The Rudolf Steiner Archive

13. The Birth of the Light of the Earth from the Darkness of Christmas Eve

[ 1 ] It is wonderful, my dear friends, that circumstances have allowed us to gather here this evening on this festive day. There are, of course, many friends among us who are, in a certain sense, on their own on this day, while the vast majority, naturally, must celebrate the festival of love and peace out there among those with whom they are otherwise connected in the world. Yet it is so self-evident that we others, who are not bound in such a way to this or that place, are least of all excluded from participating in the festival of love and peace, precisely because of the spiritual current within which we stand. What, after all, could be more fitting in a beautiful sense to unite us this evening in the atmosphere, in the spiritual air of mutual love and peace permeating our hearts, than a movement dedicated to the exploration of the spiritual? And in this respect, too, we may call it good fortune that we are able to be united on this very evening in this very year and bring this festival close to our hearts through a brief reflection; for this reason, we may do so all the more, since this year we ourselves stand before the birth of that which, if we understand it correctly, must be very dear to our hearts: the birth of our Anthroposophical Society. If we have lived the great ideal that we wish to express through the Anthroposophical Society in the right way, and if we are inclined to devote our energies in the appropriate manner to this great ideal of humanity, then it must be natural for us to let our thoughts wander from this spiritual light of ours—or means of light—to the dawn of the great light of human evolution on Earth, which is celebrated through this night of love and peace, in which we truly have before us, spiritually or soulfully, before us, what one might call the birth of the Earth’s light—the light that is to be born from the darkness of the Holy Night, yet which is to shine upon human souls and hearts, providing everything these souls and hearts need to find the path upward to the spiritual heights to be ascended through the Earth’s mission.

[ 2 ] If we want to take to heart what we might feel on this Christmas Eve, what exactly is it?

[ 3 ] On this Christmas Eve, the fundamental human feeling of love should pour into our souls—the fundamental realization that, compared to all other forces, powers, and goods in the world, the good, the strength, and the power of love are the greatest, the most intense, and the most effective. The feeling that wisdom is something great—and that love is even greater; that power is something great—and that love is even greater—should pour into our hearts and souls. But the feeling of the power and strength of love should pour into our hearts so strongly that something from this holy night might overflow into all our feelings throughout the rest of the year—something that overflows, of which we can say that it expresses, as it were, what we always feel: We should actually be ashamed if, at any hour of the year, we do something that cannot stand up to the spiritual gaze of that night in which we wish to pour the all-power of love into our hearts. May the days, may the hours of the year unfold in such a way that we need not be ashamed before the feeling we wish to pour into our souls on Christmas Eve!

[ 4 ] If we are able to perceive and feel this way, then we share in the feelings of all those beings who sought to convey to humanity the significance of Christmas Eve—the significance of the connection between Christmas Eve and the entire Christ impulse within the evolution of the Earth.

