The Life, Nature, and Cultivation of Anthroposophy
GA 260a
Member Newsletter, 27 January 1924
2. The Right Relationship of the Society to Anthroposophy
Anthroposophy is there for human beings who are seeking the paths of the soul to conscious spiritual life and knowledge. The Anthroposophical Society, to fulfill its purpose, must be in a position to serve those who are seeking. It must itself, as a Society, find its true relationship to Anthroposophy.
Anthroposophy can only thrive as a living thing. Its fundamental character is life, for it is life flowing from the Spirit. Hence it wants to be fostered by the living soul, by the warm heart of man.
The basic form in which Anthroposophy can appear among men is the idea; the first door at which it knocks is that of insight. If this were not so, it would be without shape or substance — a mere feeling of rapture. The true Spirit does not ‘go into raptures’, it speaks a language precise and full of inner content.
But this language speaks to the whole human being and not only to the intellect. A man who would receive Anthroposophy with his intellect kills it in the very act. He may well come to the conclusion that it is ‘cold and scientific’. He does not see that it first lost warmth and life by the poor reception which he gave it in his soul.
Anthroposophy, to have existence in our time, must use the means which the civilisation of today provides. In books and lectures it must find its way to men. But in its nature it is not of the library shelf. It must be born anew in the human heart whenever a human being turns to the written book to learn of it. This cannot be unless the author looked into the hearts of his fellow-men while he wrote, in order to discover what he must say to them. A man can only do this if he is touched by the living Spirit as he writes. Then he will confide to the dead written word something which the soul of the reader, who is seeking for the Spirit, can feel like a resurrection of the Spirit from the word. Books that can come to life in the human being as he reads — these alone may be called anthroposophical.
Still less than the dead book can Anthroposophy abide the speaking book, where human speech wears the dead mask of life. It often happens in our civilisation that we feel no difference between the reading of a book or article and the hearing of a human being. When we listen to some speakers, we seem to make acquaintance, not with the human being, but with the thoughts he has thought out. We feel that he might just as well have written them.
To be presented in this way is incompatible with Anthroposophy. When we hear Anthroposophy from a fellow-man we want to have the man before us in the full originality of his nature. We do not want a spoken essay.
Therefore, while it must also live in written works, Anthroposophy can be born anew in every gathering of human beings where through the spoken word it finds its way into the souls of men. But this will only be, if it is really the man who speaks to his fellow-men — and not the mere thoughts he has absorbed.
Anthroposophy — for this very reason — cannot find its way through the world by ordinary agitation or propaganda, no matter how well meant. Agitation kills true Anthroposophy. Anthroposophy must come forward because the Spirit impels it to come forward. It must show forth its life because life cannot but reveal itself in existence. But it must never force its existence upon people. Waiting always for those to come who want it, it must be far removed from all constraint — even the constraint of persuasion.
Such is the frame of mind which I would fain bring home to members as a thing most needed. This indeed should grow out of our recent Christmas meeting. We have often met with resistance simply because this frame of mind did not live purely and clearly in our hearts. Often, though we strove to maintain it, we failed to express it in our words. Our very words must reflect, not the propagandist's attempt to persuade, but the pure and single-minded effort to express the Spirit.
Anthroposophy thus felt and practised will indeed be more of Anthroposophy than has often lived in our groups in the past. The Goetheanum itself would work in this spirit and in this alone. The building we have lost was a work of art whose very forms revealed it. Whenever a word went astray there with an agitating, propagandist sound, one felt a jarring discord against the forms of the building. The Goetheanum, when rebuilt, will only be a thing of truth, if the Anthroposophical Society everywhere will bear this living witness to its truth. We must not think — least of all in Anthroposophy — that that alone can be impressive which has purposely been made so. A thing that truly lives out of its own Spirit can wait until the world is ready to receive its influence.
