LECTURE 5
Human Character
Munich,
14th March 1909
The
words written by Goethe after contemplating Schiller's skull can make
a deep impression on the human soul. Goethe was present when Schiller's body
was removed from its provisional grave and taken to the princely vault at
Weimar. Holding Schiller's skull in his hands, Goethe believed he could
recognise in the form and cast of this wonderful structure the whole nature
of Schiller's spiritual being, and he was inspired to write these beautiful
lines:
What greater gift can life on man bestow
Than that to him God-Nature should disclose
How solid to spirit it attenuates,
How spirit's work it hardens and preserves.
[ 30 ]
Anyone who
understands Goethe's feelings on this occasion will easily turn his mind to
all those phenomena where something inward is working to reveal itself in
material form, in plastic shapes, as drawing, and so on. We have a most
eminent example of this shaping, whereby an inner being reveals itself
through outward form, in what we call human character. For human character
gives the most varied and manifold expression to the direction and purpose of
man's life. We think of human character as having a basic consistency.
Indeed, we feel that character is inseparable from a person's whole being,
and that something has gone wrong if their thinking, feeling and doing do not
make up in some way a harmonious unity. We speak of a split in a man's
character as evidence of a real fault in his nature. If in private life a man
upholds some principle or ideal, and then in public life says something
contrary to it or at least discrepant, we speak of a break in his character,
of his inner life falling apart. And we know very well that this can bring a
man into difficult situations or may even wreck his life. The significance of
a divided character is indicated by Goethe in a remarkable saying that he
assigns to Faust — a saying that is often wrongly interpreted by people
who believe that Goethe's innermost intentions are known to them:
Two souls, alas, are pent within my breast,
To tear themselves apart, forever striving;
One, in pursuit of passions' crude delights,
Clings close with avid senses to the world;
The other, thrusting earthly dust away,
Aspires to rise to longed-for higher realms.
[ 31 ]
This divided
condition of the soul is often spoken of as though it were a desirable
achievement, but Goethe certainly does not say so. On the contrary, the
passage shows clearly how unhappy Faust feels in that period under the
pressure of these two drives, one aspiring towards ideal heights, the other
striving towards the earthly. An unsatisfying state of soul which Faust has
to overcome — that is what Goethe is describing. It is wrong to cite
this schism in human nature as though it were justified; it is something to
be abolished by the unified character that we must always strive to
achieve.
If now we wish
to look more deeply into human character, the facts outlined in previous
lectures must be kept in mind. We must remember that the human soul,
embracing the inner life of man, is not merely a chaos of intermingled
feelings, instincts, concepts, passions and ideals, but has three distinct
members — the Sentient Soul, the lowest; in the middle the Intellectual
Soul; and finally the highest, the Consciousness Soul. These three
soul-members are to be clearly distinguished, but they must not be allowed to
fall apart, for the human soul must be a unity. What is it, then that holds
them together? It is what we call the Ego in its true sense, the bearer of
self-consciousness; the active element within our soul which plays upon its
three members as a man plays upon the strings of an instrument. And the
harmony or disharmony which the Ego calls forth by playing on the three
soul-members is the basis of human character.
The Ego is
indeed something of an inner musician, who with a powerful stroke calls one
or other soul-member into activity; and the effects of their combined
influence, resounding from within a human being as harmony or disharmony,
make up the real foundation of his character.
However, that is
no more than an abstract description. If we are to understand how character
comes out in people, we must enter somewhat more deeply into human life and
the being of man. We must show how the harmonious or disharmonious play of
the Ego on the three soul-members sets its stamp on man's entire personality
as he stands before us, and how personality is outwardly revealed.
Human life
— as we all know — alternates between waking and sleeping. At
night, when a man falls asleep, his feelings, his pleasure and pain, his joys
and griefs, his urges, desires and passions, his perceptions and concepts,
his ideas and ideals, all sink down into indefinite darkness; and his inner
life passes into an unconscious or subconscious condition. What has
happened?