[ 5 ] Before us stands this Christ impulse, so to speak, in threefold form. And it is significant that on the Feast of Christ today, the Christ impulse stands before us in threefold form. One form is given to us by the Gospel of Matthew. The being who is born—or whose birth we celebrate on this holy night—enters into human evolution in such a way that three leaders of humanity, three representatives of high magic, come to pay homage to the royal being who is entering into human evolution. “Kings” in the spiritual sense of the word, magical kings, come to pay homage to the great Spirit King who appears there in the form he was able to attain by passing through the stages of development that a being as exalted as Zarathustra once did, in order to reach the heights of that Spirit King to whom the magical kings wished to pay homage. And so the Spirit King of the Gospel of Matthew stands before our spiritual gaze, bringing into human evolution an infinite source of goodness and an infinite source of powerful love—that goodness and that love before which human malice feels called to battle. Thus we see, in a second sense, the Spirit King entering human evolution in such a way that that which must be enmity toward the Spirit King feels called to battle in the form of Herod, and that the Spirit King must flee from that which is the enemy of the Spirit Kingdom. Thus he stands before our spiritual gaze in majestic, magical glory. And before our soul appears the wondrous image of the Spirit King, the reincarnated Zarathustra, the noblest flower of human development—as it has passed from incarnation to incarnation on the physical plane and has allowed wisdom to reach perfection—surrounded by the three magical Spirit Kings, themselves flowers and pinnacles of human development. The Christ impulse can also appear before our soul in another form: as it appears to us in the Gospel of Mark and the Gospel of John, where we are led, as it were, to the cosmic Christ impulse, which expresses how humanity maintains its eternal connection with the great cosmic forces through our understanding of the cosmic Christ, as we become aware of how a cosmic impulse is incorporated into the very development of the Earth through the Mystery of Golgotha. Even as something infinitely greater and more powerful than the Spirit King, who stands before our spiritual eye surrounded by the Magi, the mighty cosmic being steps before us, seeking to take possession of the bearer of that human being who is the Spirit King, the flower and pinnacle of Earth’s development itself. It is, in essence, merely the short-sightedness of modern humanity that prevents us from sensing the full magnitude and power of the turning point in human development brought about by Zarathustra becoming the bearer of the cosmic Christ Spirit, and from grasping the full significance of what was prepared as the “Christ-bearer” was prepared at that moment in human development which we celebrate through the Christian Christmas season. A somewhat deeper exploration of human development shows us everywhere how profoundly the Christ event has impacted the entire evolution of the Earth. Let us sense this through a relevant meditation this evening, so that something of this meditation may radiate into our remaining anthroposophical deepening and contemplation.

[ 6 ] Much could be said on this subject. It could be shown how, in times when humanity was still closer to the spiritual, a spirit entirely new to that which had prevailed and worked in the pre-Christian era of Earth’s development came to the fore. For example, a figure was created—a figure who actually lived—who expresses to us how it affected a soul in the early Christian centuries when that soul first felt fully immersed in the ancient pagan spiritual insights, and then felt how everything in the soul changed when it confronted the Christ impulse with an open mind and without prejudice toward the ancient pagan spiritual insights. — Today we understand more and more a figure such as Faust. In this figure, whom a more recent poet, Goethe, has so to speak revived, we sense the highest expression of human striving, yet we also perceive how the possibility of the deepest guilt is to be expressed within it. But if one sets aside everything that modern poetic power can offer artistically, one can say: One can sense the profound and significant things that lived in a soul when, for example, one immerses oneself in the poetry of the Greek Empress Eudokia, who created a revival of the ancient legend of Cyprian, which depicts a person who lived entirely within the old pagan world of gods and could become entangled in it, a human being who, even after the Mystery of Golgotha, was still wholly devoted to the old pagan mysteries, forces, and powers. Beautiful is that scene in which it is described how Cyprian meets Justina, who has already been touched by the Christ impulse, who is devoted to those powers represented by Christianity. The temptation arises for him to lead her astray from her path, the temptation to make use of the old pagan magical means for this purpose. Everything that takes place between Faust and Gretchen unfolds in this atmosphere of the struggle between ancient pagan impulses and the Christ impulse. Setting aside the spiritual aspect, it still appears magnificent in the tale of the old Cyprianus and in the temptation to which he was exposed in the presence of the Christian Justina. And even if Eudokia’s poetry is not particularly good, one must still say: there lies the poignancy of the clash between the ancient pre-Christian world and the Christian world; there stands Cyprian, a man who still feels distant from Christianity, who still feels wholly devoted to the ancient pagan divine powers: there is a certain power in the depiction. Let us present just a few passages today to illustrate how Cyprian feels regarding the magical powers of the pre-Christian spiritual forces. Thus we hear from him in the poem of Eudoxia:

Confessors of Christ, who faithfully and warmly
Cherish the much-praised Savior in your hearts,
Behold the fresh stream of my tears, and then
Hear from what source my sorrow springs.
And you, who are still ensnared by the dark delusion
Of idols, take heed to what I
Shall tell of their lies and deceit.
For never has a man lived who, like
I, was devoted to the false gods
And knew the nature of demons so thoroughly.
Yes, I am Cyprian, whom as a child
My parents offered to Apollo.
The lullaby of the tender infant
Was the clamor of orgies, when one celebrated the festival
Of the hideous dragon. At the age of seven
I was consecrated to the sun god Mithras.
I dwelt in the sublime city of Athens
And became its citizen as well. For so it pleased
to the parents. When I was ten years old,
I lit Demeter’s torches
And immersed myself in Kora’s lament.
I tended Pallas’s serpent in the citadel
As a temple boy.

Then I ascended to the wooded mountain Olympus, where fools
Imagine the bright abode of the blessed gods.
I saw the Horae and the swarm of winds,
The choir of days, which, winged by fantasy,
Pass through life with illusory images.
I saw a throng of spirits inflamed with battle,
And ambushes full of guile; some bursting with mockery
And bursting with laughter, and those entirely
Frozen in terror. Did I see all the ranks?
Of goddesses and gods. For surely forty
And more days did I linger there.
It was my meal, when Helios sank,
The fruit of the densely leafy treetops. As
As if sent from a lofty royal castle
The spirit messengers traverse the air,
To then descend to the world, where
Mankind plagues them with a thousand evils.
I was fifteen years old and already knew
The power of the gods and spirits,
For seven high priests instructed me.
It was my parents’ will that I should acquire
Above all knowledge of what is on earth,
In the realm of the skies and in the deep sea.
I have investigated what in the human breast
Breeds corruption, what ferments in the herb,
In the sap of the flower, what creeps around weary bodies
As infirmity, and what the colorful serpent,
The prince of the world, full of wicked cunning, creates,
To contend against God’s eternal counsel.

I journeyed to the beautiful land of Argos,
The horse-nurturing one. The festival of Eos,
The white-robed wife of Tithonus,
Was just being celebrated, and there I became her priest.
I came to know what, like siblings,
Pervades the air and the circle of this pole,
What makes water akin to the fields,
And what clouds the sky as a rain shower.

[ 7 ] Thus Cyprian had come to know everything that could be known by one who was, so to speak, initiated into the pre-Christian mysteries. Oh, he describes them in detail, these powers to which those could look up who were entrusted with the ancient initiation documents only at a time when these ancient documents were no longer valid; he describes them captivatingly in their awesomeness, which no longer belongs to our time.

I saw the demon face to face,
After winning him over with sacrifices;
I spoke to him, and he answered me
With flattering words. Praising my youthful beauty
And my talent for his works,
He promised me dominion over this world
And gave me power to command the spirits.
He greeted me by name as
I took my leave, and his nobles watched in wonder.
His face resembles a flower of pure gold;
He wears a diadem of sparkling stones
And a flaming robe. The earth trembles,
When he moves. In dense ranks stand
Spear-bearers around his throne, their gaze lowered.
Thus he imagines himself a god, thus he mimics
The Eternal One’s work, which he brazenly denies.
Yet powerless, he creates but empty phantoms;
For the essence of the demon is illusion.

[ 8 ] And how temptation approaches him, how all of this affects him before he comes to know the Christ impulse—this, too, is described to us.

I left the land of the Persians and came
To Antioch, the great city
Of the Syrians; here I performed many wonders
Of sorcery and hellish magic.
A young man sought me out, Aglaidas,
Burning with love, and with him many companions.
It was a girl, Justina is her name,
For whom he burned, and clasping my knees
He implored me to draw her into his arms
Through the art of sorcery. And there, for the first time
The demon’s powerlessness became clear to me.
For as many hosts of spirits as he commands,
So many did he send against that maiden,
And all returned in shame.
Even I, Aglaidas’s helper, was put to shame
By Justina’s pious faith;
She showed me how vain my art was.
Many a sleepless night I spent there
And tormented myself with sorcery.
For ten weeks the prince of spirits
Besieged the maiden’s heart. Eros had, alas!
Wounded not Aglaidas alone,
But love’s frenzy seized me too.

