Lecture 1
Dornach, 15th May, 1921
Lecture given
at Dornach, 15th May, 1921. From a shorthand report unrevised by the
lecturer. All rights reserved by the Philosophisch-Anthroposophischer
Verlag, Dornach. English translation by permission of H. Collison,
by whom all rights are reserved.
RECENT lectures given at the
Goetheanum have laid repeated emphasis on the fact that the Spiritual
Science cultivated here must work fruitfully upon the whole scientific
mind of to-day and also upon the various branches of science. This is
perhaps brought home to us most strongly of all when we realise the light
that is shed by Spiritual Science upon the problems of history. And so
far as the limits of two brief lectures allow, we will try to go into
this matter.
On many sides to-day it
is being said that the science of history is facing a crisis. Not so
very long ago, among certain circles in the days of the historian Ranke,
it was held that history must be made into an ‘exact’ science
— exact in the sense in which this expression is used in connection
with ordinary scientific research. We often hear it said by those to whom
‘exact research’ implies the methods current in the domain
of external science, that all historical writings are inevitably coloured
by the nationality, temperament and other personal propensities of the
historian, by the element of imagination working in the condensation
of the details, by the depth of his intuitive faculty and the like.
And as a matter of fact in the most recently written histories it is
abundantly evident that the presentation of objective facts and events
varies considerably according to the nationality of the historian,
according to his power of synthesis, his imagination and other
faculties.
In a certain respect,
Spiritual Science is well fitted to cultivate an objective outlook in the
study of history. It is, of course, not to be denied that the measure of
talent possessed by the historian himself will always play an important
part. Nevertheless, in spite of what our opponents choose to say to the
contrary, it is precisely in the study of history that a quality
essentially characteristic of Spiritual Science comes into play.
By its very nature Spiritual
Science must begin with a development of the inner, subjective faculties
in the being of man. Forces otherwise latent in the soul must be awakened
and transformed into real faculties of investigation. The subjective
realm, therefore, is necessarily the starting-point. But in spite of
this, the subjective element is gradually overcome in the course of
genuine spiritual research; depths are opened up in the soul in which
the voice of objective truth, not that of subjective feeling, is speaking.
It is the same in mathematics, when objective truths are proclaimed,
in spite of the fact that they are discovered by subjective effort.
From this point of view
I want to speak to you of a chapter of history which cannot but be of
the deepest interest to us in this modern age. I will choose from the
wide field of history the more spiritual forms of thought which came
to the fore in the nineteenth century, and speak about their origin
in the light of Spiritual Science. To-day I propose to deal with the
more exoteric aspect — if I may use this expression — and
pass on in the next lecture more into the realm of the esoteric connections
and deeper causes underlying the facts of the spiritual and mental life
of humanity.
As we look back to the
nineteenth century — and the character of the first twenty years
of the twentieth century is really very similar — the impression
usually is that thought in the nineteenth century developed along an
even, regular course. But those who go more deeply into the real facts
discover that this was by no means the case. About the middle of the
century a very radical change came about in the development of thought.
The mode of thinking and outlook of men underwent a metamorphosis. People
began to ask questions about the nature of the impulses underlying social
life in the past and present. It is only possible to-day to indicate
these things in a few characteristic strokes, but this we shall try
to do.
Leading minds in the first
half of the nineteenth century were all characterised by certain spiritual
and idealistic aspirations, in spite of the fact that they were the
offspring of the kind of thought that had become habitual in the domain
of natural science. These leading minds were still, to a certain extent,
conscious of their dependence upon an inner guidance A few definite
examples will show that this changes entirely in the second half of the
century. In following up this particular line of development we shall not
be able to concentrate upon those who were either scientists or artists
in the narrower sense. We shall have to select typical representatives of
scientific thought at that time who set themselves the task of clarifying
the problems of the social life which had become more and more insistent
in the course of the nineteenth century. More and more it was borne
in upon eminent thinkers that the only way of approach to the problems
of the social life was, on the one hand, to emphasise the importance
of the results achieved by science and, on the other, to deal with the
depression which had so obviously crept into the life and impulses of
the soul.
In the first half of the
nineteenth century, we find a representative personality in
Saint-Simon, a son, as it were, of the French Revolution, and
who had thoroughly imbibed the scientific thought of his time. Saint-Simon
was one whose mind, at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the
nineteenth centuries, may be taken as a typical example of the scientific
thinking of the day. He was also deeply concerned with the social problem.
He had experienced the aftermath of the French Revolution and had heard
the cry for Liberty, Equality, Fraternity resounding from the depths of
the human soul. But it had also been his lot to experience the
disappointments suffered by Europe alter the Revolution. He witnessed
the gradual emergence of what, later on, became the burning social
question. And if we study the whole temper and outlook of Saint-Simon's
mind, it is clear that he was a firm believer in the fact that knowledge
can ultimately lead to ideas which will be fruitful for the social life,
provided always that these ideas are in inner harmony with the demands of
the times. He was convinced that study, understanding and enthusiasm for
the tasks of social life would lead to the discovery of something which
could be communicated to men, and that they would respond to knowledge
born of enthusiasm for the betterment of social life and presented to them
in a form suited to the conditions of the age. Betterment and progress
— so thought Saint-Simon — will come about in the social
life of Europe through the co-operation of individuals who have both
understanding and strength of will. Saint-Simon was imbued with the
firm belief that it is possible to convince human beings when one's
own mind has grasped the truth and is capable of presenting it to others
in the proper scientific form. And so he tries to base all his work
upon the spiritual and mental conceptions of his day. He looks back
to times which, in his opinion, had already fulfilled their mission;
he thinks of the power once possessed by the nobles and the military
class, and says to himself: In earlier times the nobles and the military
class had their purpose and function. The nobles provided military forces
for the protection of those who desired to devote their energies to
the so-called arts of peace.