As we have often
explained, when a man goes to sleep his physical and etheric bodies remain in
bed, while his astral body, including the Sentient Soul, Intellectual Soul
and Consciousness Soul, withdraw, as does the Ego. During sleep the astral
body and Ego are in a spiritual world. Why does a man return every night to
this spiritual world? Why does he have to leave behind his physical and
etheric bodies? There are good reasons for it. Spiritual Science says that
the astral body is the bearer of pleasure and pain, joy and grief, instincts,
desires and passions. Yes, but these are precisely the experiences that sink
into indefinite darkness on going to sleep. Yet is it asserted that the
astral body and the Ego are in spiritual worlds? Is there not a contradiction
here?
Well, the
contradiction is only apparent. The astral body is indeed the bearer of
pleasure and pain, of joy and sorrow, of all the inner experiences that surge
up and down in the soul during waking hours, but in man as he is today, the
astral body cannot perceive these experiences directly. It can perceive them
only when they are reflected from outside itself, and for this to be possible
the Ego and astral body must come back into the etheric and physical bodies
at the time of awakening from sleep. Everything that a man experiences
inwardly, his pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, is reflected by the physical
and etheric bodies — especially by the etheric body — as from a
mirror. But we must not suppose that this active process, which goes on every
day from morning to evening, requires no effort to sustain it. The inner self
of man, his Ego and astral body, his Consciousness Soul, Intellectual Soul
and Sentient Soul, all have to work on the physical and etheric bodies, so
that through the reciprocal interaction of his inner forces and his outer
bodies the surging life of the daytime is engendered.
This reciprocal
interaction involves a continual using up of soul-forces. When in the evening
a man feels tired, this means that he is no longer able to draw from his
inner life a sufficiency of the forces which enable him to work on his
physical and etheric bodies. When he is nearing sleep and the faculty that
required the most intensive play of his spirit into the physical, the faculty
of speech, begins to weaken; when sight, smell, taste and finally hearing,
the most spiritual of the senses, gradually fade away, because he is no
longer able to draw on his inner forces to sustain them — then we see
how these forces are used up through the day.
What is the
origin of these forces? They come from the nightly condition of sleep. During
the period between going to sleep and waking up the soul absorbs to the full
the forces it needs for conjuring up before us all that we live through by
day. During waking hours the soul can deploy its powers, but it cannot draw
on the forces necessary for recuperation. Naturally, Spiritual Science is
familiar with the various theories advanced by external science to account
for the replenishment of forces used up by day, but we need not go into that
now. Thus we can say that when the soul passes back from sleep into waking
life, it brings from its spiritual home the forces which it devotes all day
long to building up the soul-life which it conjures before us.
Now let us ask:
When the soul goes off to sleep in the evening, does it carry anything with
it into the spiritual world? Yes; and if we want to understand what this is,
we must above all closely observe man's personal development between birth
and death. This development is evident when in later years a man shows
himself to be riper, richer in experience and wisdom learnt from life, while
he may also have acquired certain capabilities and powers that he did not
possess in his younger days.
A man does
indeed receive from the outer world something that he transforms inwardly, as
the following consideration clearly shows. Between 1770 and 1815 certain
events of great significance for the development of the world took place.
They were witnessed by the most diverse contemporaries, some of whom were
unaffected by them, while others were so deeply moved that they became imbued
with experience and wisdom and their soul-lives progressed to a higher
stage.
How did this come about? It is
best illustrated by a simple event in ordinary human life. Take the process
of learning to write. What really happens before the moment when we are able
to put pen to paper and express our thoughts in writing? A great deal must
have happened — a whole series of experiences, from the first attempt
to hold the pen, then to making the first stroke, and so on through all the
efforts which lead at last to a grasp of the craft of writing. If we recall
everything that must have occurred during months or years, and all we went
through, perhaps by way of punishments and reproofs, until at last these
experiences were transformed into knowing how to write, then we must say:
These experiences were recast and remoulded, so that later on they appear
like the essential core of what we call the ability to write.