[ 9 ] And from this confusion into which the old world had led him, Cyprian is healed by the Christ impulse—it is something like a shadow, only steeped in a greater poetic power, which we then have before us in the Faust poem—by casting off the old magic in order to understand the Christ impulse in all its greatness. — In such a figure we truly see how things were felt in the early Christian centuries, which we have now brought before our souls in a twofold form, repeating many things.

[ 10 ] A third figure—a third aspect, as it were, of the Christ impulse—is the one who can truly show us how, through what we might call “theosophy” in the fullest sense of the word, we can feel connected to all that is human. This is the aspect that is described solely in the Gospel of Luke and that has continued to influence the portrayal of the Christ impulse as it is prepared by the “Child.” In that love and simplicity, and at the same time powerlessness, with which the child Jesus appears to us in the Gospel of Luke, the Christ impulse was able to be presented before all hearts. Everyone could feel a kinship with what spoke to people so simply, so childlike, and yet so great and powerful from the child of the Gospel of Luke—a child who is not presented to the Magi, but to the poor shepherds in the fields. That being of the Gospel of Matthew stands at the pinnacle of humanity’s development, and spiritual kings, magical kings, come to pay homage. The child of the Gospel of Luke stands there in simplicity, excluded from humanity’s development, as a child at first, not received by any of the great ones, but received by the shepherds of the field. The child of the Gospel of Luke does not stand in this way within the process of human evolution, such that we might, as it were, be made aware in the Gospel of Luke itself of how the wickedness of the world feels compelled to rise up against his royal spiritual power. No. But this does become clear to us—even if Herod’s violence and wickedness do not immediately confront us—that what is given in this child is so great, so noble, so significant that humanity itself cannot accept it into its ranks, that it appears poor and abandoned by human development, as if cast into a corner, and thereby reveals to us in a remarkable way its extra-human, its divine, or, which is the same thing, its cosmic origin. And how inspiring, then, was this Gospel of Luke for all those who, in numerous artistic and other depictions, have time and again rendered scenes inspired precisely by the Gospel of Luke! Do we not feel, when comparing it to other artistic representations, that those artistic depictions inspired by the Gospel of Luke over the centuries portray Jesus as a being with whom every human being, even the simplest, could feel a kinship? Through what continued to work through the boy Jesus of Luke, even the simplest person learned to feel the entire event in Palestine as a family event that concerned him personally, like the event of a very close relative. No Gospel has had such a lasting effect as the Gospel of Luke, with its gentle mood and spirit, in making the essence of Jesus intimate to the human soul. And yet, everything is contained in this childlike depiction, everything that ought to be contained in a certain aspect of the Christ impulse: that the highest thing in the world, in the whole world, is love; that wisdom is great, is something to be striven for, that without wisdom beings cannot exist, but that love is something greater; that the power and strength through which the world is built is something great, without which the world cannot exist, but that love is something greater. Only those who can also feel the higher nature of love in relation to power, strength, and wisdom truly grasp the Christ impulse. We must strive for wisdom, above all as human spiritual individuals, for wisdom belongs to the divine impulses of the world. And that we must strive for wisdom, that wisdom must be the sacred good that propels us forward—this is precisely what was meant to be depicted in the very first scene of *The Trial of the Soul*: that we must not allow wisdom to dry up, that we must nurture it in order to ascend the ladder of human development through wisdom. But wherever there is wisdom, there is a duality: the wisdom of the gods, the wisdom of the Luciferic powers. The being that strives for wisdom comes close, under all conditions, even to the opponents of the gods—the host of the Light-bearer, the host of Lucifer. Therefore, there is no divine omniscience, because wisdom is always opposed by an adversary: Lucifer.