But — thought
Saint-Simon — in earlier times the priesthood too was a factor of
great significance. For long ages the instruction and education of the
people were in the hands of the priesthood and the priests were the
bearers of the spiritual life. But this state of things has long since
passed away. The nobles and the military class, nay even the priesthood,
have lost their raison dêtre. And on the other hand, an
entirely new line of activity has established itself in civilised life.
Saint-Simon was well aware of all that the development of industry and
industrial science meant in the evolution of humanity. He said to himself:
This industrial development will in its turn give rise to a kind of
thinking that has already been adopted by natural science, is employed
in physics, chemistry, biology, and will inevitably spread to the other
sciences. In astronomy, chemistry, physics and physiology we find
evidences of the kind of thinking that is current in the modern age.
But it is also essential
to inaugurate a science of man, in other words, psychology and sociology.
The principles of physics must be introduced into political science
and then it will be possible to work and act effectively in the domain
of social life. What is needed — so said Saint-Simon —
is a kind of ‘political physics,’ and he set out to build
up a science of social life and action that should be in line with the
principles of chemistry, physics and physiology. Saint-Simon considered
that this kind of thinking was evitable because of the overwhelming
importance which industrial life was beginning to assume in his day,
and he was convinced that no further progress would be possible in industry
if it remained under the old conditions of subordination to the military
class and to the priesthood.
At the same time Saint-Simon
indicated that all these changes were to be regarded as phases. The
priests and the nobility had had their function to perform in days gone
by and the same significance was, he said, now vested in the scholars
and the industrialists. Although in former times a spiritual conception
of life was thoroughly justified, the kind of thought that is fitting
in the modern age, said Saint-Simon, is of a different character. But
something always remains over from earlier times. Saint-Simon's rejection
of the older, sacerdotal culture was due to his intense preoccupation
with the industrialist mode of thinking that had come to the fore in
his day. He spoke of the old sacerdotal culture as a system of abstract
metaphysics, whereas the quest of the new age, even in the sphere of
politics, must be for philosophy concerned as directly with concrete
facts as industrial life is concerned with the facts of the external
world. The old sacerdotal culture, he said, simply remains as a system
of metaphysical traditions, devoid of real life, and it is this element
that is found above all in the new form of jurisprudence and in what
has crept into political life through jurisprudence. To Saint-Simon,
jurisprudence, and the concepts on which it was based, were remnants
and shadows of the time when sacerdotalism and militarism had a real
function to perform in the life of the people.
The views of a man like
Saint-Simon are born of the scientific mode of thinking which had become
so widespread in the eighteenth century, and even before that time.
It is a mode of thinking which directs all inner activity in man to
the external world of material facts. Saint-Simon's attitude, however,
was influenced by yet another factor, namely, the demand for individual
freedom which was at that time arising from the very depths of
man's being. On the one side we find the urge to discover natural law
everywhere and to admit nothing as being ‘scientific’ which
does not fall into line with this natural law. — And on the other
side there is the insistent demand for individual freedom: Man must
be his own matter and be able in freedom to find a place in the world
that is consistent with the dignity of manhood. These two demands are,
as a matter of fact, in diametrical opposition to one another. And if
we study the structure of the life of thought in the nineteenth century,
we realise that the mind of Saint-Simon and others like him was faced
continually with these great problems: How can I reconcile natural law
— to which man too must, after all, be subject — with the
demand for human freedom, for freedom of the individuality.
In the French Revolution a
materialistic view of the universe had been mingled with the inner demand
for individual freedom. And it was the voice of the French Revolution,
sounding over into the nineteenth century, which led men like Saint-Simon
to this bitter conflict in the realm of knowledge. — The laws
established by natural science hold good and are universal in their
application. They obtain also in the being of man, but he will not admit
it because within this body of scientific law he cannot find his freedom
as an individual.
And so at the beginning
of the nineteenth century, men like Saint-Simon stood as it were without
ground under their feet before two irreconcilable principles. In trying
to solve the problems of social life it was a question, on the one side,
of keeping faith with science and, on the other, of discovering a form
of social life wherein the freedom of true manhood is preserved and
maintained.
Saint-Simon tried hard in
every direction to find ideas for the institutions of industrial life
and of human life in general which might bring him satisfaction. But
again and again he was baffled by the incompatibility of these two demands
of his age. The conflict, moreover, did not only make itself manifest
in individual minds. Over the whole of the thought-life and its offspring,
namely, the political and economic life of the beginning, of the nineteenth
century, there loomed the shadow of this conflict. On the one side men
yearn for unshakable law and, on the other, demand individual freedom.
The problem was to discover a form of social life in which, firstly,
law should be as supreme as in the world of nature and which, secondly,
should offer man the possibility of individual freedom. The shrewdest
minds of the age — and Saint-Simon was certainly one — were
not able to find ideas capable of practical application in social life.
And so Saint-Simon prescribes a social system directed by science and
in line with scientific habits of thought. — But the demand for
individual freedom finds no fulfilment.