Spiritual
Science shows how this transformation comes about. It is possible only
because human beings pass repeatedly through the condition of sleep. In daily
life we find that when we are at pains to absorb something, the process of
imprinting and retentions is considerably aided if we sleep on it; in that
way we make it our own. The experiences we go through have to be united with
the soul and worked on by the soul if they are to coalesce and be transformed
into faculties. This whole process is carried through by the soul during
sleep, and thereby our life is enhanced.
Present-day
consciousness has little inkling of these things, but in times of ancient
clairvoyance they were well known. An example will show how a poet once
indicated in a remarkable way his knowledge of this transforming process.
Homer, who can rightly be called a seer, describes in his Odyssey
[ 32 ]
how Penelope, during the absence of her husband, Odysseus, was besieged by a
throng of suitors. She promised them that she would give her decision when
she had completed a robe she was weaving; but every night she undid the work
of the day. If a poet wishes to indicate how a series of experiences, such as
those of Penelope with her suitors, are not
to merge into a faculty — in this
case the faculty of decision — he must show how these experiences have
to be unwoven at night, or they would unfailingly coalesce.
To anyone imbued
with a typical modern consciousness these ideas may sound like
hair-splitting, or they may seem to be imposing something arbitrary on the
poet; but the only really great men are those, whose work derives from the
great world-secrets, and many people today who talk glibly of originality and
the like have no inkling of the depths from which the truly great
achievements in the arts have been born.
If now we look
further at the progress of human life between birth and death, we have to
recognise that it is confined within certain narrow limits. We can indeed
work at and enhance our faculties; in later life we can acquire qualities of
soul which were lacking earlier on; but all this is subject to the fact that
we can accomplish nothing that would require us to transform our physical and
etheric bodies. These bodies, with their particular aptitudes, are there at
birth; we find them ready-made. For example, we can reach a certain
understanding of music only if we are born with a musical ear. That is a
crude example, but it shows how transformation can be frustrated; in such
cases the experiences can indeed be united with the soul, but we must
renounce any hope of weaving them into our bodily life.
If, then, we
consider human life from a higher standpoint, the possibility of breaking
free from the physical body and laying it aside must be regarded as
enormously wholesome and significant for our entire human existence. Our
capacity to transform experiences into faculties is limited by the fact that
every morning, on returning from sleep, we find our physical and etheric
bodies waiting for us. At death we lay them aside and pass through the gate
of death into a spiritual world. There, unhampered by these bodies, we can
carry to spiritual completion those experiences between birth and death that
we could not embody because of our corporeal limitations.
When we descend
once more from the spiritual world to a new life on earth, then, and only
then, can we take the powers we have woven into our spiritual archetype and
give them physical existence by impressing them plastically into the
initially soft human body. Now for the first time we can weave into our being
those fruits of experience that we had indeed garnered in our previous life
but could not then carry into physical embodiment. Seen in this light, death
provides for the enhancement of life.
Moreover, this
comparatively crude work that a man can do on his physical body, whereby he
moulds into it what he could not impress on it in his previous life, is not
the only possibility open to him. He is able also to imprint on his entire
being certain finer fruits of foregoing lives.
When someone is
born, his Ego and astral body, including his Sentient Soul, Intellectual Soul
and Consciousness Soul, are by no means featureless; they are endowed with
definite attributes and characteristics brought from previous lives. The
cruder work, whereby the fruits of past experiences are impressed on the
plastic physical body, is accomplished before birth, but a more delicate work
— and this distinguishes man from the animals — is performed
after birth. Throughout childhood and youth a man works into the finer
Organisation of his inner and outer nature certain determining
characteristics and motives for action, brought by his Ego from a previous
life. While the Ego thus impresses itself from within on its vehicles of
expression, the fact of its activity and its way of working combine to form
the character which a man presents to the world. Between birth and death the
Ego works on the organs of the soul, the Sentient Soul, Intellectual Soul and
Consciousness Soul, in such a way that they respond to what it has made of
itself. But the Ego does not stand apart from the urges, desires and passions
of the Sentient Soul. No, it unites itself with these emotions as though they
were its own; and equally unites itself with the cognitions and the knowledge
that belong to the Consciousness Soul.
