VIII
Our
present considerations will impress us with their deeper and
real meaning only if we do not take them in a merely
theoretical way, since they are in the highest sense truths of
life. Rather, we must draw from them certain consequences for
our feelings and sentiments that may enable us to look upon
life differently than is often done by those who have not been
prepared to do so by an anthroposophical view. Our minds must
be broadened through spiritual science to grasp the truth of
life. This means that we must learn to compare the nature of
truth as it meets us in life with the one-sided thinking about
the truth that so easily befalls people. It is all too easy to
get into the habit of forming opinions about this or that, not
merely about everyday matters but also about the most important
facts of life, and then fortifying our point of view with this
opinion, paying no attention to the fact that the world may be
viewed from the most varied standpoints. Thus, we can attain to
the truth only when we feel and realize how everything, every
single fact, can be viewed from many standpoints. I will relate
the course of a certain life in order that I may give you an
example, a kind of illustration of what I mean. We are now
dealing with what we call karma, the passage of the human being
through repeated earthly lives, the destiny of man, which is
expressed in the course a human life takes. We can learn much
through the examples of individual lives if we view them
correctly in the light of repeated earthly lives.
In
this example, we have to do with a person who was born in the
sixteenth century. In order to consider the hereditary
influences that people today like to emphasize, let us first
look at his father. The father of this man who was born in the
sixteenth century was a rather versatile person but also an
extraordinarily obstinate one; this was characterized by a
certain harshness in the expression of his life. He was
well-acquainted with music, played the lute and other string
instruments, was also familiar with geometry and mathematics,
and his profession was that of a merchant. His harshness may be
more readily understandable from the following. He had a
certain music teacher who, at that time in the sixteenth
century, was a highly respected man. As a pupil of this man, he
wrote a book on music, but this did not please his teacher and
he took issue with it in a book of his own. The pupil then
became really quite angry and wrote another volume in which he
included all possible contempt he could muster against the
“ancient and rusty views” of his music teacher. Then he
dedicated the book to him, saying expressly in the dedication,
“Since you deigned to turn against me in such an obtrusive
manner, I want to give you an opportunity to experience this
pleasure more often. You obviously enjoy this sort of thing and
that is why I dedicate this book to you.”
The
son of this man is the person whose course of life I wish to
tell you about in a slightly disguised way. As was the custom
in those days, he at first pursued the study of Greek and Latin
with a famous teacher in Italy because his father attached
great importance to having him well-instructed. He studied the
humanities with a monk, learned mathematics from his father
and, in addition, learned drawing, perspective, and the like
with other teachers. Possessing an extraordinary capacity for
mathematics and mechanics, he continued to excel in these
fields and became quite a versatile young man. Even as a boy he
had made all sorts of models of machines that were useful at
that time. Today, you know, boys make only airplanes, but then
other ships were made. At eighteen, the young man went to the
university, studying medicine at first — excuse this just
after we have heard that passage from Faust.
(Note 106)
But he had a somewhat different
experience than the student who has just been presented to you
in that scene of “Mephisto and the Student.” He did not pass
through his medical studies as if he were in a dream, nor did
he say, “They're not so bad.” No, he really disliked studying
medicine since he found that this discipline proceeded in an
unsystematic way, one fact simply following after another with
no true connection. Then he turned to philosophy. In those days
it was the custom of some individuals to attack Aristotle, the
Greek philosopher who had hitherto been so greatly honored.
Having one of these critics as his teacher, our young man fell
into the same habit of criticizing and hating Aristotle.
Although his father was an extraordinarily competent man, he
was not well-liked because of his various characteristics. So,
after his son had studied for a few years, he did not have much
money and tried to secure a scholarship for him. He did not
succeed, however, and was compelled to provide further
instruction for him with the money he earned with sweat and
blood.
After
the son had struggled through his medical and philosophical
studies, he had reason to feel most fortunate. He became a
professor at one of the most famous universities of his
country, teaching mathematics and also practicing medicine, of
which he had a good deal of knowledge from his student days. On
the whole, he was a quite popular teacher. But at this
university things got a little hot for him. This came about
through a book that was published containing a description of a
public project, a mechanical project. It was written by an
eminent gentleman who was not too intelligent, but who was the
son of an actual princely personality of that particular state.
