The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Quite a number of lectures have now been given by me on the changes that must necessarily take place in our whole civilization. First and foremost, what was said in this connection was expressed in such a way as to appeal to the will of men. We now live in a cycle of humanity's evolution in which people have to discover inner activity in order to contribute their share towards the necessary change. For human soul substance will have to stream into external life, into the objectivity of external life, and human beings themselves will have to bring about what should appear. In the present cycle of human development it is no longer possible to wait passively for divine powers, far removed from man, to step in and to do something for human evolution, without the participation of man himself.

The essential thing is to be in a position to understand such things by observing the individual phenomena of social life and the life of nature, but today, certain phenomena of social life shall be our topic. I would like to start with a quite definite fact. Let us suppose that someone announces himself; he may, for example, send his business card with the name “Edmund Miller” printed on it. Yet, on seeing this card with the name “Edmund Miller,” it would be foolish to assume that a miller was coming, a man who grinds corn. For the person announcing himself by this name may be a contractor, or a professor, or a court advisor, and so on. It would not be justified in such a case to deduce anything from the name “Miller.” Initially, it would perhaps be better to form no thoughts whatever, but just to wait and see what kind of a person conceals himself behind the name. Or, through certain other circumstances, we may already know something about the actual person, the real living entity concealed behind this name, “Miller.”

It is clear to us in this case that it would be quite wrong to infer from his name anything about the character of the approaching individual. If a person named “Smith” announces himself we would not think that he is a smith. This shows that in regard to those words we consider proper names, we feel the need to discover, by means of something that is not inferred from the name, what or whom we are dealing with.

Well, in this respect, even proper names have undergone a certain history. A person bearing the name Smith today no longer has anything to do with a real smith; a person called Miller has nothing to do with a miller. Yet these names originally arose at a time when name-giving such as is customary today did not exist, when people in a village would remark, “The smith said,—the miller said this or did that,”—or, “I saw the miller,”—and referred to the actual smith or miller. One who has lived in villages knows that people frequently do not refer to each other by proper names but say instead that they saw the smith, or the mason, or somebody else. Therefore, the name itself originally caused people to infer from the words what lay behind them.

All words, the whole language, will undergo the same development in the-course of evolution from the fifth to the sixth post-Atlantean epoch that proper names have undergone, a development which in their case we can clearly survey. Nevertheless, human beings today are still almost completely caught up in the whole of language; we basically acquire all our knowledge out of language. In actual fact, the general attitude towards nearly the whole compass of language is to infer the things from their words. Now, it is convenient to do so, but human evolution follows a different course, and in regard to such things we must have the same attitude that we adopt in regard to natural phenomena. They contain objective necessity. Objective necessity also exists where the causality of nature holds sway in the sphere of life, something that is experienced by many people with abstract superficiality. It happens frequently—I have often pointed this out—that people will say, “I never intended to do or say this; I meant it quite differently; I had this or that intention with regard to this matter.” But regardless of how pronounced the child's intention is not to get burned, when it reaches into fire, it will burn itself. Concerning the things of life, intentions that do not delve into life are not decisive; at most, only those intentions that do delve into life, or, certainly, facts, and the relationships of these facts that follow natural laws, are decisive.

People must become used to this way of thinking; based on spiritual science, this is, above all, necessary in the most eminent sense. And one must also get used to the thought: “As pleasant as it might be if one could just take words as they are, it is nevertheless a fact that the objective course and laws of human evolution point in a different direction.” They indicate that man's whole conception, his whole soul life, is becoming emancipated from words. Words are gradually becoming mere gestures that simply indicate the being or thing in question, no longer designating and explaining anything fully. If spiritual-scientific descriptions are to be taken seriously, for example, then something must come about for which people are often annoyed with me, namely, that one can no longer use words in the manner that words and sentences are customarily used at present. For if one sets forth spiritual-scientific facts, one is above all presenting facts of the future; something is represented that in future time will have to become the possession of mankind. In a certain sense, one has to anticipate something that is supposed to occur in the future. What is to happen in the future must be received into one's will. Therefore, one is obliged to give spiritual-scientific descriptions in such a way that even the words point like gestures to the essential reality lying behind them. Since our ideal today concerning the reconstruction of the social order will have to be born out of spiritual science, as I explained yesterday, it is necessary that, particularly in matters of social reconstruction, we speak from the above-mentioned viewpoint. This is precisely what people did not at all wish to comprehend, for instance, in my book, Towards Social Renewal. They absolutely wanted matters presented to them in the old style, matters that cannot be described in the old style since they are part of the future. And basically, what one is being faced with here can best be made evident by the fact that almost all the questions that, up to now, have been connected by one side or another to the expositions in Towards Social Renewal always proceed totally out of the old manner of thinking. No attempt is made to find one's way into the transformed new way of thinking.

Thus we may say that, particularly in the descriptions of social relationships of the future, it must become evident that we have to develop an emancipated soul life that no longer clings merely to words. One who follows my descriptions in the various fields of spiritual science, including the recent ones into the field of social life, will find that I am always at pains to describe a matter from many different sides. As a rule, I use two sentences instead of one, because the first sentence indicates the matter from one side, the other one from the other side. This is then supposed to call forth a desire in the listener or reader to approach the matter by transcending the words and sentences, as it were. This is what must be mentioned in reference to human soul life as far as the transformation of the meaning of human language is concerned. This is an important matter. It is important for the reason that the greatest part of what occurs today in regard to confusion of one's manner of thinking and conceptions comes about for no other reason than the fact that the objective laws and impulses of human evolution already demand that we free ourselves from language. Because of their easy-going habits of thinking, however, human beings do not wish to give up clinging to language. When such a phenomenon is clearly understood, it leads to a deeper insight into the whole course of human development. Indeed, from this transformation of our language or languages, we can actually build a bridge to profound spiritual facts. Naturally, this is more the case in one language than in another. But this is then a matter of the specific treatment of a language, of the meaning of words in a language in the individualized differentiated regions of human civilization, as I have pointed out.

We now live in the fifth post-Atlantean epoch of human civilization and are approaching the sixth condition of development. These evolutionary conditions are not of such a nature that a clear line could be drawn between one and the other epochs; instead, one epoch, bearing its own peculiarities, passes over into the next; and long before it arises, the future one casts its shadows—one could also say its lights—into the present. One must take hold of these lights if one wishes to participate in the evolution of humanity with one's soul.

Let us try and connect what might be termed the “suprahistorical” fact, namely, that we are supposed to work our way towards the sixth post-Atlantean epoch, with another fact known to all of us. It is this: With his spirit-soul entity, the human being descends out of a spiritual world to earthly incarnation through birth or conception. On earth, he then experiences the life between birth and death; then, he passes through the gate of death, and in so doing bears his soul-spiritual being once again into that environment of life which is definitely of a spiritual and soul nature.

Now we must clearly understand—and the significance of this for the art of education, for example, has also been outlined here recently—that we bring down from the spiritual world, at least in the form of effects, what we have experienced in this spiritual world. When we move in ordinary life from one locality to another, we take with us not only our clothes but also our soul-spiritual belongings. In like manner, one brings along into this world through conception and birth the consequences and effects of what has been undergone in the spiritual world. In the period that mankind has presently lived through, concerning which we know that it began around the middle of the fifteenth century A.D., man, through his spirit-soul entity, brought along forces of the soul life devoid of images, forces containing no pictures. It is for this reason that, above all, the intellectual life has arisen and has flourished. During this period, prior to descending through conception and birth into physical existence, the human being was endowed in a sense with something lacking in capacities, lacking in images. This explains the slight inclination mankind had for developing original creations of fantasy since the middle of the fifteenth century. Human fantasy is, in truth, only a terrestrial reflection of super-earthly imagination. The Renaissance does not contradict this, for just the fact that one had to resort to a “renaissance,” not a “naissance,” clearly shows that original forces of imagination were not present, only a fantasy that required fructification from earlier periods. In short, the fact is that the human soul was permeated in a certain sense with forces that are devoid of images.

Now begins the age—and in many respects, this is the real reason for the stormy character of our times—in which the souls who descend through conception and birth into earthly life bring along for themselves images from the spiritual world. When pictures are brought along out of spiritual existence into physical life, and if salvation is to arise for the human being and his social life, they must under all circumstances be united with the astral body, whereas the element lacking images only unites with the ego. It is predominantly the unfolding of the ego which has blossomed in humanity since the fifteenth century.

Now, however, the time is beginning when man has to feel: Within me there live pictures from my prenatal existence; during my earthly life, I have to make them come alive. I cannot accomplish this merely with my ego; I must work deeper into myself, and this must reach as far as my astral body.

Now, it is generally true that humanity resists the images indwelling in the astral body, images experienced prior to conception. In a way, human beings repel what is supposed to find its way out of the depths of their being into the astral body. The dry, prosaic attitude of the present time is one of its fundamental characteristics, and there are many broadly based movements that oppose an education whose concern it would be that the forces arising from the soul and trying to make themselves felt in the astral body will actually assert themselves. There are insipid, dry people who would really like to exclude any education by means of fairy tales, legends and anything illuminated by imagination. In our Waldorf School system, we have made it our priority that the lessons and instruction of the children entering primary education will proceed from pictorial descriptions, from the life-filled presentation of images, from elements taken from legends and fairy tales. Even what the children are initially supposed to learn about the nature and processes of the animal kingdom, the plant and the mineral kingdoms, is not supposed to be expressed in a dry, matter-of-fact manner; it is supposed to be clothed in imaginative, legendary, fairy tale-like elements. For what is seated deep within the child's soul are the imaginations that have been received in the spiritual world. They seek to come to the surface. The teacher or the educator adopts the right attitude towards the child if he confronts the child with pictures. By placing images before the child's soul, there flash up from its soul those images, or, strictly speaking, those forces of pictorialized representation which have been received before birth or, let us say, prior to conception.

If these forces are suppressed, if the dry, prosaic person guides the education of the child today, he confronts the child from earliest childhood with something that is actually not at all related to the child, namely, the letters of the alphabet. For our present letters have nothing to do anymore with the letters of earlier pictorial scripts. They are really something that is alien to the child; a letter should first be drawn out of a picture, as we try to do it in the Waldorf School. The child is confronted today with something devoid of a pictorial element; the young person, on the other hand, possesses forces in his body—naturally, I am referring to the soul when I am now speaking of “body,” for after all, we also speak of the “astral body”—forces seated in his body that will burst out elsewhere if they are not brought to the surface in pictorial representation. What will be the result of modern mistaken education? These forces do not become lost; they spread out, gain existential ground, and invade the thoughts, feelings and impulses of the will after all. And what kind of people will come into being from that? They will be rebels, revolutionaries, dissatisfied people; people who do not know what they want, because they want something that one cannot know. This is because they want something that is incompatible with any possible social order; something that they only picture to themselves, that should have entered their fantasy but did not; instead, it entered into their agitated social activities.

Therefore, we can say that people who, in an occult sense, do not have honest intentions in regard to their fellowmen, do not have the courage to admit to themselves: “If the world is in a state of revolt today, it is really heaven that is revolting.” It means the heaven that is held back in the souls of men, which then comes to the fore, not in its own form, but in its opposite—in strife and bloodshed instead of imaginations. No wonder that the individuals who destroy the social fabric actually have the feeling that they are doing good. For what do they sense in themselves? They feel heaven within themselves; only it assumes the form of a caricature in their soul.

This is how serious the truths are that we must comprehend today! To acknowledge the truths that matter today should be no child's play; such acknowledgment should be pervaded by the greatest earnestness. In general, it is no light task today to describe such things, for, in the first place, people do not care for them; secondly, they cling to words. Indeed, one who states that heaven is revolting in human souls is naturally taken literally by his words; people do not notice how he is trying to show that additional facts must be known, whereby the word “heaven” is related to something more than they are in the habit of connecting with the term. This is the same as not thinking of a miller who grinds corn when a “Mr. Miller” announces himself. The emancipation from language is definitely required in individual concrete cases if, in the sense that the laws of human evolution demand it, we wish truly to make progress.

Here, we see how something that comes from the life before birth pushes into the social life. One who is familiar with these relationships knows that he has to recognize something that is actually heavenly in what appears on earth in a caricature. This is in regard to the social questions, but there is something else in addition.

During the age of intellectualism, which has developed predominantly since the middle of the fifteenth century, human beings have obtained very little from their life of sleep in the form of imaginations for their waking life. Even those who have somewhat more lively dreams tend to interpret them quite rationally and intellectually. In this direction, theosophists, for example, are rational and intellectual. I could not begin to describe in a small volume, only in a big one, how many people have come to me in the course of time and wished to have rational explanations for their dreams! What is important here is that even those imaginations that express themselves in dreams point to a deeper spiritual life. I have often said that the outward appearance of the dream does not matter at all; that has already emancipated itself from the actual content. The content which we receive and then interpret in words of a language, from which, in turn, we actually have to emancipate ourselves as well, is not the true course of the dream; it really has very little to do with the true course of the dream. The dream's content is represented in its dramatic sequence, in the way one image follows another, the way complications arise and are resolved; one can experience the same spiritual content in a number of different ways as a dream. One person comes and describes how he climbed a mountain; he ascended quite easily up to a certain point, then, he suddenly stood before an abyss and could not proceed. Another person relates that he was walking along a path; everything around him filled him with joy. Suddenly, when he reached a certain point in the road, a man with a #8224 came up 'to him and killed him. Here we have two completely different dream images. Yet the process concealed behind them may be exactly the same. It can express itself in one instance in the climb up the mountain and the feeling of confronting an abyss; in another instance, it can be expressed in a cheerful walk down a path until one confronts a person who intends to kill one. The content of the images is not important; it is the dramatic sequence of experiencing something that offers resistance. It is the dynamics behind the images that matters. The course taken by the forces can envelop itself in any number of images, indeed in hundreds of pictures!

We can only understand the spiritual world when we know that what appears in the physical world in the form of dreams, or what clothes itself in images from the spiritual world in such a manner that it resembles the physical world, is only an image. As long as one has the inclination, however, to interpret the images in a rationalistic, purely intellectual way, so long does one also occupy an intellectual standpoint in regard to the dream life of sleep. What matters here is that we understand this dream life of sleep as the expression of a deeper spiritual life. Then only do we comprehend it imaginatively; then we grasp the pictures as something that stands in place of the content.

Then we shall not turn against something that is beginning for the human being today, namely, making inner soul demands out of sleep in a manner similar to the demands made by the imaginations prior to birth or conception. For today we are beginning to sleep differently from the way sleep was experienced in the regular life of the intellectual age since the middle of the fifteenth century. Man brought along into the waking state little inclination for faculties that wish to experience, rather than interpret, the images.

We have now reached the point in human evolution where, out of sleep as well, we draw imaginations that seek to indwell not only our ego, where rationality reigns supreme, but also our astral body. If we work against this, we once more reject something that is trying to rise into consciousness out of the depths of the human soul; we also work against the whole course of mankind's evolution, and what matters here is that we do not oppose humanity's development but work in harmony with it. We do this in the first place by permeating our culture once again with as many elements as possible connected in some way with the spiritual world. Naturally, in regard to external life, it is important for us to imbue ourselves with what is grasped from the spiritual world; hence, that we also imbue ourselves with a true spiritual insight, to fill ourselves with something that in this physical world cannot be comprehended in terms of the physical world. The whole past epoch of human life was actually opposed to this. Consider a case that I have already mentioned a number of times.

It is true that Christianity confronts human beings in such a way that they can only grasp its essence, especially the nature of the Mystery of Golgotha, if they come round to a comprehension of something super-sensible. For one must envisage that Christ, a being Who formerly had not been connected with earth evolution, united with the human being, Jesus of Nazareth, and that super-sensible events took place. One must conceive of the fact that in regard to the event of Golgotha, even birth and conception differed from the way they take place in ordinary human circumstances. In short, the demand is made by Christology to understand the Mystery of Golgotha in a super-sensible sense.

There is an interesting passage in a book written by a modern naturalist⁹⁴ where fulminations are uttered against the Immaculate Conception, where it is said that it is an impertinent insult to human reason to claim that an immaculate conception can occur.

Well, a modern rationalist, a purely intellectual person, can't help feeling this way. In a certain sense, what is intended out of the spiritual life is indeed an impertinent mockery of human reason. But the point is that we now live in an age where we must gradually begin to bring into waking life what has been spiritually experienced between falling asleep and waking in such a manner that our astral body can be impregnated and permeated with a pictorial element—not merely our ego, which is the seat of rationality, of intellectualism.

It is interesting that even the theology of the nineteenth century developed in such a way that it opposed Christology with rationalism, with pure intellectualism. Increasingly, modern theology felt called upon altogether to deny Christ as such, and to describe the humble man from Nazareth, the mere Jesus, as a human personality somewhat more outstanding than other human beings. One did not wish to make the effort to comprehend something super-sensible. What is to confront the human being supersensibly, what is to awaken him to the super-sensible realm, this one tried to grasp with concepts gained here in the sensory world.

A Protestant theologian,⁹⁵ with whom I once discussed this matter, told me after we had talked about it for some time, “Yes, we modern theologians should really not call ourselves Christians any longer, for we no longer have Christ. If the name ‘Jesuit’ had not been appropriated already, we should really claim it for ourselves.” This is not something that I am saying; it is something that a Protestant theologian of the modern school said to me as a confession of his own soul.

One who has insight into the whole character of our time, however, will understand that we must advance to a comprehension of the Mystery of Golgotha. Just because it is the central manifestation of our human evolution, it will tear us away from the earthly manner of thinking, and will draw us with might and main to understand something that is incomprehensible based an the earthly sense domain. Whoever wishes in everything to remain caught in the earthly sensory sphere would say, “The Immaculate Conception is an impertinent insult against human reason.”

One who understands the task of present-day man will say: I must accustom myself to such ideas. In that case, I must emancipate myself from the customary use of words today. When somebody by the name of Smith or Miller announces himself, I must not assume that he is coming with a hammer in hand or overalls powdered with flour. I must expect something quite different from what I might deduce from the words. Thus, I have to become used to emancipating myself from what was ingrained into the words by the merely physical life of the senses.

Today, the Mystery of Golgotha is in fact the first test for us to see whether we are willing to go along with the comprehension of something that extends beyond the physical-sensory sphere. We, therefore, can no longer content ourselves with a merely traditional, historical description of Christianity, we need instead a creative understanding of the Mystery of Golgotha. Out of spiritual science, we need inner strength of soul which, in a new way, approaches the Mystery of Golgotha and is in a position to comprehend the Mystery of Golgotha as a supersensory fact. Then, having positioned the Mystery of Golgotha into the central point of human thinking and feeling, we must make a new beginning especially in regard to education, and prepare the child in such a way that it does not suppress, does not have to suppress, the imaginations that seek to arise from the depths of the soul. We must meet the imaginations halfway by making pictures of our conceptions.

This is the deeper reason why, in the last issue of Soziale Zukunft (Social Future),⁹⁶ which is a magazine dealing with education, I described education and instruction as an art in the most eminent sense. In the field of pedagogy, teachers and educators must actually proceed in the way an artist does—indeed, they must proceed in a style surpassing that of an artist. It does not do to impose abstract principles in an abstract pedagogical sense. What matters is that one penetrates the being of man, and, through this comprehension of man's nature, arrives at the point of reading from the inner human being what one has to do in each case. An artist who is creating something cannot go by abstract rules. The purpose of aesthetics is not that of establishing rules for the artists. An artist cannot even go by what he has created yesterday when he creates something today. At every moment he must endeavor to be creative and original. This is how the teacher must be, in a still higher sense. One must not say based on a certain attitude of mind: "Well, if we are looking for teachers like that, we have to wait another three to four hundred years." The only reason that we do not have such teachers as yet is because we say things like this. We can have them the very moment that we have the strong power of faith in it; but it is the strong, not the passive, power of faith that is needed here. Therefore, what is important here is that when we return from sleep, upon awakening, we truly experience in the astral body and imprint into the etheric body what the astral body experiences from the moment of falling asleep until waking up. It can only take place through pictorializing the whole cultural life.

This pictorialization of the whole life of culture, this pictorialization that is demanded by the laws of humanity's evolution, will come into being when the whole spiritual life is left to the decision of those who participate in the spiritual life; when no instructions, no school regulations are laid down by a government which by its very nature stands outside the spiritual life. It is important here that the state does not hand down pedagogical regulations, school curriculums, and such like in an abstract manner. What matters is that one has human beings in an emancipated spiritual life who act out of their own free personality, and that one accomplishes with them what one can or wishes to accomplish with them.

The fact that the human being is presently beginning to bring along through conception and birth something that differs from what he brought with him since the middle of the fifteenth century, and the fact that he also brings something different with him out of sleep, both these facts demand that careful attention be given such matters, and that one really permeates oneself with the knowledge of such decisive facts. But from where can this knowledge be gained, if not from spiritual science? The external culture, today's science, certainly does not deal in any way with these matters. It ignores them; indeed, its present methods compel it to do so. I feel obliged to say that the present situation becomes most poignant when one observes the frequent and strange discrepancy between the inner requirements of humanity's evolution and the way in which people meet them. In recent times, the need has arisen to reckon with what flows into the human being from the spiritual world. Those who were intellectual, who did not reckon with what flows out of the spiritual world, made hypotheses about atoms, molecules, and the like. It was thought that bodies possessing volume point back to an atomistic formation, and so on. Out of the root causes of mankind's evolution, the need arose to grasp spiritual facts. And this instinct to grasp the spiritual expressed itself also in something, for example, like the Theosophical Society. One of its heroes is a certain Mr. Leadbeater who wrote an occult chemistry. What did he do in this book? He did something quite horrible, for he pictures the spiritual world in an atomistic sense; meaning, the materialistic manner of thinking is carried into the spiritual world.

