“Mendelssohn's
‘Overture of the Hebrides’”
Address by
Dr. Rudolf Steiner
3 March,
1911
(This
Address was given following a Concert at the Berlin Group of the
Anthroposophical Society, at which Mendelssohn's “Overture
of the Hebrides” had been played)
Through
the tones and harmonies of this Overture we have been led in spirit
to the shores of Scotland, and in our souls, we have thus followed
again a path of travel which, during the course of human evolution,
has been deeply influenced by the secrets of karma. For, from
entirely different parts of the western hemisphere of our earth, as
if through a karmic current of migration, various peoples were once
transplanted into that region, and its vicinity, to which these tones
now lead us. And many strange destinies are made known to us. We are
told, both by what Occultism relates as well as by outer historical
documents, of what these peoples experienced in very ancient times on
this particular part of the earth.
A memory of the mysterious destinies of these peoples arose again, as
if newly awakened, when about 1772 the cave on the Island of Staffa
belonging to the Hebrides, known as Fingal's Cave, was
rediscovered. Those who beheld it were reminded of mysterious ancient
destinies when they saw how Nature herself seemed to have constructed
something which may be likened to a wonderful cathedral. It is
constructed with great symmetry in long aisles of countless pillars
towering aloft: above there arches a ceiling of the same stonework,
while below the bases of the pillars are washed by the inrushing
foaming waves of the sea which ceaselessly beat and resound with a
music which is like thunder within this mighty temple. Dropping water
drips steadily from strange stone formations upon the stalactites
beneath, making melodious magical music.
A spectacle of this kind actually exists there. And those who, upon
discovering it, had a sense for the mysterious things which once took
place in this region, must have been reminded of the hero who once
upon a time, as one of the most famous individualities of the West,
guided destiny here in such a strange way, and whose fame was sung by
his son, the blind Ossian, who is like a western Homer — a
blind singer.
If we look back and see how deeply people were impressed by what they
heard about this place, we shall be able to understand how it was
that Macpherson's revival of this ancient song in the 18th
Century made such a mighty impression upon Europe. There is nothing
which may be compared with the impression made by this poem. Goethe,
Herder, Napoleon harkened to it — and all believed to discern
in its rhythms and sounds something of the magic of primeval days.
Here we must understand that a spiritual world such as still existed
at that time, arose within their hearts, and felt itself drawn to
what sounded forth out of this song! And what was it that thus
sounded forth?
We must now turn our gaze to those times which fall together with the
first impulses of Christianity and the few centuries which followed.
What happened up there in the vicinity of the Hebrides, in Ireland
and Scotland — in ancient Erin, which included all the
neighboring islands between Ireland and Scotland, as well as the
northern part of Scotland itself. Here we must seek for the kernel of
those peoples, of Celtic origin, who had most of all preserved the
ancient Atlantian clairvoyance in its full purity. The others who had
wandered farther to the East had developed further, and so no longer
remained in connection with the ancient gods. The western peoples,
however, had preserved for themselves the possibility of experiencing
an ancient clairvoyance now entirely immersed in the personality, in
the individuality. And they were led to this particular part of the
earth, as if for a special mission, where a structure confronted them
which mirrored their own music's inner depths and was itself
architecturally formed entirely out of the spiritual world, a
structure which I have just tried to characterize with a few words —
Fingal's Cave. We shall imagine these events rightly if we
realize that the cave acted as a focus point, mirroring what lived in
the souls of these human beings who, through their karma, were sent
hither as to a temple erected by the gods themselves. Here those
human beings were prepared who should later receive the Christ
Impulse with their full human being and were here to undergo
something extremely strange by way of preparation.
Again we shall be able to imagine all this if we realize that here
particularly those ancient folk customs were preserved whereby the
tribe was divided into smaller groups based upon family. Those who
were related by blood felt themselves closely connected, while all
others were looked upon as strangers, as belong[ing] to another Group Ego.
During the migrations from Atlantis toward the East, all that the
Druid priests, who remained behind here in the West, were able to
give to the people poured itself out over these individual groups as
a harmonizing influence. And what they were able to give still lived
on in the bards. We shall only rightly understand what worked through
these bards, however, if we make clear to ourselves that here the
most elemental passions met together with the ancient powers of sight
into the spiritual world, and that those who, with powerful life
forces, sometimes with rage and passion, fought as representatives of
their clan against other clans, perceived at the same time impulses
working out of the spiritual world which directed them in battle.