Our professor, although still relatively young, had little
difficulty in proving it would be impossible to carry out this
project. Much hostility was then aroused against him and,
although he had already succeeded in attracting attention to
himself through his accomplishments, he no longer felt entirely
comfortable in that particular city and university. The
opportunity arose to go to another university in a republican
state. At this university also, he soon became well-known, had
many students and, what was then a mere matter of course, gave
many private lessons so that he had an excellent income. He
needed a good deal of money because his father had died and he
had to support his mother and sisters. In order that we may see
a little more clearly into the karma of this person let me
mention the following authenticated fact; it was related by a
contemporary to whom it was told by the man himself. Moreover,
no matter with what philological finesse the endeavor is made
to get at the fact, it is demonstrably true. This man with whom
we are dealing, now teaching in a republican university, once
had a dream in which he saw himself walking over burning coals
and ashes and knew that they must have come from the burning of
the cathedral in the city where he had previously been a
professor. He related this dream and also wrote of it in many
letters. It was later revealed that the very same night he had
this dream, the cathedral had actually burned down.
Now,
he was most successful; indeed, he made significant scientific
discoveries, for which others claimed part of the credit as was
then the custom and is still so to some extent even now,
without thanking him. He became fairly prosperous but not
sufficiently so in his own mind, especially since he had to
drive himself so hard. He had to give many private lessons,
earning a little thereby, to be sure, but it required a good
deal of work. Now, his Italian contemporaries and later others
tell in an interesting way how he was a man so much occupied
with his brain that — I simply repeat what was related — he
had little time to pay attention to the impulses of his heart.
He was, therefore, quite clever but somewhat less lovable.
Thus, he never officially married but lived, as his
contemporaries say, in a common-law marriage with a certain
Marina Gamba by whom he had two daughters, whom he sent into a
convent, and a son, whom he later legitimized. Although he
became the instructor of many famous people — for example, he
taught Gustav Adolf, who later became the king of Sweden —
things were not entirely as he wished them. So he applied to
the Grand Duke of his native land where he had previously been
a professor. This was in 1610. The fact was that he was
striving to gain more free time to devote to inventions and
discoveries. It is interesting, therefore, to observe the man
somewhat more carefully since he was really a sort of child of
his age. For this reason I should like to read to you, in a
pretty good translation, a letter that he wrote to obtain a
more fitting position at the court of the Grand Duke. He writes
to a friend about his correspondence with the Grand Duke:
Your
grace's letter was heartily welcome, first, because it lets me
know that his most serene Highness, the Grand Duke, my Lord,
remembers me, and then because it assures me of the continued
goodwill of the right honorable Signor Aeneas Piccolomini,
infinitely highly treasured by me, as also of the love of your
Grace, which causes you to perceive my interest and induces you
to write me in such friendly fashion about circumstances of
great importance. For this service I remain always under
obligation both to the right honorable Signor Aeneas and also
to your Grace, render you endless thanks, and consider it my
duty, as evidence of the value I attach to such goodness, to
speak with these gentlemen concerning thoughts and those life
relationships in which it would be my desire to pass the years
that still remain to me. I hope that an opportunity might
present itself when the right honorable Aeneas, with his
keenness and versatility, might give a more definite answer to
our august Lord, toward whose Highness, in addition to that
reverent relationship and most obedient subjection that is due
him from every one of his loyal servants, I feel myself,
moreover, inclined with such special devotion and, as I may be
permitted to say, so much love. Even God does not require any
other feeling of us than that we should love Him, but I would
set aside every other interest, and there is no position
whatever for which I would not exchange my own state if I
should learn that this would please His Highness. This answer
might then suffice to realize any decision it might please His
Highness to form in regard to my person. But if, as we may
assume, His Highness, full of humanity and goodness, which
renders him worthy of fame among all others and will ever
render him more and more worthy, will unite together with my
service to him every other satisfaction for me, I will then not
refrain from speaking my mind. For twenty years now, and indeed
throughout the best part of my life, I have labored even to
minute detail, as it is said, upon the demand of anybody and
everybody, to share any small talent that had come into my
possession from God or through my own endeavors in my vocation.