I have recently mentioned this whole grotesque thing. Something very clever came about in the Theosophical Society. Someone wished to prove that here is one life; there is the next one (see drawing below). Now, it is so, isn't it, that something has to pass from the preceding life to the later one. One sees the body fall into decay. A proper materialist says that the body disintegrates and it is all over with man. A theosophist, however, wants another earth life to come; so, something must pass from one life to the other! The proper materialist says that all atoms unite with the earth. The theosophist also does not think in any other way than materialistically, but at the same time he tries to think “theosophically.” He wants something to pass from the first to the next life. So he says: “Of course, the atoms become one with the earth; one atom, however, remains and it passes through the whole period of existence between death and a new birth. There it appears again. This is the permanent atom.” One atom! Oh, the theosophists were especially proud then, when they discovered this “permanent” atom! They had no inkling that in this way they were carrying materialism into the spiritual world conception! Materialism induced them to believe that something—they never said what it was—of the many atoms that sink down into the ground is saved; and this fortunate, saved, permanent atom then reappears in the next incarnation. Much has been written about this permanent atom. It is nothing more than an example of the fact that something was borne into spiritual science that people could not rise above, namely, materialism. It permeates, by the way, the whole description of man, in the way it is frequently presented in the literature of the Theosophical Society. As I have often pointed out, they present the physical body as dense, the etheric body as thinner, the astral body as still thinner. Then come degrees of thinness, where even thinking and conceptions become quite thin. Yet, one is still dealing with something substantial, like mist; hence, although Buddhi and Atma are mists, they are still tangible as mists. One does not have the will power truly to discard materialism even in one's conceptual life; to pass from concepts of matter to concepts of the spirit.

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All these things prove how closely human beings are tied to the old ways of thinking. Out of such considerations, anybody who honestly wishes to acknowledge spiritual science should take up the inner challenge to test himself as to how far he has freed himself from the old materialistic concepts; or, when he turns to something spiritual, to what extent he imagines this spiritual manner in materialistic pictures, not being aware of the fact that they are just pictures.

It is always a matter of being conscious of this. For if, say, I were to draw a picture of one of you on the blackboard, the picture could mean a lot to me, if the person in question were no longer present. But if I were then to imagine that the person in the picture would shake my hand, or would speak to me, in other words, that he would be the actual person, then I would be suffering from illusions! Therefore, one may naturally sensualize the spiritual in pictures, but one must always be aware of the fact that they are nothing but pictures.

In the case of words, too, people must realize more and more clearly that language is on the way to turning the word into a gesture, and that we should go no further than to allow the word to indicate something to us that no longer is contained in the word. All words will have to take the same direction that proper names have taken.

For philosophers, I have something even better to say. Philosophers of recent times have set up any number of theories. When I say, “The child is small,” they have a concept of “small;” they have a concept of “child.” The “is,” however, the copula of the two—what does it mean? Oh, much has been written about this copula even in the philosophical sense, not just from the grammatical or philological standpoint. Everything that has been written about it suffers from the fact that this verb, “is,” no longer has the meaning of which people speak. It has already emancipated itself from its meaning and the soul content has become a different one. Thus, people in fact philosophize about something that no longer lives in the soul in an alive sense.

This is just an incidental philosophical remark which perhaps doesn't have much significance, but it is supposed to draw your attention to the fact that something that is not noticed by the outer world is by no means noticed immediately by the philosophers. Nevertheless, it is often true that the philosophers are the last to notice the things that really occur in the world, and many of our philosophical systems lag considerably behind what exists outside of themselves!

By proceeding principally from the example of language, however, I have tried to show you quite concretely how present-day human development presents itself. What actually takes place in regard to human development can really only be seen by looking at super-sensible facts. Anthropology can no longer discover what actually takes place, only anthroposophy. This is the reason why anthroposophical cultural thinking must lie at the foundation of everything that constitutes work for the progress of mankind.

• 94 . Ernest Haeckel: Anthropogenie oder Entwicklungsgeschichte des Menschen, Leipzig, 1891, p. 871.
• 95 . Max Christlieb: 1862–1916.
• 96 . In “Soziale Zukunft,” #5–7, Dornach, 1920.

I would like, dear friends, to consider today’s lecture as affording a kind of typical example of how we intend to proceed with the rest of the course. We may naturally have occasion to extend or modify our method from time to time. To begin with, we will take as a basis for our discussion together, the case of a boy who will presently be brought in. The history of the case is as follows.

The boy has been with us since 11th September, 1923, and was nine years old when he came. During the time of pregnancy the mother felt quite well; in the fifth month she made a tour through Spain. The birth was very difficult, the child had to be turned and helped out with forceps. In the first year, he was well and healthy, and there was no thought at all of abnormality. When six months old, he lay once for a very long time in the sun, with the result that he was overcome afterwards with a kind of faintness, followed later by fever. He was breast-fed for three months only, and from nine months to three years old was a very poor eater. During all this time he had really no desire for food at all. In the second summer of his life, the parents noticed that the boy's eyes were changing and becoming less clear. In this second year he was also not yet able to speak or to walk; and he would frequently start screaming and crying at about four o'clock in the morning, without apparent cause. He developed a habit at this time that should never be disregarded in children—the habit, namely, of sucking his thumb. Cardboard splints were on this account strapped to his elbows, and at night he was made to wear aluminum shields on his hands. The wearing of the shields was continued for three years. The boy was all this time backward in his development and at the age of five was still unable to speak connectedly. Then we come to the time of the change of teeth, beginning from the seventh year. The middle teeth have been changed, but the other upper teeth are not all changed yet. Or has he by now changed some more? Yes, he has got one new tooth. One of the front teeth is also not yet there. Yes, I see it has come through. The other was already strongly developed when he came to us. The mother informs us that the father too as a child was very late in his development, and the second dentition was with him also very considerably delayed.

At the time when he came to us, the boy was in a weak state of health. He weighed scarcely 53 lb. He has delicate bones, and his hands and feet are disproportionately large. He is very clumsy with his hands. External tests all give a negative result. After he came, he showed signs of increasing restlessness, and grew more and more difficult to manage. His manners are rather bad. The bodily functions are in good order.

Since January of this year, the boy has become decidedly quieter and more human. The things in the world outside have begun to interest him and arouse his wonder. A quality is developing in him which we must do our utmost to encourage—attentiveness to the world around. I do not mean an attentiveness merely of the intellect, but a turning with heart and feeling to the things of the world. Things he sees around him call forth wonder and astonishment in him. Let me take this opportunity to emphasize that mere intellectual attention to the world can never work therapeutically; the feeling and the will must also be engaged. The boy is moreover becoming friendly; whereas at first he would pass people by with indifference, he now recognises them again. It is not easy to rouse him to be active in any way. What he does, he does unwillingly. By January, however, he did manage to acquire some proficiency in the useful art of knitting. What is important is that one introduces the child to an occupation of this kind which on the one hand brings him into mechanical movement, but yet on the other hand makes him pay attention, for in knitting one can easily drop a stitch! He likes best of all to play with a little cart or sledge. He will talk for hours at a time of nothing but his little cart. That will remind you of the symptom of which I was speaking yesterday. He is also learning quite quickly to speak and understand German. There, then, you have the description of the immediate facts and findings.

And now, if you will begin to observe the child for yourselves—(to the boy) Come here a minute!—you will find many things to notice. Let me draw your attention, first of all, to the strongly developed lower half of the face. Look at the shape of the nose and the mouth. The mouth is always a little open. With this symptom is connected also the peculiar formation of the teeth. It is important to note these things, for they are unquestionably bound up with the whole soul-and spirit constitution of the child. We must not make the mistake of attributing the open mouth to the formation of the teeth; both are to be traced to a common cause, namely, that in this child the lower man is not fully under the control and mastery of the upper man. If you can see that, then much will become clear to you. Imagine that here you have the upper man, the nerves-and-senses man. This works upon the whole of the rest of the human being. For, as you know, this is the part of man that is the most developed in the first period of life; it brings the most forces with it from the embryonic time, and during that time had in it the most highly developed forces. The rest of the body is more or less dependent on what forms itself here in the upper man. Whereas the lower man forms itself directly from the constitution of the mother body, the rest of man is only indirectly dependent on what forms itself here. The formation you see here in the jaws—the jaws belong, of course, to the limb system—should be completely taken into the head system. But in this case the head system is not strong enough to bring the limb system fully into itself; consequently, external forces work too powerfully upon this limb-system. Look at a well-formed human being, where the lower part of the head is in harmony with the rest of the head. You will be quite right in concluding that you will find in such a person a nervous system that is in the highest possible degree master of the metabolism-and-limbs system. No external forces will in this case exercise undue influence. If however the head is incapable of controlling the rest of the body, then the forces that come from without will work too strongly into the rest of the body. In the child before us, we have clear evidence of this in the fact that the arms, and also the legs, have not the proportions they would have if they were brought into right relation with the upper part of the body, but have grown too big, because external forces have worked upon them in excess. (Look, he's amused! I think Fraulein B. was asking him why he keeps his mouth open, and his reply was: “To let the flies come in.” This is a firmly fixed opinion of his.)

All that we have been describing is, you see, due in the first place to a weakness in the upper part of the organisation. Observe now how the head is narrow here (in front) on both sides, and pressed back; so we have in this boy the symptom of narrow-headedness, a sign that the intellectual system is but little permeated with will. This part (at the back) expresses strong permeation by the will. The front part of the head is accessible only to external influences that come via sense-perception, whereas the back part of the head is accessible to all manner of influences from without. You have therefore here a beginning of what manifests so strikingly in the arms and legs; the brain enlarges and spreads out at the back of the head.

The study of such a child can be very interesting; indeed a child like this is more interesting than many normal children, although many a normal child is easier and pleasanter to deal with.

Here (in the front) you have that part of the whole head organisation which has its substance supplied to it from the rest of the organism. What is deposited here in the way of substance—not forces, but substance—is derived entirely from external nourishment. Here, on the other hand (at the back) substance begins to be supplied, not from food, but from that which is received through the breathing, through the senses, etc., and is cosmic in origin. The back of the head is, as regards substance, of cosmic origin. Here (in the front) as we remarked, the head is pressed together. In all probability this points back to a purely mechanical injury, either at birth or during pregnancy, a mechanical injury in which we can see nothing else than a working of karma, for it can have no connection with the forces of heredity. As a result of this compression, the head tends not to let enough substance get carried up into it from the food that is eaten as nourishment. For it has anyway no inclination to start working upon the nourishment that does reach it, the demand for nourishment being so slight in this front part of the head. You can see therefore, simply by observing the external form of the head, that the boy is bound to be at some time quite without appetite. Here, in this front part of the head, the accumulation of what is received by way of nourishment begins to be deficient.

The insufficiency in the control exercised upon the whole limb system has its influence upon the breathing system. The entire system of the breath is very little under control, and breathing tends to become disturbed and uneasy. This is connected with the whole way in which the lower jaw is formed. The lower jaw receives into itself a great quantity of air—too much, indeed; with the result that substance is accumulated in too great measure, both here in the lower jaw and in the limbs. Hence the symptom that is so conspicuous in a child of this kind: the inbreathing is not in right relation to the outbreathing, it is too vigorous as compared with the outbreathing. Consequently, the boy is unable to develop within him the right and necessary quantity of carbonic acid; he is deficient in carbonic acid. So here you have also a clear demonstration of the fact that in a human being who is deficient in carbonic acid the limb system will be found to be over-developed; and with the limb system is of course connected everything in the human being that has fundamentally to do with movement. What ought to happen is that gradually, in the course of life, the whole system of movement in man should become a servant of the intellectual system. (To the boy) Stand still a minute! And now come here to me and do this! (Dr. Steiner makes a movement with his arm as if to take hold of something; the boy does not make the movement.) Never mind! We mustn't force him. Do you see? It is difficult for him to do anything; he has not the power to exercise the right control over his metabolism-and-limbs system. If he had, he would have lifted his arm in the way I showed him. With this is also connected the lateness of the second dentition. In order for the change of teeth to go forward in the right way, there must be a co-operation between senses-and-nerves system and metabolism-and-limbs system. The working together of the two systems provides the foundation for the change of teeth. These phenomena are all closely connected with one another.

And now what is the result of all this? As we have seen, when the child was born, and for as long as the metabolism and-limbs system had not yet developed—as is the case, of course, with a very young child—he was able to be in control of his body. No one noticed that there was anything abnormal. Only in course of time, when he had grown quite a bit, could the abnormality, which was present all along, show itself. And it is just as we might expect, that he should attain comparatively late those faculties which depend on the upper system's having the lower system under control. He was late, namely, in learning to speak and to walk. What would have been the right educational treatment for this child in very early years? Obviously a special effort should have been made to begin with Curative Eurythmy even before he was able to walk, simply moving his limbs oneself in eurythmic movements. If this had been done, then the movements carried out in this way in the limbs would have been reflected in the nerves-and-senses organism, and since at that early age everything, is still supple in the child, the form of the head could actually have grown wider. By beginning in good time to produce in a child movements that have the right forms, a great deal can be accomplished for the forming of the head, and one cannot but rejoice at the results that can be achieved in this direction. In the case of the boy before us, where the very bones of the skull have been narrowed by external pressure, it is certainly difficult for the head to grow any bigger.

During the time when I was engaged in teaching, an abnormal boy of eleven and a half years old was given into my care. I have written about him in The Story of My Life. The parents and the family doctor were at their wit's end what to do with this child. He would have to be put to learn some trade—and that was terrible to contemplate! With the exception of his mother, who took the matter quietly, everyone was frantic about it; what a disgrace for a highly respectable city family to have to put their boy to a trade! To pass comment or criticism on the matter was not my business. The boy was, among other things, hydrocephalic. I stipulated that he should be left entirely to me. His attainments up to that time may be judged from the fact that he had completely failed a short while before in the entrance examination for one of the lowest classes in the “Volksschule¹ All he had done in the allotted time was to rub a large hole into a copy-book with a piece of india-rubber. The boy had also the strange and singular habit of not wanting to eat at all at table, but of eating with great relish potato skins that had been thrown away as refuse.

After a year and a half had passed, the boy had progressed so far as to be able to attend the First Class in the “Gymnasium”.² The secret of the matter lay in the care and attention given to the movements of the limbs; through this, it came about that the hydrocephalic condition disappeared. The head became smaller—a clear sign that results can be achieved in this direction. Where, as in the boy before us, the bones of the skull have been pressed together by a blow from outside, there will, as I said, be great difficulty in achieving any enlargement of the head, but some improvement might nevertheless have been attained.

And now the question is: What guidance can we gain from our observation of the child, as to how we are to proceed with his education? Of primary significance for us as educators is the fact that the boy has had to bring his soul-and-spirit nature into a body whose forces are not harmoniously developed. Karmic complications lie behind this. Believe it or not, the boy is a genius. What do I mean by that? (He doesn't understand what we are saying.) I mean that, in accordance with his karmic antecedents, he could have been a genius. In the conditions, however, under which the boy finds himself at the present day (and he was of course obliged to be born into these conditions) he has been unable to develop the possibilities that were present in him by virtue of his antecedents; hence, and to that extent, there is abnormality. The choice of his parents has clearly had its bearing on the situation. It has made things difficult for him; he looks out upon the world under difficult bodily conditions. For he has a body that has grown hard and rigid, owing to the fact that the forces of the upper and of the lower man do not interlink properly, do not fit well together. We have thus to do here with a hardening of the organism. When the boy wakes up, the astral body and the I organisation cannot dive down into the organism as they should. They come up against a kind of brick wall.

But now man's whole faculty of attention, the ability we possess to be attentive to the world around us, depends on our being able to establish the right adjustment between soul-and-spirit on the one hand and the bodily-physical nature on the other hand. Suppose we are unable to do this. Then, in so far as we are concerned merely with the more superficial side of life, the inability to establish the right adjustment will show itself in clumsiness, in unskilfulness. Traces of this sort of inability can be observed in the majority of people today. In my experience—I apologise for the hard verdict!—most persons are highly unskilful. They find it difficult to develop skill and deftness. If I go over in my mind all the eight hundred children we have in the Waldorf School, I cannot say that any large percentage of them are distinguished for skill and ingenuity. And wherever you go, you will find evidence that this inpouring of the astral body and I organisation into the physical organization does not come off as it should. The reason is to be sought in the fact that we are now living in the full flower of the age of intellectualism. The thinking, the mental and spiritual activity, that belongs to our time, reaches only into the bones—not into the muscles. And a person who sets out to make use of his bones does not thereby become skilful! The intellectual system in man is adapted for making its way into the bony system, but in order to get the bony system moving, it requires the help of the muscles; and the ability of the astral body and I organisation to insinuate themselves into the muscular system is in our time astonishingly small. How is this? The root of the trouble lies in the fact that this intellectual age of ours is not devout, is not genuinely religious in character; the churches of the various denominations do not really make for deep and sincere religion. But now, the development of the muscles attached to the bones depends on the presence in the world of great men who are revered as examples, as heroes. As soon as a human being can look up, even if only in thought, to great souls and see in them his pattern and example, then a right contact begins to be established between his muscular and his bony systems. And in the boy we are considering, lack of interest has been from the first a marked characteristic.

And now you can also see in this boy a striking confirmation of what I told you earlier—that thoughts do not themselves undergo change. The thoughts a person produces cannot ever be false. It is only a question of whether he produces the thoughts at the right occasion, or again of whether he produces too many thoughts, or too few. The thoughts themselves are reflections of the external ether.

When the boy is asked why he keeps his mouth open, and replies: So that the flies can fly in—that is an exceedingly clever answer; the thought is, however, wrongly applied. The same thought, applied later in life to some machine that people were trying to invent, could turn out to be the grand idea of a clever inventor. Thoughts are, in themselves, always right and correct; for they are part of the world ether, they are contained in the thought constitution of the world ether.

It is of the greatest importance that the possibility should be there, for the soul-and-spirit to make proper connection with the world outside via its own bodily sheaths. In dealing with such a child, we have to go to work on a twofold principle. We must put before him as few impressions as possible; and we must try to bring these few impressions into association with one another. The instruction we set out to give must be so simplified, must contain so few elements, that it can quickly be perceived as a connected whole. And it will be, if we take the trouble to make it so. Whenever we want to get children to do something—for what I am saying now is true not for this boy alone; you will be able to prove its truth with the other children too—whenever we want to get them to do something, we must take special pains to accompany what the children have to do with things to stimulate the children's interest and attention. Where we have children of this kind, who are unable to come forth out of their body, who fail to bring the soul into the body and so become master of their own bodily nature, the important thing will be to provide every possible opportunity for their interest to develop. Suppose we are beginning to give them painting. We must, in the first place, be careful to avoid getting at all anxious or worried if the children make a dreadful mess of their work! (This warning has been equally necessary in the Waldorf School.) If we teachers are bent on having everything left perfectly clean and tidy when the lesson is finished, we shall be following a false principle. Tidiness is a matter of quite secondary importance. On the other hand, it is of very great importance that the teacher should be constantly watching to see that the children are attentive to each single movement they are making with their hands, to see that the children follow with close attention all that they are doing. This requires that the teacher shall be himself fully “there”. Even more than with other children is it necessary with these, that the teacher is wide-awake and on the spot the whole time, not allowing himself ever to lapse into vacancy or vagueness of thought.

“Look! Take up your brush! And now draw it over the paper!” If we accompany the whole process with a constant rousing of interest and attention, we shall achieve something; we shall find that even right up to the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth years, a great deal can be done in this way in the direction of rendering the organism more supple and pliant. As we go on, we must find it possible to talk to the child somewhat as follows: “Look! Do you see the tree out there? I want you to draw that tree. Look at its branches! Can you show me now on your paper what the tree is like?”

One has, you see, to be right there the whole time. “Look, there comes the pony! He's running!” At the same time you point out the colour of the tree, the pony, etc. “And now there's Mussolini, the little dog, going to meet him! The little dog is barking at the pony, and the pony is going like this with his legs!” You must try to live the whole story with intense vivacity. And this lively participation in everything that happens, which is really a manifestation of spirit, is infectious; the children catch it! You will find that if you want to help children in this way you need plenty of verve and enthusiasm. If you are dull or apathetic, if you are the sort of person who prefers to remain seated and dislikes having to stand up, the sort of person who has not the smallest inclination to be constantly rousing himself into activity and movement—then you will never succeed in anything you undertake in the way of education. For it is not a matter of being ready with all sorts of cleverly thought-out devices; it is a matter of doing, on each single occasion, just what that particular occasion demands.

Another thing you must do with children of this kind is to engage them in conversation—as much as ever you can. This boy did not at first take part in conversation. Now he does. Listen, and you will see how far he has advanced in this respect. (To the boy) Do you remember, you told me one day that a pony had arrived? Tell me now, how big is the pony? Have you ever taken him out?—“Yes, the pony runs about in the Sonnenhof³ all the time; and it lies down on the grass.”—Is it in the stable when it rains? And is there a big pony too?—“Yes, the big pony is called Markis.”—You see, if you make conversation with him in this way, he joins in and talks with you; whereas before, he used to roar and bellow at you. Another extraordinarily interesting thing to observe is the following. When he came to us the boy spoke English only. He has learned comparatively quickly to speak German. You can indeed see in him a beautiful example of how language pours itself right down into the ether body and physical body. But the construction of his own language had become more firmly fixed in him than it is in other children; we have, in fact, in this boy a wonderful opportunity to study how the construction of a language sticks fast. He does not say “Ich bin gewesen” (I have been), but “Ich have gebeen”. He is finding his way into the German language quite well, but takes with him into the German the form and configuration of the English. He has many other similar expressions. Instead of “Geh weg!” (Go away!), he says “Geh aweg!” From this very firmness with which the English language has established itself in him, you can see how stiff and rigid his body is. If you take pains to get him to talk, doing all you can to draw him out, you will discover that he has a great deal more to overcome than most children. For what he has already learned sits terribly tight in him. By bringing life into him however, constantly new life, we shall gradually enable the stiffened body to grow inwardly supple and mobile. If you can, for instance, get him to say “Ich bin gewesen”, that will be a real achievement on his part; for it will mean he has roused himself to inner mobility. Beware however of trying to reach the result by force, by driving it home, as it were; no, it must be arrived at by conversation, by engaging the boy again and again, untiringly, in conversation. A child of this kind should be able to notice that we take an interest in him, and share in what he is doing. We must ask him questions, for instance, about things he has had to do with, things with which he must obviously be familiar, making plain to him in this way that we ourselves are concerned in what he has experienced. That is for him very important.

It will not, I think, be difficult for you to realise how helpful Curative Eurythmy can be for a boy like this. Suppose he does the movements for R and L. R is a “turning”; something is turning round, is revolving. There at once you have mobility. Most of you are attending the lecture course on Eurythmy, and will know also what L signifies. Think what formative forces the tongue is developing when L is spoken! L is the sound that signifies yielding or compliance, adapting oneself to fall in with something. And that is what the boy's organism needs: to be made pliant and supple, so that it shall be ready to adapt itself. And then you will remember how I said that in him the inbreathing process outweighs the outbreathing process. We have therefore to see that the outbreathing is stimulated as much as ever possible, and that the boy himself participates in it. This happens in M. M is the sound that belongs particularly to the outbreathing. When it is done in Eurythmy, the whole limb system comes in to help. And N provides the tendency to lead back into what belongs to the intellect. We shall accordingly have for this boy R, M, L, N. As you see, once we have a comprehensive picture of the child's condition, we know what we have to do. For this we must, of course, know, first of all, the true nature of each particular sound, and be absolutely at home in Eurythmy; then, we must on the other hand have also the ability to look with clarity and discernment into the bodily organisation of the child. Both of these are things that can quite well be learned, but both are completely lacking in the pedagogy of the present day.