A cardinal demand had thus
obtruded itself in the life of the times, and is reflected in many a
mental conflict. Men like Goethe, not knowing where to turn and yet
seeking for a reconciliation of these two opposing principles, find
themselves condemned to a life of inner loneliness. At the beginning
of the nineteenth century there is a feeling of despair in face of the
fact that human thinking, in spite of every effort, is incapable along
these lines of discovering a practicable form of the social organism.
And the consequence of this is that minds of another character altogether
begin to make a stir — minds not fundamentally under the influence
of scientific thought nor desirous of applying the abstract demands
of the French Revolution but who aim at establishing some permanent
principle in the social life of a Europe shaken by the Revolution and
the deeds of Napoleon. And support is forthcoming for a man like
de Maistre who points back to conditions as they were in the
early centuries of Christendom in Europe.
De Maistre, born in the
South of France, issued his call to the French Nation in the nineties
of the eighteenth century, wrote his striking work on the Pope and also
his Soirées de St. Petersbourg. He is the most universal
mind among the reactionaries in the first half of the nineteenth century
— a shrewd and ingenious thinker. He calls the attention of those
who are willing to listen to the chaos that must gradually ensue if
men prove incapable of evolving ideas upon which a social order may
be built up. From this point of view he criticises with considerable
acrimony those whom he considers responsible for the chaos in modern
thought, among them, Locke, and he lays it down as an irrefutable principle
that no social order worthy of the name can arise unless the civilisation
of Europe is imbued once again with the old Catholic spirit of the early
centuries of Christendom.
We must be absolutely
objective in our study here and try to put ourselves in the place of a man
like de Maistre and of those who even to-day still think more or less as
he did. We must be able to see with the eyes of one who is convinced
that no true social science can be born of modern scientific thought
and that if no spiritual impulse can find its way into the social organism,
chaos must become more and more widespread. It is, of course, true that
neither de Maistre himself nor those who listened to his impassioned
words perceived the reality of a new spiritual impulse. De Maistre pointed
back to olden times, when the building of social order had actually
been within the capacity of men. In the world of scientific thought
to-day his voice has to all intents and purposes died away, but on the
surface only.
Those who perceive what
is really happening below the surface of civilised life, who realise
how traditional religions are stretching out their tentacles once again
and trying desperately to ‘modernise’ know how strongly
the attitude of men like de Maistre is influencing ever-widening
circles of reactionary thought. And if no counterbalance is created
this influence will play a more and more decisive Part in our declining
civilisation.
An objective study of de
Maistre makes it abundantly evident that there is in him no single trace
of a new spirit but that he is simply an ingenious and shrewd interpreter
of the ideas of Roman Catholicism. He has worked out the principles
of a social system which would, in his opinion, be capable of calling
forth from chaos a possible (although for the modern age not desirable)
social order, directed by ecclesiasticism. A strange situation has arisen
at this point in the life of modern thought.
In a certain sense, another
man who is also a typical representative of modern thinking came strongly
under the influence of de Maistre. He gave an entirely different turn
to the ideas of de Maistre but we must not forget that the actual content
of a thought is one thing and the mode of thinking another,
and it may be said with truth that the reactionary principles of de
Maistre appear, like an illegitimate child of modern culture, in an
unexpected place. Not from the point of view of content but from that
of the whole configuration of thought, Auguste Comte, sometimes
called the ‘father of modern society,’ is a true disciple
of de Maistre for whom, moreover, he had considerable admiration. On
the one side, Comte is a disciple of Saint-Simon, on the other, of de
Maistre. This will not readily be perceived by those who concentrate
on the actual content of the thoughts instead of upon the whole trend
and bent of the mental life. Comte speaks of three phases in the evolution
of humanity. — There is, firstly, the ancient, mythological period
— the theological stage — when supremacy was vested in the
priesthood. This, in his view, was superseded by the metaphysical phase,
when men elaborated systematic thoughts relating to things super-physical.
This stage too has passed away. The transition must now be made to a
kind of political physics, in line with the idea of Saint-Simon. Science
of given facts — this alone is worthy of the name of science.
But there must be an ascent from physics, chemistry, biology, to sociology,
and thus, following the same methods, to a kind of political physics.
Comte outlines a form of
society directed by positive thinking, that is to say, by thought based
entirely upon the material facts of the external world. In this social
structure there is, naturally, not a single trace of Catholic credulity
to be found. But in the way in which Comte builds up his system, the way
in which he substitutes the authority of the senses for the super-sensible
authority of the Church, putting humanity in the place of God, declaring
that it is the individual who acts but humanity who guides — all
this is simply another way of saying: Man thinks and God guides.
All this goes to show that
the essentially Catholic, reactionary thought of de Maistre is working
in the positive philosophy of Auguste Comte which is directed entirely
to the things of the material world. Catholic thought is being promulgated
in this sociology. And yet we must admit that there was an idealistic
tendency too in the thought of Auguste Comte. He believes, provided
always that his thought is in conformity with the spirit of the age,
that he can discover in the social structure something that will be
a blessing to man; he believes, furthermore, that this can be brought
home to men and that a beneficial and desirable form of social life
may thus be achieved. Implicit in every thinker during the first half
of the nineteenth century there is a certain confidence in ideas that
can be born in the mind of man and then communicated to others. There
is a certain confident belief that if only men can be convinced of the
truth of an idea, deeds of benefit to human life will spring from a
will that is guided by intelligence. This attitude of confidence expresses
itself in many different ways and is apparent in all the thinkers of
the first half of the nineteenth century. Their individual views are,
of course, partly influenced by nationality and partly by other factors,
but this attitude is none the less universal.
