This essay provides an in-depth analysis of Richard Wagner’s opera Parsifal, emphasizing its profound esoteric meanings and connections to his earlier works.
By: Dr. Roberto Assagioli, (February 1937). (Archivio Assagioli – Florence – Original Title in Italian: Parsifal)[1] Translated and Edited With Notes by Jan Kuniholm
Abstract: This essay provides an in-depth analysis of Richard Wagner’s opera Parsifal, emphasizing its profound esoteric meanings and connections to his earlier works. It outlines how Wagner’s operas reflect the struggles of the human soul on its quest for redemption, particularly highlighting two critical conflicts: the battle between the thirst for life and the spirit of compassion, and the struggle between earthly love and spiritual love. Parsifal is presented as Wagner’s ultimate synthesis of these themes, intertwining elements of Buddhism and Christianity through its narrative of the Holy Grail and its guardians.
The opera’s plot, derived from medieval legends, follows Parsifal, who embodies the qualities of purity and compassion. His journey involves significant encounters with characters like Kundry, who represents both temptation and the potential for redemption. The music of Parsifal is described as deeply symbolic, with themes that express love, faith, and hope, and it underscores the spiritual journey of the characters.
The essay also discusses the opera’s structure, including its prelude and significant scenes, such as the Mystic Supper and the Good Friday Spell, which signify purification and the healing power of love. In the final act, Parsifal fulfills his role as a redeemer, healing Amfortas and restoring the balance between the spiritual and material worlds. The conclusion emphasizes the theme of compassion and the idea that true redemption comes through helping others, resonating with Eastern philosophies of self-renunciation for the benefit of humanity. Ultimately, Wagner’s Parsifal is portrayed as a masterful blend of musical artistry and spiritual depth, culminating in a celebration of the transformative power of love and redemption.
To fully understand the profound esoteric meaning of the opera Parsifal, the masterpiece that is the crowning achievement of Richard Wagner’s artistic activity, it would be necessary to examine the entire cycle of his previous works and study their symbolism.
In fact, there is a close connection — not apparent and external, but deep and intrinsic — between his various works, from the Flying Dutchman onwards. Indeed, Wagner’s prose writings and correspondence clearly show that this connection was conscious and intentional.[2]
I cannot go into detail here about the various and complex correspondences and spiritual — and also musical — resonances that exist between Wagner’s various operas. I will limit myself to briefly mentioning how each of them represents a different phase of the multiple experiences, travails and struggles that the human soul must go through on its long earthly pilgrimage before obtaining redemption.
In Wagner’s works, two “moments” typical of this evolution of the soul are particularly represented: two decisive battles on whose outcome the fate of the human being will depend for a long time to come. The first of these evolutionary “critical points” is the conflict between “the thirst for life and enjoyment,” the desire for possession and domination on one hand, and the spirit of compassion and sacrifice on the other. Wagner shows us — with all the persuasive force of his sincere and lived conviction, and with all the power of his artistic genius — how the thirst for possession and domination, symbolized above all in the fatal ring of the Nibelung, necessarily leads — through a long series of errors and offenses — to final ruin and destruction; while compassion makes us wise and capable of redeeming others, while renunciation and sacrifice — to those who know how and are willing to accomplish them — give freedom and self-redemption.
The second struggle — repeatedly represented by Wagner, and closely connected with the previous one — is that between earthly love, based on selfish desire and instinctive attraction; and spiritual love, made up of absolute reciprocal dedication, in which the ordinary personality is transformed and transcended and the souls, abandoning the bonds and limitations of earthly life, set out towards a more complete realization of their inner union on the higher planes of Being.
Richard Wagner has given us the most universal and concise representation of all these events and struggles in Parsifal. At the same time he has shown the highest justification, showing the sublime peak to which they lead: the triumph of the human spirit, the conscious communion of the soul with the Divine, and the marvelous beneficial power that derives from it: the power to help and redeem others with the magical virtue of love and compassion.
I need not dwell on the fact that this whole setting of the Wagnerian dramas has a quality, indeed a profoundly mystical spirit, in the fullest sense of liberation and redemption; or that it is a wonderful illustration of the universality and value of our fundamental principles. But this commonality is not limited to these principles. In fact, there are many other points of agreement and particular correspondences, some of which are truly surprising and deserve to be emphasized. We will now indicate some of the most important, among the many found in Parsifal.
