II
HE
thoughts contained in the last lecture will in that form have
seemed to many incomprehensible, perhaps even matters of doubt;
but if we go further into the subject to-day they will become
clearer.
What was it that was
presented to us in the last lecture? For the whole being of man it
was somewhat similar to what a man accomplishes when he is in some
position in life where he has to reflect upon earlier occurrences and
experiences, and call them back into his memory. Memory and
remembrance are experiences of the human soul which, in ordinary
consciousness, are really connected only with the course of the
soul's life between birth and death — or more exactly,
with the period of time which begins in the later years of childhood
and lasts until death.
We know that in
ordinary consciousness our memory goes back only to a definite point
of time in our childhood, and we have to be told about earlier events
by our parents, elder relations or friends. When we consider this
stretch of time, we speak of it in relation to the soul-life as
“remembered.” It is not, of course, possible here to go
more deeply into the meaning of the words “power of
remembering”or “memory,” nor is it necessary for
our purpose. We need only bring clearly before our souls that
everything designated by these words is bound up with reflecting on
past events or experiences. What we spoke of in the last lecture is
akin to this reflecting, but it must not be equated with ordinary
memory; it should be regarded rather as a higher, wider power of
memory which leads us beyond this present incarnation to a sense of
certainty that we have had previous earth-lives.
If we picture a man
who needs to recall something he learnt at an early period of his
life, and attunes his soul to bring out of the depths what he then
learnt in order to follow it through in the present — if we
form a living conception of this process of recollection, we see in
it a function which belongs to our ordinary faculty of remembrance.
In the last lecture we were speaking of functions of the soul, but
those functions ought to lead to something that arises in our inner
being in relation to our earlier earth-life, similar to that which
arises in our souls in this life when we feel a past experience
springing up in memory. Therefore you must not regard what was said
in the last lecture as though this were all that is needed to lead us
to an earlier earth-life, nor as though it were able immediately to
evoke a right conception of the kind of people we were in an earlier
incarnation. It is only an aid, just as self-recollection is an aid,
helping us to draw forth what has disappeared into the background of
the soul's life. Let us briefly sum up what we have grasped
concerning such a recollection in reference to a former earth-life.
This can best be done in the following way:
A little
self-knowledge will render many of life's happenings
comprehensible to us. If something disagreeable happens and we do not
fully see the reason for it, we may say to ourselves: “I really
am a careless person, and it is no wonder this happened to me.”
This shows at least some understanding of what has happened. There
are, however, countless experiences in life of which we simply cannot
conceive that they are connected with the forces and faculties of our
soul. In ordinary life we usually speak of them as accidental. We
speak of accidents when we do not perceive how the things that befall
us as strokes of fate are connected with the inner leanings of our
soul, and so forth. In the last lecture attention was drawn also to
events of another kind — experiences through which in a sense
we extricate ourselves, by means of what we generally call our Ego,
from some situation we are in. For example: a man may be destined by
his parents or near relations to a certain calling or position in
life, and he feels he must at all costs leave it and do something
else. When in later life we look back on something like this, we say
to ourselves: “We were put into a certain position in life, but
by our own impulse of will, by our personal sympathy or antipathy, we
have extricated ourselves from it.”
The point is not to
pay attention to all manner of things, but to confine ourselves in
our retrospective memory to something that vitally affected our life.
If, for instance, a man has never felt any desire, nor had any motive
to become a sailor, a will-impulse such as was referred to in the
last lecture does not come into consideration at all, but only one
whereby he actually brought about a change of fate, a reversal of
some situation in life. But when in later life we remember something
of this kind and realise that we extricated ourselves, we should not
cultivate any rueful feelings about it, as though we ought to have
stayed where we were. The essential point is not the practical
outcome of the decision, but the recollection of when such
turning points occurred. Then with regard to events of which we say,
“This happened by chance,” or “We were in such and
such a position but have extricated ourselves from it,” we must
evoke with utmost energy the following inner experience.
We say to ourselves:
“I will imagine that the position from which I extricated
myself was one in which I deliberately placed myself with the
strongest impulse of will.” We bring before our own souls the
very thing that was repugnant to us and from which we extricated
ourselves. We do this in such a way that we say: “As an
experiment I will give myself up to the idea that I willed this with
all my might; I will bring before my soul the picture of a man who
willed something like this with all his might.”
