# Three Spiritual Streams and the Crusades' Hidden Impulses

## GA 216 — 1 October 1922, Dornach

### Lecture VI

In the last few lectures we have been studying impulses of far-reaching influence in the historical evolution of humanity—great impulses which are like the tracks of stars across history, illuminating our understanding of particular events. Knowledge of an epoch in history can only be external and superficial if the underlying impulses are not perceived and understood. For these impulses are real powers; they work for the most part, and they work most powerfully, through the unconscious forces of the soul; what transpires outwardly and in full consciousness is only to be perceived in the right light when its origin can be traced back to them.

We will think of an event or, more precisely, a series of events well known to history and of profound significance in the whole life of the West during the Middle Ages—a series of events which, in the outer world, ended in a comparatively short time, after about a century or a century and a half, but the effects of which continued and (to those able to understand the deeper currents in the flow of world-history) have continued to this day. I refer to the Crusades which began in the eleventh century—1096 is the year usually assigned—and as a series of outer events continued until the year usually given as 1170. But we find that even external history mentions all kinds of enterprises and institutions that developed out of the Crusades.

We hear, for example, of the Templar Knights, who first assumed their real significance in outer life during the time of the Crusades. We hear, too, of Orders like that of the Knights of St. John, later the Knights of Malta, and others. Things that were inaugurated by these communities of secular and spiritual life, and thus sprang from the spirit pervading the Crusades, subsequently developed in such a way that, while their provenance in the Crusading spirit was less and less remarked, their effects and influences were clearly present in the life of the West.

Thinking, to begin with, of the external course of history, we know how the Crusades originated. Needs of the soul led adherents of Christianity in the West to believe that pilgrimages to Palestine would imbue their Christian impulses with fresh vigour; but they encountered obstacles, because Palestine and Jerusalem had fallen into the hands of a people of very alien character, namely, the Turks. The maltreatment inflicted by the Turks upon these pilgrims to Jerusalem had provoked an outcry all over Europe and from this was born the mood and spirit which gave rise to the Crusades—a mood which had been present for a long time, although in a different form. We see how men gave vent to this mood by demanding the liberation of the Holy Places of the West, the Holy Places of Christendom, from Turkish oppression.

We hear how Peter of Amiens, himself a victim of this oppression, traveled through Western Europe as a pilgrim and by his fervent preaching won over many hearts to the project of liberating Jerusalem from the Turks.

We know too that, to begin with, this led to no result. But soon a whole number of Knights in the West, gathering together under the leadership of Godfrey of Bouillon in the first real Crusade, succeeded in liberating Jerusalem, for a time at least, from the Turks.

The course of these events requires only brief mention, for the story is familiar enough in history. The really important thing is to study with insight and understanding what was working more or less unconsciously through human souls, in such a way that again and again, and for a long period of time, numbers of men, in most cases with extraordinary devotion and valour, set out upon these journeys to the East, these seven Crusades, under the leadership of the most distinguished princes of the West. The real question is this: Whence came that first fiery enthusiasm which swept across Europe, especially at the beginning of the Crusades? Once the ball had been set rolling—if I may so express it—interests of a different sort crept in, from the fourth Crusade onwards. There were European princes who went to the East with quite other motives, to enhance their power, their prestige and the like. Nevertheless the beginning of the Crusades is an historical event of prime importance. We cannot fail to be impressed by the spectacle of this mighty force prompting a large part of European humanity to an undertaking linked, as they felt, with the most sacred concerns of the heart. Men felt that these sacred concerns were vitally connected with the liberation of Jerusalem from the Turks, in order that Christians in Europe desirous of visiting the Grave of the Redeemer might find their ways cleared.

The dry, prosaic accounts of the historical facts to be read in books do not, as a rule, convey any real impression of the fire of enthusiasm that flamed up in Europe when that noble company of knights set out on the first Crusade, nor of the re-kindling of this enthusiasm by the ardour of men like Bernard of Clairvaux and others. There is an awe-inspiring grandeur about the birth of the Crusades, and we cannot help asking ourselves: What impulses were working in the hearts and souls of Europeans at that time—what were the impulses out of which sprang the spirit of the Crusades?