In the case of such a child as we have now before us, I need hardly say it is even more urgent than with other children that he should be led to writing by way of painting. We shall therefore begin our teaching with lessons in painting, working in the way I indicated a little while ago.

All that I have described to you will have helped to make it clear that in this boy the astral body and the I organisation do not penetrate the physical body and ether body. We must come to their help. And for this purpose we shall have to intervene also therapeutically. What is it that needs our support, our backing, as it were? The nervous system, in so far as it is the foundation for the astral body and I organisation. How can we strengthen the nervous system? What can we do?

There are, as you know, three main ways in which we can work upon the human being therapeutically: by medicines taken internally, by injections, and by means of baths or lotions. When you give a person medicine to take internally, upon what does the medicine work? Fundamentally upon the metabolic system. You reckon, do you not, on the medicine taking effect in a simple, straightforward manner on the metabolic system. If you want to help the rhythmic system, you must give injections. But if you want to work upon the nervous system, you will have to give baths or lotions. Now, arsenic has a powerful effect on the mobility of the astral body, the mobility it requires for diving down into the physical and ether bodies—and, in fact, also on the form of the astral body. It can be observed in people who have undergone arsenic cures that their astral body just slips into the physical body, glides smoothly into it. When therefore you have a child in whom you want to produce a right harmony between astral and ether and physical bodies, arsenic baths will be your obvious remedy. Prepare a certain quantity of Levico⁴ of a particular percentage and let the child have a bath in it. This will work upon the nervous system and strengthen the astral body.

And now there is somewhere else where our help is needed. The forces of the head system are too feeble in their influence upon the rest of the body. We must come to the help of the stream of forces which goes from the head to the lower organism. This stream of forces is particularly powerful in the earliest years of life, but it is still maintained between change of teeth and puberty, and even increases in strength during that period, being at the end of it more powerful than in the seventh, ninth or eleventh year. We can strengthen this stream of forces and so help to induce a right correspondence between metabolic system and nervous system, by making use of a secretion of hypophysis.⁵ For this gives, as it were, a helping hand to the stream of forces, and exercises from the direction of the head a harmonising influence upon the metabolic system. We shall therefore have, side by side, treatment with hypophysis cerebri, arsenic baths and Curative Eurythmy. With these three working together, we shall make progress with a boy of this kind.

And now finally I want to ask your special attention again to what I said of the need to be always alive and alert, the need to be right there in whatever we are doing. Particularly in the education and teaching of backward children, the importance of the need cannot be over-emphasised. If once we have the inclination and goodwill to try to attain this, then we shall find that our study and work in the Anthroposophical Movement will make us more ready to be wide-awake and alert in all that we undertake. There are, it is true, tendencies at work among us in an exactly opposite direction. One suffers at times a kind of pain when one comes into an assemblage of Anthroposophists. Such a heaviness in the air! No inducing the members to get a move on! If one begins a discussion, no one else so much as opens his mouth; why, their very tongues are heavy—heavy as lead! And they pull such long faces! Out of the question to expect them to look happy or to laugh! And yet, do you know what is the first and most essential qualification for a teacher of these children? Humour! Yes, real humour, the humour of life. You may have mastered every possible clever method and device, but you will not be able to educate these children unless you have the necessary humour.

There will have to be a feeling and understanding in the anthroposophical movement for what “movement”, mobility, really is! I do not want to enlarge on this subject, but I can assure you that I never meet with less understanding than when, in answer to a question as to what is to be done in a certain situation, I reply: “Have enthusiasm!” Enthusiasm—that is what counts; and particularly in dealing with children who are abnormal.

This is what I wanted to say to you today.

• 1. Primary School up to age of fourteen.
• 2. Grammar School from age of eleven or twelve.
• 3. The home for backward children in Arlesheim, Switzerland.
• 4. water [A Spa water containing iron arsenic.
• 5. A Weleda preparation is certainly meant.

The Goal of Waldorf Education

You have seen that education must be based on a more intimate knowledge of the human being than is found in natural science, although it is generally assumed that all knowledge must be grounded in natural science. As we have seen, however, natural science cannot come even close to the reality of the human being, and it doesn’t help to base our knowledge on it.

The world is permeated by spirit, and true knowledge of the world must be permeated by spirit as well. Anthroposophy can give us spiritual knowledge of the world, and, with it, spiritual knowledge of the human being, and this alone leads to a true art of education. But don’t make the mistake (which is easy to do) that those who consider themselves anthroposophists want to establish “anthroposophic” schools that teach anthroposophy as a worldview in the place of other contemporary worldviews, regardless of whether such views are inspired more by intellect or feeling. It is important to understand and reiterate that this is not at all our intention. What we are examining is mainly concerned with matters of method and the practice of teaching. Men and women who adhere to anthroposophy feel—and rightly so—that the knowledge of the human being it provides can establish some truly practical principles for the way we treat children.

At the Waldorf school in Stuttgart we have been able to pursue an art of education based on anthroposophy for many years; and we have always made it clear to the rest of the world that anthroposophy as such was never taught there. Roman Catholic children receive religious instruction from a priest and Protestant children from a Protestant pastor. Only those children whose parents specifically request it receive religion lessons involving a freer religious instruction based on anthroposophy. Thus, our own anthroposophic worldview as such really has no place in the school work itself.

Moreover, I would like to point out that the true aim and object of anthroposophic education is not to establish as many anthroposophic schools as possible. Naturally, some model schools are needed, where the methods are practiced in detail. There is a need crying out in our time for such schools. Our goal, however, is to enable every teacher to bring the fruits of anthroposophy to their work, no matter where they may be teaching or the nature of the subject matter. There is no intention of using anthroposophic pedagogy to start revolutions, even silent ones, in established institutions. Our task, instead, is to point to a way of teaching that springs from our anthroposophic knowledge of humankind.

Understanding the Human Being

As you know, we need to gain a more intimate observation of human beings than is customary today. In fact, there are some areas where people are learning a very exact kind of observation, especially in regard to visual observation—for example, using a telescope to observe the stars, for surveying, and in many other realms of knowledge. It arises from a sense for exact, mathematical observation. Because of the scientific mindset that has ruled for the past three centuries, nowhere in contemporary civilization do we find the kind of intimate observation that sees the fine and delicate changes in the human soul or body organization. Consequently, people have little to say about the important changes that have occurred in the child’s whole physical organization, such as those that happen at the change of the teeth, at puberty, and again after the twentieth year. And so, transitions that have great significance in terms of education—such as the period between the change of teeth and puberty—are simply ignored.

These changes are mentioned, it is true, but only as they affect the actual physical body of the child or are expressed in the soul’s more superficial dependence on the physical body. This would require much more delicate observations. Anthroposophy begins by viewing the world as an expression of spiritual forces, which is seldom acknowledged today; it provides exercises that train a person’s soul to acquire direct insight into the spirit world. There are some whose destiny has not yet brought them to the point of seeing the spiritual facts for themselves, but anthroposophy has such power that merely beginning such exercises in itself helps people to learn a much more delicate and intimate observation of the human being. After all, you must remember that our soul and spirit is the part of us that, as we have seen, descends from a pre-earthly existence and unites with the inherited physical body. And spiritual research depends on this higher, supersensible part of us; we have supersensible eyes and ears—soul organs such as the eyes and ears of our physical body—so that we can arrive at certain perceptions independently of the body.

Cosmic and Human Cycles

Each night while asleep, a person is unconsciously in a condition that is similar to what is needed for spiritual investigation. When falling asleep, the human soul and spirit leave the physical body, and re-enter it when the person awakes. While awake, people use their eyes and ears and move their limbs, and the forces for this come from the spirit and soul aspects of the human being. Genuine knowledge of nature—which doesn’t exist yet—would also show that while awake, people’s physical actions are controlled by soul and spirit, and that sleep is only an interruption of this activity. Here again, the difference is too subtle to be perceived by modern scientific methods—upon which today’s education is based, even when directed toward the earliest years of childhood. A sleeping person is completely surrendered to the activities of the organism to which plant and mineral are also subject.

Anthroposophy or Spiritual Science, on the other hand, strive for precision and accuracy, and it would not be true, of course, to say that while asleep a person is a plant. In a human being, mineral and plant substances have been raised to the level of animal and human. The human organization is not like that of a plant, since a plant has no muscles and nerves, and the human of course has both muscles and nerves, even while asleep. The important thing, however, is very simple; the vegetative function of the plant has nothing to do with nerves and muscles, but it is different for a human being. Activity in a person is related to muscles and nerves, and thus transcends the physical; even human sleep activity is not merely vegetative. (In a certain sense this applies also to animals, but we cannot address this matter now.) Although we find the same impulses in the plant as in the sleeping human being, nevertheless something different happens in a sleeping person.

It may help us to form an idea of this process if we think of it this way: when we are awake, the soul and spirit are integrated with the human organism. The soul and spirit, in turn, have a certain similarity to the cosmos, the whole universe—but keep in mind that it is only a similarity. And careful observation of plant development will show us that in spring, when the snow has melted, we see plants spring out of the earth and unfold their being. Until now, plant growth was controlled by the Sun forces within the Earth, or the stored sunshine of the previous year.

In spring the plants are released, so to speak, by these earthly Sun forces and, as they shoot out of the soil, they are received by the outer sunlight and guided through the summer until the seeds become ripe. Plant growth is again given over to the Earth. Throughout the summer, the Sun’s forces gradually descend into the Earth to be stored there; thus, the Earth is always permeated by these accumulated sun forces. We need only remember that millions of years ago Sun forces shone on the plants, which then became coal within the Earth; thus, sunlight is in reality now being burned in our stoves. Likewise—though for a much shorter time—the Sun’s forces are preserved in the Earth from summer to summer. Throughout the winter, plants absorb the Sun’s forces found in the earth, and during summer, the Sun pours its rays upon them right from the cosmos. So there really is a rhythm in the life of plants—earthly sun-forces, cosmic sun-forces, earthly sun-forces, cosmic sun forces, and so on. Plant life swings from one to the other as a pendulum on a clock.

Now let us turn to the human being. When I fall asleep I leave behind in my body everything of a mineral and plant nature, though, as we have seen, the plant nature in the human being—in contrast to an actual plant—is organized so that spirit and soul can dwell within it. What is left behind in sleep is thus wholly surrendered to its own plant-like activity. It begins to blossom and sprout, and when we go to sleep it is really springtime within us. When we awaken, the plant forces are driven back, and it becomes autumn within us. As soul and spirit arise on awakening, autumn enters us.

Viewing things externally, it is often said that waking is like spring and sleeping like autumn. This is not true, however. Genuine spiritual insight into human nature shows us that during the first moments of sleep, spring life sprouts and blossoms in us, and when we awaken autumn sinks into us like the setting Sun. While awake, when we are using all our faculties of soul, it is winter within us. Again we see a rhythm, as in plantlife. In plant growth we distinguish between earthly activity and the Sun’s activity. In the human being, we find essentially the same activity imitating the plant; falling asleep—summer activity, awakening—winter activity, and around again to summer activity, winter activity; but here it takes place in only twenty-four hours. Human beings have condensed a yearly rhythm into a day and a night.

These rhythms are similar but not identical, because for a human being the life of the soul and spirit does not have the same duration as the life of spirit in the realm of nature. A year is only a day in the life of the spirits who pervade the cosmos and permeate the whole course of the year, just as the soul and spirit of human beings direct the course of their day.

As we consider this, we arrive at this hypothesis. (I must warn you, by the way, that what I am about to say may seem very strange to you, but I present it as a hypothesis to demonstrate more clearly what I mean. Let us suppose that a woman falls asleep, and within her is what I have described as summer activity. Let us suppose that she continues to sleep without waking up. What will happen then? The plant element within her—the element not of soul and spirit—would eventually become the rhythm of the plant realm. It would go from a daily rhythm to an annual rhythm. Of course, such a rhythm does not exist in the human being. Thus, if the physical body were to go on sleeping as described, the person would be unable to tolerate the resulting yearly rhythm and would die; if the human body were all plant activity, it would be organized differently. The physical body would separate from the soul and spirit, assume a yearly cycle, and take on purely vegetative qualities. When we view physical death, which leads to the body’s destruction, we see that by being born out of the cosmos, the human being passed from a grand cycle to a small cycle. If a human body is on its own and cannot animate the spirit and soul in itself, it is destroyed, since it cannot immediately find its place in the cosmic rhythm.

Therefore, we see that if we can develop a more delicate faculty for observation, we can gain true insight into the essence of human existence. This is why I said that those who have entered the path of spiritual knowledge, though they may not yet have attained spiritual vision for themselves, will nevertheless feel forces stirring within that lead to spiritual insight. And these are the very forces that act as messengers and mediators of all the spirits at work in the cosmos. Spirit is active in the cosmos where we find the beings who guide the life cycle of the year. This is a new realm to us, but when we observe a human being we can see the presence of soul and spirit in all human life, and here we are on familiar ground. For this reason, it is always easier to exercise a fine faculty of perception in regard to the human soul and spiritual qualities than it is to perceive spirit activity itself in the world.

When we think in ordinary life it is as if thinking, or forming mental images, continually escaped us. When we bump into something or feel something with our fingers—a piece of silk or velvet, for example—we immediately perceive that we have encountered that object, and we can feel its shape by touching its surface. Then we know that as human beings, we have connected with our environment. When we think, however, we do not seem to touch objects around us in this way. Once we have thought about something and made it our own, we can say that we have “apprehended,” or “grasped” it (begreifen). What do we mean by this? If external objects are alien to us—which is generally true for our thinking—then we do not say we have grasped them. If, for example, a piece of chalk is lying there, and I am standing here moving my hand as one does when speaking, one does not say, “I have grasped the chalk.” But if I actually take hold of the chalk with my hand, then I can say, “I have grasped it.”

In earlier times, people had a better understanding of what thinking really was, and out of such knowledge, words and expressions flowed into the language that expressed the real thing much better than our modern abstractionists realize. If we have had a mental picture of something, we say we have grasped it. This means we have come into contact with the object—we have “seized” it. Today we no longer realize that we can have intimate contact with objects in our environment through the very expressions in our thinking life. For example, there is a word in our language today that conceals its own meaning in a very hypocritical way. We say “concept” [Begriff in German, from begreifen]. I have a concept. The word conceive (to hold or gather) is contained within it [greifen, to grasp, or seize]. I have something that I have grasped, or gathered into myself. We have only the word now; the life has gone out of its meaning.

Examples such as these from everyday life demonstrate the aim and purpose of the exercises described as anthroposophic methods of research in my book How to Know Higher Worlds, and in the latter half of An Outline of Esoteric Science, and in other works. Consider the exercises in mental imagery. Certain thoughts are held in the mind so that concentration on these thoughts may strengthen the soul life. These exercises are based neither on superstition nor merely on fantasy, but on clear thinking and deliberation as exact as that used for mathematics. They lead human beings to develop a capacity for thought in a much more vital and active way than that found in the abstract thinking of people today.

Thinking and the Etheric Body

People today are truly dominated by abstraction. When they work all day with their arms and legs, they feel the need to sleep off their fatigue, because they recognize that their real being has been actively moving arms and legs. What they fail to understand, however, is that when we think, our being is just as active. People cannot see that when they think their being actively flows out and takes hold of the objects of their thinking; this is because they do not perceive the lowest supersensible member of the human being, the etheric body, living within the physical body, just as the physical body lives within the external world.

The etheric body can in fact be perceived at the moment when—by practicing the exercises I referred to—a person develops the eye of the soul and the ear of the spirit. One can then see how thinking, which is primarily an activity of the etheric body, is really a spiritual “grasping,” or spiritual touching, of the objects around us. Once we have condensed and concentrated our thoughts by means of the exercises mentioned, we experience spirit in such a way that we no longer have the abstract feeling, which is so prevalent today, that objects are far from us. We get a true sense of them that arises from practiced, concentrated thinking. Thinking too will then bring fatigue, and especially after using our powers of thought we will want to have our sleep.

The presence of materialistic ideas is not the worst product of this age of materialism in which we live; educators must also consider another aspect. As educators, we may feel somewhat indifferent to the amount of fatigue caused by people’s activities; eventually, people return to their senses, and things even out. But the worst thing for an educator is to watch a child go through years of schooling and receive for the soul only nourishment that bears the stamp of natural science—that is, of material things. Of course, this does not apply only to school science classes; all education today, even in the lowest grades, is based on scientific thinking. This is absorbed by children, it grows up with them, and it penetrates the whole physical organization so that in later years it appears as insomnia.

What is the cause of the sleeplessness of our materialistic time? It is due to the fact that if we think only in a materialistic way, the activity of thought—this “grasping” or “handling” of our environment through thought—does not allow the corresponding organs of the etheric body to become tired since it has become too abstract. Here, only the physical body becomes tired; we fall asleep—the physical body falls asleep—but the etheric becomes nervous and restless and cannot sleep. It draws the soul and spirit back into it, and this condition will necessarily develop gradually into an epidemic of insomnia. This is already happening today. Only by considering such matters can we understand what this materialistic time signifies. It is bad enough that people think materialistic, theoretical thoughts; but in itself this is not really that serious. It is even worse that we experience the effects of materialism in our moral life and in our economic life. And the worst thing is that through materialism, all of childhood is ruined to the point that people can no longer come to terms with moral or spiritual impulses at all.

These things must be known by everyone who recognizes the need to transform our teaching and education. The transitions we have mentioned, such as those that occur at the change of teeth and at puberty, can be understood only through intimate observation of the human being. We must learn to see how a person is inwardly active, so that people experience their etheric just as they feel their physical body; they must recognize that when they think about any object, they are really doing in the etheric what is otherwise done in the physical human body. If I want to know what an object is like, I feel it, I contact it, and thus gain a knowledge of its surface. This also applies to my etheric body. I “feel” etherically and supersensibly the object I want to “grasp,” what I wish to conceptualize. The etheric body is just as active as the physical body, and correct knowledge of human development can come only from this knowledge and consciousness of the etheric body’s activity.

The Child’s Imitative Nature

If we can activate our thinking in this way and, with this inwardly active thinking, watch a very young child, we see how every action performed in that child’s environment and every look that expresses some moral impulse (for the moral quality of a look contains something that passes into the child as an imponderable force) flows right into the child and continues to work in the breathing and the circulation of the blood. The clearest and most concrete statement we can come to regarding a child is this: “A child is an imitative being through and through.” The way a child breathes or digests in the more delicate and intimate processes of breathing or digesting reflects the actions of those around the child.

Children are completely surrendered to their environment. In adults the only parallel to such devotion is found in religion as expressed through the human soul and spirit. Religion is expressed in spiritual surrender to the universe. The religious life unfolds properly when, with our own spirit, we go beyond ourselves and surrender to a spiritual worldview—we should flow out into a divine worldview. Adult religious life depends on emancipating soul and spirit from the physical body, when a person’s soul and spirit are given up to the divine spirit of the world. Children give up their whole being to the environment. In adults, the activities of breathing, digestion, and circulation are within them, cut off from the external world. In children, however, all such activities are still surrendered to their environment, and they are therefore religious by nature. This is the essential feature of a child’s life between birth and the change of teeth; the whole being is permeated with a natural religious element, so to speak, and even the physical body maintains a religious mood.

But children are not surrounded only by beneficial forces that inspire religious devotion in later life. There are also spiritual forces that are harmful, which come from people around children and from other spiritual forces in the world. In this way, this natural religious element in a child’s physical body may also be exposed to evil in the environment—children can encounter evil forces. And when I say that even a small child’s physical body has a religious quality, I do not mean that children cannot be little demons! Many children are little demons, because they have been open to evil spiritual forces around them.

Our task is to overcome and drive out such forces by applying methods appropriate to our time. As long as a child is an imitative religious being, admonitions do no good. Words can be listened to only when the soul is emancipated to some extent, when its attention can be self-directed. Disapproving words cannot help us deal with a small child. But what we ourselves do in the presence of the child does help, because when a child sees this it flows right in and becomes sense perception. Our actions, however, must contain a moral quality.

If, for example, a man who is color-blind looks at a colored surface, he may see only gray. An adult looks at another person’s actions also in this way, seeing only the speed and flow of the gestures. We see the physical qualities but no longer see the moral qualities of the person’s actions. A child, on the other hand, sees the moral element, even if only unconsciously, and we must make sure that while in the presence of children, we not only never act in a way that should not be imitated, but never think thoughts that should not enter their souls. Such education of the thoughts is most important for the first seven years of life, and we must not allow ourselves to think any impure, ugly, or angry thoughts when in the company of little children. You may say, “But I can think what I like without altering my outer actions in the least; so the child sees nothing and cannot be influenced by what cannot be seen.” Here it is interesting to consider those very peculiar and rather stupid shows given at one time, with so-called thinking horses—horses that could count, and other animals performing tricks demonstrating “intelligence.” These things were interesting, though not in the way that most people believed.

I once saw the Elberfeld horses. (I want to speak only of my own observation). I saw the horse belonging to Mr. von Osten, and I could see how he gave answers to his master. Von Osten gave him arithmatic problems to do—not very complicated, it is true, but difficult enough for a horse. The horse had to add and subtract and would give the correct answers by stamping his hoof. Now you can look at this either from the perspective of a modern scientist—for example, the professor who wrote a whole fat book on the horse—or you can view it from an anthroposophic standpoint. The professor began by repudiating all non-professional opinions on the matter. (Please do not think that I intend to say anything against natural science, because I am well aware of its value.) In the end, the professor concluded that the horse was able to perceive very delicate movements made by the man—a slight twitch of an eyelid, the most delicate vibrations of certain muscles, and so on. From this, the horse eventually learned what answers corresponded to certain vibrations, and could give the required number of stamps with his hoof. This hypothesis is very clever and intelligent. He then arrives at the inevitable question of whether these things have actually been observed. He asks this question himself, since people are indeed learning to be very conscientious in their research. He answers it, however, by saying that the human senses are not organized in such a way that they perceive such fine delicate movements and vibrations, but a horse can see them. In fact, all he proves is that a horse can see more in a person than a professor can.

