The Rudolf Steiner Archive

The Karma of the Anthroposophical Society and the Essence of the Anthroposophical Movement I

[ 1 ] Yesterday, due to my late arrival, I was unable to address you with the words I would have liked to say—words that are appropriate given what has become of the Anthroposophical Society since the Christmas Conference at the Goetheanum. Since the essence of what was meant by that Christmas Conference has already become known to our friends through the newsletter, I would also like to speak briefly about the most essential points and then continue with reflections that are more intrinsically connected to what this Christmas Conference means for the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 2 ] This Christmas Conference was intended to represent a renewal—one might even say a reestablishment—of the Anthroposophical Society. Up until this Christmas Conference, I had always been able to distinguish between the anthroposophical movement and the Anthroposophical Society. The latter was meant, as it were, to be the earthly projection of something that exists in the spiritual worlds within a certain current of spiritual life. What is taught here on Earth, what is communicated here as anthroposophical wisdom, was meant to be precisely the reflection of what flows in the spiritual worlds in accordance with the current stage of humanity’s development. At that time, the Anthroposophical Society was, so to speak, the custodian of what flowed through the anthroposophical movement as anthroposophical teachings.

[ 3 ] Over time, this has not proven to be something that can be associated with a genuine, true cultivation of anthroposophy. Therefore, it became necessary for me—who until then, without any official connection to the Anthroposophical Society, had been a teacher of anthroposophy—to take over, together with the Dornach Executive Committee, the leadership of the Anthroposophical Society as such. With that, however, the anthroposophical movement and the Anthroposophical Society have become one. And since that Christmas conference in Dornach, the exact opposite must now apply: one must no longer distinguish between the anthroposophical movement and the Anthroposophical Society; rather, the two are to be one. And those who stand by my side as the Executive Council at the Goetheanum are to be regarded as a kind of esoteric executive council. Thus, what takes place through this Executive Council can be characterized as “practicing anthroposophy,” whereas previously it was only possible to administer what was taught in anthroposophy.

[ 4 ] But this also means that the entire Anthroposophical Society must gradually be placed on a different foundation—one that makes it possible for the esoteric to flow directly through the Anthroposophical Society, and the corresponding attitude on the part of those who wish to be anthroposophists will have to be the very essence of the Anthroposophical Society in the future. Therefore, a distinction will have to be made between the General Anthroposophical Society, which in the future will be a completely public society—so that even the cycles, as was announced at Christmas, will be accessible to everyone—with those corresponding clauses that do, after all, represent a kind of ideal-spiritual limitation— and the School, which has since been established within this General Anthroposophical Society and which will gradually comprise three classes. So far, only the first class has been established. Anyone who wishes to become a member of this school must then assume different obligations than those who are merely general members of the Anthroposophical Society. Anyone who is interested in anthroposophy and accepts its teachings can become a member of the Anthroposophical Society; in doing so, they actually enter into no obligations other than those that every decent person follows of their own accord for moral reasons.

[ 5 ] This will thoroughly eliminate many of the problems that have arisen within the Anthroposophical Society, particularly in recent years, and which have caused many members great distress, because all sorts of initiatives have sprung up—initiatives that, admittedly, arose out of so-called good will, but which nevertheless could not become what was expected of them, and which have in fact diverted the anthroposophical movement into side currents. In the future, the anthroposophical movement will, in a human sense, be that which flows through the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 6 ] The more this is recognized, the more beneficial it will be for the anthroposophical movement. And I may say: Because that impulse prevailed among those gathered at the Goetheanum at Christmas that year, it has become possible since that Christmas to bring a completely different tone to the anthroposophical movement. And to my deep satisfaction, I may note that in the various places where I have been able to visit so far, this tone has been received everywhere with warm openness. One may certainly say: What was adopted at Christmas was, in a certain sense, a risk. For there was a certain possibility: namely, that perhaps—because the leadership of the Anthroposophical Society was directly brought into alignment with the representation of the spiritual heritage of wisdom—those spiritual powers that guide the anthroposophical movement in the spiritual world might have withdrawn their support. It can be said that this was not the case; rather, the opposite is true: with greater grace and higher goodwill, these spiritual powers are supporting what flows through the anthroposophical movement. In a certain sense, there is also a promise made to the spiritual world. This promise will be fulfilled in an unbreakable manner, and it will become evident that in the future, things will unfold as promised to the spiritual world. Thus, a responsibility is imposed not only on the anthroposophical movement but also on the Anthroposophical Society toward the Executive Council.