The way in which the genesis of Parsifal took place in Wagner’s mind is very remarkable and significant, from our point of view. The first seeds of it are found in two previous sketches, one of a Christian opera, and the other of a Buddhist one. As early as 1843 Wagner had written a Supper of the Apostles, which was performed for a religious ceremony, with a hidden orchestra and choirs, as in the Temple ceremony in Parsifal.[3]
In 1848 he sketched, in great detail, a drama entitled Jesus of Nazareth — and eight years later he outlined a Buddhist drama, entitled Die Sieger, “The Victors”, in which the Buddha himself was to appear on stage and the main points of his teachings were to be developed, especially the sublime principle of sympathy and compassion for all living things, and the doctrines of reincarnation and karma.[4]
But later Wagner chose to use mythical rather than historical figures on the stage, and for this reason — as well as for other, perhaps more profound reasons — he decided to blend together the essential characters of those two great Masters and Redeemers of humanity in the mythical character of Parsifal, making him the hero in a sacred drama. In this opera the highest and most universal elements of Buddhism and Christianity are harmoniously interwoven, or rather fused in a wonderful synthesis that, while fully satisfying our aesthetic sense, our moral conscience and our rational needs, also expresses and identifies perfectly with our ethical-spiritual conception of the fundamental unity that exists among the guiding principles of all religions.
The plot of Parsifal is taken from various medieval legends concerning the Holy Grail, the mysterious talisman to which magical and spiritual powers were attributed. Following Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parsifal,[5] Wagner placed Monsalvat,[6] the castle where the Grail is kept, in northern Gothic Spain, while in Moorish Spain there is the castle of perdition, built by the magician Klingsor to tempt and defeat the Knights of the Grail. These Knights live in Monsalvat as the chosen guardians of the Grail Cup, from which emanates a divine radiation of strength, love and compassion; they are united by bonds of brotherly love and by the sacred vow to go out into the world to bring comfort and help to the weak and the oppressed.
Everyone will remember how this mystical Brotherhood was introduced by Wagner in another of his operas, Lohengrin, which, although composed many years before Parsifal, is, in terms of the chronological sequence of the events represented, the sequel to it.[7]
The meaning of the name “Parsifal” has been interpreted in many different ways. One interesting explanation derives the ancient French form of the name, Perseval, from the Latin phrase “per se stesso”, meaning “which is valid for itself”, that is to say that he “made” and perfected himself, without outside help. This corresponds very well, both to the life of Parsifal as it is narrated to us by the legend, and to a fundamental law of spiritual development: that which requires that the disciple temper and perfect himself, with only his own efforts.
Wagner, however, chose the Persian form of the name: PARSI-FAL, which means the pure simple. And this choice was opportune, since the Persian form reveals the inner nature of the hero more profoundly than the Latin form. He is an uneducated, naive and spotless young man, gifted with a big heart that gives him the power to identify with others, to relive their experiences and their pain. By means of this power of sympathy and compassion he will become strong and wise; he will pass through all temptations unscathed, he will learn the causes of the pain in the world and will be able to heal and redeem others. But the true nature of Parsifal — and the spiritual principle he represents — will become clearer and more evident from the whole drama and the character of his music. Let us now proceed to examine these.
Parsifal begins with a musical prelude in which the essential principles of the drama are expressed with suggestive effectiveness and marvelous artistic mastery. According to Wagner’s own interpretation, these principles are love, faith and hope.
The first theme is that of the Mystic Supper, which could also be called the theme of spiritual love. This is also the main theme of the sacred agape[8] scene in the first act, in which the bread and wine consecrated by the Grail mystically represent the body and blood of the REDEEMER,[9] sacrificed by him for the love of humanity. In fact that motif is sung with the words: “Take this my body, take my blood, in token of our love.” The motif is made up of a simple and broad melodic phrase pervaded by a great sweetness, and at the same time by a deep and intimate religiosity.