But for me, there was something else important—the horse could give the correct answers only when Mr. von Osten stood beside him and spoke. While he talked he kept taking lumps of sugar and placing them in the horse’s mouth. The horse was permeated by a taste of sweetness all the time. This is the important thing; the horse felt suffused with sweetness. In such a condition, even a horse can experience things that would otherwise not be possible. In fact, I would put it this way: Mr. von Osten himself constantly lived in the “sweetened horse,” the etheric horse that had permeated the physical horse. His thoughts were alive and diffused there, just as they were in his own body; his thoughts lived on in the horse. It was not because a horse has a finer perception than a professor, but because it is not yet as highly organized and thus more susceptible to external influences while its physical body continually absorbs the sweetness.

Indeed, there are such influences that pass from person to person, aroused by things almost—if not wholly—imperceptible to contemporary human beings. Such things occur in the interactions between humankind and animals, and they also occur very much when the soul and spirit are not yet free of the body—that is, during early childhood. Small children can actually perceive the morality behind every look and gesture of those around them, even though this may be no longer possible for those who are older. It is therefore of the greatest importance that we never allow ourselves to think ugly thoughts around children; not only does this live on in their souls, but works right down into the physical body.

There is no question that much is being accomplished these days in many medical or other dissertations, and they reflect the current state of scientific knowledge. But a time will come when there will be something very new in this area. Let me give you a specific example to demonstrate what I mean. A time will come when a person may write a doctoral thesis showing that a disease, perhaps during the forty-eighth year of a person’s life, can be traced back to certain evil thoughts in the environment of that person as a child of four or five. This way of thinking can bring us to a genuine understanding of human beings and the capacity for seeing the totality of human life.

We thus have to learn gradually that it is not so much a question of inventing from our own abstract thoughts all kinds of things for little children to do, such as using rods and so on. Children do not spontaneously do things like that. Their own soul forces must be aroused, and then they will imitate what the adults do. A little girl plays with a doll because she sees her mother nursing the baby. Whatever we see in adults is present in children as their tendency to imitate. This tendency must be considered in educating children up to the seventh year.

We must bear in mind, however, that what we educate is subject to change in the child’s organism; in children everything is done in a more living and animated way than in adults, because children are still a unity of body, soul, and spirit. In adults, the body has been freed from the soul and spirit, and the soul and spirit from the body. Body, soul, and spirit exist side by side as individual entities; in the child they are still firmly united. This unity even penetrates the thinking.

We can see these things very clearly through an example. A small child is often given a so-called “beautiful” doll—a painted creature with glass eyes, made to look exactly like a human being. These little horrors are made to open and shut their eyes and do all sorts of other things. These are then presented to children as “beautiful” dolls. Even from an artistic perspective they are hideous; but I will not enlarge on that now. But consider what really happens to a child who is presented with a doll of this kind, a doll that can open its eyes and so on. At first the child will love it because it is a novelty, but that does not last.

Now, compare that with what happens to a child if I just take a piece of rag and make a doll out of that. Tie it together for a head, make two dots for eyes, and perhaps a big nose, and there you have it. Give that to a child and the rest of that doll will be filled out by the child through imagination in soul and spirit, which are so closely connected with the body. Then, every time that child plays with the doll, there is an inner awakening that remains inwardly active and alive. By making such experiments yourself, you will see what a difference there is between giving a child playthings that leave as much as possible to the power of imagination and giving finished toys that leave nothing for the child’s own inner activity. Handwork for small children should only indicate, leaving much for the child’s own imagination to do. Working in set forms that can easily be left as they are does not awaken any inner activity in the child, because the imagination cannot get past what is open to the senses.

Physical and Psychical Effects

This shows us what kind of teachers and educators we should be if we really want to approach children in the right way. We need an art of teaching based on a knowledge of human beings—knowledge of the child. This art of education will arise when we find a doctor’s thesis that works with a case of diabetes at the age of forty by tracing it back to the harmful effects of the wrong kind of play in the third or fourth year. People will see then what we mean by saying that the human being consists of body, soul, and spirit, and that in the child, body, soul, and spirit are still a unity. The spirit and soul later become freed of the body, and a trinity is formed. In the adult, body, soul, and spirit are pushed apart, as it were, and only the body retains what was absorbed by the individual during early development as the seed of later life.

Now this is the strange thing: when an experience affects the soul, its consequences are soon visible, even when the experience was unconscious; physical consequences, however, take seven or eight times longer to manifest. If you educate a child of three or four so that you present what will influence the soul’s life, then the effect of this will appear in the eighth year; and people are usually careful to avoid doing anything with a child of four or five that may affect the soul life in an unhealthy way during the eighth or ninth year. Effects on the physical body take much longer to manifest, because the physical body must free itself of the soul and spirit. Therefore, something that influences the soul life at four or five may come to fruition in the physical body when that person is seven or eight times as old—for example, in the thirty-fifth year. Thus, a person may develop an illness during the late thirties or early forties caused by ill influences that affected that soul while at play as a child of three or four.

If you wish to understand the whole human being, you must also realize that the freeing of the body from soul and spirit in the adult, as opposed to a child’s unity of body, soul, and spirit, is not merely abstract theory, but a matter of very specific knowledge, for we are speaking of very different calendars. The time that the body requires to work something out is increasingly lengthened compared to the time needed by the soul. The physical body works more slowly, and harmful influences manifest much later there than in the soul.

Thus, we often see that when we transgress against a little child in the very early years, many things turn out wrong in the teenager’s soul-life. This can be corrected, however. It is not very difficult to find ways of helping even seemingly unmanageable children during their teens. They may even become very good and respectable, if somewhat boring, citizens later on. This is not very serious. But the body develops more and more slowly as life goes on, and in the end, long after all the soul difficulties of early youth have been overcome, the physical effects will gradually emerge, and in later life the person will have to contend with arthritis or some other illness.

Real, experiential knowledge of the human being is of the greatest importance. Truly concrete knowledge of the human being, with the power of seeing right into the person, is the only possible basis for a true art of education—an art of education whereby persons may find their place in life and, subject to the laws of their own destinies, fully develop all their powers. Education should never work against a person’s destiny, but should help people achieve the fullest possible development of their own predispositions. Often today, people’s education lags far behind the talents and tendencies that destiny implanted in them. We must keep pace with these forces to the extent that the human beings in our care can attain all that their destinies will allow—the fullest clarity of thought, the most loving deepening of feeling, and the greatest possible energy and capacity of will.

This can be done only through an art of education and teaching based on a real knowledge of the human being. We will speak more of this in the next lectures.

I am of the opinion, that, in this course we are now starting, it is [a question of] a discussion of what is necessary in order really to connect one's self responsibly with the movement of Anthroposophy and the Threefold Idea. The course will therefore not be arranged for lecturers in general, but as a kind of orientation course for the personalities, who have made it their task to work in the direction indicated.

Personalities who receive what can come from Anthroposophy simply as a kind of information will not get much from this course.

Indeed, at present, we definitely need activity within our movement. It seems to be difficult to kindle this activity. It seems difficult to spread the insight that this activity is really necessary in our time.

Hence, it will not be a matter of a formal course in lecturing, but rather, of just those things which are necessary for someone who would like to accomplish a quite definite task, I mean the one just indicated.

On the whole, the Anthroposophical Movement has no use for general talk. Indeed, this is exactly the mark of our present culture and civilization that there is general talk around things—that people do not pick up concrete tasks—that they have, by preference, interest for talking in general terms.

Hence, I do not intend to treat the things in this course, (which I shall discuss as regards content), in such a way that they might serve as information. But I shall try to treat these things so—and this must indeed be the case in such an orientation course because it is intended as the very basis for a definite task—so that they can then link up directly with the spoken word. And I shall treat this spoken word so as to take into consideration, that he who sets himself the task of delivering a lecture for Anthroposophy is perhaps not working under conditions in which interest is already present, but is working to awaken interest by the first few lectures. Thus, I should like to shape this course in this quite concrete sense.

And, even the large points of view which I shall discuss today are to be meant entirely in this quite concrete sense. One would be reporting what is incorrect if—as is so popular nowadays—one set down what I shall say both today and in the next days as abstract sentences.

Today I intend to speak of certain set of rules.

Whenever through a lecture one sets out upon the task of bringing something near to one's fellow man, a responseful interchange will naturally take place between the person who has something to communicate, something to work for, something to be enthusiastic about, and the persons who listen to him. An interplay of soul-forces occurs. And to this interplay of soul-forces we propose at first to turn our attention.

These soul-forces live, as you know, in thinking, feeling and willing. And never is just a single soul-force in abstract form active by itself. But, into each soul-force the other soul-forces play, so that when we think, there are also feeling and willing always active in our thinking, likewise in our feeling, thinking and willing, and again in willing, thinking and feeling.

But still, one cannot consider the soul life—both by itself and in its responseful interchange between people—save from the point of view of this tending on the one side to thinking, and on the other to willing. And so, in the sense of our task today, we must know the following:

What we think interests nobody else, and whoever believes that his thoughts—insofar as they are thoughts—interest any other person, will not be able to put himself to the task of lecturing. (We intend to speak more precisely about these things.) The willing to which we would like to fire a gathering, or even one other person, this willing that we wish to put into our lecture, this annoys people, this they instinctively reject.

When one approaches people as a lecturer, then one has to do chiefly with the workings of various instincts: The thinking which one kindles in one's self does not interest people, willing annoys them. This, if some one were called upon for this or that act of will, we would find that we had called up, not his willing, but his annoyance. And if we were to sketch our most beautiful and ingenious ideas in a monologue before people, they would walk out. That must be the fundamental guiding line for the lecturer.

I do not say that this is so when we consider a general conversation among people, a gossip session or the like. For I am not speaking here about how these two are to be treated. Rather am I speaking of what should fill our souls, of what should live in us as proper impulse for lecturing, if the lecture is to have a purpose precisely in the direction I now mean. I am speaking of the guiding line one needs to set one's self: Our thoughts do not interest an audience—our will annoys every audience.

Now, we must take a further matter into consideration: When someone lectures, the fact is that he lectures for the most part not only out of his own being, but out of all kinds of situations. For instance, he lectures on some affair that has perhaps for weeks been discussed by, or described to many of the people who will be listening to him. He then naturally meets with quite a different interest than he does if his first sentences touch on something that, until now, had not occupied his hearers in the slightest. When someone lectures here in the Goetheanum, it is naturally something quite different from what it is when one lecturesat a hotel in Kalamazoo. I mean, even setting aside the fact, that in the Goetheanum one is likely to lecture to people who have for some time occupied themselves with the material, have read or heard about it, whereas this is probably not the case in Kalamazoo. I mean the whole surroundings: The fact that one comes to a building such as the Goetheanum makes it possible to turn to the public in quite another manner than is possible when one lectures at a hotel in Kalamazoo. And so there are countless circumstances out of which one lectures which must always be considered.

This however, establishes the necessity, especially in our time, to take one's lead somewhat from what should not be to what should be. Let us take an extreme case. A typical, average professor was supposed to give a lecture. At first he deals with his thoughts about the object, and, if he is a typical, average professor, he also deals with the conviction, that these thoughts which he thinks, are on the whole, the very best in the world on the subject in question. Everything else has at first no interest for him.—He writes these thoughts down.—And of course, when he commits these thoughts to paper, then they become fixed. He then sticks this manuscript into his left side pocket, goes off, unconcerned as to whether it is to the Goetheanum or to the hotel in Kalamazoo, finds a lecturer's desk that is set up in a suitable way, at the right distance for his eyes, lays his manuscript thereon and reads. I do not say that every one does it in this way. But it is a frequent occurrence and a characteristic procedure in our time. And it points to the horror one can have towards lecturing today. It is the type of lecturing for which one should have the greatest aversion.

And, since I have said that our thoughts interest nobody else, and our will annoys everybody, then it seems that it is the feelings upon which lecturing depends,—that an especially significant cultivation of feeling must be basic for lecturing. Hence it becomes of significance, of perhaps remote, yet fundamental significance, that we have acquired this proper aversion for the extreme type of lecture-reading just mentioned.

Once I heard a lecture by the renowned Helmholtz at a rather large meeting that was certainly given in this manner: The manuscript, taken out of the left side pocket and read off. Afterwards a journalist came to me and said: “Why wasn't this lecture printed, a copy slipped into the hand of each one there? And then Helmholtz could have gone about and extended his hand to each one!” The latter would have been more valuable perhaps to the hearers, than the terrible experience of sitting on the hard chairs to which they were condemned in order to have read to them the manuscript, which required more time than it would have taken them to read it themselves. (Most of them would have needed a very long time indeed if they wanted to understand it, but listening for a short time didn't help them at all.)

One must by all means reflect on all these concrete things if one wishes to understand how the art of lecturing can, in all truth and honesty, be striven for.

At the Philosophers' Congress in Bologna the most significant lecture was delivered in the following way: It lay on each chair, three copies, one in each of three languages. One had first to pick them up in order to be able to sit down on the empty chair. And then the lecture was read aloud from the printed copy, requiring somewhat more than an hour. Through such procedure even the most beautiful lecture is no longer a lecture, for understanding gained through reading is something essentially different from the understanding gained through listening. And these things must be considered if one wants to familiarize one's self in a vivid way with such tasks.

Certainly, even a novel can so move us that we shed tears at definite passages. I mean of course, that a good novel can do this only at definite passages, not from the beginning to the end. But what then is really present during reading so that we are carried away by what we read? Whenever we are carried away by what we read, we have to accomplish a certain work that coincides, that is connected very strongly, with the inner side of our humanity. This inner work which we accomplish when we read consists in this, that while we turn our glance to the single letters, we actually carry out what we have learned in the putting together of the letters. Through this activity of looking at the letters, putting them together and thinking about them, we draw forth a meaning. That is a process of receiving which occurs in our ether body and yet strongly engages the physical body in the perceiving.

But all this simply falls away when only listening. This whole activity does not occur when simply listening. Nevertheless, this listening activity is bound up in a definite way with the grasping of a thing. The person is in need of this activity whenever he wishes to grasp a thing. He needs the cooperation of his ether body and in part, even of his physical body. Not only of the sense organ of the ear! Moreover, when listening, he needs a soul life so active that it is not exhausted in the astral body, but brings the ether body to pulsation, and then this ether body also brings the physical body to swing along with it.

That which must take place as activity during reading, must also be developed while listening to a lecture, but—should like to say—in quite another form when listening, because that activity cannot be there in the same way it is for reading. What is called up in reading is transformed feeling, feeling that has been pressed into the ether body and the physical body. This feeling becomes a force. As lecturers we must be in a position to bring up feeling as feeling content, even in the most abstract of lectures.

It is really a fact that our thoughts as such do not interest people, our will impulses annoy everybody, and only our feelings determine the impression, the effect—in a justified sense, of course—of a lecture.

Hence, there arises the most important question. How shall we be able to have something in our lecture which in a sufficiently strong way, will enable the listener to bring forth the needed shade of feeling, the needed permeation with feeling—and yet not press him, lest we hypnotize or suggest.

There cannot be abstract rules by which one learns how to speak with feeling. For, in the person who has hunted in all sorts of manuals for the rules for speaking with feeling, one will notice that his lecturing most surely does not come from his heart, that it stems from quite another place than his heart. And truly, all lectures should come from the heart. Even the most abstract lecture should come from the heart. And that it can! And it is precisely this which we must discuss, how even the most abstract lecture can come from the heart.

We must understand quite clearly what is really stirring in the soul of the listener when he gives us his ear, not perhaps when we tell him something he is eager to hear, but when we expect him to want to listen to our words. Essentially it is indeed always a kind of attack on our fellow men when we fire a lecture at them. And that too is something of which we must be thoroughly aware, that it is an attack on the listeners, when we fire a lecture at them.

Everything which I say—I must ever and again add parenthetically—is to be considered as guide for the lecturer, not as characteristic for social intercourse or the like. Were I to speak in reference to social intercourse, I could naturally not formulate the same sentences. They would be so much foolishness. For, when one speaks concretely, such a sentence as “Our thoughts interest no one” can be either something very clever or very stupid. Everything we say may be foolishness or good sense according to its whole human connection. It depends solely upon the way it is placed into the context. Hence, the lecturer needs quite other things than instructions in the formal art of lecturing.

Thus, it is a matter of recognizing what is really active in the listener. Sympathy and antipathy are active in the listener. These assert themselves more or less unconsciously when we attack the listener with a lecture. Sympathy or antipathy! For our thoughts however, he surely has no sympathy at first. Also not for our will impulses, for that which we, so to speak, want of him, for that to which we want to exhort him.

If we want somehow to approach the art of lecturing, we must have a certain understanding for the listener's sympathy and antipathy toward what we say. Sympathy and antipathy have in reality to do neither with thinking nor with the will, but operate here in the physical world exclusively for the feelings, for what has to do with feeling. A conscious awareness in the listener of sympathy and antipathy has the effect of obstructing the lecturer's approach to him—our awareness of sympathy and antipathy must be of such a kind that it never comes to the consciousness of the listener, especially during the lecture. Working to rouse sympathy and antipathy has the effect of making it seem that we fall over ourselves. Such, approximately, is the effect of a lecture when we want to arouse sympathy and antipathy.

We must have the finest understanding for sympathy and antipathy in the listener. During the lecture however, his sympathy or antipathy should not concern us in the least. All that has an effect upon the sympathy and antipathy, if I may say so, we must bring into the lecture indirectly, beforehand, during the preparation.

Just as little as there can be instructions of an abstract kind for painting or sculpting, just so little can there be rules of an abstract kind for lecturing. But, just as one can stimulate the art of painting, so too it is possible to stimulate the art of lecturing. And it is chiefly a matter of taking in full earnestness the things that can be pointed out in this direction.

***

Guidelines for the preparation of a talk.—The thought content must be thoroughly settled in advance. Verbal formulation of the first and the last sentences. Our thought preparation affects the will; our enthusiasm the thinking of the listeners.

In order to start from an example, let us first take the teacher speaking to children. As far as his speaking is concerned, actually the very least depends upon his genius and wisdom. As to whether we can teach mathematics or geography well, the very, very least will depend upon whether we ourselves are good mathematicians, or good geographers. We can be outstanding geographers, but poor teachers of geography. The intrinsic worth of the teacher, which surely rests in large measure upon his speaking, depends upon what he has previously felt and experienced about the things to be presented, and the kinds of feelings which are again stirred up by the fact that he has a child before him.

Thus it is for example, that Waldorf School pedagogy amounts to knowledge of man, that is of the child—not to a knowledge of the child resulting from abstract psychology, but one that rests upon a fully human comprehension of the child. So far does this comprehension go that through feeling intensified to loving devotion, the teacher manages to experience with the child. Then there results—from this experiencing with the child and from what one has previously felt and experienced in the field in which one has to express something—from all this, there results quite instinctively the manner in which one has to speak and handle the class.

It doesn't serve at all, for instance, in instructing a slow child, to use the wisdom of the world which one has. Wisdom helps one in the case of a dull child, if one acquired the wisdom yesterday and used it in one's preparation. At the moment of instruction of the dull child, one must have the genius to be as slow as the child himself, and just have the presence of mind to remember the way in which one was wise yesterday, during the preparation. One must be able to be slow with the slow child, naughty, at least in feeling, with the naughty child, good with the good child, and so forth. As teacher one must be—I hope that this word will not arouse too great antipathy because it is directed too strongly towards thoughts or will impulses—one must really be a kind of chameleon, if one wishes to instruct rightly.

What many Waldorf teachers have, out of their genius, been able to do to increase discipline has pleased me very much. For example, a teacher is speaking about Jean Paul. The children start writing notes and passing them to each other. This teacher doesn't start reprimanding them; instead, he moves into the situation, and with great patience finds out what it's all about. He then dissolves the threatened disturbance with some instruction on postal affairs. That is more effective than any reminder. The note-writing stops. This result rests naturally upon a concrete grasping of the moment. But of course, one must have the presence of mind. One must know that sympathy and antipathy which one wishes to stir, sit more deeply in the human being than one is accustomed to think.

And so it is extraordinarily important, whenever the teacher has to deal with some chapter in class, that he first of all call up vividly into consciousness during the preparation how he himself approached this chapter when he was the same age as his children are, how he felt then,—not in order to become pedantic, of course, not in order when he treats it on the next day to succeed in feeling again as he once did! No, it is enough when this feeling is brought up during the preparation, when it is experienced in the preparation, and then it is a matter of working on the very next day with the knowledge of man just described.

Thus, also here, in teaching, it is a question of finding within ourselves the possibility of shaping the lecture-material which is part of one's teaching material, out of feeling.

How these things can work we can best become aware of, if we bring also the following before our soul's eye: whenever something of a feeling character is to work into what pulses through our lecture, then naturally we may not speak thoughtlessly, although thoughts do not really interest our listeners, and we may not lecture without will, albeit our will annoys them. We shall very often even want to speak in such a way that what we say goes into the will impulses of the people, that in consequences of our lecture our fellow-men want to do something. But we must not under any circumstances so organize the lecture that we bore the listeners through our thought content and arouse their antipathy through the will impetus we seek to give.

So it is a matter of establishing the thinking for the lecture, completely establishing it, as long as possible before we lecture; that we have beforehand absolutely settled the thought element within ourselves. This has nothing to do with whether we then speak fluently, or whether we speak haltingly. The latter, as we shall see, depends upon quite other circumstances. But what must, to a degree, work unconsciously in the lecture, is connected with our having settled the thought content within ourselves much, much earlier. The thought monologue which should be as lively as possible we must have rehearsed earlier, letting it take form out of the arguments for and against, which we ourselves bring forward during this preparation, anticipating all objections as much as possible.

Through this manner of experiencing our lecture in thoughts beforehand, we take from it the sting it otherwise has for the audience. We are, to a degree, bound to sweeten our lecture by having gone through the sourness of the logical development of the train of thought beforehand,—but, as much as possible in such a way that we do not formulate the lecture word for word. Of course, matters cannot be taken literally,—namely, that we have no idea of how we shall formulate the sentences when we begin to lecture. But the thought content must be settled. To have the verbal formulation ready for the whole lecture is something which can never lead to a really good lecture. For that already comes very near to having written the lecture down, and we need but to imagine that a phonograph instead of us stood there and gave it out automatically. When the lecture is given word for word, from memory, then is the difference between this and a machine that turns it out automatically even smaller than it is between a lecture read from a manuscript and the machine that turns it out automatically. Moreover, if we have formulated a lecture beforehand, so that it is worked out in such a way that it can be spoken by us verbatim, then we are indeed not differentiating ourselves very strongly from a machine by which we have recorded the lecture and then let it be played back. There is not much difference between listening to a lecture that is spoken word for word as it was worked out and reading it oneself,—aside from the fact that in reading one is not continually disturbed by the lecturer, as one is continually when listening to him deliver a lecture that he has memorized.