[ 7 ] On the other hand, those who wish to become members of the School must be required to conduct themselves in life as true representatives of the anthroposophical movement and to act in harmony with the Esoteric Council at the Goetheanum in Dornach. This means, then, that anyone who wishes to be a member of the School must also strive to represent anthroposophy in the world through their own personality. This naturally implies that if the School’s leadership believes that someone does not represent the anthroposophical movement, it must reserve the right to declare that the person in question can no longer remain a member of the School. — Do not say that this is an infringement on human freedom. Rather, it is, so to speak, a free contractual relationship between the members of the school and the school’s leadership; for the school’s leadership, too, must be free to say what it wishes to say to those to whom it must say it. Therefore, it must be able to indicate this to those whom it believes it cannot address.

[ 8 ] The prosperity and fruitful development of the anthroposophical cause will lie in the overall understanding of the esoteric strand that will henceforth run through the anthroposophical movement. Care will be taken to ensure that nothing bureaucratic, nothing merely external or administrative, affects the Anthroposophical Society, but that everything is based solely on the human element to be cultivated within the Society. Certainly, the Executive Council at the Goetheanum will also have to manage all sorts of matters; but that will not be the main focus. The essential point will be that the Executive Council at the Goetheanum acts on this or that matter on its own initiative. And what it does—what it has already begun in many ways—will precisely constitute the substance of the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 9 ] I just wanted to preface this with these few words so that I might immediately follow up with something that can now be said and that is of such a nature that it can become the substance of the anthroposophical movement. I would like to speak about something related to the karma of the Anthroposophical Society itself.

[ 10 ] When we consider today how the Anthroposophical Society, as the embodiment of the anthroposophical movement, is situated in the world, we see that a number of people are coming together within this Anthroposophical Society. Anyone with an eye for such things can see that there are still other people in the world—one finds such people everywhere—who, according to their karma, also possess the prerequisites for coming into contact with the Anthroposophical Society. At first they encounter obstacles; they do not immediately find their way to it in the full sense; but they will find it, either in this incarnation or in the next. But we must bear this in mind: that those people who, through their karma, come into contact with the anthroposophical movement are predestined for this movement.

[ 11 ] Everything that happens here within the physical-sensory world has its antecedent in the spiritual worlds. Nothing happens here in the physical world that has not first been prepared in a spiritual way in the spiritual world. And that is precisely what is so significant: What is unfolding here on Earth in the 20th century—the convergence of a number of individuals into the Anthroposophical Society—was prepared in the first half of the 19th century by the fact that the souls of these people, now incarnated and converging in great numbers, were united in the spiritual realm before they had descended into the physical-sensory world. And at that time, in the spiritual worlds, a number of souls, working together, cultivated a kind of ritual—a ritual that served as preparation for the longings that have arisen in the souls now flowing together in physical bodies to form the Anthroposophical Society. And whoever has the gift of recognizing these souls in their bodies will recognize them as having worked together with him in the first half of the 19th century, when powerful cosmic imaginations were set forth in the supersensible world, representing what I might call: the new Christianity. There—just as now here in physical bodies on Earth—the souls were united to fashion, out of what I would like to call cosmic substantiality and cosmic forces, the very reality that had cosmic significance in powerful images and that was the foreshadowing of what is to be realized here on Earth as a teaching and as anthroposophical activity. I would like to say: the vast majority of anthroposophists sitting together here could, if they were to grasp this reality, say to one another: “Yes, we know one another; we were together in spiritual worlds and shared powerful cosmic imaginations in a supersensible ritual!”

[ 12 ] But everything that had come together as souls in the first half of the 19th century to prepare for what was to become the anthroposophical movement on Earth—all of that essentially paved the way for what I have repeatedly referred to as: the Michael Current, which emerged in the last third of the 19th century and constitutes the most significant spiritual influence in the recent course of human development. The Michael Current: to prepare the way for Michael’s earthly-heavenly work—that was the task of the souls who were gathered there.