These impulses can only be rightly understood if we trace their development back through the centuries. A pivotal point in history and one which throws a flood of light upon subsequent happenings of incisive importance in Europe, is the reign of Pope Nicholas I, approximately in the middle of the ninth century, between the years 858 and 867. Before his inner eye, Nicholas I perceived three streams of spiritual life—three streams confronting him like great question marks (if I may use the term) of civilisation.

He saw the one stream moving as it were in spiritual heights, across from Asia into Europe. In this stream certain conceptions innate in oriental religion are making their way, in a much modified and changed form, across Southern Europe and Northern Africa, to Spain, France, the British Isles and especially to Ireland. In view of what will presently be said, I will call this the first stream. Springing from the Arabian regions of Asia, it flows across Greece and Italy but also across Africa into Spain and then upwards through the West. But its influence also rays out, in different forms, towards other parts of Europe.

Little is said of this stream in the tale told to us as history. We will speak today only of two characteristic features of this stream—which was immeasurably deep in content. One of these is what may be called the esoteric conception of the Mystery of Golgotha. I have often spoken to you of the conception of the Mystery of Golgotha held by those in whom vestiges of the ancient, pre-Christian Initiation-knowledge survived. There is an indication of this in the Bible itself—in the coming of the three Magi or Kings from the East. With their knowledge of the secrets of the stars they foresee the approaching Christ Event and set out in search of it. Pre-eminently, therefore, the three Magi are examples of men concerned less with the earthly personality of Jesus of Nazareth than with the all-important fact that a Spiritual Being had descended from worlds of spirit-and-soul, that Christ had come to dwell in the body of Jesus of Nazareth and would impart a mighty impulse to the further evolution of the earth. These men viewed the Event of Golgotha from a wholly super-sensible standpoint. Vision of the super-sensible truth was possible to men in whom the ancient principles of Initiation had been kept alive, for comprehension of this super-sensible Event, unintelligible in the natural and historical life of the earth, could be achieved with the help of this ancient Initiation-knowledge.

But it became more and more difficult to keep alive these ancient principles of Initiation and therefore more and more impossible to find appropriate language in which to convey how Christ had come down from super-sensible worlds, had passed through the Mystery of Golgotha, and how His Power continues to work through all the subsequent evolution of the earth. Men simply had no means of so shaping their concepts and ideas that they could find words to convey what had actually come to pass through Christ and through the Mystery of Golgotha.

And so in order to clothe this Mystery in words, men were forced more and more to pictorial forms of presentation. One such is the story of the Holy Grail, of the precious Cup, said, on the one hand, to be the Cup in which Christ Jesus had partaken of the Last Supper with His Apostles, and, on the other, the Cup in which the Roman soldier at the foot of the Cross caught the blood flowing from the Redeemer. This Cup was then carried by Angels ... and here is the touch of the super-sensible, tendered in faltering words, for what the old Initiates could have conveyed in clear concepts could now only be conveyed by pictures ... this Cup was carried by Angels to Mont Salvat in Spain and received there by the noble King Titurel; he built a Temple for the Chalice and there dwelt the Knights of the Holy Grail, keeping watch and ward over the treasure that shields the impulse flowing onwards from the Mystery of Golgotha.

And so we have there a deeply esoteric stream, passing over into a mystery. On the one side we perceive the influence of this deeply esoteric stream in the founding of academies in Asia, where men studied the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, endeavouring to understand the Event of Golgotha with the aid of Aristotelian concepts. Later on, in European civilisation, we see attempts made in such a poem as *Parsifal* to convey the living content of this esoteric stream in *pictures*. We see this same living content shimmering through the teachings that arose especially in the Schools of Ireland. We see too how the best elements of Arabian wisdom flowed into this stream but how, at the same time, Arabian thought introduced an alien element, coarsened and corrupted over in Asia by Turkish influence.

Of the character imparted to this first stream by the Arabian influence and by its advance from the East towards the West, we shall speak later, when the other streams have been considered. To indicate the fundamental character of this stream, one would be obliged to say: Those who were connected in any real way with this stream of spiritual life, held that the one and only way of salvation—and an echo of this is heard in Wolfram von Eschenbach's *Parsifal*—lay in rising above the sensible and material into the super-sensible, in having at any rate some vision of the super-sensible worlds, in letting man share in the life of the super-sensible worlds, in bringing home to him that his soul belongs to a stream not immediately to be perceived by senses directed to terrestrial events.

