The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Second Lecture

[ 1 ] When discussing the history and circumstances of anthroposophy in relation to the Anthroposophical Society, we must first address two questions that arise naturally from this history. I could formulate these two questions as follows. First, why was it necessary to link the anthroposophical movement to the theosophical movement in the way that it did? And second, why is it that—even though this is essentially due only to external factors—anthroposophy is still today confused by ill-intentioned opponents with theosophy, or rather, the Anthroposophical Society with the Theosophical Society?

[ 2 ] The answers to these questions can truly only emerge from a historical perspective. Yesterday I said that, when speaking of the Anthroposophical Society, what matters first and foremost is the nature of the people who feel compelled to seek their path through an anthroposophical movement. And yesterday I tried to describe in what sense the souls who are drawn to anthroposophy to satisfy their spiritual longings are, in a certain sense, homeless souls. Well, in fact, at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century, such homeless souls did exist. There were more of them than one is usually inclined to assume, for many people were trying, in various ways, to develop the deeper human aspects within themselves in some form.

[ 3 ] One need only recall how—quite apart from the endeavors that arose from modern materialism and subsequently led to the most diverse forms of spiritualism—numerous souls sought a certain inner satisfaction by reading works such as those by Ralph Waldo Trine and others like him. What, then, were such souls seeking when, during the period in question, they turned to the writings of Ralph Waldo Trine? They sought, I would say, to fill their humanity with something they longed for—something they wanted to feel and experience inwardly—but which could not be found along the conventional paths of modern civilization; something they could not find in popular secular literature or in secular art, nor in the traditional religious creeds.

[ 4 ] Today, I will first have to present a few facts and leave it to the next lectures to draw the connections between these facts for you. To begin with, the aim will be to bring certain facts to mind in an appropriate manner.

[ 5 ] Among all the people who were searching in this way—whether through spiritualism, through Ralph Waldo Trine, or through others—were also those who joined the Theosophical Society, which at that time had various branches. And if one asks the question: Did these people, who joined the Theosophical Society in one form or another, differ in any characteristic ways from the others—such as those who became spiritualists or sought inner enrichment through Ralph Waldo Trine?—then one must certainly answer “yes.” They differed quite significantly. There was, I would say, a special kind of human seeking present in those who were drawn specifically to some form of the Theosophical Society.

[ 6 ] We know from the history of the Theosophical Society that one could already have formed a mental image of what was to be sought as anthroposophy at the beginning of our century, which would most likely have found understanding within the circles that were associated with theosophy at that time. But this can only be clarified once the facts have been properly laid before our souls.

[ 7 ] Now, without straying from this point, I would first like to describe the people who came together there, to provide a sort of picture of what was understood at the time as the Theosophical Society—which, after all, found its most striking expression in the English Theosophical Society. It was this society that gave rise to what later became known as anthroposophy—or, more accurately, what emerged from the very beginning as anthroposophy.

[ 8 ] If one were to consider—I would say—the group of people that the Theosophical Society represented, one must first look into the consciousness of these people, look into their souls, in order to understand the nature of their consciousness. These people had, after all, already lived out their consciousness in one way or another. They held gatherings and meetings; lectures were given there, and discussions took place. They also met outside of the meetings, even talking with one another quite a lot in smaller circles. For example, at general assemblies, it was not customary for the time to be filled as fully as it was for us yesterday. People always found opportunities to eat together, drink tea, and so on. They even found opportunities in between to freshen up and the like. After all, it was already a kind of—I would say—social behavior that seemed to shine in from the outside world. But of course, that is not what interests us so much. What must interest us is people’s consciousness. And there, it was immediately striking that extraordinarily contradictory forces were at play between these personalities.

[ 9 ] These conflicting forces were particularly noticeable when people held meetings. They would come together. But unless one was a devoted Theosophist, one was expected to hold two different mental images of every person. It was peculiar that, when one joined the Theosophical Society, it was simply a necessity to have two mental images of every person. One mental image was the one one formed depending on how the person presented themselves. The other mental image, however, was the one that others had of each individual. It arose from very general views, from views that were highly theoretical in nature: mental images of human beings in general, of universal love for humanity, of being “advanced”—as it was called—or not being advanced, of the seriousness one had to possess in order to prove oneself worthy of receiving the teachings of Theosophy, and so on. These were mental images of a rather theoretical nature. And people thought: There must surely be something of all that in the people walking around in the flesh. The mental images I am referring to at first—the ones one naively forms about other people—did not actually live within the members; rather, there was an image in each individual of all the others that had actually emerged from theoretical notions about human beings and human behavior.