[ 13 ] These souls, however, were once again brought together by what had happened to them over a long, long time—centuries, and for many, millennia. And within these souls, there are mainly two groups. One group consists of those who, in the early Christian centuries, experienced the form of Christianity that was prevalent at that time in Southern Europe and, to some extent, in Central Europe as well. For its believers, this form of Christianity still envisioned a Christ who was regarded as the great divine messenger who had descended from the sun to Earth to continue working among humanity. This Christ was regarded by the early Christians of the first centuries—with varying degrees of understanding—as the “great sun god.”

[ 14 ] But in those early Christian centuries, what had once been an instinctive clairvoyance among humankind was no longer present. People no longer saw in the sun the great spiritual realm at the center of which Christ had once lived. In place of the old, instinctive clairvoyant insights regarding Christ’s descent to Earth, what took hold—especially in the early Christian centuries—was mere tradition: the tradition that Christ had descended from the sun to Earth and united with Jesus of Nazareth in a physical body. The majority of these Christians had nothing more than the notion that a being, Christ Jesus, had once lived in Palestine; regarding his nature and essence—whether he was God, or both God and man, or something similar—people began to argue in the councils. The masses of people were increasingly left with nothing but what was dictated from Rome.

[ 15 ] But among the masses of these Christians there lived individuals who were increasingly regarded as heretics. They still retained a vivid, traditional memory that Christ was a solar being and that once, a being entirely foreign to Earth—namely, a solar being—had descended to Earth into this physical, sensory world. Over the centuries leading up to the 7th and 8th centuries A.D., these souls were increasingly led to say to themselves: What is now emerging as Christianity no longer truly understands the Christ! — These heretical souls, one might say, grew weary of Christianity. And there were simply such souls who, in the early Christian centuries—up through the 7th and 8th—passed through the gate of death, having grown weary of Christianity. For these souls—regardless of whether they had undergone an intermediate incarnation or not—the incarnation they had experienced in the early Christian centuries became the defining factor. — Beginning in the 8th and 9th centuries, these souls prepared themselves in the spiritual world for that great, powerful work I just alluded to when I said: A kind of supersensible cult took place in the first half of the 19th century. These souls took part in this cult. They form one group of souls who have come to the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 16 ] The other souls are those who had their last decisive incarnation in the final pre-Christian centuries—not in the early Christian ones—and who, within the mysteries of ancient, pre-Christian paganism, were still able to gaze into the spiritual world with clairvoyant vision. It was such souls who, in the ancient mysteries, had gained knowledge of how Christ would one day descend to Earth. These souls did not experience the early stages of Christian development on Earth; rather, they were in the supersensible realm during that time and only later, after the 7th century A.D., came to a decisive incarnation. These are the souls who, so to speak, witnessed the entry of the Christ into earthly culture from the perspective of the supersensible. They were those who yearned for Christianity. But at the same time, they were the ones who sought to work actively to bring a genuine, cosmic, spiritual Christianity into the world.

[ 17 ] This second group joined the other souls in that supernatural cult that took place in the first half of the 19th century. Thus took place the great cosmic-spiritual celebration, which lasted for many decades and constituted a spiritual event in the world that immediately adjoins the physical one. The souls were there who then descended—souls who, whether weary of Christianity or yearning for it, had worked together in the supersensible world toward their next earthly incarnation. Then, toward the end of the 19th century, they came to incarnate, and as they descended to Earth, they were prepared to join the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 18 ] But all of this had been prepared over the course of centuries. Here on Earth, a form of Christianity had gradually emerged that interpreted the Gospels as if they spoke only of a single being—Jesus of Nazareth—who was meant to proclaim the Christ from some abstract heights. People no longer had any idea how the world of the stars, as an expression of the spiritual, is connected to the spiritual world; consequently, they could not understand what it meant that the Christ, as a divine solar hero, had descended into Jesus to share in the fate of humankind. — For those who view history in the usual way today, it is precisely the most important facts that are missing. Above all, there is no true understanding of these “heretical” souls; for the most part, they do not even recognize themselves—those heretical souls who, whether weary of Christianity or yearning for it, descended to Earth at the dawn of the 20th century. Around the 7th and 8th centuries, the traditions concerning Christ that had lived on among the heretics—who were growing weary of Christianity—gradually disappeared. They then survived only in small circles, where they were preserved until the middle of the Middle Ages, well into the 12th century. There were small circles of—I would say—divinely gifted teachers who had preserved something of the teachings from ancient times regarding spiritual Christianity and cosmological Christianity. Among them were also those who received these messages from ancient times and in doing so experienced something akin to inspiration; so that they could still experience within themselves a reflection—albeit strong or weak—of what could be perceived in the first centuries of Christianity—still under the powerful inspiration of the Sun God’s descent into the Mystery of Golgotha.