The thought preparation is experienced in the correct manner when it is carried to the point at which the thoughts have become absolutely part of oneself, and this all well before the lecture. One must be finished with what one would present.

To be sure, there are some exceptions for ordinary lectures which one delivers to an audience until then unknown to one. Whenever, before such an audience, one begins immediately with what one has to a degree worked out meditatively in thoughts, and speaks from the first sentence on under direct inspiration, if I may say so, then one does not do something really good for the listeners. At the beginning of a lecture one must make one's personality somewhat active. At the beginning of a lecture one should not immediately entirely extinguish one's personality, because the vibration of feeling must first be stirred.

Now, it is not necessary to proceed as did, for example, Michael Bernays, Professor of History of German Literature, at one time very famous in certain circles. He once came to Weimar to give a lecture on Goethe's Color Theory, and wanted to form his first sentences in such a way that certainly the feeling of the listeners would be engaged very, very intensively—but, to be sure, it happened quite otherwise than he had intended. He arrived in Weimar several days before the lecture. Weimar is a small city where one can go about among the people, (some of whom will be in the hall), and make propaganda for one's lecture. Those who hear about the lecture directly, tell others about it, and the whole hall is really “tuned up” when one delivers one's lecture. Now Prof. Michael Bernays actually went about in Weimar for several days and said: “Oh, I have not been able to prepare myself for this lecture, my genius will surely prompt me correctly at the right moment.” He was to deliver this lecture in the Recreation Hall in Weimar. It was a hot summer day. The windows had to be opened. And, directly in front of this Recreation Hall there was a poultry yard. Michael Bernays took his place and waited for his genius to begin suggesting something to him. For indeed, all Weimar knew that his genius must come and suggest his lecture to him. And then, at this moment, while Bernays was waiting for his genius, the cock outside began: cock-a-doodle-doo! Now every one knew: Michael Bernays' genius has spoken for him!—Feelings were strongly stirred. To be sure, in a different way from what he wanted. But there was a certain atmosphere in the hall.

I do not recount this in order to tell you a neat anecdote, but because I must call your attention to the following: the body of a lecture must have been so formed that it is well worked through meditatively in thoughts, and later formulated freely,—but the introduction is really there for the purpose of making oneself a bit ridiculous. That inclines the listeners to listen to one more willingly. If one does not make oneself a wee bit, ridiculous—to be sure, so that its not too obvious, so that it flows down only into the unconscious—one is unable to hold the attention in the right way when delivering a single lecture. Of course, it should not be exaggerated, but it will surely work sufficiently in the unconscious.

What one should really have for every lecture is this—that one has verbally formulated the first, second, third, fourth, and at most, the fifth sentences. Then one proceeds to the development of the material that has been worked out in the way I have just indicated. And one should have verbally formulated the closing sentences. For, in winding up a lecture, if one is a genuine lecturer, one should really always have some stage fright, a secret anxiety that one will not find one's last sentence. This stage fright is necessary for the coloring of the lecture; one needs this in order to captivate the hearts of the listeners at the end:—that one is anxious about finding the last sentence. Now, if one is to meet this anxiety in the right way, after one has perspiringly completed one's lecture, let one add this to all the rest of the preparation, that one bear in mind the exact formulation of the last one, two, three, four—at most, five—sentences. Thus, a lecture should really have a frame: The formulation of the first and last sentences. And, in between, the lecture should be free. As mentioned, I give this as a guiding principle.

And now perhaps, many of you will say: yes, but if one is not able to lecture just that way? One need not therefore immediately say that it would be so difficult, that one should not lecture at all. It is indeed quite natural that one can lecture a bit better or a bit worse, just so long as one does not let oneself be deterred from lecturing because of all these requirements: but one should make an effort to fulfill these requirements, at the same time as one makes such guiding principles as we develop here pervade all that he strives to do.

And there is indeed a very good means for becoming at least a bearable lecturer, even if at first one is no lecturer, even the opposite of a lecturer. I can assure you that when the lecturer has made himself ridiculous fifty times, that his lecture will come out right the fifty-first time. Just because he made himself ridiculous fifty times. And he for whom fifty times do not suffice, can undertake to lecture a hundred times. For one day it comes right, if one does not shy away from public exposure. One's last lecture before dying will naturally never be good if one has previously shied away from public exposure. But, at least the last lecture before one's death will be good if one has previously, during life, made oneself ridiculous an x number of times. This is also something about which one should really always think. And one will thus surely, without doubt, train oneself to be a lecturer! To be a lecturer requires only that people listen to one, and that one come not too close to them, so to speak; that one really avoid anything that comes too close to the people.

The manner in which one is accustomed to talk in social life when conversing with other people, that one will not find fitting to use when delivering a lecture in public, or generally speaking, to an audience. At most, one will be able to insert sentences such as one speaks in ordinary life only now and then. It is well to be aware that what one has as formulation of one's speaking in ordinary life, is, as a rule, somewhat too subtle or too blunt for a lecture to an audience. It just does not set quite right. The way in which one formulates one's words in the usual speaking, when addressing another person, varies; it always swings between being somewhat crude and, on the other hand, somewhat untruthful or impolite. Both must be entirely avoided in a lecture delivered to an audience, and, if used, then only in parenthesis, so to speak. Otherwise the listener has the secret feeling: while the lecturer begins to speak as one does in a lecture, suddenly he starts declaiming, or speaking dialogue-wise,—he must intend either to offend us a bit or to flatter us.

We must also bring the will element into the lecture in the right way. And this can only be accomplished by the preparation, but by such preparation as uses one's own enthusiasm in thinking through the material, enthusiasm which to a certain extent lives with the material.

Now consider the following: first one has completed the thought content, made it one's own. The next part of the preparation would be to listen, so to speak, to oneself inwardly lecturing on this thought content. One begins to listen attentively to these thoughts. They need not be formulated verbatim, as I have already said, but one begins to listen to them. It is this which puts the will element into the right position, this listening to oneself. For while we listen to ourselves inwardly, we develop enthusiasm or aversion, sympathy or antipathy at the right places, as these responses follow what we wish to impart. What we prepare in this will-like way also goes into our wills, and appears during our lecturing in tone variation. Whether we speak intensively or more softly, whether we accentuate brightly or darkly, this we do solely as the result of the feeling-through and willing-through of our thought content in the meditative preparation.

All the thought content we must gradually lead over into the forming of a picture of the composition of our lecture. Then will the thinking be embedded in the lecture,—not in the words, but between the words: in the way in which the words are shaped, the sentences are shaped, and the arrangement is shaped. The more we are in a position to think about ‘the how’ of our lecture, the more strongly do we work into the will of the others. What people will accept depends upon what we put into the formulation, into the composition of the lecture.

Were we to come to them and say: “When all is said, every one of you who does not do his utmost in order to realize the Threefold Order tomorrow is a bad fellow”—that would annoy people. However, when we present the sense of the Threefold Order in a lecture that is composed in accordance with the nature of its content, that it is inwardly organized so that it is itself even a kind of intimate 'threefolding', and especially even if it is so fashioned that we ourselves are convinced of the necessity for the Threefold Order, convinced with all our feeling and all our will impulses—then this works upon the people, works upon the will of the people.

What we have done in the way of developing our thoughts, in order to make our lecture into a work of art, this affects the will of the people. What springs from our own will, what we ourselves want, what fills us with enthusiasm, what enraptures us, this affects more the thinking of the listeners, this stimulates them more easily in their thoughts.

Thus it is that a lecturer who is enthusiastic about his subject is easily understood. A lecturer who composes artistically will more easily stir the will of his listeners. But the main principle, the chief guide line must still be this: That we deliver no lecture that is not well prepared.

Yes, but when we are compelled to deliver a lecture on the so-called spur of the moment: when, for example, we are challenged and have to answer immediately; then we certainly cannot turn back in time to the preceding day when we brought the argument to mind, in order to meditate on its counter-argument—that cannot be done! And yet, it can be done! It can be done in just such a moment by being absolutely truthful. Or we are attacked by a person who accosts us in a terribly rude manner, so that we must answer him immediately. Here we have a strong feeling-fact at the outset! Thus, the feeling is already stirred in a corresponding way. Here is a substitute for what we otherwise use in order to experience with enthusiasm what we first represent to ourselves in thought. But then, if we say nothing else in such a moment except that we as whole man can say at each moment when we are attacked in this manner, then we are nevertheless prepared in a similar way in this situation too.

Just in such things it is a question of the unwavering decision to be only, only, only truthful and when the attack is not such that we are challenged to a discussion, then there are present, as a rule, all the conditions for understanding. ( About this I shall speak later.) It is then actually a question not of delivering mere lectures, but of doing something quite different, which will be particularly important for us if we wish to complete this course rightly. For indeed, in order to be active in the sense that I indicated today at the beginning, we shall have not merely to deliver lectures, but every man of us, and of course every woman, will also have to stand his ground in the discussion period, come what may. And about this, much will have to be said, in fact, very much.

Now I beg you above all, to look at what I have said today from the point of view that it indicates perhaps a bit the difficulty of acquiring the art of lecturing. But it is quite especially difficult when it is necessary not only to lecture, but even to have to lecture about lecturing. Just think if one were to paint painting, and sculpture sculpturing!

Thus, the task is not altogether easy. But we shall nevertheless try in some way to complete it within the next days.

I am of the opinion, that, in this course we are now starting, it is [a question of] a discussion of what is necessary in order really to connect one's self responsibly with the movement of Anthroposophy and the Threefold Idea. The course will therefore not be arranged for lecturers in general, but as a kind of orientation course for the personalities, who have made it their task to work in the direction indicated.

Personalities who receive what can come from Anthroposophy simply as a kind of information will not get much from this course.

Indeed, at present, we definitely need activity within our movement. It seems to be difficult to kindle this activity. It seems difficult to spread the insight that this activity is really necessary in our time.

Hence, it will not be a matter of a formal course in lecturing, but rather, of just those things which are necessary for someone who would like to accomplish a quite definite task, I mean the one just indicated.

On the whole, the Anthroposophical Movement has no use for general talk. Indeed, this is exactly the mark of our present culture and civilization that there is general talk around things—that people do not pick up concrete tasks—that they have, by preference, interest for talking in general terms.

Hence, I do not intend to treat the things in this course, (which I shall discuss as regards content), in such a way that they might serve as information. But I shall try to treat these things so—and this must indeed be the case in such an orientation course because it is intended as the very basis for a definite task—so that they can then link up directly with the spoken word. And I shall treat this spoken word so as to take into consideration, that he who sets himself the task of delivering a lecture for Anthroposophy is perhaps not working under conditions in which interest is already present, but is working to awaken interest by the first few lectures. Thus, I should like to shape this course in this quite concrete sense.

And, even the large points of view which I shall discuss today are to be meant entirely in this quite concrete sense. One would be reporting what is incorrect if—as is so popular nowadays—one set down what I shall say both today and in the next days as abstract sentences.

Today I intend to speak of certain set of rules.

Whenever through a lecture one sets out upon the task of bringing something near to one's fellow man, a responseful interchange will naturally take place between the person who has something to communicate, something to work for, something to be enthusiastic about, and the persons who listen to him. An interplay of soul-forces occurs. And to this interplay of soul-forces we propose at first to turn our attention.

These soul-forces live, as you know, in thinking, feeling and willing. And never is just a single soul-force in abstract form active by itself. But, into each soul-force the other soul-forces play, so that when we think, there are also feeling and willing always active in our thinking, likewise in our feeling, thinking and willing, and again in willing, thinking and feeling.

But still, one cannot consider the soul life—both by itself and in its responseful interchange between people—save from the point of view of this tending on the one side to thinking, and on the other to willing. And so, in the sense of our task today, we must know the following:

What we think interests nobody else, and whoever believes that his thoughts—insofar as they are thoughts—interest any other person, will not be able to put himself to the task of lecturing. (We intend to speak more precisely about these things.) The willing to which we would like to fire a gathering, or even one other person, this willing that we wish to put into our lecture, this annoys people, this they instinctively reject.

When one approaches people as a lecturer, then one has to do chiefly with the workings of various instincts: The thinking which one kindles in one's self does not interest people, willing annoys them. This, if some one were called upon for this or that act of will, we would find that we had called up, not his willing, but his annoyance. And if we were to sketch our most beautiful and ingenious ideas in a monologue before people, they would walk out. That must be the fundamental guiding line for the lecturer.

I do not say that this is so when we consider a general conversation among people, a gossip session or the like. For I am not speaking here about how these two are to be treated. Rather am I speaking of what should fill our souls, of what should live in us as proper impulse for lecturing, if the lecture is to have a purpose precisely in the direction I now mean. I am speaking of the guiding line one needs to set one's self: Our thoughts do not interest an audience—our will annoys every audience.

Now, we must take a further matter into consideration: When someone lectures, the fact is that he lectures for the most part not only out of his own being, but out of all kinds of situations. For instance, he lectures on some affair that has perhaps for weeks been discussed by, or described to many of the people who will be listening to him. He then naturally meets with quite a different interest than he does if his first sentences touch on something that, until now, had not occupied his hearers in the slightest. When someone lectures here in the Goetheanum, it is naturally something quite different from what it is when one lecturesat a hotel in Kalamazoo. I mean, even setting aside the fact, that in the Goetheanum one is likely to lecture to people who have for some time occupied themselves with the material, have read or heard about it, whereas this is probably not the case in Kalamazoo. I mean the whole surroundings: The fact that one comes to a building such as the Goetheanum makes it possible to turn to the public in quite another manner than is possible when one lectures at a hotel in Kalamazoo. And so there are countless circumstances out of which one lectures which must always be considered.

This however, establishes the necessity, especially in our time, to take one's lead somewhat from what should not be to what should be. Let us take an extreme case. A typical, average professor was supposed to give a lecture. At first he deals with his thoughts about the object, and, if he is a typical, average professor, he also deals with the conviction, that these thoughts which he thinks, are on the whole, the very best in the world on the subject in question. Everything else has at first no interest for him.—He writes these thoughts down.—And of course, when he commits these thoughts to paper, then they become fixed. He then sticks this manuscript into his left side pocket, goes off, unconcerned as to whether it is to the Goetheanum or to the hotel in Kalamazoo, finds a lecturer's desk that is set up in a suitable way, at the right distance for his eyes, lays his manuscript thereon and reads. I do not say that every one does it in this way. But it is a frequent occurrence and a characteristic procedure in our time. And it points to the horror one can have towards lecturing today. It is the type of lecturing for which one should have the greatest aversion.

And, since I have said that our thoughts interest nobody else, and our will annoys everybody, then it seems that it is the feelings upon which lecturing depends,—that an especially significant cultivation of feeling must be basic for lecturing. Hence it becomes of significance, of perhaps remote, yet fundamental significance, that we have acquired this proper aversion for the extreme type of lecture-reading just mentioned.

Once I heard a lecture by the renowned Helmholtz at a rather large meeting that was certainly given in this manner: The manuscript, taken out of the left side pocket and read off. Afterwards a journalist came to me and said: “Why wasn't this lecture printed, a copy slipped into the hand of each one there? And then Helmholtz could have gone about and extended his hand to each one!” The latter would have been more valuable perhaps to the hearers, than the terrible experience of sitting on the hard chairs to which they were condemned in order to have read to them the manuscript, which required more time than it would have taken them to read it themselves. (Most of them would have needed a very long time indeed if they wanted to understand it, but listening for a short time didn't help them at all.)

One must by all means reflect on all these concrete things if one wishes to understand how the art of lecturing can, in all truth and honesty, be striven for.

At the Philosophers' Congress in Bologna the most significant lecture was delivered in the following way: It lay on each chair, three copies, one in each of three languages. One had first to pick them up in order to be able to sit down on the empty chair. And then the lecture was read aloud from the printed copy, requiring somewhat more than an hour. Through such procedure even the most beautiful lecture is no longer a lecture, for understanding gained through reading is something essentially different from the understanding gained through listening. And these things must be considered if one wants to familiarize one's self in a vivid way with such tasks.

Certainly, even a novel can so move us that we shed tears at definite passages. I mean of course, that a good novel can do this only at definite passages, not from the beginning to the end. But what then is really present during reading so that we are carried away by what we read? Whenever we are carried away by what we read, we have to accomplish a certain work that coincides, that is connected very strongly, with the inner side of our humanity. This inner work which we accomplish when we read consists in this, that while we turn our glance to the single letters, we actually carry out what we have learned in the putting together of the letters. Through this activity of looking at the letters, putting them together and thinking about them, we draw forth a meaning. That is a process of receiving which occurs in our ether body and yet strongly engages the physical body in the perceiving.

But all this simply falls away when only listening. This whole activity does not occur when simply listening. Nevertheless, this listening activity is bound up in a definite way with the grasping of a thing. The person is in need of this activity whenever he wishes to grasp a thing. He needs the cooperation of his ether body and in part, even of his physical body. Not only of the sense organ of the ear! Moreover, when listening, he needs a soul life so active that it is not exhausted in the astral body, but brings the ether body to pulsation, and then this ether body also brings the physical body to swing along with it.

That which must take place as activity during reading, must also be developed while listening to a lecture, but—should like to say—in quite another form when listening, because that activity cannot be there in the same way it is for reading. What is called up in reading is transformed feeling, feeling that has been pressed into the ether body and the physical body. This feeling becomes a force. As lecturers we must be in a position to bring up feeling as feeling content, even in the most abstract of lectures.

It is really a fact that our thoughts as such do not interest people, our will impulses annoy everybody, and only our feelings determine the impression, the effect—in a justified sense, of course—of a lecture.

Hence, there arises the most important question. How shall we be able to have something in our lecture which in a sufficiently strong way, will enable the listener to bring forth the needed shade of feeling, the needed permeation with feeling—and yet not press him, lest we hypnotize or suggest.

There cannot be abstract rules by which one learns how to speak with feeling. For, in the person who has hunted in all sorts of manuals for the rules for speaking with feeling, one will notice that his lecturing most surely does not come from his heart, that it stems from quite another place than his heart. And truly, all lectures should come from the heart. Even the most abstract lecture should come from the heart. And that it can! And it is precisely this which we must discuss, how even the most abstract lecture can come from the heart.

We must understand quite clearly what is really stirring in the soul of the listener when he gives us his ear, not perhaps when we tell him something he is eager to hear, but when we expect him to want to listen to our words. Essentially it is indeed always a kind of attack on our fellow men when we fire a lecture at them. And that too is something of which we must be thoroughly aware, that it is an attack on the listeners, when we fire a lecture at them.

Everything which I say—I must ever and again add parenthetically—is to be considered as guide for the lecturer, not as characteristic for social intercourse or the like. Were I to speak in reference to social intercourse, I could naturally not formulate the same sentences. They would be so much foolishness. For, when one speaks concretely, such a sentence as “Our thoughts interest no one” can be either something very clever or very stupid. Everything we say may be foolishness or good sense according to its whole human connection. It depends solely upon the way it is placed into the context. Hence, the lecturer needs quite other things than instructions in the formal art of lecturing.

Thus, it is a matter of recognizing what is really active in the listener. Sympathy and antipathy are active in the listener. These assert themselves more or less unconsciously when we attack the listener with a lecture. Sympathy or antipathy! For our thoughts however, he surely has no sympathy at first. Also not for our will impulses, for that which we, so to speak, want of him, for that to which we want to exhort him.

If we want somehow to approach the art of lecturing, we must have a certain understanding for the listener's sympathy and antipathy toward what we say. Sympathy and antipathy have in reality to do neither with thinking nor with the will, but operate here in the physical world exclusively for the feelings, for what has to do with feeling. A conscious awareness in the listener of sympathy and antipathy has the effect of obstructing the lecturer's approach to him—our awareness of sympathy and antipathy must be of such a kind that it never comes to the consciousness of the listener, especially during the lecture. Working to rouse sympathy and antipathy has the effect of making it seem that we fall over ourselves. Such, approximately, is the effect of a lecture when we want to arouse sympathy and antipathy.

We must have the finest understanding for sympathy and antipathy in the listener. During the lecture however, his sympathy or antipathy should not concern us in the least. All that has an effect upon the sympathy and antipathy, if I may say so, we must bring into the lecture indirectly, beforehand, during the preparation.

Just as little as there can be instructions of an abstract kind for painting or sculpting, just so little can there be rules of an abstract kind for lecturing. But, just as one can stimulate the art of painting, so too it is possible to stimulate the art of lecturing. And it is chiefly a matter of taking in full earnestness the things that can be pointed out in this direction.

In order to start from an example, let us first take the teacher speaking to children. As far as his speaking is concerned, actually the very least depends upon his genius and wisdom. As to whether we can teach mathematics or geography well, the very, very least will depend upon whether we ourselves are good mathematicians, or good geographers. We can be outstanding geographers, but poor teachers of geography. The intrinsic worth of the teacher, which surely rests in large measure upon his speaking, depends upon what he has previously felt and experienced about the things to be presented, and the kinds of feelings which are again stirred up by the fact that he has a child before him.

Thus it is for example, that Waldorf School pedagogy amounts to knowledge of man, that is of the child—not to a knowledge of the child resulting from abstract psychology, but one that rests upon a fully human comprehension of the child. So far does this comprehension go that through feeling intensified to loving devotion, the teacher manages to experience with the child. Then there results—from this experiencing with the child and from what one has previously felt and experienced in the field in which one has to express something—from all this, there results quite instinctively the manner in which one has to speak and handle the class.

It doesn't serve at all, for instance, in instructing a slow child, to use the wisdom of the world which one has. Wisdom helps one in the case of a dull child, if one acquired the wisdom yesterday and used it in one's preparation. At the moment of instruction of the dull child, one must have the genius to be as slow as the child himself, and just have the presence of mind to remember the way in which one was wise yesterday, during the preparation. One must be able to be slow with the slow child, naughty, at least in feeling, with the naughty child, good with the good child, and so forth. As teacher one must be—I hope that this word will not arouse too great antipathy because it is directed too strongly towards thoughts or will impulses—one must really be a kind of chameleon, if one wishes to instruct rightly.