[ 10 ] Actually, no one saw the other person as he really was; instead, they saw a kind of ghost. And so one simply had to—because, for example, if one encountered a Mr. Müller and naively formed a mental image of Mr. Müller, then, when one considered what some other person might think of Mr. Müller, one had to form a ghostly mental image. For no one had a real mental image of the other; rather, one imagined a ghost that was constructed. So one simply had to have two mental images of every person. Only, most members spared themselves the mental image of the real person; they took in only the mental image of the phantom, so that, in fact, phantom-like mental images of one another always existed between the individual members. In the consciousnesses of the “members,” one actually encountered nothing but phantoms. One simply had to have an interest in psychology.

[ 11 ] One also had to possess a certain open-mindedness and generosity of spirit in order to truly take an interest. It was indeed very interesting to then take part in what was essentially a kind of “ghost society” living there. For, within the limitations I just mentioned, it was a ghost society that lived there. This was particularly striking when it came to the leading figures. The leading figures lived among the others in a very peculiar way. For example, let’s say there was talk of a certain leading figure, X for instance. At night, this figure would go from house to house as an astral form—of course, only through the homes of the members—as an invisible helper. This figure radiated all sorts of things. In some cases, there were extraordinarily beautiful, ghostly mental images associated with the leading figures. It was often a striking contrast when one encountered these figures in reality. But the general atmosphere ensured that, as far as possible, only the ghostly mental images could thrive, while the real ones could barely survive.

[ 12 ] You see, for something like that, one certainly needed insights and teachings. For since not all people are clairvoyant—although back then there were an extraordinary number who at least claimed to be clairvoyant (we won’t examine now to what extent that was true)—but since not all were clairvoyant, certain theories were needed to piece together what was then conceived as ghosts.

[ 13 ] Well, there was something extraordinarily archaic about these theories. One couldn’t help but get the impression that they were old, rehashed theories that had been used to construct these ghostly human figures. In many cases, it was also easy to see how these ghostly human figures were modeled after ancient writings.

[ 14 ] So, in addition to the ghostly nature of the experience, the people one saw as ghosts were not at all people of the present. They were actually people from earlier incarnations—people who seemed to have emerged from Egyptian or Persian tombs, or from ancient Indian tombs. In a certain sense, one had completely lost the sense of the present.

[ 15 ] But there was something else entirely to consider. These ancient teachings, even when couched in relatively modern terminology, were difficult to understand. Now, these ancient teachings were often discussed in abstract terms. The physical body was, of course, still called the physical body. The etheric body was modeled after the medieval conception, and perhaps the astral body as well. But then came terms like Manas, Kama Manas, and the like, which everyone bandied about—yet no one really understood what they meant. After all, all of this was also clothed in thoroughly modern, materialistic mental images. Yet these teachings contained cosmic connections, cosmic concepts, and ideas, so that one could get the feeling: here, souls are speaking as if from distant, bygone times—not merely centuries, but millennia ago.

[ 16 ] That really went quite far. Books were written in that style of language. They were translated; and so it all took place in that manner. But there was also another side to it. There was a beautiful side to it. Namely, something of all that which often existed only as words, which was misunderstood—something of all that did rub off on people after all. One might say: even if not in their souls, there was nevertheless an extraordinary amount of all that in the people’s spiritual makeup. They actually went about their lives—I would say—not exactly with a conscious awareness of the etheric body or of Kama-Manas, but they had a sense that they were surrounded by a series of “cloaks”: one is the etheric body, another is Kama-Manas, and so on. They attached some importance to these “cloaks,” to this “soul’s attire,” and that formed a strong bond among the people.

[ 17 ] This is something that forged the Theosophical Society into a unified whole in an extraordinarily intense way—something that truly created an immense sense of belonging, so that every single member felt like a representative of the Theosophical Society. This Society was something in its own right; apart from the fact that each individual was there, the Society itself was something. It had, one might say, a self-awareness of its own. It had its own “I.” This sense of self was so strong that, even when the absurdities of the leading figures came to the surface in a downright curious way, those people who had once felt they belonged held on with iron determination and felt that it would be a kind of betrayal not to stick together, even in the face of major mistakes by the leading figures.