[ 19 ] There were thus two distinct currents. First, there was the current that arose directly from the heretical movements of the first centuries of Christianity. These souls were still inspired by what lived on in ancient Greek Platonism. They were so inspired that, when the inner spiritual breakthrough came through the messages from ancient times, they were at least able—as if under a weak but nevertheless present inspiration—to glimpse the descent and the work of Christ on earth. This was the Platonic current. The other current was destined for something else. It included, in particular, those souls who had undergone their last decisive incarnation in pre-Christian times and had regarded Christianity at that time as something yet to come. This was the current that was to prepare the intellect for the era that I have always described as beginning in the first half of the 15th century. That was when the age of the conscious soul was to dawn, the age in which the human intellect was to be developed. This was in contrast to the Platonists—but prepared in harmonious contrast to them by the Aristotelians. And those who carried on the Aristotelian teaching into the 12th century were still the ones who had undergone their actual, defining incarnation in ancient pagan times, namely in Greek civilization. — And then came—in the middle of the Middle Ages, in the 12th and 13th centuries—the great, the marvelous, I might say, debate between the Platonists and the Aristotelians. And among these Platonists and Aristotelians were also the leaders of those who, as the two groups of souls I have described, called for the anthroposophical movement.

[ 20 ] Toward the 12th century, as if driven by an inner necessity, a certain school began to take shape in which, in particular, the echoes of the ancient Platonic vision were revived. This was the great, the magnificent school of Chartres. It had great representatives who still possessed knowledge of the mysteries of early Christianity; it had representatives in whose hearts and souls this knowledge shone forth, enabling them to glimpse the spiritual context within which Christianity was situated. At the School of Chartres in France, home to the magnificent Chartres Cathedral with its countless intricate details, what had been widely disseminated only a short time before—albeit still within small circles—came together and was concentrated. If we wish to name one of those figures upon whom the School of Chartres—which flourished particularly at the end of the 11th and throughout the 12th century—could build, we must name Peter of Compostela, who, through inspired insights within his own soul and heart, renewed the ancient spiritual Christianity. And alongside him, we find a whole series of wonderful figures who taught in Chartres. In the 12th century, the School of Chartres offered quite remarkable perspectives on Christianity. There we have, for example, Bernard of Chartres, Bernardus Sylvestris, and John of Salisbury; but above all, there was the great Alanus ab Insulis. Mighty teachers! It was as if Plato himself, interpreting Christianity, had been at work among these minds; that is how they spoke at the School of Chartres. They taught the spiritual essence of Christianity. The writings that come from them may seem abstract to people today when they read them, but this stems solely from the abstract nature of people’s souls today. The writings of these great figures depict the spiritual world thoroughly imbued with the influence of Christ. And I would now like to present to your souls, my dear friends, something such as was taught in particular by Bernardus Sylvestris and Alanus ab Insulis to their initiated students. As paradoxical as this may seem to people today—such phenomena did exist back then for the students of Chartres.

[ 21 ] It was taught there: Christianity will be renewed. Its spiritual essence will be understood anew once the Kali Yuga, the dark age, has come to an end and a new age has dawned. — But for us today, that came to an end with the year 1899; hence the current turning point, which was to occur for humanity with the end of the Kali Yuga. The immense impulse that occurred two decades earlier through Michael’s intervention had already been prophetically foretold at the School of Chartres in the 12th century, particularly by Bernardus Sylvestris and Alanus ab Insulis. But these men did not teach in the Aristotelian manner; they did not teach through the intellect. They taught entirely through powerful images that they unfolded before their listeners—images that vividly portrayed the spiritual essence of Christianity. But certain prophetic teachings did exist. And I would like to present an excerpt from one such teaching to your souls.