What many Waldorf teachers have, out of their genius, been able to do to increase discipline has pleased me very much. For example, a teacher is speaking about Jean Paul. The children start writing notes and passing them to each other. This teacher doesn't start reprimanding them; instead, he moves into the situation, and with great patience finds out what it's all about. He then dissolves the threatened disturbance with some instruction on postal affairs. That is more effective than any reminder. The note-writing stops. This result rests naturally upon a concrete grasping of the moment. But of course, one must have the presence of mind. One must know that sympathy and antipathy which one wishes to stir, sit more deeply in the human being than one is accustomed to think.

And so it is extraordinarily important, whenever the teacher has to deal with some chapter in class, that he first of all call up vividly into consciousness during the preparation how he himself approached this chapter when he was the same age as his children are, how he felt then,—not in order to become pedantic, of course, not in order when he treats it on the next day to succeed in feeling again as he once did! No, it is enough when this feeling is brought up during the preparation, when it is experienced in the preparation, and then it is a matter of working on the very next day with the knowledge of man just described.

Thus, also here, in teaching, it is a question of finding within ourselves the possibility of shaping the lecture-material which is part of one's teaching material, out of feeling.

How these things can work we can best become aware of, if we bring also the following before our soul's eye: whenever something of a feeling character is to work into what pulses through our lecture, then naturally we may not speak thoughtlessly, although thoughts do not really interest our listeners, and we may not lecture without will, albeit our will annoys them. We shall very often even want to speak in such a way that what we say goes into the will impulses of the people, that in consequences of our lecture our fellow-men want to do something. But we must not under any circumstances so organize the lecture that we bore the listeners through our thought content and arouse their antipathy through the will impetus we seek to give.

So it is a matter of establishing the thinking for the lecture, completely establishing it, as long as possible before we lecture; that we have beforehand absolutely settled the thought element within ourselves. This has nothing to do with whether we then speak fluently, or whether we speak haltingly. The latter, as we shall see, depends upon quite other circumstances. But what must, to a degree, work unconsciously in the lecture, is connected with our having settled the thought content within ourselves much, much earlier. The thought monologue which should be as lively as possible we must have rehearsed earlier, letting it take form out of the arguments for and against, which we ourselves bring forward during this preparation, anticipating all objections as much as possible.

Through this manner of experiencing our lecture in thoughts beforehand, we take from it the sting it otherwise has for the audience. We are, to a degree, bound to sweeten our lecture by having gone through the sourness of the logical development of the train of thought beforehand,—but, as much as possible in such a way that we do not formulate the lecture word for word. Of course, matters cannot be taken literally,—namely, that we have no idea of how we shall formulate the sentences when we begin to lecture. But the thought content must be settled. To have the verbal formulation ready for the whole lecture is something which can never lead to a really good lecture. For that already comes very near to having written the lecture down, and we need but to imagine that a phonograph instead of us stood there and gave it out automatically. When the lecture is given word for word, from memory, then is the difference between this and a machine that turns it out automatically even smaller than it is between a lecture read from a manuscript and the machine that turns it out automatically. Moreover, if we have formulated a lecture beforehand, so that it is worked out in such a way that it can be spoken by us verbatim, then we are indeed not differentiating ourselves very strongly from a machine by which we have recorded the lecture and then let it be played back. There is not much difference between listening to a lecture that is spoken word for word as it was worked out and reading it oneself,—aside from the fact that in reading one is not continually disturbed by the lecturer, as one is continually when listening to him deliver a lecture that he has memorized.

The thought preparation is experienced in the correct manner when it is carried to the point at which the thoughts have become absolutely part of oneself, and this all well before the lecture. One must be finished with what one would present.

To be sure, there are some exceptions for ordinary lectures which one delivers to an audience until then unknown to one. Whenever, before such an audience, one begins immediately with what one has to a degree worked out meditatively in thoughts, and speaks from the first sentence on under direct inspiration, if I may say so, then one does not do something really good for the listeners. At the beginning of a lecture one must make one's personality somewhat active. At the beginning of a lecture one should not immediately entirely extinguish one's personality, because the vibration of feeling must first be stirred.

Now, it is not necessary to proceed as did, for example, Michael Bernays, Professor of History of German Literature, at one time very famous in certain circles. He once came to Weimar to give a lecture on Goethe's Color Theory, and wanted to form his first sentences in such a way that certainly the feeling of the listeners would be engaged very, very intensively—but, to be sure, it happened quite otherwise than he had intended. He arrived in Weimar several days before the lecture. Weimar is a small city where one can go about among the people, (some of whom will be in the hall), and make propaganda for one's lecture. Those who hear about the lecture directly, tell others about it, and the whole hall is really “tuned up” when one delivers one's lecture. Now Prof. Michael Bernays actually went about in Weimar for several days and said: “Oh, I have not been able to prepare myself for this lecture, my genius will surely prompt me correctly at the right moment.” He was to deliver this lecture in the Recreation Hall in Weimar. It was a hot summer day. The windows had to be opened. And, directly in front of this Recreation Hall there was a poultry yard. Michael Bernays took his place and waited for his genius to begin suggesting something to him. For indeed, all Weimar knew that his genius must come and suggest his lecture to him. And then, at this moment, while Bernays was waiting for his genius, the cock outside began: cock-a-doodle-doo! Now every one knew: Michael Bernays' genius has spoken for him!—Feelings were strongly stirred. To be sure, in a different way from what he wanted. But there was a certain atmosphere in the hall.

I do not recount this in order to tell you a neat anecdote, but because I must call your attention to the following: the body of a lecture must have been so formed that it is well worked through meditatively in thoughts, and later formulated freely,—but the introduction is really there for the purpose of making oneself a bit ridiculous. That inclines the listeners to listen to one more willingly. If one does not make oneself a wee bit, ridiculous—to be sure, so that its not too obvious, so that it flows down only into the unconscious—one is unable to hold the attention in the right way when delivering a single lecture. Of course, it should not be exaggerated, but it will surely work sufficiently in the unconscious.

What one should really have for every lecture is this—that one has verbally formulated the first, second, third, fourth, and at most, the fifth sentences. Then one proceeds to the development of the material that has been worked out in the way I have just indicated. And one should have verbally formulated the closing sentences. For, in winding up a lecture, if one is a genuine lecturer, one should really always have some stage fright, a secret anxiety that one will not find one's last sentence. This stage fright is necessary for the coloring of the lecture; one needs this in order to captivate the hearts of the listeners at the end:—that one is anxious about finding the last sentence. Now, if one is to meet this anxiety in the right way, after one has perspiringly completed one's lecture, let one add this to all the rest of the preparation, that one bear in mind the exact formulation of the last one, two, three, four—at most, five—sentences. Thus, a lecture should really have a frame: The formulation of the first and last sentences. And, in between, the lecture should be free. As mentioned, I give this as a guiding principle.

And now perhaps, many of you will say: yes, but if one is not able to lecture just that way? One need not therefore immediately say that it would be so difficult, that one should not lecture at all. It is indeed quite natural that one can lecture a bit better or a bit worse, just so long as one does not let oneself be deterred from lecturing because of all these requirements: but one should make an effort to fulfill these requirements, at the same time as one makes such guiding principles as we develop here prevade all that he strives to do.

And there is indeed a very good means for becoming at least a bearable lecturer, even if at first one is no lecturer, even the opposite of a lecturer. I can assure you that when the lecturer has made himself ridiculous fifty times, that his lecture will come out right the fifty-first time. Just because he made himself ridiculous fifty times. And he for whom fifty times do not suffice, can undertake to lecture a hundred times. For one day it comes right, if one does not shy away from public exposure. One's last lecture before dying will naturally never be good if one has previously shied away from public exposure. But, at least the last lecture before one's death will be good if one has previously, during life, made oneself ridiculous an x number of times. This is also something about which one should really always think. And one will thus surely, without doubt, train oneself to be a lecturer! To be a lecturer requires only that people listen to one, and that one come not too close to them, so to speak; that one really avoid anything that comes too close to the people.

The manner in which one is accustomed to talk in social life when conversing with other people, that one will not find fitting to use when delivering a lecture in public, or generally speaking, to an audience. At most, one will be able to insert sentences such as one speaks in ordinary life only now and then. It is well to be aware that what one has as formulation of one's speaking in ordinary life, is, as a rule, somewhat too subtle or too blunt for a lecture to an audience. It just does not set quite right. The way in which one formulates one's words in the usual speaking, when addressing another person, varies; it always swings between being somewhat crude and, on the other hand, somewhat untruthful or impolite. Both must be entirely avoided in a lecture delivered to an audience, and, if used, then only in parenthesis, so to speak. Otherwise the listener has the secret feeling: while the lecturer begins to speak as one does in a lecture, suddenly he starts declaiming, or speaking dialoguewise,—he must intend either to offend us a bit or to flatter us.

We must also bring the will element into the lecture in the right way. And this can only be accomplished by the preparation, but by such preparation as uses one's own enthusiasm in thinking through the material, enthusiasm which to a certain extent lives with the material.

Now consider the following: first one has completed the thought content, made it one's own. The next part of the preparation would be to listen, so to speak, to oneself inwardly lecturing on this thought content. One begins to listen attentively to these thoughts. They need not be formulated verbatim, as I have already said, but one begins to listen to them. It is this which puts the will element into the right position, this listening to oneself. For while we listen to ourselves inwardly, we develop enthusiasm or aversion, sympathy or antipathy at the right places, as these responses follow what we wish to impart. What we prepare in this will-like way also goes into our wills, and appears during our lecturing in tone variation. Whether we speak intensively or more softly, whether we accentuate brightly or darkly, this we do solely as the result of the feeling-through and willing-through of our thought content in the meditative preparation.

All the thought content we must gradually lead over into the forming of a picture of the composition of our lecture. Then will the thinking be embedded in the lecture,—not in the words, but between the words: in the way in which the words are shaped, the sentences are shaped, and the arrangement is shaped. The more we are in a position to think about ‘the how’ of our lecture, the more strongly do we work into the will of the others. What people will accept depends upon what we put into the formulation, into the composition of the lecture.

Were we to come to them and say: “When all is said, every one of you who does not do his utmost in order to realize the Threefold Order tomorrow is a bad fellow”—that would annoy people. However, when we present the sense of the Threefold Order in a lecture that is composed in accordance with the nature of its content, that it is inwardly organized so that it is itself even a kind of intimate 'threefolding', and especially even if it is so fashioned that we ourselves are convinced of the necessity for the Threefold Order, convinced with all our feeling and all our will impulses—then this works upon the people, works upon the will of the people.

What we have done in the way of developing our thoughts, in order to make our lecture into a work of art, this affects the will of the people. What springs from our own will, what we ourselves want, what fills us with enthusiasm, what enraptures us, this affects more the thinking of the listeners, this stimulates them more easily in their thoughts.

Thus it is that a lecturer who is enthusiastic about his subject is easily understood. A lecturer who composes artistically will more easily stir the will of his listeners. But the main principle, the chief guide line must still be this: That we deliver no lecture that is not well prepared.

Yes, but when we are compelled to deliver a lecture on the so-called spur of the moment: when, for example, we are challenged and have to answer immediately; then we certainly cannot turn back in time to the preceding day when we brought the argument to mind, in order to meditate on its counter-argument—that cannot be done! And yet, it can be done! It can be done in just such a moment by being absolutely truthful. Or we are attacked by a person who accosts us in a terribly rude manner, so that we must answer him immediately. Here we have a strong feeling-fact at the outset! Thus, the feeling is already stirred in a corresponding way. Here is a substitute for what we otherwise use in order to experience with enthusiasm what we first represent to ourselves in thought. But then, if we say nothing else in such a moment except that we as whole man can say at each moment when we are attacked in this manner, then we are nevertheless prepared in a similar way in this situation too.

Just in such things it is a question of the unwavering decision to be only, only, only truthful and when the attack is not such that we are challenged to a discussion, then there are present, as a rule, all the conditions for understanding. ( About this I shall speak later.) It is then actually a question not of delivering mere lectures, but of doing something quite different, which will be particularly important for us if we wish to complete this course rightly. For indeed, in order to be active in the sense that I indicated today at the beginning, we shall have not merely to deliver lectures, but every man of us, and of course every woman, will also have to stand his ground in the discussion period, come what may. And about this, much will have to be said, in fact, very much.

Now I beg you above all, to look at what I have said today from the point of view that it indicates perhaps a bit the difficulty of acquiring the art of lecturing. But it is quite especially difficult when it is necessary not only to lecture, but even to have to lecture about lecturing. Just think if one were to paint painting, and sculpture sculpturing!

Thus, the task is not altogether easy. But we shall nevertheless try in some way to complete it within the next days.

The way this armed conflict (of the First World War) was such that it cannot be compared with anything in history so far, it will be followed by a spiritual battle that will also be unlike anything in history. ... It will be seen that the whole earth will take part in this spiritual struggle, and that in this spiritual struggle Orient and Occident will stand in spiritual and soulful contrasts such as have never been seen before. (Stuttgart, June 15, 1919)

From the new approaches after the First World War to the reestablishment of the Esoteric School as the “Free University for Spiritual Science”

For Rudolf Steiner, the First World War was a blazing sign that completely new forms had to be found for a fruitful further development of general and esoteric social life. Far more than before the war, he must therefore have been under the strain of the tension that necessarily arose from the opposing efforts to maintain continuity with the hitherto valid hierarchical principle on the one hand, and to meet the demands of the new era on the other, that is, to introduce the democratic principle, i.e. publicness, into esoteric work. This is made clear by the following two statements. While one of them reads (it was made in the lecture Dornach, December 20, 1918, i.e. immediately after the end of the war): “In order to maintain the continuity of human development, it is still necessary today to take up ritual and symbolism, so to speak.” The other (it was said in connection with a description of Freemasonry in response to a question from workers on the Goetheanum construction site): ”In today's world, all such things are actually no longer appropriate. For, isn't it true that what we have to reject most of all in such things today is isolation? This soon leads to the emergence of a spiritual aristocracy, which should not exist. And the democratic principle, which must be given more and more scope, is completely opposed to both the freemasons' union and the closed priesthoods.

At the time of this latter utterance, Rudolf Steiner had already tackled the reorganization of the Society and the esoteric school, by means of which he evidently wanted to bring the contrast between the old hierarchical mode of working and the demand of the new time for democracy to a higher synthesis. The steps he took in this direction from the end of the war until his death were, broadly speaking, the following.

When he was asked several times immediately after the end of the war in the late fall of 1918 to resume esoteric teaching, he initially refused completely. This was partly due to the inappropriate behavior that had often occurred in the past, but also because the new forms necessary for the times had not yet been developed. But when, a year later, at the end of 1919, the question was put to him at the Stuttgart School as to whether a religious celebration could be arranged for the students of free religious education on Sundays, he replied that it would have to be a cult and added: If this cult could be given, it would at the same time be the first reconnection with the esotericism interrupted by the war.¹ - obviously insofar as it should again be a non-ecclesiastical cult.

Shortly after this ritual, the “Sunday ritual”, had been created and performed for the first time (February 1, 1920), ² - from the teachers' conference in Stuttgart on November 16, 1921, the sentence is handed down: “A cult is the most esoteric thing one can imagine.” - Rudolf Steiner now resumed the esoteric work within the Anthroposophical Society. Initially in Dornach with two esoteric lessons on February 9 and 17, 1920. Although it was intended, it was not continued because various members had again behaved inappropriately. At the teachers' conference on November 16, 1921, when the question of esoteric lessons was raised, he said that it would be very difficult to do so and that he had to refrain from doing so because everything esoteric had been “disgracefully abused” so far. Esotericism is a “painful” chapter in the anthroposophical movement. ³ Nevertheless, shortly afterwards, on December 4, 1921, in Norway, where lectures could be held again for the first time since the outbreak of the war in the summer of 1914, he gave an esoteric lecture. Furthermore, there was also a meeting with the members of the department of the cult of knowledge, at which - although two or three new members were admitted - the circle was solemnly dissolved (p. 451), just as it had been immediately after the outbreak of the war in the summer of 1914 (p. 114). But that does not mean that the old is dead – he explained in Kristiania – but will be resurrected in a metamorphosed form. In the course of 1922, two esoteric hours also took place in England (London), one during the April stay and the other during the November stay. Shortly before, in October, in connection with the pedagogical youth course that took place in Stuttgart, ⁴ young anthroposophists approached Rudolf Steiner with the request for esoteric teachings to strengthen and deepen their community. The so-called esoteric youth group was formed, and it also received esoteric lessons. In the course of 1923 and early 1924, the following esoteric lessons also took place: in Kristiania in May 1923; in Dornach on May 27, October 23, 1923 and January 3, 1924 for the circle named by Rudolf Steiner after its initiators, the “Wachsmuth-Lerchenfeld Group” ; in Stuttgart on July 13 and October 13 for the esoteric youth group; in Vienna on September 30, 1923 for a small group that had come together at the request of Polzer-Hoditz.

Of the notes handed down from these hours, only those that reveal a relationship in content to the earlier esoteric cult of knowledge have been included in the present volume. These are the two hours in Kristiania and the three in Dornach that are thought to be for the 'Wachsmuth-Lerchenfeld Group'.⁵

The metamorphosis of esoteric, especially of the cult of knowledge, which has become necessary due to the changed conditions of the times, as indicated in Kristiania in December 1921 on the occasion of the formal dissolution of the circle, can already be found addressed immediately after the end of the war in the Dornach lecture of December 20, 1918. It was already stated at that time that the progress of time requires that many things must be renewed. For from the present time on and in the future, ever more clearly, new revelations break through the veils of events into the spiritual and mental horizon of human beings. Since these new revelations are the expression of a new creative principle, borne by the spirits of personality, the future will be increasingly determined by the expression of the impulses of personality. In this context, the fundamental difference between old and new revelation was explained and the nature of symbols and rituals was characterized as a form of expression of the old revelation, through which man was formerly addressed. The old symbolism did not play a significant role in anthroposophically oriented spiritual science. When reference was made to symbols, it was in the sense of “symbols of allegiance” to exemplify this or that or to demonstrate the “concordance” between “what is newly discovered, what can serve the new humanity, and what has been antiquated from ancient times.”

The style of this lecture, in which anthroposophical spiritual science is most emphatically described as a form of expression of the new revelation, was evidently influenced by the request of various friends to resume the esoteric work, especially the work of the cult of knowledge. The words seem to indicate this:

"There are a certain number of you who know that in our circles, too, those who seek have truly not been kept from the exposition of the symbolic and ritualistic traditions that have come down to us from ancient times, but always in a different spirit than is otherwise cultivated where symbols and ritual are valued in an antiquated sense. In order to maintain the continuity of human development, it is still necessary today to take up ritual and symbolism, so to speak. But in our circles, ritual and symbolism have never been presented as anything other than what is now supposed to lead to spiritual reality, to the direct integration of spiritual reality into contemporary values. Therefore, especially within anthroposophically oriented spiritual science, the explanation for many, actually for all ritual and symbolic aspects of the past. One can show how, on other paths, a wisdom that is antiquated today has been received by humanity, which has, so to speak, brought people into a state of bondage, but how today other paths of wisdom must be taken. ... It is extremely important to bear this in mind. To be able to be a human being in the innermost, deepest sense, connecting with what new revelations from the heavens want in terms of the evolution of the earth, that is what matters today.

Therefore, in the future it would no longer be acceptable to understand everyday life only as the poor, profane life and then to withdraw into the church or the mason temple, leaving these two worlds completely separate from each other.

Since then, Rudolf Steiner must have reflected on how esoteric work could be given a contemporary form, how the “old antiquated secret motif” could be replaced by something else (Dornach, December 20, 1918). Marie Steiner reports that at this time he often reflected on the nature that the new would have to take, that it would have to be “something binding, firm, overcoming lukewarmness and yet compatible with the freedom of each individual”: “He did not believe that one could still practice esotericism as in earlier times, in deepest seclusion, with strictly binding vows. These are no longer compatible with the sense of freedom of the individual. The soul must come before its own higher self and recognize what it owes to this self and to the spiritual world in reverent silence.“ ⁶

These considerations, which arose from the changed conditions of the time, the tragic loss of the Goetheanum building due to the fire on New Year's Eve 1922, the necessary but so difficult reorganization of the Society, led in the course of 1923 to the decision to found the Society anew at Christmas 1923, not only to constitute the Society as a completely public one, but also to give the esoteric school a form appropriate to the new consciousness of the times. It was anchored in the statutes of the Society as a “Free University for Spiritual Science”, which was to be built up in three classes and various scientific and artistic sections, and each member was granted the right to apply for admission after a certain period of belonging to the Society. In several essays Steiner characterized how he wanted this new esoteric school to be understood as a “Free University for Spiritual Science”. He stated that this university would not be like ordinary universities and would therefore not strive to compete with them or replace them. But what cannot be found at ordinary universities, the esoteric deepening that the soul seeks in its quest for knowledge, should be possible to obtain. The General Section should be there for those who want to seek the paths to the spiritual world in a general, human way; for those who seek an esoteric deepening in a specific scientific, artistic and so on direction, the other sections will endeavor to show the ways. In this way, every seeker will find at the School of Spiritual Science at the Goetheanum what they need to strive for in their particular circumstances. The School should not be a purely scientific institution, but a completely human one that also fully meets the esoteric needs of scientists and artists. Steiner said that he would ensure that the School's work would always be known in the broadest sense. ⁷

Due to his immense overwork and his serious illness that began in the fall of 1924, only the first of the three classes could be established, along with a few scientific and artistic sections. We only have a hint of how the second and third classes would have been designed and that the cultic element should also figure in them. Much later, Marie Steiner once mentioned in a letter that he had told her that 'in Class II much of what he gave us in M.E. would flow pictorially into it and that in Class III this would have been transformed into moral power'. ⁸ And in her notes for an address at the celebration commemorating the anniversary of Rudolf Steiner's death on March 30, 1926, she wrote ⁹ :

"He left us before he was able to finish the work he had begun, before he was able to give us what he referred to as the second and third classes. In the second class, he wanted to give us the spiritual practice that would have corresponded to what the revelations that flowed forth in imaginations were of the supersensible school of Michael from... [end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th century].” ¹⁰

Rudolf Steiner died a few months after making these suggestions. He had been exhausted for a long time and on March 30, 1925, he succumbed to the excessive efforts he had taken upon himself since Christmas 1923 as a result of his decision to to reshape society and the esoteric school in such a way that the abyss between the aristocratic nature of the spiritual and the ever-increasing demands of the new age for democracy, which he had spoken of in the esoteric hour of October 27, 1923 as a “heroic tragedy in the history of mankind,” could be bridged. Fate did not allow him to complete this large-scale work of the future. Nevertheless, it was “set up on earth as an example” in the sense of a word from his mystery dramas and “will continue to work spiritually in life, even if it does not persist in the sense being. A part of the power will be created in him that must ultimately lead to the marriage of spiritual goals and deeds of the senses.“¹¹

• 1. From one of the first two RE teachers, Herbert Hahn, handed down.
• 2. See “Conferences with the teachers of the Free Waldorf School in Stuttgart from 1919 to 1924”, Volume I (Introduction), GA 300a-c
• 3. Desgl., Band II.
• 4. See “Geistige Wirkenskräfte im Zusammenleben von alter und junger Generation. Pedagogical Youth Course», GA 217.
• 5. The remaining notes handed down are planned for a later volume.
• 6. Marie Steiner in ‘Remembrance’ for the first edition of the lectures ”Esoteric Reflections on Karmic Connections. The karmic connections of the Anthroposophical Movement), Dornach 1926; reprinted in “Nachrichten der Rudolf Steiner-Nachlaßverwaltung” no. 23, Christmas 1968.
  6
• 7. See “The Constitution of the General Anthroposophical Society and the School of Spiritual Science - The Rebuilding of the Goetheanum”, CW 260a.
• 8. In a letter dated November 8, 1947, to Helga Geelmuyden in Norway.
• 9. In notebook archive number 133.
• 10. Cf. page 120f.
• 11. See ‘The Awakening of the Soul’ (Scene 1).

