Lecture VI
I have spoken to you from various points
of view of the impulses at work in the fifth post-Atlantean
epoch. You suspect — for I could only draw your
attention to a few of these impulses — that there are
many others which one can attempt to lay hold of in order to
comprehend the course of evolution in our epoch. In my next
lectures I propose to speak of the impulses which have been
active in the civilized world since the fifteenth century,
especially the religious impulses. I will attempt therefore
in the three following lectures to give you a kind of history
of religions.
Today I should
like to discuss briefly something which some of you perhaps
might find superfluous, but which I am anxious to discuss
because it could also be important in one way or another for
those who are personally involved in the impulses of the
present epoch. I should like to take as my starting point the
fact that at a certain moment, I felt that it was necessary
to lay hold of the impulses of the present time in the ideal
which I put forward in my book
The Philosophy of Freedom.
The book
appeared, as you know, a quarter of a century ago and has
just been reprinted. I wrote
The Philosophy of Freedom
— fully conscious of the exigencies of the
time — in the early nineties of the last century. Those
who have read the preface which I wrote in 1894 will feel
that I was animated by the desire to reflect the needs of the
time. In the revised edition of 1918 I placed the original
preface of 1894 at the end of the book as a second appendix.
Inevitably when a book is re-edited after a quarter of a
century circumstances have changed; but for certain reasons I
did not wish to suppress anything that could be found in the
first edition.
As a kind of motto to
The Philosophy of Freedom
I wrote in the original preface:
‘Truth alone can give us assurance in
developing our individual powers. Whoever is tormented by
doubts finds his powers emasculated. In a world that is an
enigma to him he can find no goal for his creative energies.’
‘This book does not claim to point the only possible way to
truth, it seeks to describe the path taken by one who sets
store upon the truth.’
I had been only
a short time in Weimar when I began to write
The Philosophy of Freedom.
For some years I had carried the
main outlines in my head. In all I spent seven years in
Weimar. The complete plan of my book can be found in the last
chapter of my doctoral dissertation,
Truth and Science.
But in the text which I presented for my doctorate I omitted of
course this last chapter.
The fundamental idea of
The Philosophy of Freedom
had taken shape when I was studying Goethe's
Weltanschauung
which had occupied my attention for many years. As a result of my
Goethe studies and my publications on the subject of Goethe's
Weltanschauung
I was invited to come to Weimar and
collaborate in editing the Weimar edition of Goethe's works,
the Grand Duchess Sophie edition as it was called. The Goethe
archives founded by the Grand Duchess began publication at
the end of the eighties.
You will
forgive me if I mention a few personal details, for, as I
have said, I should like to describe my personal involvement
in the impulses of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. In the
nineties of the last century in Weimar one could observe the
interweaving of two streams — the healthy traditions of
a mature, impressive and rich culture associated with what I
should like to call Goetheanism, and the traditional
Goetheanism in Weimar which at that time was coloured by the
heritage of Liszt. And also making its influence felt —
since Weimar through its academy of art has always been an
art centre — was what might well have provided
important impulses of a far-reaching nature if it had not
been submerged by something else. For the old, what belongs
to the past, can only continue to develop fruitfully if it is
permeated and fertilized by the new. Alongside the
Goetheanism — which survived in a somewhat petrified
form in the Goethe archives, (but that was of no consequence,
it could be rejuvenated, and personally I always saw it as a
living force) — a modern spirit invaded the sphere of
art. The painters living in Weimar were all influenced by
modern trends. In those with whom I was closely associated
one could observe the profound influence of the new artistic
impulse represented by Count Leopold von Kalkreuth
[ Note 1 ],
who at that time, for all too brief a period, had been a powerful
seminal force in the artistic life of Weimar. In the Weimar
theatre also a sound and excellent tradition still survived,
though marred occasionally by philistinism. Weimer was a
centre, a focal point where many and various cultural streams
could meet.
In addition,
there was the activity of the Goethe archives which were
later enlarged and became the Goethe-Schiller archives. In
spite of the dry philological approach which lies at the root
of the work of archives, and reflects the spirit of the time
and especially of the outlook of Scherer,
[ Note 2 ]
an active interest
on the more positive impulses of the modern epoch was
apparent, because the Goethe archives became the magnet for
international scholars of repute. They came from Russia,
Norway, Holland, Italy, England, France and America and
though many did not escape the philistinism of the age it was
possible nonetheless to detect amongst this gathering of
international scholars in Weimar, especially in the nineties,
signs of more positive forces. I still vividly recall the
eccentric behaviour of an American professor
[ Note A ]
who was engaged
on a detailed study of Faust. I still see him sitting
crosslegged on the floor because he found it convenient to
sit next to the bookshelf where he could immediately put his
hand on the reference books he needed without having to
return continually to his chair. I remember also the gruff
Treitschke
[ Note 3 ]
whom I once met at lunch and who wanted to know
where I came from. (Since he was deaf one had to write
everything down on slips of paper.) When I replied that I
came from Austria he promptly retorted, characterizing the
Austrians in his inimitable fashion: well, the Austrians are
either extremely clever people or scoundrels! And so one
could take one's choice; one could opt for the one or the
other. I could quote you countless examples of the influence
of the international element upon the activities in
Weimar.