[ 11 ] And power and strength! Through wisdom the world is understood; through wisdom it is perceived and illuminated; through power and strength the world is built. Everything that comes into being comes into being through the power and strength that is within beings, and we would exclude ourselves from the world if we did not seek our share in the power and strength of the world. We see this power and strength of the world when lightning flashes through the clouds; we perceive it when thunder rolls, when rain pours down from the heavens onto the earth to fertilize it, or when the sun’s rays shoot down to conjure forth the plant seeds slumbering in the earth. In the forces of nature that act upon the earth, we see this power and strength as life-giving—as sunshine, as the forces of rain and clouds; but on the other hand, we see this power and strength, for example, in volcanoes, as rising up against the earth itself: celestial power against celestial power. And we look into this world, and we know: if we ourselves wish to be beings of the universe, then something of them must also work within us; we must have our share of the power and force. Through this we stand within the world: the divine and the Ahrimanic forces live through us and flash through us. The omnipotence is not omnipotent, for it always has its adversary, Ahriman, against it.

[ 12 ] Between them—between power and wisdom—stands love, and we feel, when it is true love, that it is divine and divine alone. We can speak of omnipotence and omnipotence as an ideal; but Ahriman stands opposed to them. One can speak of omniscience as an ideal; but the power of Lucifer stands opposed to it. To speak of “omni-love” seems absurd, for it is incapable of increase if we practice it correctly. Wisdom can be small—it can be increased; power can be small—it can be increased. Therefore, omniscience and omnipotence can be regarded as ideals. Love of the world—we feel that the concept of universal love must be excluded from it; for love is something unique.

[ 13 ] Just as the Gospel of Luke presents the infant Jesus to us, so he appears to us as the personification of love; but he appears to us as the personification of the love between wisdom—or omniscience—and omnipotence. And, fundamentally, he appears to us this way precisely because he is a child. The intensification lies solely in the fact that, in addition to everything else a child possesses, the child also possesses the quality of abandonment, of having been cast out into a corner of humanity. The miraculous structure of the human being—we already see it predisposed in the child’s organism. Wherever we turn our gaze in the vast universe, there is nothing that comes about so much through wisdom alone as this marvelous structure, which appears before our eyes, unspoiled, in the child’s organism. And just as what is universal wisdom in the physical body appears in the child, so it also appears in its etheric body, where the wisdom of cosmic powers expresses itself, and likewise in the astral body, and in the I. Like an extract of wisdom, the child lies there. And when it is, as it were, cast into a corner, like the child Jesus, then we feel: there lies, set apart, an image of perfection: the concentrated wisdom of the worlds.

[ 14 ] But omnipotence, too, appears to us as a person when the child lies there as described in the Gospel of Luke. The nature of omnipotence in relation to the child’s body and being is felt by those who bring to mind in their souls the full power of what divine and natural forces are capable of accomplishing. Let one imagine the might of the natural forces and powers close to the earth when the elements rage; let us picture the natural forces that rage and surge deep within the earth; let us imagine the entire seething of the world’s powers and forces, all that is surging together from the good powers and the Ahrimanic powers; let us imagine how it rages and churns. And now imagine that everything that is rushing about in such chaos is pushed aside from a tiny spot on the world so that the miraculous structure of the child’s body can lie in this tiny spot to form a small body: for the child’s body must be protected; were it exposed to the violence of the forces of nature for even a moment, it would be swept away! There one feels one’s placement within the omnipotence. And one now feels how the human soul can perceive when it looks impartially upon what the Gospel of Luke thus expresses: Let one approach this concentrated wisdom of the child with wisdom, let one approach it with the greatest human wisdom: This wisdom is mockery and folly! For it can never be as great as the wisdom expended so that the child’s body might lie before us. The highest wisdom remains folly and must stand in awe before this child’s body and revere heavenly wisdom, yet it knows that it cannot approach it: this wisdom is but mockery; it must feel repelled in its own folly.