The prelude begins with this motif, which is then repeated three times with a delicate and ethereal accompaniment. This is followed by the motif of the Grail. This motif, taken from the Gregorian Gloria and the Amen of the Saxon liturgy,[10] has a profoundly mystical character due to the austere simplicity of the chords it uses, the ascending progression of these chords and above all, its second phrase an octave higher, which constitutes a kind of sublimated echo of the first, in a higher sphere of life.
This is followed by the Faith motif: short, clear, resolute and powerful, like a decisive and triumphant affirmation of the spirit. It is repeated twice in higher octaves and with a more mystical accent, and is then developed in the form of a chorale.
This first part of the Prelude, pervaded by a lofty and luminous spirituality, is followed by a part full of heartrending human pain, with an impressive contrast; as Kufferath rightly says, “the dazzling harmonies are followed by a muffled sonority, which produces the effect of a darkening after a bright and shining light.”
From the depths of the bass the first theme (that of Love) begins to rise, but it is abruptly interrupted halfway through with a painful wrench. The middle part of the theme is then repeated separately, like a cry of pain that grows increasingly acute. It signifies both the REDEEMER’S agonizing passion and the lament wrung from the sinful king Amfortas by the anguished sufferings of his wounded body and his remorseful soul.
This theme is followed by another, also based on the theme of Love, and more precisely on the last part of it, which — here and then throughout the whole drama — indicates the Holy Lance, the one that pierced the side of Christ and then also caused the wound of Amfortas at the hands of the magician Klingsor, who was able to take possession of it when Amfortas let himself be seduced by Kundry.[11] This motif too has a profoundly sorrowful character.
The final part of the Prelude is again gentle and spiritual, given by the musical motif of Love that is repeated in ever higher octaves and is lost in a series of chords, yielding — as Wolzogen says — “like imagery of the holy hope of believers in infinite divine love that lasts beyond pain and death.” [12]
The structure of this prelude, which will be performed now,[13] clearly shows how Wagner’s music has a very special character, how every melody, every harmony, every combination of sounds in it has a particular and profound musical, psychological and spiritual meaning. For this reason listening to it requires a broad intellectual and artistic preparation, and a fine intuition of spiritual matters to appreciate all its complex beauty and fully understand its innermost meaning.
The scene of the first act represents a forest in the domains of the Grail. From afar, as if coming from the castle, we hear the first theme of the Prelude, the motif of Love and the Mystic Supper. At this sound Gurnemanz, one of the knights of the Grail, awakens and, having roused the squires who are close to him, kneels and prays with them.
Gurnemanz is a figure similar to Wolfram in Wagner’s Tannhäuser, and to Hans Sachs in Die Meistersinger. He represents intelligence or faithful devotion, but without that form, that impetus and that fire of the soul which, while it can lead to sin, can also redeem from it, and raise one to the highest levels of spiritual development. After the prayer, two knights enter and talk to Gurnemanz about the increasingly tormented sufferings of King Amfortas, which are effectively expressed through music.
Suddenly a wild figure of a woman rushes onto the scene: it is Kundry. Her meaning is deep and complex. It can be summarized by saying that she represents the principle of the passivity of matter, the protean substance of nature, which can be used for good or evil by the will of man. In fact, we see that Kundry, when she is under the spiritual influence of the Grail, is a humble and devoted servant of the knights; while when she falls under the spell of the magician Klingsor she becomes an instrument of his evil intentions.[14]
Gurnemanz, at the request of the squires, tells the story of the fall of Amfortas. He begins by recalling the sacred origins of the Order of the Grail. Amfortas’ father Titurel, whom he calls a pious hero, received the Grail Chalice and the Holy Lance from a group of angels. While Gurnemanz tells the story with the words, “To him once, on a sacred and solemn night, the blessed messengers of the REDEEMER bowed,” we hear the musical theme of the Miracle of the Grail, whose unique harmonies correspond well to the sacred and mysterious character of the great event.
The Chalice and the Lance also have special spiritual meanings. The Chalice represents the feminine principle of love and intuitive wisdom, while the Lance symbolizes the masculine principle of will. In spiritual language we can say that both represent the manifestation in life of the sixth principle of buddhi.[15] This, in fact, as is well known, is the principle of intuition and of union; but it is also (as the vehicle of atma, that is, of pure spirit) the principle of will.