[ 18 ] Anyone who has gained some insight into the struggles later endured by certain followers of the Theosophical Society—long after the Anthroposophical Society had separated from it—and into the struggles they went through when they saw time and again: ‘The leaders are doing utterly outrageous things, but one cannot simply break away from them because of that’—when one has observed the inner struggles that have taken place within individual souls, then, even while one must truly condemn the terrible wrongs involved, one also develops, on the other hand, a certain respect for the sense of self of the entire Society.

[ 19 ] And this raises the question: Wouldn't it be possible that, given the conditions under which the Anthroposophical Society was to emerge into the world, such a social consciousness could also develop?

[ 20 ] When the Anthroposophical Society was founded, it was necessary to forgo those often highly questionable means by which the Theosophical Society had achieved its strong cohesion and sense of identity. The ideal had to be held aloft before the Anthroposophical Society: Wisdom lies only in truth. But these are, after all, things that have remained ideals to this day. It is precisely in this area that the Anthroposophical Society still leaves much to be desired, in that it has not even reached the initial stages of forming a communal body, a distinct societal “I.” The Anthroposophical Society is an association of people who, as individuals, may be very ambitious, but as a society it does not really exist yet, precisely because this sense of belonging is lacking, because very few members of the Anthroposophical Society feel they are representatives of this society. Everyone feels like an individual and completely forgets that there is supposed to be an Anthroposophical Society.

[ 21 ] I have now characterized the audience to some extent—I will expand on this in the coming days. I would also like to characterize the other side. For how, I must say, has anthroposophy positioned itself within this whole striving for time? Anyone who wishes to can already find the basic principles of anthroposophy in my *Philosophy of Freedom*. Today I want to emphasize just one thing: namely, that this *Philosophy of Freedom* points everywhere, out of an inner necessity, to a spiritual realm from which, for example, moral impulses are drawn. Thus, in the spirit of the *Philosophy of Freedom*, one cannot remain confined to the sensory world but must advance to a spiritual realm grounded in itself. The existence of this spiritual realm takes on yet another concrete form: that in his innermost being—when he becomes conscious of his innermost being—the human being is not connected to the sensory world, but is connected in this innermost being to the spiritual world.

[ 22 ] These two things—first, that there is a spiritual realm; second, that human beings are connected to this spiritual realm through the innermost self of their being—are, after all, the fundamental points of the *Philosophy of Freedom*. The question simply had to arise: Is it possible to proclaim in this way that which is to be proclaimed as a kind of message from the spiritual world to modern humanity? Is there a way to build upon something? For one could not, of course, just stand there and speak into thin air. That said, all sorts of strange proposals have come my way in recent times. For instance, during my stay in Vienna in 1918, I was asked—even by telegram—to travel from Vienna to the Raxalp on the northern edge of Styria, to stand on the Raxalp, and to give a lecture there for the Alpine mountains! This request was indeed sent to me by telegram at that time. I hardly need to say that I did not comply with the request. But one cannot simply speak to mountains or into thin air; one must connect with something that actually exists in contemporary civilization. In fact, even at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, there was extraordinarily little of that. There were people who, driven by their own aspirations, wanted to join the Theosophical Society at that time. Ultimately, these were the ones with whom one could discuss these matters.

[ 23 ] But one did not, on the one hand, need only feel a sense of responsibility toward these people as an audience; on the other hand, one also had to feel a sense of responsibility toward the spiritual world—specifically, that form of the spiritual world which found expression at that time. And here I might perhaps draw your attention to how what eventually became anthroposophy gradually grew out of the endeavor that I had not yet outwardly called “anthroposophy.” Today I would simply like to present the facts first and then draw the connecting threads for you in the coming days.

[ 24 ] Above all, in the 1880s, I was able to glimpse a kind of mirage—something that appeared quite naturally in the physical world, but which, even if only as a fleeting mirage—or, I might say, as a luminous phenomenon—had, in a certain sense, a deeper meaning. If one allowed oneself to be influenced—in the modern way of that time—by the development of worldviews that existed in civilization at the time—few people were concerned with it, but it was there nonetheless—one could encounter something very peculiar. There was—if we reflect for the moment on Central Europe alone—what I would call a world-shaking philosophy, one that sought to be everything, that sought to be an entire worldview: the philosophy of idealism from the first half of the 19th century. There were the echoes, so to speak, of Fichte’s, Hegel’s, and Solger’s philosophies, which, at the time they were founded, truly meant as much to some of their adherents as anthroposophy can mean to people today. But they were, in essence, abstract concepts—a sum of abstract concepts.