So it is, that
the harmony or disharmony that a human being has wrought in his soul-members
is impressed by his Ego on his exterior being in his next earthly life. Human
character, therefore, although it appears to us as determined and inborn, can
yet be seen to be developing gradually in the course of his life.
With animals,
character is determined entirely at birth; an animal cannot work plastically
on its exterior nature. Man has the advantage of appearing at birth with no
definite character manifest externally, but in the depths of his being he has
slumbering powers brought from previous lives; they work into his undeveloped
exterior and gradually shape his character, in so far as this is determined
by previous lives.
Thus we see how
in a certain sense man has an inborn character, but one that gradually
develops in the course of life. If we keep this in mind, we can understand
how even eminent personalities can go wrong in judging character. There are
philosophers who argue that character is inwardly determined and cannot
change, but that is a mistake. It applies only to attributes which derive
from a previous life and appear as inborn character. Man's inward centre, his
Ego, sends out its influence and gives a common stamp and character to every
member of his organism. This character extends into the soul and even into
the external limbs of the body. We see this inner centre pouring itself
forth, as it were, shaping everything in accord with itself, and we feel how
this centre holds the members of the human organism together. Even in the
external parts of his physical body the imprint of a man's inner being can be
discerned.
In this
connection, an artist once gave wonderful expression to something which
generally receives only theoretical attention. The work he produced portrays
human nature at the moment when the human Ego, the centre which holds the
organism together as a unity, is lost, and the limbs, each going its own way,
strain apart in different directions. The work I mean seizes precisely this
moment, when a man loses the foundation of his character, of his being as a
whole. But this work, a great and famous one, has been very often
misunderstood. Do not suppose that I am about to level cheap criticism at men
for whose work I have the highest respect. But the fact that even great minds
can make mistakes in face of certain phenomena, just when they are most
earnestly striving for truth, shows how difficult the path to truth really
is.
One of the greatest German
authorities on art, Winckelmann,
[ 33 ]
was impelled by his whole disposition
to err in interpreting the work of art known as the Laocoon.
[ 34 ]
His interpretation has been widely admired. In many circles it has been
thought that nothing better could be said about this portrayal of Laocoon,
the Trojan priest who, with his two sons, was crushed to death by serpents.
Winckelmann, filled with enthusiasm for this example of the sculptor's art,
said that here we are shown how the priest, Laocoon, whose every limb
bespeaks his nobility and greatness, is torn with anguish, above all the
anguish of a father. He is placed between his two sons, with the serpents
coiled round their bodies.
Conscious of the pain inflicted on his sons, he himself, as a father, is so
agonised by it that the lower part of his body is contracted, as though
pressing out the full degree of pain. He forgets himself, consumed with
immeasurable pity for his sons.
This is a
beautiful explanation of a father's ordeal, but if — just because we
honour Winckelmann as a great personality — we look repeatedly and
conscientiously at the Laocoon, we are obliged finally to say that
Winckelmann must be mistaken, for it is not possible for pity to be the
dominating motif in the scene portrayed. The father's head is aligned at such
an angle that he cannot see his sons. Winckelmann's view of the group is
quite wrong. The immediate impression we get from looking at the figures is
that here we are witnessing the quite definite moment when the encircling
pressure of the snakes has driven the human Ego out of Laocoon's body, and
the separate instincts, deprived of the Ego, make their way into the physical
body. Thus we see the head, the lower body and the limbs each taking its own
course, not brought into natural harmony with the figure as a whole because
the Ego is absent. The Laocoon group shows us, in external bodily terms, how
a man loses his unified character when bereft of the Ego, the strong central
point which holds together the members of his bodily organism. And if we
allow this spectacle to work on our souls, we can come to experience the
unifying element which naturally expresses itself in the harmonising of the
limbs, and imprints on a man what we call his character.
But now we must
ask: If it is true that a man's character is to some extent inborn — if
the characteristics given by birth cannot by any effort be altered beyond a
certain limit, as every glance at human life will tell us — is it then
possible for a man to change his character in a certain way?
