthly life.

[ 7 ] From this, my dear friends, you can surmise—in the way I am able to convey it to you—just how magnificent and awe-inspiring, in comparison to the sensory world, is what is revealed here. But you can also see how, in reality, what we encounter in the sensory world conceals far, far more than it reveals.

[ 8 ] Then, after passing through the realm of the Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones, the human being moves on toward the next stage of life and proceeds to further realms. More and more, a longing arises within them for a new incarnation in which they can find balance for what they experienced in their previous earthly life.

[ 9 ] Anthroposophy, my dear friends, is not what it should be if it is merely a collection of ideas and concepts, if one speaks of it only in an abstract way—that there is karma, that this or that carries over from one earthly life to the next—but anthroposophy truly becomes what it should be, when it does not merely speak to our minds, but awakens in our hearts a feeling, a perception of the impressions we can receive in the supersensible world through the beings of that world. For it seems to me that no person with an open, receptive mind can receive communications about the supersensible world, as I have just described them, without the entire range of feelings being stirred within that soul. And in fact, we should say to ourselves: Yes, here on Earth we experience many things, from the deepest pain to the highest pleasure, to the most joyful happiness—the entire spectrum of human feeling; but what we can experience from the spiritual world should actually have a more intense effect on us than even the deepest pain or the highest pleasure can have. And we only adopt the right attitude toward the spiritual world when we say: What we feel in the face of the facts and beings of the spiritual world does indeed remain shadowy compared to the great pain or great joy we experience on Earth. It does not remain shadowy for the initiate, but it remains shadowy for those who receive only the teachings of the science of initiation. Yet one should also say to oneself: I nevertheless get a sense of how deeply and intensely what is communicated from the spiritual world ought actually to affect the soul, if only it were strong and vigorous enough to do so. One should really attribute it solely to one’s earthly weakness that one cannot pass through the entire range of feelings—from the highest enthusiasm to the deepest pain—when hearing about what the spiritual world and its beings are like. If a person attributes the fact that they cannot perceive this in the proper way to their own weakness, then the soul has already attained something of the right attitude toward the spiritual world. For, you see, what value does all spiritual knowledge ultimately have if it cannot address concrete facts, if it cannot point to what is actually happening within the spiritual world! Here on Earth, after all, we do not expect people to speak of a meadow in the same way that pantheists, monists, or abstract philosophers speak of the deity; rather, we expect them to describe the meadow in its specific details. The same applies to the spiritual world. There, too, one must have a sense for specifying the concrete details. This is still unfamiliar to people today. When people speak generally about spirituality—that there is a spiritual world and so on—many who are not rigid materialists accept this. But when this spiritual world is described in detail, people often become angry because they refuse to accept that one can speak concretely and in detail about the beings and events of the spiritual world. Yet, if human civilization is not to descend into chaos, we must speak more and more concretely about the spiritual world. For even earthly events remain obscure if we do not come to know that which veils them.

[ 10 ] And in this regard, my dear friends, there is indeed something in the fate of the Anthroposophical Society that sometimes touches one in a tragic way! But if the necessary understanding of these things spreads—at least within the circle of the Anthroposophical Society—then one can hope that out of this tragedy will emerge what must come to be, that the Anthroposophical Society will truly serve as a source of inspiration for humanity’s outer civilization, which is clearly heading toward the chaos of materialism. But then something must be understood that was not understood within it at the beginning, but can now be understood more easily, since two—more than two—decades of anthroposophical work have passed since the founding of the anthroposophical movement.

[ 11 ] As you know, the anthroposophical movement originated within the theosophical movement. And when we founded that Theosophical Section in Berlin—from which the Anthroposophical Society later developed—our first meeting was such that, at the time, I would say I wanted to set a certain tone for what was actually to take place. And now that we have made an attempt, through the Dornach Christmas Conference at the Goetheanum, to reorganize the Anthroposophical Society, I would like to point out a fact that may have received very little attention. It could not have been observed here, of course, because, as far as I know, none of our Bohemian friends were present. At that time, I gave an initial lecture of the kind that later corresponded to the branch lectures; it bore a peculiar title—one that could have been described at the time as a great risk—it was titled: “Practical Karma Exercises.” And I had actually intended to speak quite freely about the workings of karma.