[ 22 ] Then Alanus of Insulis said to a small circle of his initiated students: “Today we view the world in such a way that we still recognize the Earth’s central position, that we judge everything from the perspective of the Earth.” If this earthly perspective—which enables us to form our images and imaginations—were to be the sole source of inspiration for the coming centuries, then humanity would be unable to progress. We must form an alliance with the Aristotelians, who bring the intellect into humanity—an intellect that is then to be spiritualized and, in the 20th century, shine forth among people in a new spiritual way. If we now regard the Earth as the center of the cosmos, if we describe the planets as orbiting the Earth, if we describe the entire starry sky—as it initially appears to the physical eye—as if it were revolving around the Earth, then someone will come along and say: Let us place the Sun spatially at the center of the solar system! But when this person comes—who places the Sun spatially at the center of the universe—then the worldview will become barren. People will then only calculate the orbits of the planets and specify the positions of the celestial bodies. People will speak of the celestial bodies only as if they were gases or physical bodies that burn and shine as they burn; they will know of the starry sky only in a purely mathematical and mechanical sense. But what will spread as this barren worldview has one thing—a pitiful thing—but it does have one thing: We look at the world from the Earth; the one who is to come will look at the world from the Sun. He will be like one who merely indicates the “direction”—the direction toward a path of magnificent significance, adorned with the most wondrous events and the most wondrous beings. But he indicates only the abstract direction—this alluded to the Copernican worldview, in its grandeur, in its abstractness, but as a direction—for everything we represent with our imaginations must first be set aside, as Alanus ab Insulis said; that must be set aside, and the worldview must, in a sense, become entirely abstract, almost like a milestone on a path lined with wondrous monuments. For there will be one in the spiritual world who will take this milestone—which will have nothing but direction for the renewal of the world—so that he, together with intellectualism, can then lay the foundation for the new spirituality; one who will need nothing but this milestone. But that will be, as Alanus ab Insulis said, Saint Michael! The field must be cleared for him; he must sow the path with new seeds. For this, nothing else need be there but a line—a mathematical line.

[ 23 ] A kind of magic swept through the school at Chartres whenever Alanus ab Insulis taught such things to just a few students. But it was as if the ethereal world all around had been swept up by the ripples of this powerful teaching of Michael.

[ 24 ] Thus, across Western Europe and down to southern Italy, spread the spiritual atmosphere that shaped this world. And there were some who were able to perceive it, in whose souls something arose like a powerful inspiration, and who were then able to look into the spiritual world.

[ 25 ] But such is the nature of the world’s development that those who are initiated into the great mysteries of existence—such as, to a certain extent, Alanus ab Insulis and Bernardus Sylvestris—know that, to a limited extent, one can always do only this or that! A man like Alanus ab Insulis said to himself: We, the Platonists, must pass through the gate of death; for the time being, we can only live in the spiritual world. We must look down from the spiritual world and leave the physical world to others—to those who cultivate the intellect in the Aristotelian manner. That must now be carried on. Alanus ab Insulis took the Cistercian habit at an advanced age; he became a Cistercian. And within the Cistercian Order, there were many such teachings. But it was precisely those among the Cistercians who possessed the deeper insights who said to themselves: “From now on, we can only work from the spiritual world; we must leave the field to the Aristotelians.”

[ 26 ] These Aristotelians were primarily the Dominicans. And so, in the 13th century, leadership in the intellectual world of Europe passed to them. But there was, I would say, something else that had a significant impact on European intellectual life, left behind precisely by these thinkers: Peter of Compostela, Alanus ab Insulis, Bernard of Chartres, John of Salisbury, and that poet who composed a significant poem on the seven liberal arts at the School of Chartres. What took place at the School of Chartres was so influential that it extended, for example, all the way to the University of Orléans, where, in the second half of the 12th century, much of what Bernardus Sylvestris and Alanus ab Insulis had imparted to the students of Chartres—in such grand, powerful imagery and with such silver words—permeated the teaching there. But I would like to say that the spiritual atmosphere was so permeated by this that once, an Italian who was returning from his post as ambassador to Spain—and upon his return, as he hurried toward his homeland, learned of the expulsion of the Guelph rule there, a fact compounded by a mild case of sunstroke—found himself near Florence in a situation where his etheric body ceased to function, and began to absorb what, in a sense, was wafting over from the School of Chartres in an etheric sense—what had been preserved of it. And through what thus wafted over to him etherically, he received something like an intuition—an intuition of the kind that was present in many people during the early Christian centuries. At first he saw spread out before him the earthly world as it surrounds human beings, but not governed, as was later said, by natural laws, but rather by the great helper of the divine Demiurge, by Natura, who was the successor to Proserpina in the early Christian centuries. At that time, there were no abstract laws of nature; the initiates perceived in an essential way what was at work in nature as an all-encompassing divine power. In the Greek mysteries, Proserpina—who divides her time between the upper world and the underworld—was depicted as the power ruling over nature. Her successor in the early Christian centuries was the goddess Natura.