But now I would really wish to attain sufficient leisure and
peace to be able to bring to completion before my life ends
three great works I have on my hands so that I may publish
these. I would hope to do this perhaps to the honor of myself
and also of everyone who might support me in such undertakings,
through the fact that I would perhaps bring to those studying
in this special field greater, more general, and more lasting
service than I could otherwise do for the rest of my life. I do
not believe that I could have greater leisure elsewhere than I
have here as long as I am compelled to obtain the support of my
family out of my official duties as a teacher and from private
lessons. Moreover, I would not willingly do such work in
another city than in this one, for various reasons that it
would be too cumbersome to enumerate. Yet, the freedom I have
here is not sufficient, since I must sacrifice, upon the demand
of one person and another, many hours of the day and often the
best. No matter how brilliant and generous a republic, to
retain a remuneration from it without rendering service to its
general community is not customary. As long as I am able to
give lectures and to render service, no one in a republic can
release me from this obligation without ending my income; in
short, I cannot hope to receive such a favor from anyone else
than an absolute prince. Yet I should not wish, after what I
have said, to appear to make unjustified claims upon your
Grace, as if I were seeking for support without a corresponding
service and obligation. That is not my purpose; on the
contrary. As concerns a corresponding service, I have various
inventions of which even a single one would suffice to provide
a support for my life, if I should meet a great prince who
should take pleasure in it. Experience shows me that things
that are, perhaps, of far less significant value have a great
advantage for their discoverer, and it had always been my
thought to place these things before my Prince and natural
master rather than before others. He in turn could do with
these things and with the inventor as he might see it, and to
receive from them, if it should please him, not only the ore,
but also the metal. I find new things of this kind every day
and would find many more if I had the leisure and more
favorable opportunities to secure skillful persons whose help I
could utilize in various investigations. So far as concerns
further the daily rendering of service — that is, public and
private lectures — I have only a distaste against that venal
servitude in which I must offer my work in exchange for
whatever remuneration pleases any purchaser; but to render
service to a Prince or a great Lord, and to anyone dependent
upon him, would never cause me any feeling of repugnance. On
the contrary, I would earnestly desire this and strive for it,
and since your Grace wanted to know from me something about my
income here, I will tell you that the compensation for my
service amounts to 520 gold gulden, which will be changed to an
equal number of scudi within a few months when I receive my new
position, of which I am just as good as certain. This money I
can in great part save, since I obtain a large supplementary
assistance for the support of my household through having
private students and through my earnings from private lessons,
although I rather discourage than seek to give many such
lessons. I have a far greater longing for more free time than
for money, since I know that it would be much more difficult
for me to acquire a sufficient sum of money to give me any
distinction than a certain amount of fame through my scientific
work.
This
man was then really summoned to this court. The only
requirement was that he deliver lectures on the occasions when
there were unusual events, brilliant occasions, festival
affairs at which the Grand Duke had to appear and where it was
necessary to make a good impression on foreign visitors. As for
the rest, he was simply to receive his support salary and
devote himself entirely to his studies. For a time things went
well, indeed. Even poets, noblemen, and princes honored him and
held all kinds of festivities because they considered him a
great man. He himself — it was on February 3, 1613 — composed
the text for a masquerade in which he represented himself as
Jupiter enthroned on the clouds. He could easily be recognized
in his disguise and since the four moons of Jupiter had just
been discovered by Galileo
(Note 107)
and had been given the names of the four princes of the house, even
these four princes appeared in the entourage. It was an altogether
unusual, festive pageantry.
The
kindness of the Prince, however, gradually subsided and after a
certain time he actually betrayed this man of learning. The
clergy found that his views did not agree with theirs.
Moreover, he was impoverished at the close of his life and died
in genuine disillusionment. He had thoroughly tasted the
ingratitude and fickleness of fate. He had learned fully how
some princes behave in the long run, and he had experienced the
hatred of the clergy.
I have
now given you a factual account of the life of a human being.
But now I would like to relate this life story in a different
way, from another perspective, as it were.