When this frame of mind is alive in every Group of the Anthroposophical Society, then will the Spirit of Anthroposophy work out into the wide world, where it is our task to carry it and represent it. We must not wrap ourselves in tinsel of mysterious pretence; the time in which we live will not suffer it. This time calls for activity in the full light of public life. The true Mystery lies not in the affectation of it, nor the true secret in secretiveness, but in the inner earnestness of the new life which Anthroposophy must live in every heart. This cannot be transmitted by external means. It is only by inner experience that each soul can grasp it. Thus it becomes a secret which must be unsealed anew as we awaken to it, time and time again. When we understand this kind of secret we shall bear the true ‘esoteric’ feeling in our souls.
2. Das Rechte Verhältnis Der Gesellschaft Zur Anthroposophie
Für Menschen soll Anthroposophie da sein, die in ihrer Seele die Wege zum geistigen Erleben suchen. Und wenn die Anthroposophische Gesellschaft ihre Aufgabe erfüllen will, dann muß sie den suchenden Seelen dienen können. Sie muß als Gesellschaft selbst das rechte Verhältnis zur Anthroposophie finden.
Anthroposophie kann nur als etwas Lebendiges gedeihen. Denn der Grundzug ihres Wesens ist Leben. Sie ist aus dem Geiste fließendes Leben. Deshalb will sie von der lebendigen Seele, von dem warmen Herzen gepflegt sein.
Die Urform, in der sie unter Menschen auftreten kann, ist die Idee; und das erste Tor, an das sie sich bei Menschen wendet, ist die Einsicht. Wäre das nicht so, sie hätte keinen Inhalt. Sie wäre bloße Gefühlsschwärmerei. Aber der wahre Geist schwärmt nicht; er spricht eine deutliche, inhaltvolle Sprache.
Aber diese Sprache ist eine solche, die nicht allein den Verstand, sondern den ganzen Menschen ergreift. Wer nur mit dem Verstande Anthroposophie aufnimmt, der tötet sie in seinem Aufnehmen. Er findet dann vielleicht, daß sie «kalte Wissenschaft» sei. Aber er bemerkt nicht, daß sie erst durch den Empfang, den er ihr in seiner Seele bereitet hat, ihr warmes Leben verloren hat.
Anthroposophie muß sich, wenn sie in unserer Gegenwart ein Dasein haben will, der Mittel der gegenwärtigen Zivilisation bedienen. Sie muß in Büchern und im Vortrage ihren Weg zu den Menschen finden. Allein sie ist, ihrem Wesen nach, keine Sache für Bibliotheken. Sie muß jedesmal neu erstehen, wenn das Menschenherz sich an das Buch wendet, um von ihr zu erfahren. Das wird nur sein können, wenn das Buch so geschrieben ist, daß der Mensch beim Schreiben in die Herzen der Mitmenschen geschaut hat, um wissen zu können, was er ihnen zu sagen hat. Das wird aber auch nur sein können, wenn der Mensch beim Schreiben von dem Leben des Geistes berührt ist, und wenn er dadurch in die Lage kommt, dem toten Schreibworte anzuvertrauen, was die nach dem Geistigen suchende Seele des Lesers als ein Wiedererstehen des Geistes aus dem Worte empfinden kann. Nur Bücher, die im lesenden Menschen lebendig werden können, sind anthroposophische Bücher.
Noch weniger als das tote Buch selbst verträgt die Anthroposophie das in der Menschenrede zum Scheinleben gewordene Buch. Unsere Gegenwartszivilisation ist in vielen Gebieten so, daß Lesen eines Buches oder Aufsatzes und Anhören eines Menschen als etwas Gleichartiges erscheinen. Man lernt, indem man einem Menschen zuhört, nicht den Menschen kennen, sondern das, was er gedacht hat und was ebensogut geschrieben sein kann.
Anthroposophie verträgt nicht, daß sie restlos von dieser Art aufgesogen werde. Wer Anthroposophie von einem Menschen hört, der williden Menschen in all seinem ursprünglichen Wesen vor sich haben, nicht einen gesprochenen Aufsatz.