[ 25 ] If you take a look at the first of the three parts of Hegel’s *Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences*, you will find a series of concepts that are developed in turn. It begins with Being. Then comes Nothingness. Then comes Becoming. Then comes Existence. Of course, I can’t describe the entire Hegelian logic right now, because it’s a thick book, and it continues in this vein with such concepts. Finally, there is purpose. It all boils down to abstract thoughts and abstract ideas: Being, Nothing, Becoming, Existence, Purpose.

[ 26 ] And yet Hegel called that “God before the creation of the world.” So one had to create a mental image of that—when one posed the question: “What was God like before the creation of the world?”—one was presented with a system of abstract concepts and abstract ideas.

[ 27 ] Now, when I was young—and that was a long time ago—there lived in Vienna a Herbartian philosopher named Robert Zimmermann. He said: We are no longer permitted today—he meant “today” as the last third of the 19th century—to think the way Hegel or Solger or the like did. For how did people think?

[ 28 ] You see, Zimmermann said to himself: People thought as if they were God Himself. Zimmermann’s thinking was actually quite peculiar for a philosopher, but very characteristic. He said: Hegel thought as if he were God Himself. That was actually almost as if it had come straight from the Theosophical Society of that time, for there was a member—indeed, a leading member of the Theosophical Society—Franz Hartmann, who based all his lectures on the idea that one must become aware of the God within oneself; every human being has something like a divine human being, a God within, and when that God begins to speak, then one speaks theosophy. — Franz Hartmann, when he let his “divine human” speak, said all sorts of things that I do not wish to judge here. But Hegel, according to Zimmermann’s view, when he let his God within himself speak, said: Being, Nothing, Becoming, Existence; and then, first, the world swirled logically, and then it swung over into its otherness, and then nature came into being.

[ 29 ] Now Robert Zimmermann said: This must not be allowed to continue, for this is theosophy. We can no longer have theosophy today, Robert Zimmermann said in the 1980s; we can no longer accept the theosophy of Schelling, Solger, or Hegel today. We must not let God speak through human beings; that leads to a theocentric standpoint. One can only strive for that by behaving something like Icarus: don’t you see, one then slips in the cosmos and falls! One must remain on a human standpoint. And so Robert Zimmermann wrote his *Anthroposophy* in opposition to the theosophy of Hegel, Schelling, Solger, and others, whom he also treats as theosophists in his *History of Aesthetics*. And it was from this *Anthroposophy* that I later took the name. It appeared as a book that, at the time, interested me extraordinarily as a phenomenon of the age. However, this “Anthroposophy” is composed of the most appallingly abstract concepts. It also consists of three parts. Then it has subsidiary chapters: first, the logical ideas; second, the aesthetic ideas; third, the ethical ideas.

[ 30 ] You see, if we set aside, for the moment, aesthetics—which deals with art—and ethical ideas—which deal with human behavior—human beings seek, in what is presented to them in a worldview, that which must bring them inner satisfaction, that through which they must be able to tell themselves that they are connected to something divine and spiritual, that there is something eternal within them. Robert Zimmermann now wanted to answer the question: When a person ceases to be merely a sensual being, when he truly becomes aware of his spiritual humanity, what does he then know? He knows the logical ideas. After all, Hegel wrote at least an entire book full of such logical ideas. But these are ideas that only a God can conceive. But if it is not a God who thinks within man, but man himself who thinks, then five logical ideas emerge—at least according to Robert Zimmermann. First, the necessity of thought; second, the equal validity of two concepts; third, the synthesis of concepts; fourth, the separation of concepts; and fifth, the law of non-contradiction: something can be only either itself or something else—a third option is not possible. That, my dear friends, is the scope of what is presented here, summarized in abstract ideas; that is, what a person can know when he detaches himself from the sensory world and turns to his spiritual and soul life.