On
February 18, 1564, the great Galileo was born. His father,
Vincenzo Galileo, was extraordinarily well-acquainted with
music, played the lute and other string instruments well, was
occupied with geometry, and at first taught his son music
himself. The boy pursued his studies in Latin and Greek with
distinguished teachers; he learned the humanities with a monk
and then went to the University of Pisa where he studied
medicine without much satisfaction, then turned to philosophy,
became an anti-Aristotelian under the influence of the
contemporary anti-Aristotelian tendency. At that time he was
already such a genius that one day as he sat in the Cathedral
of Pisa watching the church lamp swing, he discovered the
principle of the pendulum's isochronism, a most important
discovery that has had significance ever since. This event was
told by Galileo's contemporaries. I am constantly being told
that this story is a myth, but I will continue to relate it
because it is true.
In
spite of the importance of Galileo's thoughts upon observing
this swinging church lamp, his father could not obtain a
stipend for him. Then, after he had pursued his geometrical
studies, he became a professor at the University of Pisa. There
he lectured on mathematics for sixty scudi a year and also
practiced medicine. We know that he actually did practice
medicine from a letter he wrote to his father in which he asked
that the writings of the ancient physician Galen be sent him as
a guide. He sharply criticized the writing of the highly placed
but imprudent Cosimo I
(Note 108)
that was published at that
time. Then things became too hot for him in Pisa and since the
Venetian Republic invited him to teach there, appreciating him
more than his native state, he went to Padua in 1592. Galileo
Galilei became a professor at the University of Padua and
lectured with great distinction on mathematics and related
subjects; he also constructed sun dials according to special
principles and perfected the knowledge of mechanics. It was
there that Giambattista Doni in his letters on dreams wrote
that Galileo had the dream of which I have told you; this was
the dream where he was walking over glowing coals and ashes.
The Cathedral of Pisa burned at the time Galileo had his dream,
and he wrote of this in letters to many contemporaries. About
this time he invented the proportional circles and machines for
raising water, made important discoveries in connection with
the telescope and the thermoscope, and made observations
regarding the barometer and other things, credit for which was
claimed by other people, whereas in most cases it is to be
attributed to him. I have already told you the story of his
common-law marriage; it happened as I related it so I need not
repeat it. Likewise, his letter was written in the way I have
told you. Thus, he was actually transferred from Padua back to
his native state and things happened to him there as I have
said. It was Galileo who produced that masquerade in which he
represented himself as Jupiter enthroned on the clouds, and it
was he who gave the names of the Medici to the four satellites
of Jupiter, which led to their representing them at this
festival. The fact that he was not well-treated by the clergy,
and that, in relation to it, he was betrayed by his prince, is
known from history. Although all sorts of things in the story
of his recantation are true, the assertion made by everybody
that he said, “And yet it does move,” is certainly false. I
have frequently pointed this out.
So
this is the matter when it is reenacted from another point of
view. You will observe that even though I did not relate false
things the first time, your feelings for the man were probably
not the same as when I related the story the second time. And
you will also agree that your feelings the second time were
definitely those that almost every person has when he or she
thinks about Galileo, the astronomer. You will see from this
that much knowledge is lacking in what many think. They
certainly do not know much about Galileo but think and feel
about him, not because of what they know, but because the name
Galileo Galilei has a certain significance in history.
We
must take into consideration, however, that what a man produces
through his genius has meaning for the physical world. The fact
that there are satellites around Jupiter was a discovery of
immense importance for the evolution of the earth, but it has
no significance for the concerns of the spiritual world, that
is, for the beings of the higher hierarchies. So it is with the
other discoveries of Galileo. They are such that they have a
great significance for the earth. What, then, was the substance
of what I first related? It was his personal fate. Apart from
the fact that Galileo was an important man because of his
earthly discoveries, it was his personal fate, the misery he
experienced in his vocation, his — well, what shall I say —
perhaps his loyalty toward the Prince, and so forth. In other
words, I first told you what his daily affairs were, but
because it concerns him personally it is also what has
significance when he bears it through the portal of death and
has to develop it between death and a new birth. We must go
into such studies as this to educate ourselves regarding the
question of human destiny, which cuts so deeply into life. It
is precisely with significant, distinguished human lives that
we must do this.