Consider for a moment how men
like Saint-Simon, Comte or Quételet conceive of the social order.
They work entirely with the intellect and reasoning faculty, systematising,
never departing from the principles of mathematical calculation,
building up statistics and orderly systems with a certain elegance and
grace. And then think of a man like Herbert Spencer in England
during the first half of the nineteenth century. Herbert Spencer is
absolutely typical of the English outlook. He does not systematise like
Saint-Simon and Comte, nor does he work with statistics. Economic and
industrial thinking, the way in which the problems of industrial life
are interlinked — all these things which he has learnt from the
others, he then proceeds to build up into a social science. On the basis
of scientific and economic thinking Herbert Spencer evolves a kind of
‘super-organism’. He himself does not use this expression
but many other thinkers adopted it, and indeed it became a habit in
the nineteenth century to place the prefix ‘super’ before
anything of which they were unable to form a concrete idea. This may
be quite harmless in the realm of lyrical thought, but when it becomes
a question of raising the concrete to a higher level simply by using
the prefix ‘super’ — as was usual at one time —
then one is stumbling about in a realm of confused thoughts and ideas.
In spite of this habit, however, eminent minds in the first half of
the nineteenth century were all possessed of a certain confidence that
the power of the spirit would ultimately lead them to the right path.
In the second half of the
nineteenth century there is a complete change. From many points of view,
Karl Marx may be regarded as an outstanding figure of this
period. He too, in his own way, tries to give to the social life a lead
based upon modern scientific thought. But the attitude of Karl Marx
is very different from that of Saint-Simon, of Auguste Comte, of Herbert
Spencer. Karl Marx has really given up the belief that it is possible
to convince others of something that is true and capable of being put
into practice, once the conviction has been aroused. Saint-Simon, Comte,
Herbert Spencer, Buckle and many others in the first half of the nineteenth
century had this inner belief, but in the second half of the century
it was not, could not be there. Marx is the most radical example, but
speaking quite generally this trust in the spirit was simply non-existent.
So far as Karl Marx is concerned, he does not believe that it is possible
to convince men by teaching. He thinks of the masses of the proletariat
and says to himself: These men have instincts which express themselves as
class instincts. If I gather together those in whom these class instincts
are living, if I organise them and work with what is expressing itself
in these class instincts, then I can do something with them, I can lead
them in such a way that the inauguration of a new age is possible.
Saint-Simon and Comte are
like priests who have been transported into the conditions of the modern
age. They at least believe that conviction can be aroused in the hearts
of men, and this was actually the case in the first fifty years of the
nineteenth century. Karl Marx, however, sets to work like a strategist,
or a General who never gives a thought to the factor of conviction but
simply sets out to organise the masses. And there is really no difference
between drilling soldiers and then the masses in order to prepare them
for the field of battle, and marshalling the class instincts that already
exist in human beings. And so we find the old sacerdotal methods in
men like Saint-Simon, Auguste Comte, Herbert Spencer, and militaristic
methods in men like Karl Marx who being out-and-out strategists have
given up the belief that men can be convinced and through their conviction
bring about a desirable state of affairs. Such thinkers say to themselves:
I must take those whom I can organise just as they are, for it is not
possible to convince human beings. I will organise their class instincts
and that will achieve the desired result.
A very radical change had
come about in the course of the nineteenth century and anyone who studies
this change deeply enough will realise that it takes place with
considerable rapidity and is, moreover, apparent in another sphere
as well.
The natural scientific mode
of thinking came to the fore in the modern age, during the first half
of the nineteenth century. We have only to think of men like Fichte,
Schelling, Hegel. In their days, men still had faith in the spirit and
believed that the spirit would help them to fathom the world of nature;
they believed that nature was in some way directed by the spirit. But
later on, just as faith in the creative spirit was lost in the domain
of sociological thinking, so too was faith lost in the sphere of the
knowledge of nature. Men placed reliance alone upon observation and
experiment, and confidence in the creative spirit died away entirely. The
spirit, they said, is capable only of recording the results of observation
and experiment. And then, when this attitude creeps into the realm of
social science, the scientific mode of observation is applied, as in
Darwinism, in the study of the evolution of man. Benjamin Kidd, Huxley,
Russell, Wallace and others in the second half of the nineteenth century
are typical representatives of this kind of thinking The spirit is
materialised and identified with external things both in the realm of
social life and in the realm of knowledge.
It is strange how in the
nineteenth century the human mind is beset by a kind of inner agnosticism,
how it gradually loses faith even in itself. There was a radical increase
of this agnosticism in the middle of the nineteenth century. Those who
observe the way in which thoughts are expressed — and when it is
a matter of discovering historical connections this is far more important
than the actual content of the thoughts — will realise that these
voices of the nineteenth century were the offspring of a tendency that
was already beginning to make itself felt in the eighteenth century.