One also
learned much from the fact that people also came to Weimar in
order to see what had survived of the Goethe era. Other
visitors came to Weimar who excited a lively interest for the
way in which they approached Goetheanism, etcetera. I need
only mention Richard Strauss
[ Note 4 ]
who first made his name in Weimar and whose compositions
deteriorated rather than improved with time. But at that time
he belonged to those elements who provided a delightful
introduction to the modern trends in music. In his youth
Richard Strauss was a man of many interests and I still
recall with affection his frequent visits to the archives and
the occasion when he unearthed one of the striking aphorisms
to be found in Goethe's conversations with his
contemporaries. The conversations have been edited by
Waldemar Freiherr von Biedermann
[ Note 5 ]
and contain veritable pearls of wisdom. I mention these details
in order to depict the milieu of Weimar at that time in so far
as I was associated with it.
A distinguished
figure, a living embodiment of the best traditions of the
classical age of Weimar, quite apart from his princely
origin, was a frequent visitor to the archives. It was the
Grand Duke Karl Alexander whose essentially human qualities
inspired affection and respect. He was the survivor of a
living tradition for he was born in 1818 and had therefore
spent the fourteen years of his childhood and youth in Weimar
as a contemporary of Goethe. He was a personality of
extraordinary charm. And in addition to the Duke one had also
the greatest admiration for the Grand Duchess Sophie of the
house of Orange who made herself responsible for the
posthumous works of Goethe and attended to all the details
necessary for their preservation. That in later years a
former finance minister was appointed head of the Goethe
Society certainly did not meet with approval in Weimar. And I
believe that a considerable number of those who were by no
means philistine and who were associated in the days of Karl
Alexander with what is called Goetheanism would have been
delighted to learn, in jest of course, that perhaps after all
there was something symptomatic in the Christian name of the
former finance minister who became president of the Goethe
Society. He rejoiced in the Christian name of Kreuzwendedich
[ Note 6 ].
I wrote
The Philosophy of Freedom
when I was deeply involved in this
milieu and I feel certain that it expressed a necessary
impulse of our time. I say this, not out of presumption, but
in order to characterize what I wanted to achieve and still
wish to achieve with the publication of this book. I wrote
The Philosophy of Freedom
in order to give mankind a
clear picture of the idea of freedom, of the impulse of
freedom which must be the fundamental impulse of the fifth
post-Atlantean epoch (and which must be developed out of the
other fragmentary impulses of various kinds.) To this end it
was necessary first of all to establish the impulse of
freedom on a firm scientific basis. Therefore the first
section of the book was entitled
‘Knowledge of Freedom.’
Many, of course, have found this section somewhat repugnant
and unpalatable, for they had to accept the idea that the
impulse of freedom was firmly rooted in strictly scientific
considerations based upon freedom of thought, and not in the
tendency to scientific monism which is prevalent today. This section,
‘Knowledge of Freedom,’
has perhaps a polemical
character which is explained by the intellectual climate at
that time. I had to deal with the philosophy of the
nineteenth century and its Weltanschauung. I wanted to
demonstrate that the concept of freedom is a universal
concept, that only he can understand and truly feel what
freedom is who perceives that the human soul is the scene not
only of terrestrial forces, but that the whole cosmic process
streams through the soul of man and can be apprehended in the
soul of man. Only when man opens himself to this cosmic
process, when he consciously experiences it in his inner
life, when he recognizes that his inner life is of a cosmic
nature will it be possible to arrive at a philosophy of
freedom. He who follows the trend of modern scientific
teaching and allows his thinking to be determined solely by
sense perception cannot arrive at a philosophy of freedom.
The tragedy of our time is that students in our universities
are taught to harness their thinking only to the sensible
world. In consequence we are involuntarily caught up in an
age that is more or less helpless in face of ethical, social
and political questions. For a thinking that is tied to the
apron strings of sense perception alone will never be able to
achieve inner freedom so that it can rise to the level of
intuitions, to which it must rise if it is to play an active
part in human affairs. The impulse of freedom has therefore
been positively stifled by a thinking that is conditioned in
this way.
The first thing
that my contemporaries found unpalatable in my book
The Philosophy of Freedom
was this: they would have to be
prepared first of all to fight their way through to a
knowledge of freedom by self-disciplined thinking.
The second,
longer section of the book deals with the reality of freedom.
I was concerned to show how freedom must find expression in
external life, how it can become a real driving force of
human action and social life. I wanted to show how man can
arrive at the stage where he feels that he really acts as a
free being. And it seems to me that what I wrote twenty years
ago could well be understood by mankind today in view of
present circumstances.