The feeling characterizing this gaze upward into super-sensible, super-earthly regions was that, in order to be a full human being, man must belong to worlds transcending material existence, worlds whose happenings are hidden, as were the deeds of the Knights of the Grail, from the outward eye. The Mystery implicit in this stream was felt to be somehow imperceptible to the eyes of sense.

This, then, was the first stream, barely felt and yet looked at askance in Rome at the time of Pope Nicholas I in the ninth century. The whole tendency in Rome was to regard it as an inimical influence and one to which it would be unwholesome for Western humanity to yield. In the religious and intellectual life of Europe there must be nothing of the esoteric, nor anything even faintly deriving from the esoteric—such was the attitude.

This was the first and assuredly the most awe-inspiring question before Nicholas I, for he also discerned the grandeur of this stream of spiritual life. Although much dimmed since the third or fourth century (when a society had actually been founded in Italy for the extermination of all paths to spiritual knowledge) its radiance still shone, by way of many hidden embrasures, into the hearts of men, revealing itself now here, now there. What broke through in this way into the experience of men, often from mysterious strata underlying the progress of history, was denounced as heresy. The feeling also prevailed that the esotericism still faintly glimmering in this stream could no longer find its way into those concepts which, in the culture of Latin Rome, had departed more and more from the inwardness of Greek thought with its oriental colouring and had adopted the forms of Roman Rhetoric—in other words, had become formal and exoteric.

Yet on the other hand, among individuals and communities denounced as heretical sects, this stream flashed into life with tremendous power.

The second question of world-history before the soul of Nicholas I was this. All the knowledge gathered hitherto by the Catholic Church forced him to the conclusion that the Europeans of the West were incapable of bearing the great spiritual tension that is evoked in the souls of men if they are to scale the heights of spiritual, esoteric understanding.

A great uncertainty weighed upon the soul of Nicholas I. What will happen if too much of this esoteric-spiritual stream makes its way into the souls of the people of Europe?

In the East itself, greater and greater confusion had crept into what had once been the esoteric content of this stream. It was over in far-off Ireland that it maintained its purest form and for some time there were Schools in Ireland where the holy secrets were preserved in great purity.

But—so pondered Nicholas I—this is useless for the people of Europe. Nicholas I was, in reality, only repeating the view previously held by Boniface in a somewhat different form, namely that owing to their intrinsic character the people of Europe were not adapted for the inflow of spiritual life into their souls. And so the strange position arose that in the East the real, esoteric substance died away. Human beings living in the East and also in the East of Europe, in the regions of present-day Russia, could make no contact in their souls with this esoteric substance. But over in the East, purely in the form of feelings, and in so far as these feelings had not been utterly exterminated by the gradual advance of the Turanian peoples—the Turks—over in the East men had a dim feeling that the sublimely esoteric, which is not to be comprehended by the dawning intellect, flows in cult and ritual; but only when the cult has at the same time an actual centre in the outer world, a geographical centre.

And so in the East of Europe, while the esoteric, spiritual reality was forgotten, men turned to cult and ritual, clinging with greatest intensity of feeling to what they held to be the very heart and core of the cult: the Grave of the Redeemer.

Hard by the Grave of the Redeemer in Jerusalem was the place where He had celebrated the Last Supper with His Apostles, that Eucharistic meal that in metamorphosis became the Death on Golgotha, was consummated by this Death and then lived on—in the central rite, but also in the whole ritual—in the Mass.

In their estrangement, because they failed to reach an esoteric understanding of the spiritual reality, men gave their hearts to cult and ritual, and to that with which the cult was outwardly connected: the Grave of the Redeemer and the Holy Places in Jerusalem. Pilgrimage to Jerusalem came to be regarded as crowning all the solemn ceremonies, wherever they were celebrated. For the individual man, the ceremonies and ritual were to receive their crowning triumph when, having poured his very heart into what he had experienced in image in the ceremonies, he himself went forth on the pilgrimage to the Grave of the Redeemer.

Certain schools here and there in Asia were still able to grasp the concepts that, under tremendous stress, had been unfolded by the ancient Egyptians from contemplation of the mummy, of the mummified human corpse, but this knowledge had passed from the ken of the general population. Human understanding was incapable of grasping what is at once the Mystery of Man and of the Divine World.