It is possible, too, to follow the line of development back into the
seventeenth, sixteenth and fifteenth centuries. We shall not there find
direct evidence of the urge that became so insistent in the nineteenth
century to unfold a new conception of the social order, in spite of
a realisation that the goal was impossible of achievement, but we shall
find nevertheless that the change which took place in men's thinking
in the middle of the nineteenth century had been gradually working up
to a climax since the fifteenth century. We find too, as we follow the
development of thought back to the time of the fifteenth century, that
concepts and ideas are invariably intelligible to us as thinkers living
in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
But this is no longer the
case as soon as we get back to the time preceding the fifteenth century
and towards the Middle Ages.
I could tell you of many
ideas and views which would prove to you the difference of outlook in
these earlier centuries, but I will give one example only. — Anyone
who genuinely tries to understand writings which deal with the world
of nature, dating from the time preceding the fifteenth century, will
find that he must approach them with an attitude of mind quite different
from that which he will naturally bring to bear upon literature of the
eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. Before the fifteenth century, all
the writings on the subject of nature indicate quite clearly that anyone
who experiments with processes of nature must be filled with a certain
inner reverence. Experiments with mineral substances, for instance,
must only be carried out in a mood that finds favour in the eyes of
certain Divine Beings. Experiments with the processes of nature must
be accompanied by a moral attitude of soul — so it was said.
But just think of what would
happen to-day if it were demanded of someone working to produce a chemical
reaction in a laboratory, that his soul must first be suffused with
a mood of piety! The idea would be ridiculed. Nevertheless, before the
fifteenth century, and more strongly so in earlier times, it was quite
natural that this demand should be made of those who were in any way
working with the processes of nature. It was the aim of a man like de
Maistre to bring to life again in the modern age, concepts that had
really lost the vital meaning once attaching to them, and above all
he tried to bring home the difference between the concepts of sin and
of crime.
According to de Maistre, the
men of his day — he is speaking of the beginning of the nineteenth
century — had no insight into the difference between sin and crime.
The two concepts had become practically synonymous. And above all there
was no understanding of the meaning of ‘original sin.’
Let me now try to describe
the idea men had of original sin before the days of the fifteenth century.
Modern thought is altogether unfitted to grasp the real meaning of original
sin, but some measure of understanding at least must be present in studying
the development of thought through the centuries. We must here turn
to fundamental conceptions resulting from spiritual investigation. For
it is only by independent research that we can understand the character
of a mental outlook quite different from our own. When we peruse books
on the subject we are simply reading so many words and we are dishonest
with ourselves if we imagine that the words convey any real meaning.
Enlightened minds before the fifteenth century would have set no store
by such definitions of original sin as are given by modern theology.
In those days — and I repeat that these things can only be discovered
nowadays by Spiritual Science — it was said: The human being,
from the time of his birth, from the time he draws his first breath,
until his death, passes through certain processes and phases in his
inner life. These inner processes are not the same as those at work
in the world of nature outside the human being. It is, as a matter of
fact, a form of modern superstition to believe that all the processes
at work in the being of man can also be found in the animal. This is mere
superstition, because the laws of the animal organisation are different
from those of the human organism. From birth until death the organism
of the human being is permeated by forces of soul. And when we understand
the nature of the laws and forces at work in the human organism, we
know that they are not to be found in outer nature. In outer nature,
however, there is something that corresponds in a certain sense with
the laws at work during the period of embryonic development, from the
time of conception until birth. The processes at work in the being of
man between birth and death are not to be explained in the light of
the processes of outer nature. Nevertheless, if it is rightly applied,
the knowledge gleaned from a study of external nature enables us to
understand the processes at work during the embryonic period of the life
of a human being. It is not easy for the modern mind to grasp this idea,
but my object in speaking of it is to give an example of how Spiritual
Science can throw light upon conceptions of earlier times. Not of course
with clear consciousness, but out of dim feeling, a man engaged in the
investigation of nature before the fifteenth century said to himself:
Outer nature lies there before me, but the laws of this outer nature
work only in the processes of my physical body as it was before birth.
In this sense there is something in the inner being of man that is openly
manifest in outer nature. But the evolution of the human being must
not be subject to the laws and processes of external nature. Man would
be an evil being if he grew as the plant grows, unfolding its blossom
in the outer world of space.
Such were the views of an
earlier time. It was said that man falls into sin when he gives himself
over to the forces by which his development in the mother's womb was
promoted, for these forces work as do the forces of nature outside the
human being. In nature outside the human being, these forces are working
in their proper sphere. But if, after birth, man gives himself over
to the forces of nature, if he does not make his being fit to become
part of a world of super-sensible law — then he falls into sin.
This thought leads one to the concept of original sin, to the idea of
the mingling of the natural with the moral world order. Processes which
belong to outer nature are woven, as it were, into the moral world order
and the outcome is the birth of a concept like that of ‘original
sin’ which was an altogether scientific concept before the days
of the fifteenth century. De Maistre wanted to bring this concept of
original sin again to the fore, to make a connecting link between natural
science and the moral world. In the nineteenth century, however, the
only possible way of preserving this concept of original sin was to
bring about an even more radical separation of religion and scientific
knowledge. And so we find great emphasis being laid upon the cleft between
faith and knowledge. In earlier times no such cleft existed. It begins
to appear a few hundreds of years before the fifteenth century but becomes
more and more decisive as the centuries pass, until, in the nineteenth
century, religion says: Let science carry out its own methods of exact
research. We on our side have no desire to use these methods. We will
ensure for ourselves a realm where we need simply faith and personal
conviction — not scientific knowledge. Knowledge was relegated
to science and religion set out to secure the realm of faith because
the powers of the human soul were not strong enough to combine the two.