What I had
advocated first of all was an ethical individualism. I had to
show that man can never become a free being unless his
actions have their source in those ideas which are rooted in
the intuitions of the single individual. This ethical
individualism only recognized as the final goal of man's
moral development what is called the free spirit which
struggles free of the constraint of natural laws and the
constraint of all conventional moral norms, which is
confident that in an age when evil tendencies are increasing,
man can, if he rises to intuitions, transmute these evil
tendencies into that which, for the Consciousness Soul, is
destined to become the principle of the good, that which is
befitting the dignity of man. I wrote therefore at that
time:
Only the laws obtained in this way are
related to human action as the laws of nature are related
to a particular phenomenon. These laws however are in no
way identical with the impulses which govern our actions.
If we wish to understand how a man's action arises from
his moral will, we must first study the relation of this
will to the action.
I envisaged the
idea of a free community life such as I described to you
recently from a different angle — a free community life
in which not only the individual claims freedom for himself,
but in which, through the reciprocal relationship of men in
their social life, freedom as impulse of this life can be
realized. And so I unhesitatingly wrote at that time:
To live in love of our action and to
let live in the full understanding of the other's will is
the fundamental maxim of free men. They know no other
obligation than that with which their will intuitively
puts itself in harmony; how they will direct their will
in a particular case will be determined by their capacity
for ideas.
With this
ethical individualism the whole Kantian school, of course,
was ranged against me, for the preface to my essay
Truth and Science
opens with the words: ‘We must go beyond Kant.’
I wanted at that time to draw the attention of my
contemporaries to Goetheanism — the Goetheanism of the
late nineteenth century however — through the medium of
the so-called intellectuals, those who regarded themselves as
the intellectual elite. I met with little success. And this
is shown by the article
[ Note B ]
which I recently wrote in the Reich and especially by my
relations to Eduard von Hartmann
[ Note 7 ].
You can imagine the alarm
of contemporaries who were gravitating towards total
philistinism, when they read this sentence
[ Note C ]:
When Kant apostrophizes duty:
‘Duty! thou sublime and mighty
name, thou that dost embrace within thyself nothing
pleasing, nothing ingratiating, but dost demand
submission, thou that dost establish a law ... before
which all inclinations are silent even though they
secretly work against it,’ then, out of the
consciousness of the free spirit, man replies:
‘Freedom! thou kindly and humane name, thou that
dost embrace all that is morally pleasing, all that my
human dignity most cherishes and that makest me the
servant of nobody, that settest up no new law, but dost
await what my moral love itself will recognize as law,
because, in face of every law imposed upon it, it feels
itself unfree ...’
Thus the
underlying purpose of
The Philosophy of Freedom
was to seek freedom in the empirical, in lived experience, a
freedom which at the same time should be established on a
firm scientific foundation. Freedom is the only word which
has a ring of immediate truth today. If freedom were
understood in the sense I implied at that time, then
everything that is said today about the world order would
strike a totally different note. We speak today of all sorts
of things — of peace founded on justice, of peace
imposed by force and so on. But these are simply slogans
because neither justice nor force bear any relationship to
their original meaning. Today our idea of justice is
completely confused. Freedom alone, if our contemporaries had
accepted it, could have awakened in them fundamental impulses
and brought them to an understanding of reality. If, instead
of such slogans as peace founded on justice, or peace imposed
by force, people would only speak of peace based on freedom,
then this word would echo round the world and in this epoch
of the Consciousness Soul might kindle in the hearts of men a
sense of security. Of course in a certain sense this second,
longer section had a polemical intention, for it was
necessary to parry (in advance) the attacks which in the
name of philistinism, cheap slogans and blind submission to
authority could be launched against this conception of the
free spirit.
Now although
there were isolated individuals who sensed which way the wind
was blowing in
The Philosophy of Freedom,
it was
extremely difficult — in fact it was impossible —
to find my contemporaries in any way receptive to its
message. It is true — amongst isolated voices —
that a critic of the time wrote in the Frankfurter
Zeitung: ‘clear and true, that is the motto that could
be written on the first page of this book,’ but my
contemporaries had little understanding of this clarity and
truth.
Now this book
appeared at a time when the Nietzsche wave was sweeping over
the civilized world — and though this had no influence
on the contents, it was certainly not without effect upon the
hope I cherished that the book might nonetheless be
understood by a few contemporaries. I am referring to the
first Nietzsche wave when people realized that Nietzsche's
often unbalanced mind was the vehicle of mighty and important
impulses of the age. And before Nietzsche's image had been
distorted by people such as Count Kessler
[ Note 8 ]
and Nietzsche's
sister, in conjunction with such men as the Berliner, Karl Breysig
[ Note 8 ]
and the garrulous Horneffer, there was every hope
that, after the ground had been prepared by Nietzsche, these
ideas of freedom might find a certain public. This hope was
dashed when, through the people mentioned above, Nietzsche
became the victim of modern decadence, of literary
pretentiousness and snobism — (I do not know what term
to choose in order to make myself understood).
After having written
The Philosophy of Freedom
I had first of all
to observe how things developed — I am not referring to
the ideas contained in the book (for I knew that at first few
copies had been sold), but to the impulses which had been the
source of the ideas in
The Philosophy of Freedom.
I had the opportunity of studying this for a number of years from the
vantage point of Weimar.