[ 12 ] At the gathering, the leading figures of the earlier Theosophical movement were present; they had regarded my presence at that time as that of an intruder and were convinced from the outset that I had no real right to speak about anything inner or spiritual. And so it came to pass that, at that time, these leading figures of the earlier Theosophical Movement repeatedly emphasized: Science must be involved; contemporary science must be taken into account; the matter is now on the right track, but only the first steps have been taken. If one proceeds beyond these first steps, one will finally arrive at what is intended. — That’s all well and good, but nothing particularly significant came of it. And so what was intended back then has turned into a rather theoretical matter. The “Practical Karma Exercises” had been announced, but no one at the time would have understood anything about them, least of all the luminaries of the Theosophical Society. And so this remained a task that, in a sense, had to be cultivated beneath the surface of the anthroposophical movement—a task that first had to be settled with the spiritual world. But today—and as so often during the development of the anthroposophical movement—I must recall that title, which was actually intended for the very first anthroposophical branch lecture: “Practical Karma Exercises.” I can also remember how alarmed the luminaries were at the time that such a daring title had appeared.

[ 13 ] Well, you see, more than two decades have passed since then; time marches on, and much has been prepared; but this preparation must also have an effect. And so it must be possible today for such an effect to occur, so that, in a certain sense, the “Practical Karma Exercises” can take place—the ones we wanted to begin back then, proceeding somewhat boldly. And you see, that was precisely the aim of our Christmas Conference: to bring the truly powerful esoteric element into the entire anthroposophical movement. And this must be taken seriously. For our anthroposophical movement will not have a reorganizing effect on our civilization through mere formalism. Therefore, in the future, we should not shy away from speaking openly about the conditions of the spiritual world.

[ 14 ] Today I would like to begin by discussing some of the spiritual foundations underlying earthly events and humanity on Earth. You see, standing within the entire course of Earth’s evolution, we have what took place as the Mystery of Golgotha. I have, after all, often pointed out how it was only through the Mystery of Golgotha that Earth’s evolution truly acquired its meaning, and how everything that preceded the Mystery of Golgotha appears, upon deeper reflection, as a preparation for it. And even though, since the Mystery of Golgotha, the obstacles—due to human weakness and, from the spiritual side, due to the Ahrimanic and Luciferic forces—have at first been even more conspicuous than humanity’s progress, everything has nevertheless been brought about since the Mystery of Golgotha, emanating from both the physical and spiritual worlds, to advance humanity within the overall development of the worlds. What Christianity has brought to humanity will only become apparent in the future, provided humanity proves worthy of receiving it in its spiritual depth. But the impulse for everything that anthroposophy can bring about also lies in the Mystery of Golgotha.

[ 15 ] Now we know how this mystery of Golgotha first made its impact, spreading from southern Europe into Central Europe. But that is not what I would like to consider today. I would like you to take a look at the way Christianity spread from North Africa into the European world. Now, as you know, more than half a millennium after the founding of Christianity through the Mystery of Golgotha, another religious movement spread from Asia: Islam. This Islamic mindset, which is linked to the name of Muhammad, reveals itself in relation to Christianity as something that lives more in abstractions than Christianity does. Christianity, I would say, contains far more of a direct depiction of the spiritual world than Islam does. But Islam has had the fate of absorbing much of ancient science and ancient culture into itself. And so we see how, in a sense following in the footsteps of Christianity, Islam later spread from Asia. It is interesting to trace this peculiar spread. We see how the current of Christianity flows somewhat further north, eventually reaching Central Europe, and how Islam, so to speak, encircles this Christian current through North Africa, Spain, and into France; in this way, it surrounds Christianity.