And so, in the opinion of de Maistre, the concept of crime alone, no
longer that of sin in its original meaning, conveyed any meaning to
the modern mind, for the concept of sin could only have meaning when
men understood the interplay between the natural and moral worlds.
This example shows us that
the concepts and ideas of men in the time immediately preceding the
fifteenth century were quite different from ours. Going backwards from
the fifteenth century, we come to a lengthy period generally referred
to as the dark Middle Ages, during which we find no such progress in
the realm of thought as is apparent from the fifteenth century onwards.
The development of thought that has taken place since the days of Galileo
and Copernicus, leading up to the achievements of the nineteenth century,
bear witness to unbroken progress, but in the time preceding the fifteenth
century we cannot speak of progress in this sense at all. We can go
back century alter century, through the twelfth, eleventh, tenth, ninth,
eighth, seventh and sixth centuries, and we find quite a different state
of things. We see the gradual spread of Christianity, but no trace of
progressive evolution in the world of thought such as begins in the
fifteenth century and in the middle of the nineteenth century undergoes
the radical change of which we have spoken. We come finally to a most
significant point in the spiritual life of Europe, namely, the fourth
century A.D. Gradually it dawns upon us that it
is possible to follow stage by stage the progressive development beginning
in the middle of the fifteenth century with Nicolas Cusanus, expressing
itself in the thought of men like Galileo and Copernicus and ultimately
leading on to the radical turning-point in the nineteenth century, but
that things are not at all the same in earlier centuries. We find there
a more stationary condition of the world of thought and then, suddenly,
in the fourth century of our era, everything changes.
This century is a period
of the greatest significance in European thought and civilisation. Its
significance will be brought home to us all the more when we realise
that events after the turning-point in the fifteenth century, for example,
the movements known as the Renaissance and the Reformation, denote a
kind of return to conditions as they were in the fourth century of the
Christian era. This is the decisive time in the process of the decline
of the Roman Empire. The headway made by Christianity was such that
Constantine had been obliged to proclaim religious freedom for the
Christians and to place Christianity on an equal footing with the old
pagan forms of religion. We see, too, a final attempt being made by
Julian the Apostate to reinculcate into the civilised humanity of Europe
the views and conceptions of ancient Paganism. The death of Julian the
Apostate, in the year 363, marks the passing of one who strove with might
and main to restore to the civilised peoples of Europe impulses that had
reigned supreme for centuries, had been absorbed by Christianity but in
the fourth century were approaching their final phase of decline. In this
century too we find the onslaught of those forces by which the Roman
Empire was ultimately superseded. Europe begins to be astir with the
activities of the Goths and the Vandals. In the year
A.D. 378 there takes place the momentous
battle of Hadrianople. The Goths make their way into the Eastern Roman
Empire. The blood of the so-called barbarians is set up in opposition
to the dying culture of antiquity in the South of Europe. The history
of this fourth century of our era is truly remarkable. We see how the
culture of Greece, with its belief in the Gods and its philosophy, is
little by little lift ed away from its hinges and disappears as an
influence, and how the remnants of its thought pass over to the Roman
Catholic Church. Direction of the whole of the spiritual and mental life
falls into the hands of the priests; spirituality in its universal, cosmic
aspect vanishes, until, brought to light once again by the Renaissance,
it works an so strongly that when Goethe had completed his early training
and produced his first works, he yearned with all his heart and soul
for ancient European-Asiatic culture.
What, then, is the state
of things in the age immediately following the fourth century
A.D.?
Education and culture had vanished into the cities, and the peasantry,
together with the landowning population in Southern Europe, fused with
the peoples who were pressing downward from the North. The next stage
is the gradual fading away of that spiritual life which, originating
in the ancient East, had appeared in another garb in the culture of
Greece and Rome. These impulses die down and vanish, and there remain
the peasantry, the landowning populace and the element with which they
have now fused, living in the peoples who were coming down from the
North into the Graeco-Roman world. Then, in the following centuries,
we find the Roman priesthood spreading Christianity among this peasant
people who practically constituted the whole population. The work of
the priesthood is carried on quite independently of the Greek elements
which gradually fade out, having no possibilities for the future. The
old communal life is superseded by a system of commerce akin to that
prevailing among the barbarians of the North. Spiritual life in the
real sense makes no headway. The impulses of an earlier spirituality
which had been taken over and remoulded by the priesthood, are inculcated
into the uneducated peasant population of Europe; and not until these
impulses have been inculcated does the blood now flowing in the veins
of the people of Europe work in the direction of awakening the spirit
which becomes manifest for the first time in the fifteenth century.
In the fourth century
A.D.
we find many typical representatives of the forces and impulses working
at such a momentous point of time in the evolution of humanity. The
significance of this century is at once apparent when we think of the
following dates. — In the year 333, religious tolerance is proclaimed
by the Emperor Constantine; in the year 363, with the murder of Julian
the Apostate, the last hope of a restoration of ancient thought and
outlook falls to the ground; Hadrianople is conquered by the Goths in
the year 378. In the year 400, Augustine writes his Confessions,
bringing as it were to a kind of culmination the inner struggles in
the life of soul through which it was the destiny of European civilisation
to pass.