However,
shortly after its publication,
The Philosophy of Freedom
found an audience, an audience whom many would now regard as
lukewarm. It found limited support in the circles associated
with the names of the American, Benjamin Tucker,
[ Note 9 ]
and the Scottish-German or German-Scott, John Henry Mackay.
[ Note 9 ]
In a world of increasing philistinism this was hardly a
recommendation because these people were among the most
radical champions of a social order based on freedom of the
Spirit and also because when patronized to some extent by
these people, as happened for a time in the case of
The Philosophy of Freedom,
one at least earned the right to have
not only
The Philosophy of Freedom,
but also some of
my later publications banned by the Russian censor! The
Magazin für Literatur which I edited in later
years found its way into Russia, but, for this reason, most
of its columns were blacked out. But the movement with which
the Magazin was concerned and which was associated
with the names of Benjamin Tucker and J. H. Mackay failed to
make any impression amid the increasing philistinism of the
age. In reality that period was not particularly propitious
for an understanding of
The Philosophy of Freedom,
and for the time being I could safely let the matter drop. It
seems to me that the time has now come when
The Philosophy of Freedom
must be republished, when, from
widely different quarters voices will be heard which raise
questions along the lines of
The Philosophy of Freedom.
You may say, of
course, that it would have been possible nonetheless to republish
The Philosophy of Freedom
during the
intervening years. No doubt many impressions could have been
sold over the years. But what really matters is not that my
most important books should sell in large numbers, but that
they are understood, and that the spiritual impulse
underlying them finds an echo in men's hearts.
In 1897 I left
the Weimar milieu where I had been to some extent a spectator
of the evolution of the time and moved to Berlin. After
Neumann-Hofer had disposed of the Magazin I acquired it in
order to have a platform for ideas which I considered to be
timely, in the true sense of the word, ideas which I could
advocate publicly. Shortly alter taking over the Magazin,
however, my correspondence with J. H. Mackay was published
and the professoriate who were the chief subscribers to the
Magazin were far from pleased. I was criticized on all sides.
‘What on earth is Steiner doing with our periodical,’ they
said, ‘what is he up to?’ The whole professoriate of Berlin
University who had subscribed to the Magazin at that
time, in so far as they were interested in philology or
literature — the Magazin had been founded in
1832, the year of Goethe's death and amongst other things
this was one of the reasons why the University professors had
subscribed to the review — this professoriate gradually
cancelled their subscriptions. I must admit that with the
publication of the Magazin I had the happy knack of
offending the readers — the readers and not the
Zeitgeist.
In this context
I should like to recall a small incident. Amongst the
representatives of contemporary intellectual life who
actively supported my work on behalf of Goetheanism was a
university professor. I will mention only one fact ...
those who know me will not accuse me of boasting when I say
that this professor once said to me in the Russischer Hof in
Weimar: ‘Alas, in comparison with what you have written on
Goethe, all our trivial comments on Goethe pale into
insignificance.’ I am relating a fact, and I do not see why
under present circumstances these things should be passed
over in silence. For after all the second half of the
Goethean maxim remains true (the first half is not Goethean):
vain self praise stinks, but people rarely take the trouble
to find out how unjust criticism on the part of others
smells.
[ Note 10 ]
Now this
professor was also a subscriber to the Magazin. You
will remember the international storm raised by the Dreyfus
affair at that time. Not only had I published in the
Magazin
[ Note D ]
information on the
Dreyfus
[ Note 11 ]
case that I alone was in a position to give, but I
had vigorously defendedt the famous article,
J'accuse, which Zola had written in defence of
Dreyfus. Thereupon I received from the professor who had sung
my praises in divers letters (and even had these effusions
printed) a postcard saying: ‘I hereby cancel my subscription
to the Magazin once and for all since I cannot tolerate in my
library a periodical that defends Emile Zola, a traitor to
his country in Jewish pay.’ That is only one little incident:
I could mention hundreds of a similar kind. As editor of the
Magazin für Literatur I was brought in contact with the
dark corridors of the time and also with the modern trends in
art and literature.
[ Note E ]
Were I to speak
of this you would have a picture of many characteristic
features of the time.
Somewhat
naively perhaps I had come to Berlin in order to observe how
ideas for the future might be received by a limited few
thanks to the platform provided by the Magazinat least as
long as the material resources available to the periodical
sufficed, and as long as the reputation which it formerly
enjoyed persisted, a reputation which, I must confess, I
undermined completely. But I was able in all innocence to
observe how these ideas spread amongst that section of the
population which based its Weltanschauung upon the writings
of that pot-house philistine Wilhelm Bölsche
[ Note 12 ]
and similar popular idols. And I was able to make extremely
interesting studier which, from many and various points of
view, threw light upon what is, and what is not, the true
task of our epoch.
Through my
friendship with Otto Erich Hartleben
[ Note 13 ]
I met at that time
many of the rising generation of young writers who are now
for the most part outmoded. Whether or not I fitted into this
literary group is not for me to decide. One of the members of
this group had recently written an article in the
Vossische Zeitung which he tried to show in his
pedantic way that I did not fit into this community and he
looked upon me as an unpaid peripatetic theologian amongst a
group of people who were anything but unpaid peripatetic
theologians, but who were at least youthful idealists.