Explanations given by Rudolf Steiner at the founding meeting

The request ¹ The chairman of the Vidar Group, ¹, asked me to say a few words about the desirable formation of a Norwegian Anthroposophical Society and its connection with a kind of international center in Dornach for the Anthroposophical Societies. ²

As you know, my dear friends, over the past few years, during the war and especially after the war, circumstances for the anthroposophical cause have changed from what they used to be. We need only look back at how the anthroposophical cause has developed over the 21 years since it came into being, first as a group within the Theosophical Society and then, from 1912 and 1913, as an independent Anthroposophical Society.

The anthroposophical cause has always been approached by people who have had a yearning for spiritual depth; people who have believed that they could satisfy this spiritual need within the Anthroposophical Society from what they were able to experience in it. This has always given the Anthroposophical Society its character. It was mainly that as a member of the Anthroposophical Society, one expected to get something from it: spiritual teachings, spiritual life. And that went well for so long as the Anthroposophical Society had not reached a certain size. And you, who are older members, will know that things were actually always fine when the Anthroposophical Society was small. Now it is not so important that the Anthroposophical Society has grown in terms of membership; but in recent years – you will have noticed – the Anthroposophical Society has become something that people all over the world are talking about. Isn't it true that the Goetheanum, which unfortunately burnt down, was the first thing that made thousands and thousands of people aware of the Anthroposophical Society? It has become known throughout the world. And the Waldorf School, in turn, and everything that has joined the Anthroposophical Society, has made the anthroposophical cause very well known in the world. And this demands that the Anthroposophical Society also become more active than it has been up to now.

It is not just my sympathy or that of a few people within the Anthroposophical Society, but a world necessity that the Anthroposophical Society become more active than it has been. I myself could be quite satisfied if the Anthroposophical Society consisted of people who work in groups and who ensured that I myself can represent Anthroposophy here and there. I myself could be quite content with that, and perhaps I myself would be most satisfied of all if that were the case: because, you see, the anthroposophical movement has then progressed best. Since it has been talked about so much, it has also been increasingly misunderstood. The opposition has actually only formed since it has spread. And all this can be summed up in the sentence: The Anthroposophical Society needs to become more active, to do more work outwards, so that it stands before the world as something that is not ridiculed but taken seriously, like other societies. And now, with all these things emerging in recent times, it has become clear that everything that is going on in the world today must be taken seriously.

The anthroposophical movement was founded in Berlin, it started in Germany, and people joined it without regard to any national or international ties, purely out of the matter at hand. This caused great difficulties even during the war. These have of course not diminished. And so it has gradually become clear that the best way to further the anthroposophical cause would be for national societies to be established.

It so happened that right at the beginning, when the Anthroposophical Society was founded, the Swedish Anthroposophical Society was the first to be founded. The Swedish Society was always a national society. But in recent years the Swiss Anthroposophical Society has also been founded. The English Society was only able to continue during the war because the English did not say that they belonged to Germany; instead, they founded an English Anthroposophical Society.

One can say that the international life and activity of the Anthroposophical Society would flourish best if national societies were founded in the individual language areas and these were joined together in Dornach to form an international Anthroposophical World Society. That would be the best way for the Anthroposophical Society to continue working. You see, if things are to go on as they actually must go on, if our opponents are not to swallow us up — if you will excuse my using that word — if, that is, we are to work properly, there should always be a connection with a center. And that, given the circumstances, can only be Dornach.

So, for example, we would have to create the possibility of founding a kind of newsletter in Dornach, which would then be sent to the individual sections, so that all the individual anthroposophical branches would always know what is going on in Dornach, so that there would be a connection, an ideal, a spiritual connection.

All this can be achieved if individual national societies are formed that do not, as was the case here, for example, send contributions to Germany, which would serve no purpose at all, because it would not create any cohesion, but if the same contributions were sent to Dornach. One could then have a common newsletter, and one could run the Anthroposophical Society internationally in this way.

In France, for example, Mille Sauerwein came to me some time ago and asked me if I could recognize her as the General Secretary of the French Anthroposophical Society. I have done this because I have confidence in Miss Sauerwein.³ I am only declaring that I will do everything I consider right for the French Society with Miss Sauerwein as its General Secretary. It is only a document that declares my willingness to do everything I consider right for the Anthroposophical Society in France when this person is at the helm. So it has come about, for example, that a French Anthroposophical Society exists. The Swedish one has always existed, the Swiss one also exists; the German one was founded at the end of February as an independent society, and is therefore German and no longer international; it is the German Anthroposophical Society.

So if an Anthroposophical Society is now formed in each country, with a leader with whom we in Dornach can communicate by letter and so on, so that common matters can be dealt with through them, then a very good constitution will have been created for both national and international matters. We would gradually come to a point where the Anthroposophical Society would be represented to a certain extent in the world. Of course, for inner reasons we can be indifferent to this, because the spiritual world is already asserting itself. But we cannot be indifferent to the outside world. It is necessary that such a representation be there once the matter has become known in the world. The best way to do this is to found an Anthroposophical Society in each country – so a Norwegian one here – which in turn will join the international Anthroposophical Society, which is to have its center in Dornach. This is something that is entirely in line with the way the Anthroposophical Society has developed in recent years.

But we must also take the inner aspect into full consideration. Because, you see, wherever you go today, there is a deep need for spiritual life, much more than one might think. Everywhere you will find people who are really crying out for a spiritual life. Most of them do not yet have the courage to come to a spiritual science as pronounced as anthroposophy. They will get that courage! But we must work to help people have that courage.

You see, my dear friends, sometimes it is quite tragic. For example, among the many people who want to come to the Anthroposophical Society today, there are countless young people, young women and young men, all over the world. The young generation is striving towards the Anthroposophical cause. But I myself am always obliged to say to young people: Yes, you see, we can give you Anthroposophy, you can organize your whole study around Anthroposophy; but bear in mind that if you now want to achieve an external position in the world, we are not yet in a position to help you in any way. You will then face a strong conflict. And the better anthroposophists you become, the stronger will be the conflict that life brings you into. — So I am always obliged to preach caution to people rather than to push them into it.

Anthroposophy will never flourish if you are fanatical about it. One must be quite reasonable and must always tell people the truth honestly and sincerely. And it is really pitiful how today's youth strive for anthroposophy and how one cannot always advise them to strive for it [only] — because they have to go out into life again, and there they are rejected if they have become anthroposophists.

All this can change if we [the Anthroposophical Society] can become firmly consolidated internally, so that everyone who is inside knows: they represent a great cause in the world if they are an Anthroposophist. I believe that this could be helped by your founding a Norwegian Anthroposophical Society and, if you then joined Dornach, would help us to powerfully represent the Anthroposophical cause in the world, then it could be pointed out: There are national societies here, there and everywhere – and so the Anthroposophical Society will be seen as something to be taken seriously in the world. This is already the way it is.

But today's opponents are working so powerfully that it is necessary to see how they work. They are very well organized, the opponents – I could give you many examples of this. You see, today, for example, it is sometimes already dangerous when people are friendly to you. For example, in Switzerland in the last few weeks I gave a series of lectures entitled: “What did the Goetheanum want and what should anthroposophy do?” I came to St. Gallen; the American consul came to me on a completely different matter. He came to see me at the hotel, and what we were able to talk about there evidently pleased the man so much that he came to the lecture that evening, bringing his wife with him. It seemed that he also liked what he heard in the lecture. You know, if you know me, that I do not boast about such things. Well, two days later the consul received a stack of pamphlets sent to his house from a completely different quarter, containing the most abusive things about me and the anthroposophical cause. The man is a very reasonable person; he told us so himself. But you see how the opponents are organized! If they notice that someone important is talking to us, they immediately send him the most abusive counter-writings to his home.

This is how we differ from our opponents: we are poorly organized; the opponents are much better organized in all countries than you might think! That is why we need to start an organization so that we can work calmly and powerfully. I could give you many examples of how our opponents work. For example, I could tell you about an organization that extends from Berlin to Leipzig to Switzerland; they constantly communicate with each other through letters, and everything that can be done in an organization is done there. The people there are united! The Protestants and Catholics are always united there when it comes to opposing anthroposophy.

So you see, it is necessary that we find a basis on which we are well organized – although I myself do not have much sympathy for organizing – but we need it. Therefore, I would ask you to now discuss this matter as I have proposed. I believe it may have been understood.

During the discussions, questions are put to Dr. Steiner, which he answers as follows:

Regarding the question of admitting members:

The situation is this: the admission of members would naturally be handled by the national society; but in order for the whole Society to have a unified structure throughout the world, one could indeed strive for a mode that membership cards be issued in Dornach. In the 'Principles', which you have translated into Norwegian, there is no mention of admission, as is otherwise the case with societies or associations, but always of recognition. This must be understood somewhat differently in the case of a spiritual society. And then the final recognition that someone is a member would be provided by the signature of the center in Dornach. This is a suggestion that I am making; but in order for the international society to be a unity, it would be desirable for the national societies to take care of the admission, but for the membership card to be signed by the central office in Dornach. This is how it has been handled everywhere. Firstly, it would establish a certain federalism, which is very desirable, but on the other hand it would also document that a large society emanates from Dornach. For this, of course, it is necessary that there is trust from Dornach in the person who then represents the national society in relation to Dornach. That is what matters. After all, the entire constitution of the society is based on this system of trusted personalities.

Regarding the question of a general secretary:

A general secretary would take care of representation to the center in Dornach. How this is achieved is, again, a matter for the national society. The only prerequisite is that the person in Dornach enjoys the full trust of the society and can then form the bridge to the center.

Regarding the question of whether the board should simply be the general secretary at the same time:

This causes difficulties if one cannot turn to a person but always to a board. In a society like the anthroposophical one, it is always important to deal with personalities, not so much with abstract boards, but with personalities, if the intention is to achieve a certain continuity. The board of directors — I don't know how it is here in Norway — the board of directors can change under certain circumstances, whereas it would be good to have this office of secretary general on a continuous basis, so that people around the world would finally know: these are the secretaries general of the Anthroposophical Society. In practice, the Swiss Society has its General Secretary in Albert Steffen, the French Society in Mlle. Sauerwein; the English Society has not yet chosen one, because it is only in the process of being constituted; but the Dutch Society has already, so to speak, taken on board the prospect of a General Secretary. So in practice the trend is towards having certain General Secretaries.

• 1. No minutes of the meeting exist, except for Rudolf Steiner's words, which were written down in shorthand by Helene Finckh.
• 1. Karl Ingerö
• 2. These remarks were taken chronologically in advance in order not to interrupt the context of the documents beginning on p. 477 ff. (22. 4.-17. 6).
• 3. See page 488

Dear attendees,

On the subject of today's discussion, it would be advisable if I could speak again in the next few days or towards the end of the discussion evenings, after one or other view has been expressed for general clarification. Today I would just like to make a few preliminary remarks, so to speak.

There are indeed some difficulties in the spread of the anthroposophical movement, of anthroposophy in general. But these difficulties can be overcome if there are as many people as possible who really take to heart the conditions of such a movement as anthroposophy is. The anthroposophical movement cannot spread in the same way as any other movement through external organization or formal organization. For someone who simply hears about the anthroposophical movement in general as a person interested in spiritual life in the present day and then asks himself the question: Should I participate in this anthroposophical movement? will very often be confronted with the fact that it appears as if the anthroposophical movement carries certain dogmas within it, to which one must profess one's belief, as if it demands that one must commit oneself to these or those sentences, I would even say, with one's name. Often one heard from within the Anthroposophical Society: Oh, he or she cannot be regarded as a true anthroposophist, because he or she has said this or that about this or that! - Then it looks as if the anthroposophical movement has something to do with orthodoxy or even faith. And that is precisely what does the most harm of all to a purely spiritual movement, as the anthroposophical movement wants to be.

Of course, such a movement must also have an organization; but what it must have in addition to the organization is the greatest possible broad-mindedness. This broad-mindedness must live more in the feeling, I might almost say in the rhythm, of those who already feel themselves to be the bearers of the anthroposophical movement, than in any principles. That is why it has always seemed questionable to me that the Anthroposophical Movement has continued to hold on to the three so-called principles that were taken over from the Theosophical Society – at the time, of course, quite rightly, when the Theosophical Society existed – but which could actually still give rise to the prejudice that the Anthroposophical Movement is somehow sectarian. The fact that this opinion can not only arise in the world, but that in many cases - forgive me for saying this quite openly - something comes from the Anthroposophical Society itself that shows the movement in a sectarian light, makes it so extraordinarily difficult for outsiders to approach the Anthroposophical movement. You only have to compare the anthroposophical movement with itself.

The day before yesterday in Ilkley, I said: I myself would prefer to have a different name for the movement for eight days just to make a change! If it were easy to do, organizationally, then that would be my favorite, because the name is something that people don't want to dwell on at first, because they think about it at first: Anthroposophy – what is that? – They form a name for themselves from the principles: one, two, three – and then profess all sorts of things, but not what really flows through the anthroposophical movement.

You see, here in England it is not yet so evident, but on the continent you would soon be able to experience how strongly the prejudice still persists that the anthroposophical movement is something sectarian, a sect. The writings that have appeared about anthroposophy on the continent today have indeed appeared in enormous numbers; one can say: every time you go to a bookstore and have the writings that have appeared in the meantime shown to you, there is bound to be some writing about anthroposophy among them. But when one reads all the writings that have been published in opposition to Anthroposophy, sometimes even by people who believe they have Anthroposophy's best interests at heart, then one is truly forced to ask oneself: What have these various writings actually done to Anthroposophy! I must confess that often, when I read not only the truly abominable opposing writings (of which there are, of course, many more), but when I also read writings that apparently want to objectively judge anthroposophy, and then I ask myself what picture emerges of anthroposophy, what picture one or the other theologian or philosopher or even a layperson in all directions has formed about anthroposophy, and I imagine this picture, then I say to myself: I really don't want to become an anthroposophist! Because the fact is that you take this and form opinions from what you have read and what your opponents have said, and also from all kinds of short reports about lectures. These opinions are then as inaccurate as possible. What it is about is that such opinions, which are the main obstacle to the spread of the anthroposophical movement, should be replaced by the real content of anthroposophy. That is what it is about. And this content of anthroposophy should actually be presented to the world in such a way that it can be seen that This is not a sectarian matter, nor is it something that can be summarized in a name. One must really face the fact that anthroposophy is now gradually spreading to all possible fields, in contrast to those brief presentations that discuss the essence of anthroposophy in four or five pages.

Take the area we have been discussing in the last fortnight in Ilkley: the educational area. This educational area is treated in such a way that only the educational and didactic methods are to be worked out in the best possible way from the anthroposophical movement. The Waldorf School in Stuttgart, where this education, this didactics, is put into practice, is not a sectarian school, not a dogmatic school, not what the world would like to call an anthroposophical school. For we do not bring anthroposophical dogmatics into the school, but seek to develop purely didactic-pedagogical methods in the way they are generally human. And in this way, from these areas, anthroposophy is pointed out in a very specific way. It is indicated in such a way that one can say: There are many movements in the world today — almost every person is starting a movement, and it cannot be said that all these movements are not very reasonable, because, above all, it is the characteristic of the present human being that he is reasonable. — We have brought it to the point that reasonableness has become a general characteristic of human beings. Therefore, I can easily imagine that today 5, 10, 15 people get together who are very clever and work out a program with 12 or 30 paragraphs that are extremely reasonable and sensible about the best pedagogy that can be had - I can imagine that there would be nothing at all to be said against such a program. But in practice, in school practice, you can't do anything with such programs; you have to know how the child develops each year, how to meet the needs of each individual child. And even that is not enough: such a very sensible program on progressive education could, for example, state how teachers should be. Yes, I could imagine could paint incredibly beautiful, glorious pictures of the nature of the teachers in such a school — but if the teachers are not there as they are portrayed in these program series, and if there is no prospect of these teachers being able to be as described in these sensible programs, then you have to take the teachers you have, the ones you can get, and do the best you can with them. That is practice — practice that also extends to the choice of people to put in any position. And so it is that at the moment when anthroposophy wants to intervene in life, it wants to be only humanly general, wants to disregard all dogmatics, wants to take hold of life itself, wants to present. One might say that the other reform movements also want this; but to see whether they want it, one must look at them today, for it is precisely today that people who believe they are most practical are in fact the strongest theorists, because they make everything dependent on theory, on the program. As paradoxical as it sounds, the strongest theorists today are to be found in the commercial and industrial and especially in the so-called practical professions. No one, if he is in a practical life today, sees real practice, but rather what he imagines.

It is therefore no wonder that the established systems of economic interrelations, which are entirely theoretical, are gradually collapsing. What we need today is to work directly in life, to see what is in people and what they can become. And this difference between the anthroposophical movement and other movements should be made clear to the world: its comprehensiveness, its impartiality, its lack of prejudice and its freedom from dogma: that it wants to be merely a method of experimentation with the general human and the general phenomena of the world.

And so we can say: in the artistic realm – yes, when you see the Dornach building, which ended so tragically, when you see the eurythmy performances – what is it that is connected with any dogmatics? In the case of the Dornach building, the forms that could be brought forth from the wood as the best, most vivid forms were used. A style of building that could arise out of the immediate life of people in the present! In eurythmy, it is not shown how, or rather, how should one say, anthroposophical dogmas should be realized, but how one makes the best movements that arise out of the human organism, so that these movements become a real, artistically designed language. And so one could say: for the most diverse fields, anthroposophy strives for knowledge and practice that is deepened by the spirit. This is what distinguishes anthroposophy from the rest of what is in the world today.

And so one would actually like anthroposophy to be able to have a different name every week, so that people cannot get used to all that follows from a naming. Just think that it is precisely this naming that has, in recent times, brought about such terrible civilization nonsense. I do not know whether it was the same in England, but in the field of painting, for instance, in the course of the last few decades all kinds of “schools” have been experienced on the Continent. There were, for example, the plein-air painters, the impressionists, the expressionists, the futurists, the cubists, and so on, and people got used to it because such names implied that they had everything to say, but only not to say anything about painting when they painted. When you are painting, it is not really a matter of whether you are a Cubist or an Impressionist or some other -ist; what really matters is that you can paint! And so it is also really a matter in life of grasping life in the right way, where it is found. And so I would like anthroposophy to be given a different name every eight days, because then people would not get used to any name at all and would approach the thing itself. That would be best for anthroposophy!

Yes, well, you have to express such things so extremely, so radically. But you will understand what is meant: it is really a matter of tactfully asserting the comprehensive nature of anthroposophy before the world and certainly not of harnessing it to anything that can evoke belief: You have to come to terms with some dogma when you have to sign your application for admission. - It is really desirable that this broad-mindedness take hold in the representation of the anthroposophical movement; then we will really be able to get over the other questions more easily than seems to be the case.

Recently, the events that have taken place within the anthroposophical movement in all countries have shown that it is best, so to speak, for anthroposophists in different countries to join together to form national societies. If, for example, a British society were to be founded, then all these individual societies would in turn join together to form a general society that would be based in Dornach. The one thing that makes it extremely difficult to bring such an international society to a certain level of satisfaction is communication. With regard to the teachings themselves, I believe that the means for this communication are really developing. We can see that here in your journal Anthroposophy, which was founded by Baroness Rosenkrantz, a very beautiful mediator between Dornach and here has been formed. But what we would need would be an international means of communication. Whether it is a single journal or whether the individual journals for the countries take care of it - it really does not matter what the external form is - but we should have the opportunity to receive something from time to time through which we can learn about the anthroposophical movement in the world.

Of course, the teachings must flow through the Anthroposophical Society; but individual Anthroposophists should have the opportunity to get a picture of what is happening here or there in the world in relation to Anthroposophy. I have been asked about this more than anything else in the most diverse countries! Again and again, people say: what is lacking in the Anthroposophical Society is that you never know what is going on in other areas, that there is no connection, no communication. Yes, you see, it can't be done that way through an organization, because organizations always dissipate an enormous amount of energy. When you set up something, you make committees and subcommittees; then each committee sets up a secretary, and then each committee needs a secretary, and then you need an office, or even a palace, where correspondence is carried on with the whole world, where addresses are written and countless letters are written that are then thrown into the wastepaper basket or otherwise never read, and an enormous amount of human energy is expended on this every day and, above all, — which must sometimes be borne in mind in the Anthroposophical Society — an awful lot of money is lost. Organization certainly achieves [many] things and all credit is due to it. It is true that if one has lived in German civilization, one does not have much time for organization, because there one does not love organization so much, but that is only an aside. So before organization, I would like to say that I have all due respect. But to set up an organization, you need to have as many people as possible who are actively developing an interest in something: then the rest will fall into place. If there were a center in Dornach where news from all countries is collected, that would be very good. There should be people from all countries who can write in all possible languages; in Dornach they will already be taken care of so that they can be read and distributed.

But it is necessary to develop interest in the anthroposophical movement in the world! It is a little bit in the whole anthroposophical movement that this is more difficult than for others. If you found another movement, you have a starting point for such goals; in the case of the anthroposophical movement, although it is something universal, it is also something that goes beyond the individual. To have something for the individual, for his heart, for his soul, is completely justified, of course; it must be so. But on the other hand, today we see the anthroposophical movement as one that has to solve the problems of civilization! And that is why it is important to really take an interest in the movement as such; then the rest will follow naturally.