Living in the midst of
the fading culture of antiquity, a man like Augustine experienced the
death of the Eastern view of the world. He experienced it in
Manichæism, of which, as a young man, he had been an ardent
adherent; he experienced it too in Neoplatonism. And it was only after
inner struggles of unspeakable bitterness, having wrestled with the
teachings of Mani, of Neoplatonism and even with Greek scepticism, that
he finally found his way to the thought and outlook of Roman Catholic
Christianity. Augustine writes these Confessions in the year
A.D. 400, as it were on tables of stone.
Augustine is a typical
representative of the life of thought as it was in the fourth century
A.D. He was imbued with Manichæan
conceptions but in an age when the ancient Eastern wisdom had been
romanised and dogmatised to such an extent that no fundamental
under standing of Manichæan teaching was possible. What, then,
is the essence of Manichæism? The teachings that have come down
to us in the form of tradition do not, nor can they ever make it really
intelligible to us.
The only hope of understanding
Manichæism is to bring the light of Spiritual Science to bear upon
it. Oriental thought had already fallen into decadence but in the teachings
of Mani we find a note that is both familiar and full of significance.
The Manichæans strove to attain a living knowledge of the interplay
between the spiritual and the material worlds. The aim of those who
adhered to the teachings of Mani was to perceive the Spiritual in all
things material. In the light itself they sought to find both wisdom
and goodness. No cleft must divide Spirit from nature. The two must
be realised as one. Later on, this conception came to be known by the
name of dualism. Spirit and nature — once experienced as a living
unity — were separated, nor could they be reunited. This attitude
of mind made a deep impression upon the young Augustine, but it led
him out of his depth; the mind of his time was no longer capable of
rising to ideas which had been accessible to an older, more instinctive
form of cognition, but which humanity had now outgrown. An inner, tragic
struggle is waged in the soul of Augustine. With might and main he
struggles to find truth, to discover the immediate reality of divine forces
in cloud and mountain, in plant and animal, in all existence. But he
finally takes refuge in the Neoplatonic philosophy which plainly shows
that it has no insight into the interpenetration of Spirit and matter and,
in spite of its greatness and inspiration, does no more than reach out
towards abstract, nebulous Spirit.
While Augustine is gradually
resigning hope of understanding a spirit-filled world of nature, while
he is even passing through the phase of despising the world of sense
and idolising the abstract spirituality of Neoplatonism, he is led,
by a profoundly significant occurrence, to his Catholic view of life.
We must realise the importance
of this world-historic event. Ancient culture is still alive in Augustine's
environment, but it is already decadent, has passed into its period
of decline. He struggles bitterly, but to no purpose, with the last
remnants of this culture surviving in Manichæism and Neoplatonism.
His mind is steeped in what this wisdom, even in its decadence, has
to offer, and, to begin with, he cannot accept Christianity. He stands
there, an eminent rhetorician and Neoplatonist, but torn with gnawing
doubt. And what happens? Just when he has reached the point of doubting
truth itself, of losing his bearings altogether along the tortuous paths
of the decadent learning of antiquity in the fourth century of our era,
when innumerable questions are hurtling through his mind, he thinks he
hears the voice of a child calling to him from the next garden: ‘Take
and read! Take and read!’ And he turns to the New Testament, to
the Epistles of St. Paul, and is led through the voice of the child
to Roman Catholicism.
The mind of Augustine is
laden with the oriental wisdom which had now become decadent in the
West. He is a typical representative of this learning and then, suddenly,
through the voice of a child, he becomes the paramount influence in
subsequent centuries. No actual break occurs until the fifteenth century
and it may truly be said that the ultimate outcome of this break appears
as the change that took place in the life of thought in the middle of
the nineteenth century.
And so, in this fourth century
of our era, we find the human mind involved in the complicated network of
Western culture but also in an element which constitutes the starting-point
of a new impulse. It is an impulse that mingles with what has come over
from the East and from the seemingly barbarian peoples by whom Roman
civilisation was gradually superseded, but whose instructors, after
they had mingled with the peasantry and the landowning classes, were
the priests of the Roman Church. In the depths, however, there is something
else at work. Out of the raw, unpolished soul of these peoples there
emerges an element of lofty, archaic spirituality. There could be no
more striking example of this than the bock that has remained as a memorial
of the ancient Goths — Wulfila's translation of the Bible. We
must try to unfold a sensitive understanding of the language used in
this translation of the Bible. The Lord's Prayer, to take one example,
is built up, fragment by fragment, out of the confusion of thought of
which Augustine was so typical a representative. Wulfila's translation
of the Bible is the offspring of an archaic form of thought, of Arian
Christianity as opposed to the Athanasian Christianity of Augustine.
Perhaps more strongly than
anywhere else, we can feel in Wulfila's translation of the Bible how deeply
the pagan thought of antiquity is permeated with Arian Christianity.
Something that is pregnant with inner life echoes down to us from these
barbarian peoples and their culture, to which the civilisation of ancient
Rome was giving place. The Lord's Prayer rendered by Wulfila, is as
follows:
Atta unsar thu in himinam,
Veihnai namo thein;
Quimai thiudinassus theins.
Vairthai vilja theins, sve in himina, jah ana aerthai.
Hlaif unsarana thana sinteinan, gif uns himma daga.
Jah aflet uns, thatei skulans sijaima, svasve jah
veis afletam thaim skulam unsaraim.
Jah ni briggais uns in fraistubnjai, ak lausei uns af thamma ubilin.