Perhaps the
following episode will also interest you because it shows how
I became for a time a devoted friend of Otto Erich Hartleben.
It was during the time when I was still in Weimar. He always
visited Weimar to attend the meetings of the Goethe Society;
but he regularly missed them because it was his normal habit
to get up at 2 in the afternoon and the meetings began at 10
a.m. When the meetings were over I used to call on him and
usually found him in bed. Occasionally we would while away an
evening together. His peculiar devotion to me lasted until
the sensational Nietzsche affair in which I was involved
severed our friendship. We were sitting together one evening
and I recall how he warmed to me when, in the middle of the
conversation, I made the epigrammatic remark: ‘Schopenhauer
is simply a narrow-minded genius.’ Hartleben was delighted;
and he was delighted with many other things I said the same
evening so that Max Martersteig (who became famous in later
years) jumped up at my remarks and said: ‘Don't provoke me,
don't provoke me.’
It was on one
of the evenings which I spent in those days in the company of
the promising Otto Erich Hartleben and the promising Max
Martersteig and others that the first Serenissimus anecdote
was born. It became the source of all later Serenissimus
anecdotes. I should not like to leave this unmentioned; it
certainly belongs to the milieu of
The Philosophy of Freedom,
for the spirit of
The Philosophy of Freedom
pervaded the circle I frequented and I still
recall today the stimulus which Max Halbe
[ Note 14 ]
received from
it (at least that is what he claimed). All these people had
already read the book and many of the ideas of
The Philosophy of Freedom
have nonetheless found their way
into the world of literature. The original Serenissimus
anecdote from which all other Serenissimus anecdotes are
derived did not by any means spring from a desire to ridicule
a particular personality, but from that frame of mind that
must also be associated with the impulse of
The Philosophy of Freedom,
namely, a certain humouristic attitude to life or
— as I often say — an unsentimental view of life
which is especially necessary when one looks at life from a
deeply spiritual standpoint. This original anecdote is as
follows:
His Serene
Highness is visiting the state penitentiary and asks for a
prisoner to be brought before him. The prisoner is brought
in. His Highness then asks him a series of questions: ‘How
long have you been detained here?’ ‘Twenty years’ —
‘Twenty years! That's a good stretch. Tell me, my good
fellow, what possessed you to take up your residence here?’
‘I murdered my mother.’ ‘I see, you murdered your mother;
strange, very strange! Now teil me, my good fellow, how long
do you propose to stay here?’ ‘As long as I live; I have been
given a life sentence.’ ‘Strange! That's a good stretch.
Well, I won't take up your valuable time with further
questions.’ He turns to the prison Governor — ‘See that
the last ten years of the prisoner's life sentence are
remitted.’
That was the
original anecdote. It did not spring from any malicious
intention, but from a humorous acceptance of that which, if
necessary, also has its ethical value. I am convinced that if
the personality at whom this anecdoteperhaps mistakenly
— was often directed had himself read this anecdote he
would have laughed heartily.
I was able
therefore to observe how in the Berlin circle I have
mentioned attempts were made to introduce something of the
new outlook. But ultimately a touch of the Bölsche crept
into everything. I am referring of course not only to the fat
Bölsche domiciled in Friedrichshagen, but to the whole
Bölsche outlook which plays a major part in the
philistinism of our time. Indeed the vulgarity of
Bölsche's descriptions is eminently suited to the
outlook of our time. When one reads Bölsche's articles
one is compelled to handle ordure or the like. And the same
applies to his style. One need only pick up this or that
article and we are invited to interest ourselves not only in
the sexual life of the jelly fish, but in much else besides.
This ‘Bölsche-ism’ has become a real tit-bit for the
rising philistines in our midst today.
What I wrote
one day in the Magazin was hardly the right way to
launch it. Max Halbe's
[ Note 14 ]
drama, Der Eroberer, had
just been performed. It certainly is a play with the best of
intentions, but for that reason fell flat in Berlin. I wrote
a criticism which reduced Halbe to sheer despair, for I took
all the Berlin newspapers to task and told the Berlin critics
one and all what I thought of them. That was hardly the way
to launch the Magazin. But this was a valuable
experience for me. Compared with the Weimer days one learned
to look at many things from a different angle. But at the
back of my mind there always lurked this question: how could
the epoch be persuaded to accept the ideas of
The Philosophy of Freedom?
If you are prepared to take the
trouble, you will find that everything I wrote for the
Magazin is imbued with the spirit of
The Philosophy of Freedom.
However, the Magazin was
not written for modern bourgeois philistines. But, of course,
through these different influences I was gradually forced
out.