[ 27 ] After that individual—who, through a sunstroke and the influence of the teachings cultivated at the School of Chartres, had gained such insight into the life and weaving of the Goddess Natura, and then allowed this intuition to continue to take effect within her—beheld the workings of the elements—earth, water, air, and fire—as they were perceived in the ancient mysteries: the mighty weaving of the elements. Then she saw the mysteries of the human soul, saw those seven powers known to be the great heavenly teachers of the human race. This was known in the early Christian centuries. At that time, people did not speak of such abstract teachings as they do today, when things are taught through concepts and ideas. In those early Christian centuries, people spoke of being taught from the spiritual world by the goddesses Dialectic, Rhetoric, Grammar, Arithmetic, Geometry, Astrology or Astronomy, and Music. These seven were not conceived of abstractly, as in later times: they were beheld, they were seen before one’s eyes—I cannot say in bodily form, but in a soul-like form. People allowed themselves to be taught by these heavenly figures. Later, they no longer appeared to people as the living goddesses of Dialectic, Rhetoric, and so on in a solitary vision, but in abstract forms, in abstract-theoretical teachings.

[ 28 ] This person I am now speaking of allowed all of this to sink in. And she was then introduced to the world of the planets, which at the same time reveals the mysteries of the human soul. And in the world of the stars, after she had passed through the great ocean of the worlds, she was guided by Ovid, who had passed through the gate of death and had become the guide of souls in the spiritual world. This individual, Brunetto Latini, became Dante’s teacher. And what Dante learned from Brunetto Latini, he then recorded in his own poetic way in the Divina Commedia. Thus, the great poem Divina Commedia is a final reflection of what lived on in a Platonic sense at various sites and what, through Sylvestris’s teachings at the School of Chartres in the 12th century, was still being taught by those who had been inspired by the ancient traditions, so that the mysteries of Christianity dawned upon them as if through special inspirations, which they were then able to convey to their students through their words.

[ 29 ] What Alanus ab Insulis introduced into the Cistercian Order was subsequently adopted by the Dominicans, who, following Aristotle, placed particular emphasis on the intellect. But there was an interim period: In the 12th century, the School of Chartres flourished, and in the 13th century, the Dominican Order began its powerful work in support of Scholasticism in the spirit of Aristotelianism. Those who, as the great teachers of the School of Chartres, passed through the gate of death into the spiritual world remained there for a while together with the Dominicans descending through birth, who then, after their descent, established Aristotelianism here. We must therefore look to an interim period when, as in a great heavenly council, the last great teachers of Chartres—after they had passed through the Gate of Death—were gathered together with those who, as Dominicans, were to cultivate Aristotelianism, before the latter had descended. It was then that the great “heavenly covenant” was concluded in the spiritual world. Those who had ascended into the spiritual world under the leadership of Alanus ab Insulis said to the descending Aristotelians: “Our time is not now on Earth; we must first work here from the spiritual world.” We cannot descend to Earth in any incarnations in the near future. Your task now is to cultivate the intellect in the dawning Age of the Consciousness Soul.

[ 30 ] Then they came down—the great scholastics—and carried out what they had agreed upon with the last great Platonists of the School of Chartres. Many significant events took place there. One who had come down earlier, for example, received a message through another who had remained in the spiritual world with Alanus ab Insulis—that is, with the spiritual individuality that had formerly been Alanus ab Insulis—for even longer than he had. The one who had come down later delivered this message—that is, he worked together with the older one—and thus began on Earth the preparation for the intellectualist age, which, after all, had its origins in the Dominican Order. It was precisely the one who had remained with Alanus ab Insulis in the spiritual world a little longer who first donned the Cistercian habit and only later exchanged it for the Dominican habit. Thus, those who had once been under the influence of Aristotle’s teachings—and who, so to speak, “watched over” from above—now worked on Earth in conjunction with the Aristotelians active there, namely the Platonists who were part of the School of Chartres. The spiritual world went hand in hand with the physical world. It was, as it were, a collaboration between the Aristotelians and the Platonists throughout the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries. And by then, many of those who had descended to introduce Aristotelianism in Europe were already back up there with the others.