[ 31 ] If this “anthroposophy” were the only thing that could be offered to human beings, one would have to say: What people once had in their various religious creeds, in worship, and so on must be regarded as having been overcome; what is regarded as Christianity must be regarded as having been overcome. For that, after all, can only be derived from history and so on. When a human being reflects on what he can know as an anthropos—what he can know when he sets his soul in motion independently of sensory impressions or external history—it is this: I can know that I must submit to the necessity of thought, to the equivalence of concepts, to the synthesis of concepts, to their separation, and to the principle of the excluded middle, which excludes itself. With this, one had to—as it has been called—attain salvation.

[ 32 ] Then, however, the aesthetic ideas were added. These are the ideas of perfection, concord, and harmony; there are, again, five of them. And there are also five ethical ideas. In addition to the aesthetic ideas, there is also conflict and the harmony of conflict.

[ 33 ] First, the logical ideas: necessity of thought, universal validity, synthesis, disjunction, and the law of non-contradiction.

[ 34 ] Second, the aesthetic ideas: perfection, harmony, conflict, and the harmony of conflict. All the arts now live from these five ideas, through these five ideas.

[ 35 ] Third, the ethical ideas. And human action is guided by these five ethical ideas: ethical perfection, benevolence, justice, conflict, and the resolution of conflict.

[ 36 ] As you can see, everything is presented here in the most abstract form. The title reads: “Anthroposophy in Outline.”

[ 37 ] You can see from the dedication page that preceded it just how much was meant by this. This dedication page contains—I would say—moving lines. It reads—I cannot quote it verbatim, but roughly: To Harriet. It was you who inspired me, as night began to darken my eyes, to weave together the scattered ideas that had long lived within me into this book. And a willing hand was found to write down what I had conceived in the darkroom.

[ 38 ] It is thus pointed out in very beautiful language that the author suffered from an eye disease, had to spend some time in a dark room while he conceived these ideas, and that a willing hand was then found to write them down. These dedicatory lines conclude beautifully with the words: “And so no one can deny that this book, like light itself, has emerged from darkness.”

[ 39 ] You see, it was like a mirage: very strange. Robert Zimmermann developed “anthroposophy” from theosophy in his own way; but I do not believe that, even if I had ever presented this “anthroposophy,” we would have an anthroposophical movement. Yet the name was very well chosen. And I then adopted that name when, for reasons that will become apparent in these lectures, I first had to address several points. First: the spiritual fact—guaranteed to anyone who gains insight into the spirit world—that there are repeated earthly lives.

[ 40 ] But if one does not treat such matters lightly, but rather has a sense of spiritual responsibility, then one must anchor oneself to something. It is fair to say that back then, at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, it became extraordinarily difficult to connect the concept of repeated earthly lives with the contemporary sense of time. But points of connection did emerge. And I would like to begin by recounting how I myself sought out these points of connection.

[ 41 ] There is a very interesting summary of Topinard’s anthropological insights. In the concluding chapter—at the time, this was a book that was cited even more frequently than it is today; today, its details are somewhat outdated, but it is written with wit—there is a lovely compilation. And there, in a manner that naturally anyone with the modern mindset of that time would have endorsed, Topinard had compiled all those biological facts that led to the idea that animal species arise from one another, one from the other. Topinard was also able to draw upon everything that had been discussed in his book. So one found everything that had led to the mental image of a transformation taking place from one animal species to another. Topinard sticks to the facts and says, after citing about twenty-two points, I believe: the twenty-third is then what he cites as this transformation of animal species. But now we are faced with the problem of humans. He leaves that unanswered. What about that?

[ 42 ] Now, by taking the biologists’ theory of evolution seriously—very seriously indeed—and building on the work of an author who truly deserves to be taken seriously, one could say: He leaves the question open! Let us continue; if we add point twenty-three to point twenty-two, we find that animals, within their species, always repeat themselves at a higher level. In the case of human beings, one must turn to the individual. Once the individual has repeated itself, we arrive at repeated earthly lives. You will see: this was linked to what I just mentioned; at that time, it was still the form I was attempting to use to make it understandable to the whole world—something that, as a spiritual fact, naturally stands before the soul. However, in order to make it understandable to the wider world, I had to take what was immediately at hand—but not conclude with a period, rather with a dash. I simply picked up where the dash in natural science left off. That was the first thing. I gave this lecture in that circle I told you about yesterday. People did not have a very strong understanding of it, because they were not interested in natural science. They did not feel it was necessary to reflect on natural science, and it naturally seemed useless to them that what they simply believed should also have to be proven.