At that very
moment the opportunity of another platform presented itself
— that of the socialist working class. In view of the
momentous questions which were stirring the consciousness of
the world at the turn of the century, questions with which I
was closely associated through J. H. Mackay and Tucker who
had come to Berlin from America and with whom I spent many an
interesting evening, I was glad of this opportunity of
another platform. For many years I was responsible for the
curriculum in various fields at the Berlin school for
workers' education. In addition I gave lectures in all kinds
of associations of the socialist workers. I had been invited
not only to give these lectures, but also to conduct a course
on how to debate. Not only were they interested in
understanding clearly what I have discussed with you here in
these lectures, but they were anxious to be able to speak in
public as well, to be able to advocate what they deemed to be
right and just. Exhaustive discussions were held on all sorts
of topics and in widely different groups. And this again gave
me an insight into the evolution of modern times from a
different point of view. Now it is interesting to note that
in these socialist circles one thing that is of capital
importance for our epoch and for the understanding of this
epoch was tabu. I could speak on any subject — for when
one speaks factually one can speak today (leaving aside the
proletarian prejudices) on any and every subject — save
that of freedom. To speak of freedom seemed
extremely dangerous. I had only a single follower who always
supported me whenever I delivered my libertarian tirades, as
the others were pleased to call them. It was the Pole,
Siegfried Nacht. I do not know what has become of him —
he always supported me in my defence of freedom against the
totalitarian programme of socialism.
When we look at
the present epoch and the new trends, we perceive that what
is lacking is precisely what
The Philosophy of Freedom
seeks to achieve. On a basis of freedom of thought
The Philosophy of Freedom
establishes a
science of freedom which is fully in accord with natural
science, yet reaches beyond it. This section of the book
makes it possible for really independent thinkers to be able
to develop within the present social order. For if freedom
without the solid foundation of a science of freedom were
regarded as real freedom, then, in an age when evil is
gaining ground (as I indicated yesterday), freedom would of
necessity lead not to liberty, but to licence. What is
necessary for the present epoch when freedom must become a
reality can only be found in the firm inner discipline of a
thinking freed from the tyranny of the senses, in genuine
scientific thinking.
But socialism,
the rising party of radicalism, which will assert itself even
against the nationalists of all shades who are totally devoid
of any understanding of their epoch, lacks any possibility of
arriving at a science of freedom. For if there is one truth
which is important for our epoch, it is this: socialism has
freed itself from the prejudices of the old nobility, the old
bourgeoisie and the old military caste. On the other hand it
has succumbed all the more to a blind faith in the
infallibility of scientific materialism, in positivism as it
is taught today. This positivism (as I could show) is simply
the continuation of the decree of the eighth Ecumenical
Council of Constantinople in 869. Like an infallible and
invisible pope this positivism holds in its iron grip the
parties of the extreme left, including Bolshevism, and
prevents them from attaining to freedom.
And that is the
reason why, however much it seeks to assert itself, this
socialism which is not rooted in the evolution of mankind,
cannot do other than convulse the world for a long time, but
can never conquer it. That is why it is not responsible for
errors it has already committed and why others must bear the
responsibility — those who have allowed it, or wished
to allow it, to become not a problem of pressure, as I have shown,
[ Note G ]
but a problem of suction.
It is this
inability to escape from the tentacles of positivism, of
scientific materialism, which is the characteristic feature
of the modern labour movement from the standpoint of those
whose criterion is the evolution of mankind and not either
the antiquated ideas of the bourgeoisie or what are often
called new social ideas of Wilsonism, etcetera.
Now I have
often mentioned that there would be no difficulty in
introducing spiritual ideas to the working class. But the
leaders of the working class movement refuse to consider
anything that is not rooted in Marxism. And so I was
gradually pushed aside. I had attempted to introduce
spiritual ideas and was to a certain extent successful, but I
was gradually driven out.
[ Note H ]
One day I was defending
spiritual values in a meeting attended by hundreds of my
students and only four members who had been sent by the party
executive to oppose me were present; nonetheless they made it
impossible for me to continue. I still vividly recall my
words: ‘If people wish socialism to play a part in future
evolution, then liberty of teaching and liberty of thought
must be permitted.’ Thereupon one of the stooges sent by the
party leadership declared: ‘In our party and its schools
there can be no question of freedom, but only of reasonable
constraint.’ These things I may add are profoundly
symptomatic of the forces at work today.
One must judge
the epoch by its most significant symptoms. One must not
imagine that the modern proletariat is not thirsting for
spiritual nourishment! It has an insatiable craving for it.
But the nourishment which it is offered is, in part, that in
which it firmly believes, namely positivism, scientific
materialism, or in part an indigestible pabulum that offers
stones instead of bread.
The Philosophy of Freedom
was bound to meet with opposition
here, too, because its fundamental impulse, the impulse of
freedom has no place in this most modern movement, (i.e.
socialism).
Before this
period had come to an end I was invited to give a lecture
before the Berlin Theosophical Society. A series of lectures
followed during the winter and this led to my association
with the Theosophical movement. I have spoken of this in the
preface to my book, Die Mystik im Aufgange des
neuzeitlichen Geisteslebens und ihr Verhältnis zur
modernen Weltanschauung.