[ 16 ] It is easy to see that European culture would have been quite different if Christianity had acted alone. In terms of external politics, however, European culture has indeed repelled Islam—or perhaps it would be better to say Arabism. Yet anyone who considers the intellectual life of Europe can see, for example, that we would not have our current worldview—on the one hand, the materialistic spirit; on the other, science with its sharpness of thought, its arabesque-like logic, and everything that defines science itself—if, despite Arabism having been repelled, it had continued to exert its influence. And from that Spain, indeed even from France, from Sicily off the coast of southern Italy, and from Africa, powerful influences have come that have shaped European modes of thought, transforming everything in a way that would not have occurred if Christianity alone had been at work. There is more Arabism than Christianity in our science!

[ 17 ] Later, another path opened up: that of the Crusades, during which Europeans came into direct contact with Eastern culture, which was, however, already in decline. It was this path that revealed to them many of the secrets of Eastern culture, so that in Western civilization, overlying the layer of Christianity, lies that which has been filtered through Orientalism via Arabism. But you see, none of this really makes sense if you look at it only from the outside. It all must be viewed from the inside. Viewed from the inside, it appears that Arabism was indeed pushed back through wars and won battles, and that the Arabs—the bearers of Islam—the Moors, and so on, were driven back. But the souls of these people reincarnated, returned, and continued to exert their influence. And one gains nothing by describing in an abstract way how Arabism came from Spain to Europe; one only gains insight when one knows the inner, concrete facts.

[ 18 ] Let’s take one such fact. At the time when European history speaks of Charlemagne, Harun al-Rashid lived in Asia, in Baghdad, in magnificent splendor and with a magnificent Oriental education, from the eighth into the ninth century—just as Charlemagne did. At Harun al-Rashid’s court, everything that existed at that time in terms of Near Eastern—and indeed, Asian—culture was present; though steeped in Islam, it encompassed the full spectrum of intellectual life: mathematics, philosophy, architecture, commerce, industry, geography, medicine, and astronomy—all were pursued by the most enlightened minds of Asia at the court of Harun al-Rashid. Today, people have little concept of just how immense and magnificent the achievements at Harun al-Rashid’s court were. First and foremost is Harun al-Rashid himself: not an uninformed ruler who merely gathered the greatest sages of the Near East to enhance his own prestige, but a figure who, while fully devoted to Islam in religious matters, remained open and receptive to everything that Eastern civilization had to offer. While Charlemagne had only learned to read and write to a limited extent, there was far greater splendor at the court of Baghdad; indeed, what Harun al-Rashid accomplished there could not be compared at all to Charlemagne’s achievements.

[ 19 ] It was also the time when a large part of the then Near Eastern world had already been conquered by Islam, as had a large part of Africa, and what had flourished so splendidly at the court of Harun al-Rashid was being spread far and wide. But among those who were the bearers of geography, natural science, and medicine at the court of Harun al-Rashid, there were many who, in an even earlier incarnation, had been members of an ancient school of mysteries. For even if people were once initiates, they are not always reborn in such a way that it is immediately apparent they were initiates in a previous life. After all, in every age—even if one was an initiate in earlier mysteries—one can only assume that level of spirituality, can only attain that state of soul that the body permits, which can be different in a particular age. If one looks at the true nature of the soul, it does not correspond to the dialectical-logical conceptions people have of the soul in human beings. The soul actually lies much deeper than is commonly understood.