There
is much talk about heredity nowadays and many questions are
considered solely in connection with it. I first told you the
story of the life of Galileo in such a way that you could
observe it without any preconception. I related his life to
that of his father, so that we perhaps might again have an
example of right thinking about the question of heredity. It is
certainly impossible to think correctly of it without taking
into consideration the teaching of repeated earthly lives. In
such a thought process, heredity does not prove to be without
meaning, but is, on the contrary, most meaningful. There also
appears, however, the connection between the inherited
characteristics and what the human being brings down from the
spiritual world through his own individuality as a result of
his previous earthly life. When we wish to decide what is
really inherited, we simply have to look at the facts of
life.
On a
previous occasion I called your attention to the fact that the
period of puberty is not taken into consideration at all by
science today, whereas it should be when heredity is discussed.
Up to this period a person must carry with him all the impulses
of heredity. What comes later must be referred to another point
of time. I mentioned this a week ago. But what, then, really is
inherited? The unprejudiced observation of the following facts
is testimony for the arbitrary manner in which scientists
interpret things in this field, but they are utterly incapable
of understanding them. Since it is known to anybody who can
observe life, it must be known to every psychiatrist that there
may be two sons in a family who have the same inherited
potentialities. Let us define the two sets of hereditary
potentialities that may be similar. First, there is a certain
tendency to think out concepts and connections and to apply
them to external life; second, there is a certain — what shall
we call it? — peppy or fashionable bearing such as a
businessman must have. Once there were two sons who both had
these traits; that is, a certain self-consciousness and from it
a certain boldness in bringing to realization what occurred to
them. These were simply inherited characteristics, and it is
thus that they must, in general, be conceived. But the question
now is: What did each of them become? What course did their
karmas take? One of them became a poet whose achievements were
pretty respectable. The other became a swindler. The inherited
characteristics were applicable to both activities; in one
individual, they could be applied to the art of poetry, and in
the other, to all kinds of swindles. Whatever comes from
physical life was similar in these brothers. These things must
really be studied conscientiously and earnestly and not in the
way contemporary science often studies them. Indeed, we often
find that the people themselves register the facts quite
correctly nowadays, but they cannot make anything of them
because they do not possess the ability to connect them with
the great law of repeated earthly lives.
Influenced by the currents of our time, people in a few regions
have begun to think of how it may be possible to assist nature
according to the physical line of heredity, the stream of
heredity, as the materialist says — they do not say Divine
Providence. The brilliant minds of many individuals are
especially impelled to reflect on how offspring may be produced
in our sad time. But in the minds of most people, this question
is identical with that of how families may be assisted to have
as many children as possible; that is, how the conditions
conducive to producing the greatest number of descendants may
be established scientifically. One who can see through things
can readily foresee what will come about. Those who are
displaying their scientific theories about the best possible
conditions for producing future progeny will be completely
fooled simply because they refuse to learn anything. All they
would have to do would be to observe the results in instances
where excellent conditions existed for the production of
children. For example, there is the case of the well-known
Johann Sebastian Bach,
(Note 109)
who was cantor in the
Thomas School in Leipzig some two hundred years ago, and who
played a great deal of music with his ten musical sons. No one
can say that this family with ten sons was unfruitful. But you
can go all the way back to the great grandfather of Johann
Sebastian Bach. He also had sons. There were so many sons
throughout the generations that almost the entire family was as
prolific as Johann Sebastian himself. That is to say that what
constitutes favorable conditions for having descendants was
present in this family in the most eminent sense. Nevertheless,
by 1850, a hundred years after the death of Johann Sebastian
Bach, the entire family had died out; not a single descendant
was left. There you have what needs to be studied. Thus, when
people with their new method will have come up with their
so-called favorable conditions, they will not be able to
prevent the possible generation of ten-member families, but
after fifty years such families may no longer exist.
We
shall speak again tomorrow of how conditions arise under which
humanity evolves and how these are quite different from those
at which our natural philosophic world conception labors with
its utter lack of all wisdom. But this scientific world
conception is simply one of the outcroppings of materialism. I
have already told you that those who are familiar with the
fundamental laws of the occult conception of the world knew
that in the middle of the nineteenth century we reached the
lowest point — or, as the materialists might designate it, the
highest point — of materialistic thinking, feeling, and
willing. We have already learned to know much that is connected
with this materialistic thinking, and we shall still have to
learn much more. But what strikes us time and again is the fact
that even well-meaning persons are by no means inclined to
become acquainted with the materialistic impulses dominating
the depths and heights regarding human perception and will.