[ Note I ]
I must emphasize once again
for this relationship with Theosophy has often been
misunderstood — that at no time did I seek contact with
the Theosophical Society; presumptuous as it may seem, it was
the Theosophical Society which sought to make contact with
me. When my book Mysticism and Modern Thought appeared not
only were many chapters translated for the Theosophical
Society, but Bertram Keightley and George Mead, who occupied
prominent positions in the Society at the time, said to me:
‘This book contains, correctly formulated, everything we have
to elaborate.’ At that time I had not read any of the
publications of the Theosophical Society. I then read them,
more or less as an ‘official’ only, although the prospect
filled me with dismay.
But it was
important to grasp the tendency of evolution, the impulse
weaving and working in the life of the time. I had been
invited to join the society; I could therefore join with good
reason in accordance with my karma because I could perhaps
find in the Theosophical Society a platform for what I had to
say. I had of course to suffer much harassment. I should like
to give an example which is symptomatic. One day when I
attended a congress of the Theosophical Society for the first
time I tried to put forward in a brief speech a certain point
of view. It was at the time when the ‘entente cordiale’ had
just been concluded and when everyone was deeply impressed by
this event. I tried to show that in the movement which the
Theosophical Society represents it is not a question of
diffusing theosophical teachings from any random centre, but
that the latest trends, the world over, should have a common
meeting place, a kind of focal point. And I ended with these
words: If we build upon the spirit, if we are really aiming
to create a spiritual community in a concrete and positive
fashion, so that the spirit which is manifested here and
there is drawn towards a common centre, towards the
Theosophical Society, then we shall build a different
‘entente cordiale.’
It was my first
speech before the Theosophical Society of London and I spoke
intentionally of this entente cordiale. Mrs. Besant declared
— it was her custom to add a few pompous remarks to
everything that was said — that the ‘German speaker’
had spoken very beautifully. But I did not have the meeting
on my side; and my words were drowned in the flood of
verbiage that followed — whereas the sympathies of the
audience and what they wanted was more on the side of the
Buddhist dandy, Jinaradjadasa. At the time this too seemed to
me symptomatic. After I had spoken of something of historical
significance, of the other entente cordiale, I sat down and
the Buddhist pandit, Jinaradjadasa, came tripping down from
his seat higher up in the auditorium — and I say
tripping advisedly in order to describe his movements
accurately — tapping with his walking stick on the
floor. His speech met with the approval of the audience, but
at the time all that I remembered was a torrent of words.
I have
emphasized from the very beginning — you need only read
the preface to my book
Theosophy
— that the
future development of theosophy will follow the lines of
thought already initiated by
The Philosophy of Freedom.
Perhaps I have made it difficult for many of
you to find an unbroken line of continuity between the
impulses behind
The Philosophy of Freedom
and what I
wrote in later years. People found the greatest difficulty in
accepting as true and reliable what I attempted to say and
what I attempted to have published. I had to suffer
considerable provocation. In this society which I had not
sought to join, but which had invited me to become a member,
I was not judged by what I had to offer, but by slogans and
cliches. And this went on for some time until, at least
amongst a small circle, I was no longer judged by slogans
alone. Fundamentally, what I said or had published was
relatively unimportant. It is true that people read it, but
to read something does not mean that one has assimilated it.
My books went through several editions, were reprinted again
and again. But people judged them not by what I said or what
they contained, but in terms of what they themselves
understood, in the one case the mystical element, in another
case the theosophical element, in a third case this, in a
fourth case that, and out of this weiter of conflicting
opinions emerged what passed for criticism. Under the
circumstances it was neither an ideal, nor an encouraging
moment to have
The Philosophy of Freedom
reprinted. Although this book presents, of course in an incomplete,
imperfect and infelicitous fashion, a small contribution to
the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, nonetheless it seeks to
express the fundamental, significant and really powerful
impulses of this epoch.
Now that
The Philosophy of Freedom
has been republished alter
a quarter of a century I should like to emphasize that it is
the fruit of a close and active participation in the life of
the time, of an insight into our epoch, of the endeavour to
detect, to apprehend what impulses are essential for our
epoch. And now twenty-five years later, when the present
catastrophe has overwhelmed mankind, I realize — you
may perhaps attribute it to naivety — that this book is
in the true sense of the word, timely; timely in the
unexpected sense, that the contemporary world rejects the
book in toto and often wants to know nothing of its
contents.