Yes, in so far
as character belongs to the life of the soul and is not subject to the bodily
limitations we encounter every morning on waking from sleep, and so can help
to harmonise and strengthen the Sentient Soul, Intellectual Soul and
Consciousness Soul. To this extent there can be a development of character
during a person's life between birth and death.
Some knowledge
of all this is of special importance in education.
Essential as it
is to understand the temperaments and the differences between them, it is
necessary also to know something about human character and what can be done
to change it between birth and death, even though it is in some measure
determined by the fruits of a previous life. If we are to make good use of
this knowledge, we must be clear that personal life goes through four typical
periods of development. In my small book,
Education of the Child in the Light of Anthroposophy,
you will find further information on these stages; here I can only sketch
them in outline.
The first period
runs from birth up to the beginning of the change of teeth around the age of
seven. It is during this period that external influence can do most to
develop the physical body. During the next period, from the seventh year up
to the onset of puberty at about the thirteenth, fourteenth or fifteenth
year, the etheric body, particularly, can be developed. Then comes a third
period when the lower astral body, especially, can be developed, until
finally, from about the 21st year onwards, the time comes when a human being
meets the world as a free, independent being and can himself work on the
progress of his soul.
The years from
20 to 28 are important for developing the forces of the Sentient Soul. The
next seven years up to the age of 35 — these are all only average
figures — are important for the development of the Intellectual Soul,
especially through intercourse with the outer world.
All this may be
regarded as nonsense by those who fail to observe the course of human life,
but anyone who studies life with open eyes will come to know that certain
elements in the human being are most open to development during particular
periods. During our early twenties we are particularly well placed to bring
our desires, instincts, passions and so on into relation with the impressions
and influences received from our dealings with the outer world. We can feel
our powers growing through the corresponding interaction between the
Intellectual Soul and the world around us, and anyone who knows what true
knowledge is, will realise that all earlier acquisitions of knowledge were no
more than a preparation for this later stage. The ripeness of experience
which enables one to survey and evaluate the knowledge one acquires is not
attained, on average, before the thirty-fifth year. These laws exist. Anyone
unwilling to recognise them is unwilling to observe the course of human
life.
If we keep this
in mind, we can see how human life between birth and death is structured. The
work of the Ego in harmonising the soul-members, and its necessary endeavour
to impress the fruits of its work on the physical body, will show you how
important it is for an educator to know how the physical body goes through
its development up to the seventh year. It is only during this period that
influences from the outer world can be brought in to endow the physical body
with power and strength. And here we encounter a mysterious connection
between the physical body and the Consciousness Soul, a connection which
exact observation can thoroughly confirm.
If the Ego is to
gain strength, so that in later life, after the thirty-fifth year, it can
permeate itself with the forces of the Consciousness Soul, and through this
permeation can go forth to acquire knowledge of the world, it ought to
encounter no boundaries in the physical body. For the physical body can set
up the greatest obstacles to the Consciousness Soul and the Ego, if the Ego
is not content to remain enclosed in the inner life but wishes to go out and
engage in free intercourse with the world. Now since in bringing up a child
during his first seven years we are able to strengthen the forces of his
physical body, within certain limits, a remarkable connection between two
periods of life is apparent. What can be accomplished for a child during
these years by those who care for him is not a matter of indifference! People
who fail to realise this have not learnt how to observe human life. Anyone
who can compare the early years of childhood with the period after the
thirty-fifth year will know that if a man is to go out into the world and
engage in free intercourse with it, the best thing we can do for him is to
bring him the right sort of influence during his early years. Anything we can
do to help the child to find joy in immediate physical life, and to feel that
love surrounds him, will strengthen the forces of his physical body, making
it supple, pliant and open to education. The more joy, love and happiness
that we can give the child during his early years, the fewer obstacles and
hindrances he will encounter later on, when the work of his Ego on his
Consciousness Soul should enable him to become an open character, associating
in free give-and-take with the outer world. Anything in the way of unkindness
pain or distressing circumstances that we allow the child to suffer up to his
seventh year has a hardening effect on his physical body, and this creates
obstacles for him in later life. He will tend to become a closed character, a
man whose whole being is imprisoned in his soul, so that he is unable to
achieve a free and open intercourse with the world and the impressions it
yields.