[ 15 ] No, wisdom alone cannot bring us close to what is presented to us as the essence of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. Can power bring us close?

[ 16 ] We cannot approach the child with power. For the use of power makes sense only where a countervailing power asserts itself. But the child confronts us—whether we wish to use much or little power—with its powerlessness and, in its powerlessness, mocks our power! For it would be meaningless to approach the child with power, since it opposes us with nothing but powerlessness.

[ 17 ] The marvelous thing is that the Christ impulse, by being presented to us in the child Jesus as part of its preparation, confronts us in the Gospel of Luke in precisely this way: that we, no matter how wise we may be, cannot approach it with our wisdom, nor can we approach it with our power. Everything else that connects us to the world cannot come close to the child Jesus as he is portrayed in the Gospel of Luke. Only one thing can come close—not wisdom, not power: love. And to offer this love in an unlimited way to the childlike being—that is the only thing possible. The power of love, and the sole justification and sole meaning of love—that is what we can feel so deeply when we allow the Gospel of Luke to take effect upon our souls.

[ 18 ] We live in the world, and no one should scoff at the world’s impulses. To refrain from striving for wisdom would be to deny one’s humanity and to deceive the gods. Every day and every hour of the year is well spent when we realize that it is our human duty to strive for wisdom. But every day and every hour of the year also compels us to become aware of how we are placed within the world and are a plaything of the world’s forces and powers, of the omnipotence that pulses through the world. But there is a moment when we may forget this and remember what the Gospel of Luke sets before us: when we remember the child who is even more powerless and yet wiser than other human children, before whom the highest love reveals its justification, before whom wisdom must stand still, before whom power must stand still.

[ 19 ] In this way, we can truly appreciate the significance of the fact that it is precisely this Christ Child, received by the simple shepherds, that is presented to us as the third aspect of the Christ impulse: alongside the great cosmic aspect and the spiritual-royal aspect, the childlike aspect. The spiritual-royal aspect approaches us in such a way that we are reminded of the highest wisdom, and that the ideal of highest wisdom is set before us. The cosmic aspect stands before us in such a way that we know that through it the entire direction of Earth’s development is being reshaped. Supreme power through the cosmic impulse is revealed to us, supreme power so great that it even conquers death. What must be added as a third element to wisdom and power, and must sink into our soul as that which transcends both, is presented to us as the source from which human development on Earth, on the physical plane, proceeds. And this has been enough to convey to humanity, through the ever-recurring depiction of the birth of Jesus on Christmas Eve, the full significance of love in the development of the world and humanity. Thus, on Christmas Eve, the birth of the Christ Child is set before us; yet through the sight of this birth of the Christ Child in our soul, an understanding of genuine, true, all-encompassing love can be born in us every Christmas Eve. And if, in the right way, an understanding of the feeling of love awakens in our soul on Christmas Eve, as we celebrate this birth of Christ— the awakening of love—then from that moment we experience, what we need for the remaining days and hours of the year may radiate forth, so that what we can strive for in wisdom on every day and in every hour of the year may be blessed and thus imbued with it.

[ 20 ] In a remarkable way, it was precisely through this emphasis on the impulse of love that Christianity had already inserted itself into the development of humanity during the Roman era: that something can be found in human souls where souls draw close to one another, not by touching what the world gives to people, but by what human souls possess through themselves. There had always been a need for such a coming together of humanity in love. But as the Mystery of Golgotha approached, what had it become in the Roman world? It had become the Saturnalia. In the days of December, beginning on the seventeenth, the Saturnalia began, when distinctions of rank and class were set aside. There, only human being stood before human being; high and low ceased to exist; everyone addressed one another informally. Whatever came from the outer world was swept away. But as a jest and for fun, people would also give the children “Saturnalia gifts,” which later became our Christmas gifts. Ancient Rome had come to the point where one had to take refuge in jest and fun if one wanted to transcend the distinctions that otherwise prevailed.