Titurel, after he had received the Mystic Chalice and the Sacred Lance, built the castle of Monsalvat to guard them, and founded the Order of the Knights of the Grail. He admitted only the pure of heart to this Order, and therefore rejected the magician Klingsor. Klingsor had subjected himself to forced chastity through a violent act against himself,[16] but in his heart impure passions continued to burn. Klingsor, furious at the refusal, used his magic arts to create an enchanted castle and garden, and populated them with female creatures who were to seduce the knights.
Titurel, having become old, had named his son Amfortas as his successor. The latter, forgetting that the Sacred Lance should never be separated from the Chalice — or, symbolically, that will should never be separated from wisdom and love — imprudently attacked Klingsor’s castle with the Lance alone. But he fell prey to Kundry’s seductions, so that Klingsor was able to take possession of the Lance and use it to wound Amfortas in the side. The wound makes him suffer much and will not heal. Amfortas, returning to the castle of Monsalvat and prostrate before the shrine in ardent prayer, begged for a sign of redemption, and then from the Grail rose a luminous figure who pronounced the divine promise of the coming of a redeemer: “The pure, simple one, wise through compassion: await him, my chosen one.”
The musical theme of this promise has a simple and pure melodic line, combined with an original harmonic structure with continuous changes of tonality, producing a musical effect that corresponds well to the superhuman and mysterious character of the angelic messenger and his promise.
As Gurnemanz ends his tale, a wounded swan appears, fluttering and then falling to the ground. Behind it runs Parsifal, armed with a bow. Here, as in Lohengrin, the swan accompanies the coming of the liberator, and the same musical motif, pervaded by sweetness and peace, is used. When Parsifal arrives, the musical motif that characterizes him is heard: a motif with a rapid and decisive rhythm, a virile and heroic motif. Parsifal is severely reprimanded for his cruelty in striking the swan, and for the first time he shows compassion and breaks the bow that was his only weapon.
Meanwhile Kundry, who has been taking part in the conversation by giving information about Parsifal’s mother, feels a deep drowsiness invading her. She knows where it comes from: it is telepathic suggestion from the magician Klingsor. She tries to resist, but in vain. She says: “Vain resistance; the moment has come — to sleep, to sleep — I must,” and falls plunged into a deep hypnotic sleep. We will see its meaning and consequences later on.
Gurnemanz has a vague suspicion that the apparently stupid young man is the promised liberator, and decides to let him assist in the ceremony that is about to take place in the Temple. As they go towards the castle the strong sound of the bells can be heard.
Gurnemanz and Parsifal enter the Temple, while knights advance from the side aisles, divided into two ranks, singing a solemn hymn, and while the orchestra powerfully echoes the harmonies of the Grail. The music for this scene is a simple and grand orchestral piece, in which the themes of the bells and the Grail alternate and combine with great expressive effectiveness.
The ranks of knights are followed by Amfortas, carried on a litter. From above comes the sound of youthful voices singing; then an even more ethereal choir is heard coming from the top of the dome.
There follows a moment of silence, broken by the deep voice of the old man Titurel, who invites Amfortas to fulfill his office. The wounded king refuses with desperate expressions and invokes death; but, while he falls back exhausted, from the top of the dome the voices sing the divine promise of the coming of the liberator. Titurel commands: “Uncover the Grail,” and Amfortas with a supreme effort prepares to perform the sacred rite. The golden chest is opened and the Holy Grail appears, before which the king prostrates himself in silent and ardent prayer. A mysterious darkness fills the temple, while the choirs from the dome sing, on the theme of the Mystic Supper, the words: “Take this my body, take my blood, in token of our love.”
Then a dazzling ray descends upon the chalice and makes it glow vividly. Amfortas, transfigured, lifts it and waves it slowly, blessing the bread and wine, which are then divided among the knights. During the supper the mystic choirs echo from above. Throughout the ceremony Parsifal had remained motionless and intent until Amfortas had uttered his anguished cries of pain; then he had convulsively clasped his hands to his heart and held them thus until the end.
After the knights had left, Gurnemanz approached Parsifal and asked him if he understood what had happened. Parsifal, still in a daze, shook his head. Then Gurnemanz said harshly: “After all, you’re just a fool” — and pushed him out the door, ordering him to leave. But as Gurnemanz is leaving, a voice from above repeats, in a solo, very softly, the words of the divine promise: “The pure and simple, wise through compassion.”