Here people are really astonishingly little inclined to submit
to what has so often been discussed, that is, to seeing the
world with open eyes. What will become of the world if the
views that have spread over the entire earth in the second half
of the nineteenth century continue to develop further? In the
course of these lectures we shall have to speak about the deep
inner reasons for these things in our time.
We
must, however, confront our souls with the question of how far
things have really gone in some fields. Indeed, the nineteenth
century was the period in which the view was presented that a
real scientist could not possibly accept the childish and
absurd conceptions of the ancient religions. What has been
preserved in them — and we shall later discuss how it has been
preserved — was considered mere childishness. It was
considered the mark of an enlightened person to have risen
above the assumption of a spiritual-psychic organism in the
human being and that he is to be especially distinguished from
animals. Not only was the endeavor made to establish a physical
connection between human beings and animals, but the endeavor
was also made to prove that they are nothing but animals, that
is, simply a little different from other animals just as other
animals differ from one another. That is the very point these
people wanted to make, and it was from this point of view that
not only natural histories were written, but also psychological
texts. Pick up at random what the dominant people of the
nineteenth century have written, and you will find at what
conceptions man has actually arrived.
I have
a book here before me; it is, in a certain sense, a book
representing profoundly decisive views of the nineteenth
century for it deals with the human soul. Every possible effort
is made in this book to prove that this soul is something
simply talked about by stupid people of earlier and present
times. It was written in 1865, but these views were
disseminated, and though some people say today that we have
passed beyond that, we have not, but are still deep within it
in the life of feeling and of general culture. The book deals
with the human soul, but a special effort is made to
demonstrate that the animal soul is the same as that of humans.
In particular, you will find in it a neat definition of women
and men. The author says that women represent in their peculiar
characteristics a greater tendency to spirituality, whereas men
represent more the tendency to materialism. In other words,
according to this statement, spirituality is a weakness of
women! The author then finds that certain crazy psychologists
still speak about an ego that distinguishes man from animal.
But he says in a delicate way that the cat, for example, shows
that it also says “I;” that it has the same kind of
consciousness of the ego, so the author expresses it, as our
vague and super-sensible psychologists because the ego
consciousness of the cat is not in the least different from
that of the human being. Then comes a passage that is quoted
from another book with which, however, the author is in full
agreement. I shall read this passage, and I beg you to excuse
the fact that the language is a bit off-color, but this is not
my fault. It is the fault of the philosophy that has developed
under such influences and that proposes to project living
impulses into the future, asserting that it is the only
philosophy today worthy of the human being. The passage
reads:
The
theologians and metaphysicians of our age pretend that man is
the only religious animal. This is utterly false and the error
is entirely in keeping with that made by some travelers who
conclude, from the absence of organized cults, that religion is
absent among certain savage peoples. Among a great proportion
of the entire succession of animals, including even the
molluscs, indications are to be found of fetishism and star
worship. [ So we find among the molluscs and other animals
indications of fetishism and worship of the stars.] Those that
most nearly approach the human being live in veritable
polytheistic anthropolatry. Our domestic dog barks at the moon
and howls in a particular way when it is at the seashore; it
may also be seen on certain occasions making use of whatever
lustral water is available and carrying out more or less
obscure rites. Who would be able to prove that there have never
been high priests among dogs? What could have degraded the poor
animal to the point of causing him to lick the hand that
strikes him if this was not done by religious and superstitious
ideas? How is one to explain, except on the basis of a profound
anthropolatry, the voluntary submission to man of so many
animals stronger and more active than he? To be sure, it will
be said that the animal frequently devours his god, but
primus in orbo deos fecit timor (fear, first of all
things on earth, created gods). ... Besides, the sectarians
of most of the religions also eat theirs!