And so in the days of Pope Nicholas I, the farther one looked to the East, the more clearly did one see this inward, heartfelt veneration of the cult; men clung passionately to the cult and to all the experiences evoked by the sacred acts, regarding as the crowning triumph of these experiences, indeed as the supreme act of worship, the pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre.

Looking over to the East from ninth-century Rome, in the days of Nicholas I, there arose the picture of the one influence—of which Nicholas I and his counselors said: This is not for the peoples of Europe, for the peoples of Middle and Western Europe—for they have too much of the intellect that is now storming into human evolution to be able to cling, with whatsoever fervour of the heart, to the mere contemplation of the ceremonial acts and to the actual pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre. In the people of Europe there is too much of the dawning intellect to enable them in this way to be fully Man. It was perceived that although this was possible in the East, it was not to be expected of the peoples of Middle Europe and the West.

Meanwhile the first great question still remained. Terrible danger seemed imminent if Europe were swept by the stream charged with such deep esotericism, with so much that can be fully grasped only by a spiritualised thinking.

Let me put it like this. Looking from the Rome of Pope Nicholas I towards the West, danger loomed. Looking towards the East, again danger. The stream outspread in the East and making its way far into Europe was seen, in reality, as a series of streams, as the stream of the esoteric cult in contrast to the other (Western) stream of esoteric life. Middle Europe must not, dare not be seized by either stream ... this, or something like it, was what was being said at the Papal Court of Nicholas I. What, then, must be done? The great treasure perceptible to those truly belonging to this first esoteric stream must be clothed in dogma. Words must be found, formulae coined and proclaimed; but the possibility of understanding through actual vision of what was thus proclaimed must be withheld from men.

The idea of Faith was born—the conception that without providing them with the means of vision, men must be given in the forms of abstract dogma, those things in which they can believe.

And so a third stream arose, taking hold of the religious and also the scientific life of Middle and Western Europe. The onset of the intellect was opposed by dogmas, dogmas that could not be described as vision restated in ideas, but such that the element of vision had departed from them; they were simply believed.

If that esoteric stream which penetrated to Ireland and died away in later times had been pursued in deed and truth, the souls of those belonging to it would inevitably have experienced union with the spiritual world. For the great question living in this esoteric stream was in reality this: How is the human being to find his orientation in the ether-world, in the etheric cosmos? The visions, which also included the conception of the Mystery of Golgotha as I described it just now, were connected with the etheric cosmos. Here, then, the great question was that concerning the nature of the *etheric cosmos*.

But in the middle stream which until far into the Middle Ages was clothed for the most part in Latinised forms of thought, the knowledge bearing upon the etheric cosmos became the content of dogma.

Just as in the West the question concerning the mystery of the etheric cosmos was an unconscious one, so in the East there had arisen the great, unconscious question as to the nature of the etheric organism, the *etheric body of man*.

Unconsciously astir in all those trends of feeling and knowledge in the East, which poured into cult, ceremony and ritual, was the question: How is man to adjust himself to the workings of his etheric body?—Just as in the South and West the question was: How is man to adjust himself to the etheric cosmos?

In earlier times the truth of the super-sensible world had been within man's reach as an outcome of his natural, dreamlike clairvoyance. It was not necessary for him to become conscious of the etheric in the cosmos and in his own being. A significant feature of the modern age was the great question which now arose concerning the nature and content of the etheric world—in the West, the question as to the etheric cosmos, in the East as to man's own etheric body.

The question concerning the etheric cosmos demands the exercise of supreme spiritual effort. A man must unfold thought to its highest potency if he is to penetrate the mysteries of the cosmos. In the lecture yesterday I told you that the way is opened up by study of Goethe's conception of plant-metamorphosis, but that this must pass on to the mighty metamorphosis that leads over from one earthly life to the next.

But in Rome, especially at the time of Pope Nicholas I, this was considered to be full of danger ... the living content of this stream must be stifled and concealed.

The Eastern stream too was involved in the struggle concerning the etheric world but particularly the etheric nature of *man*, the etheric body of man. With his physical body, man lives in contact with the outer world of nature, with the animals, plants and minerals, the machines and the like. But to live in and through the etheric body during his existence here on earth is only possible for man by the external means presented by ceremony and ritual, by participation in happenings and actions which are not, in the earthly and material sense, real. In the East, men longed to share in these acts in order that they might thereby experience the inner nature and working of their own etheric organism.