Deshalb kann Anthroposophie, wenn sie auch als Literatur notwendig leben muß, jedesmal wie neu geboren werden, wenn sie in einer Gruppe von Menschen im Worte den Weg zu den Seelen sucht. Aber sie wird da nur neu geboren werden, wenn der Mensch zum Menschen spricht, nicht der aufgenommene Gedanke.
Anthroposophie kann deshalb ihre Wege auch nicht durch ein gewöhnliches Agitieren finden, wenn dieses auch mit gutem Willen getrieben wird. Agitation tötet die wahre Anthroposophie. Diese muß auftreten, weil sie vom Geiste zu ihrem Auftreten geführt wird. Sie muß ihr Leben erweisen, weil alles Leben nur im Dasein sich offenbaren kann. Aber sie darf mit ihrem Dasein niemanden bedrängen. Sie muß warten, ob jemand kommt, der sie aufnehmen will. Einen Zwang auch nur durch Überredung gegenüber den Menschen darf sie nicht kennen.
Solche Gesinnung, das möchte ich als etwas, das aus der Weihnachtstagung hervorgehen muß, den Mitgliedern als etwas besonders Notwendiges hinstellen. Wir sind mit vielem auf Widerstand gestoßen, weil solche Gesinnung nicht immer rein in den Herzen gelebt hat. Oft, auch wenn wir uns solcher Gesinnung befleißigten, konnten wir sie in der Prägung der Worte nicht festhalten. Und schon in unseren Worten muß tönen, was nicht agitatorisch überreden, sondern was allein dem Geiste Ausdruck verleihen will.
Von solcher Gesinnung getragene Anthroposophie wird mehr sein, als was bisher in unseren Gruppen oft von Anthroposophie gelebt hat. Das Goetheanum möchte allein aus dieser Gesinnung heraus wirken. Es hat sich den uns entrissenen Bau in solchen künstlerischen Formen errichtet, die schon für sich diese Gesinnung offenbarten. Wenn sich in das untergegangene Goetheanum ein Wort verirrte, das agitatorisch tönte, so gab es einen schrillen Mißklang zwischen ihm und den Bauformen. Wenn das Goetheanum neu ersteht, so wird es nur dann eine Wahrheit sein, wenn die Anthroposophische Gesellschaft überall ein lebendiger Zeuge seiner Wahrheit wird sein wollen.
Man darf gerade auf dem Boden der Anthroposophie nicht glauben, daß wirksam nur das sein kann, dem man die Wirksamkeit künstlich aufprägt. Was aus dem Wesen seines eigenen Geistes heraus lebt, das kann warten, bis die Welt seine Wirksamkeit aufnehmen will.
Wenn in jeder Gruppe der Anthroposophischen Gesellschaft diese Gesinnung lebt, dann wird der Geist der Anthroposophie auch hinauswirken dahin, wo es unsere Pflicht ist, vor die Welt Anthroposophie hinzutragen. Wir dürfen nicht uns mit dem Flitter der Geheimnistuerei umgeben. Die Gegenwart verträgt solchen Flitter nicht. Sie will wirken in voller Öffentlichkeit. Das «Geheimnis» liegt nicht in der Geheimnistuerei, sondern in dem innerlichen Ernste, mit dem in jedem Herzen Anthroposophie neu erlebt werden muß. Sie kann nicht auf äußerliche Art übertragen werden. Sie kann nur in innerem Erleben von der Seele erfaßt werden. Dadurch wird sie zum «Geheimnis», das jedesmal im Verständnis neu entsiegelt werden muß. Begreift man diese Art von «Geheimnis», so wird man auch die rechte «esoterische» Gesinnung in seiner Seele tragen.
The Right Relationship of Society to Anthroposophy
Anthroposophy should be there for people who are searching in their souls for ways to spiritual experience. And if the Anthroposophical Society wants to fulfill its task, then it must be able to serve these searching souls. As a society, it must itself find the right relationship to Anthroposophy.