The
book in which this view is approved is entitled
Materialism and Spiritualism
and was written by Leblais
(Note 110)
with a preface by Littré,
(Note 111)
a man who produced
a whole series of writings. In 1871 he was elected to the
National Assembly and in the same year was made a member of the
Academy. This same Littré, a man known throughout the
entire world, wrote the preface to this book. It deals with the
human soul and simply expresses in an emphatic way what in
essence is pulsing through many souls today. It is only because
people are so little inclined to observe life that they fail to
see the important bearing it has upon the course of human
evolution, to the sorrow and pain of anyone who sees into these
things.
Thus,
I wanted to present to you a by no means isolated example of
the presence of materialistic views in the second half of the
nineteenth century.
Now
let us ask whether such views are without significance for
external life. Do they not gradually penetrate into this
external life? Do they not mold and form this external life?
Just yesterday I was sent a book by a member, the young Swiss
Albert Steffen
(Note 112),
in which he could observe various
currents of our time, because he is, in a certain sense,
permeated by those impulses that are at play in spiritual
science. Young Steffen describes a little of what can be
experienced by a man who permits the influences of materialism
on the molding of the social world to work upon him.
In his
novel, which is called
The True Lover of Destiny
(Der rechte Liebhaber des Schicksals),
there is a character named
Arthur who records a fragment of his life for a certain
purpose. It is, to be sure, a section taken from a novel, but
it describes much of what pulses today in life. So this Arthur
describes a fragment from that part of his life when
materialism takes hold of humanity and forms the social order.
Arthur says:
At
twenty-one, I went to a metropolis for the first time — not
the city in which I now live — in order to begin my
studies.
One
the day of my arrival I took a look at the streets. It was
raining. Everything was murky and dirty.The people all showed
the same indifferent but hurried pace, one just like another. I
felt myself overcome immediately by an inner barrenness. I
stopped in front of a billboard to see where I might spend the
evening. I read one poster that called for a meeting in favor
of prohibition. A man came with a pastepot and brush and pasted
a beer bottle poster over it.
The
very mark of our age — a poster in favor of anti-alcoholism
with a beer bottle poster pasted over it!
Then
suddenly I understood the significance of the mood that had
taken possession of me since I arrived in this city: it was
foolish to wish to improve human beings.
Disabled people stood to the right and left on the streets, yet
no one had time to consider their misfortune. Women passed by
and offered themselves and nobody showed pity or indignation.
Suddenly it seemed to me almost astonishing that the
shopkeepers did not come out of their shops to smash everything
to pieces and shout, “What does it matter?” But then I
perceived that the only reason that people did not despair was
because they were already too commonplace, too cunning, too
thievish. They were entirely too much at home in these
alleys.
And
did I then despair? I must confess that I greedily sucked up
the mood of this alley. With a shuddering lust for death I took
in the certainty that everything was on the way to destruction.
The people who met me bore the unmistakable signs of
degeneration. The houses reeked of corruption. Even the gray
sky seemed to drop something heavy and inevitable from its
clouds.
This
feeling grew stronger in me. In this state of soul I sought out
almost unconsciously darker and darker alleys. I went into
courtyards full of refuse. I stared into windows and witnessed
dreadful crimes. I read the notices that swindlers and
procuresses thrust into my hands. Finally, I climbed aboard one
of the buses that roared with terrific power through the
streets. I closed my eyes. The thundering noise rumbled through
me like a hymn of death.
Suddenly the vehicle stopped. I stooped over and heard a few
indifferent words. A child had run across the street, had been
caught under a wheel and was carried away dead. We continued
our way.
From
this moment on something within me was paralyzed. I could now
see the horrible thing that this city was, and it no longer
horrified, angered, or disgusted me. It seemed to me quite
natural.
More:
I had to laugh at anybody who wanted to change it.
Could
a person move otherwise in this fever of hunger, thirst, and
passions?
My
father came from a family of pastors. He studied natural
science and absorbed its results with great enthusiasm. It made
him clear in thought, thorough, broad-minded and, in the truest
sense of the word, human. He applied all his powers to the
investigation of the sensory world. The super-sensible did not
interest him. At least, I learned nothing of it from him.