In the Rome of Pope Nicholas I, this too was considered unsuitable for Europe. It was decided to retain in the West only what the intellect had formulated into a body of dogmas—wherein super-sensible truths are matters of faith alone, no longer of actual vision. The dogmas were then promulgated over wider areas of the West and the esoteric stream was entirely obscured. The inner attraction to cult and ritual that had characterized Eastern Europe was also thought to be out of keeping with the nature of the peoples of Middle and Western Europe, and from this was born the modified form of the cult which now exists in the Roman Catholic Church.

If you compare the cult and ritual of the Eastern Church, the Orthodox Russian Church, with the form of cult practised in the Roman Catholic Church, you will perceive this difference: in the Roman Catholic Church it is more of the nature of a symbol for the eyes to contemplate; in the East it is something into which the soul penetrates with ardent devotion. In the West, men grew increasingly aware of the need to turn away from the cult—wedded as it now was to dogmatic interpretation—to the dogmas, and from the dogmas to explain the cult. In the East, cult and ritual worked as a power in themselves and what found its way over to the West was gradually confined within the externalised forms preserved in various occult communities. These communities exist to this very day and though emptied of all the esotericism of olden time, still play no insignificant apart in affairs.

How to inaugurate in Europe a form of cult which does not, as in the East, take hold of the etheric nature of the human being, and to establish a system of dogma which would make it unnecessary for men to direct their gaze to the spiritual world ... how to inaugurate a twofold stream of this character—such was the third great question confronting Nicholas I. And at this he laboured. The outcome of it all was the complete severance of the Eastern, Greek Church, from the Roman Catholic Church. Here, in what I have indicated, lie the inner reasons.

All that I have just been describing to you was still clearly perceptible in the middle of the ninth century, at the time of Pope Nicholas I. In the West, vestiges of esotericism still survived. In Spain particularly, but also in France and in Ireland, esoteric Schools existed. There were men who could still look into the spiritual worlds, whose understanding of Christianity derived from actual vision. Later on, nothing remained of this earlier power of vision, save a hint, save those mysterious, repeated glimpses of the Holy Grail or its secular reflection and counterpart, the Round Table of King Arthur. There men did feel the presence of something actually connected with vision of worlds beyond the earth, with living experience of these worlds.

Middle Europe, extending into those regions of the West where esotericism still survived, was the home of devout belief sustained by dogmas, combined with a world of ceremonies and rites not quite connected with the human etheric body. Of what was living in the East, I have already spoken. Any true portrayal of the life of soul as it was in Europe during the ninth century, would have to include description of these three different moods-of-soul in their many variations.

The account given by history is but a cursory, superficial expression of what was actually reigning in the depths. But as time went on, the esoteric stream was followed by a current, which in the forms of Arabian thought was becoming increasingly exoteric and formal. What men over in Asia had made of the Aristotelian teachings—that too flowed over in the wake of what had once been a very spiritual understanding, and under this influence the content of this esoteric stream became more and more materialistic. Already in the eleventh and twelfth centuries we see how esotericism begins to flicker out, to melt away as it were; this esoteric stream itself takes on a materialistic mode of thinking, that mode of thinking which in later metamorphosis becomes the materialism of natural science—which has its real origin in Arabian thought.

The middle stream—actually brought into being by Nicholas I but previously fostered by Boniface and supported by the Merovingians and Carolingians—although for long centuries bearing faint traces of the influence exercised by the Grail and other sacred lays in turning the eyes of soul to the super-sensible world, this middle stream tended more and more to introduce the element of materialism into cult and dogma. The older and purer conceptions of Transubstantiation, of the celebration of the Mass, for example, were followed by those crude, materialistic conceptions, which alone could have resulted in controversy over the Eucharist. When these quarrels arose they were proof of the fact that men no longer understood the Eucharist as originally conceived. Indeed it is a mystery that can be understood only in the light of spiritual knowledge.

And so materialism found its way into the stream that had flowed across to the West from the South and East; it found its way into the middle stream, and, fundamentally, also into the Eastern stream. The waves of materialism were surging on—and everywhere men strove to dam them back as best they could.