Such an active connection between the physical and the soul realms
cannot be conceived of today. When a hero raised his sword he
believed that a spirit out of the air guided it, and in the spirit he
beheld an ancestor who had fought upon this same battlefield in
former times and who had gone up yonder to help now from over there.
In their battle ranks they felt their ancestors actively aiding them,
their ancestors on both sides — and they did not only feel them
... they heard them clairaudiently! It was a wonderful
conception which lived in these peoples, that the heroes had to fight
upon the battlefields and to shed their blood, but that after death
they ascended into the spiritual world, and that their spirits then
vibrated as tone — sounding through the air as a spiritual
reality.
Those who had proven themselves in battle, but had trained themselves
at the same time so that they could listen to what sounded out of the
winds as the voice of the past, who were blind for the physical
world, who could no longer see the flashing of the swords but were
blind for the physical plane — these were highly honoured! And
one of these was Ossian. When the heroes swung their swords,
they were conscious that their deeds would resound further into the
spiritual world and that bards would appear who would preserve all
this in their songs. This was perceived in living reality by these
peoples.
But all this creates an altogether different conception of humanity.
It creates the conception that the human being is united with
spiritual powers which sound forth out of the whole of Nature. For he
cannot look upon a storm or a flash of lightning, he cannot hear the
thunder or the surging of the sea without sensing that out of all the
activities of Nature spirits work who are connected with the souls of
the past, with the souls of his own ancestors. Thus the activity of
Nature was at that time something altogether different than for us
today. And it is for this reason that the rhythms and sounds of this
song are so important, which, after being handed down for centuries
through tradition only, were revived by the Scotsman Macpherson so
that they create for us again a consciousness of the connection of
the human being with the souls of his ancestors and with the
phenomena of Nature.
We can understand how this Scotsman had in a certain sense a
congenial feeling when he described how a line of battle stormed into
the field, sweeping darkness before it, even as did the spirits who
took part in the battle. This song is in reality something which was
able to make a great impression upon spiritual Europe. The whole
character of the description, even though given in a rather free
poetical form, awakes in us a feeling for the kind of perception
which lived in these ancient peoples. There was active in them a
living knowledge, a living wisdom, concerning their connection with
the spiritual world and the world of Nature in which the spiritual
world works.
Out of such wisdom the finest sons from the different tribes —
that is, those who had the strongest connection with the spirits of
the past, who more than others allowed these spirits of the past to
live in their deeds — were chosen as a picked band. And those
who had the strongest clairvoyant forces were placed at its head.
This band had to defend the kernel of the Celtic peoples against the
peoples of the surrounding world. And one of these leaders was the
clairvoyant hero, who has come down to us under the name of Fingal.
How Fingal was active in the defense of the ancient gods against
those who wished to endanger them — all this was handed down in
ancient songs, heard out of the spiritual world — the ancient
songs of the bard Ossian, Fingal's son, so that it remained
alive even into the 16th and 17th Centuries.
What Fingal achieved, what his son Ossian heard when Fingal had
ascended into the spiritual realm, what their descendants heard in
the rhythms and sounds of Ossian's songs with which they ever
and again ensouled their deeds, this it was which worked on so
mightily even into the 18th Century. And we shall win a
conception of this if we realize how Ossian allowed the voice of his
father, Fingal, to sound forth in his songs.
We are told how the heroes find themselves in a difficult position.
They are almost overthrown ... when new life fills the band:
“The king stood by the stone of Lubar. Thrice he reared his
terrible voice. The deer started from the fountains of Cromia. The
rocks shook on all their hills. Like the noise of a hundred mountain
streams, that burst, and roar, and foam! Like the clouds, that gather
to a tempest on the blue face of the sky! So met the sons of the
desert round the terrible voice of Fingal. Pleasant was the voice of
the king of Morven to the warriors of his land. Often had he led them
to battle; often returned with the spoils of the foe.”
“‘Come to battle,’ said the king, ‘ye
children of echoing Selma! Come to the death of thousands. Comhal's
son will see the fight. My sword shall wave on the hill, the defense
of my people in war. But never may you need it, warriors; while the
son of Morni fights, the chief of mighty men! He shall lead my
battle, that his fame may rise in song! O ye ghosts of heroes dead!