In my
childhood I adopted his view of the world without investigating
whether its theories might be one-sided, just as an admiring
child receives the truth from his father. But I did not yet
possess his steadfastness of character that is acquired in the
course of life, nor the religiousness he inherited from his
ancestors, which he denied, but which was nonetheless in his
nature. I did not have such a stock to live on. No pious
practices were taught me in my youth that would have enriched
and deepened my soul and could have worked on further in
me.
Now
bear in mind how often I have said — I have brought this to
your attention for years — that the first generation will
still be able to live with materialism because it lives under
the spiritual influence received from its forefathers, but that
the succeeding generation would degenerate under materialism
and would go to ruin. It is gratifying — if such a thing can
be gratifying — that this truth passes over now even into
literature. Steffen's narrator continues:
Perhaps this is why the effect of scientific knowledge on me
was different from what it was on my father. That inner
inheritance prevented him from carrying over into life what he
had attained as knowledge. In my case it was quite different;
this single day had the effect of reversing, so to speak, the
direction of my will.
My
father confessed to an intellectual satisfaction when he
reflected that the human being is dissipated after death and no
longer exists. The certainty of this, and it seemed certain to
me, evoked in me a sort of ecstatic impulse to self-destruction
and, as a result, heartlessness and lust for crime.
I
recently pointed out to you that modern humanity is cruel even
in its use of concepts. Now we read here:
That
evening I had become empty, void of feeling, and cruel, and I
did not say No to these characteristics. In the
succeeding time I lived entirely without scruple. And just
because my action arose not from an impulse that I was unable
to master, but from a certain logic and strength of will, the
effect on me was twice as disastrous. I knew this. I was
absolutely wicked.
He now
relates how he fell into bad company, led another into bad
company, and so forth. This you can read yourselves. But there
is another brief passage to which I should like to call
attention because it is symptomatic. A number of Arthur's
acquaintances are together, all of them persons “worthy of
honor,” who intended the best within their group. But Arthur
has to slip away on one occasion, and he then sits alone at an
empty table. Steffan narrates the incident as follows:
After
a while a gentleman sat down opposite him whose face struck him
because it bore an astonishing likeness to his own. It was
pale, lean, smoothly shaven, but with somewhat more witch-like
lines.
A
peddlar came, put his glasses on his nose, untied a bundle of
picture postcards and, with a sleight-of-hand rapidity, put
them first before Arthur, then before the stranger all the
while looking into the face of the one under whose nose he held
them as if he might see his chances there. Arthur turned away
in disgust. The stranger went through them carefully and
selected about ten, which he put together and tore to pieces.
“These persons should not be given the opportunity to earn
anything,” he said to Arthur. “Of course, he will order a
double supply of those I purchased. They were the most dreadful
of all. But I saw so many decent working class couples here
that I was afraid he would show these cards to them.”
“How
can anyone look at such pictures?” asked Arthur.
“Surrender yourself for a moment, without resistance, to the
fumes in here, and you will see that figures take form in your
soul whose movements are just as ugly as is depicted on the
postcards. What are our places of entertainment today other
than hells? You need only test your feelings after you have
left them — smoke, fumes, prostitutes. You do not take
anything noble away with you.”
“Why
are you, then, in this dangerous place?” asked Arthur.
“Because I consider it necessary that someone should be here
who is disgusted. The thought of the necessity for disgust in
our time came to me a few days ago at an exhibit of Greek
vases. The Greeks did not need to be disgusted in order to
attain to beauty. They lived in it from the beginning. But we
need this disgust if we wish to stand completely in life, in
order to value the world correctly, in order to come to the
spirit within us, in order to protect the God within us. It was
different with the Greeks. When they surrendered themselves to
life, they fulfilled also the laws of the spirit. They did not
need to constantly defend and arm themselves. The work of man
everywhere made the human being beautiful — the buildings, the
art, the customs, the utensils, even to the smallest thing. But
we become ugly through everything that surrounds us — streets,
posters, movies, popular music — everything makes us barren,
everything destroys us ...”
Here
is a question we must study: what lives at first in the thought
world, and in the world of feeling, how does it flow into the
social world? It is not good simply to sleep through life, not
knowing what has been working at the bottom of it before it has
come to its ultimate consequence. After all, the reason such a
man, who has taken into himself something from spiritual
science, describes this life well is because he has an eye for
it.
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