We pass now from the ninth century, from the days of Pope Nicholas I, to the eleventh century. We must picture the three great question marks standing like three terrible powers, soul-torturing powers, before a man like Pope Nicholas I. For he could not say—as in Congresses later on, when frontiers were drawn on maps according to opinions based upon external considerations—he could not say: I decree that there shall be a frontier here, and another frontier here ... for souls cannot be divided off in this way. What he *could* do was to indicate lines of direction and impart to the middle stream a certain strength, and herein his genius was particularly effective. Nevertheless the mood prevailing in the East spread far, far into the West. What mood? The mood in which the etheric organism of man is set aflame from within by the sacred acts of cult and ritual and in which, in a way more characteristic of Western Europe, these acts were now linked with their centre in Jerusalem.

With all the ardour for pilgrimage and the intense yearning towards the real centre in Jerusalem, Peter of Amiens, with less effect at the beginning, and then, later on, Bernard of Clairvaux with veritably blinding fervour, preached the Cross. With this mood of ardour in Europe there mingled the remains of the stream which had been kept alive in the West by the cult of the Grail, by the Arthurian cult—the remains of the esotericism which had here found its outlet ... and there arose the picture of Man in his physical form as a being to whom the earth is not really earth, but a particular place in the cosmos.

Some such conception was alive in the world of chivalry and knighthood or at least in that part of it that took shape in Western and Middle Europe and allied itself with the Crusading Spirit. And as a faint undertone only, but as the Crusades proceeded steadily increasing in strength, there mingled with this mood the temper of mind that had been engendered by Nicholas I as appropriate for European civilisation.

That is why there is something about the Crusades not fully to be explained by later circumstances. For the middle stream spreads out; beside it remains the stream belonging to the East of Europe, regarded in Europe itself as a backward tendency in religion; and the Western stream converts itself into branches of the occult, esoteric life, into all kinds of occult societies, Masonic Orders and the like. In the world of Scholasticism, the middle stream finally lays hold of science too, and then of the child of Scholasticism: natural science in its later form.

The spirit inspiring the Crusades cannot be understood by those who look only at what happened in later times; it can be understood only by those who perceive the effects of these impulses from the fourth and fifth centuries of the Christian era to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and who grasp the full significance of the question with which Nicholas I, in the ninth century, was so profoundly concerned: How can happenings in the outer world in which the human being himself participates, pre-eminent among them being the sacred acts of the cult, how can these be brought into connection with the living flow of spiritual life, with the life of the Spiritual Beings? In the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, the problem had already been set for the peoples of Europe. Just as on the one side they had lost the realities contained in cult and ritual, so too, on the other side, they had lost the realities yielded by spiritual vision. Just as in the East the realities of cult and ritual vanished into the mists of Asia and the conquests of the Turks sealed off the holy place around which the acts of the Christian cult must be centred, so, if I may speak in metaphor, did the esoteric secrets contained in the Western stream disappear into the Atlantic Ocean. And there arose as a reaction the mood, which asked: How are the sacred acts of the cult, with their centre in Jerusalem, to be infused with spiritual life?

Anyone who reads the sermons of Bernard of Clairvaux can feel to this very day how on the one hand, fervent devotion to the cult, to the outer symbol in which the esoteric is contained, speaks from his lips, and how, on the other hand, his heart is fired through and through by all that was once astir in the esotericism of the West.

Resounding in the tone and tenor of the sermons of Bernard of Clairvaux, not in what he actually says but in the artistic grandeur and majesty of his utterances, are those mysteries which the etheric cosmos would fain reveal to man and can no longer reveal, and on the other side all that strives, from out of the earth, to work in man's own etheric body. That is what drives men over to Asia, seeking for what they had lost in the West.

Esotericism, however, was really the driving force. By making a new link with the Grave of the Redeemer, men desired to glimpse again what the West had lost. The tragedy of the ensuing age was that this was not understood, that there were no ears ready to listen, let us say, to Rosicrucianism—I mean Rosicrucianism in its genuine form—which sought for Christ in heights of the Spirits, not at the physical grave.

Now, however, the time has come for mankind to realise that just as those who after the Redeemer's death came to the tomb, were told: He Whom ye seek is no longer here, seek Him elsewhere, so, too, it was said to the Crusaders: He Whom ye seek is no longer here, seek Him elsewhere.

The age is upon us when He Who is no longer here must be sought elsewhere, when He must be sought through a new revelation of the spiritual worlds. That is the task of those who are living at this present time and of that I wished to speak to you, in connection with our recent studies.