This last scene not only has great dramatic value, but also a particular spiritual meaning. Parsifal has empathized with Amfortas through a pure act of sympathy; or in other words, through the unitive power of the buddhi; he has therefore relived in himself the physical and moral sufferings of King Amfortas. But his mind is still underdeveloped; he has not been able to “understand,” to translate his profound inner experience into intellectual terms. He has therefore not been able to answer the question that Gurnemanz asked him in mental terms. Precisely this is Guernemanz’ serious mistake, which is the frequent serious mistake we continually make: that of not recognizing the silent but eloquent messages of intuition. It is the mistake of asking the spiritual principle within us for answers formulated in concrete, analytical and discursive terms, when instead it can and wants to teach us only with that synthetic, symbolic and vital language that is suited to the nature of those messages.
In the second act we are transported to the castle of perdition of the magician Klingsor, and in the first scene we find ourselves in the midst of occultism. Klingsor, using magic, burning incense and making ritual gestures, evokes the spirit of Kundry, or rather her entity. In his sentences of evocation, he calls her by the names she had in previous incarnations: Herodias,[17] Gundryggia.[18] She appears among the incense smoke and at first rebels against Klingsor and mocks him, but then he cleverly manages to induce her to do what he wants: to become an instrument of temptation for Parsifal. This whole scene contains very interesting ideas that show the depth of Wagner’s occult knowledge: but I can’t stop to explain them here.
In the following scene Parsifal appears, and is at first surrounded by the flower maidens, but he easily overcomes their flattery and seduction. The flower maidens symbolize the frivolous pleasures of the senses, the vain goods of the world and the small temptations of everyday life. Those who have overcome these must face other deeper and more insidious temptations. So, while Parsifal turns his back on the flower maidens, he is arrested by the insinuating voice of Kundry.
She begins to speak to him movingly about his mother Herzeleide and the pain he caused her by abandoning her, pain that led to her death. This makes Parsifal burst into expressions of pain and repentance; Kundry shrewdly takes advantage of this, and offers him the love that united Herzeleide to Gamuret, his father, as consolation; she puts her arms around his neck and gives him a long kiss on the lips. But instead of letting himself be overcome by the seductive spell, Parsifal jumps to his feet, horrified, and clutches his heart convulsively with his hands, crying out: “Amfortas, the wound! — the wound burns in his heart!” And he has a vision of Amfortas’ seduction and its terrible consequences.
Kundry tries again to win him over, trying to inspire pity in him; but in vain. He replies: “I am also sent for your salvation, if you will restrain your desire. The consolation that will end your suffering cannot be drawn from the source from which it springs.” She insists on asking him for earthly love, and he rejects her; she then bursts into angry cries and curses Parsifal’s path, invoking that he may never again find the way to the Grail he is seeking. Meanwhile, Klingsor appears and hurls the Holy Lance at Parsifal, but instead of hitting him, it remains suspended above his head. He grabs it and makes the sign of the cross with it, invoking the destruction of Klingsor’s dwelling. The castle collapses and the garden is transformed into a desert. Kundry falls with a cry, and Parsifal walks away saying to her, “You know where only you can find me.”
This whole scene is full of deep spiritual meaning, which would require lengthy consideration. I will limit myself to saying briefly that the scene between Parsifal and Kundry represents a very important phase of spiritual development, one of the decisive struggles mentioned above that take place between the various forces that make up the complex human entity. More precisely, Kundry and Parsifal represent the two different aspects, the two opposite poles of love: passionate love and spiritual love. In human life they act and react continuously on each other: the passionate element always tends to drag the spiritual element down to its own level in order to enslave it; while spiritual love aspires to purify and redeem that lower reflection, elevating it and reabsorbing it into itself.
Thus Parsifal, while rejecting Kundry’s seductions, offers to redeem her, and while he must temporarily abandon her (following her refusal to accompany him to perform the pious work of redeeming Amfortas), he tells her as a supreme warning, invitation and promise: “You know where only you can find me” — that is, in the sacred domains of the Grail, in the highest planes of the spirit.