[ 20 ] Let me give you an example. Think for a moment of a figure like Ernst Haeckel. What first strikes one about him is that his worldview is tinged with materialism, that he advocated a kind of mechanistic view not only of nature but also of the life of the soul, that he lashes out at Catholicism with powerful blows, and that in doing so he is sometimes delightful, sometimes fanatical, but sometimes also in poor taste. Anyone who considers the connections between a person’s various earthly lives will pay the least attention to these characteristics; rather, they will look to the deeper qualities of the soul. No one who allows themselves to be blinded by what first strikes one about Haeckel can, if they wish to develop practical methods of karma, arrive at Haeckel’s previous incarnation. For anyone who wishes to determine Haeckel’s previous incarnation must look at the way Haeckel expressed his views. It can be explained by the era in which Haeckel lived that he possessed precisely this materialistic education. But that is the least important thing; what matters is the inner structure of the soul. And if one can grasp this inner structure of the soul and possesses occult vision, then the gaze leads back—in Haeckel’s case, for example—to Pope Gregory VII, the former monk Hildebrand, who was precisely one of the most powerful and intense representatives of Catholicism. Anyone who then compares these two figures and knows that these are the two figures in question will already discover the similarities; they will also gain an eye for what is insignificant and what is significant with regard to the great affairs of humanity. Theoretical ideas are not at all the essential point. Theoretical ideas are only essential in our theoretical, materialistic, abstract age. Behind the scenes of world history, what the soul is in its own nature is what is essential. Anyone who sees through this will be able to discern the similarity between Gregory VII and his reincarnation as Haeckel.

[ 21 ] One must first come to understand such views when delving into the concrete nature of karma, and if one is to understand, for example, that at the court of Harun al-Rashid there lived people who, outwardly—because that was how their physical bodies and upbringing were shaped—appeared to be typical of the eighth and ninth centuries, but who were in fact the reincarnations of ancient initiates into the mysteries. When one directs one’s spiritual gaze toward the court of Harun al-Rashid, one is particularly struck by a figure who was a thorough and deeply influential advisor to Harun al-Rashid and, for his time, a universal spirit—a spirit who possessed the remarkable quality of having, in a previous incarnation, participated in all the initiations in the very same region where Harun al-Rashid ruled—though entirely different peoples lived there at the time—and who, in a later incarnation as a different individual, had striven with all his inner longing for an initiation but could not attain it because fate did not allow him to be initiated at that time. Such a person lived at the court of Harun al-Rashid and therefore had to conceal deep within himself what remained within him from that earlier incarnation of initiation. The failure to attain it occurred in a later incarnation; then came the one who was at the court of Harun al-Rashid. And at the court of Harun al-Rashid—since initiations in the old sense were no longer possible at that time—this individual simply became a figure who, driven by a powerful impulse and a powerful imagination—a precise, logical imagination—had an immensely stimulating effect on everything that was cultivated at that court, and served as its organizer. All kinds of scholars and artists lived there; indeed, there was a whole host of poets at the court of Harun al-Rashid, and representatives of all the sciences were present. Moreover, Baghdad at that time was simply the center of all the far-reaching scientific and artistic activity that existed within the Caliphate. And whatever needed to be organized there actually stemmed from this individual—a person of great initiative. Well, such individuals are of great significance for the further course of human development.

[ 22 ] Let us now take a look at the personality of Harun al-Rashid himself. Anyone who, with an occult gaze, can perceive this personality in its soul-form and then seek it out again—and investigate whether it has reincarnated—will find that the personality of Harun al-Rashid was indeed one that remained connected to what it had established on Earth, carried it forward by passing through the gate of death—a personality that continued on in a spiritual way with the earthly development of humanity, influencing much from the spiritual world but also absorbing much in return. And then it appeared once more in the form in which it could appear, in keeping with the age: this personality appeared as Lord Bacon of Verulam, who was the founder of modern scientific thought. Bacon of Verulam, after all, gave a great impetus to modern European thought from England. You might say: Yes, he differs greatly from the personality of Harun al-Rashid! But it is, after all, the same individuality! For what appears outwardly as a difference belongs to the external realm. And so we see, in a sense, the soul of Harun al-Rashid continuing to develop after death from Asia, in order to influence modern European civilization from the West—in the way that was possible at the time—even laying the foundations for much of modern materialism.