[ 43 ] The second reason was that, at the beginning of the century, I gave a series of lectures in a circle—called “Die Kommenden” (The Oncomers)—which had previously dealt only with literary topics. The series was titled: “From Buddha to Christ,” in which I attempted to trace the entire course of development from Buddha to Christ and to present in Christ the synthesis of what had been present in the preceding worldviews. This lecture series concluded with that interpretation of the Gospel of John which begins with the raising of Lazarus. Thus, the Lazarus problem, as it appears in my *Christianity as a Mystical Fact*, formed the conclusion of this lecture series “From Buddha to Christ,”

[ 44 ] This coincided roughly with the time when, from the very circle that had invited me to give the lectures summarized in my book *Mysticism at the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life*, I was approached with the request to speak to Theosophists about precisely what I was supposed to and wanted to discuss. This coincided with efforts to found a German section of the Theosophical Society. And I was asked—actually, before I was even a member, or had even hinted at becoming one—to become the General Secretary of this German section of the Theosophical Society.

[ 45 ] When this German section was founded, I gave a series of lectures attended, I believe, by only two or three Theosophists; the rest of the audience consisted mainly of members of the circle where I had also spoken on “From Buddha to Christ.” This circle was called “Die Kommenden” (The Coming Ones). Those names have stayed with me. It must be connected to some kind of law. “Anthroposophy” by Robert Zimmermann has remained, and “The Coming Ones” reappeared in the name “The Coming Day.” Such names—old names—stay with one.

[ 46 ] For this group—which, as I said, included at most two or three Theosophists, and even they were there really only out of curiosity—I spoke about the development of worldviews from the earliest Oriental times to the present, or Anthroposophy. So this lecture series initially bore the full title: “The History of Human Development as Reflected in Worldviews from the Earliest Oriental Times to the Present, or Anthroposophy.” This lecture series—I must always mention this—was given by me at the very time the German Section of the Theosophical Society was founded. I even left the meeting, and while the others continued to confer and discuss theosophy, I gave my lecture series on anthroposophy.

[ 47 ] One of those who later went from being Theosophists to becoming good Anthroposophists—in fact, one who became a very good Anthroposophist—attended that series of Anthroposophical lectures out of curiosity at the time and said to me afterward: “Yes, but what you said there doesn’t match at all with what Mrs. Besant says and what Blavatsky says.” — So I said: “Then that must be the case.” — He was, in other words, well-versed in all the dogmas of Theosophy and correctly realized: “That’s not true.” So even back then, one could already say: “That’s simply not true; it’s something else.”

[ 48 ] Well, I’ve laid out these facts for you so far. I’d now like to present another fact, one that seems to come from a completely different angle, which I already mentioned yesterday.

[ 49 ] There were Blavatsky’s books—the main ones, to begin with: the first, *Isis Unveiled*, and the second, *The Secret Doctrine*. Now, one really did not need to have much of a soft spot for those who accepted the contents of these books as sacred dogma. Nevertheless, for the reasons mentioned yesterday, one could still find these books extraordinarily interesting; and above all, one could find Blavatsky herself an extraordinarily interesting figure, even if only from the standpoint of deeper psychology. Why? Well, you see, there is a tremendous difference between the two books, *Isis Unveiled* and Blavatsky’s *Secret Doctrine*—it is a tremendous difference! This difference will become most apparent to you when I tell you how those who were connoisseurs of such matters judged the two books at the time. What do I mean when I speak of connoisseurs of such matters?

[ 50 ] My dear friends, traditions have indeed been preserved from the most ancient mysteries, which were then safeguarded within various so-called secret societies. In these societies, people were also awarded degrees. They advanced from the first to the second, to the third degree, and so on. There, based on these traditions, certain teachings and concepts were imparted to them. In the lower degrees, the members did not understand these teachings, but they accepted them as sacred dogmas. In truth, they did not understand them even in the higher degrees. But even though neither the lower nor the higher degrees understood these traditions, there was nevertheless a firm belief among the members of the lower degrees that the members of the higher degrees understood everything. This belief was very firmly held. But at any rate, there was also a preserved, pure body of knowledge. Literally speaking, an extraordinary amount was known. You need only—today, when everything is printed and everything is accessible, these things are indeed easily accessible—take what has been printed on such matters and breathe new life into it with what you know from anthroposophy—for there is no other way to do this, to breathe new life into it— then you will see that even in these traditions—even in the distorted form in which they are often printed today—there is a great, ancient, majestic body of knowledge contained. Sometimes the words sound completely wrong, but the one who knows something understands what this points to: that it stems from ancient knowledge. But the real hallmark of such activities in these secret societies is that people have a general sense: In earlier times, there were people who were initiates and who could provide insight based on ancient knowledge about the world, the cosmos, and the spirit realm. And they knew how to formulate statements; they knew how to speak about what had been handed down. There were many such people.