Again, there are connections
between the etheric body and the second period of life, and therefore with
the Intellectual Soul. The play of the Ego on the Intellectual Soul releases
forces which can either endow a man with courage and initiative or incline
him to cowardice, indecision, sluggishness. Which way it goes depends on the
strength of the Ego. But when a man has the best opportunity to use the
Intellectual Soul for strengthening his character through intercourse with
the world, between the ages of 28 and 35, he may encounter hindrances in his
etheric body. If during the period from the seventh to the fourteenth year we
supply the etheric body with forces that will prevent it from creating these
hindrances in later life, we shall be doing something for his education that
should earn his gratitude.
If during the
period from seven to fourteen in a child's life we can stand towards him as
an authority, and as a source of truth whom he can trust, this is
particularly health-giving. Through this relationship, we, as parents or
teachers, can strengthen his etheric forces so that in later life he will
encounter the least possible obstacles in his etheric body. Then he will be
able, if his Ego has the disposition for it, to become a man of courage and
initiative. If we are aware of these hidden connections, we can have an
enormously health-giving influence on human beings while they are growing
up.
Our chaotic
education has lost all knowledge of these connections; they were known
instinctively in earlier times. It is always a pleasure to see that some old
teachers knew of these things, whether by instinct or by inspiration.
Rotteck's old
World History,
for example: it was to be found in our fathers' libraries and it may now
be out of date here and there, but if we approach it with understanding we
encounter a quite individual method of presentation which shows that Rotteck,
who taught history in Freiburg, had a way of teaching which was the very
reverse of dry or insipid. We have only to read the Foreword, which is quite
out of the ordinary in spirit, to feel: here is a man who knows that in
addressing young people of this age — from 14 to 21, when the astral
body is developing — he must bring them into touch with the power of
great, beautiful ideals. Rotteck is always at pains to show how we can be
inspired by the great thoughts of the heroes and to kindle the enthusiasm
that can be felt for all that men and women have striven for and suffered in
the course of human evolution.
This approach is
entirely justified, for the influence thus poured into the astral body during
these years is of direct benefit to the Sentient Soul, when the Ego is
working to develop a person's character through free intercourse with the
world. All that has flowed into the soul from high ideals and enthusiasm is
imprinted on the Sentient Soul and embodied accordingly in
character.
Thus we see that
because the physical, etheric and astral bodies are still plastic in young
people, this or that influence can be impressed on them through education,
and this makes it possible for a man to work on his character in later life.
If education has not helped him in this way, he will find it difficult to
work on his character and he will have to resort to the strongest measures.
He will need to devote himself to deep meditative contemplation of certain
qualities and feelings in order to impress them consciously on his soul. He
must try, for example, to experience inwardly the content of those religious
confessions which can speak to us as more than theories. He must devote
himself again and again to contemplation of those great philosophies in the
widest sense which in later life can lead through our thoughts and feelings
into the great, all-embracing cosmic secrets. If we can immerse ourselves in
these secrets, ever and again willingly devoting ourselves to them; if
through daily prayer we make them part of ourselves, then through the play of
the Ego, we can re-mould our characters in later life.
In this
connection the essential thing is that the qualities acquired by and embodied
in the Ego are imprinted on the Sentient Soul, the Intellectual Soul and the
Consciousness Soul. Generally speaking, man has little power over his
external body. We have seen how he encounters a boundary in his physical
body, with its innate pre-dispositions. Nevertheless, observation shows that
in spite of this limitation, man can do some work on his physical body
between birth and death.
Who has not
noticed that a man who devotes himself for a decade to knowledge of a really
deep kind — knowledge that does not remain grey learning but is
transformed into pleasure and pain, happiness and sorrow, thus becoming real
knowledge and uniting itself with the Ego — who has not noticed that
such a man's physiognomy, his gestures, his entire behaviour have changed,
showing how the working of the Ego has penetrated right into his external
physique!
However, the
extent to which the outer body can be influenced by powers acquired between
birth and death is very limited. For the most part man has to resign himself
to keeping them for his next earthly life.