Ye riders of the storm of Cromia! Receive my falling people with joy,
and bear them to your hills. And may the blast of Lena carry them
over my seas, that they may come to my silent dreams, and delight my
soul in rest’ ...”
“Now like a dark and stormy cloud, edges round with the red
lightning of heaven, flying westward from the morning's beam,
the king of Selma removed. Terrible is the light of his armor; two
spears are in his hand. His gray hair falls on the wind. He often
looks back on the war. Three bards attend the son of fame, to bear
his words to the chiefs. High on Cromia's side he sat, waving
the lightning of his sword, and as he waved we moved ...”
“Fingal at once arose in arms. Thrice he reared his dreadful
voice. Cromia answered around. The sons of the desert stood still.
They bent their blushing faces to earth, ashamed at the presence of
the king. He came like a cloud of rain in the day of the sun, when
slow it rolls on the hill, and fields expect the shower. Silence
attends its slow progress aloft: but the tempest is soon to arise.
Swaran beheld the terrible kings of Morven. He stopped in the midst
of his course. Dark he leaned on his spear, rolling his red eyes
around. Silent and tall he seemed, as an oak on the banks of Lubar,
which had its branches blasted of old by the lightning of heaven. It
bends over the stream: the grey moss whistles in the wind: so stood
the king. Then slowly he retired to the rising heath of Lena. His
thousands pour around the hero. Darkness gathers on the hill!”
“Fingal, like a beam from heaven, shone in the midst of his
people. His heroes gather around him. He sends forth the voice of his
power: ‘Raise my standards on high, spread them on Lena's
wind, like the flames of an hundred hills! Let them sound on the
winds of Erin, and remind us of the fight. Ye sons of the roaring
streams, that pour from a thousand hills, be near the king of Morven!
Attend to the words of his power! Gaul, strongest arm of death! O!
Oscar of the future fights! Connal, son of the blue shields of Sora!
Dermid, of the dark brown hair! Ossian, king of many songs! —
Be near your father's arm!’ We reared the sunbeam of
battle; the standard of the king! Each hero exulted with joy, as,
waving, it flew in the wind. It was studded with gold above, as the
blue wide shell of the nightly sky. Each hero had his standard, too,
and each his gloomy mien!”
Thus Fingal stormed into battle, thus he is described by his son
Ossian.
No wonder that this life, this consciousness of a connection with the
spiritual world which sank deep into these peoples, into the souls of
the ancient Celts, is the best preparation whereby they could spread
the personal divine element throughout the West in their own way and
from their own soil. For what they had experienced in the form of
passion and desire, what they had heard sounding forth in the
melodies of the spiritual world, prepared them for a later time when
they brought into the world sons who revealed these passions in their
souls in a purified and milder form. And thus we may say — it
seems to us as if Erin's finest sons were to hear again the
voices of their ancient bards singing of what they once heard out of
the spiritual world as the deeds of their forefathers, but as if in
Erin's finest sons the ancient battle cries had now been formed
and clarified, and had become words which could express the greatest
impulse of mankind.
All this sounded forth out of olden times in the songs about the
deeds of the ancient Celts who fought out many things in mighty
battles in order to prepare themselves for further deeds of spiritual
life in later times, as we recognize them again today in that which
the finest sons of the West have achieved. These were the impulses
which flowed into the souls of human beings in the 18th
Century, when these ancient songs were revived. And it is this which
was remembered by those who saw again the wonderful cathedral, built
as if by Nature herself, and which caused them to say to themselves —
“Here is a site, a gathering place, given to man by karma, in
order that what the bards were able to sing about the deeds of their
ancestors, about all that the heroes did to steel their forces, might
sound back to them as in an echo out of this temple which they
themselves did not have to build — out of their holy temple
which was built for them by the spirits of Nature and which could be
an instrument of enthusiasm for all who beheld it.”
So the tones and harmonies of this Overture which we have just heard
offer an opportunity which allows us to sense, in our own way at
least, something of the deep and mysterious events which do indeed
reign in the history of mankind, events which occurred long before
our present era on almost the same soil upon which they now continue
to live. As we must deepen ourselves in all that lives within us, and
as all that lives within us is only a further resounding of what was
there in the past, so this feeling, this sense, for what once was and
now works further in mankind is of great significance for occult
life.
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