[ 51 ] Then Blavatsky’s *Isis Unveiled* was published. It was precisely those people who had acquired such traditional knowledge by attaining lower or higher degrees in these secret societies who were extremely alarmed when *Isis Unveiled* appeared. The reason for this alarm was usually explained by saying that the time was not yet ripe to reveal to the general public, through publication, the things that were kept hidden within the secret societies. That was the prevailing view. People even held the sincere view that the time was not yet ripe to reveal this to humanity. But for some individuals, there was another reason. And this other reason can really only be understood if I draw your attention to other facts.

[ 52 ] In the fifth post-Atlantic period, namely the 19th century, everything has in fact been transformed into abstract concepts and ideas, so that ultimately one of the deepest and most significant minds brought his worldview to its conclusion in the abstract concepts of Being, Nothing, Becoming, Existence, and even Purpose. In this more recent era, everything has been transformed into abstract concepts and ideas.

[ 53 ] One of those who pioneered such abstract ideas in Central Europe was the philosopher Schelling. At a time when such ideas could still inspire people—because they still contained inner human powers of feeling—when Schlegel and Tieck listened in Jena as such abstract ideas were discussed with tremendous enthusiasm, Schelling was also among those who taught such abstract ideas. Then, after a few years, Schelling found no further satisfaction in these abstract ideas; he immersed himself in various forms of mysticism, particularly in the works of Jakob Böhme, and drew inspiration from Böhme’s ideas, extracting from them something that now sounded more concrete. No one really understood it anymore, for what Schelling had written in the *Philosophical Investigations into the Essence of Human Freedom and Related Subjects* (1809) was not understood. But then, in the 1820s, Schelling began to speak in a peculiar way, after having lived a long, secluded life up to that point. Today, in Reclam’s Universal Library, you’ll find a small volume by Schelling titled *The Ages of the World*. When you pick up this little book, you’ll get a strange feeling. You’ll say to yourself: Everything here is still quite nebulous and abstract. But you can’t help but have a peculiar feeling: How did this man, Schelling, come to not say outright what was later stated, for example, in anthroposophical circles as the truths about Atlantis, but instead to allude to it—almost as if clumsily? That’s how far he goes: alluding to it so clumsily. It’s quite interesting, this little volume by Schelling, *Die Weltalter*, in Reclam’s Universal Library.

[ 54 ] But then, in 1841, Frederick William IV appointed him to the University of Berlin. There, ten years after Hegel’s death, he became Hegel’s successor. It was then that Schelling began lecturing on his “Philosophy of Revelation.”

[ 55 ] That, too, is still terribly abstract. He speaks of three powers: A, 1, 2, 3. It is terribly abstract. But he then carries this on to a kind of understanding of the ancient mysteries, to a kind of understanding of Christianity. And again, as he delves into these ideas, we may get the feeling that, in a still quite primitive way, a path is being sought into a truly spiritual world. But one can’t really make sense of what Schelling has just presented. Yet people still didn’t understand a thing. After all, it isn’t very easy to understand, because it is, in fact, a precarious path.

[ 56 ] But still, in our sense of time—and this is proof of it—there was something that pointed someone like Schelling in this direction: One must seek in a spiritual world.

[ 57 ] This took a different form in England. It is extraordinarily interesting to read the writings of Lawrence Oliphant. Oliphant, of course, presents—in a different way, since the English describe things differently than the Germans, in a much more concrete, tangible, and sensory manner—what he came to understand about the primeval times of human development on Earth. In a certain sense—if one considers the differences between the two cultures—these are parallel phenomena: Schelling in the first half of the 19th century approached it more from a position of idealism, while Oliphant did so more from a position of realism; yet both exhibited a kind of intense striving toward the spiritual world, a striving to comprehend what reveals itself to humanity as the world, emerging from the spirit.