If there had
been any understanding of the purpose of this book — to
lay the foundations of ethical individualism and of a social
and political life — if people had really understood
its purpose, then they would know that there exist today ways
and means of directing human evolution into fertile channels
— different from other paths — whilst the worst
possible path that one could follow would be to inveigh
against the revolutionary parties, to grumble perpetually and
retail anecdotes about Bolshevism! It would be tragic if the
bourgeoisie could not overcome their immediate concern for
what the Bolsheviks have done here and there, for the way in
which they behave towards certain people; for, in reality,
that is beside the point. The real issue is to ascertain
whether the demands formulated by the Bolsheviks are in any
way justified. And if one can find a conception of the world
and of life that dares to say that, if you follow the path
indicated here, you will attain what you seek to achieve by
your imperfect means, and much else besides(and I am
convinced that, if one is imbued with
The Philosophy of Freedom,
one dares to say that) — then light would
dawn. And to this end the experience of a
Weltanschauung founded on freedom is imperative. It
is necessary to be able to grasp the fundamental idea of
ethical individualism, to know that it is founded on the
realization that man today is confronted with spiritual
intuitions of cosmic events, that when he makes his own not
the abstract ideas of Hegel, but the freedom of thought which
I tried to express in popular form in my book
The Theory of Knowledge Implicit in Goethe's World Conception,
he is actually in touch with cosmic impulses pulsating through
the inner being of man.
Only through
spiritual experiences is it possible to grasp the idea of
freedom and to begin to regenerate those impulses which at
the present time end in every case in a blind alley. The day
when we realize that it is a waste of words to discuss such
empty concepts as law, violence, etcetera, that the idea of
freedom can only lead to reality when apprehended through
spiritual experiences, that day will herald a new dawn for
mankind. To this end people must overcome their deep-seated
apathy; they must abandon the practice, common amongst
scientists today, of descanting on all kinds of social
questions, on the various quack remedies for social and
political amelioration. What they seek to achieve in this
domain they must learn to establish on a firm, solid
foundation of spiritual science. The idea of freedom must be
anchored in a science of freedom.
It was evident
to me that the proletariat is more receptive to a spiritual
outlook than the bourgeoisie which is steeped in
Bölsche-ism. One day for example aller Rosa Luxemburg
[ Note 15 ]
had spoken in Spandau on ‘science and the
workers’ before an audience of workers accompanied by their
wives and children — the hall was full of screaming
children, babes in arms and even dogs — I addressed the
meeting. At first I intended to say only a few words, but
finally my speech lasted one and a quarter hours. Taking up
the thread of her theme I pointed out that a real basis
already existed, namely, to apprehend science spiritually,
i.e. to seek for new forms of life from out of the spirit.
When I touched upon such questions I always found a measure
of support. But hitherto everything has failed owing to the
indolence of the learned professions, the scientists,
doctors, lawyers, philosophers, teachers, etcetera on whom
the workers ultimately depend for their knowledge. We met
with all sorts of people Hertzka
[ Note 16 ]
and his Treiland,
Michael Flürscheim and many others who cherished
ambitious social ideals. They all failed, as they were bound
to fail, because their ideas lacked a spiritual basis, a
basis of free, independent scientific thinking. Their ideas
were the product of a thinking corrupted by its attachment to
the sensible world such as one finds in modern positivism.
The day that sees an end to the denial of the spirit, a
denial that is characteristic of modern positivism, the day
when we recognize that we must build upon a thinking freed
from the tyranny of the senses, upon spiritual investigation,
including all that is called science in the ethical, social
and political domain, that day will mark the dawn of a new
humanity. The day that no longer regards the ideas I have
attempted to express here today, albeit so imperfectly, as
the voice of one crying in the wilderness, but as ideas that
will find their way to the hearts and souls of mankind today,
that day will herald a new dawn! People listen to all sorts
of things, even to Woodrow Wilson; they do more than listen
to him. But that which is born of the spirit of human
evolution finds little response in the hearts and souls of
men. But a way must be found to evoke this response. Mankind
must realize how the world would be transformed if the
meaning of freedom were understood, freedom not in the sense
of licence, but freedom born of a free spirit and a firmly
disciplined mind. If people understood what freedom and its
establishment would signify for the world, then the light
which many seek today would lighten the prevailing darkness
of our time.
This is what I
wanted to say to you with reference to historical ideas. My
time is up; there are many other things I wished to say, but
they can wait for another occasion. I ask your indulgence for
having included in my lecture many personal experiences of a
symptomatic nature that I have undergone in my present
incarnation. I wanted to show you that I have always
endeavoured to treat objectively the things which concern me
personally, to consider them as symptoms which reveal what
the age and the spirit of the age demand of us.
Translator's Notes:
Note A:
Thomas Calvin, Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures at
the University of Columbia.
Note B:
Luziferisches und Ahrimanisches in ihrem Verhältnis
zum Menschen.
Note C:
p. 143 of the 1964 edition of
The Philosophy of Freedom.
Note D:
11th December, 1897,
Die Instinkte der Franzosen
(see Bibl. Nr. 31).
Note E:
19th February, 1898,
Emil Zola und die Jugend
(see Bibl. Nr. 31 for this and other articles).
Note F:
See
Die Veröffentlichungen aus dem literarischen Frühwerk
R. Steiners
Heft V, VIII, IX.
Note G:
See Lecture IV.
Note H:
See
Chapter XXVIII, The Course of My Life,
Anthroposophic Press, New York, 1951.
Note I:
Mysticism and Modern Thought,
Anthroposophical Publishing Co., London and Anthroposophie Press,
New York, 1928 and as
Mysticism at the Dawn of the Modern Age,
Rudolf Steiner Publications, New Jersey, 1960.
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