The music for this whole act, which we cannot present here due to lack of space, powerfully renders and accentuates all the meanings of the drama, with its motifs and harmonies that are at times gloomy and dark, at times full of sensual and passionate charm.
In the third act we are transported back to the domain of the Grail. Several years have passed and the conditions of the Community have worsened. Amfortas has refused to uncover the Holy Grail again to perform the sacred rite and the knights, deprived of the consecrated food and spiritual help emanating from the Grail, have ceased to perform their noble deeds and are each thinking of their own sustenance, searching for herbs and forest roots. Titurel is dead, and Gurnemanz has retired to a solitary hut.
It is dawn on Good Friday. Gurnemanz hears a lament and discovers Kundry in a bush, dressed in a rough penitent’s habit, rigid and apparently on the verge of death. Let’s remember that she also symbolizes the natural forces, dormant during the winter and now about to reawaken with the spring. Gurnemanz can hardly revive her. How different she looks now! She has a humble and sorrowful demeanor, and the only words she will utter throughout the act are: “Serve, serve”.
Suddenly a knight appears, completely covered in armor, holding a lance. When he raises his visor, Gurnemanz recognizes him with deep emotion as Parsifal and asks him where he comes from. “By paths of error and pain I have come,” Parsifal replies, “always seeking the one whose bitter lamentations I once heard with foolish amazement, and to whom I can now consider myself chosen to bring healing.” Parsifal says that he has brought back the Holy Lance. He never had to use it in the battles he had to face, and in fact he brings it back intact and pure, but at the cost of many wounds. These words clearly symbolize an important and severe spiritual law, namely that the spiritual powers acquired must never be used for personal purposes, for one’s own advantage and defense, but must be reserved only for works of love, for the redemption of others.
A beautiful scene follows in which a series of cleansing rites are performed. Kundry washes Parsifal’s feet; then Gurnemanz wets his head with water and blesses him with the words,
“May you also be blessed through the pure element.” Then Kundry takes a phial from her robe and anoints Parsifal’s feet with the ointment it contains, drying them with her hair. Gurnemanz in turn anoints his head, consecrating him king of the Grail. Then Parsifal sprinkles water on Kundry’s head, saying, “Thus do I fulfill my first duty: be baptized and believe in the REDEEMER!” And the woman bows her head to the ground and bursts into tears.
In this scene the various initiations through which the inner principles, represented by the various characters, have been purified, sublimated and reunited in a higher harmony, are symbolized. The music for this scene is of solemn simplicity and great austere sweetness. Above all, the two clear and limpid motifs of purification resound in it. These themes alternate and intertwine with the broad and religious motif of baptism and blessing.
This is followed by the scene of the Good Friday Spell. Parsifal turns to observe the forest and the meadow, and expresses his admiration for the purity and beauty of the herbs and flowers, and feels connected to them through an intimate communion; it seems to him that they speak to his soul in a dear and familiar language. “It is the spell of Good Friday,” Gurnemanz tells him, and continues by revealing to him the joy of nature, purified and regenerated by the sacrifice of the REDEEMER.
A piece of music of truly incomparable beauty accompanies this scene. It begins with the theme of the blessing and baptism; then comes the theme of the Lament of the REDEEMER, which was already present in the Prelude; then a new theme is heard, belonging to this scene: a pure and melodic theme of a rustic and pastoral nature, expressing the enchantment and joy that emanate from the grass, the flowers, from all of regenerated nature.
But suddenly the calm melodic wave is interrupted by dark and agitated sounds. It is the moment in which Gurnemanz says to Parsifal, “This is the holy day of Passion,” and the music expresses the sufferings of the REDEEMER and his sacrifice of love with the motif of the Mystic Supper and love, and with the theme of the Lament of the REDEEMER. But soon the music calms down; the theme of regenerated nature resounds again; there is a hint of the Grail theme; finally, the second theme of purification joins with that of regenerated nature in a finale full of freshness.