[ 58 ] If one investigates what is actually remarkable here, both in Schelling and in Oliphant—it is, differing only in terms of national character, the same phenomenon that was actually at work—it is, in fact, this: These men grew up—one in the German way, the other in the English way—within the culture of their time, and struggled their way to the highest perfection of those ideas that were regarded as the philosophical ideas of the time concerning humanity, the universe, and so on.

[ 59 ] Both Schelling, in his own way, and Oliphant, in his own way, persevered. Now, as you know from my anthroposophical explanations: Today, human beings develop at the beginning of life in such a way that the physical is a concomitant of their spiritual development. Later on, this ceases. As for the Greeks, I was able to tell you that they developed in their thirties in such a way that there was a genuine further development—a parallelism between the physical and the spiritual. With Schelling and Oliphant, however, it was somewhat different than with the average people of today. In their case, it was like this: they first developed as normal human beings; for, of course, if one is a philosopher today, one can certainly be a normal human being—perhaps even a below-average one—but that is just a side note. You simply develop your concepts a bit further, don’t you, but then you come to a standstill if you’re a normal person. Schelling and Oliphant did not come to a standstill; rather, as they grew older, their souls suddenly became as alive as they had been in a previous earthly life, and a memory of ancient knowledge from earlier incarnations emerged—in a natural way, distant memories, vague memories. And now, suddenly, there’s a flash of insight. Now one begins to see both Oliphant and Schelling in a different light.

[ 60 ] They struggle through, first becoming ordinary philosophers, depending on their countries, and then, in their later years, they regain a memory of something they once knew in earlier earthly lives—now as a vague recollection. That is when they begin to speak of the spiritual world. It is a vague memory, as was the case with Schelling and Lawrence Oliphant. Yet it was something that those who had only undergone traditional, old-fashioned development feared to a certain extent—that it might get out of hand, run rampant. People were terribly afraid that human beings might be born who would remember what they had once lived through and then speak of it. Yes, they thought to themselves: What will become of our principle of secrecy then? We have relatives of the first, second, third degree, and so on, swear sacred oaths, but if people are now born who, through memory, relive what we have preserved and what we have locked away, what then becomes of our entire system of secrecy?

[ 61 ] And now *Isis Unveiled* was published! The remarkable phenomenon was this: this book brought a great deal of what had been kept secret in secret societies out into the open on the book market. A major problem now confronted people: Where did Blavatsky get this—the very thing we had locked away, and for which people had sworn sacred oaths? It was precisely those who were alarmed by this who paid very close attention to this book, *Isis Unveiled*. So for those who were consciously experiencing the spiritual life of the late 19th century, the publication of Blavatsky’s book posed a problem.

[ 62 ] Then *The Secret Doctrine* was published. That was certainly the case. As I said, I am merely stating facts today. A whole host of things that were actually reserved in secret societies only for the highest ranks were thus laid bare. And those who had already been alarmed by the first book—and then even more so by the second—coined various terms for it at the time, for this phenomenon of Blavatsky was—especially for the so-called initiates—something incredibly unsettling. *Isis Unveiled* wasn’t even all that unsettling to them, for Blavatsky was, after all, a chaotic personality who constantly mixed all sorts of nonsense—as I said yesterday—into what was truly profound wisdom, things that are worthless. But at any rate, regarding *Isis Unveiled*, the alarmed so-called initiates could say: It is a book in which what is true is not new, and what is new is not true!—That was the initial judgment passed on this book. People knew: What was unpleasant for them was that things had been revealed. After all, the book was called *Isis Unveiled*. They simply reassured themselves by saying: “Yes, something must have happened on some level that actually infringes upon our rights.”

[ 63 ] But when *The Secret Doctrine* was published—which contained a great many things that even the highest-ranking members did not know—people could no longer say: “What is true is not new, and what is new is not true”—for there were quite a number of things stated there that had not been preserved in the tradition.

[ 64 ] Thus, in a most peculiar way, one was confronted with what one had feared ever since Schelling and Lawrence Oliphant—in a woman, in a most strange and, moreover, bewildering manner.

[ 65 ] That is why I said: Her personality is even more interesting from a psychological standpoint than her books. The Blavatsky phenomenon was indeed an important and remarkable phenomenon in the intellectual life of the late 19th century.

[ 66 ] That is as far as I wanted to go with the facts.