Time has now progressed so far that I would like to break off the discussion for today; but I will continue it in more concrete terms in the next few days, when the opportunity arises.

Question: What was the youth movement, what is it, and how can one arrive at anthroposophy through it? Those who went through the youth movement believe that they will find in anthroposophy a continuation of what they sought in the youth movement. They want to hear about the significance of the youth movement from a spiritual scientific point of view.

Rudolf Steiner: The youth movement belongs to an age in which I myself was no longer young; so those who belong to the youth movement must be better informed about it than I am.

Taken externally, the youth movement is not an entirely abstract, unified movement, but rather it brings together people from the most diverse worlds of ideas and worldviews. People may come together through their feelings. That is one aspect of the youth movement. Other forces, more fundamental than ideological ones, for example, hold it together and keep it together. There are many personalities within the youth movement who could not give a clear and precise answer to the question of what they want; they could not say, consciously, what they want.

The second aspect of the youth movement is that it has emerged everywhere to such an extent that, for example, one cannot say that 'the youth movement in Switzerland and the youth movement in Germany have influenced each other reciprocally, but rather that the youth movement has shot up internationally out of elementary forces. It is a general human cause. One must conscientiously observe the characteristics of the youth movement. When one encounters something like this, one has the feeling that one can only understand it from a profound point of view. If one approaches the youth movement with knowledge of history and the humanities, it becomes clear that it is connected with the inner-human, historical change that is strongly characterized for the humanities scholar as having occurred at the end of the 19th century. This becomes clear when one looks closely at the characteristics found in the pronouncements of those who were still young or children at that time.

I have examined these moments more closely and, on the basis of my observations, have come to the conclusion, or rather, the insight that the youth movement is connected with the great upheaval at the end of the 19th century and is one of the symptoms that points to the advent of a new era at this point in time. When one is very close to something, one does not recognize it in its full essence; one only recognizes it when one moves away from it. Through the spiritual scientific method, one can achieve a certain distance and thereby learn to observe accurately and gain insights into interrelations. In this way, people will one day think about the end of the 19th century and realize that a significant impulse came in that time, which is still hidden today.

This impulse, which is a human impulse, seems to live in the minds of those who have turned to the youth movement. In these minds there is a flash of the tremendously significant turning point at the end of the 19th century. Sometimes it can be quite unimportant to get involved in discussions about it, but it is important to recognize that important impulses are at work and are felt by those who have joined the youth movement. Spiritual science aims to consciously capture what is at work in the development of humanity, and it takes the view that without it, the great world catastrophe cannot be understood either. The philistines, who cannot understand a thing, will think they are eccentric and do not know that they themselves are eccentric. The people who grew old in the ideas of before can no longer keep up. Decadent brains live in those who still carry the old into the 20th century.

It is not a contradiction for the youth movement to live into spiritual science. One can even speak of a certain predestination of the youth movement for spiritual science. The youth movement is conditioned by a feeling for what is more or less consciously present in spiritual science. One must not become vain. One must not come to say, for example, “The epoch lives in me”. We are partly conditioned by the impulse of the end of the 19th century. We have to look at such things externally, not patriarchally like our forefathers. You can't get along with something like that in our time.

Question: How do you find the bridge from the youth movement, in which there are people who rebel against the prevailing worldview, to anthroposophy? One can find a certain rejection of anthroposophy. Some people find it a bit brusque. The path is too strictly prescribed for them. Anthroposophists put the spiritual too much in the foreground, while they are trying to find themselves.

Rudolf Steiner: This is connected with the impulse I mentioned earlier. We can look at the same question from the opposite point of view. Anthroposophy is the one spiritual movement that can approach certain spiritual things in our age. People who find their way into anthroposophy are uprooted from what immediately preceded it in terms of culture. One example is Friedrich Nietzsche. He lived in the transitional epoch; he was condemned by fate to go through all the most intimate cultural sufferings of the soul. Nietzsche went through everything that one can suffer in culture. If you look at him during his student days, in the Wagner-Schopenhauer period, in the period of positivism, he suffers from what was most uplifting for the culture of the time. You can see how this person first suffers from the culture of the 19th century and then perishes because of it. He was still stuck in the culture of the 19th century.

Some individuals were able to work their way out of it and then came to anthroposophy. They found something in it that, at the end of the 19th century, had no father and no mother, so to speak; it was something that had to be placed on new ground. Compared to what has gone before, anthroposophy stands alone. One does not become an anthroposophist in order to have a world view, but rather one does so with one's whole being. Those who do not want to develop a relationship to anthroposophy expose themselves to danger, and if those who are capable of it, who are from the opposite pole even without a father or mother, do not try to find the bridge, then the others may miss out on connecting to the development of humanity.

I can well understand that such misgivings are expressed. One should, however, make an effort to seek the bridge. But if this is anxiously avoided, one would quite expose oneself to the danger that has just been characterized, and no progress would be made at all. The youth movement has recently come to a halt. It strove everywhere towards union; people wanted to find each other and come together. In recent years this has changed in some individuals; they strove towards a certain shutting themselves away. This also appeared as a sweeping international nuance. Not fulfilling oneself with a spiritual content leads to an encapsulation of the individual.

There are numerous paths to anthroposophy. One should go beyond being bothered by the nature of individual people who want to be anthroposophists and should try to really experience anthroposophy. At present, anthroposophy is actually the only thing that is not dogmatized and that is not keen on presenting something in a very specific way, but that strives to look at something from different sides. The essence of anthroposophy lies in life and not in form. If one wants to be understood, one is indeed forced to use forms that are currently customary.

An American once asked me: I have read your writings, including your social writings. Do you think they will still be valid for future ages? I answered: They are constructed in such a way that they can metamorphose, and then quite different conclusions can arise for the coming time than for the present. What matters is that life finds life.

A participant: A bridge must be found for young people by implementing in life that part of the teaching that directly concerns them. Young people cannot relate to the teaching. Teachers, for example, who have emerged from the youth movement, have been fighting for a long time for what happens in the Waldorf school; bridges could be built there. Also, what has been made intellectually accessible through the various courses of anthroposophy has already been unconsciously experienced in the youth movement.

Rudolf Steiner: We have to bear in mind that in our age the individual must find access to general evolution through thought; it is only through thought that they can do so. It is entirely possible to introduce anthroposophy to young people and even to children. Of course, we must not approach it from the standpoint of the old. For example, if you want to teach a child the idea of the immortality of the soul, you take the example of the butterfly and the chrysalis. The child will be able to understand what it is about, because it is a truth. In the emergence of the butterfly from the chrysalis, nature itself presents the same thing at a lower level as what is the immortality of the soul at a higher level. If we start from the standpoint that the child is stupid and I am clever, then the child will never learn anything right, especially if we ourselves do not believe in what we are teaching the child. This is where there is the possibility of introducing everything from anthroposophy to children. In history lessons, what is effective as life in history must be properly introduced to life.

Question: A large part of the youth movement has now moved over to the philistine camp. The youth movement is very much a spiritual movement. They are guided by a strong life of nature and feeling, and this leads people to rebel against much of what has gone before. People wanted to live out their own laws, they could not get out of their emotionalism, they could not recognize that life can only truly become fruitful out of inner truthfulness if it is fully thought through. That is why there is a tendency not to think things through to the end. If one recognizes the importance of anthroposophy for young people, one can prove to young people, whether in terms of world view or philosophy, that they must come to anthroposophy, that anthroposophy only wants them to be more aware, and that it wants the same thing that they want. So far, three solutions have been proposed for the gender question: Kurella's body soul, asceticism and marriage at a young age. However, none of these three solutions has brought a real solution.

Rudolf Steiner: In these three ways, a new problem that confronts humanity is being tried to be solved with old dogmatic thinking. The essence of the free human being cannot be reduced to mere thought.

In anthroposophy, I see something that is alive, that is capable of making a different being out of the human being than he was before. He becomes free through this substantiality, he becomes a truly free human being in the course of a short development. You cannot solve a question that is posed by life through thinking. The question will resolve itself through the practice of life, when it is grasped from the standpoint of freedom. There is no need to worry that something unsocial will come about as a result. Imagine that one day someone wanted to know how to arrange the conception so that a male or female being would be born. If this were made a matter of the intellect, there would certainly not be as many men as women in the world. Although this only takes place at the individual level, social conditions arise through inner laws. [Rudolf Steiner points to his book “The Philosophy of Freedom” and continues:] You cannot arrive at a new life in one leap, least of all through programs. You prepare yourself for it by having a free attitude as your inner foundation. This problem must be solved by each individual. Youth literature is quite dogmatic when it comes to the gender issue.

Question: The youth movement was initially quite romantic. They recognized something that came to them out in nature. They recognized that they could grasp the divine not only with their minds. Anthroposophy wants to draw everything into consciousness. It aims at a striving for knowledge. Most people do not find the bridge between these two, nor can they.

Rudolf Steiner: In this, people think too selfishly; they do not consider how to find a connection to the overall development of humanity. The age is characterized by thinking and conceptualizing. Today, we experience the world through thinking. It is necessary to rise from the dullness of feeling and come to a luminous conception through thinking. We are only truly human through thinking. Our emotional life is transformed through thinking, and we are more human through what thinking releases in us. Life in feeling is sought because there is a fear of clarity. Feeling can be very intense when it passes through thinking. 'Living in nature' is so often understood as if one were striving for something special. One must realize that in so doing one is not bringing anything new, but only regaining something that was lost earlier. Yes, the longing must live in the modern human being. Too little was given to him by the old; he must acquire something for himself. It is recommended to read Schiller's essay “On Naive and Sentimental Poetry.” “The Philosophy of Freedom” is built on a natural relationship with nature.

Question: There is a gulf between older and younger youth. The youth that is now in secondary school is different from the youth of the youth movement. The spirit of the secondary school youth, from which the youth movement grew, was characterized by the slogan “romanticism of rebellion.” The spirit of today's secondary school youth should be described as “resignation of reconstruction.” Everything that was a profound experience for the youth movement: nocturnal journeys, campfires, aimless wandering – that appears to today's youth as Bolshevism. They reject it and long for boundaries to which they can adhere, for authorities. Is this fact to be seen only as a temporary reaction or as the emergence of a new epoch by young people?

Rudolf Steiner: The period that people between the ages of thirty-five and fifty have gone through was a difficult one. The last years of the 19th and the first years of the 20th century were a difficult time; spiritually, people were focused on material things. The good, spiritual life of the fifties and sixties of the 19th century has been buried. The people who are effective today have grown too old; most of those who do something in the world are at least fifty years old. And those young people who have plans to do something are not being allowed to. Between the two stands an inwardly inactive generation, and these are the fathers of today's high school students. These fathers have gained a bad influence on the youth, who look up to them as their leaders. Authority is all very well, but it depends on what kind of personalities it is linked to. And what are the ideals that live in the generation between thirty-five and fifty and are transferred to their sons? One can only feel sorry for these young people.

Question: Does Dr. Steiner consider it desirable for an organization to develop among young people who are involved in the movement and are also anthroposophists?

Rudolf Steiner: Well, I don't think much of organization. You see, in my “Key Points” I deliberately spoke of the social organism, not of organization. We have been overfed with this food in recent years.

Question: The question was whether there would be common tasks for young people in the anthroposophical movement, or whether each person has their own task.

Rudolf Steiner: In the future, all the tasks that individuals have will be the tasks of the community, and each person must make the tasks of the community their own. There is no other way. But you can't organize something like that, only associate.

after the lecture by Friedrich Husemann on “Nervousness, Worldview and Anthroposophy”

Preliminary note: Nothing is known about Friedrich Husemann's lecture because no notes were taken. However, it may be assumed that some of his remarks were also addressed in his lectures on “Questions of Contemporary Psychiatry from the Point of View of Anthroposophy”, which he gave at the first Anthroposophical College in September 1920. A summary of these lectures was published in the collection “Aenigmatisches aus Kunst und Wissenschaft”, volume I, Stuttgart 1922.

After Dr. Husemann's lecture, a question was asked about the possibilities of studying psychiatry in the future.

Rudolf Steiner: It is of course impossible to speak about this subject today, which would require an exhaustive treatment if one wanted to go into it at all, in any other way than with a few hints at most, because the study of psychiatry, especially in our time, certainly requires the most far-reaching reforms. If we consider how it is actually impossible today to formulate the questions that must be asked in psychiatry, we will realize how necessary

70 such a reform of the study of psychiatry is. However, such a reform will not be able to take place – this seemed clear to me from Dr. Husemann's lecture itself – if the individual specialist subjects are not first truly fertilized by spiritual science. For the development that Dr. Husemann has so beautifully described today, which began around the time of Galileo and culminated in the 19th century, has actually driven the whole of human thought life apart into two sharply opposing currents of thought. On the one hand, there are the ideas we have about material things and their processes; on the other hand, there is the life of thought itself, which has increasingly taken on a purely abstract character, so that – since abstractions cannot be forces in the world , and thus cannot be a force in man either that can bring about something - so there is no possibility for man either to understand the material, the physical, from the soul, to build some kind of bridge from the psychic to the material.

Today, at most, man has an idea of a sum of abstractions or even of abstract feelings and the like when he speaks of the soul. This sum of abstractions cannot, of course, set an organism in motion, cannot somehow build a bridge to the organism. Therefore, on the one hand, one cannot speak of being able to influence the external physical, real organism by acting on the soul life, which is, after all, only a sum of abstractions. On the other hand, there is what has been gained through science about the physical organism, because it has been invented that soul phenomena are only parallel phenomena or even effects of the physical organism. What is formed in the way of concrete ideas about this physical organism is not conducive to squeezing anything out of these ideas about the psychic. And so today, regardless of whether one is more or less of a materialist, there coexist an outlook on the soul life that only looks at abstractions, and an outlook on the material life, including the organic life, from which nothing spiritual can be extracted.

It is therefore quite understandable that it is not easy to find a method that can be used for psychiatry. That is why, in recent times, people have stopped talking about the connection between the physical and organic in humans and the psychological, which takes place as a process in consciousness. And since one is in reality constantly in danger of falling on one's face between these two stools, between the physical-material and the abstract-psychological, it is necessary to invent a quite unconscious world, a strange and unconscious world. And that has now been amply done in psychoanalysis, in analytical psychology, a scientific object that is actually extremely interesting. For once there has been a reform of psychiatry, so that we will again have a proper psychiatry, then this scientific object will have to be properly examined from this new psychiatric point of view, because it is actually [itself] an object for psychiatry.

So they tried to imagine an unconscious world so that they would not be completely cut off from the ground between these two chairs. Of course I am not saying anything against the unconscious world, but it must be investigated, it must be really recognized through that which spiritual science introduces as vision; it cannot be fantasized in the way that the Freudians or similar people fantasize it.

Spiritual science will bring about a reform of psychiatry in that it will lead from mere abstract concepts, which have no inner life, to concepts that are in line with reality, to concepts that already live in the world as concepts, that have been gained by immersing oneself in reality with their methods. Then, when one ascends to such spiritual methods, which in turn provide realistic concepts, one will find the transition from such concepts, which are mere abstractions, to that which is now not mere abstraction but reality. That means that it will be possible to build a bridge between the psychic and the physical in man. The psychic and the physical must appear differently in our minds if we seriously desire to have a psychiatry.

The sum of abstractions today, including those that comprise the abstract laws of nature – these laws are becoming more and more filtered – is not capable of being immersed in a real process. Just imagine how, with the abstractions that figure in science today, one could find something like the two important facts — for they are facts — that I mentioned in the first lecture of this series: the spiritual-scientific heart teaching and the spiritual-scientific teaching of the reverse biogenetic law for the historical course of earthly events. From such examples you can see that spiritual scientific methods are capable of finding the way out of the inner life of the soul and into the world of facts, of building a bridge between the so-called spiritual and the so-called physical.

Above all, this is necessary for psychiatry, because only when we are able to properly observe the corresponding facts will we make headway. And the facts of psychiatry are fundamentally even more difficult to observe – because they require greater impartiality – than the facts of the laws of physics. Because in human life, as soon as one moves from the so-called healthy, from the relatively healthy to the relatively sick, there is actually almost no possibility of observing the person in complete isolation. The human being certainly develops into a complete individuality, into an isolated life; he does this precisely through his psyche. But what deviates in the psyche from a linear development, from a linear, so-called normal development, cannot be observed in isolation. I can only hint at this, of course; otherwise one would have to make lengthy explanations if one wanted to prove it in detail. Man is much more of a social being, even in the deeper sense, than is usually thought, and in particular, mental illnesses can actually only rarely be assessed on the basis of the biography of the individual, the isolated individual. That is almost completely impossible.

I would rather use a hypothetical example than theories to suggest what I actually mean. You see, it is possible, for example, that in any community, be it a family or any other community, two people live side by side. After some time, one of them has the misfortune to have an attack, which means that they are transferred to a psychiatric institution. Of course, this person can be treated in isolation. But if you do that, especially if you form an opinion based on an isolated examination of this person, then in many cases you will actually only fall prey to a thought pattern. For the case may be, and in many cases is, that another person, who lives with the person who has become ill, or who has become mentally ill, in a family or in some other community, actually has within himself, let us say, a complex of forces that has led to the mental illness of his fellow human being. So we start with these two people: one person, A, has the attack, from a psychiatric point of view; person B has a complex of forces within him, of a psychically organic nature, which, if you were to look at it in this way, perhaps shows to a much greater extent what is called the cause of the illness in individual A. That is to say, B, who is not mentally ill at all, actually has this cause of mental illness within him to a much greater extent than A, who had to be taken to a sanatorium.

This is something that lies entirely within the realm of reality, not merely of possibility. For it rests on the fact that man A, apart from the complex of forces which is designated as the cause of his mental illness, has a weak constitution and therefore cannot bear this complex of forces. The other, B, who also has the complex of forces within him, perhaps even more strongly, has - apart from this complex of forces - a considerably stronger constitution than the other; it does not harm him. B can bear it, A cannot. But A would not have contracted the disease at all if he had not been continually psychically influenced by B, the person living next to him – an influence that can be extraordinarily significant in this case because B is more robust than A.

There you have an example that is quite common in reality, from which you can see how important the psychiatric approach is if it seriously wants to be based on reality, if it does not play games as it often is in this field today. The point is really not to look at the person in isolation, but to look at them in their entire social environment. Of course, what I mean here will have to be put on a fairly broad basis. After all, it is also the case for the rest of the disease that it makes a big difference whether a weak individual is affected by some complex or a strong, robust individual. Let us assume that two people live next to each other from a certain age onwards and have dealings with each other. One of them still has a robust, rural nature from his youth and background, while the other has been descended from city dwellers for three generations. The person who has a healthy, rural nature and can tolerate some internal damage may carry a much stronger complex, but he can tolerate it and does not become ill. The other, who actually only has it through a psychic infection, through an imitation, through whatever is present from person to person, he does not tolerate the effect.

Here you can see what comes into consideration when you want to talk about psychiatry not from theories and programs, but from reality; you see how, in fact, today one is already turning to the serious that arises from the insight that, basically, especially since the time of Galileo, our scientists have become so one-sided, and you see how necessary it is to take in new ideas in a fruitful way in all fields. Otherwise, human knowledge, especially in those fields that are supposed to lead into practice, into the practice of life, must come to complete decadence. I could say: basically, the same applies to psychiatry as we say about the art of education when we talk about Waldorf schools, namely that one should not just come up with some new formulations of a theoretical nature, but that one should bring the living spiritual science itself into this field. What we have to say about education also applies to psychiatry. We can never approach the matter one-sidedly by saying that this or that can be improved in the field of psychiatry, but we must familiarize ourselves with the idea that Either one accepts the spiritual-scientific basis in the field of knowledge in general, then this spiritual-scientific basis will already transform psychiatry, then it will make something out of psychiatry in particular, which is actually longed for by numerous people today, but which cannot be there at all through the latest natural scientific methods, which have of course been sufficiently explained to you yesterday and today, or... [gap in the transcript].

You see, what must come out of the popularization of spiritual science, to use a trivial word, is that, above all, people will have a much, much better knowledge of human nature than they have today. People today are so out of touch with each other that there can be no question of any knowledge of human nature. People pass each other by, each living only in himself. Spiritual science will open people up to each other. And then, above all, much of what is perhaps still believed today to lie in the field of psychic pathology will be carried over into the field of psychic hygiene. For it is absolutely the case that, I would say, straight lines can be drawn from the symptom complexes of disturbed psychic life to the ideas that are currently widespread in public life and which are not at all considered pathological, but which are generally accepted. And if one were to follow up some of the very generally accepted concepts, one would find that, although more slowly, the same path is taken after all that can be seen in the pursuit of a psychologically abnormal symptom complex, which, however, happens quickly in the case of someone who is found to be mentally abnormal today.

All these things show that ultimately all the talk about details in the reforms of the individual sciences does not lead to much, but that if one decides – although today souls, many souls, are too sleepy – to look for a fertilization of scientific life in the sense of spiritual science, then the most diverse fields of science, but especially that field of science that deals with the various deviations from normal psychic life, psychiatric medicine, will undergo a necessary, I would say self-evident, reform as a result. Even if these cases go as far as the most extreme rebellion, such as raving madness, or feeble-mindedness, and so on – only then will it be found what these psychic aberrations actually mean for normal life in the whole of normal development. And in many respects we shall find that the more and more healthy our world view becomes, the more that will be healed which shines out from public error into the pathological aberrations of the mentally ill.

For it is indeed quite remarkable how difficult it is to draw a correct line between so-called normal life and mentally abnormal life. For example, it is difficult to say whether a person is mentally normal in the case of, say, an event that occurred not too long ago in Basel, not far from here, in which a man left a large sum of money in his will for someone to lock themselves away in complete solitude until such time as they had succeeded in truly proving the immortality of the soul. That is what a man in Basel did in his will, and I don't know what happened to it after that. I believe the heirs objected and tried to decide, not psychiatrically but legally, to what extent it was related to psychiatry or not. But if you now really set out, each and every one of you, to examine whether it should be assessed psychiatrically or whether it is a mental illness or whether it is really an oversized religiosity or whatever, you will hardly be able to manage with complete accuracy.

The point is that our concepts have gradually become weak in the face of reality; they must become strong again. But they will only become strong through spiritual science. And among many other things, psychiatry in particular will feel the effects of this.