[ 31 ] But events unfolded in such a way that both those who were the leaders in the School of Chartres and those who held leading positions in the Dominican Order, placed themselves at the head of those who, in the first half of the 19th century, within that powerful supernatural cult that unfolded in the images described above, prepared the way for the later anthroposophical movement. First, those who had acted more or less as Aristotelians had to step down; for under the influence of intellectualism, the time had not yet come to deepen spirituality anew. But there was an unbreakable agreement that continues to have an effect. And according to this agreement, something must emerge from the anthroposophical movement that must find its fulfillment before the end of this century. For a destiny hangs over the Anthroposophical Society: the destiny that many of those who are in the Anthroposophical Society today must return to the earth by the end of the 20th century, but then united with those who were either leaders in the School of Chartres themselves or who were students of Chartres. Thus, before the end of the 20th century—if civilization is not to fall into complete decadence—the Platonists of Chartres and the later Aristotelians must work together on Earth.

[ 32 ] In the future, the Anthroposophical Society must take this fully to heart: to understand something of its karma. For much lies dormant within the bosom of humanity’s spiritual development that, especially today, cannot come to the surface of existence. Much seems quite superficial today; but if one can recognize what appears to be superficial in its symptoms, in its inner meaning, then much of what has lived spiritually over the centuries is revealed. Perhaps I may hint at a few things here. And why should this not be hinted at now, when the esoteric current is to flow through the Anthroposophical Society? I would like to hint at a few things that are meant to show you how looking closely at what is around us allows you to see into various contexts.

[ 33 ] If I myself, in preparation for the anthroposophical movement, have undergone a special path of destiny, this manifested itself in a most remarkable connection with the Cistercian Order, which is, after all, linked precisely to Alanus ab Insulis. For those who are prone to creating legends, I would like to note that, as far as my own individuality is concerned, I have nothing to do with Alanus ab Insulis. I simply wish to prevent legends from arising out of what I present in an esoteric context. The point is that these matters are presented from an esoteric perspective. In a most remarkable way, my destiny, through external events, has led me to reflect on what such spiritual connections—which I have now described—could teach. Perhaps some of you are familiar with the essays “My Life’s Journey” in Goetheanum. In them, I had to recount how, in my youth, I attended a Realschule rather than a Gymnasium and only acquired a Gymnasium education later on. I must regard this myself as a remarkable twist of my karma. For in the city where I spent my youth, the high school was only a few steps away from the Realschule, and it was by the narrowest of margins that I ended up at the Realschule rather than the high school. But if I had attended the high school in that city back then, I would have become a priest of the Cistercian Order. There is no doubt about that. For this was a high school where only Cistercians taught. I even felt a deep affinity for all these fathers, most of whom were extraordinarily learned men. I read much of what these fathers wrote; it moved me deeply; I loved these fathers. And in fact, the only reason I passed, so to speak, by the Cistercian Order was that I did not get into the gymnasium at all. Karma led me in a different direction; but the Cistercian Order would not let me go. I describe that as well. I was by nature always a sociable person, and I also recount in my autobiography that later, at the house of Marie Eugenie delle Grazie, I associated with almost all the theologians there. They were almost all priests of the Cistercian Order. That is where, so to speak, the perspective for returning began to take shape. It was also very natural for me personally: the vision, the perspective, took shape through the influence of the Cistercian Order—a path back into spiritual life, all the way to the School of Chartres. For Alanus ab Insulis was a Cistercian. And it’s curious: When I later wrote the first of my mystery dramas, The Gate of Initiation, I had no choice—out of aesthetic necessity—but to have the women appear on stage in a long tunic and what is called a stole. So if you imagine such a garment as consisting of a yellowish-white tunic, with a black stole and a black sash—then you have the Cistercian habit. At the time, I was thinking only of aesthetic necessities; but this attire came very close to the Cistercian habit. There you have an indication of how the connections reveal themselves to those who can trace the symptoms appearing in the outer world back to their inner spiritual meaning.