The last great scene of the drama takes place once again inside the Temple. The knights enter, carrying Titurel’s coffin, the litter on which Amfortas lies, and the Grail. The knights surround Amfortas, enjoining him in the name of Titurel to perform his office for the last time. Amfortas rises with a desperate effort. He tears away the bandages covering his wound and begs the knights to kill him, the sinner, and with him, his torment. “Then,” he says, “the Grail will illuminate itself.” At this point, while the deeply disturbed knights have made way for Amfortas, Parsifal approaches him. He raises the Holy Lance and touches the king’s wound with its tip, saying, “Only one weapon will suffice — only the iron that opened it can close the wound. Be healed and purified, because now I fulfill your office. Blessed be your suffering, which gave the timid simpleton the supreme power of piety and pure wisdom.”
At the magic touch of the sacred weapon, Amfortas’ wound heals as if by an enchantment and he, his face beaming with joy and overcome with deep emotion, lets himself fall into Gurnemanz’ arms. Parsifal proceeds towards the center of the stage and, turning towards the knights, calls them to witness that the Holy Lance has been redeemed and is reunited with the Mystic Chalice.
The magnificent music of this scene begins with the Grail motif, which corresponds to Parsifal’s words “Only one weapon will suffice.” The moment of the healing touch of the Lance is indicated by a new motif, which develops from a modification of the motif of Amfortas’ suffering, a modification that gives it a sweeter and calmer character. It is the motif of transformed suffering.
The musical motif of the promise, or of the “pure and simple” follows; then the motif of Parsifal is played fortissimo, in a triumphant tone. When Parsifal says to the knights, “Here I surrender the Holy Lance” a new motif is heard: it is the mystical theme of REDEMPTION that Wagner, with fine intuition, has drawn from the theme of the Supper and of spiritual Love. The first two bars are the same, but then the theme of redemption, instead of descending like the other, continues to rise in the high notes, as if to indicate the free ascent of the REDEEMER and the redeemed to the higher spheres of being. The theme of the miracle of the Grail ends the piece — will now be performed. [19]
After having healed Amfortas and placed the Holy Lance on the altar, Parsifal commands: “Open the casket — Uncover the Grail,” and kneels in silent adoration before the Chalice. The invocation is followed by the Spirit’s response: a ray of superhuman light descends from above, making the Grail sparkle. Parsifal rises and gently waves the Chalice, facing the knights in a sign of blessing. Kundry, who has been staring fixedly and intently at Parsifal as if in ecstasy, slowly lets herself fall and lies prostrate at his feet, while a white dove descends from the top of the dome and hovers over Parsifal’s head.
Then from the top of the temple, heavenly choirs, joined by the voices of the knights, sing in praise of Parsifal: “Miracle of supreme salvation, redemption to the REDEEMER.” With this grand celebration of the victorious spirit, Richard Wagner’s sacred drama ends.
The profound meaning of this scene will not be difficult to grasp for those who have understood the intimate meaning of what precedes it. We see in this scene the marvelous powers of good that can be exercised by the initiate, the perfect man, the Master in whom the will, wisdom and understanding are completely and harmoniously developed.
With the magic power of the will — which has rescued him from enslavement to the lower nature — he knows how to heal bodies and redeem souls. With spiritual love, with the adoring dedication that inspires his being, the human feminine principle has sublimated and risen up to him, abandoning its own limited manifestation, its own ordinary strength. Matter, nature, the negative pole of manifestation, united with the positive pole, the spirit; the great dualism of manifested life is resolved into supreme Unity.
I will add just a word about the final words sung by the choirs. In the earliest version of the drama they were different from those just mentioned, and were as follows: “Great is the fascination of desire; greater still is the power of renunciation.”
This conclusion, with its clear Buddhist flavor, is a wonderful synthesis of the philosophical meaning of the drama, but the new version was rightly preferred by Wagner because it has a deeper meaning. In fact, the words: “Miracle of supreme health, redemption to the REDEEMER” allude to the fact that Parsifal was bound by his sacred vow to find Amfortas and heal him, and therefore by redeeming him he also freed himself. This is in complete harmony with a great Eastern teaching, perhaps the highest: that great Souls, having reached the threshold of final liberation, of nirvana, can renounce it in order to remain in the world to help suffering humanity, and vow to continue to fight and suffer with it until every human being has attained liberation and redemption. Thus these Masters of Compassion, these heroes of supreme renunciation, can and will achieve their own redemption only as they redeem others.