And let us imagine
that we ourselves brought about the events called
“accidents.” Suppose it has come back to our memory that
at some place a stone fell from a building on to our shoulders and
hurt us badly. Then let us imagine that we had climbed on to the roof
and placed the stone so that it was bound to fall, and that then we
ran quickly under it so that it had to fall on us. It is of no
consequence that such ideas are grotesque; the point is what we want
to acquire through them.
Let us now put
ourselves right into the soul of a man of whom we have built up such
a picture, a man who has actually willed everything that has happened
to us “by accident,” who has desired everything from
which we have extricated ourselves. There will be no result in the
soul if we practise such an exercise two or three or four times only,
but a great deal will result if we practise it in connection with the
innumerable experiences which we shall find if we look for them. If
we do this over and over again, forming a living conception of a man
who has willed everything that we have not willed we shall
find that the picture never leaves us again, that it makes a very
remarkable impression on us, as though it really had something to do
with us. If we then acquire a certain delicate perception in this
kind of self-probation, we shall soon discover how such a mood and
such a picture, built up by ourselves, resemble an image we have
called up from memory. The difference is only this, that when we call
up such an image from memory in the ordinary way, it generally
remains simply an image, but when we practise the exercises of which
we have been speaking, what comes to life in the soul has in it an
element of feeling, an element connected more with the moods
of the soul, and less with images. We feel a particular relationship
to this picture. The picture itself is not of much account, but the
feelings we have make an impression similar to that made by
memory-images. If we repeat this process over and over again, we
arrive through an inner clarification at the ‘knowledge,’
one might say, that the picture we have built up is becoming clearer
and clearer, just as a memory-image does when one starts to recall it
out of dark depths of the soul.
Thus it is not a
question of what we imagine, for this changes and becomes
something different. It goes through a process similar to that which
occurs when we want to remember a particular name and it nearly comes
and then goes; we have a partial recollection of it and then say, for
instance, Nuszbaumer, yet we have a feeling that this is not
quite right, and then, without our being able to say why, the right
name comes to us — Nuszdorfer, perhaps. Just as here
the names Nüszbaumer, Nüszdorfer, build each other up, so
the picture rights itself and changes. This is what causes the
feeling to arise: “Here I have attained something which exists
within me, and by the way it exists within me and is related to the
rest of my soul-life, it plainly shows me that it cannot have existed
within me in this form in my present incarnation!” So
we perceive with the greatest inner clarity that what exists within
us in this form, lies further back. Only we must realise that we are
here dealing with a kind of faculty of remembrance which can be
developed in the human soul, a faculty which, in contradistinction to
the ordinary faculty of remembrance, must be designated by a
different name. We must designate the ordinary faculty of remembrance
as “image-memory,” but the faculty of remembrance now in
question must really be described as a kind of “feeling and
experience memory.” That this has a certain foundation can be
proved by the following reflections.
We must bear in mind
that our ordinary faculty of remembrance is really a kind of
image-memory. Think how a specially painful event that perhaps
happened to you twenty years ago, reappears in memory. The event may
come up before you in all its details, but the pain which you
suffered is no longer felt to the same extent; it is in a sense
blotted out of the memory-image. There are, of course different
degrees, and it may well happen that something has struck a man such
a blow that again and again a fresh and more intense sorrow is felt
when he remembers the experience. The general principle, however,
holds good: so far as our present incarnation is concerned our
faculty of remembrance is an image-memory, whereas the feelings that
were experienced, or the will-impulses themselves, do not arise again
in the soul with anything like the same intensity.
We need only take a
characteristic example and we shall see how great the difference is
between the image that arises in the memory, and what has remained of
feelings and will-impulses. Let us think of a man who writes his
Memoirs. Suppose, for example, that Bismarck, in writing his Memoirs,
has come to the point when he prepared for the German-Austrian War of
1866, and imagine what may have taken place in his soul at that
highly critical point, when he led and guided events against a host
of condemnations and will-impulses. Do not conceive how all this
lived in his soul at that time, but imagine that all he then
experienced under the immediate impression of the events, sank down
into the depths of his soul; then imagine how faded the feelings and
will-impulses must have become by the time he wrote his Memoirs
compared with what they were when he was actually carrying out the
project. Nobody can fail to realise what a difference there is
between the memory-image and the original feelings and will-impulses
involved.