[ 23 ] The other figure, who was not only the right-hand man but also the soul of Harun al-Rashid’s court—the one who shared that strange fate in a spiritual sense—took a different path. Once this soul had passed through the gate of death, it cared little about continuing to live out an outward splendor. Rather, this soul had an inner urge to live out its true inner self. For this reason, it could not possibly take a path that would have led it to the West in its next incarnation. Just consider the case of Harun al-Rashid: immense splendor, the inner solidity of civilization at the court of Harun al-Rashid, but at the same time the urge to externalize everything that existed within Islam. This had to be lived out in a subsequent incarnation. The broad, comprehensive scholarly nature had to come to the fore. And it did come to the fore. What had been outward splendor at the court of Harun al-Rashid came to the fore in Baco himself.

[ 24 ] The other personality was, admittedly, the soul at the court of Harun al-Rashid, but a very inward-looking one. It was, after all, very close to what was cultivated in the ancient mysteries. Now, it was not possible to live this out fully—at least not until our own time, when the Kali Yuga has come to an end and the Age of Michael is beginning, when it has once again become possible to speak of the spiritual with complete openness. However, it was possible to infuse what had been absorbed into civilization in such a comprehensive and energetic way that it could have an intense effect. This is what happened with the other personality. After passing through the gate of death, this personality developed in the spiritual world in such a way that, when it finally reappeared on Earth, it could not—I would say—land in the West, where materialism originated, but had to land in Central Europe, where it could give full expression to what stemmed from the ancient mysteries, though it had to be adapted to the changed circumstances of the times. This personality became that of Amos Comenius. And so one could say that these two souls, who lived at the court of Harun al-Rashid, moved through world history in the time that followed in such a way that they took two different paths. One, I would say, skirted the southern edge of Europe to become, from the West, an organizer of modern history, philosophy, and the sciences, like Bacon of Verulam; the other, I would say, took the overland route—the same path the Crusades took—and made his way to Central Europe. He, too, became a great organizer, but one can see from his organization how differently it operated. And indeed, it is a magnificent spectacle, a tremendous spectacle, that—albeit at somewhat different times—one must not misunderstand this, but it was connected to the karma of world history—Amos Comenius and Lord Bacon of Verulam lived, and that they took different paths. But then it so happened that, in recent times, if I may use the trivial expression, they met again in Central Europe. And much of what civilization must discover had to unfold in this way within civilization, so that what lies, in an esoteric sense, in the work of Amos Comenius might unite with the force that has entered into technology, and with everything that lies in what was established by Bacon of Verulam. But it is one of the most wondrous examples in world history: this convergence of two souls who were active in the eighth and ninth centuries at the court of Harun al-Rashid. Harun al-Rashid himself, who, in a sense, traveled via Africa and Southern Europe to England in order to work from England into Central Europe; Amos Comenius, who came over to Central Europe to encounter the other in what he had developed.

[ 25 ] This, my dear friends, is how historical reflection truly becomes reality. For what passes from one epoch of world history into the next does not do so in abstract terms; it does not simply fly over in abstract terms. Rather, it is the human souls themselves that carry over what has happened. We can only understand how what develops from the earlier time comes into being in the subsequent era if we trace how the souls evolve from one age into the next. We must take seriously, in every respect, what is called Maya and inner reality. History, too, is Maya if one views it only from the outside; one only comprehends it when one moves from Maya to truth.

[ 26 ] May it now—since we intend to continue these reflections at the next general meeting—my dear friends, be understood in the right way when, inaugurated by the Christmas Conference, we now proceed to the realization of what was announced at the very beginning—perhaps with some naivety—as “Practical Karma Exercises.” After decades of preparation, however, a genuine spiritual reflection on the concept of karma and on practical karma exercises will surely be possible within the Anthroposophical Society without giving rise to misunderstandings and deviations in life.