The music of this finale, which begins with the silent prayer of Parsifal before the Chalice, is worthy of the highest significance of the scene. It is the most purely mystical music in the whole drama: no human voice, no accent of pain, no element of imperfection disturbs the sacred harmonies of the high spiritual spheres expressed by the motifs of the Grail, Redemption and Faith, which alternate and intertwine many times in an admirable musical fabric. The solemn moment of the descent of the Mystic Dove is indicated by the crescendo and diminuendo of a long note held by the violin.
With this music Wagner has truly reached the highest peaks of art and spirituality.
[1] This essay was also published in Italian under the pseudonym “Considerator” in the Rivista Verso La Luce No.4 in 1968. —Ed.
[2] See M. Kufferath, Parsifal (1892), pp. 159-169 and Cleather and Crump, Tristan and Isolde (1905), pp. 10-12. —Author’s Note. Both of these are available in modern English editions. —Ed.
[3] This work is known as The Feast of Pentecost in English versions. It is a piece for orchestra and male choruses. In its first performance it included 100 musicians and almost 1,200 singers.—Ed.
[4] Jesus of Nazareth was a a series of sketches for a drama in five acts; Die Sieger is a draft prose sketch for a three-act opera, elements of which appear in Parsifal. Both were published posthumously as part of his collected prose works.—Ed.
[5] Parzifal is a medieval chivalric romance written in middle high German in the 13th century, at the time when the final crusades of Europeans to the holy land were occurring. Some evidence suggests the possibility that it was derived from a manuscript or oral tradition from the middle east. —Ed.
[6] Monsalvat means “saved mount” in Catalan, It is located on the northern slope of the mountains, while the magician Klingsor’s castle is locate on the southern side,facing Moorish Spain. This juxtaposition seems to suggest a juxtaposition of Christian and Islamic (“infidel”) positions, mirroring the battle that had been going on in the middle east. The last Muslim city in Spain, Granada, fell to Spanish Christians in 1492. —Ed.
[7] Lohengrin was first performed in 1850, and the story was taken from the same source Wagner drew upon for Parsifal. —Ed.
[8] Agape is a Greek word (ἀγάπη) signifying higher, spiritual love. The word was used often in the Gospels. —Ed.
[9] Note that the names of neither Jesus nor the Buddha appear in Wagner’s opera; only “The Redeemer.” The author’s original has REDEEMER in capitals as shown. —Ed.
[10] Also known as the “Dresden Amen,” used by others as well as Wagner, notably by Mendelssohn in his Symphony No.5, Reformation . —Ed.
[11] More about Kundry will be developed later in this essay. —Ed.
[12] Hans von Wolzogen (1848-1938) was a German writer, editor and publisher whom Wagner had invited to become editor of the Wagnerian publication Bayreuther Blätter, a monthly journal for visitors to the Bayreuth Festival. In its early years the journal carried articles by Wagner himself, but decades later it contributed to the “nazification” of Wagner by linking Wagner’s work to Nazi ideology. —Ed.
[13] This lecture was apparently given to illustrate aspects of an actual musical performance or the playing of a recording to explain Wagner’s opera. —Ed.
[14] In Wagner’s original program for the opera, Kundry is described as a mysterious, ageless woman; a wild creature and a messenger of the Grail and of the Grail knights, but also as a dangerous seductress, condemned to wander the world for laughing at Christ on the cross, used by Klingsor to tempt and destroy those who oppose him. On the Grail side of the mountain she is a repulsive crone; on the other side in the magic garden of Klingsor, she appears as a beautiful maiden. —Ed.
[15] The term buddhi refers to the faculty of discernment or direct spiritual awareness in the beliefs of Hinduism and Buddhism. —Ed.
[16] i.e. he castrated himself. —Ed.
[17] In several Gospel accounts, Herodias was the wife of Herod Antipas, ruler of a district near Galilee. Prophet John the Baptist had contemned Herod for taking Herodias, the divorced wife of his half-brother, as his own wife. In revenge, Herodias uses her own daughter Salome to trick Herod into executing John the Baptist without cause. —Ed.
[18] Gundryggia was a wandering spirit from Norse mythology. —Ed.
[19] Recall that a recording of sections of Parsifal is being played during this lecture. —Ed.
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