Those who have gone a
little way into Anthroposophy will understand what has often been
said: that our conceptual activity —including the conceptual
activity related to memory — is something which, when roused by
the external world in which we live in our physical bodies, has
meaning only for this single incarnation. The fundamental principles
of Anthroposophy have always taught us the great truth that all the
concepts and ideas we make our own when we perceive anything through
the senses, when we fear or hope for anything in life — (this
does not relate to impulses of the soul, but to concepts) — all
that makes up our conceptual life disappears very soon after we have
passed through the Gate of Death. For concepts belong to the things
that pass away with physical life, to the things that are least
enduring. Anyone, however, who has given any study to the laws of
reincarnation and karma can readily understand that our concepts, as
we acquire them in the life that flows on in relation to the outer
world or to the things of the physical plane, come to expression in
speech, and that we can therefore in a sense connect the
conceptual life with speech. Now everyone knows that he has to learn
to speak some particular language in a given incarnation; for while
it is obvious that many modern schoolboys incarnated in ancient
Greece, none of them find it easier to learn Greek by being able to
remember how they spoke Greek in a previous incarnation! Speech is
entirely an expression of our conceptual life, and their fates are
similar; so that concepts drawn from the physical world, and even the
concepts we must acquire about the higher worlds, are in a sense
always coloured by subjective pictures of the external world. Only
when we have insight do we realise what concepts are able to tell
about the higher worlds. What we learn directly from concepts is also
in a sense, bound up with life between birth and death. After death
we do not form concepts as we form them here; after death we see
them, they are objects of perception; they exist just as colours and
tones exist in the physical world. In the physical world what we
picture to ourselves by means of conceptions carries an impress of
physical matter, but in the disembodied state we have concepts before
us in the same way as here we have colours and tones. A man cannot,
of course, see red or blue as he sees them here with his physical
eyes, but what he does not see here, and about which he forms
concepts, is the same for him after death as red, green or any other
colour or sound is here. What we learn to know in the physical world
purely through concepts, or rather ideas (in the sense of
Philosophy of Spiritual Activity)
can be seen only through the
veil of the conceptual life, but in the disembodied state it stands
there in the way that the physical world stands before our
consciousness. In the physical world there are people who really
think that sense-impressions yield everything. That which man can
make clear to himself by means of a concept — as for instance
the concept ‘lamb’ or wolf — embraces everything
the senses give us; but that which transcends matter can actually be
denied by those who admit the existence of the sense-impression only.
A man can make a mental picture of all he sees as lamb or wolf. Now
the ordinary outlook tries to suggest that what can here be built up
in a conceptual sense, is nothing more than a “mere
idea.” But if we were to shut up a wolf and for a long time
feed him on nothing else but lamb, so that he is filled with nothing
but lamb-substance — nobody could possibly persuade himself
that the ‘wolf’ has thereby become ‘lamb.’
Therefore we must say: obviously, here, what transcends a
sense-impression is a concept. Certainly, there is no denying that
what bodes forth the concept, dies; but what lives in
‘wolf,’ what lives in ‘lamb’ — what is
within them and cannot be seen by the physical eyes — this is
‘seen,’ perceived, in the life between death and
rebirth.
Thus when it is said
that conceptions are bound up with the physical body, we must not
infer that man will be without conceptions, or rather without the
content of the conceptions in the life between death and rebirth.
Only that which has worked out the conceptions, disappears. Our
conceptual life, as we experience it here in the physical world, has
significance only for the life of this incarnation. In this
connection I have already mentioned the case of Friedrich Hebbel, who
once sketched out in his diary an ingenious plan for a drama. He had
the idea of the reincarnated Plato in a school class, making the
worst possible impression on the teacher and being severely
reprimanded because he could not understand Plato! Here, too, is a
suggestion that Plato's thought-structure — all that
lived in him as thought — does not survive in the same form in
his next incarnation.
In order to obtain a
reasonable view of these things, we must consider the soul-life of
man from a certain point of view. We must ask ourselves: What do we
carry about as the content of our soul-life? First, we have our
concepts. The fact that these concepts, permeated with feeling, can
lead to impulses of will, does not prevent us from speaking of a
specific life of concepts in the soul. For although there are people
who can hardly confine themselves to a pure concept but immediately
they conceive anything flare up in sympathy or antipathy, thus
passing over into other impulses, this does not mean that the life of
concepts cannot be separated from other contents of the soul.