Unte theina ist thiu dangardi, jah mahts, jah vulthus in aivius.
Amen.
Atta unsar thu in himinam,
veihnai namo thein; Quimai thiudinassus theins. Vairthai vilja theins,
sve in himina, jah ana aerthai. — The words of this wonderful
prayer cannot really be translated literally into our modern language,
but they may be rendered thus:
We feel Thee above in the Spirit-Heights, All Father
of men.
May Thy Name be hallowed.
May Thy Kingdom come to us.
May Thy Will be supreme, an the Earth even as it is in Heaven.
— We must be able to feel what these words express.
Men were aware of the existence of a primordial Being, of the
All-sustaining Father of humanity in the heights of spiritual existence.
They pictured Hirn with their faculties of ancient clairvoyance as the
invisible, super-sensible King who rules His Kingdom as no earthly King.
Among the Goths this Being was venerated as King and their veneration was
proclaimed in the words : Atta unsar thu in himinam.
This primordial Being was
venerated in His three aspects: May Thy Name be hallowed.
‘Name’ — as a study of Sanscrit will show —
implied the outer manifestation or revelation of the Being, as a man
reveals himself in his body. ‘Kingdom’
was the supreme Power: Veihnai namo thein; Quimai thiudinassus theins,
Vairthai vilja theins, sve in himina, jah ana aerthai.
‘Will’ indicated
the Spirit shining through the Power and the Name. — Thus as they
gazed upwards, men beheld the Spirit of the super-sensible worlds in
His three-fold aspect. To this Spirit they paid veneration in the words
:
Jah ana aerthai.
Hlaif unsarana thana sinteinan, gif uns himma daga.
— So may it be on Earth. Even as Thy Name, the
form in which Thou art outwardly manifest, shall be holy, so may that
which in us becomes outwardly manifest and must daily be renewed, be
radiant with spiritual light. We must try to understand the meaning
of the Gothic word Hlaif, from which Leib (Leib=body)
is derived. In saying the words, ‘Give us this day our daily
bread,’ we have no feeling for what the word Hlaif denoted
here: — Even as Thy ‘Name’ denotes thy body, so too may
our body be spiritualised, subsisting as it does through the food which it
receives and transmutes.
The prayer speaks then of
the ‘Kingdom’ that is to reign supreme from the super-sensible
worlds, and so leads on to the social order among men. In this
super-sensible ‘Kingdom’ men are not debtors one of another.
The word debt among the Goths means debt in the moral as well as in the
physical, social life.
And so the prayer passes
from the ‘Name’ to the ‘Kingdom’, from the bodily
manifestation in the Spirit, to the ‘Kingdom’. And then
from the outer, physical nature of the body to the element of soul in
the social life and thence to the Spiritual.—
Jah aflet uns, thatei skulans sijaima, svasve jah
veis afletam thaim skulam unsaraim.
— May we not succumb to those forces which,
proceeding from the body, lead the Spirit into darkness; deliver us from
the evils by which the Spirit is cast into darkness. Jah ni briggais uns
in fraistubnjai, ak lausei uns af thamma ubilin. — Deliver us from
the evils arising when the Spirit sinks too deeply into the bodily
nature.
Thus the second part of
the prayer declares that the order reigning in the spiritual heights
must be implicit in the social life upon Earth. And this is confirmed
in the words : We will recognise this spiritual Order upon Earth.
Unte theina ist thiu dangardi, jah mahts, jah vulthus
in aivius. Amen.
— All-Father, whose Name betokens the out er
manifestation of the Spirit, whose Kingdom we will recognise, whose
Will shall reign: May earthly nature too be full of Thee, and our body
daily renewed through earthly nourishment. In our social life may we
not be debtors one of another, but live as equals. May we stand firm
in spirit and in body, and may the trinity in the social life of Earth
be linked with the super-earthly Trinity. For the Supersensible shall
reign, shall be Emperor and King. The Supersensible — not the
material, not the personal — shall reign.
Unte theina ist thiu dangardi, jah mahts, jah vulthus
in avius. Amen.
— For on Earth there is no thing, no being over
which the rulership is not Thine. — Thine is the Power and the
Light and the Glory, and the all-supreme Love between men in the social
life.
The Trinity in the
super-sensible world is thus to penetrate into and find expression in the
social order of the Material world. And again, at the end, there is the
confirmation: Yea, verily, we desire that this threefold order shall
reign in the social life as it reigns with Thee in the heights: For Thine
is the Kingdom, the Power and the revealed Glory. — Theina ist thiu
dangardi, jah mahts, jah vulthus in aivius. Amen.
Such was the impulse living
among the Goths. It mingled with those peasant peoples whose mental
life is regarded by history as being almost negligible. But this impulse
unfolded with increasing rapidity as we reach the time of the nineteenth
century. It finally came to a climax and led on then to the fundamental
change in thought and outlook of which we have heard in this lecture.
Such are the connections.
— I have given only one example of how, without in any way distorting
the facts, but rather drawing the real threads that bind them together,
we can realise in history the existence of law higher than natural law
can ever be. I wanted, in the first place, to describe the facts from
the exoteric point of view. Later on we will consider their esoteric
connections, for this will show us how events have shaped themselves
in this period which stretches from the fourth century
A.D. to our own age, and how the impulses of
this epoch live within us still. We shall realise then that an
understanding of these connections is essential to the attainment of
true insight for our work and thought at the present time.
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