On the other
hand, the various attributes brought over from previous lives can be enhanced
by working on them between birth and death, if the faculty for doing so has
been acquired.
Thus we see how
character is not confined to the inner life of the soul, but penetrates into
a man's external physique and limbs. It finds expression, first, in his
gestures; second, in his physiognomy; and third, in the plastic formation of
the skull, the origin of what we call phrenology.
How, then, does
character achieve this outward expression in gesture, physiognomy and
bone-formation? The Ego works formatively first of all in the Sentient Soul,
which embraces all the instincts, desires, passions — in short,
everything that belongs to the inner impulses of the will. The note sounded
by the Ego on this member of the soul is manifest externally as gesture, and
this play of gestures, springing from a man's inner being, can tell us a
great deal about his character.
When the Ego is
active chiefly in the Sentient Soul, the note it sounds there resonates in
the Intellectual Soul and the Consciousness Soul, and this, too, is evident
in gesture. The coarser elements of the Sentient Soul come to expression in
gestures connected with the lower part of the body. If, for instance, a man
pats his stomach with a feeling of satisfaction, we can see how his character
is bound up with his Sentient Soul, and how volitions connected with his
higher soul-members come to expression hardly at all.
When, however,
the activity of the Ego resonates in the intellectual Soul, we can often
observe a gesture related to the organ which serves the Intellectual Soul as
its chief means of outer expression. Speakers who have the so-called
“breast-tone of conviction” are given to striking themselves over
the heart. They are men who speak with passion and are not concerned with
objective judgment. Here we have the passionate character who lives entirely
in the Sentient Soul but has so strong an Ego that his emotions resonate in
the Intellectual Soul; we recognise him by his expansive attitudes. For
example, there are popular speakers who thrust their thumbs into their
waistcoats and swell out their chests when they are facing an audience. Far
from being objective, they speak directly out of the Sentient Soul, putting
into words their personal egoistic feelings and reinforcing them with this
gesture — thumbs in waistcoat.
When the note
struck by the Ego in the Sentient Soul resonates in the Consciousness Soul,
we see a gesture bearing on the organ which gives the Consciousness Soul its
chief outer expression. If a person finds it particularly difficult to bring
his inner feelings to the point of reaching a decision, he will lay a finger
on his nose — a gesture indicating how hard it is for him to fetch up a
decision from the depth of his Consciousness Soul.
When someone
lives chiefly in the Intellectual Soul, this is apparent in his physiognomy
and facial expression. The experience of the Intellectual Soul lies closer to
man's inner life and is not subject to the outer pressure under which he
might sigh like a slave. He feels it to be more his own property, and this is
reflected in his face. If a man is indeed capable of living in the
Intellectual Soul, but presses down its content into the Sentient Soul, if
any judgment he forms gets hold of him so strongly that he glows with
enthusiasm for it, we can see this expressed in his sloping forehead and
projecting chin. If something is actually experienced in the Intellectual
Soul and only resonates in the Sentient Soul, this is expressed in the lower
part of the face. If a man achieves the special virtue of the Intellectual
Soul, a harmony between inner and outer, so that he neither secludes himself
in inward brooding nor depletes his inner life by complete surrender to outer
impressions, and if his Ego's work in the shaping of character is
accomplished chiefly through the Intellectual Soul, then all this will be
manifest in the middle part of his face, the external expression of the
Intellectual Soul.
Here we can see
how fruitful Spiritual Science can be for the study of civilisations: we are
shown how successive characteristics are imprinted on successive peoples.
Thus the Intellectual Soul made its imprint particularly on the ancient
Greeks, among whom we can discern the beautiful harmony between inner and
outer that is the characteristic manifestation of the Intellectual Soul. And
here, accordingly, we find the Greek nose in its perfection. True it is that
we cannot fully understand these things unless we relate them to their
spiritual background.
Again, when
someone carries the content of the Intellectual Soul into the realm of
cognition and experiences it in the Consciousness Soul, the outward sign of
this is a projecting forehead, as though the working of the Ego in the
Intellectual Soul were flowing up into the Consciousness Soul.