Secondly, we have in
our soul-life experiences of feeling. These appear in a great
diversity of forms. There are the well-known antitheses in the life
of feeling which can be spoken of as the sympathy and the antipathy
we feel for things, or, if we want to describe them more
emphatically, as love and hate. We can say that these feelings
produce a kind of stimulus, and again there are feelings which bring
about a certain tension and release. They cannot be classed with
sympathy and antipathy. For a soul-impulse which can be described as
a tension, a stimulus, or as a release, is different from what comes
to expression in mere sympathy or antipathy. We should have to talk
for a long time if it were a question of describing all the different
kinds of feelings. To these also belong what may be described as the
sense for beauty and for ugliness, which is a specific soul-content
and does not resemble feelings of sympathy and antipathy. At all
events it cannot be classed with them. We could also describe the
specific feelings we have for good or evil. This is not the time to
enlarge upon the difference between our inner experiences regarding a
good or evil action, and the feelings of sympathy or antipathy for
such actions — our love of a good action and hatred of an evil
one. Thus we meet with feelings in the most diverse forms and we can
distinguish them from our concepts.
A third kind of
soul-experiences are the impulses of will, the life of will. This
again must not be classed with what may be called experiences of
feeling, which can or must remain enclosed within our soul-life,
according to the way in which we experience them. An impulse of will
says: " You shall do this, you shall do that." For we must
distinguish between the mere feeling we have of what seems good or
evil to ourselves or to others, and what arises in the soul as more
than a feeling, when we are impelled to do good and to refrain from
evil. Judgment can remain rooted in feeling but the impulses of will
are a different matter. Although there are transitions between the
life of feeling and the impulses of will, we ought not on the basis
of ordinary observation to class them together without further
consideration. In human life there are transitions everywhere. Just
as there are people who never arrive at pure conceptions but always
express simultaneously their love or hatred, who are thrown hither
and thither because they cannot separate their feelings from their
conceptions, so there are others who, when they see something, cannot
refrain from going on, through an impulse of will, to an action, even
if the action is unjustifiable. This leads to no good. It takes the
form of kleptomania and so forth. Here there is no ordered
relationship between the feelings and the impulses of the will,
although in reality a sharp distinction should be drawn between
them.
Thus in our life of
soul we live in ideas, in feelings and in impulses of will. We have
seen that the life of ideas is connected with a single incarnation
between birth and death; we have seen how we enter life and build up
our own life of ideas. This is not the case with the life of feeling,
or with the life of will. Of those who insist that it is, one can
only think that they can never have observed intelligently the
development of a child. Consider a child in relation to the life of
ideas before it can speak; it relates itself to the surrounding world
through its conceptions or ideas. But it has very decided sympathies
and antipathies, and active impulses of will for or against
something. The decisiveness of these early will-impulses has actually
misled a philosopher — Schopenhauer — into the belief
that a man's character cannot be altered at all during life.
This is not correct; the character can be altered. We must
realise that when we enter physical life the position as regards the
feelings and the impulses of will is in no way the same as it is
regarding the life of concepts, for we enter an incarnation with a
very definite equipment of feeling experiences and impulses of will.
Correct observation might indeed make us surmise that in the feelings
and will-impulses we have something that we have brought with us from
earlier incarnations. And all this must be brought together as a
‘feeling-memory’ in contradistinction to the
‘concept-memory’ which belongs to one life only. We can
arrive at no practical result if we take into account only a
concept-memory. All that we develop in the life of concepts cannot
call forth an impression which, if rightly understood, says to us:
You have within you something which entered this incarnation with you
at birth. For this we must go beyond the life of concepts;
recollection must become something different, and we have shown what
recollection can indeed become. How do we practise self-recollection?
We do not merely picture to ourselves: “This was accidental in
our life, such and such a thing befell us, there we were in a
position of life which we abandoned,” and so forth. We must not
stop at the concepts; we must make them living, active, as if there
stood before us the picture of a personality who had desired and
willed all this. We must experience ourselves in this
willing. This is a very different experience from that of
merely recalling concepts; it is an experience of living oneself into
other soul-forces, if I may put it in that way.