Anthroposophy can only flourish as something living. For the fundamental characteristic of its essence is life. It is life flowing from the spirit. That is why it wants to be nurtured by the living soul, by the warm heart.
The original form in which it can appear among human beings is the idea; and the first gateway through which it addresses human beings is insight. If this were not so, it would have no content. It would be mere emotional enthusiasm. But the true spirit does not enthuse; it speaks a clear language rich in content.
But this language is one that captivates not only the intellect, but the whole human being. Those who take in anthroposophy with their intellect alone kill it in the process. They may then find it to be “cold science.” But they do not notice that it has lost its warm life precisely because of the reception they have prepared for it in their souls.
If anthroposophy is to have a presence in our time, it must make use of the means of contemporary civilization. It must find its way to people in books and lectures. But by its very nature, it is not a subject for libraries. It must be recreated each time the human heart turns to the book to learn about it. This will only be possible if the book is written in such a way that the author has looked into the hearts of his fellow human beings while writing, in order to know what he has to say to them. But this will only be possible if the writer is touched by the life of the spirit while writing, and if this enables him to entrust to the dead written word what the reader's soul, seeking the spiritual, can experience as a resurrection of the spirit from the word. Only books that can come alive in the reader are anthroposophical books.
Even less than the dead book itself, anthroposophy cannot tolerate the book that has become a semblance of life in human speech. In many areas of our present-day civilization, reading a book or essay and listening to a person appear to be similar activities. By listening to a person, one does not get to know the person, but rather what they have thought, which could just as well be written down.
Anthroposophy cannot tolerate being completely absorbed in this way. Anyone who hears anthroposophy from a person wants to have that person in all their original being in front of them, not a spoken essay.
That is why anthroposophy, even though it must necessarily live as literature, can be reborn each time it seeks its way to the souls of a group of people in words. But it will only be reborn there if the person speaks to the person, not the recorded thought.
Anthroposophy cannot therefore find its way through ordinary agitation, even if this is done with good intentions. Agitation kills true anthroposophy. It must appear because it is led by the spirit to appear. It must prove its life, because all life can only reveal itself in existence. But it must not oppress anyone with its existence. It must wait to see if someone comes who wants to receive it. It must not know coercion, even through persuasion, toward human beings.
I would like to present this attitude to the members as something particularly necessary that must emerge from the Christmas Conference. We have encountered a great deal of resistance because such an attitude has not always lived purely in people's hearts. Often, even when we endeavored to adopt such an attitude, we were unable to express it in our words. And already in our words there must be something that does not seek to persuade in an agitational way, but which seeks only to give expression to the spirit.
Anthroposophy, carried by such an attitude, will be more than what has often been lived in our groups so far. The Goetheanum wants to work solely out of this attitude. It has built the building that was taken from us in such artistic forms that already reveal this attitude in themselves. If a word that sounded agitational strayed into the lost Goetheanum, there was a shrill dissonance between it and the architectural forms. When the Goetheanum is rebuilt, it will only be a truth if the Anthroposophical Society is willing to be a living witness to its truth everywhere.
Especially on the basis of anthroposophy, one must not believe that only that which is artificially imprinted with effectiveness can be effective. That which lives out of the essence of its own spirit can wait until the world is ready to accept its effectiveness.
If this attitude lives in every group of the Anthroposophical Society, then the spirit of anthroposophy will also have an effect where it is our duty to carry anthroposophy out into the world. We must not surround ourselves with the tinsel of secrecy. The present does not tolerate such tinsel. It wants to work in full public view. The “secret” lies not in secrecy, but in the inner seriousness with which anthroposophy must be experienced anew in every heart. It cannot be transmitted in an external way. It can only be grasped by the soul through inner experience. This makes it a “mystery” that must be unsealed anew in understanding each time. If one understands this kind of “mystery,” one will also carry the right “esoteric” attitude in one's soul.