[ 34 ] At Christmas, the process of increasingly revealing these inner connections began. They must come to light, for humanity is waiting to gain insight into the inner realm, having experienced only the outer world for many centuries, and now that civilization finds itself in a dire situation. Among the many things that are to come, there must be a reference to how, on the one hand, the School of Chartres worked, how the initiates of that school passed through the gate of death and, in the spiritual world, met those very souls who would later wear the Dominican to spread Aristotelianism with its intellectualism, in order to powerfully prepare the way for the Age of the Consciousness Soul. And so, I would say, Aristotelianism continues to work within the Anthroposophical Society—only today in a spiritualized form—and we await its further spiritualization. Then, at the end of the 20th century, those will come—some of whom are already here today—but united with those who were the teachers of the School of Chartres. This is the goal of the anthroposophical movement: to unite both within itself. Aristotelianism in the souls who, primarily within ancient paganism, awaited Christianity and lived in longing for it until, as Dominicans, they could proclaim Christianity through intellectuality; they will be united with those who experienced Christianity in a physical sense and whose most significant leaders were united in the School of Chartres. The latter had not yet been incarnated, although, as I drew near, I was always able to encounter incarnations of some of those who had been at the School of Chartres within the Cistercian Order. For in the Cistercian Order one encountered many a personality who was not a reincarnation of a student from Chartres, but who had moments in life when, for hours or even days, they were enthusiastically imbued with such an individuality from the School of Chartres. Thus, what was present there were incorporations, not reincarnation. And marvelous things were written there, about which one must ask: Who is the author? The author is not the priest who was in the Cistercian Order at that time, in the pale yellow habit with the black stole and black band; rather, the author in this case is that personality who had taken hold in the soul of such a Cistercian monk for hours, days, or weeks. Much of this has continued to have an impact in such essays or writings that have become little known in literary circles. I myself had a remarkable conversation—which I also recounted in My Life’s Journey—with a member of the Cistercian Order who was an extraordinarily learned man. We were leaving a gathering and spoke about the problem of Christ. I expounded my ideas on the matter, which were essentially the same as those I always present. As I was explaining this, he said, growing restless: “We may perhaps arrive at something like that; we will not allow ourselves to think such a thing.”—He expressed similar views on other problems of Christology. But then—the moment remains vividly etched in my mind—we paused for a moment in Vienna, at the junction of Schottenring and Burgring, with the Hofburg on one side and the Hotel de France and the Votiv Church on the other, and there the man said to me: “I’d like you to come with me. I’ll give you a book from my library; there’s something remarkable in it that ties in with what you just said.” I went with him. The man gave me a book about the Druze. From the entire context of our conversation and from reading this book, I learned that this highly erudite man—when I, starting from Christology, began to speak of repeated earthly lives—was, in a most peculiar way, as if stunned, and, once he had regained his composure, merely recalled: he has a book about the Druze in which there is something about reincarnation. He knew this from that single book. He was so learned that people—he was already a court councilor at the University of Vienna—said of him: “Court Councilor N.N. knows the whole world and three more villages”—that is how learned he was; yet, in his physical state, he knew no more than that a work on the Druze contained something about repeated earthly lives. That is the difference between what people have in their consciousness and what flows through human souls as the spiritual world. — And then came the curious thing: I once gave a lecture in Vienna. The same person was present, and after the lecture he made a remark that could only be interpreted to mean that, at that very moment, the man had a full understanding of a person of the present and of that person’s relationship to his earlier incarnation. And what he said there about the connection between two earthly lives was correct; it was not wrong. But he understood nothing at all; he was merely speaking those words.

[ 35 ] My intention here is merely to suggest how spiritual movements extend into the present. But what today peeks in only through small windows must, in the future, become a unity through that connection between the leaders of the School of Chartres and the leaders of Scholasticism, when the spiritual renewal—which also elevates the intellectual to the spiritual—takes hold at the end of the 20th century. The people of the 20th century must not squander the opportunity for this to happen! But since everything today depends on free will, whether this comes to pass—namely, whether the allied parties can come together to bring about the respiritualization of culture in the 20th century—also depends on whether the Anthroposophical Society understands how to cultivate anthroposophy with true devotion.

[ 36 ] That is what I wanted to say today: how the anthroposophical movement is connected to the profound mystery of the age, which began with the appearance of Christ in the Mystery of Golgotha and has developed in the way I have just described. We will continue with this in the second lecture.