This practice of
drawing on will and desire in order to fill the soul with a certain
content — a practice that has always been known and cultivated
in all occult schools — is confirmed by what we know from
anthroposophical or similar knowledge of the life of thinking,
feeling and willing, and can be understood and explained thereby. Let
us be quite clear that in giving a specific content to the life of
feeling and will we must develop something which resembles
memory-concepts, but does not stop there. It is something which
enables us to develop another kind of memory — one that
gradually leads us beyond the life enclosed in one incarnation
between birth and death.
It must be strongly
emphasised that the path here indicated is absolutely good and sure
— but full of renunciation. It is easier to imagine on all
sorts of external grounds that one has been Marie Antoinette or Mary
Magdalene, or somebody like that in a former incarnation. It is more
difficult by the methods described to construct out of what actually
exists in the soul a picture of what one really was. For this reason
we have to renounce a good deal, for we can readily be deceived. If
someone says: “But we may be simply imagining it all,”
then we must answer: “Yes, and it is also quite possible to
imagine something in relation to our memories that never
existed.” All these things are no real objections. Life itself
can provide a criterion for distinguishing real imagination from
fancy.
Somebody once said to
me in a town in South Germany that everything in my book
Occult Science
might be based on simple suggestion. He said suggestion
could be so vivid that one could even imagine lemonade so strongly
that the taste of it would be in the mouth; and if such a thing is
possible, why should it not be possible for what is present in
Occult Science
to be based on suggestions —
Theoretically such an objection may be raised, but life brings the
reflection that if anyone wishes to show by the example of lemonade
how strongly suggestion can work, we must add that he has not
understood how to carry the idea to its logical conclusion. He ought
to try not only to imagine lemonade, but to quench his thirst with
purely imaginary lemonade! Then he would see that it cannot be done.
It is always necessary to carry our experiences to their conclusion,
and this cannot be done theoretically but only by direct experience.
With the same certainty by which we know that what arises from our
memory-concepts is something we have experienced, so do the impulses
of will we have called forth with regard to the accidents and
undesired happenings arise from the depths of the soul as a picture
of earlier experiences. We cannot disprove the statement of anyone
who says: “That may be imagination,” any more than we can
disprove theoretically what numerous people imagine they have
experienced and quite certainly have not, nor prove to them what it
is they really experienced. No theoretical proof is possible in
either case.
We have shown in this
way how earlier experience shines into present experiences, and how
through careful soul-development we really can create for ourselves
the conviction—not only a theoretical conviction but a
practical conviction—that our soul reincarnates; we come to
know that it has existed before. There are, however, experiences of a
very different kind in our lives — experiences of which, when
we recall them in memory, we must say: “In the form in which
they appear, they do not explain an earlier life to us.” To-day
I shall give an example of only one kind of such experiences,
although the same thing may happen in a hundred, in a thousand,
different ways.
A man may be walking
in a wood, and being lost in thought may forget that the woodland
path ends within a few steps at a precipice. Absorbed in his problem,
he walks on at such a pace that in two or three steps more it will be
impossible for him to stop, and he will fall over to his death. But
just as he is on the verge, he hears a voice say, “Stop!”
The voice makes such an impression upon him that he stops as though
nailed to the spot. He thinks there must be someone who has saved
him. He realises that his life would have been at an end if he had
not been pulled up in this way. He looks round — and sees
nobody.
The materialistic
thinker will say that owing to some circumstance or other an auditory
hallucination had come from the depths of the man's soul, and
it was a happy chance that he was saved in this way. But there may be
other ways of looking at the event; that at least should be admitted.
I only mention this to-day, for these ‘other ways’ can
only be told, not proved. We may say: ”Processes in the
spiritual world have brought it about that at the moment when you
reached your karmic crisis, your life was bestowed on you as a gift.
If things had gone further without this occurrence, your life would
have been at an end; it is now as though a gift to you, and you owe
this new life to the Powers who stand behind the voice.”
Many people of the
present time might have such experiences if they would only practise
real self-knowledge. Such occurrences happen in the lives of many,
many people in the present age. It is not that they do not happen,
but that people do not pay attention to them, for such things do not
always happen so decisively as in the example given; with their
habitual lack of attention, people overlook them. The following is a
characteristic example of how unobservant people are of what happens
around them.