[ 21 ] Around this time, something new emerged: people were no longer seeking jest and merriment, but rather the highest aspect of their souls—the spiritual. Thus, a sense of empathy between human beings took root in Christianity at a time when it had taken on the exuberant form of the Saturnalia in Rome. But this also testifies to the aspect of love, of universal human love, that can prevail from person to person when we grasp the human being in their deepest essence. We grasp them in their deepest essence, for example, when a child waits on Christmas Eve for the coming of the Christ Child or the Christmas angel. How, then, does the child wait? It waits for the coming of the Christ Child or the Christmas angel in such a way that it knows: He does not come from the realm of human beings; he comes from the spiritual world! It is a kind of understanding of the spiritual world in which the child proves to be similar to the adults. For they, too, know the same thing that the child knows: that the Christ impulse has entered into the development of the Earth from higher worlds! And so it is not only the child of the Gospel of Luke who appears spiritually before our soul on Christmas Eve, but what Christmas Eve is meant to bring to the human heart also appears in the most beautiful way before every child’s soul—uniting a child’s understanding with an adult’s understanding. Everything a child can feel, as soon as it begins to be able to think at all, is one pole. And the other pole is what we can feel in our highest spiritual matters, what we can feel when we are faithfully devoted to that impulse mentioned at the outset of our present reflection, where we develop the will toward what we strive for as a spiritual light in the Anthroposophical Society now to be established. For here, too, we want that which is to enter into human development to be carried by something that comes to us as an impulse from the spiritual realms. And just as a child feels toward the Christmas angel who brings him his Christmas gifts—he feels connected to the spiritual, in his naive way—so may we connect with the spiritual that we long for on Christmas Eve as the impulse that can bring what we strive for as such a high ideal. And if we find ourselves united in this circle in such love as can flow in from the right understanding of the Holy Night, then we will be able to achieve what should be achieved through our Anthroposophical Society, through our anthroposophical ideal. We will achieve what is to be achieved through united effort if a ray of that love from human to human can touch us—a love about which we can be taught when we devote ourselves in the right way to the understanding of Christmas Night.

[ 22 ] So, for those dear friends who are united with us this evening, it is, in a sense, a special privilege they are able to experience. Even if they are not sitting here or there, connected to this or that person, under the Christmas tree in the manner customary in the present cycle of time, these dear friends of ours are nevertheless sitting under the Christmas tree. And all of you, my dear friends, who are celebrating Christmas Eve here with us tonight under the Christmas tree, try to awaken in your souls something of the feeling that can come over us when we realize that we are gathered here precisely so that we may already begin to learn to actualize in our souls those impulses of love that must come ever more abundantly in a distant and ever more distant future, when the Christ impulse, of which Christmas Eve so beautifully reminds us, intervenes in human development with ever greater and greater strength, with ever greater and greater power, and with ever deeper and deeper understanding. For it will intervene only when souls are found who understand it in all its significance. But understanding in this realm requires love, which we can give birth to in our souls as the most beautiful aspect of human development precisely when, on this evening or this night, we fill our hearts with the spiritual vision of the Child Jesus, who is presented to us figuratively as having been cast out by the rest of humanity and thrown into a corner, born in a stable: coming, as it were, “from outside” to human development, received by those simplest in spirituality, by the poor shepherds. If we try to nurture in our souls today the impulse of love that can pour into us from this image, then it will have the power to contribute, in what we wish to accomplish and what we are called to accomplish, to the advancement of the tasks we have set for ourselves in the theosophical field, and which karma has bestowed upon us in the anthroposophical field as profound and rightful tasks.

[ 23 ] Let us take away from today’s reflection on Christmas Eve the realization that we have gathered here to carry this impulse of love with us—not just for a short time, but for all the endeavors we have set before us, as we understand them through the spirit of our worldview.