If, however,
someone lives in close unity with his Ego, so that the character of the Ego
is impressed on the Consciousness Soul, he can then carry the note sounded by
the Ego in his Consciousness Soul down into his Intellectual Soul and his
Sentient Soul. This goes with a higher stage of human development. Only the
Consciousness Soul can be permeated by high moral and aesthetic ideals and by
great, wide-ranging conceptions of the world.
All this has to
come to life in the Consciousness Soul, but the forces engendered by the Ego
in the Consciousness Soul on this account can penetrate down into the
Sentient Soul, where they are fired with enthusiasm and passion and with what
we may call the inner warmth of the Sentient Soul, This comes about when a
man can glow with enthusiasm for some knowledge he has gained. Then the
noblest aspiration to which man can rise at present is carried down into the
Sentient Soul. And the Sentient Soul itself is enhanced when permeated by
forces from the Consciousness Soul. But what the Ego can accomplish for a
character — ideal through its work in the Consciousness Soul may
encounter obstacles caused by inborn pre-dispositions, so that it cannot be
impressed on the physical body. Then we have to practise resignation; the
work of the Ego in the Consciousness Soul may give rise to a noble quality of
soul, but this cannot come to expression in the physical body during that
single life-time. But the ardent passion for high moral ideals that a
person has experienced in the Sentient Soul can be taken through the gate of
death and carried over into his next life as a most powerful formative force.
We can see how this comes to expression in the contours of the skull, showing
that what a man has made of himself penetrates into his very
bones.
A study of the
contours of the skull can indeed throw some light on character, but always in
a strictly individual context. It is absurd to suppose that phrenology can
lay down general schemes and typical principles that will be universally
valid. Everyone has a phrenology that applies to himself alone, for his skull
is shaped by forces derived from his previous life, and in every individual
this must be recognised. Only abstract theorists addicted to diagrams would
think of founding a phrenology on general principles. Anyone who knows about
the formative forces that work into man's very bones would speak only of
recognising their effects in individuals. The formation of the skull is
different with everyone and can never be accounted for in terms of a single
earthly life. Here we touch on what is called reincarnation, for in the
contours of the skull we can discern what a man has made of himself in
previous lives. Here reincarnation becomes a palpable fact. We need only know
where to read the evidence for it.
Thus we see how
the effects of human character have to be followed from their origin all the
way into the hardest structures, and then human character stands before us as
a wonderful riddle. We have begun to describe how the Ego impresses character
into the forms of the Sentient Soul, the Intellectual Soul and the
Consciousness Soul. Then we saw how this work by the Ego has results which
make their mark on man's external physique and are manifest in gesture and
physiognomy and even in the bones. And since man is led from birth to death
and on again to a new birth, we saw how his inner being works on the outer,
impressing character both on the inner life and on the physical body, which
is an image of the inner life. Hence we can very well understand the deep
impression made on us by the Laocoon, where we see the bodily character
failing asunder into the several limbs; we see, as it were, the character,
which belongs to the very essence of man, vanishing in the outward gestures
of this work of art. Here we have plain evidence of the working of inner
forces in the material realm, and of how the dispositions brought from
earlier lives are determining factors in any given life; and we see how the
spirit, by breaking life asunder, brings to expression in a new life the
character acquired as the outcome of a previous one.
We can now enter
into Goethe's feelings when he held Schiller's skull in his hand and said: In
the contours of this skull I see how the spirit sets its stamp on matter.
This form, full of character, calls up for me the voice that I heard sounding
through Schiller's poems and in the words of friendship he so often spoke to
me. Yes, I see here how the spirit has worked in the material realm. And when
I contemplate this piece of matter, its noble forms show me how previous
lives prepared the radiance that shone out so powerfully for me from
Schiller's mind.
So we are led to
repeat as our own conviction the words written by Goethe after contemplating
Schiller's skull:
What greater gift can life on man bestow
Than that to him God-Nature should disclose
How solid to spirit it attenuates,
How spirit's work it hardens and preserves.
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