I knew a school
inspector, in a country where a law was passed to the effect that the
older teachers, who had not obtained certain certificates, were to be
examined. Now this school inspector was an extremely human person,
and he said to himself: " The young teachers fresh from college can
be asked any question, but it would be cruel to ask the older men who
have been in office for twenty or thirty years the same questions. I
had better question them about the contents of the books from which
they have taught the children year after year," And lo! —most
of the teachers knew nothing of what they themselves had been
teaching to their pupils. Yet this man was an examiner who understood
how to draw out of people what they knew.
This is only one
example of how unobservant people are of what takes place around
them, even when it concerns their own affairs. We need not then be
surprised that things of this kind happen to many people in life, for
only by a true, deliberate self-perception do they come to light. If
we bring the proper devout attitude to bear on such an event we may
experience a very definite feeling — the feeling that from the
day our life was given to us as a gift, its course from then onwards
must assume a special direction. That is a good feeling, and works
like a memory-process when we say to ourselves: “I had reached
a karmic crisis; there my life ended.” If a man steeps himself
in this devout feeling, he may experience something that makes him
realise: “This is not a memory-concept such as I have often
experienced in life — it is something of a very special
nature.”
In the next lecture I
shall be able to speak more fully of what can only be indicated
to-day; for this is how a great Initiate of modern times tests those
whom he thinks fit to be his followers. For the events which are to
take us into the spiritual world proceed from spiritual facts which
happen around us, or from a right understanding of them. And such a
voice, calling as it does to many people, is not to be regarded as a
hallucination; for through such a voice the leader whom we call by
the name of Christian Rosenkreuz speaks to those whom he chooses from
among the multitude to be his followers. The call proceeds from that
Individuality who lived in a special incarnation in the 13th century.
So that a man who has an experience of this kind has a sign, a token
of recognition, through which he can enter the spiritual
world.
[ 1 ]
There may not be many
as yet able to recognise this call, but Anthroposophy will work in
such a way that, if not in this incarnation, later on men will give
heed to it. With most people who have such an experience to-day it is
not completed in the sense that one can say of them in this
incarnation: “They have met the Initiate who has appointed them
his own.” One could say it rather of their life between their
last death and their present birth. This is an indication that
something happens in the life between death and rebirth; that we
experience there important events—perhaps more important than
in our life here between birth and death. It may happen, and in
individual cases it does, that certain persons now belonging to
Christian Rosenkreuz came to him in a former incarnation, but for
most people the destiny that is reflected in such an event occurred
in their last life between death and rebirth.
I am not saying this
to recount something sensational, nor even for the sake of relating
this particular occurrence, but for a special reason; and I should
like to add something else in this connection, from an experience I
have often had in our Movement. I have often found that things I have
said are easily forgotten, or retained in a different form from that
in which they were said. For this reason I sometimes emphasise
important and essential things several times over, not in order to
repeat myself. Therefore to-day I repeat that there are many people
at the present time who have passed through an experience such as has
been described. The point is not that the experience is not there,
but that it is not remembered, because proper attention has not been
paid to it. Therefore this should be a consolation to those who say
to themselves: “I find nothing of the kind, so I do not belong
to those who have been chosen in this way.” They can have the
assurance that there are countless people at the present time who
have experienced something of the kind — I reaffirm this only
in order that the real reason for saying these things may be
understood.
Such things are told
in order to draw our attention again and again to the fact that in a
concrete sense, and not through abstract theories, we must find the
relation of our soul-life to the spiritual worlds. Anthroposophical
Spiritual Science should be for us not merely a theoretical
conception of the world, but an inner life-force; we should not
merely know, “There is a spiritual world to which man
belongs,” but as we go through life we should not only take
account of things which stimulate our thinking through the senses,
but should grasp with comprehension the connections which show us:
“I have my place in the spiritual world, a definite
place.” The real, concrete place of the individual in the
spiritual world — that is the essential point to which we are
calling attention.
In a theoretical
sense men try to establish that the world may have a spiritual
element, and that man is not to be considered in a materialistic
sense, but may have a spiritual element within him. Our particular
conception of the world differs from this, for it says to the
individual: “This is your special connection with the spiritual
world.” More and more we shall be able to ascend to those
things which can show us how we must view the world in order to
perceive our connection with the Spirit of the Great World, the
Macrocosm.
Notes:
1.
See the volume entitled
Christian Rosenkreuz.
Notes of lectures given during the years 1911 and 1912.
[This is probably
The Mission of Christian Rosenkreutz
— e.Ed]
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